Cara sunset.

 After setting up camp on Cara and cooking an evening meal  on the rocks by the shore...

...we set off...

 ...in various directions to collect...

...firewood for...

...our evening's entertainment centre, which also produced some baked potatoes.

The sands beside us were covered in silverweed.

As sunset approached, I walked along the beach towards a long abandoned cottage.

Low cloud had crept in from the west and it threatened to spoil the sunset...

...however, a little patience was rewarded when, well after sundown, the underside of the clouds lit up in a wonderful crimson glow.

The Brownie of Cara; the correct way to greet him.

 At long last we paddled under...

 ...the steep rocks of the Mull of Cara. In 1756 part of the cliff collapsed and a tidal wave swept right round the island destroying the houses on the north side of the island. Maybe it was an earthquake or maybe it was a meteorite strike no one knows. In the middle of the grassy shelf on the Mull's shoulder we could just make out an isolated block of rock known as "The Brownie's Chair".

 We passed Cara house which has a resident ghost called "The Brownie", he of the eponymous chair. The Brownie is a mischievous spirit and it pays all visitors to stay on his right side.

At long last we pulled into a white, shell sand beach on Cara. We had covered 78 km since leaving Campbeltown just 24 hours previously and now we had arrived in the Hebrides! This might not seem like much to proper sea kayakers but to us, who merely dabble our paddles, it was quite a lot more than we were used to!

 If one lands on Cara (and especially so, if one intends to stay the night) it is a wise sea kayaker who knows the correct protocol for greeting The Brownie. It is vital to do this before doing anything else. One needs to raise one's cap then doff it in a suitably deferential manner while at the same time saying in a clear voice "Good Evening Mr. Brownie". The only acceptable variation to this protocol is to change the greeting to suit the time of day of one's arrival.

Failure to satisfy The Brownie on this matter will result in him interpreting your arrival as a serious diplomatic faux pas. All manner of mischief may then be unleashed upon your party by this unhappy spirit. Campbells need to be particularly careful as The Brownie is the spirit of a MacDonald who was murdered by a Campbell. Best advice would be to never disclose your surname on Cara. If your first name is Campbell then you must use a nickname or visit Gigha instead. The annals of Scottish sea kayaking are full of tales of The Brownie's mischief; kayaks floating away in the night, paddles being hidden in the bramble bushes and much, much worse.

Fortunately our greetings seemed to be acceptable and our camp was established without mishap or incident. But the uninhabited Cara House was just out of sight, over the bluebells and...

...as night fell...a light came on in The Brownie's room...

Cloud watching on a long crossing to Cara.

As we paddled north the Kintyre coast became gentler. The main road to Campbeltown follows this section of the coast and we passed an occasional house , farm or hotel.

Leaving the mainland of Kintyre on our 15km crossing to Cara, the Mull of Kintyre was now a long way behind us.

 At first we had a gentle tailwind but...

 ...the tide changed against us and as it did so the wind dropped to nothing. Ahead lay a very distant Cara backed by...

...the Paps of Jura away to the NW, I found it harder and harder to keep up as I could not pull properly with my left hand due to my injured shoulder. I began to develop really bad blisters on my right hand which was compensating.

 It was great to stop to take some photos of Islay and the cloudscapes were amazing.

 The others slowed their pace to

 accommodate me and gradually...

 ...the Mull of Cara came closer despite the increasing speed of the adverse south going tide.

Just south of Cara we saw a seal repeatedly leaping out of the water. There was a large "something else" in the water too but whether it was another sea,l or something likely to eat it, was hard to say!

Kintyre ports not much good in a storm.

North of Machrihanish Bay, the coast of Kintyre has a rocky character. It was not easy to land due to the surf so we had a careful look at the several "ports" which are named on the map. "Port" usually signifies a traditional landing spot for a small boat.We passed Westport, Port nam Marbh, Port Corbert, Port na Croise and Port Crom but each faced west and was full of breaking surf. Historically this must have been an important coast as in addition to the ports, we passed six duns and forts and there were more further north.

We finally found a small inlet which was protected from the surf by offshore reefs at Killocraw.

 It was a great relief to finally stretch our legs while admiring the distant...

...hills of the Mull of Kintyre, round which we had paddled 65 km since the previous evening.

Surf's up but coal's run out at Machrihanish Bay.

 From  Machrihanish village we paddled north...

 ...over a glassy sea and soon...

 ...the misty mountains and tides of the Mull of Kintyre were left far in our wakes.

Beyond the surf zone (we chose not to land) the magnificent beach and sand dunes of Machrihanish Bay...

 ... stretch uninterrupted for 7 kilometers. It is hard to believe that four and a half centuries of coal mining took place here and ended as recently as 1967. The dunes also conceal the longest runway in Britain.

At Westport at the north end of the bay the surfers were enjoying *** conditions. We waved as we passed and it turned out Jennifer knew the surfer on the left.

Three angry birders of Machrihanish.

Eventually we reached the end of the relentless line of cliffs and headlands that characterise the Mull of Kintyre and we arrived at the extensive reef system of Skerrivore. The surf was breaking heavily on the reef, the north going tide was running strongly and we could see a series of overfalls extending to the north. We were tired and rather in need of a visit to the Machrihanish loo, given our early start and not landing for 24km and so we cut between Skerrivore and the mainland..

We were 200m offshore but 3 birders in the bird observatory at the point blew an air horn at us and made angry gestures to us to get out the way. A couple of herring gulls and a crow flew off when they let the air horn off and if they only knew it, there were flocks more birds just 500m further back round the coast from their hut anyway.... We exercised our right of steady navigation on the open seas and continued...

 ...to land at Macrihanish. One of the angry birders jumped in his car and followed us round the coast, stopping in each layby to observe our plumage through his binoculars. Then a police car roared up from the direction of Campbeltown. It slowed as it passed us and the two officers gave us a careful look before it headed off in the direction of the bird hut where it spent about 20 minutes. It then sped back to Campbeltown without the officers giving us a second glance. Not surprisingly it did not stop, we had not broken any laws, maritime or land.

We had originally intended camping at the excellent Macrihanish camp site and having a meal at the Old Clubhouse pub but we had no wish to exchange further pleasantries with these three angry birders. So after a quick luncheon on the beach we took our money elsewhere. Of course the vast majority of Kintyre ornithologists would never dream of greeting visitors with air horns!

We relaunched through the small Machrihanish surf (in my case with some difficulty given both a sore knee and a sore shoulder) and set course for the fair isle of Cara.

The Mull of Kintyre west coast... a sailors' graveyard.

We were now travelling north up the wild, exposed, tide swept and remote west coast of the Mull of Kintyre.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the topography, we met a counter eddy running south to Rubha Duin Bhain, which formed a distinct eddyline as it swirled round the headland and joined the main north going stream. This can be a violently rough race in windy conditions but all was calm when we passed. The chart shows a spring rate of 3.5knots here with overfalls and even at neeps we were travelling at 9km/hr with little paddling effort.

This time the swell made landing at Innean Glen impossible...

...but you can read about a landing with Tony here in 2008...

...when we visited the Sailor's Grave.

 The tide swept us relentlessly on, past innumerable boulder fields and...

 ...bold headlands, all washed by  the Atlantic swell.