I doubt we would have appeared on her radar...

 W eventually stirred ourselves from our little cove on Garroch Head Bute. We weren't in any hurry and we sat on the water enjoying the misty view to the mountains of Glen Sannox on Arran.

Our indolence was distubed by Julia and the...

 ....boys from the Drumchapel and Clydebank Kayak Club who stormed past, putting us quite to shame.

Our embarrassment was short lived as another high speed craft arrived on the scene.

HMS Defender, D36, is the latests of the Type 45 destroyers to be undergoing sea trials on the Firth of Clyde. She was built in the Govan and fitted out in the Scotstoun yards on the River Clyde.

Despite her sophisticated early warning systems, I doubt we would have appeared on her radar...

...so we were pleased to let her pass, between us and the Little Cumbrae.

Transported to the Mare's cave.

 We set of from Sannox Bay, Arran...

 ...on the 10km crossing to the Sound of Bute. The mist and the spring tide meant there was some calculation of the correct course to paddle. Once we had calculated the course, the wind  on the sails helped us to keep our bearing...

 until 2/3 of the way across it dropped away to nothing.

 However, by that time the coast of Bute had emerged from the mist and...

 ...surprise, surprise, we were right on course to land...

 ...on the only tiny break in the rocks of Garroch Head at Uamh Capuill (mare's cave). Andrew who was training for his 3* test was most impressed.

The ebb spring tide soon left our kayaks like beached seals on the rocks. After our second luncheon, we lay and basked in the unseasonal sunshine .

Of the mountains of Arran, there was not a sign. It was as if we had escaped from the grimness of the Scottish winter to another World. Our kayaks had once again transported us to Paradise.

PS It wasn't just the mountains that were out of sight. We could not see the Mare's Cave anywhere.

The scent of the virgin's breast in spring.

From Corrie we cut across the expanse of...

...Sannox Bay. The wind had freshened and one of us stuck with Andrew as the rest sped on, with spray flying, towards the sands...

 ...of Sannox where we got a fine view of Cioch na h-Oighe...

 ...the Virgin's Breast.

We took our luncheon in the shelter of the yellow flowering gorse bushes. Their coconut scent was quite intoxicating . David proposed a toast "to the virgin" and she was well and truly toasted.

Bursting buds of March on Arran.

A little breeze sped us on the way up the east cost of Arran and towards the little village of Corrie.  We were already pleasantly warm in the unseasonal high temperature.

Corrie has several harbours. This one is the southern "sandstone harbour" from which sandstone from the quarries in the hills behind the village were exported to build the Crinan Canal locks in nearby Kintyre. Note the bollards whhich are shaped and painted like sheep.

Marvin's wood carved seal always guarantees a seal sighting in these parts.

The houses of Corrie form a typical Scottish ribbon development along a raised beach. They are tucked between the steep mountains behind and the sea in front. These houses are beside the northern "limestone harbour" which exported the limestone which was mined in the hills above. The proximity of sandstone and limestone hints at Arran's interesting geology and at this time of year geology students from many universities are spending their field trips tramping the hills and coastlines of Arran.

Off the Corrie shore, we passed the special buoy that marks the southern boundary of the Sound of Bute submarine exercise area. We would find more about this area later the next day...

 We put Andrew through his paces, testing his forward paddling technique as we continued...

...along the coast of red sandstone slabs. Foothills, clad with deciduous trees, tumbled to the shore from high, bare granite ridges above. The trees were bursting into bud.

All afloat on Brodick Bay

My next series of posts will record of our adventures paddling round Arran over a period of five glorious days at the end of March. For reasons too complicated to explain, the party on day one was not the same as on days 2 to 5!

 Phil David, Tony, Andrew and I convened at the...

 ...Ardrossan Ferry Terminal and loaded our kayaks onto MV Caledonian Isles.

After the full trucker's breakfast we disembarked at Brodick and watched as the Caledonian Isles quickly disappeared into the mist.

Andrew will shortly be sitting his 3* and wanted to get some experience of open crossings. Today would be ideal. We would be doing two crossings of about 10km on our way back to Ayrshire via Bute. The mist would also mean that we would be setting off into a featureless horizon with no sign of the other side until about two thirds of the way across. The spring tides would add to the mix!

 Phil was beaming from ear to ear as we set off across Brodick Bay.

Tony hasn't been out for a while and was catching up with several episodes of David's stories!

Brodick Castle was just visible through the haze and the Scots pines that now surround it.

End of another glorious day.

 From the Little Cumbrae we sped back across the Hunterston Channel...

 ...on a broad reach towards Portencross Castle...

...where the tide was fully out. Phil and Tony helped me with the kayak over the rough stuff and we kept the sails up to assist the haul up the beach.

Packing the gear into the car we enjoyed another view across to Arran bringing another fantastic day on the water to a close.

Who let the dogs out?

After our mad dash down the Sound of Bute, we swung round the east side of Little Cumbrae to take a break at its castle.

No sooner had we spread our light luncheon victuals than the islands pack of dogs raced up to investigate our arrival with much barking.

As soon as they realized that sandwiches were available the barking stopped.

They then hung round with the most pitifully hungry hang dog expressions. This despite looking like some of the best fed dogs in all of those many isles that lie scattered furth the mainland of Scotland.

Long after the sandwiches had disappeared, much snuffling round the rocks ensured that not even the smallest crumb was missed.