Black Bun and a black swan in the gloaming.

 We landed at Bracken Bay for the second time but all the hot mulled wine had been finished...

 ...that morning and so we enjoyed watching the day slip away while enjoying a hot coffee and some home made Black Bun (Scottish Christmas cake).

Reinvigorated, we set off on the final leg of our journey as the...

...glow in the south western sky was fading.

We paddled on towards the ruin of Greenan castle as darkness began to fall and...

...the lights of Ayr came on and twinkled across the bay. Quite a commotion of bird noise drifted over the water from the flocks of birds feeding at the mouth of the River Doon.

Just as we made landfall at Seafield, a black swan landed noisily in the water beside us. It is a native of Australia and this one spent several months at the mouth of the river Doon in the company of the local mute swans. Presumably it was an escape from a zoo or a bird park. We were frozen as we loaded the boats onto the cars, goodness knows how the Antipodean bird was feeling, a long, long way from home.

A brief blaze of setting sun at Bracken Bay.

On our way north to Ayr, we could not help but frequently stop, drift and listen to the perfect silence. Actually it wasn't quite a perfect silence. An occasional distant pip of an oystercatcher or mournful call of a curlew could just be discerned but they just served to delineate and accentuate those periods of complete silence in between.

It seemed a shame to disturb the silence with our noisy splashing but we knew that darkness would fall well before we arrived back at Seafield. On the horizon the dark pyramid of Holy Island was merging into the gathering clouds and Arran mountains behind as...

 ...we approached the dark basalt cliffs of...

 ...the Heads of Ayr. The cliffs were briefly illuminated by a blaze of the setting sun as it burst through a gap in the low clouds but...

...by the time we paddled into Bracken Bay, we were already in the cold shade of the approaching winter night.

Pogies at sundown.

 We left Dunure in a glassy calm and Phil quickly put his sail away for the rest of the day, which was...

 ...quickly slipping away as the sun began to dip behind the ancient walls of Dunure castle.

 We paddled along enjoying each others' company just as much as the view over...

 ...the Clyde to the snow capped peaks of Arran.

Behind us a band of cloud crept in giving advance notice of an approaching cold front, which was to bring gale force winds and rain the following day.

The sky above us was still clear and so the  air temperature dropped like a stone. Even though there was no wind, we had to stop to put our pogies on as our fingers had turned to icicles.

Multiple choices at Dunure.

The sun had risen above the cliffs behind Dunure harbour so we were able to enjoy second luncheon in the warmth of the sun. I will leave it to your own imaginations to decide if we did not visit the excellent pub beside the harbour because:

A. we were enjoying the winter sun.
B. we had arrived too early and the pub was not open.
C. we were penniless.
D. we were all teetotal.
E. none of the above.

Whatever the reason, David decided to give his Guinness arm some exercise by taking the Taran 16 out and...

 ...giving it some laldie before coming back in to regale us with some more, even shaggier dog stories. He kept us entertained until the sun dipped below the cliffs...

...casting us into a very cool shade. It was surprising how far the tide had gone out, even though we had not crossed the threshold of the pub! There was hardly a ripple on the water as we prepared our boats for the return trip.

Feeling fortified on a perfect glassy winter sea.

Feeling fortified by our early Christmas luncheon at Bracken Bay we set off once again along the Carrick coast. We stopped several times to swap kayaks so that we could all get a chance to try the new Taran 16.

Gradually the wind dropped away so we dropped our sails and  paddled steadily on to the SW. The distinctive outline...

 ...of the great monolith of Ailsa Craig slowly grew on the horizon. Rafts of gulls were also enjoying the morning and seemed little bothered by our approach. They had endured seemingly endless gales over the autumn and early winter and like us were glad to see the sun.

Far beyond the rocks of Dunure, the Turnberry lighthouse seemed to float above the horizon as...

...we slipped into the little harbour on a perfect glassy sea. It was one of those rare winter days that you just have to seize.

An early Christmas and a shaggy dog or two at Bracken Bay.

 The sun had not yet risen above the Heads of Ayr when...

 ...we stopped for a break in the still frosty dunes of Bracken Bay. Katie had not paddled with us before and so she was very pleasantly surprised when she discovered that...

 ...David's flask contained not tea but hot mulled wine.

We were all surprised when David opened a wide mouthed flask full of hot Christmas pudding topped with brandy butter. Katie's cheeks were soon glowing in the chill air, though I am not sure if this was due to the mulled wine or due to a succession of David's shaggy dog stories. He is after all, not just a veterinarian but a raconteur!

A near miss at the Heads of Ayr.

Unfortunately I have not been paddling since a shoulder operation at the end of July and then a little knee surgery at the beginning of October.This has caused a modicum of pain, which has rather limited my interest in the internet.

However, life goes on and I can dip into the back catalogue for some more sea kayaking posts. This time last year would seem a good place to start....

 It was a cold and frosty morning when we set off from Seafield beach at Ayr on the Firth of Clyde.

 We were bound for the former fishing port of Dunure which lies to the south of the Heads of Ayr.

 The Arran mountains were topped by a dusting of snow.

 We had just entered the shade of the Heads of Ayr when an aerial drama unfolded above our heads...

 Two jets hurtled towards each other...

 ...then created an interweaving...

...pattern with their contrails.