‘Til The Fat Lady Sings

Day 54 – Brough to Clasheddy – 13^th July – 33.5 nm

There is a palpable sense of relief in the jumbly fun bus this morning.

The early finish yesterday was a bit of a double edged sword, the disappointingly short day actually gave a few hours of spare time, which in turn gave an opportunity to think things over a little. It’s been pretty full-on for a while now;  poor weather brings days that go by in distracted waiting around, followed by a last minute rush to squeeze everything in. On the good days it is a case of taking as many miles as possible of course. Either way there are plenty of late finishes, there is no time to ‘process’ the day mentally, to review and put things to bed.

There is no sense of achievement; my mind is a disconcerting almost-blank of what has been. As TM said yesterday, there’s no time to dwell, there’s always the next challenge ahead to concentrate on.

It’s difficult, emotions lie flat and grey - to paraphrase Alan Bennett's Rudge, ‘it’s just one ******* thing after another.’ But as today starts there has been time to think, life is a bit more cheery and there is a slightly smug appreciation that we got around the corner well. One more to go. TFFT.

As we prep in the peaceful calm that is Brough Bay a string of people wander down to see what is going on. There’s no pre-paddle atmosphere today, pleasant greetings abound, not a glare in sight. There’s a little confusion when a lady mildy objects that our dog should be under better control. News to me - wondered what that scratting about was in the back hatch...

Out before slack water, to take the eddyline conveyer belt to the headland. Once again I am followed out, but this time by a true See-Hund - a black Labrador makes a good effort of reaching the headland with me. But he was just frankly outclassed.

 There’s a bit of swell greasily sliding up and down the high cliffs. A white-capped tiderace is deflected offshore by the topography, but it leaves plenty of easy going room for the lone sea paddler. I look up to view the hordes of birds, but it’s strangely quiet, I guess they’re sleeping off yesterday’s high wind shenanigans.

By the time I clear the headland the tide is just starting to pick up, even so Thurso takes a stubbornly long time to slide by. Then it’s a straight, 3 mile off-shore, line to the stony finger of Strathy Point.

There’s a distinct but easy going swell from head-on, with a gentle breeze to match, but it’s better than the forecast, so life is full of mental smiles. The forecast does warn that the wind and swell will increase as the Taran heads westward and the day progresses.

It’s a pleasant 5.5 kts cruise towards Strathy Point, hourly breaks and the odd Skua investigation are the only highlights to the routine. A little tedium is welcome. I tick along in a mildly blissful state.

A few km short of the point, the speed drops distinctly. This gets my attention, the tide still has a couple of hours to run. Oh well...

And then as I reach the end of the point I see the water drop away ahead of the bow, it’s obvious now, the speed change was as I crossed the cushion, built against the point. A pretty big one at that.  Clear of the rocky obstruction now, the water drops and accelerates. A lumpy tiderace sits on the other side of the headland.

It also becomes sharply obvious that the easy going swell to the east of Strathy Point was the remnants left after the point had taken the energy out of most of the rest. The swell to the west is larger and steeper, stacked up further by the fast water sliding down from the sub-surface ledges. And just to add to the mix there is a stiff wind to the west too.

I run through the tiderace for a short time but then realise it’s too big for me. It’s breaking and throwing the boat around, Boat and me have been on the go for 4 hours or so now. If I go in, it’s not going to end happily.

I hang a louie and cross the eddy line, I want to be out of the fastest flow so the swell will settle a little. It does, but it all becomes unpleasantly confused too, waves are coming from everywhere. Standing clapotis joins the party, with small, sneaky explosions here and there. It dawns that I've wandered into a trap, I slowly recall the same problem here in 2012. The angled 90 degree gap between Strathy and Ardmore focuses the swell and rebound very efficiently, paddling across it assaults from all sides. It’s unpleasant.

I look quickly back across to the main flow, I know the eddy line will shelter some of this but the chain of white-capped rollers is enough. Life is shitty here, but that’s just downright intimidating. Time to earn your money now Fatboy.

Heading closer in also means a paddle against the eddy, throw in the wind too and it means that life will be slower and I’ll be exposed to this for longer. A brief glimpse across to the main flow again, hmm... no this will have to do, like it or not.

I don’t really know where I am heading, it’s too bouncy to take a look at the map, I’m just pointing into the distant corner, trying to find shelter from the swell. It’s a 2 hour battle to Farr Point where it finally eases enough to take a look at the map, Skerray Bay looks like a good option. A little further and it’s calm enough to whip off the deck and have a long over-due bladder emptying event – aaaah...

The scenery at Neave Island is very pleasant and I enjoy a short eddy-hopping paddle through the sound. Team Manager meets me on the edge of the peaceful little harbour. It’s a very pleasant spot indeed; we investigate the unusual roofless stone building art installation, admire the scenery and have a general nosey around, in a pleasant not-much-to-see sort of way. 

There’s still an option for a few more miles across to Strathan but life here is just so pleasant. I think dues have been paid today, and decide to spoil myself with a decadent ignoring of those available miles. Team Manager is not unhappy about this either and we expand outwards as we settle in, kit everywhere.

There is a constant stream of cars down the narrow road, they stop on the edge for a couple of minutes and then turn around and disappear. It seems as if there is some sort of roster to check that the bay hasn't disappeared or something.

Later we sit and watch the local lobster man servicing his pots, while the sun sets slowly behind the hills.

We discuss the day. I was complacent after the easy start. Strathy Point was a bit of a shock, but with hindsight it shouldn't have been such a great surprise. I am still second-guessing the decision to head in and leave the flow though. That one will run for a while.

There’s always the sting in the tail it seems, just when it is all going well. That said, it usually all works out in the end. Usually.

Somebody switches the sun off and we go to bed.

Easy Come, Easy Go...

Day 53 – Harrow to Brough – 12^th July – 4.9 nm

“One thing about this trip, no achievement is cherished long, a new challenge always lies ahead.”

Team Manager Diary

We awake to see our John o’Groats campsite in all its daylight glory. There must be some mistake, it appears we paid 20 quid to sleep in a car park.

It’s breezy, from the west, the boats rattle and creak on the roof but conditions don’t look too bad out there. All the same I want to take a look from Dunnet Head. As we go I'm developing a rather finely-honed sceptical outlook, and I have a suspicion that Dunnet Head may be hiding the truth from us.

It is.

Never trust a headland.

From the cliff top it is obvious that life to the west of the headland precludes kayaking with a future. The view is nice though, the westerly wind has cleared the air and the strong updrafts along the cliff edge makes for some impressively close birdy action (hmm...room for some sort of joke there).

The dastardly Skuas patrol the updrafts looking for unsuspecting victims, while the Puffins make great comical entertainment for a mildly warped mind. I have not seen Puffins soaring before, we get the feeling that the Puffins haven’t either. They seem constantly surprised by the whole set-up, and just when they get the hang of things, they rashly go for a landing and it all ends in cliff-top-ricocheting tears.

We wander up to the summit, only to time it as the cloud arrives, we can see cock all, so we wander down again. Late afternoon we venture into an empty hotel for a cup of tea. Tea, is that all? The manager lets out a loud, disappointed sigh when he hears that we aren't booking into the penthouse suite for the month.

It’s back to Harrow once again. There’s no chance of a favourable tide now, but maybe I can sneak up the eddy, surprise the headland and slog it across the bay into Thurso.

As I load the boat a handful of loud 4 x 4s arrive and nosily clutter up the place. A paramilitary looking group clamber out, clad in black Sea Shepherd uniforms. They swagger onto the pier to watch the seals. As I continue to load the boat you can feel the atmosphere thicken, they don’t seem too impressed that I'm launching here. I feel like a 1970 TV presenter at an operation Yewtree convention. I put on my best ‘don’t ******* bother me’ persona and go canoeing. The seals follow me out of the bay. Wherever I go I seem to upset someone.

As I sneak around the corner the wind hits, it’s a little stronger than I expected. But what I really didn't expect was the tiderace heading at 90 degrees to the shoreline, it’s not such big stuff but pretty nasty all the same. I'm glad to finally get across and continue towards the high cliffs.

It’s a real slog though and I have to get pretty close to the cliffs to gain any shelter. If it’s still like this on the lee side then I guess I'm not getting far on the other side. Instead I turn left and reluctantly call it a day at the small slipway of Brough Harbour. It was a long day yesterday, it’s easier to wimp out when you are tired.

It’s peaceful and pleasant here in the lee of the headland, more seals follow me in and have a bit of a giggle when I trip over a rock in best daydream mode.

A gentleman wanders down from his hill top house, he’s originally  a Lancashire Lad, emigrating north 45 years ago. We have a long chat and he tells of the history of the place. It’s a pleasant way to take the edge off another frustrating day.

Deja Vu returns yet again, as we find ourselves in Thurso, camping about 6ft from where I stayed last time. Back then I was shocked to be told that the chip shop had run out of pies, this time it seems that they have just run out of anything pleasant.

38 miles yesterday, 4 miles today – easy come, easy go...

Reputations and Reality - The 3rd Corner

Day 52 – Dunbeath to Harrow – 11^th July – 38.4 nm

Without even trying I had been growing increasingly nervous for a while. As the miles ticked off and Duncansby Head approached, sleep became even more fitful and shallow. Much as you try, things tend to get to you eventually.

The books talk of endless doom and gloom within the Pentland Firth, while, on the ebb, the Merry Men of Mey are reserved only for the foolhardy it seems. Worrying reputations have long since been created. But I have to remind myself that we have heard all this before, and before. Things get exaggerated - sometimes it’s a view from a different perspective, sometimes it happens unconsciously, other times it’s done to lift egos and reputation. I try to remind myself that with a combination of slack water and good weather, it’s just a lake - a big one, granted.
Such is the plan anyway...

We head down to the small harbour again, and again we find ourselves under suspicious eyes. I can’t be arsed with any more of this, we move the van up the road and I wheel the boat across the footbridge to launch from the other side of the river. Sod the lot of you.

The forecast is for light winds for the day. There is a bit of a swell running but it is a lazy, gentle one. I was rather stressed that there would be the ultimate go / no-go decision to be made, but my prayers have been answered it seems. It’s going to be a long day if I go around the corner but I can’t ask for conditions better than this. For once I feel that the day’s destiny is in my hands rather than those of the Weather Gods. It feels good. Time to deliver the goods...

I don’t spare the effort to look over my shoulder as I leave Dunbeath, I’m not unhappy to move on and the way the van shoots up the hill I guess that I'm not the only one.  Out of the harbour, turn left and head for the rocky bit at the top. The tide is gently helping and I tick along nicely, 5kts + towards Wick, guillemots and skuas join the party - life could be worse. Oh yes.

As I cross Wick Bay dark clouds loom, yeah...bring it on, today is Happy Bunny Day - I don’t give a bugger. Staxigoe calls from the map; I spent a pleasant time there in 2012. It will put me foolishly behind the tide if I visit, but I am fed-up of being on the back foot, of always paddling reaction days – today is my day, I’ll do what I want. Captain Initiative.

A quick call and it turns out that Team Manager is not too far away, we make a dinner date for Chez Staxigoe – the best picnic table in the north east.

I dodge a couple of small breakers on the gateguard reefs and sneak in through the narrow entrance. I look for the ‘Star O'Staxigoe’ and there she proudly sits, memories flood back, along with a smile. Unfortunately the skipper is not around, a rather slim chance I guess. I listened raptly to his tales on the previous visit; it would have been nice to say Hello.

It’s a calm spot, hidden from the breeze and lunch is an indulgently relaxed affair, I could get the hang of all this. It’s a rare chance to let a little of the stress ooze out. But of course the clock ticks, it’s a valuable day and not one to squander, too much. I do become a little too relaxed and as I ponder the tidal times for the corner it dawns that I've screwed up the times somehow. I'm now behind.

I pay for my Staxigoe luxury as I slog against the tide across Sinclair’s Bay. A few more numbers get mangled as I paddle across and I realise that it doesn't really matter as long as I get there in time to leave Skirza by 19:30 or so, in order to catch slack at the top.

After a couple of hours of slogging I start to think it does matter a little actually, as the flow drops the speed below 3 kts. It’s time for a bit of scratching and I head in towards the shore. The cliffs bring the speed up a little and eventually I reach the elusive and pretty Freshwick Bay, to land on the stone pier at Skirza.

Team Manager has been spotted by the locals once again, they send a team down to investigate, but TM tells of an inquisitive but friendly chat, north of Wick is a stare-free zone it seems.

The sun is out and it is a beautiful spot, we sit and do nothing for a couple of hours.

The plan now is to arrive at Duncansby Head at slack water; the theory being that I use a friendly eddy along the cliffs to get me there. Soon it’s time to head out and see if there is one.

Skirze Head is easy, a small tide race just to wake things up a little. It’s 5 kts+ again for the first ½ hour, a good eddy. But then I suddenly find myself working against a 2kt flow, an eddy of the eddy I guess. This stacks the swell up too and I get my first chunky bit of the day.  It takes 20 mins to work through it and I'm glad to get clear, but now I get chance to take in the impressive scenery while I up the pace a little, to regain the slack water schedule.

The strengthening smell of guano heralds the arrival of the corner. I poke my head nervously around to take a look, pessimistically expecting a confused eddy with doom and gloom conditions. It’s ok.

The sky is grey now, with a chilly breeze and a bit of drizzle, but the water’s flat. The tide is just starting to turn and what’s left of the swell even misses the corner, and nobs off towards the Orkneys. Game on.

The conditions are so good that we can’t stop now, the Men of Mey has to be given a go. Unfortunately they are still 5 nm and an hour away. I'm not sure what they will be doing by the time I get there, it could be party time. The light is fading and there’s only one get out, it’ll mean a bit of a clumsy, in-the-dark back track if it doesn't work out. Oh well, nothing ventured and all that...

I can feel the tide race grow as every minute ticks by. It concentrates the mind a little, it's been a 30 nm day so far but now it's time to earn my money - race on. I work my nuts off to get there as quickly as I can. Of course, on arrival it’s a bit of an anti-climax, a welcome anti-climax that is. It’s just starting to run and looking across in the gloom and it’s clear that there is looming potential for a chunky time here.

The final miles end in the failing light and the small harbour at Harrow, accompanied by a couple of slightly annoyed seals. 22:00 off the water.

It was a 3 stage day, and other than the slight tidal fluff-up at Staxigoe, it worked well. A good feeling.

The stress falls away, the welcome sleep is deep. In a dark corner of the campsite, snores leak from a van, sounding like a who’s-got-the-loudest-chainsaw competition.

Strange

Day 51 – Dalchalm to Dunbeath – 10^th July – 19.9 nm

It’s hoofing down with rain as we set off to cross the golf course, dodging the cow pats along the way. The campsite owner told us of the ongoing conflict between the golfers and the common-land crofters. It seems a slightly strange set-up but refreshingly unpretentious. The cows don’t stand on ceremony it seems, they crap wherever they want. They were there first I guess.

 It was a seriously wet night and now it’s another chilly, grey day. Mr Dry-suit is coming along for the ride. I'm a bit slow getting going, but the tide times have finally slipped and there’s no great hurry - it’s noon by the time I get off the beach. The combination of July and being so far north mean that running out of daylight is not a major worry anyway.

Across the bay is no problem, there’s a bit of a chop but the sandy shore to my left takes all the energy out of it. Soon I'm running along the cliffs and things start to get a little more confused, but life goes on. I'm accompanied by Guillemots and Razorbills along the way. Skuas are starting to be a regular sight now, they are intriguing creatures, very inquisitive, but they can be right little bastards too. 

Helmsdale falls to the rear as I make my way along the cliffs. Now I find I'm starting to struggle with the conditions.

There is a swell running, it’s not large but is of strangely constantly varying amplitude and frequency, it’s coming from two directions too – about 60 degrees apart I guess. It’s all inconsistent and I just can’t seem to find any pattern to it. The rebound off the wall is causing me some hassle and before long I'm starting to find it all rather uncomfortable. It doesn't help with the fact that it isn't monstrously large. I'm struggling here with what really is not such a big swell – this is a little confusing and doesn't help the confidence.

There’s only one beach on this stretch, a small gap at Berriedale. I landed here in 2012 when I just couldn't keep my eyes open, and needed a mid-paddle snooze. The plan didn't factor in a landing here today, but I've had enough now.

A couple of streams join at one end and make a combined exit across the beach. As I approach the water turns a dark, peaty colour and the flow from the streams confuses the swell further, the streams are swollen by the overnight rain it seems. Oh well, I'm not going any further – I wait for a gap and head in.

I'm a bit shaken by all of this; I’m not really sure what is going on, why I’m struggling so much with a swell that just isn't that big. But I have to accept that things just aren't pleasant out there - get over it, get on with it.

Team Manager tracks me down and we sit on the scruffy beach as I wait for things to settle. After a couple of hour’s, tidal things are starting to draw to a close and I think I can see things improve a little. I zip the suit up again, under the unpleasant stare of a family who have just arrived at one of the waterside cottages, ready for the weekend. They ignore our wave and just stand and stare at us, the clock ticks – it's a bit of a Deliverance moment.

I launch and head out, it’s ok. Another ‘corner’ looms a day or two ahead and I want to make as many miles as possible to get into position to be ready to ‘hang a louie’. The remainder of the day plan is not complicated: ‘as far along the cliffs as poss.’ But as I progress I find I'm struggling once again, after an hour I head towards the small harbour at Dunbeath, things settle a little as I approach but that's enough all the same - Game Over. 

I head in – a little confused and unsure of what the day was all about. Was it me? Or the water?

My mind wanders as we sort the kit out and discuss events, under the watchful eye of a group of people stood in the road in front of the harbour-side houses. The place is clad in ‘Vote Yes!’ flags and political party signs. A racing go-kart buzzes speedily up and down the road. We get stares from cars driving along the small road but nobody returns a wave or a smile. It’s uncomfortable time once again - we move on.

It’s a short drive up the hill to the small but almost perfect campsite, our host recommends that we try the nearby Bay Owl Inn for food. It’s late now but nothing is too much trouble for the friendly lady and we are served some excellent home-cooked food.

It’s a relaxing finish to a shitty and slightly strange day, as I sit and talk to the cows peering over the fence. They don't say much, I think they are more interested in golf.

Hurry Up and Wait

Day 50 – Tarbert Ness to Dalchalm – 9th July – 10.6 nm

It is a lazy start, and it is has to be said that Team Fatboy are not too upset about this. The lie-in is welcome. The forecast is for swell and strong winds until early evening. The rattle of the van in the wind tends to suggest that the Met Men may have got things right, I turn over and snore some more, dreaming of nipple clamps. Of course every silver lining has a cloud, an evening start means that the miles for the day will be short and the finish will be late. Oh well.

We head to Tarbert Ness and take a walk to look at the conditions. Things are much improved on yesterday but there are enough white-caps out there and the swell is indeed rather chunky. I um and aah, and faff of course, but instincts tell me that setting out into 10 nm of open water may not be the best course of action. The wind machine doesn’t help much, the numbers rise and fall continuously between 18 and 30 mph. Let’s sit around a little more and see what happens...

Eventually evening arrives. Once again the wind eases as the tide turns. Unfortunately this means that I have a slog against things for the crossing. Oh well.

It’s late in the day now and rather chilly, the winter kit comes out of the bag. Though to be fair I reflect, it probably is summer as I don’t need the pogies.

July my arse...

There’s still a bit of swell and I keep an eye on things as I skirt sissy-like inside the reef at the top of the headland. After this I lift my hood to keep the paddle splash out of my ear and point Brora-wards – ticking along in my own little world.

I consider scrounging a few more miles by continuing to Lothbeg, but as I call Team Manager even I can sense that this idea is not all that favourably received. So I land on the sandy beach at Dalchalm and we trolley the boat across the golf course. I feel a little less conspicuous as we watch the cows strolling, in a rather laid-back fashion, across the tees.

 It’s a bit of a trek to the campsite. The nearer one lived up to the reputation of the ‘friendly club’ once again, the gentleman rather rudely refused entry to the Team Manager. It seems we are not all that welcome wherever we go at the moment.

It’s frustrating to wait all day for the wind to drop in the evening, but then it’s preferable to it not dropping at all. 10.6 nm is not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.

The late finish means a return to boil-in-the-bag for tea, but I treat myself to one of the fancy ones. Throw in a cake or two too and by the time I have finished, we work out that I’ve scoffed a distance over 1000 calories in one sitting. Nice one! Fit to burst - Pass me another cake and stand back...

I head off for a welcome shower, only to find that we need more coins. We’ve run out, the van is a coin-free zone - Bum. Still, all those calories should keep me warm.