Poetry in the landscape of Arran.

We continued paddling up the north coast of Arran passing...

...the great landslip of Upper Old red Sandstone rocks at the imaginatively named Fallen Rocks.

What with virgin's breasts, fallen rocks (and we haven't even come to the Cock of Arran yet) our ancestors sure had a poetic way with words when they named bits of landscape.

Gradually the dusk...

 ...gathered round the great expanse of the Sound of Bute and we eventually came...

...to our camp site near Millstone Point. It was hard work labouring the kayaks up from the spring low water mark. Once we had the tents up, we soon got a fire going and cooked our meal under the Moon Jupiter, Saturn and a myriad of stars. One by one they followed the Sun as they dipped behind the high, unseen mountains in the darkness to the west.

The sound of silence shattered by Sannox submarine.

We looked wistfully back at the beauty of Glen Sannox and Sannox Bay and...

...continued north in near silence until we emerged...

...from the shade of the mountains into the last of the day's sun at North Glen Sannox.

Then the peace of the beautiful evening was shattered by a loud, low pitched throbbing, vibrating sound that was coming from this surfaced nuclear submarine out in the Sound of Bute (a recognised submarine training area). At first I thought the noise sounded like a heavy twin rotor helicopter like a Chinook but the arrival of a Sea King helicopter showed that the noise was much louder and lower than helicopter noise. It lasted for over an hour and did not stop till well after darkness had fallen. I have no idea what the noise was. As far as I know nuclear power submarines' engines have no reciprocating parts and they are designed to operate as silently as possible. Perhaps they were testing some sonar warfare device?

Whatever, we did not expect to see any ceteceans on this evening, they are easily disturbed by noise in the water.

Night gathers at Sannox.

 It was still sunny when we left Brodick...

...but there was a real chill in the air as we paddled beside the wooded shore. Birch gave way to Scots pine before bare hillside soared up to the granite torrs on the summit of Goatfell.

 At sea level the rock was not granite but old red sandstone.

 Last years signet was looking a bit sorry for itself. Its parents had just chased it off in preperation for some new arrivals!

 We soon found ourselves paddling in the shade as the sun set behind the high mountains.

 We took a break on the granite sands of Sannox Bay...

...as night began to gather in the glens below the high peaks. We still had some way to go.

Rapid return to Arran.

After returning from our day trip to Arran on Sunday night, Jennifer, Mike and I spent Monday morning packing for a three night trip round the island. We arrived at Ardrossan in plenty of time for the !515 ferry across to Brodick.

The high pressure system was well in charge of the weather and the conditions looked glorious...

 ...as we entered Brodick Bay.

Away to the south, Holy Island showed the route of our return (in 4 days time) as we planned an anticlockwise circumnavigation.

We arrived in Brodick at 1610 but were on the water by 1645, just after the MV Caledonian Isles set off on her return to Ardrossan. We had about 3 hours of daylight to reach our intended camp site at the north end of the island. We were all set for another adventure on the isles and sea lochs of the West of Scotland.

P.S. Long term visitors to seakayakphoto.com may wonder why my recent trips have been mostly confined to the Firth of Clyde. Sadly my knees are not good and although I have made a remarkable recovery after a traumatic accident and some pretty major surgery, I still find driving uncomfortable. However, I hope this trip will illustrate how lucky we are in the West of Scotland to have such magnificent coastal scenery, less than an hour's drive from Glasgow (which is Scotland's largest city).

But many that are first shall be last; and the last shall be first.

 When HMS Defender passed by the wind got up...

 ...and we soon sped past the Little Cumbrae lighthouse but the Drumchapel and Clydebank Club had already disappeared over the horizon.

 The wind strengthened off Gull Point and the water began to get a little livelier...

 ...so David, Phil and Tony blasted ahead with the sails and I stayed with the currently sail-less...

...Andrew. We were back in the car park before the Drumchapel and Clydebank Club (who struggled with their kayaks over the greasy rocks below the car park). We were quite happy to use trolleys and take the long way round by the castle!

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.