Clearing the air on the way to Ailsa Craig.

Gradually the mist cleared and Ailsa Craig emerged on the Horizon. A stream of cloud from its summit made it look as if it was still an active volcano.

It takes a long time for the rock to get much bigger.

A light NW breeze got up and  brought some low clouds across the sky but at sea level the air became extraordinarily clear. We picked out the castle, which is about 1/3 of the way up to the summit from the shore. Gradually we became aware of the enormous number of gannets that were in the air round the rock.

We landed below the lighthouse...

...where the slimy green boulders are notorious for slipping on. When I first came here after my knee operation last year, Phil helped me out the kayak and I sat down on the green boulders to eat my lunch. This time, I not only negotiated the boulders but I decided I would try to make it to the castle, with the aid of my walking poles.

Looking back to the distant Ayrshire coast we saw heavy showers lashing the hills. Hundreds of gannets were wheeling in the sky.

Keeping fast company on the crossing to Ailsa Craig.

Last Sunday, Phil, Tony, Jennifer and I met at Lendalfoot on the Ayrshire coast. We were bound for Ailsa Craig, a huge monolith of granite, which is situated at the entrance to the Firth of Clyde, some 14km offshore.

The staff of seakayakphoto.com have a new honorary member. John Willacy is the designer of the Rockpool Taran, which has something of a reputation as a speed machine, especially with John aboard! John was in the area after a little paddle the day before and so he was keen to do some more paddling before returning to Anglesey. Of course John's idea of a little paddle is not necessarily the same as most people's. On Saturday he had broken the record for an unsupported crossing from Portpatrick in Scotland to Donaghadee in Northern Ireland. Then, he just paddled back over to Portpatrick again!

We set off into the mist on a bearing of 320 degrees, Ailsa was hiding in the mist.

 It wasn't long until the Ayrshire coast was also swallowed in the mist and we were all alone at sea...

...well not quite alone. We heard the roar of the approaching high speed ferry, which leaves Troon at 10:05 for Larne in Northern Ireland.

It does the 110km crossing in just two hours and has a maximum speed of 41knots. Fortunately it usually goes down the far side of Ailsa Craig. But not always...

Ferry gliding across the Kyles of Bute.

Night was drawing in as we left Eilean Dubh heading for the East Kyle. We took a last look down the West Kyle before we entered the tidal channel that runs through the Burnt Islands. The tide had turned against us, so we ferry glided from one island to the other, making use of the eddies. In the gloom of the twilight the scene was quite different...

...from the misty sunshine we had seen on the Burnt Islands when we drove the shuttle over the high pass that morning.

As we approached Colintraive, we discovered we were not the only ones ferry gliding across the Kyles of Bute! The skipper of the MV Loch Dunvegan came over for a friendly chat as we were packing up. It turns out that although the crossing is only 5 minutes, it is one of the busiest CalMac srvices in terms of vehicles carried per day and the number of launches and landings. I remember using the MV Loch Dunvegan to cross to Skye in the days before the Skye Bridge was opened in 1995. She was built in 1991 at Fergusons Yard in Port Glasgow. After leaving Skye she was relief vessel on various crossings until she moved to the Kyles of Bute route in 1999.

We finished the day with a tasty meal and chat with the locals in the Colintraive Hotel, which we have visited before! The hotel can even arrange kayak tuition for its guests. If staying in a hotel is over budget or if there is good weather Carry Farm camp site is right on the shore further down the West Kyle. Lower Loch Fyne and the Kyles of Bute make a fantastic sea kayaking destination.

Preparations for invasion in Caladh Harbour.

Near the head of the Kyles of Bute we first passed a monstrosity of a fish farm but then approached the beautiful wooded isle of Eilean Dubh.

A stone lighthouse marks the entrance to the delightfully hidden Caladh Harbour which nestles behind the isle. The light has long gone but the whitewashed tower is a great landmark for the harbour beyond.

Not much remains. A rusting derrick still swings over a stone pier. However, from 1942 until 1945, during WW2 this was a hive of activity. HMS James Cook, a shore based station for training landing craft crew, was based here. Exercises in the Kyles of Bute and beyond prepared the sailors for crossing to and landing on the distant beaches of Normandy on D day.

Today the harbour is a quiet anchorage for visiting yachtsmen and a pleasant diversion for itinerant sea kayakers. We left by the north entrance, marked by another stone beacon. Few visitors will guess the important part this quiet backwater in our history.

A house on the hill in the Kyles of Bute.

 Just north of Kames in the Kyles of Bute lies the delightful village of Tighnabruaich. Its Gaelic name means "house on the hill". Nowadays many houses tumble down the steep hill, almost on top of one another, right down to the shore. We wondered if this was a secret waterside entrance to the Burnside Bistro!

Tignabruaich has long been famed as a sailing centre. There are so many water users in the Kyles that the RNLI have an Inshore Rescue Boat stationed in the village. This is the modern lifeboat station and slipway.

It was near the end of the season and most of the yachts were now lifted from the water and lined up on their winter standing. However, a few hardy souls were still enjoying the short, late autumn days on the water. It was not just yachtsmen and us sea kayakers. We had a very pleasant chat with a chap in a rowing shell. He had spotted it languishing under weeds at Otter Ferry and made an offer!

North of Tignabruaich we stopped for afternoon tea at Rubha Ban. In the distance we could see the wooded isle of Eilein Dubh. This would be our next destination in the delightful waters of the Kyles of Bute.

We came to Kames in the Kyles of Bute.

 Rounding Ardlamont Point, we left Loch Fyne and came to the sheltered waters of the Kyles of Bute.

Unlike the rugged west coast of the Cowal peninsula, the countryside was much gentler, fertile farms and woodlands came right down to the shore.

We arrived at the settlement of Kames and  a large sign caught our attention...

...so we decided to land and investigate further.

On the way up to the entrance to the Kames Hotel we passed this little rowing boat that had clearly seen better days...

 ...indeed these days were clearly illustrated in this mural on the hotel wall. By the looks of things, the fishing was better then too!

We entered the public bar and were warmly welcomed despite our sea kayaking attire. The Guinness was excellent and most welcome.

As a warning to those seafarers who might be tempted to indulge in one pint too many, these two photos on the bar wall...

...caught my eye, a splendid subliminal warning!

Anyway, the Kames Hotel proved to be a truly excellent sea kayaking pub, conveniently situated and well worth coming to!

Death in Ardlamont.

We paddled towards the mouth of Loch Fyne along a raised beach until we came to...

...Kilbride Bay. The sad remains of a dead whale lay beached on the shore. The smell of death hung so heavy in the air that we could not approach closer to investigate its species. We paddled over huge detatched ribs with flesh still attached, that lay under the clear waters below its final resting place.

The whale is not the only death that has attracted attention in Ardlamont. This is the boathouse of Ardlamont estate, tradtional home of the Lamont clan.  The boathouse has a dark secret. In 1893, Alfred Monson, a gentlemen’s tutor, rented the estate to give 17year old Cecil Hambrough a Scottish country experience. Monson persauded Hambbrough to take out a life insurance policy for £20,000 with his wife as the sole beneficiary. He then set out to murder the boy and claim the insurance. He took the boy, who could not swim, fishing in the bay. He had earlier drilled a hole in the bottom of the boat. The boat sank and Monson reached the shore without difficulty. The desperate boy learned to swim and thrashed his way to the shore. The next day Monson took the still unsuspecting boy shooting in the woods and shot him. He claimed the boy had shot himself. In a notorious trial, the jury found the murder charge against Monson "not proven" and he walked free but with his reputation in tatters. Five years later he went to jail for insurance fraud.

 As we approached Ardlamont Point the mist thickened...

 and it was impossible to say where the sea ended and the sky began.

We turned our gaze downward and were rewarded with views of Ardlamont's submerged reefs lying beneath the calm clear waters.