Basking sharks and castles of Loch Breachacha, Coll

At the mouth of Loch Breachacha two magnificent 6m basking sharks cruised past our stationary kayaks.


The water was full of plankton and after cruising past each of us in turn, the sharks resumed their feeding.


At the head of Loch Breachacha there are two castles. The new one on the left was built in 1750 as a more comfortable mansion house for the MacLean chieftain. In 1773 Boswell and Johnson were guests of young Coll while they were storm bound on the island for ten days. Boswell wrote in his diary "On our arrival here, we felt ourselves very comfortable".


The nearby original Breachacha Castle dates from the early 15th century and was the seat of the MacLeans of Coll. In 1590 their rivals, the MacLeans of Duart in Mull invaded Coll and a fierce battle ensued. The Coll MacLeans were victors and tossed the heads of the fallen Duarts into the nearby Allt nan Cean: Burn of the Heads!

Even in the 1950's it was still one of the best preserved tower house castles in Scotland. It was restored for use as a private house in 1965 by a descendant of the Coll MacLeans.

14/06/2009

Paddling by the shifting sands of time on Coll

Leaving the Sound of Gunna, we entered the great sweep of Crossapol Bay at the SW end of Coll. The shifting dunes (white dunes) between here and neighbouring Feall Bay, to the north, have been designated as a Special Area of Conservation (SAC).


This magnificent dune system is one of the largest in the Inner Hebrides and is maintained by a plentiful supply of beach sand and the high average wind speeds (nearby Tiree averages 18mph, the top end of force 4).


There are burial grounds at both the west end and the east end. The Maclean clan owned Coll from the early 15th century until 1856. This isolated burial enclosure, at the east end of the bay, was built in 1802 by Alexander MacLean, the 15th chieftan, for his wife and himself. The traditional burial ground of MacLean chieftains was at Killunaig Church on the north coast but Alexander feared that shifting sands would expose or bury the graves there.

14/06/2009

The Sound of Gunna

Eventually the suppoprt team carried me and my boat to the water and lifted me into the cockpit. The return leg was about to begin.
















The turquoise waters of the Sound of Gunna slipped away beneath our keels.
















As our shadows flitted over the sands below, we came upon...















...one white sand beach...














...after another.

14/06/2009

Gneiss cowries on Gunna

The following morning none of us were in a hurry to leave Gunna. We slowly gathered our things...


...and had a leisurely brunch on the sands of Gunna Sound. Of David there was no sign, all that Tiree water must have disagreed with his constitution.


Still in no hurry we wandered the strands collecting shells.


I spotted a perfect ledge in the ancient gneiss.


It was just the place to display Jennifer's collection of cowrie shells. I love the way the pink and white of the shells blended with the rock and sand.

14/06/2009

Tiree sunset and driftwood

We left Scarinish harbour on Tiree loaded with supplies and fresh water for David. Before we left we had scoured the high watermark for driftwood which was nonexistent elsewhere in the islands. Just to be sure, I also bought a sack of logs in the Scarinish Co-op store.


The wind had dropped to nothing as the sun dipped towards the horizon.


We paddled some distance apart, just enjoying the solitude.


We prepared our evening meal as the sun set.


High on the dunes, the view from our tents was stunning...


... but we returned to the shore where we lit our fire with seasoned Scarinish timber. It burned fragrantly in the Hebridean twilight until long after midnight.

13/06/2009

Better days: knees in the sand

My eye was caught by this old boat which was lying at the high water mark in Scarinish Harbour Tiree. She was lying as she was when she was driven here by a winter storm but her function can still easily be discerned from her near complete form.


In contrast, little remains of this sad relic of former days the Mary Stewart. Only the stumps of her timber knees project from the sand, hinting at the once proud lines, which carried the essential trade of Tiree.


I wonder if she was this masted sailing ship, photographed by Erskine Beveridge in Scarinish harbour in 1898? Note the hotel building in the background, which has since been considerably extended. Old photographs like these make us realise that our lives are very transitory things compared with places and the environment. All the more reason not to leave a mess!

Better days is also a metaphor for my own current situation. It was the 13th of the month. I dislocated my knee on the sands of Gunna at the south end of Coll. It gave way when I turned to take a quick photo. As I lay there crying out for my mummy, I could see my lower leg was at a funny angle and that my knee cap had slipped round the outer side of my leg. Our mobiles didn't work, I had been unable to get the coastguard MSI broadcasts on the VHF, we were on an uninhabited island but I did have a GPS EPIRB....


The thought of the big red and white Coastguard helicopter emerging from the heat haze on the horizon (with a "wump, wump, wump" and March of the Valkyries blaring from the in flight entertainment system) had a certain appeal. I do love the smell of kerosene in the evenings.

However, I was enjoying our little trip, apart from the screaming agony in my knee, and the prospect of being untimely ripped from the bosom of Gunna was rather upsetting. "Oh dear" I thought, "I had better get myself out of this mess." So I waved the helicopter boys away, took a deep breath, dug my heel deep into the sand and levered my leg straight. I couldn't breathe with the excruciating pain but it went back in with a sickening clunk. I then hyper-extended my knee (to take the tension off my quadriceps) and used both hands to lever the tendon and the knee cap back into place. I screamed at the watching seals as the patella scraped its way over the bones. I nearly blacked out but it is was done. "Oh bother! That smarted some!"

I took a handful of Diclofenac and then strapped up my knee, which was now the size of a melon, with duct tape. I wish I had had the foresight to shave my leg before putting the duct tape on... I was really looking forward to the therapeutic effects of some 16 year old Bowmore distillate and poured us all some snifters, as the others were all looking a little white, even David the vet. Unfortunately the Diclofenac had hurt my stomach, so David ended up with my Bowmore!

What now? Well Jim had brought a walking pole, so I used that to hobble about and direct the others to load and carry my boat down the beach. I filled a 10l water bag and put it in the cockpit floor beneath my knee. Jennifer held my kayak steady in the surf and David and Jim lifted me into the cockpit. It was only 56km back to Portuairk and if we left now it would be high water when we got there and that would save a 500m walk back to the car!

13 days later I am still laid up. Yesterday my calf and foot swelled up and became very hot and painful when I was visiting my wife Alison, who was just out of theatre having had a hip replacement (I was supposed to be her gopher, a very serious loss of Brownie points)! When I hobbled into her ward on crutches, the sister said " I'm sorry we were not expecting you." "That's a pity." I replied "My wife and I thought you had a 'two for one' offer on this week!"

My daughter insisted on dropping me off at the local Casuality Department (Glaswegian for A&E or Emergency Room). It was 8:30pm. I could see it was going to be a long night, in fact, I thought she had dropped me off at the local Police station! It was 5 hours before I was seen but the floor show was better than "Big Brother"!

It turns out I have developed a deep vein thrombosis. Untreated, these can be somewhat troublesome little things (but at least 90% of people don't get a big pulmonary embolism and die). I was quite pleased when the young doctor offered an anticoagulant jab. I'll need a few more of those if I don't want to end up like those boats in Scarinish harbour; on my knees in the sand, at the end of my seagoing days....

I'll be back!

13/06/2009

Water levels were perilously low

Despite the appearance of Paradise, our comfortable existence in the Sound of Gunna had one serious threat. David had run out of water. Frankly I was surprised that David drank any water at all but apparently he likes a little to brush his teeth. This crisis of mission critical supplies could only be resolved by a little 20km round trip to Scarinish on the nearby island of Tiree. We left Jennifer collecting cowrie shells on the strand and took to the high seas once more.


Unlike the steep bluffs of its rocky neighbour, Coll, most of Tiree is low lying machair. Its wide horizon is broken...


...only by the roofs of croft houses.


Our approach to Tiree was met by a magnificent 6m basking shark.


The hidden harbour of Port na Banaich is entered through a narrow cleft in the rocks.


No one was more surprised than we three to discover that the Scarinish Hotel was furbished with the appropriately named Leanto Bar and that it was a mere step from the beach. The friendly barmaid disposed of our rubbish bags, replenished David's water bottle and poured three perfect pints of Guinness. What a brilliant sea kayaking pub!

13/06/2009