Through the Grey Dogs to the Garvellachs.

11th May 2006. Heading out from the Grey Dogs into the Firth of Lorn with Scarba on the port bow.



Crossing to Eileach an Naoimh (Isle of the Saints), the most southerly of the Garvellachs. We followed the great circle route used by trans Atlantic jets. We decided to stop before we got to Newfoundland.



The west side of Eileach an Naoimh under the new Garvellachs light. The light was established in 1904 and this one bas built in 2003. It has a white flash every 6 seconds. My friend Clark Fenton, who is a fully card carrying geologist, informs me that the rocks are composed of a Precambrian age [approx 1 billion years old] tillite (a metamorphosed glacial boulder clay) that contains large blocks of marble. The marble is a dolomite (a magnesium rather than calcium rich limestone) that has been recrystallised by heat and pressure.



Shadow and light under Precambrian cliffs of tillite.

Timed to perfection but nearly marooned on Luing!

This was 19:03 on 11th May 2006.

We had just successfully executed a remarkable sea kayaking day trip from Glasgow. The night before, I had noticed (as you do) that the tides were right for a trip out through the Grey Dogs to the Garvellachs then back to Scarba, round its south end, through the Corryvreckan and back up the Sound of Luing. The snag was that Mike and I were working the next day and David was meeting an ex vet student friend from South Africa for their 40th year reunion dinner. Her flight got into Glasgow airport at 21:30pm that night. The only way to do this was to drive from the mainland over the Bridge over the Atlantic, onto the Isle of Seil then take the ferry across the Cuan Sound onto Luing and drive to Black Mill Bay and launch there. A quick Google search for the ferry timetable brought up the Calmac website which showed regular sailings into the late evening.

We had aimed to get the 19:35 ferry and I was just congratulating myself on having half an hour to spare when an awful fact gradually invaded the euphoria of an amazing day. If you look closely at the photo above you will note that there is no ferry!



On our drive to the jetty I had noticed something that looked very like a ferry moored in a bay 1.5km to the south. Somehow I had managed to blot this unwelcome observation from my consciousness. Any sea kayaker that can work the tides through the Dogs and the Corry must be able to read a simple ferry timetable! I dug the Calmac printout out of my map case and we should have had another 3 ferries to choose from right up till 22:05. Something was not right and I soon found out it was when I walked over to the small waiting room. The Cuan Ferry is run by Argyll and Bute council and on their timetable (which was nailed to the wall) it was quite clear that the last boat ran at 1805.

David took it very well. Not only had I bashed his car getting off the ferry that morning, now I had got us marooned on Luing for the night and his friend would be stuck at the airport. A more highly strung party would have started arguing and shouting but not us. In the absence of a nearby sea kayaking hostelry, we cracked open three cans of Guinness from our emergency rations. Sitting on a grassy knoll in the spring evening sunshine, we pondered our options. First we found that our mobiles had no reception. Then we wondered if David should paddle across and try and hire a taxi to take him to the airport.



Then suitably refreshed, I decided to check out the waiting room. I noticed a small yellow notice.

"In case of medical emergency, call this number."

Well I'm a doctor. And it was an emergency! So I phoned it from the coin box phone outside. It turned out to be a call centre in Liverpool and the girl knew nothing about Luing or where it was. I asked her for the ferryman's number but she said

"I can't do that but I'll get him to ring you back."

I looked at the ancient rotating dial phone. There was no number.

"There must be a number." she said.

David cracked open another Guinness to assist in the search for the elusive digits but there were none to be found. Then the girl had a brainwave:

"Give me your mobile number..."

"There is no point", I said, "none of our three mobiles are getting a signal."

I could sense I was stretching her incredulity. This city girl had probably never been out of cell phone range since she had been born. Indeed, her developing brain may have been partly modelled by mobile microwaves.

Then I had a brainwave:

"Just tell him to phone the Luing call box"

"What's the point of that? He wont know the number, there must be thousands of call boxes on Luing."

"You don't know Luing! Please, just ask him to ring the call box, I am sure he will know the number."

About 5 minutes later the phone rang, it was the ferryman. I explained our situation and he agreed to come but he said he would need to call his mate who lived some distance away. He would then need to use a dinghy to get down to the ferry and fetch it back up to Seil, pick up his mate then come across and pick us up. (Then he would need to repeat the process to get the ferry back to the mooring.)


MV Grey Dog

We were ever so pleased as when he arrived. He knew all about the mistake in the Calmac timetable and said there would be no charge for the crossing. We had already resigned ourselves to finding bed and breakfast accommodation on Luing, which would have cost us about £20 each so we gave them £60 for their trouble. They were very reluctant to accept it but we insisted. They were obviously prepared (and pleased) to be able to help, for only a thank you in return.

Fortunately the 105 miles on the road to the airport were quiet and we pulled into the airport pickup area just as David's friend was exiting the arrivals hall.

What timing, it's amazing what you can cram into a day!

Cuan ferry: passport to the Grey Dogs and Corryvreckan!

MV Belnahua

The tidal Cuan Sound (between the isles of Seil and Luing in the Firth of Lorn) runs at up to 15km/hr. The little ferry, the MV Belnahua, makes the short crossing several times a day. It is very instructive watching her ferry glide. The captain only ever crosses the main flow at right angles to save fuel. He then uses the slacker water and eddies at the sides to make his way back to the jetty.


MV Grey Dog

I have not been able to get out paddling recently so this photo is from last May. When we arrived we found that the Belnahua was off on its holidays, leaving the tiny MV Grey Dog in its place.



It was just big enough for David's car and my trailer and it lurched alarmingly as we drove on. There is no turntable so you need to reverse off. David did not fancy this so I had a go. I did pretty well until the last moment when I clipped the front bumper on the ramp sides.



It did not spoil our day, it allowed us to have a fantastic day trip from Glasgow out through the Grey Dogs tidal channel, round the Garvellachs, back to Scarba then home via the notorious Corryvreckan. We had tidal assistance all the way!

There is one point to note about the Cuan ferry. Although Calmac list the timetable, it is actually operated by Argyll and Bute council. Calmac state "We cannot be held responsible for any errors or omissions".

More about that another day....

Sammy the seagull.

Sammy the seagull likes following ferries
and although his daily diet varies,
he hopes you will throw him a crust,
of a sandwich, you really must.

The ramp of the Loch Ranza.

The MV Loch Ranza ferry serves the Isle of Gigha with ten return trips per day. On the mainland at Tayinloan, there is a large illuminated sign which tells when the next ferry is due.



On a recent trip to Gigha we had to use the ferry to recover my daughter who did not fancy the crossing in a force 5 to 6 wind against tide. As we approached Tayinloan on the return, we could see two cars and a trailer on the jetty and a RIB was in the water being loaded by a large group of campers all wearing camouflage gear. When I say campers, it should be noted that most of their equipment consisted of cases of beer cans.

They showed no signs of hurry or concern at the approach of the ferry. They appeared secure in their knowledge that the jetty was theirs. The ferry captain's response was not to sound his horn but simply to steam quietly and purposefully towards his usual berth on the jetty.

The important task of loading beer continued unabated.



Then the captain unleashed the ramp! It was like something out of Robot Wars! What indignation! What panic! The RIB was moved to the side of the jetty but of course the water was deep there and one of the beer loaders got very wet. Their dogs started barking but the ramp continued its relentless decent. The Loch Ranza took up the full width of the jetty and the RIB disappeared from our sight. The ramp now edged slowly up the jetty towards the still laden car and its trailer. One of the campers leaped in and the car kangarooed its way back up the jetty.

We enjoyed this entertainment very much. I suppose that, since these fellow water users could not read a ferry timetable, they might not be able to understand tide tables either. If they camped on Gigha, their RIB might then float off in the night. If so, they would need to come back by the ferry.

Having left our campsite on Gigha spic and span, I hope they brought their empty cans back.

The mills of Gigha

The old water mill, Port an Duin, Gigha.




The 21st century wind farm to the NE of Leim farm, Gigha.

The building of these mills on Gigha was separated by several centuries. The large watermill was for grinding grain produced by the fertile pastures of the island. It was driven by water from the Mill L0ch which is situated 22 metres above the height of the mill. Gigha was an exporter of grain and the skerries offshore allowed grain boats to land in shelter below the mill. Today the rusting wheel no longer turns and the millstones lie still. Due to its historic importance, the mill is a grade C listed building.

In contrast, the rotors of the "Three Dancing Ladies" of Gigha turn steadily in the breeze that near constantly blows over the isle. They form the only community wind farm in Scotland. 100% of the island's population voted for their installation. Construction was completed in December 2004. Since then they have produced about 2.1 gigawatt hours of electricity per year which is about two thirds of the Isle's annual needs.

The scale, economy and rationale are quite different from the same criteria of the proposed wind farm on Lewis.

The National Life Boat "David Hay".

The Tower, Balcary point.

During gales, the seas off Balcary point in the Solway Firth can be violent due to the strong tides and shallow water. The shelter provided in Auchencairn Bay has been welcomed by generations of Solway seafarers. After the wildness of the cliffs, home to tens of thousands of sea birds, the Tower is the first and most prominent sign of human habitation.


The Boathouse, Balcary Point.

But hidden away in the trees behind a narrow break in the rocks is the Boathouse. Although now a private house it was originally a lifeboat station. In the days before the RNLI, this was where the National Life Boat the "David Hay" was stationed between 1884 and 1914. She was a 35 foot self righting and self draining rowing boat. She was usually manned by a coxswain and 12 oarsmen. Eight rowed at a time while 4 rested. After she was replaced in 1914 the station remained open until 1928 when a motorised lifeboat was stationed at Kirkcudbright and the station finally closed.


The courageous crew of the NLB David Hay.

The David Hay's most notable action took place between the evening of Friday 16th November and the afternoon of Sunday 18th November 1888. A transcript of a contemporary newspaper report is condensed below.

Friday afternoon
A telegraph alarm was received from Kirkbean from where a large ship was spotted flying distress signals out in the middle of the Firth. A gale had been blowing for 24 hours.

Friday evening.
The David Hay was finally launched after nightfall after the tide came in to the slipway. She was manned by Captain Black and 11 men. She left the shelter of Balcary Point in clear moonlight and almost immediately she was nearly engulfed by steep breaking seas in the shallow water. During the night they rowed out into the middle of the Solway towards where the ship had been seen.

Friday 10:00pm
They found the 240 ton Glendalough with her rudder smashed and her sails in tatters. There were 5 men aboard and during the night Captain Black made several attempts to come alongside and get them off. Each time the waves threatened to smash the David Hay into the Glendalough.

Friday midnight
The David Hay stood off until dawn.

Saturday dawn.
In the daylight Captain Black made a further two unsuccessful attempts to come alongside. The gale was not abating and, as the tide was now coming back into the upper Solway ports, Captain Black decided to race downwind to Carsethorn and use the telegraph to summon a steam paddle tug from the docks at Silloth on the English side of the Solway. The crew of the David Hay rested for a few hours.

Saturday afternoon.
The steam tug reached the Glendalough but in huge seas was unable to get a line aboard. The captain decided to steam to Carsethorn and tow the lifeboat out to the Glendalough.

Saturday night.
The tug with the lifeboat in tow finally arrived back at the Glendalough. The tug to windward gave some protection to the David Hay and finally the lifeboat got a line aboard the Glendalogh.

Saturday midnight.
The steam tug with the Glendalough in tow headed back to Silloth. Captain Black and his men started the long row back upwind to the shelter of Balcary. The gale continued throughout the night and in the darkness she was twice rolled onto her beam ends.

Sunday morning.
The men stood by their oars and battled their way over countless Solway rollers until the dawn and long into the day.

Sunday afternoon.
The David Hay finally limped back the shelter of Balcarry. A huge crowd had gathered to recover the lifeboat and carry the exhausted volunteers to the Commercial Inn in Auchencairn.

What a heroic story. What seamanship. What bravery. What service to one's fellow man.