Dreamtime ends on a cold, hard mainland jetty.

On the third and last day of our trip we rose before dawn and had the kayaks ready by first light. We removed several plastic and glass bottles, a number of dead batteries and a bag of ash from the bothy. The wind had been strong during the night but had been flat calm in the pre-dawn light. As we launched, the breeze had already picked up and out beyond the headland, dark squalls were already appearing on the surface of the sea.

Photo Ian Johnston.

Unfortunately my fingers were so cold that I broke the zip on my waterproof camera bag so I had to put my camera inside the kayak. When we got out beyond the headland the water was a bit lively for taking photographs anyway. However, by the time we were two thirds of the way across, we began to enter the wind shadow of the land and Ian took this atmospheric photo.

It was still early and bitterly cold when we landed on the jetty. As we pulled the kayaks...

...back up to where we had left the cars...

...we looked wistfully back over the sea, to the distant land of the bothy. Our time there had been too short and now it seems like a Dreamtime.

Postscript #1.

If you know where this bothy is, keep smugly quiet. If you don't know, look forward to discovering it for yourself one day! Or in the spirit of the bothy's owner's wishes, Ian or I might even take you there!

Postscript #2.

Ian's photo caught me limping up this beach. My knees were particularly painful on this trip, perhaps due to the cold weather. I would like to say thank you to Ian for his consideration in helping me launch and land and especially for carrying my gear up and down from the bothy.

Quiet as a bothy mouse in a stormy night.

 No sooner had we arrived back at the bothy than the sun began its exit from the day.

We stood and marvelled as the deepening reds of the last of the day's embers slowly faded. We were so grateful that the existence of this bothy allowed us to witness the beauty of this winter sunset on such a remote coast. All too soon, the plummeting temperature hastened us back indoors.

The bothy had warmed up with the stove glowing (and smoking) in the corner.

We prepared another fine feast and sipped Glenfiddich as we listened to the Radio Scotland Outdoor Conditions forecast for the following day: SE F4-5. The wind was to increase overnight to force 6 then ease in the early morning before picking up again. We decided to have an early night and get away first thing in the morning.

The bothy mice came out early and scuttled about in the flickering light of the fire. Unfortunately my knee was so sore I had to get up in the middle of the night for some painkillers that were somewhere at the bottom of one of the Ikea bags. We had hung them from the rafters to keep the mice away from our gear.

I fear I disturbed Ian more than the mice because I certainly wasn't as quiet as one. As I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, I was dimly aware of the gusts of wind causing the bothy to shudder. The mice scurried round unnoticed for the rest of the night.

Battening down the hatches, for a long cold windy night.

 From the beach, we made our way along the narrow ridge...

...that leads to the bothy.

We had gathered wood (to augment our charcoal, logs and coal)...

...for the waiting stove.

Our simple accommodation had...

...that surprisingly upmarket flat screen TV, which was now showing the sunset channel.  We battened down the hatches in preparation for the forecast force 6 icy SE wind.

Of white caps, snow caps and night caps.

Ian and I could hardly drag ourselves away from Port Paradise and our second luncheon. However, we had a long crossing ahead of us and the MSI forecast from the coastguard had a strong wind warning for the area just to the north of us and for our area it was forecast to get up to Force 6. Close in to the lee of the land, I put the sail up and sailed as Ian paddled along.

At the point, Ian slowed to look, not at the snow capped mountains but at his eponymous inlet.

Once we left the land the SE wind increased to force 4, with whitecaps on the waves matching the snow caps on the mountains. I had to drop the sail as even without paddling I would have left Ian behind (and it was too cold not to paddle anyway). A swell from the SW was mixing entertainingly with the wind blown waves from the SE so there were no photos on the crossing but I can assure you that the bright sunlight, white caps with flying spray, dark blue sea and snow capped mountains are etched in our minds.

It was only when we got in the lee of the headlands near the bothy that we could relax and take photos again. My bad knees had taken a bit of a battering on the crossing with the continual bracing and it was with some great difficulty that I exited my kayak.

I made a detailed and very close inspection of these lovely pebbles, when I discovered that my legs were no longer working.

Fortunately Ian came to my rescue and assisted me into a vertical position! I was quite glad we had turned back when we did and had completed the crossing in daylight. We arrived safely, half an hour before sunset.

We changed out of our drysuits and wet boots and left our kayaking gear in this fascinating little cave. It was right at the top of the beach and must have been made when the sea levels were higher.

In preparation for the climb to the bothy I took a couple of very strong pain killers but they were not nearly so good as Ian's 18y old oak finished Glenfiddich. I was looking forward to a double dose of that to help me get to sleep that night... purely for its medicinal purposes you understand, trust me, I am (rather, was) a doctor!

Ian's Inlet

In a recent post I said that we came to a point round which some big swell "stopped play". While this was accurate, I was being rather economical with all the facts of the case. This was because I wanted to let Ian tell his story first.

Ian and I had been rockhopping along the coast, leap frogging past each other and watching out for each other. Ian capsized at the point above, right where that swell is breaking. I had approached the point in the lead but had kept a fairly wide berth as I had seen occasional boomers breaking on the point and I didn't much like the look of the gently shelving rocks.

When Ian approached, all was calm and he decided to nose into the small gully marked X and hold station (his bow pointing SW) in the small swell. He hadn't reckoned on the set of four big ones that were just about to arrive. At 11:27 the first washed him up the wall of the gully. He braced but as it sucked back, there was nothing to brace on and he was dragged head first down the barnacle covered rocks. The second wave bashed him and his kayak back up the rocks and Ian bailed out. The third wave separated Ian from his kayak and his paddle as he struggled to maintain contact with the rocks. The fourth wave was fortunately the biggest. It flung Ian's kayak back up the rock with a real graunching. The bow caught a rock and the force of the wave catapulted the stern right round so the bow was now pointing NE. The wave then carried the kayak and Ian over the rocks into the inlet behind.

I then nipped into the inlet, picking up Ian's paddle and one of his splits on the way. Ian was in the water trying to pump out the kayak but with me alongside, we turned the kayak upside down and drained it. The inlet was barely wide enough for two kayaks and the swell was pushing us back and forwards, crashing into the sides of the inlet. My right elbow took a heavy blow, with the momentum of two kayaks and kayakers  behind it. At this point, we both decided that I would be better out the way and give Ian more room to try a cowboy re-entry. I reversed out a bit and got my contact tow rope ready to pull him and the kayak out of the gully, in case the re-entry failed. Ian managed the cowbow in fine style and we reconvened about 25m offshore. We rafted up and Ian pumped out while I re-secured his splits and recovered his pump. Ian recovered his map case.

There was a freezing cold SE wind blowing about force 4. Despite this we paddled on as if nothing had happened at 11:36, just 9 minutes after Ian had capsized. (When we landed at 11:52 my anemometer was showing 14-15 knots on top of a sand dune with an air temperature of 0C and a wind chill of -6C.)

A major incident had been averted because:

Firstly, Ian was wearing a dry suit. His Lomo Renegade drysuit resisted the abrasion of the barnacles with flying colours. If Ian had being wearing a two piece he would have been frozen and the trip would have had to be abandoned. 

Secondly, Ian had practised cowboy re-entries in rough conditions. If the cowboy had failed, I would have towed him out (I have practised towing backwards.) I could have used either my full tow line or, more probably, my short contact tow line, which I keep on the fore deck. Out in calmer water, I would have rafted his kayak and he would have done an assisted re-entry.

Thirdly, Ian had the benefit of consuming 500ml of my hot, home made French onion soup.    

From this point forward let this inlet be known as Ian's inlet!                

Paradise, twice in one day

We found no shelter in the sea loch so we turned towards the open sea again.

Beautiful bays passed by and finally...

...we pulled in the lee of this beautiful spot.

Our kayaks glided over the turquoise sea...

...before coming to rest below steep sand dunes.

We had found ourselves in Paradise, twice in the one day.

Gardskagi, Do not roll!

 The wind continued to increase...

 ...so we nosed into a sea loch for a bit of shelter.

We were not the first to seek shelter here...

...Ian noticed a strange object on shore.

It was Gardskagi: 64⁰02,57N 22⁰55,93V I thought it was a Dutch weather buoy, given the manufacturer's stamp, "Datawell Netherlands", but JotM has identified the language of the coordinates as Danish..

It was over 1200km out of position. Its normal station is off the SW tip of Iceland.

It had some good advice on the top. Do not roll - trail only. We pondered these words of wisdom.