Scottish Women's Paddle Symposium

Having neither tartan blood nor living north of the wall, I was very pleased to have been invited once again to coach at the Scottish Women's paddle Symposium. The event was based around the Royal Findhorn Yacht Club making good use of the sheltered water of Findhorn bay and more exposed rocky coastline between Burghead and Lossiemouth.

As well as coaching, I took a selection of P&H demo boats for participants to try out, the most popular being the Cetus LV and MV. These were liked by all who tried them.

The Falls of Lora

A grey day, this was the nearest I had come to bad weather in over two weeks in Scotland. Leonie and I spent a happy few hours playing in the Falls of Lora. A race forms as the water in Loch Etive pours out over a rocky ledge into the Firth of Lorne.

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Mid West Sea Kayak Symposium

Last weekend, 100 or so paddlers descended on the little village of Tayvallich. The event, hosted by Karitek, was a symposium geared towards novice and intermediate paddlers only. The weather gods were kind, and conditions were beautiful.

A week around Loch Ailort

Last week I had the pleasure of coaching kayaking in the most fantastic location, with glorious weather. We were based at the Glenuig Inn on Loch Ailort, and with the exception of a short drive to Arisaig, managed to paddle every day right from the front door.

 Stonking views, with the Rum Cuillin in the background

 Calm seas and plenty of rocks to test out steering skills

 The Cuillin of Rum on a misty morning

White sand, blue sky, great company what more could I want?

Finally managed to finish it.

Continuation of 40 000 paddle strokes later.

Perhaps the slowness of my paddling is reflected in the amount of time it has taken me to finish writing up this account.

With the lights of Bangor now behind me, and Beaumaris off to my left I battled on. Conditions were flat calm, perfect but pitch black. I was disorientated by the lights on land masking the presence of navigational marks on the water, and those I could see seemed to be miles offshore. It felt safer to be able to see the shore so I hugged the Anglesey coastline and paid for it by running into shallow water periodically.

Having cruised through the swellies in the dark and reached quiet water beyond, I think I had mentally finished the journey. The end was so near (in my head) and yet so far (for real). This cruel mismatch made the last ten kilometres pure purgatory.

Finally after several false hopes I recognised the red light of the perch rock beacon at Puffin Sound. My mood lifted, and so did my boat speed as I made a last effort to reach my start point. Between me and my objective was one final obstacle, the race at Puffin was flowing strongly against me. I crept along close inshore where I though an eddy would be if I could see anything and was rewarded with crunches onto rocks. It was pitch black, I was cold and paddling as hard as I could and going precisely nowhere. It took a sustained effort to overcome the top wave of the small tide race and round the corner into the shelter of the pebbly bay from where I had launched.

As the bow of my boat scrunched into the pebbles I took a look at my watch and cried. All that effort only to complete the circumnavigation slower than my previous attempt. As I dragged my weary body from the boat I added a dunking to my misery. After thirteen and a half hours my legs didn't function very well and gave way to leave me sitting in waist deep water. The realisation that I was very alone hit me now as I struggled to lift my boat onto it's trolley.

Plockton in the Sun

While the rivers of England were turning big and brown, Plockton was bathed in glorious sunshine.

The sea was flat and the view stupendous

Mountains of Skye in the background

Crystal clear water

And a beach so secret that I would have to kill you if I told you where it is!

 

40 000 paddle strokes later...

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.....