Singing seals of Loch Gruinart at the end of a long day.

Under lowering clouds  we set off from Ton Mhor along the north shore of the Rinns of Islay towards the gap between Ardnave Point and Nave Island.

The gap is infested with reefs but as it was high water, most were submerged. Despite this, the water inside the reefs was still pretty sheltered from the swell.  Looking back, Ton Mhor was now getting plastered with rain which was quickly heading our way.

Rounding Ardnave Point, our passing provided little interest for the local beasts...

...before we entered Loch Gruinart. We were now paddling into the southerly wind, which was lifting the spray off the waves breaking on the bar at the mouth of this tidal loch. The flat conditions on the sheltered east coast of the Rinns peninsula were a complete contrast to those on the west... just 8km away, as the gull flies.

We paddled past the shifting sands of Killinallan Point, which has one of the finest dune systems in the Hebrides.

Although the abandoned buildings of Killinallan Farm had a melancholy air under the grey, rain filled skies of a typical Scottish mid summer day, our spirits were high. We had just finished the most amazing paddle along one of the most challenging coastlines on the west coast of Scotland, in less than ideal conditions.

Although my day was now over, Tony still had to cycle 26km (with 300m of ascent) back to Portnahaven to collect the car. It was pouring with rain...

...so I took the easy option and retired to the tents...

...where I collapsed in agony, rubbing my bad knee. After some strong painkillers I didn't wake till Tony returned several hours later with the car... thanks Tony!

That night we slept soundly as the seals sang to one another on the sand banks of Islay's beautiful Loch Gruinart.

Flat Earth Kayak Sails news!

An exciting package arrived at Seakayakphoto Towers yesterday. Its elongated shape and Australian postmark had me salivating in anticipation. Four prototype sails for future models of Flat Earth Kayak Sails have been sent for final testing to Florida, Queensland, England and Scotland, and am I lucky to get my hands on the Scottish one? Kathy in Florida and GnarlyDog in Queensland are getting 1.0sqm versions but Duncan and I in the UK are getting 0.8sqm versions. This in no way reflects any inadequacy in GB paddlers but represents that we don't get steady trade winds. Our winds tend to be generated by low pressure systems and as a result are gusty.

This sail is likely to be called the "0.8" (for 0.8sq m). The whole sail is made of what Flat Earth Kayak Sails call Code Zero cloth. This is a mylar/dacron laminate, which is reinforced by spectra threads. It is much lighter than either the standard all dacron sail or the XP sail, which is dacron reinforced with code zero material on the leech, like my blue/white sail. The current standard size sail is available in Code Zero cloth but this new sail has a completely different cut.

The new cut has oriented the panels and the seaming to encourage twist at the top of the roach but also to put more fullness into the luff than the previous sail. The length of the luff and the full length sprit batten are unaltered but area has been moved from the bottom of the sail higher up and appears as an extended roach in the leech between the top of the sprit and the clew. The roach is supported by two mini battens that are sewn into the leech. This effectively makes it a lower aspect sail and because the cut has also been altered to put a deeper draught into the sail (with the fullness well forward towards the luff) it should make it more powerful for its size. Because the mast length is unaltered, the centre of effort of the sail will be moved higher into cleaner air, which should encourage good clean laminar flow across the sail. I really can't wait to try it out.

Please note these are prototypes and the final production version is likely to change before it is introduced some time in 2012. As it is likely that the current well tried standard sail will continue in production alongside the new sail for some time, I would encourage anyone who is thinking of taking up sea kayak sailing to go ahead and buy the standard sail now. As the mast and fittings are the same, you could always upgrade in the future, by just buying a new sail.

Talking of fittings there is also a new prototype mast foot. As you can see when the mast is vertical the mast rests firmly on a large penny washer. (It would rest even flatter if I had not mounted the mast base offset to avoid the inverted V of the Delphin deck!) This should get round the problem reported by some high wind sailors where the old tendon joint deforms under pressure loosening of the stays in the gusts.

 Yet when the rig is lowered, the tendon joint magically reappears!

If you pull the mast back as far as the stays will allow, then you can see the secret. The tendon is fitted into a little stubbie  (I think that is the correct strine description) mast that slides into the main mast.

What an elegant design. I think this new design will benefit even more than the current design from having two side stays at right angles to the mast and a back stay. So if you just use two rear mounted sidestays and no back stay, now is the time to get the drill out!

Again this new mastfoot design is just a prototype, so Mick has instructed that I chuck as much sand and wind at it as I can. Delighted to oblige Mick!

What bonzer news from Flat Earth Kayak Sails! This new rig looks a right bottler!

The ground was moving and it was nothing to do with the Laphroig!

I am afraid I have not a single photo of our paddle under the cliffs between Cape Fear and of Ton Mhor at the north end of the wild Rinns of Islay. After closing with the rocks we got out of the worst of the counter tide race but the clapotits proved to be somewhat of a challenge to tiring paddlers. It was like hanging onto a bucking bronco! We felt some relief when we eventually turned the corner into the sheltered waters of the east side of Ton Mhor. We were not the only ones to be tired, this large seal was fast asleep!

We now made for the lovely sands of Port Gillhe Greamhair.

There was hardly a ripple of surf, unlike the time when Phil and I had turned back from here only 6 weeks previously.

I stagerred out of my kayak, I could hardly stand, my knee had seized up after 25 km of some of the most challenging kayaking on the west coast.

After enjoying our sandwiches on the machair at the back of the beach, we decided to have a little celebration. In his recent comment Ian said: "Character building stuff Douglas! I trust a moderate amount of strong drink was taken in order to calm the nerves after this passage? I should have thought it would require an 18 yr old to really do the trick...."

Ian knows me too well! I had some 18 year old Laphroig in my day hatch and Tony kindly went back down the beach for it. As we lay back on the machair for a well deserved rest and snifter of the spirit of Islay, the ground seemed to to be moving beneath us, as if we were still paddling a stormy sea. I can assure you it was it was nothing to do with the Laphroig!

Flotsam, jetsam and kayaks off the Rinns of Islay.

From Lossit Bay to Machir Bay the rocky ramparts of of the Rinns stretches for 8km almost unbroken. Kilchiaran Bay is the only breach in this coast's impenetrable armour but it was full of surf so we pressed on to Machir Bay. When I say "we pressed on", I am perhaps implying we had somewhat more choice in the matter than actually existed, given the reality of the building north going tide and force 4 tail wind.

We kept  well out (2km) from Machir Bay and the conditions moderated a little. However, it to be a short lived respite. The west coast of the Rinns has a series of headlands round which the tide races. They have confidence inspiring names like Rhuba na Faing and Cape Fear. We were rapidly approaching the headland at the north end of Machir Bay. It was two and a half hours into the flood and the tide was fair steaming along. This particular headland consists of an offshore island and a channel littered with exceedingly sharp dark rocks. The island acts like a funnel and the tide accelerates through the channel like a venturi, carrying all flotsam, jetsam and kayaks with it. The surging swell, the rushing tide, the broken, white water receding and revealing fangs of black rock... it all led to an involuntary clenching of the jaws not to mention the gluteal muscles.

After all this excitement, the fair weather we had enjoyed thus far deteriorated a little as we passed Saligo Bay. The clouds descended, it started to rain, the temperature dropped and the wind increased. This was after all the first week in August... always a risky time to go paddling in Scotland.  We were now passing "Opera House rocks" which are more properly known as Dun Bheolain, site of an Iron Age hill fort. It is surrounded on three sides by surging surf, I don't think they would ever have expected to have been invaded from the sea.

Ahead lay Cape Fear, where we hoped to turn east rather than be swept away by the tide to the north. It was three and a half hours into the flood and we could see the tide race heaving over the reef that extends far to the north west. We kept well clear of the reef but the wild waters of the race took all our attention as we slowly turned our bows east. We paddled with a new vigour and the water was soon rushing beneath our keels.  It was still rather rough and it was all we could do to keep paddling for the next headland Ton Mor.  It seemed to be a very long way away and it wasn't getting any closer.

Then I was knocked sideways by a particularly big wave and I was amazed to see that we were still beneath Cape Fear! All that paddling had got us nowhere, an uncharted west going eddy was running against us and joining the north going flood! It was time for a quick decision. We moved closer into the cliffs where the clapotis was horrendous but where we hoped the foul tide would be less....  

I must apologise for the lack of decent photographs on this particular trip.                                                                                                                                    

Commitment off the Rinns of Islay.

Leaving the shelter of Portnahaven at slack water, we entered the channel between Islay and the offshore islands of Orsay and Eilean Mhic Coinnich. Despite being "slack", the north going tide was already ripping through the channel at 3 knots.

The islands and the Stevenson lighthouse on Orsay were soon left astern and we were now committed, there could be no turning back.

We were whisked past a curious concrete structure. This is the Islay experimental Limpet wave generator.

We were now  on the open Atlantic. The photographs do not give a true idea of just how rough it was. It was obvious to us that we were not going to be landing on the surf beaches. Lossit Bay was "smoking" as the cross off wind blew the crests off the back of the surf sets.

Gannets, heavily laden with fish, were using the shelter of the cliff line to make their way south towards their hungry chicks on Alisa Craig, which was over 100km away.

Off Lossit Point, the sea was even rougher. The rocks of Beinn Seasaimh, 139m, fell steeply into the sea and it was pretty obvious we were not going to be able to land until we had cleared the west coast of the Rinns of Islay, after paddling for 25km...

Dry mouths in the deceptive calm of Portnahaven.

Tony and I had been trying to complete kayaking round Islay for several years and despite frequent visits, we had been unable to paddle the west coast of the Rinns of Islay. This was to be my third visit of the year and only a few weeks before, had already turned back from the Rhinns after meeting huge swell in otherwise benign conditions. Prior to this trip, a succession of days with SE winds had flattened the Atlantic swell, which is the "Governor" on this coast. Although the weather was to be mixed, the tide times were ideal. It would be one day after neaps and the north going flood would start at about 0900 hours at Portnahaven on the south end of the Rhinns.

It was 0820 as we drove down the steep road into the tiny hamlet of Portnahaven. The hamlet almost impossibly manages to cling to the rocks of this untamed coast. In the shelter of Portnahaven it was difficult to judge the wind strength as it was SE and offshore. The smoke blowing horizontally from the chimneys suggested it was about 3-4. It was time for the Clyde coastguard Marine Safety Information (MSI) broadcast on the VHF marine band.

"This is the inshore forecast for Mull of Kintyre to Ardnamurchan Point, issued by the Met Office at 0500 UTC Friday 6th August and valid until 0500 UTC Saturday 7th August. 24 hour forecast. Wind: SE or S 4 to 5 veering NW 6-7 later. Sea state: moderate or rough becoming very rough. Weather: showers, rain later. Visibility: moderate becoming poor."

"Later" means 12 hours or more by which time we hoped to have cleared the Rhinns. The SE or S would either be cross offshore or cross shore as a tail wind so we decided to go for it...

...and after several visits to the public toilets, we launched in the calm of Portnahaven harbour. We passed the conveniently situated pub, An Tigh Seinsse (house of the singing) but it was shut and our mouths remained dry.

Portnahaven was built as a planned crofting and fishing village during the 19th century...

...and its cluster of whitewashed cottages crowd round a sheltered inlet off one of the roughest pieces of water in the British Isles. None of the local boats showed any sign of leaving their moorings that morning. A combination of Atlantic swell, strong tides, shallow, reef infested waters and high average wind speeds make it an interesting place to kayak...

...these were the conditions which had caused us to turn back a few weeks before.

An Islay retrospective.

Partly due to my deteriorating knees and partly due to the recent weather, I have been doing less sea kayaking recently and as a result my recent trips have been short half day trips, usually from Ayr. I find it difficult sitting in a kayak for a long time and do not like long car jointures. To provide some variety for the blog, I am going to dip into the back catalogue and where better to start than a return to the magnificent island of Islay?

It was an evening in early August when Tony and I caught the last ferry to Port Ellen on Islay's south coast. In truth that summer wasn't much better than this one and while we were on the crossing dark clouds were rolling over the summits of the Paps of Jura.

We drove to a remote area of the island and set up camp at 9pm just as...

...the sun was setting. The seals were singing to one another on the sandbanks in the bay. We had an early night as we were all set for a big day in the morning...