Kate's Paddling Blog

40 000 paddle strokes later...

2011-11-15T21:09:00.003Z

Coaching at the Storm gathering, part of a four star course and a coastal navigation course were hardly the ideal preparation for yet another attempt at bettering Isla Wilkinson's fantastic 12hrs 24min time for circumnavigating Anglesey, but that's the way it turned out. I had just spent a day in a classroom teaching a coastal navigation course, when over the packing up, chatting to Howard Jeffs, I mentioned that the following day would be a good tide and weather window for another bash. I guess it's easy to be enthusiastic about someone else doing something crazy like that, and Howard was certainly encouraging. He even supplied me with a mountain of food for my ordeal.
Next morning I found myself driving over to Penmon at stupid o'clock, ready for a pre dawn start. It was dark, cold and the sea looked particularly uninviting, but I set off keen to try out an anticlockwise circumnavigation for the first time.
On a clockwise trip I usually stay well offshore in Red Wharf Bay but this time I hugged the shore to avoid as much adverse tide as possible. It was still hard work getting to Moelfre where I was sure of some tidal help all the way to Point Lynas.
I arrived at Point Lynas just as the ebb was starting its west going push. All the way along the North coast I was accelerating along as the tide gained strength. East, Middle and West Mouse islands came and went, usefull markers of my progress towards Carmel Head and the roller -coaster ride round the Stacks.
Crossing Holyhead Bay I scanned the horizon frequently for any sign of ferries about to run me over, ready with the VHF in case any appeared on a collision course. All the time I was heading as fast as I could paddle towards my mid-tide appointment with the Stacks. The wind was light but followed several days of very strong winds and the sea was not exactly a millpond. At North Stack my speed increased to a very satisfying ten knots, and the sea picked up into a series of green waves. These waves increased in size as I passed South Stack, always green, with a long wavelength and very pleasant to paddle over.
I stayed offshore in order to maximise tidal assistance all the way to Llanddwyn Island, by which time any help was negligible. By now I was starting to feel the effect of the early start and the miles covered.
My next hurdle was to find a way into Abermenai Point, past sandbanks exposed by the super low tide. At times the water was about 8" deep but I managed to keep moving, though pitifully slowly. Once in the straights I thought I'd get a big boost from the early flood, but alas, it was not to be. I guess the water had the same sandbanks to negotiate as I had and the three miles to Caernarfon felt like paddling in golden syrup.
Eventually the water started to move and gave me a shove in the right direction. My next problem was that I was running out of daylight. With Caernarfon still in front of me a fantastic pink and orange sunset lit up the sky over my left shoulder. As the sun dipped below the horizon, and the temperature dropped it occurred to me that it would be pitch black as I reached the Swellies. I was more than a little apprehensive as I approached. I could hear it roaring but as yet could see nothing. I was not even familiar with where the interesting bits were on the flood having spent far more time playing in the rough water on the ebb. I reckoned that I would be safe enough if I kept to the right. By now it was completely dark, and you can imagine my surprise when I passed another kayaker playing around the Platters area. I bet he was surprised to see me cruising on past.
All the way up the Straights I had been concentrating on the Swellies and now that the scary bit was done I felt like I had finished. The only problem was that there was another 7 miles to go. I was paddling very slowly and it seemed to take forever.
As I approached Beaumaris I became aware of the glimmer of bioluminescence in my bow wave. The phenomenon intensified as every splash of water emitted a green sparkle as millions of dinoflagelates disturbed by my paddle produced photons of light. I trailed my hand in the water and was rewarded with a firework display of glitter. For 5 or 10 minutes I was enthralled by the spectacle, my paddling was rejuvenated and for a short time I forgot the discomfort of more than 12 hours in the boat. As quickly as it started the show was over, I was plunged back into darkness with just a few green and red navigational marks for company.
This was the point that it all got a bit uncomfortable. Every time I lifted my right paddle blade above my head it felt like someone was sticking a knife into my shoulder. I tried many attempts at a lower stroke but it hurt just the same so I kept with my usual high action. The hours of pushing on the footrest had resulted in blisters across my lower back from my backrest and my hands were a bit of a mess. Discomfort made the last bit of the journey pure purgatory and I vowed to myself that this would be my last attempt.

To be continued.....

Warm water paddling

2011-09-09T15:57:00.006+01:00

As the British summer struggled to a soggy end I set off to accompany a group of girls undertaking a Duke of Edinburgh's award expedition along the east coast of Sardinia.

The sea was impossibly blue.

Limestone cliffs were hollow with caves...

... punctuated by towers.

The group explore caves...

...and arches...

...and more caves.

The beaches were stunning and only accessible by boat. Once the last boat had collected the tourists we had the places to ourselves to camp.

Our boats and paddles were hired from Clark Weissinger who is based on the island and trades as Sea Kayak Sardinia . The majority of the boats were P&H Scorpios and Scorpio LVs with a couple of Valley Nordkapps as well. Paddles were Lendal Kinetic Touring.

We started our journey at a campsite at Porto Sos Alinos and paddled south round the Gulf of Orosei and back north again to Cala Gonone. This out and back trip was to make bus transport to and from the airport easier. Both campsites are on a direct bus route to and from Olbia airport.

Introducing....The Green Goddess

2011-09-09T14:31:00.008+01:00

Forget those post-war Bedford fire trucks or Diana Moran strutting her stuff clad in chin to toe emerald lycra, the new green Goddess has arived. This Green goddess is, like Diana, slim and elegant but unlike Diana, made of fibreglass with sparkly bits.

Her maiden voyage was from Fort Victoria to the Needles, on the Isle of Wight, via Hurst Castle. It was a glorious sunny day and the sparkly bits in the green deck looked fantastic. She's a Cetus LV with all the high performance handling characteristics I'm used to from P&H. Here are a few pictures of the views.

Here's a different Green Goddess

And here's the other one!

Possibly My Favorite bit of British Coastline

2011-09-09T11:35:00.009+01:00

My last day on Orkney before heading south and the wind was forecast to be a blustery force 5 easterly. The obvious solution was to paddle the west coast of Mainland close under the cliffs. Mary had promised me that this would be spectacular and I was not to be disappointed. Starting at Stromness we were treated to a fast, but flat start in Hoy Sound. The picture is desceptive, we were being hurtled along at nearly 20km/hr.

Once under the cliffs of Black Craig the fun started. There were caves everywhere.

Some were so deep I needed a torch. Unfortunately I didn't have one so exploration was done in the dark. The booming sound of the swell hitting the distant recesses of the cave was quite eerie

Inside the caves the rock appeared bright pink, with tiny yellow barnacles.

We came across a cave, just above sea level that was blowing the most amazing spumes of spray with every swell. Mary and I had a little game to see how close we could get.

There were more caves, these ones at North Gaulton.

And this is North Gaulton Castle, one of many spectacular stacks along our route.

After lunch, perched on a rock ledge at the base of another stack at Yesnaby, Mary led us into a cave. From the outside it looked just like any of the other caves we had already explored. Perhaps the confidence with which she plunged into the darkness should have told us that this one was different.

Round the corner we could make out daylight coming from a rock window. The light made the water look emerald green.

This inconspicuous bit of dry stone wall is in fact the remnants of an ancient building, the 'Broch of Borwick'. Presumably when it was built it was a little further from the sea. It has however been standing for around 2500 years. I wonder how many buildings that are going up now will last that long?

This is Ramnageo, a huge cleft in the cliffs. Shags were perched on every rock ledge as we paddled in, soon to dive underwater and turn from ungainly land birds to sleek underwater torpedoes. The water was so clear we could see them swimming along under our boats.

This photo is taken from Yettna Geo, another great abbyss in the cliffs, this time with a huge cave in the depths. The word Yettna is from the Norse word for Giant. The booming of swells in the depths of the cave made such strange noises that it is easily conceivable that people may heve believed giants to heve resided within

This trip had one little sting in the tail. Approaching our landing beach at Skara Brae, we were exposed to the full force of the easterly wind. Here's Mary just rounding the final headland, complete with hole in the rocks.

Here's a route trace from the GPS. Every time we went in the caves the GPS has had to manage with few or no satellites and has come up with some wild guesses as to where we were. They may look extraordinary but may not actually be far off the mark. Some of the caves were huge.

This has got to be one of my favorite trips. The only thing that could have improved it would have been leaping dolphins, a few otters, perhaps a whale or two..... I can dream!

A visit to Copinsay

2011-08-10T18:04:00.006+01:00

Another fantastic day out, and another island. This time Mary, Lesley and I paddled to Copinsay for a bit of exploring.
We wandered up[ the hill to the lighthouse...

And then looked over the cliff top and found this little chappie. I think it is a fulmar chick. It didn't appreciate having its photo taken and made vallant attempts to regurgitate yukky stuff at us, like the adult birds do, but hadn't quite mastered the tecnique. We were spared the smelliness that is fulmar oil.

A little further along the cliff top I found a spot that was obviously a favorite for a bird of prey. There were numerous regurgitated pellets, many of which still had the legs of the poor unfortunate bird that had been the meal attached. I've included the radio in the picture to give an idea of size. I'm not sure what bird can eat things this big, but I'm wondering if it is a sea eagle.

Paddling away from Copinsay we found hundreds of grey seals basking on the exposed rocks. Unfortunately one had got its head stuck in a loop of old fishing netting and was slowly garotting itself to death. It was clearly not happy as it didn't jump in the sea as we approached, so Mary and I landed to see if there was anything we could do. It didn't work, we got to within 5 metres of it before it shuffled off the rock and swam away. I hate to think of it dying a slow death but it was obviously not sick enough to let us help it.

The wind had increased a little as we paddled back to Newark slip and was now opposing the tide, creating some fun little white topped waves to surf.

Orkney, East Mainland

2011-08-09T21:54:00.005+01:00

Time for a bit of rockhopping. My usual paddling style is to stay offshore and just blast past all he interesting bits without really looking left or right, so this is a little different. I paddled with Mary, organiser of the Paddle Orkney 'do' at the weekend and she promised to complain if I missed out any of the good bits.

Launching at Holm Kirk gave us a short warm up before the fun started at Rose Ness. The caves in the cliffs were just amazing and I wished I had taken a torch. One particular cave had three connected entrances in the shape of a letter Y, and the water was calm enough to paddle through all of them.

After a brief lunch stop we continued on through the Copinsay Pass and round to the East coast of Deerness where we met a very friendly fisherman who gave me a fantastic lobster. The creature was named 'Lobbie' and deposited in my front hatch for the remainder of the journey. I'm not sure what Lobbie will have made of my rockhopping antics, but he did make a fantastic starter course later in the evening.

The highlight of the padling was a visit to a feature called the Gloup, a huge long cave with a collapsed roof, and more cave continuing beyond. The picture doesn't really do it justice.

This is Lobbie.

And here he is again.

Paddle Orkney Symposium

2011-08-08T20:52:00.004+01:00

For two days the weather gods smiled on us, the wind dropped and it didn't rain (much). Fifty paddlers attended sessions on rockhopping, paddling in tide races, rescues in rough water, leadership and personal paddling skills. Here we are pondering the finer points of a rescue session.

Later in the afternoon we were treated to a visit by the coastguard rescue helicopter from Shetland. A bunch of brave souls ventured out into the bay at Scapa while the helicopter hovered progressively lower and lower overhead. Remarkably they all emerged upright and unscathed.

Orkney, Another Biggie.

2011-08-08T11:38:00.002+01:00

After yesterdays big day out I wanted something a little gentler today. A 40km trip round South Ronaldsay seemed to fit the bill. Within minutes of setting out I was regretting the decision. I still felt thirsty and dehydrated after my exersions of the day before. I had only brought two small bottles of drink which were clearly not going to be enough.
I started at Churchill barrier no.4 and headed off towards Grim Ness. I didn’t feel much effect of the tide until I was nearly at Halcro Head, where cliffs and caves were abundant. I was swiftly pulled along until my intended lunch stop at Ham Geo. While sitting on the pebbles contemplating life, the universe etc. I became aware of a distant roaring sound. It was obviously time to make a move. As I crept round the corner I was faced with a pile of shifting water topped with white froth. This was like Penrhyn Mawr on steroids! The race continued for as far as I could see (and it was neaps). I have to admit to sneaking round through gaps in the rocks to avoid the main maelstrom.
The south coast was a succession of cliffs and caves, not high but obviously storm battered. Brough Ness was another tide race which sped me on my way past Burwick to The Wing.
The guidebook led me to believe that I would find favourable flow up the west coast of South Ronaldsay, but I was met by a succession of back eddies, some as much as 4 knots. At Harraborough Head there were caves connecting with caves making a hollow network of tunnels in the cliffs. Had I been less tired I might have been more inclined to explore, but sadly the beauty of the caves were lost on me as I trudged on.
Another slog to Hoxa head and the narrow entrance to Scapa Flow. Cloud had lowered so I struggled to make out the island of Flotta on the other side of the channel.
From here on there was no tide as I made my way past St Margaret’s Hope and back to the Churchill Barrier. I arrived so tired that I could barely lift my boat up the steps to the car park and my waiting van.

Orkney, A Slightly Longer Paddle

2011-08-08T11:24:00.004+01:00

I decided to make the most of the calm weather and lack of swell and planned a big trip for myself. Setting out from Stromness I paddled all the way round Hoy and back to Stromness again, a total of 62km.

Setting out I managed to get a little tidal assistance through Clestrain Sound and Bring Deeps, passing the islands of Cava, Rysa Little, Fara, Flotta and Switha to reach the eastern most point at Cantick Head. There were numerous reminders of the importance of this area during wartime with gun emplacements positioned to keep the unwanted out of Scapa Flow.

I stopped for lunch at a small inlet where overhanging cliffs meant I could shelter from the rain. It had been raining on and off ever since I set out and by now I was getting a bit fed up of hood up, hood down, hood up, hood down etc. etc.
From South Walls I sat on a roller coaster of big round green waves, shoving me faster and faster towards Torr Ness. The next section of coastline was a committing stretch of high cliffs, hollow with caves and deep geos. A rock stack, called the needle towered above me as I paddle round its base, my neck aching from staring skywards for so long. The geo nearby was so deep that it was dark at the back, the walls green and slimy. As I paddled past, the rocks were alternately bright red and yellow, with the occasional streak of green, where freshwater trickled down from above.

As I approached Rackwick the wind funnelled through the valley caught me by surprise and it was as much as I could do to paddle across the bay. In my mind I was going through the possible contingencies including stopping for the night, but after a short while on the beach, the wind died down and I felt able to continue.
At Rora Head I was again hit by the wind, but this time it was head on, and was to continue for the rest of the trip, sometimes strong enough to prevent forward progress at all. Having been spoiled by the beauty of the cliffs further south, I was a little underwhelmed by the cliffs around the Old Man of Hoy. All that remained was a long slog against the wind until Hoy Sound, which I reached just after it had turned in my favour. The final stint into Stromness was straightforward, and I reached my start point some 9 ½ hours after setting out.

Orkney, A little Warm-Up paddle

2011-08-08T11:08:00.003+01:00

With the plan to be on Orkney for the 'Paddle orkney' symposium I though it would be a good idea to travel a week early and explore the area. I Caught the early morning ferry from Scrabster which passed close under the Old Man of Hoy. The flat sea and imposing cliffs were inspiring me to get out on the water. The ferry reached Hoy sound just at the peak of its flow and did a neat break out into the bay at Stromness.
I set out for a short warm up paddle, round Graemsay from Stromness just after HW slack. Hoy sound was already running fast with breaking waves at its seaward end. There was a roaring noise just to remind me not to get complacent. Round the back of the island, Burra sound was running at full pelt and the seals were just waiting for dinner to be brought to them on the tide. I managed to pick my way from eddy to eddy against the flow, reaching the eastern end of the island from where a giant ferry glide got me back to Stromness. Conditions were flat calm, and Hoy sound was running at about 8 knots. A perfect introduction to Orkney kayaking.
13km paddled.

The Menai Challenge

2011-07-24T20:19:00.003+01:00

The Menai Challenge is a time trial set up by John Willacy, with details on his performance sea kayak website. It's a 20km course in the Menai Straights, with an extra lap of the Swellies for added fun. It is as much a tidal planning exercise as a sprint.

Being the competitive person that I am, I just had to give it a go. Friday was a fairly small tide, but I haven't yet worked out how much advantage a big tide is (if any) due to the upstream section in the Swellies. As I was alone, I decided to do it twice in one day to avoid having to find a way back to my car.

At a precicely calculated time (that I'm not going to reveal in order to aid my competitors) I set off from a small slipway opposite Caernarfon, heading for Gallows point at the northern end of the straights. As I reached Menai bridge, I realised my calculations were a bit out as I ran out of water at the turn under the bridge. With a bit of a scrape and hands on rocks I managed to pull my boat through a narrow gap and continue, now against the flow back to Britannia Bridge. Having not really studied the tidal flow in the swellies I made a number of errors in route finding and ended up paddling further against the current that really necessary. It was relief to get to the bridge, turn and paddle downstream again. By Gallows point I was absolutely shattered and had to wait several minutes before I could get out of my boat. The time was 1hr 55 minutes. Not fast enough, but plenty of room for improvement.

I then had to wait several hours in the sun for the tide to turn so that I could make the return journey. I sat and watched as the yachts on moorings swang round indicating arrival of the water from Puffin Island. I felt well rested and was watching the GPS closely for an early indication of speed. As I realised that a fast time was possible, it gave me a real boost to try harder and I finally clocked a time of 1hr 48mins, just inside the fastest time so far.

I'm sure others will soon post faster times but for now I'm quite pleased with my efforts.

South to North

North to South

Another weekend in the sun

2011-07-12T14:15:00.002+01:00

Fantastic conditions for supervising another Duke of Edinburgh's award group, paddling near Oban.

6th Storm Gathering, I'm going, are you?

2011-07-06T17:02:00.002+01:00

Duke of Edinburgh's Award Silver Expedition

2011-07-06T16:26:00.004+01:00

Last weekend I supervised a group of girls undertaking a sea kayak journey for their Silver Duke of Edinburgh's award. The weather was perfect; sunny and calm and the scenary was stunning as only Scotland can be. here is where we went.

The group paddled well and completed one of the best expeditions I have accompanied. I wish them well with their plans for Gold.

A great week away

2011-07-06T15:50:00.005+01:00

It's not often that a week of planned paddling coaching coincides with a week of fantastic weather, but that is exactly what happened last week.
I had a group of six people, all intent on learning to sea kayak and explore the best of the west coast of Scotland. Conditions were just perfect; enough wind to keep the midges away but not enough to affect our choice of paddling venues.

We were able to visit Shuna, Lismore and Castle Stalker, Arisaig, Loch Ailort, and play on the tide race beneath Ballachulish Bridge. All in all, a most enjoyable week.

Scottish Womens Paddle Symposium

2011-05-16T15:40:00.003+01:00

Being English and living south of Hadrians Wall I felt doubly priveliged to be invited to coach sea kayaking at this fantastic new event. I was a little unsure of what to expect as I have never attended an all women event before. I needn't have worried though as the enthusiasm for every form of paddlesport was there in abundance. Sessions were programmed to include surfing, canoe, white water kayak, playboating and of course sea kayaking. Groups were small, each led by two coaches to ensure a maximum amount of fun and learning (in that order!). Here are a few pictures.

Another day in the office

2011-04-26T22:49:00.002+01:00

Paddling around Walney island with a group, I had the good fortune to meet this little fellow. He was curious and had a good chew of the toggle on my bow before trying to climb onto my boat. Amazing!

Galloway and Ailsa Craig

2011-04-26T20:26:00.015+01:00

With four days off work, good weather and nothing planned, I set off in my trusty paddle waggon to see where I would end up. The Mull of Galloway looked enticing on the map, and for good measures, it was spring tides too.

I parked up at Sandhead in Luce Bay, threw a few bits and pieces in the boat and was under way in less than half an hour. Visibility was not that great...

...but the sea was lovely and calm.

As I approached the Mull, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. I could hear a roaring noise from a long way off but couldn't see any frothy stuff.

I couldn't really see anything much. The GPS said I was shooting past at 20 km/hr so I guessed that I was actually in the race. It was a bit hard to tell it was so flat. Finally I found an eddy line and paddled in to the cliffs.

Loads of fantastic crinkly rocks. Just as I was thinking of moving on, I saw the flash of a paddle in the distance. As I got closer the blur resolved itself into two paddlers, and who should I bump into but Mark and Heather Rainsley. I think they were out paddling when they should have been working, but don't tell anyone! We made a very tentative plan to meet up on Ailsa Craig on Thursday and then went our own ways. In my case this was to camp at Port Logan.

Next morning I was up early and on my way, to see if I could get within striking distance of Ailsa Craig. The coastline was spectacular, loads of stripy, crinkly cliffs and plenty of birds nesting. I stopped for lunch at Port Patrick and then had a favorable tide speeding me on my way north.

I found a perfect camp spot in Lady Bay, just within Loch Ryan...

...where I could watch the ferries as I cooked my dinner.

Next day, I was up and packed early ready to set off for the 28km crossing to Ailsa Craig. Mark told me he'd be leaving Lendalfoot at 10, so I reckoned I'd leave Lady Bay at 8 and meet him there at 12. As I set off I could see the outline of Ailsa craig on the skyline but it wasn't to last. About 3km in, the mist appeared and I was on my own with just a compass course to follow. Finally about 10km from the rock, I could see it.

I arrived to find the island deserted. I thought I had been stood up. After no more than five minutes I saw paddles over the pebble bank and Mark and Heather appeared round the corner.

We explored the area around the buildings, had lunch and then set off for a circumnavigation before heading back to Lendalfoot. The cliffs on the far side of the island were spectacular, more so because every ledge had a nesting gannet in situ.

Finally, our time was up and we set off for Lendalfoot together. The crossing was soon over. Just having company made the paddling easier.

Here's a map of my route. Thanks are due to Mark and Heather for suggesting a trip to Ailsa Craig. I probably wouldn't have thought of it myself.

Ravenglass Seaquest 2011

2011-04-03T23:06:00.005+01:00

Seaquest is a sort of cross between sea kayak racing and orienteering. This years event at Ravenglass was delayed 24hrs due to strong winds and took place in perfect conditions today. At eleven o'clock all competitors lined up besides their choice of craft ready for the off. It was certainly a broad range of boats that made their way round the three estuaries of the rivers Irt, Mite and Esk. Most were in sea kayaks, some in canoes, double kayaks, river kayaks and a single surf ski. There was also a fair contingent of Epic and Taran racing sea kayaks. The idea of the event is to navigate round as many checkpoints as possible within a three hour time limit, with points for checkpoints visited and points deducted being late back.

This years course was perhaps shorter than last time I entered, and I managed all checkpoints with about 15 minutes to spare. The distance I covered was about 21km. I was assisted somewhat by having John Bunyan just in front of me all the way round, both as a target to chase and to help find the checkpoints.

I came first in the womens sea kayak class and was also pleased to see that I was the first person to finish in a touring boat as opposed to a race boat. I think I would have been third in the mens' race too!

This was a fantastic event and thanks must go to Annette and Phil for organising it once again.

Pre-race 'which way are you going' discussion

In the Esk

Making a run for the finish

The Cumberland ring, sea pictures

2011-04-02T20:20:00.006+01:00

Skerton weir in Lancaster, our start point for the sea section of our journey Flat calm conditions as we leave Lancaster

Hard to believe it's only March. This is Morecambe Bay.

Oystercatchers on Walney, start of day 2.

Stopped for lunch while we waited for the end of firing at Eskmeals range. Took the opportunity to eat some more scrummy Cumberland sausage

It was a tad chilly when we woke up at St Bees, perhaps it is March after all.

Cooking up Cartmel Sticky Toffee Pudding at Allonby

Camp fire at Allonby

Not a lot of view on the last day

Where are we going anyway?

Surfing a very small bore in the Solway

At last, in the river Eden again

River Lune

2011-04-02T20:02:00.004+01:00

Setting out from Beckfoot, lovely weather but where's all the water?

Jim getting warmed up in preparation for the Strid

Sean very nearly cooling down on the Strid

Stangerthwaite weir

Jim spies the butty van

Big fish caught just as we passed, now who says paddlers spoil the fishing?

Finishing in Lancaster. Three of us pretty tired after three long days paddling.

Some photos of the Eden

2011-04-02T19:44:00.003+01:00

Scandal Beck, just starting out Weir just before Appleby

Caves at Eden LacyThe classic white water section

Armathwaite weirClose to the M6, near Carlisle

Check out my latest adventure

2011-02-24T19:45:00.004Z

Along with two friends, Jimski and Sean I'll be setting out to begin the Cumberland Ring on Saturday. This is a circumnavigation of the Lake District...well, sort of. We'll be starting on Scandal beck, aiming to be scandal free, and cruising on down the Eden for two days, then completing the circuit with the River Lune and the coast between Lancaster and Carlisle. We'll be writing a blog of our journey which you can find at http://cumberlandring.blogspot.com/ . Please sign up as a follower and keep in touch with us as we go along.

Here's me blogging away.

I won!

2011-02-20T16:48:00.004Z

Here's me at the start...

Here's David ready to go...

And I got to the finish first in a time of 2hrs 12 minutes. My route was somewhat shorter than David's at 18.5km compared to his 23.7km and of course he had all the hills.

Here's my speed profile. The first bit is a touch variable as I was paddling upstream just where Windermere becomes the river Leven, trying desperately to stay out of the current. The first little blip is where I put my pogies on, and the second is when I realised that my footrests were not in the same place each side. Apart from that, there were no stops. The slightly faster bit in the middle is where I tried wash hanging a small power boat. It worked, but it was going just a little bit too fast for me and I couldn't keep it up for long.

The gauntlet's been thrown

2011-02-19T19:43:00.004Z

Which is faster, me in my boat, or David my boyfriend running? Tomorrow I'm going to find out. He's challenged me to a race from one end of Windermere to the other. His route is slightly longer than mine, and includes a few ups and downs while mine includes a short stretch of adverse current at the start and then, I hope a favourable wind along the 11 and a half miles of England's longest lake.

We're going to start at Newby Bridge and race to Waterhead at Ambleside. To see who wins you're going to have to log on tomorrow and check out the blog.

Too cold for paddling (or I'm going soft)

2010-12-20T20:56:00.003Z

With Britain gripped in an Arctic chill, I decided to go somewhere a little warmer. And here's where I ended up. With hired gear and no skills, I threw myself down near vertical (at least it looked near vertical) precipitous mountainsides and emerged with just a few very small bruises to show for my effort. I must have enjoyed it cos I'm going to give it another go tomorrow.

Back to the salty stuff

2010-11-16T20:16:00.007Z

After a few weeks of river paddling, open boating and caving it was time to return to the brine. The North West Sea Kayakers end of season meet was just the opportunity. What is a paddling season anyway? Surely it's an all year round thing. The sea doesn't dry up like the rivers do, so why stop paddling?

Saturday was a short bimbly pub paddle, starting and finishing at Moelfre (east coast of Anglesey) with a break for refreshment at Red Wharf Bay. The forecast was for strong SW wind so the choice of east coast gave us plenty of shelter. I paddled with Ray, Jason and Jimski. Not a lot to say about it just a few pictures.

Jim shows off the new light sabre on the fromt of his buoyancy aid

I try to photograph a cormorant hanging its wings out to dry.

Sunday had a better forecast so we headed off for Penmon and a trip to see the seals on Puffin Island. Here's what we saw.

Seals on the beach

Seals on the rocks

Very cute baby seal on the rocks

And again

Mum?

Turnstones

And an incredibly bright rainbow (the photo doesn't really do it justice)

More Underground Adventures

2010-10-08T09:00:00.004+01:00

This week, the intrepid band of mud grovellers head for a pothole called Pool Sink. The entrance to this cave begins as a somewhat unnerving slightly-more-than-body-sized hole, with a couple of acute bends, just for the heck of it. Once this bit is done, the cave opens out into a lovely high meandering stream with small cascades to climb and four vertical pitches

Here's Chris just starting the descent of the second pitch.

And here he is again, at the bottom of the pitch.

This is what we went to look at, a highly decorated passage just off 'Straw Chamber'. The ceiling is covered in straw stalactites and helictites, and they're all glittery white.

Here's a close up.

Finally, all good things come to an end, and we have to leave. Here's Chris nearing the top of the fourth pitch.

And here's me just reaching the surface.

What a great way to spend an evening! All that remained was the long (well, it seemed long) walk back across the fell to the car and a very welcome set of dry clothes. Caving is a fantastic winter activity 'cos you don't need daylight. Thursday nights are caving nights from now on. I'm going to write up as many trips as possible and may eventually put them in a separate blog but for now, they're going to get mixed up with the paddling. You never know, I may entice one of you salty sea dogs into an underground adventure...any takers?

Something a little different

2010-10-01T08:57:00.004+01:00

Having spent almost every waking moment this year either paddling, planning paddling trips, writing up paddling trips or washing salty paddling gear I was somewhat shocked to discover that my Cave Instructor Certificate is due for revalidation soon. My caving log is full of great trips but none of them are this year. Time to put that right.

Dave and I decided on an afterwork exploration of Cow Pot, part of the massive Easegill system, also known as the Three Counties System as it straddles the border of Cumbria, Lancashire and Yorkshire.

Just starting the descent of the daylight pitch.

A bit further down.

Dave gets to the bottom of the first pitch.

Then a section of easy crawling.

After another two pitches, named 'sneaky' and 'the crap trap' and a fair bit of wriggling, swearing and getting stuck we reach the Easegill main drain. It is somewhat sobering to see where the waterlevel was yesterday.

Foam was all over the place, sometimes twenty feet above our heads and a good reminder of the power of water. I wouldn't want to be here in the wet. We went for a short stroll down the stream to the sump and a brief forray into waterfall passage. The noise of falling water in the confined made conversation impossible. Eventually it was time to make our escape back the way we went in.

Here's Dave emerging, hot and bothered from the top of Sneaky pitch.

Me in the crawly bit.

Approaching the deceptively awkward wriggle before the final pitch.

Still wriggling.

Having not been caving for so long, I felt like I had used every muscle in my body. The final pitch out was easy and we were soon walking back to the car in the dark. Great to have an activity not dependant on daylight.

Now I've just got a load of muddy ropes and kit to wash. I think salty sea gear is preferable to mud!

South West Sea Kayak Meet 2010

2010-09-06T18:35:00.002+01:00

Congratulations to Mark and Heather for organising another great bash. There were loads of people, loads of boats, loads of beer, great company, great paddling and great atmosphere. What more could you want...and the weather was pretty perfect too. Here are some pictures.

Loads of boats ready to launch at Hallsands beach

Tim puts the new P&H Delphin through its paces...

...and discovers that it's lots of fun.

Now you can see why it's so manoeuvrable

Hard to tell where the spray ends and the bird poo begins. This rock stank!

Three people, three islands and three feasts

2010-09-06T14:06:00.008+01:00

Three paddlers, three days and three island campsites. What could be better? Here's what Rob, Dave and I did.There's something quite liberating about setting off on a trip with no real plan where we were going. With Oban behind us, blue sky above, calm sea below the world was our oyster. We set off towards Seil, weaving in and out of tiny skerries. Every rock was topped with a cormorant or two and the view expanded as we rounded each corner. Insh island looked inviting so off we went enjoying the gentle up and down of the sea against vertical rock. With no suitable landing hunger spurred us on to a refuelling stop on Easedale. Finally we came to the point where we had to have some sort of plan so settled on the east side of Luing as a suitable campsite. The Cuan sound was flowing against us but the numerous eddies made progress relatively easy. In the pool between Luing and Torsa we crept past a seal colony, attempting to get past without a mass exodus into the water. Didn't work, soon, twenty or so pairs of dark eyes were watching our every move. Between Torsa Beag and Luing we ran out of water and had to haul the boats up a short shallow bit. Back afloat we found a lovely spot to camp, with evidence of past settlement, flat short grass, plentiful firewood and a wall to rig the tarp from. Perfect.

Here's Dave inspecting his culinary handiwork. With three nights camping and three of us, we each cooked an evening meal and tried to outdo each other in deliciousness. On the menu a la Dave was chicken breasts marinaded in ginger and lime roasted over a bed of hot embers, served with herby sweet potatoes and salad leaves with olives and feta cheese. Dave was most concerned that we shouldn't get scurvy so pudding was a fresh fruit salad.

Day two dawned clear and calm so we set out with the intention of a play session on the Grey Dogs. All good plans are there to be altered and this was no exception. As we rounded the southern extremity of Luing and the great bulk of Scarba came into view we thought it would be good to get to the Grey Dogs via the Corryvreckan. The ebb was coming to an end and we planned to creep through along the Scarba shore using the eddies. All was good until the final corner where we met tidal flow very nearly as fast as Rob could paddle. Plan B would have been to wait until the flow slackened further but Rob gritted his teeth and went for it and soon we made a lunch stop just short of our intended playground.

Here's Dave playing...

And here's our route to the midgiest campsite on earth, on Eileach an Naoimh, the most southerly of the Garvellachs. Within seconds of landing, the wee beasties were eating us alive. Our priorities were headnets, DEET, a smoky fire and then unloading.

It was Robs turn to cook and he produced smoked salmon on oatcakes as an appetiser, vegetable soup starter, followed by tagliatelli carbonara (with loads of bacon and mushrooms) and the piece de resistance, baked on the fire, chocolate brownie with custard.

Day three promised another smooth paddle so we set off on an exploration of the Garvellachs and then island-hopped our way to the Cuan Sound and made for the Bridge over the Atlantic.

Conditions were glassy smooth and we reached the Clachan Sound at low water, fortunately at neaps so there was plenty to float the boats. The final pull of the day was across to Kerrera and a campsite in the Shadow of Gylen Castle.

My turn to cook and the menu was Mexican. An appetiser of jalapeno peppers was followed by spicy bean and chorizo sausage wraps, with avocado salad, cous-cous and sour cream. Pudding was swiss roll and custard.

Next morning we parted company. I was on a tight schedule to get home ready to pack for another trip away so I paddled straight up the Sound of Kerrera back to my waiting van, while Dave and Rob took the scenic route round the island.

A short period of settled high pressure weather made this trip a lovely calm experience. We didn't cover any vast distances or paddle particularly fast, it was just a good chance to chill out a little, cook good food, drink whisky and enjoy the scenery.

What to do with a week of rubbish weather

2010-08-03T20:12:00.009+01:00

Having decided that I needed a paddling trip, I took a look at a weather forecast. Not great, but not a disaster either. I settled on Bute and Arran as a venue as I thought it would be a little more sheltered than the more westerly islands.

Set off from Largs feeling somewhat lethargic and plodded across to Great Cumbrae and then on to Bute. I had a headwind all the way and this may have contributed to my impression that I was paddling really badly. Maybe I was just paddling really badly. Camped at a picnic site near Port Bannatyne. It rained most of the night. This was a theme to which I was to become accustomed.

Next day dawned dry and I set of northwards towards the Burnt Islands (strange name?). I could see the small Cal Mac ferry from about 5 km away and it didn't seem to get any closer for ages. The Burnt Islands were a cacophony of bird song. Lots of young birds, yet to gain their adult plumage and squawking adults warning me to keep off. I kept off.

Round the corner I came to the 'Maids of Bute'. This would do for a lunch stop, so I battled up through face-high bracken to get a picture.

Continued on down the Bute shore until I saw the Island of Inchmarnock. There's something really satisfying to land and camp on an island that you can't get to by ferry. Found a lovely place for my tent...

...with plenty of company. They sang strange songs all night.

Next morning set off to cross to Arran. All was well, light wind and no rain, until I got to Lochranza. From here on it was a struggle to make progress. The headwind slowed me down and made sure that the rain found its way into my cag and down my neck. It was thoroughly miserable. Once I decided that I'd had enough it was another 5 km or so before I found somewhere I could land and camp. One problem I've discovered with solo expeditioning is that I have to find very easy landing places as I can't just carry my boat over rocks. I take a trolley with me, but it can only cope with fairly smooth surfaces.

This is where I ended up; and just for once it isn't raining.

I awoke at 5am to find it dry and flat calm. By a more normal start time of 9am it was drizzling and the wind had increased, again in my face as I set off. I planned to reach the village of Blackwaterfoot for lunch, in the hope that there would be a cafe. No luck, but I did manage to replenish my dwindling rations and then shelter in a bus stop to eat lunch.

I set off again just as the sky lightened and rain eased. I had also turned a corner and now the wind was partly behind me. It made for much more pleasant paddling conditions. I finally stopped for the night on the southern shore of Arran, almost opposite the island of Pladda. Ailsa Craig appeared out of the gloom as clouds lifted and the remaining afternoon and evening were clear and sunny.

During the evening I spent at least an hour sitting on rocks looking at and photographing a pair of seals. At a guess I would say they were mother and pup. Their expressions and movements reminded me of a pair of fat tourists sunbathing on a beach. Here are some of the pictures.

Next morning I set off in sunshine, a new experience! I made rapid progress past Pladda and round the corner to Holy Island, where I stopped for an early lunch before continuing to Brodick. The funfair was in town and the whole bay was subjected to the raucous blaring music that accompanies the nausea inducing rides. I made a swift exit and continued on to a picnic site just north of Sannox. This was a fantastic place to camp, but as the water drained away as the tide ebbed I realised I had made a bit of a mistake. It was going to be nearly impossible to launch again at anything other than high water, that meant a 5am start. I began to wonder how motivated I was going to be next morning.

I needn't have worried. After a dry night, I packed away a dry tent for the first time this week and was away from the campsite within 45 minutes of getting out of bed, a bit of a record for me. It was lovely paddling off into flat calm sea in the soft light of dawn. No one else was about, and the place was mine. I made quick progress across to Bute, then Great Cumbrae and back to Largs where my trusty paddle waggon was waiting for me.

Arran and Bute lack the spectacular rock scenery that other islands have in abundance but the relatively sheltered location made this trip possible when I might have backed off other more committing trips.

The (not) Coquet Island Race

2010-06-20T21:20:00.004+01:00

Every summer the town of Amble is host to a friendly sea kayak race. This years was a little different in that waves the size of small houses were breaking over the harbour breakwater, clearly visible from the start line in the river Coquet. It was no surprise then, that the organiser had a more sheltered route planned; up the river for a mile, turn around a bridge pillar, back past the start and down to the harbour mouth, round a buoy and back to the start. It was about 4 miles long compared to the usual 5.5 mile round the island route.

The mass start kicked up lots of waves as we were all jostling for position on the more sheltered side of the river. We were soon settled into some formation wash-hanging. The turn, around a bridge pillar caused one participant to go and take a look at the fishes while the rest of us carved a neat turn and got into our rhythm again for the dash past the start/finish line on the way to the harbour. The water got a little choppier as we approached the turn but not enough to give the rescue boats any work . All this way I had been wash-hanging an Aleut II, but gained about 50 m on them at the turn. I was unable to maintain this gap and was soon overtaken. Just shows how much assistance you can get from a wash. Tried to sprint past them at the line but had nothing left and crossed the finish line fourth overall. Got the prize for fastest lady. There were probably about forty competitors in total.

Pembrokeshire Coastline, Angle to Cardigan

2010-06-06T17:13:00.021+01:00

After a fantastic three days at the Stackpole Sea Kayak Festival, I was left with a week off work, a great weather forecast, a coastline I'd never paddled and no plan. Here's what happened.

Tuesday morning at the Stackpole Centre, and Mark Tozer was running a three star course. The significance of this was that he would be taking a minibus to the coast, with space for one more. Thus my start point was to be West Angle Bay. Initially I had planned to start at Stackpole Quay but the thought of getting shot at or arrested for paddling past the Castlemartin firing range did not appeal. Likewise, getting trashed in big surf at Freshwater West was bottom of my to-do list.

West Angle was a good sheltered launch, but that was not to last as I headed out towards Rat Island (lovely name) and the shipping lanes of Milford Haven. Pete Astles (Peak gear) came with me as far as West Blockhouse Point. We had to wait a while for this small boat to enter the Haven before we could make a dash for the other side of the shipping lane. It felt a bit like a game of chicken.

Once we reached the far side, Pete said goodbye and turned right to paddle a short round trip and back to Angle. I turned left and headed for the exposed point of St Anne's Head. I had to keep a fair way offshore as big swell was crashing into a rocky coast, sending spray skyward. The next bit of coastline was demoralising. Waves were still big and unbenownst to me, I was paddling in an eddy, reducing my speed to a mere 4km/hr. I was heading towards the red cliffs of Gateholm Island.

After Gateholme, my speed improved and I started thinking about a place to spend the night. The map showed places with names such as Rainy Rock and Deadman's Bay, but by now I was within a stones throw of Jack Sound, the gap between Skomer and Midland Isle and the mainland, and so despite knowing that the tide would be against me, I thought I'd take a look.

Flow was swift but by sneaking up the eddies I was able to pass through Jack Sound and round Wooltack Point for a little respite at St Martin's Haven. As a tour boat spewed at least fifty passengers onto the landing stage I decided this was not the sort of place for a surreptitious wild camp and continued on to St Bride's Haven. This was more like it. A quiet beach, few people and a small patch of flat ground by a restored limekiln for my tent.

Next morning I awoke to blue sky, little wind and a choice; straight across St Bride's Bay to Ramsey or round the edge of the bay for more interesting scenery. The scenery won, and I set off towards Stack Rocks and Broad Haven.

Following the shore is definitely more fun than a crossing. You can at least be certain you are making progress, and the view changes constantly. I was in a very relaxed mood as I cruised along the back of St Brides Bay, watching the surfers at Newgale. Perhaps I was looking to the right a little too often, as all of a sudden a towering wave came out of nowhere to my left. I turned my boat to face it and paddled as fast as I could, to make it over just a second or so before it broke. The roar as is crashed was incredible and I was rather glad I was safely to seaward. Could have been interesting and once again the sea reminds me to keep alert.

From Newgale there were fantastic cliffs all the way to Ramsey Sound. Loads of arches and caves, layered rocks folded and buckled and tiny bays accessible only by kayak. As I reached Ramsey sound, an hour into the south going flow, I thought I'd have a go at getting through. The water was flat but moving fast as I eddy hopped my way towards St Justinian. Round the corner Whitesands Bay was heaving with people, so I sped on past to Porthmelgan, a small sandy beach accessible only on foot along the coastal path or from the sea. Above the beach I found the perfect campsite, complete with four legged friends.

Next morning, another beautiful day, I set off for the first time with tidal assistance. It was a good feeling being swept round St David's Head. The rest of the day was a fantastic series of cliffs, caves, arches and small bays. I went for a brief explore at Abereidi to find the 'Blue Lagoon', an old quarry, now flooded. At Strumble Head I had a choice of narrow gaps between islands or round the outside. The narrow gaps won.

After Strumble Head, I made for Fishguard Lower Town. I'd paddled a long way and felt I deserved an ice cream.

Back on the water I set off to find somewhere to spend the night, and passed some amazing rocky sculptures....

...and then found an ideal campsite.

A slaty pebble beach (boat friendly), flat grass, fresh water and ample firewood. What more could I want. A little later I had a visit from a contingent of Haverfordwest Canoe Club out for an evening paddle. I am more than a little bit jealous that they have this sort of scenery for an evening paddle.

The final day of my solo expedition was remarkable for the rock formations. Words aren't needed but here are a few pictures.

I finished my journey in the Teifi estuary. This was a week of amazing weather and a coastline I had never paddled before. It was also the first time I had paddled the Cetus LV loaded for expeditioning. I was initially a little worried that it may be too low volume to accommodate all the paraphernalia of camping but I needn't have worried. I even had room in the back for my trolley. I could have carried more, but would then have struggled with the launching and landing. The boat handled well when full but is definitely more fun empty.

Stackpole Sea Kayak Festival

2010-06-06T16:43:00.003+01:00

Just a few photos from a fantastic event. The weather was kind, the scenary stunning and the company great.

Launching at Porth Clais

Playtime

One of the youngest participants, at 11 years old

Loads of boats

A Quick Lap of Walney

2010-05-21T10:12:00.007+01:00

This trip was last minute planning at its best. One minute I was wondering what to do with a day off work and a good forecast, the next, I was wheeling my boat down to the far distant sea at Earnse Bay on Walney Island. Tides were good for a circumnavigation, so I set off southbound, with tiny wavelets lapping my boat from the side and the ghostly silhouettes of the windfarm turbines appearing out of hazy murk in an ever changing succession of transits. There wasn't a lot to see. The west side of Walney is low lying sand and pebble shore topped with flat grass. As I approached Hilpsford point a couple of wooden groynes broke the monotony and the tide began to make its presence felt as I was quietly given a helpful shove.

Round the corner I was met by a beach black and white with eider and oystercatcher. I managed a quick snap of a sandwich tern and was then followed by a large contingent of seals.

Once I'd 'done' the nature reserve I started the slog up the Walney Channel to Jubilee Bridge, where I met some intrepid open boaters who had abandoned the dry rivers and ventured onto the sea though I imagine that Walney Channel has a lot more in common with rivers than it does with most sea areas.

In no time at all I was rounding the corner at Lowsy Point and turning the boat southwards to get the circuit completed. Landing directy onto the slipway at Earnse cost me a welly full of water but did at least mean a short walk to the car.

Conwy to Puffin Island

2010-04-24T19:10:00.003+01:00

Beautiful high pressure weather saw a huge flotilla of NWSKers descending on Conwy to launch beside the marina into the rapidly ebbing mouth of the River Conwy. The plan was to have lunch on Puffin Island and return via Great Ormes Head.

The seals on Puffin Island weren't bothered by our proximity as they basked in the sunshine

Kev managed to catch his dinner, ready for barbecueing later.

After lunch of jam and cream scones at Penmon Cafe, six of the party decided that a direct return to Conwy was in order, the remaining six set off at a brisk pace for Great ormes Head where a little speleology was in order.

This is the track we paddled, a total of 36km.

Circumnavigation of the Land of Tide Races

2010-04-19T12:12:00.005+01:00

Following John Willacy's superb effort and smash of the Anglesey Circumnavigation record last year, I began thinking about records for women. A little research unearthed a time of fourteen and a half hours by Justine Curgenven and Fiona Whitehead for the same journey. I like the purity of a solo attempt so this is my main goal.

The following account is the story of my training, the tidal planning and ultimately the attempt itself.

The plan was hatched in the middle of winter. It was cold and frosty, snow was forecast, so I got my boat out. I don't really believe in the idea of a paddling season. I just put more clothes on when it's cold and get on with it.

Anglesey has everything in the tidal planning textbook. There are conventional 6 hours each way tides, there are floods stronger than ebbs, ebbs stronger than floods, inshore flow that starts before offshore flow, offshore flow stronger than inshore flow, tide races on many of the headlands, eddies behind headlands and then there is the Menai Straight where all rules are broken. A circumnavigation attempt can fail at the planning stage so I spent many happy hours poring over books, charts and maps, safe in the comfort of my living room.

The first decision was which direction to go in. That was the easy bit. The flood on the west and north coast is stronger than the ebb, while the ebb is stronger in the Menai Straight. Clockwise has to be the faster option.

The next dilemma to work out is the starting point. First I identified the crux section, which I took to be the transition from flood to ebb at the entrance to the Menai Straight. If this bit goes wrong I end up paddling uphill, just when I'm 3/4 of the way round and absolutely shattered. I'm also keen to be in the Straight, where the shore is never far away towards the end of the attempt.

I'm keen to do as little paddling in the dark as possible. Spring floods tend to begin in the small hours of the morning leading to a pre-dawn start on the west coast. The area between Llanddwyn Island and Rhoscolyn has very little flow close inshore, so starting here in the last few hours of ebb could be a good plan, getting me to Rhoscolyn, just as the flood is beginning. This way I can make full use of the flood round Penrhyn Mawr and the Skerries and as far as possible towards Puffin Island.

My sources of tidal information included the tidal stream atlas in Ralph Morris' 'Cruising Anglesey and Adjoining Waters', Terry Storry's 'Snowdonia, White Water, Sea and Surf' and the diamonds on the Admiralty charts. Terry Storry's book (sadly out of print and hard to come by)had the most detailed information regarding tidal streams close inshore. I had also done some home research on many previous trips to Anglesey.

Finally I drew all over a map of Anglesey, a black line for my estimated paddling speed of 7km/hr and a red line for the expected tidal assistance for each hour of the journey. This method gave me an estimated time of fourteen hours for the whole trip. It certainly looked feasible.

As far as training goes, I didn't do anything special in preparation for this attempt, just went out paddling as often as possible. I tend to focus on technique more than fitness and so every trip I am constantly working on efficient forward paddling. I use a wing paddle which I think makes it easier to generate a good efficient style, in that the paddle does a lot of the work for you.

There is no such thing as a low angle stroke with wings!

Planning dictated a 5am start and I was already beginning to regret the whole idea as the alarm reverberated around my trusty paddle waggon, in which I had been sleeping. It was the middle of the night. Reluctantly I got up, dressed and breakfasted and got ready to face the challenge.

Pitch black, and I'm going paddling, alone, how daft can that be? I certainly felt a little daft as I set out for Rhoscolyn Beacon without a clue as to where Rhoscolyn was. Eventually I made out the lights of the nearby village, so set off for a point just to the left of the most westerly light. What little night vision I had was instantly spoiled every time I looked up. The floodlights at Valley Airfield are certainly bright.

Just as I began to feel the helpful pull of the tide, someone switched the lights on and dawn had dawned. Rhoscolyn beacon was right in front of me and I was already ahead of my schedule. No stopping, straight to Penrhyn Mawr with the tide accelerating all the time. The tide race was running with waves over my head and one that helpfully broke over me sending gallons of water straight down the open neck of my cag. Great, I had no plans to stop en-route so was destined to spend the rest of the day in wet fleece, lovely. My paddling speed briefly reached 15km/hr then plummeted as I ploughed through an eddy. It took nearly a kilometre to get back to a decent speed. I was keen to avoid these eddies as I needed all the help I could get to get the journey completed. In comparison, South Stack was flat, fast moving but flat. I shot past the lighthouse and on past north Stack, staying well out into the current. In the haze of early morning I couldn't make out the Skerries or Carmel Head so I just set off for where I thought they should be and hoped that I wouldn't get it wildly wrong. Just as Carmel Head was making its presence known, I saw the Langdon Bank buoy, and shortly after, crossed an area of decidedly funny water. This was fun. By now I was well into my stride and initial aches and pains had gone, the sun was burning through the mist and I spent a wobbly minute or two delving into my day hatch to exchange woolly hat for sunglasses.

The north coast seemed to fly by. Tidal assistance was great and progress was marked by a quick succession of mice, approximately forty minutes from West to Middle Mouse and a further forty from Middle to East Mouse. At Point Lynas, I thought I was paddling well offshore in order to keep out of the eddy that forms behind the point. The GPS track shows that I was nowhere near as far out as I had planned. Still, I think I avoided the eddy.

The section from Point Lynas to Puffin Island was hard. It took me two and a half hours to cover the twenty kilometres and it was unremittingly boring. I was half way across before I could even see Puffin, so most of this section was paddled on a bearing. With no coastline close by to change the view I had to resort to crazy tactics to maintain some form of mental stimulation. First of all I tried counting paddle strokes. That was about as exciting as watching paint dry. Then I measured how far I moved in 100 strokes and calculated how many strokes to Puffin Island. The result, 4000 was depressing. Then I tried guessing when I had covered a kilometre. To start with I was fairly accurate but as I got more tired my guesstimates got shorter and shorter. For a while I used my tried and tested technique of self-coaching my forward paddling style; ten minutes of concentrating on my feet, ten minutes getting the catch further forward, looser grip on the paddle, more movement on the seat, less splash and so on. Eventually, what had been a tiny pimple on the horizon turned into Penmon lighthouse and on the rocks beside I saw David, my boyfriend. This cheered me up no end as I sped past with just a few words exchanged.

Tide in Puffin Sound was against me, but the high water level meant there was a big eddy close to shore and I was able to blast through into the relative calm of the Menai Straight. At long last the easterly wind was now in my favour. The tide was fairly slack but the wind made some good waves to surf me along the way. As I approached the swellies I felt like I was on an ever accelerating conveyor belt. The speed was exhillarating as the GPS touched 19km/hr, I was flying!

Speed remained good all the way down the Straights. The proximity of the shore and changing view was enough to relieve tired arms and my only real suffering was a huge blister on my left hand. This was all to change as I emerged from Abermenai Point and directed my bow towards Llanddwyn Island. I came to realise how sheltered the Straights had been as a sharp NE wind hit me from the side. With skeg down and gritted teeth I continued the mission.

The last twenty kilometres were unremittingly tough. The strong wind forcing a closer inshore route than I wanted, adding a couple of kilometres to the total. Finally the finish beach was in sight, and I even managed a bit of a sprint to the end, and a very welcome stopping of the watch at thirteen hours and eight minutes.

David was there with my portage trolley, and gallantly trailed the boat up the beach for me as I staggered along behind. I was very pleased to see him.

NWSK Start of Season Meet - Holy Island

2010-03-27T16:33:00.006Z

I haven't yet come to terms with the idea of a start and end of the paddling season, but a weekend in a bunkhouse on Anglesey is too good to miss, especially when there will be thirty other paddlers there along with more pizza than we could possibly eat (thanks Kev).

On Saturday the forecast was for NW force 4, and the tide was such that an anticlockwise circumnavigation of Holy Island was possible with an early morning launch just a few hundred metres from base. Jimski, Barry, Glen, Jean and I trolleyed our boats to Borthwen beach and were soon heading off at a brisk pace up the Cymran Straight towards Four Mile Bridge. After a quick change of woolly hat after a near falling-in I managed to snap a few pictures of birds in the Inland sea.

At Stanley Embankment we were forced to stop for a second breakfast while waiting for the tide to stop flowing in, or alternatively a bit of play time.

Once in Holyhead Harbour, a quick radio call confirmed we were unlikely to be run over by a Sea Cat ferry. Still, we stuck close together to give boats a good chance of seeing us and made our way rapidly towards the relative safety of the open sea and the conveyor belt that leads to North Stack. Owing to HW in the Inland Sea being an hour after HW Holyhead, and North Stack begining to build up an hour before HW Holyhead, it was in fine form as we reached it. A moderate north westerly wind may have added to the fun too.

After all the fun of the race we were in need of another food break, and where else but Parliament Cave. Entertainment was provided by a group of climbers abseiling in, in preparation for a gravity defying ascent of cliffs to the north.

After relaunch it was a mixture of rockhopping, and short-cuts across bays until a group of tired paddlers made it back to Borthwen and copious cups of tea at the bunkhouse.

Thanks to Glen, Jean, Jim and Barry for a fun day out.

Sunny Anglesey

2010-03-16T21:14:00.001Z

With a week off work and the promise at the end of it of a good weekend paddling with the folks of the North West Sea Kayakers there was nothing else to do but load up my trusty custard coloured paddle wagon and head for the island where the tide races rule. As usual I had no plans, but as I drove past Conwy and looked across at Puffin Island an idea was forming. This was to be a week of gentle paddling in glorious sunny conditions.

Puffin Island trips are always good for wildlife photos and this one was no exception. I had a new camera to try out and the conditions were calm enough to use it while on the water.

After a comfortable night in the paddle wagon, I awoke to a sea view and thoughts of a gentle paddle along the north coast. I put in at Portheilian and made my way past Amlwch and Bull Bay to the old brick factory at Porthwen. On the return journey I hugged the shore and had a great time rockhopping around Bull Bay, where normally strong eddies keep me offshore. The tempting narrow gaps between rocks were asking to be played with.

This is probably my favorite wild camping spot on Anglesey. Why, why do people have to spoil it with huge fire circles? Whats wrong with building a fire on top of an already scorched bit of earth?
A much photographed arch, usually with a yacht through the gap.

I drove over to Porth Dafarch, intending to use the back of the beach as a quiet spot for the night when paddlers I knew turned up for a bit of after work sport at Penrhyn Mawr. Quick as a flash, I was back in my kit and out on the water for the second trip of the day. A play in the last of the flood at Penrhyn, a sprint to South Stack and then a rock-hop in the dark to return.

Next day I opted for a gentle bimble from Porth Dafarch to Rhoscolyn and back, rockhopping all the way. This 'lightweight' paddle was in preparation for an evening paddle to the Skerries. Three of us set out from Holyhead Harbour as the daylight was starting to fade. It was mid flood on a neap tide. Initially we just set off aiming a little to the left of the Skerries, later when it became obvious that we were in danger of missing our target, we changed direction and aimed more towards the west cardinal mark of Langdon Ridge. The GPS track showed that we made a remarkably straight course. On approaching the Skerries the tide quickened appreciably and there was a sizable tide race directly between us and the relative calm of the lagoon, our intended landing spot. What fun! Had our tea sitting in the shelter of the lighthouse escaping the biting north easterly wind before setting off on the return journey in darkness.

It was somewhat eerie paddling in the dark, with the remnants of the flood tide pushing us inshore and the light from the Skerries lighthouse reaching out in a double sweep every ten seconds from somewhere behind us. The lights of Holyhead and the navigational marks in the harbour gave us a big target to aim for and it wasn't long before we were inside the breakwater sprinting the last bit. A fantastic experience paddling at night, and one I hope to repeat soon.

GPS track of our route out and back

Next day, conditions were a bit 'chunky' as Barry and I set off from Porth Dafarch towards South Stack. The wind was north westerly and tide was ebbing. At South Stack we had a tentative look at the state of water in the gully and made a quick about turn to go round the island. As we stuck our bows out of the relative shelter I can only describe the sea as 'exploding mountains'. It didn't take many minutes to decide that this was not going to be an enjoyable paddle so we changed plans and went rockhopping round the shore back towards Penrhyn Mawr.

Caves just have to be explored

It was all a bit frothy

Finally after a long lunch break to let the flood get started, we went for the obligatory play at Penrhyn Mawr

A Wight Knuckle Ride

2010-02-22T19:18:00.000Z

I’m a self confessed ‘Islandaholic’. I love islands. I’m not sure I have reached the required degree of insanity to consider the UK a paddle roundable island – yet, but smaller islands are always in my sights.

The Isle of Wight is no exception, and when the opportunity arose to spend a week there (ok, so it was in February, but it did include a spring tide, of sorts) there was really only one plan for my paddling.

Circumnavigating the Isle of Wight is as much an exercise in tidal planning as it is an endurance event. Get it right and you have a favourable tide all day, wrong and its like going up the down escalator.

High water (Portsmouth) dictated a pre-dawn start at the western most end of the island. My plan was to do the Channel coast first and then the Solent coast on the ebb, getting the exposed bit out of the way first. The wind was forecast to be ‘variable 3 or less’ which translated as ‘in my face all morning’.

I've divided the coastline up into very roughly equal quarters.

Colwell Bay to St Catherine’s Point

I was up at 4.45 am in readiness for a 5.30 start. It was pitch black and more than a little eerie launching into the blackness. At this point I felt really alone as I pointed my boat towards the occulting light of the Needles Lighthouse. There were plenty of navigational marks against which to measure my progress and it wasn’t long before I was looking at the giant stacks that make up the needles. The first gap was high and dry so I headed straight for the second, to be met by a considerable tide race against me, and then, crunch, where was all the water? A bit of fast manoeuvring and all was well. Light was just beginning to materialise, though my eyes by now were well accustomed to the dark.

First light as I approach Freshwater Bay

The section from Freshwater Bay to St Catherine’s Point was a series of low, crumbling cliffs, famous for the fossil dinosaurs within, but for me, memorable for the succession of headlands, each of which I thought to be St Catherine’s, only to be disappointed as another appeared beyond. This was as cruel as the false summits on a mountain climb. Thick haze reduced visibility so that I could never be sure there wasn’t another headland beyond the one in front of me. Biggish surf waves came at me from the side with no obvious warning. This was incentive to stay awake and alert if ever I needed one.

Sun appearing over one of many headlands that weren't St Catherine's

When I finally reached St Catherine’s Point I was in no doubt as to my location. The squat little lighthouse and tide race gave it away. I had hoped for a little more of the tide race, especially considering I had reached it at mid tide, but I made do with what there was, and my speed increased noticeably.

St Catherine’s Point to Foreland

I failed to make best use of the flow at St Catherine’s and kept close to the shore into the ‘doldrums’ of an eddy as I made my way towards Ventnor. This section of the journey is, for me, dominated by the direct crossing of Sandown Bay to the magnificent white of Culver Cliff. It went on forever, the monotony broken briefly as I passed close to an anchored ship. On reaching the white cliff and regretting not wearing sunglasses I was looking forward to a short bimble to Foreland, and another milestone passed. It was not to be that simple. On the corner of the cliff I was met by a strong tide race against me, requiring a big ferry glide and expenditure of a lot more energy than I was ready for. The last 3 km to Foreland seemed to take forever. I was pretty tired by this point.

'So near and yet so far', It looks close but took me ages to get to the corner

Foreland to Cowes

From Foreland to the site of the new Bembridge lifeboat station, less than a kilometre on the map, I failed to find any favourable tidal flow and floundered around at about 4km/hr for what seemed like ages. Things improved by the time I reached St Helen’s Fort, and I was soon zipping along at nearly 10km/hr. As my speed picked up, so did the amount of shipping. I had to pass Ryde pier, where the Sea Cat fast ferry arrives and departs at incredibly short intervals. Just to make it more interesting, the hovercraft ferry lands just beside the pier. I felt a bit like a hedgehog crossing a motorway. I stayed well offshore approaching Ryde to avoid the shallows, and then continued offshore all the way to Cowes. Flow was fast and I made good time.

I really didn't want to get run over by one of these.

Cowes to Colwell Bay

By the time I crossed the mouth of the Medina river at Cowes and avoided ferries, Sea Cats and gin palaces I was into the final hours of the ebb. My speed slackened noticeably, now this could have been because I had been sitting in the boat for more than nine hours already, or it could have been because I had run out of tide. Maybe a bit of both. The final section of my little adventure seemed to take forever and I finally reached my starting point twelve hours and fifty minutes after I had set out.

Dusk as I slog my way against the early flood to complete the trip

As I landed on the soft sand beneath the slipway, I fell in the water as my legs were unable to support me. How daft I felt, staying dry for 92 km of paddling and then falling in in the last metre. How I wished for someone to be waiting for me, to help carry my boat to the car, but no, this was a solo and unsupported effort, so I strapped the boat to its trolley and lugged it to the car.

I think I paddle better when I am on my own. In company, there is always a pressure to keep up with someone else, or to have to wait for someone slower. I like to set my own pace and then stick to it. I use a GPS as a speedo so that I can keep check on myself, and also keep track of how much tidal assistance I am getting. During the long featureless sections I employ a range of tactics to keep my mind working. I count strokes and then work out how many strokes to a kilometre. Then over the next three of four kilometres I test this out and work out an average. This figure of course changes depending on how much tidal assistance I am getting, so I repeat the procedure several times. I also like to try and predict what time I will arrive at a point in the distance. Then sometimes I coach my forward paddling technique. I will concentrate on one particular aspect of the stroke for ten minutes, then move onto a different aspect. I can continue this for at least an hour. Every time I start a new ten minute block my speed goes up, then gradually over the ten minutes it reverts to a baseline of about 7km/hr.

This is by far the longest paddling day I have ever done, but I hope will be the first of many long trips. I paddled the day after a small spring tide. It would certainly be a quicker trip on a better tide. Wind was forecast to be variable force 3 or less and I would estimate that it was SE force 2 most of the day. It was dry and sunny with an air temperature of about 5 degrees. My Cetus LV performed fantastically well. It is fast and holds a straight line very well, but is still manouvrable and fun in lumpier conditions. I found the cockpit comfortable even after nearly thirteen hours without getting out.

Watch this blog for further long trips and circumnavigations in the future.

Spurn Point

2009-11-30T19:23:00.000Z

This was a short paddle along an unusual bit of coastline. Spurn point is a long, narrow heap of sand that protects the mouth of the Humber from the lumpiness of the North Sea. The scenary was somewhat monotonous, being just a heap of sand, punctuated periodically by the remains of wooden groynes. The groynes had been built in a vain hope that a few bits of felled timber could halt the natural cycle of erosion and deposition that had occured before Man interferred. Needless to say, nature is winning and the fortifications are decaying.

Just off the point, sea conditions became more interesting and I was drawn like a magnet towards the overfalls.
This trip has the advantage of starting at a cafe and finishing at a pub. The two are about half a mile apart and the short walk to collect the transport was a good way to warm up on a cold day. The two establishments could not be more different. The cafe was very welcoming, the owner chatty and friendly and the food and drink good. The pub meanwhile has a very frightening landlady. I got shouted at for daring to suggest that the brown aqueous solution I had been served as coca-cola was in fact flat. I think I will give this one a miss in future. The only good thing about the pub was its proximity to the get-out. Here the pub is in the background as I put the Cetus through its paces in preparation for returning it to P&H.

A sneaky day in the sun

2009-11-29T18:27:00.000Z

A sunny day in the winter is something special to be savoured, and where better than The Skerries. As we set off from Cemlyn bay in the final hour of ebb the rocky islets and lighthouse looked deceptively close. About a knot of tide assisted our progress and it wasn't long before we were circumnavigating, then landing on the islands. During lunch the tidal flow slowed and by the time we relaunched the flood was well underway, especially close to Carmel Head as we were to discover while trying to cross the short gap to the headland. The return journey to Cemlyn was straightforward, following the shore with a bit of rockhopping for good measure. It was fantastic to be out on the water in such good weather after what seems like weeks of continuous rain. The picture says it all.

Launching the new boat

2009-11-15T21:03:00.000Z

Having unwrapped layer after layer of plastic and cardboard and revealed my new boat in all its red and white beauty, I didn't feel I could consign it to the shed straight away, so she spent a fortnight in my living room. It made getting to the kitchen a bit of an obstacle course, but it did mean I could admire the unmarked shining gelcoat.

Finally, work was done for the week and I could go paddling. The first launch was at Trearddur Bay on Anglesey. The weather was too rough for real paddling so we had to make do with a bit of surfing.

The Cetus LV is lovely and light, an easy one person carry.

Here's the moment I had been waiting for.

And finally afloat.

A few wobbly moments later and I was getting used to a lovely lively boat.

photo by Jim Krawiecki

All in all I think it's a grand boat. It's fast, and narrow just where the paddle goes. It's incredibly manouvrable, and whilst it's happy sitting up on an edge, it doesn't really need a lot of edge to turn. I think I'm going to really enjoy paddling it. Just need some decent weather to give it a good run out.

Another Lap of Jura

2009-09-13T13:36:00.000+01:00

This time, I had company. I paddled with Rob, whose culinary skills would give Delia Smith a run for her money, and his mate Tom. Tom turned up with his brand new, never been on the water Scorpio (still had the price tag attached!) while Rob had begged or borrowed an elderly Capella. I paddled a borrowed Cetus, and while I found this boat too big around the cockpit area for me, I was very impressed with the way it handled while full of expedition gear. It was a bit like a tardis when it came to packing. The gear just kept going in the hatches and they never seemed to fill up. Another bonus was the sweetie hatch on the front deck, big enough for hat, VHF, sunglasses and sweets, and all within easy reach.
The Cetus, superb load carrier, highly manouvrable and fast.

We set off from Craignish Point, beyond Ardfern on Wednesday morning, following a day of stormy weather on Tuesday. Although now fairly calm, there was still plenty of evidence of previous high winds. We launched into the full flow of the Sound of Jura ebb, which carried us rapidly south as we made the crossing to Jura. There was plenty of turbulent flow along the way and it kept us awake just working out which direction we were actually moving in. Thank goodness for the GPS.

On day one we managed 30km, initially with significant tidal flow in our favour but ending with a noticeble contrary flow. We camped at an unusual site, with perfect short grass and shelter, between the walls of Lagg Pier. What impressed me most about this trip was the number and variety of animals we saw. This fellow wasn't bothered as I walked past on my hunt for fresh water.

Jura is an island with an enormous population of deer, believed to be around 6000, while the human population is a mere 180. We saw deer all over the place, and in particular on the beaches along the west coast.

On day two we got away early, keen to have a favorable tide all day. We found the paddling to be more interesting than further north as the headlands and islands are more frequent and break up the distance better. The Jura hotel provided a mid-morning break, and while we sat outside enjoying the coffee we observed that the ratio of staff to customers appeared to be similar to the ratio of deer to locals. We were vastly outnumbered.

Jura Hotel, distillery and stores from the water. This is Craighouse the population centre of Jura.

After coffee, we set off towards the Sound of Islay and had an enforced long lunch break as we waited for the tide to begin flooding. Not long after, we were shooting along at 13km/hr looking for a camping spot. We decided to make to most of the flow and camp only when we felt the tidal advantage to be lost.

Next morning we awoke to flat calm sea and little breeze. For the whole of the west coast we had amazing rocky scenary and flat conditions so we could really appreciate the cliffs, arches, caves, deer, sheep and goats.

Seaweed eaters along the shore.

After another stop to collect firewood, we ended out third day paddling at Glengarisdale bothy. This is a gem. It was great to have a night away from the midges where Rob could demonstrate his culinary prowess. It also left us within easy striking distance of the Corryvreckan. We planned to paddle 'the Gulf' at the start of the ebb, when flow should be minimal.

Our final day paddling dawned calm and dry and we set off in good time to reach the Corryvreckan at the appointed hour. Rob had been watching videos on You tube and had an idea that the 'C' would be a maelstrom of whirlpools, turbulence and general nastiness. I tried to reasure him that it would be an anticlimax but he didn't believe me, that is until he saw it, flatter than the proverbial pancake.

It was just a flat paddle across the Sound of Jura to Craignish, and Rob's van at the end of our journey. There is something very satisfying paddling all the way round an island. A sense of completeness. This trip has given me an idea for a theme to next years paddling. I'm going to see how many islands and island groups I can paddle round.

A Constellation of Starfish?

2009-08-22T20:24:00.000+01:00

What is the collective noun for starfish? This little piece of trivia might have been very useful to me this morning as Jimski and I went for a dawn paddle at Roa Island. We were searching for an elusive pair of islands called St Helena and the Falklands and a sand bank called South America.

Making the most of huge spring tides we launched an hour before low water in the hope of finding and circumnavigating these only to be found at low water South Atlantic gems.

After a short paddle, we find ourselves landing on St Helena.

Found the odd starfish. I thought this one looked pretty on Jim's boat. Hmm starfish on boats...think someone else might have thought of that first

The starfish take a liking to Jim's feet. Is there any such thing as a man eating starfish?

Then we found a few more.

Jim on the summit of St Helena.

Jim on the highest point in South America.

After a search, we concluded that the South America sandbank had moved and was now covering the spot where we though the Falklands should have been. It's not the first time South America has captured the Falklands is it?

After a well earned breakfast at the Bosun's Locker at Roa Island, we had a look at the tide by the lifeboat station. Quite impressive!

Jura, and the big 'C'

2009-08-22T19:16:00.001+01:00

Having tried, and failed to find anyone else wanting to go paddling, there was no choice but to have a go at a solo trip. I've never paddled solo for more than a day at a time, so this was to be a first for me.

I set out in the late evening sunlight onto beautiful flat calm sea, the land in the distance being Jura, my target for a circumnavigation.

Found a lovely little camp site, just big enough for one tent. The resident deer kept popping their heads over the hillside to see what was going on.

Next morning the sky was gloomy, threatening rain. I packed and launched in record quick time as it took the midges about a minute to find me once I opened up the tent. My plan for the day was to set off south down the Sound of Jura and just see how far I could get. In my haste to get ready I decided that breakfast could wait. I wanted to make the most of the tidal flow in the first half of the ebb.

This is what the view looked like for most of the day.

I plodded on and on into a fairly strong headwind. Then the heavens opened and the rain came down in lumps. By now I was hungry, cold and tired. It took me ages to find somewhere to land. I ended up squashed into a cave like niche in the base of a cliff to get what little shelter was available. I heated myself a tin of baked beans and made a mug of coffee. My little luxury for this trip was a single mug sized coffee percolator, Jimski's idea, and one that I was very grateful for.

After what seemed like forever I finally turned the corner into the Sound of Islay. I had been navigating from memory as I discovered I had lost two of my laminated map sheets along the way somewhere. I arrived at the Sound of Islay with the flood tide pushing me along at an ever increasing speed. After a whole day of strong headwind, and latterly little tidal assistance, the boost was tremendous.

At last, some shelter from the wind in the Sound of Islay.

My little luxury.

Woke up next morning still keen to paddle despite the 50km day yesterday. Shortly after setting off I had an audience on the beach.

Rock scenary was spectacular. Lots of cliffs and caves, and the occasional arch.

Had lunch at the bothy at Ruantallain, on the north shore of Loch Tarbert. A small bothy, but very welcome shelter.

Had another fairly long paddling day in order to reach the bothy at Glengarrisdale. It was sunny as I arrived and the setting was spectacular.

Spent a very creepy night in the bothy by myself. This bothy is very well equipped and only about 100m from the shore. There are two rooms downstairs and a loft with hammocks made of fishing nets. A wonderful place.

This left me a short paddle the next day to reach the Corryvreckan, a tide race with a fearsome reputation, no doubt deserved but not while I was there. I arrived about two hours into the East going flow and found it moving but mainly flat. A school of porpoises lingered at the downstream end of the race, presumably waiting for the food to come to them.

All I had left to complete this trip was a massive ferry glide across the Sound of Jura back to my car at Ardfern and a well earned meal at a local cafe.

Easter 09, Gigha

2009-07-28T20:02:00.001+01:00

Easter 2009 saw four of us setting off to Scotland with no real plans where to paddle. The weather forecast was so gloomy that there was some doubt as to whether we would paddle at all. We aimed for the Mull of Kintyre and ended up camping on the shore close to Claonaig, where the ferry departs for Lochranza on Arran. For the next two days we visited every castle and tea shop between Tarbert and the southern tip of the Mull. There is a limit to the amount of tea I can drink, and just as we were all feeling a little washed out the forecast started to promise improvement.

Gloomy skies and wild seas greeted us each morning.

We awoke on the third morning to find that reality matched the prediction and we could at last get afloat.

A friendly hotel at Belochantuy provided parking and an easy launch spot. Conditions were not calm, but forecast to improve so we packed for an expedition and set off. The plan was to head north along the Kintyre coast until the narrowest part of the Sound of Gigha. The weather was out to prove that it was in charge again and with what looked like a storm approaching we made the crossing to Gigha as fast as we could. Safely over the Sound we were deluged by a short, sharp shower. Rain that came down in lumps and stung the face if you dared to look up. It didn't last long but wasn't pleasant and the temperature dropped noticeably.

Next we had to find a campsite. We landed on Gigha about an hour before high water on a particularly big spring tide, all the best looking spots were threatened with innundation as the tide rose. Eventually a passable spot was found. Not ideal but it would do. I was cold and tired and didn't really care.

I'm sure Gigha has lots to offer the pedestrian explorer, but for this visit it remained unexplored. Next morning we awoke to blue sky and sunshine - what a change! Launching had to be done in a hurry as the sea retreated.

We set off on an anticlockwise curcumnavigation.

Every nook and cranny of the island was explored including the wreck of the Russian factory ship 'Kartli' which ran aground in 1991.

We ended up heading for the island of Cara to look for a camping spot. Conditions at the southern end were lumpy, a mixture of swell and clapotis making a confused mixture of waves and lumps. Nick and Ali in their double found this quite difficult. I guess Ali had a wetter ride that we had in our singles.

The camp site made up for any difficulties getting there. Flat grass right beside a short sand and pebble beach, with a grassy bank between us and the southerly wind and as if that were not enough, an abundant supply of driftwood.

Plenty of firewood, whisky and chocolate made it a memorable evening.

Next morning we had no option but to return to out cars at Belochantuy for the long drive home. This was a short, but lovely trip away. My first camping trip of the year, and I hope the first of many.

Crossing the Minch, Sept 08

2009-07-28T08:39:00.000+01:00

I’m not sure if it was a brave or foolhardy thing to do. With hindsight and success I found it exhilarating and got a fantastic sense of achievement. Things might well have gone differently. What did I do? I paddled across the Minch, the long way, from Lochmaddy to Uig by myself, a total of 48km or 30NM.

I spent a long time beforehand weighing up the likely ‘what ifs’.
-what if I fall in?
-what if I get too tired?
-what if I get injured?
-what if it gets foggy?
-what if I get run over by the ferry?
Most of these I was happy I could solve, but I did realise that I was dependant on the ferry having a good lookout. Finally I had no more excuses. I had just another three days before I was due to leave North Uist after a summer season working at Uist Outdoor Centre. I studied the various weather forecasts ad nauseum. I didn’t just need light wind and good visibility; I needed to know that it would last all day, with no nasty surprises just when I was getting tired.

As time was running out, a possible weather window appeared. While England was experiencing whole months worth of rainfall in a single day, and homeowners were baling out their living rooms, I was setting off from Lochmaddy in glorious sunshine.

The water was not the flat calm that I wanted. The plan was to paddle out into the Minch and see what conditions were like. I kept telling myself that I could always turn back if I didn’t like it. The centre was quiet and deserted. No one saw me leave and this added to the sense of isolation I felt later. I left a note of my intended journey for the others to find when they got to work. With a cheery ‘Good Luck’ from the coastguard I set off.

Four kilometres paddling got me to Madadh Beag, or ‘Little Hound’, one of three sea stacks that guard the mouth of Lochmaddy and give the loch and village their names. At Madadh Beag I was disappointed to find out that the wind, about a force three was going to be on my starboard bow at just enough of an angle to make me think about steering all the way.

I set the GOTO function on my GPS for Waternish Point on Skye, picked a landmark on the skyline and set off. It quickly became apparent that in order to keep the bearing (intended direction) and track (actual direction) figures the same I would have to paddle a giant ferry glide to allow for the wind. With a new landmark to aim for, I set off.

The time of day that I set off was determined not by the tides but by the timetable of the CalMac ferry that was to be the return leg of my journey. I hoped to do the crossing in six hours in flat calm conditions, but had to rapidly extend this estimate in light of the unfavourable wind. Just to be on the safe side I set off with ten hours before the return ferry was due to leave. As luck would have it, my weather window occurred on neap tides, so I was expecting a maximum flow of just 0.4 knots at mid tide. Even better, the first leg of the journey was going to be either side of low water slack. My plan to keep my track the same as the bearing on the GPS would deal with the effects of wind and tide, keeping me on the shortest route.

My plan was to paddle out into the Minch for ten kilometres and then make a decision whether to continue or not. I thought at that point I could easily return if I didn’t like the conditions. I tried to be disciplined enough not to keep on looking at my distance paddled, hoping that this way the numbers would seem to increase more quickly. It didn’t work. I held out for as long as I could, and then when I was sure I must have paddled at least ten kilometres, I took a look. How disappointed could I get? I had covered just four kilometres.

Going back was not really an option. I didn’t want to fail. I had set myself up to paddle the Minch and this was exactly what I was going to do. I gritted my teeth and carried on.

One possible problem that I hadn’t considered was that of boredom. It took me five hours to reach Waternish, and all the time the view barely changed. I tried singing to myself. This worked for a short time until I couldn’t remember any more words. I tried counting paddle strokes, working out how many strokes I did in 100metres, and hence how many in one kilometre. I then tested this out by counting strokes for several more kilometres. At this point I was wishing I had a waterproof ipod. A bit of music would have been a good distraction. I did get a couple of things to break the monotony though. A harbour porpoise came to say hello, arching alongside my boat close enough that I could almost touch it. It didn’t stay long, but was great to see. The second distraction was the ferry, leaving Uig and sailing to Lochmaddy, the exact opposite of my route. I could see it coming, but could it see me? I got my compass out and measured the collision angle on a number of occasions. The angle stayed the same, indicating a collision course. I changed direction, but could my slow speed compared with the ferry make any difference at all? Eventually the ferry appeared to make a slight alteration in course. This was enough to tell me that someone had seen me. I could relax a bit. In the end we passed close enough that I could make out figures on the bridge and in the passenger lounge.

By now, I was starting to make out features on the Waternish peninsula. Small white blobs surrounded by grass which I had previously thought were sheep turned out to be the houses of a village. How wrong can you get? Eventually the white spot on the headland revealed itself to be a lighthouse, and a short while later, the black blob beside it became a lone walker, stopping for lunch. I was pretty keen to land by now. I hadn’t had anything to eat since setting off as I made the mistake of putting my food in my day hatch, blindly assuming that conditions would be flat enough for me to retrieve it en route. Wrong again! I found a sheltered spot to land just east of the point. I was ashore for just twenty minutes before the midges found me. Just long enough to stuff a bit of food down, change my fleece and attend to natures call. I felt revived as I got back in my boat. The last five kilometres had been very hard and I really felt that I was running on empty fuel tanks.

For the first part of the next leg I had a coastline to follow. It made such a difference to have a changing view and an obvious clue that I was making progress. I guess I was getting distracted by the novelty of cliffs and the shoreline when I was brought back to earth with a jolt, or rather, a spine jarring scrunch as I failed to notice the gelcoat splitting rocks just below the surface. I winced as I thought of the scrapes on the hull and started to pay a bit more attention.
The Ascrib islands quickly got closer, and I was able to make out an impressive looking house on the Southern most Island. The sea was soon dotted with hundreds of inquisitive
heads all pointing in my direction. I had disturbed a seal colony as they lay hauled out on the rocks of a nearby skerry.

The final leg of the journey to Uig seemed endless. I could see my target but it wasn’t getting any bigger. I guess when I reached Waternish I had switched off, feeling that the crossing was over. In fact at Waternish I was just a bit over half way to Uig. By now my arms really felt like they were about to drop off. My paddle felt like lead and every bit of me hurt. The jolt back to reality came when I tried to lift my boat from the rocky spot where I landed up to the pier, a distance of about fifty metres. It took me forever. At last, with the boat on the pier, I went to the CalMac office to get a return ticket. On the ferry, I bought the biggest meal the canteen could offer and then fell asleep for the rest of the crossing. At Lochmaddy, my boat was carried from the ferry for me by a couple of crew members who had last seen me in the middle of the Minch.

All that remained to do was drink a celebratory dram with my boss. It was well earned.

Walney Circumnavigation, July 09

2009-07-28T08:06:00.000+01:00

This felt like the shortest twenty mile paddle ever. The North West Sea Kayakers circumnavigate Walney. We had everything we wanted, spring tides, a warm calm day and good company. What could be better. Seven of us set off from Earnse a couple of hours after low water. This of course meant that the sea was miles away but we all had trolleys, and the certainly made light work of what would have been a horrid carry.

As soon as we were floating we could feel the effects of the tide. Winds were so light that the turbines were hardly moving. They look really close but I understand that they are a lot bigger and further away than appears. As we approached the Southern end of Walney we could feel the tide pulling us faster and faster around the corner. Hilpsford point was marked by water rushing over a shallow sandbank, with a few fun waves to surf.

The castle on Piel came into view. An imposing view, or at least it would have been when the castle was complete. Our trip had been timed to allow us to sample island hospitality in the form of beer and bacon butties. We sat on the grass stuffing our faces enjoying the sight of the Walney chanel flowing like a river.

Once floating again and enjoying the conveyor belt like flow, we took care to keep out of the shipping lane. Just as well as next time we turned round a tug was towing a huge contraption that looked like an enormous upside down table. The four towers loomed high above the tug. We guessed it had something to do with the building of the offshore windfarm as the towers looked like they ccould be lowered into the water to act as legs. This beast went by the unlikely name of 'Pauline'. A smaller tug took over as the beast was manouvred into Ramsden dock, backwards. This was an impressive bit of precision boating as the thing never touched the sides once.

We sped on, under Victoria Bridge and on to Walney Meetings, where tide from the North meets tide from the South and it feels like paddling on porridge. We had a second lunch break watching the water flow through the narrow gap as though someone had pulled the plug out, and then went across to explore the extraordinary houses at Lowsy Point. They appear to be cobbled together from old sheds, bits of prefab buildings and all manner of other un-house like things. Some had a cladding of fibreglass to hide whatever might be underneath. One inhabitant told us they are only occupied at weekends and perhaps during good weather in the summer.

It was just a short hop from Lowsy Point back to Earnse where we started. waves were breaking over the duddon bar and a couple of nudists walked along the beach. The water was lapping close to the slipway, and an ice cream van was in situ ready for us. Perfect. This was a fantastic day out, more so because it was a day of bright sunshine sandwiched between filthy wet days.

'Pauline' under tow.

June 09, a little bimble

2009-07-27T20:26:00.001+01:00

A fine saturday in June, what else was there to do but go for a paddle? I set off from the southern end of Seil island heading towards the island of Belnahua, with its relic of long gone industry. I had no real plans for the day other than to go and see the Garvellachs. The sea conditions were calm, very little wind and a dry forecast, perfect. This is belnahua, the buildings are what's left of a slate quarry. From experience the grass is so thick that camping on it is like sleeping on a matress. It's also quite difficult to get tent pegs through it.

Next I paddled to the most northerly of the garvellachs. By now I was really enjoying the solitude and fantastic conditions. Further south along the island chain is evidence of habitation, but not as we know it. This is the remains of a beehive cell, lived in by those who believed that self sacrifice would make the world a better place.

From the southern end of the garvellachs I had to make a decision, where next? Scarba, across the way looked enticing. I had already paddled the Grey Dog, the tide race to the north of the island, and the Corryvreckan was calling me. It had been on my 'to do' list for a long time and maybe today was the day? I set off, wondering if it was the right thing to do. I had heard horror stories about what the Corryvreckan can be like. I also knew that the weather conditions were as good as I was ever going to get. I was also due to hit it towards the end of the ebb tide, when it is at it's gentlest. I decided to go for it. As I approached, my speed picked up, there may well be no going back. The water was flowwing fast but still flat, barely a ripple.

As I rounded the corner into one of the fastest tide races in the country (not at the end of the ebb, I admit) I was a little nervous. My heartbeat soon returned to normal when I discovered it was as flat as a pancake! This is what I saw.

It was so flat as to be an anticlimax. I was at least expecting to see where the whirlpool forms, or some evidence of the underwater peak that causes all the maelstrom in rough conditions. Nevermind, I'll just have to go back.
Had lunch at a fantastic spot on Scarba, at the Eastern end of the Corryvreckan. Would make a fantastic camp site. The place was liberally scattered with pink and white orchids.

The rest of the trip was a leisurely ride on the tide up the Sound of Luing, past Fladda and back to Seil. On this last part of the trip I met up with two other paddlers going in the same direction as me. Paddlers are always such friendly people, so I tagged along with them for company until they left for the slog up the Cuan sound against the flow.

All in all, a lovely trip in fab conditions. Total of 42km.

More pictures of Mull trip

2009-06-05T22:04:00.001+01:00

Mull, May 2008

2009-06-05T21:44:00.000+01:00

Beauty and the Beast

You'll have to decide for yourself which one is which.

I spent four days on Mull with Dave and Helen, who paddle the feathercraft double. Conditions were amazing. On day one we paddled round Iona and found caves along the west coast.

Day two took us to the fossil tree on Ardmeanach.

Day three was a rest day for Helen and Dave. I set off for Staffa and the Treshnish Isles by myself. The day started beautifully calm as I left the Sound of Iona. Approaching Staffa small wavelets were forming and by the time I had had my lunch on Lunga the seas were picking up. The return journey was in a following sea and I managed no notch up a boat speed of 20km/hr on an enormous surf wave. This was one of my first solo paddling trips and a very memorable experience.

Just another day in the office

2009-06-03T20:31:00.000+01:00

May 2008, Southern shore of Iona.
I was having an easy day just pottering about, picking my way between tiny islets and skerries when I saw a dark triangle sliding slowly across the water. I approached slowly until I could identify a basking shark gracefully moving across and back, mouth agape. I had never seen one before. Conditions were millpond smooth and the sea was full of tiny jelly-like creatures. I could scoop them up by the handfull. The shark was filtering them out by the million. I sat and watched wondering just how long this could continue for. In the end it was me that gave up first and after half an hour of shark watching I reluctantly left it to it's feast. At times it had passed within touching distance of my cockpit. I was in awe of its economy of movement, swimming with barely a flicker of it's tail.
This shark was about fifteen feet long, just a baby really. Mature sharks can reach up to twenty five feet in length.