The Devil's Thrashing Floor, the White Steeds of the Solway and the wrecks and carlins of Senwick Bay.

As Tony and I paddled down the wooded shores of Kirkcudbright Bay, we were sheltered from a brisk SW wind which was blowing offshore. The wind combined with the flood spring tide made for hungry work and it was time for first luncheon.  The tidal shallows here are called "The Devil's Thrashing Floor" and...

...they were the cause of many ship wrecks, such as that of the two masted sailing schooner Monrieth in 1900. Her wooden ribs can still be seen at low tide. When the wind bows against the tide in these waters conditions are right for the wonderfully named "White Steeds of the Solway" to make their appearance. These may be the Devil's steeds...

...but they can be fun!

However, all was calm this day and we soon came to the delightful sheltered  cove at Senwick Bay. It is not always thus, in 1887 the Preston brig "Just" was lost here as were the Whitehaven brig "Mary Isabella", the Harrington brig "Dido" and the Workington brig "Joshua" all in the same storm in 1822. The other name for Senwick Bay is Carlin's Cove. Carlin is the Old Scots word for a witch. You can just imagine the Thrashing Floor and Senwick Bay on that stormy night. The wind was shrieking through the doomed ships' rigging and the trees on the shore like a wailing banshee...

On this July day the cove was a real sun trap and we enjoyed a long break  as a succession of motor and sailing boats from Kirkcudbright made their way past us on their way out to sea.

All too soon it was time to take to the water again and Little Ross island slowly got nearer. Its lighthouse had been constructed in 1843 in an attempt to reduce the appalling loss of ships on the Devil's Thrashing Floor.

A distinct lack of malodour down in the Kirkcudbright mud.

This is another trip from my back catalogue. It was a glorious July day when Tony and I made our way down the muddy banks of the River Dee at Kirkcudbright on the Solway coast. We launched from Gartshore Park to the west of the town. Although the mud looks terrible , it was actually only 2 cm thick with relatively firm ground beneath. We had expected it to be foul smelling but it was not malodorous.

We launched 2 hours after low water so the flood was well established. We kept out the main current by paddling in the shallows and sticking to the inside of the bends. The tower marks what used to be the end of the Kircudbright sewage pipe. Fortunately a new marine outfall was built in 2006 and the sewage treatment works' effluent is now discharged about 10km away, under the sea at the mouth of Kircudbright Bay.

 Squabbling gulls were feeding at the rising margin of the tide which was...

 ...sweeping upstream. We could not yet see the sea beyond the muddy banks of the river channel.

 This old wooden fishing boat now lies above all but the highest tides but she has seen better days.

We paddled along the wooded shores of St Mary's Isle. The "isle" was the site of a priory dating back to the 12th century but nowadays it is just a secular peninsula. The channel between the isle and the mainland has long since silted up and the monks have long gone..

At last we caught sight of our destination. As the tide in the channel rose, Little Ross island and its lighthouse appeared over the mudflats.

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.