We four represented the sum of human activity in these parts.

After dallying at the Devil's Bridge, it was now time to retrace our wakes and turn north. We were running with the tide again and were blasted through the narrow gap between Otter Rock and the Mull of Logan.


Incoming swells against the tide made for joyous paddling conditions in the February sunshine.


Once round the Mull, we were grateful for all the tidal assistance we could get. Our destination, Portpatrick, lay beyond the most distant headland. As far as the eye could see, not a single building broke the long line of headlands, bays and cliffs.


Out to sea the horizon was empty and devoid of ships of any size. We four represented the sum of human activity in these parts.


This was a heavy burden to bear and made us feel quite peckish. So we nipped into the shelter of...


...Ardwell Bay for a second luncheon and toast the adventure with the remainder of Phil's Glenlivet malt whisky!

The Old Man of the Mull of Logan.

We enjoyed fantastic sea kayaking through a maze of skerries as we paddled towards the still distant Mull of Logan.


The Mull itself looks rather uninteresting when approached from the north. Lurghie point just emerges gently from the sea.


However, turn the corner and its character changes. We found ourselves paddling against a stiff adverse current between Otter Rock and the Mull as the tide had turned almost an hour before.


Then we turned a corner and there was the Devil's Bridge, one of the finest but least known of Scotland's many rock arches.


In the lagoon behind the arch, the stony gaze of the Old Man of the Mull of Logan keeps a perpetual watch over those who pass the Mull...

Slack water in the North Channel.

We left Port Stilton in almost perfect conditions.


The North Channel coastline of the Rhins of Galloway is for the most part devoid of any sign of human activity.


Our only companions were fulmars which swooped round us with wing tips skimming the sea.


As our mission to the Mull of Logan progressed, the sun crossed the yardarm and the water went glassy calm. Slack water had arrived in the North Channel.

Where will we take luncheon today?

After paddling under dark breezy skies, we were relieved when the sun broke through again and the wind died to next to nothing.


We were getting hungry by now and we came upon the delightful Port of Spittal Bay.


Right on the beach, stands the reputed Knockinaam Lodge Hotel. This fine establishment has a Michelin star and luncheon there is a mere £37.50.... very mouthwatering and tempting. We salivated over the luncheon menu...

Grilled Fillet of Native Salmon
with Basil Pesto

Cauliflower and Parsley Soup
with Crème Fraîche

Roast Cannon of Galloway Lamb
Thyme Pomme Fondant, Haggis Bon Bon
Sweet and Sour Red Cabbage,
and a Juniper and Port Reduction

Caramelized Thin Apple Tart
with Double Vanilla Bean Ice Cream
or
Selection of Fine British and French Cheeses
served with a Walnut and Sultana Bread

Coffee and Petits Fours

...indeed we salivated so much we could understand why it was called Port of Spittal Bay!


However, on this occasion the temptation of some excellent rockhopping ahead and a strong flood tide carried us away from this culinary temptation.


This really is an exceptional coast and we enjoyed every hungry minute of it...


...until we arrived at Port Stilton.


Here on this bare strand, we would enjoy our few plain victuals.

A Galloway snow squall warning

Although we had driven through snowshowers on the way to Portpatrick, we launched under clear blue skies. We soon found ourselves in the shade.


Making our way to the SE along the cliffs of Tandoo Point on the Rhins of Galloway, the skies darkened...


...as a great snow squall raced across the land and out to sea. This was a trip that could go either way...

Going with the flow on the Rhins of Galloway

After settling David's new pheasant friend we at last got onto the water beneath the old lighthouse at Portpatrick. In the distance we could just see Northern Ireland on the far side of the North Channel.


The tides run strongly in the North Channel and our plan was to take the flood tide SE to the Mull of Logan then take the ebb tide back to Portpatrick.


We soon cleared the crumbling walls...


...of Portpatrick's old outer breakwater. Portpatrick lighthouse was built in 1839 but was decommissioned in 1900.


Even Phil forgot about the pheasant fouling his car, the tide soon caught us and before we knew it...


...we were in the shade of the dark cliffs of Castle Point.


We stopped for a moment in the little bay behind the point to admire the remains of Dunskey Castle.

Potted pheasant at Portpatrick

Back in February we drove through snow showers to arrive in Portpatrick which nestles round a rocky inlet on the Rhins of Galloway. It is an interesting little place...


...which is just as well because Tony and I had to spend some considerable time waiting for David and Phil to arrive. We spent the time looking at the large pots and transport of the Lighthouse Pottery. We were fearing they had run off the road in the snow when, at last, a call came through. David had rescued a pheasant that had been injured on the road. The plan was that he would leave it in Phil's car while we went paddling then take it home to his surgery afterwards. The poor thing would need some sustenance so David and Phil were searching Portpatrick for supplies of pheasant food.


Fortunately Portpatrick is a small place and their search was not protracted. The only thing resembling pheasant food was a packet of scotch broth mix found in a small supermarket. This was duly purchased and left with the pheasant on the floor of Phil's car. Phil was looking pretty dubious about this but David reassured him that it would be OK. The pheasant obviously liked the mix as it proceeded to stuff itself with the contents of the packet.


At last the kayaks were carried down the slip...


and onto the sands of Portpatrick harbour. Colourful buildings cluster round the esplanade and amongst them we spotted the Crown Hotel . We made a mental note to call there later.


As we prepared to depart, Tony and I sympathised with a still anxious Phil. Much as we felt sorry for the pheasant, we thought a better use of the scotch broth mix would have been to make a lovely big pot of soup.... with a nice pheasant stock!