McCartney Land

Day 65 – Ronachan to Southend – 24th July – 33.9 nm

The late finish last night means that time slips this morning as a plan is made. We can’t get a forecast here. This sits a little uneasily, I've got history with the Mull.

We are a long way from the end here and in a fairly sheltered position, conditions look good but I’d prefer a little more information if I could.

So a little later than desired I paddle off the smelly beach and paddle towards the Sound of Gigha. Team Manager plans to head down the coast for a walk along the white sands near Tayinloan.

As I near the south end of the sound I get my exposure to the first wind of the day, NW apparently. Progress continues down the peninsula, making steady miles as I watch life go by on the busy road, in the distance.  You live in a strange world in this game, life is very focussed with a narrow outlook. Eat, sleep, paddle and plan. Followed by more eating and not enough sleep.

 It is a strangely simple existence which manages to fill every day. Looking across you realise that life goes on everywhere else for everyone else, with all the ups and downs, irrelevancies and importance that each day brings. Your trip, your completely absorbing trip, means nothing at all in the overall scheme of things.

Yeah whatever... get paddling Fatboy.

Moving down the coast the flow is steadily increasing and the boat makes good speed towards the 3 mile long beach of Machrihanish, backed by the cliffs of the Mull. It's easy to think you just have the corner to go around now, but there's still 10 nm or so to the end, 10 nm of cliffs.

Team Manager has arrived in Machrihanish, Campbeltown’s posh suburb apparently, and is firmly ensconced with a pot of tea and welcome wi-fi. She supplies a weather update and we agree that I should carry on around the pointy bit.

Beyond Machrihanish the water accelerates further as it is squeezed by the early parts of the headland. The growing speed is accompanied by increased chop and the first hint of rebound as a distant swell drops a subtle hint. Briefly a couple of porpoises join the party, but head off as I move southward, an omen?

6 kts steadily lifts to 7, if this is how things are going to be I’ll happily tick this one off.

But then of course it all goes to rat-shit.

I poke my head nervously around the end looking for the eddy line, just how big is it? Well the late start didn't really help things in this area and the 7 kt rounding was a good pointer. It all goes rather unpleasant rather quickly. The eddy line is pretty intimidating but I get across reasonably brown-pants-free, however so does the swell. The wind is funnelled around the cliffs at the end and the swell behind is now being stacked by the eddy and the wind.

It takes an hour of eyes-on-stalks, please-don't-let-it-get-any-bigger, don't-look-behind you paddling, to get through it all. A variety of lines, strategies and the odd prayer being employed along the way. Eventually geography works in my favour, the last of the cliffs shelter me and the eddy finally overpowers the swell. A steady slog into wind and flow is actually a rather pleasant alternative. That’s the second time around and I've got to say that I still think that the desire of Mr McCartney doesn't reflect mine. Nope, not convinced.

I land once again at Dunaverty Bay, more memories return, as I do. TM helps manhandle the boat up on to the campsite, to pleasant hellos. But soon we realise these are strangely a bit of a sham, summer hols are here, the place is full and it becomes pretty clear that we don’t fit in here and other ‘guests’ decide we are not welcome. We load up hastily and do a flit.

If in doubt hit the Tea Rooms at Southend.

We arrive near to closing time but the lady is very helpful and accommodating, the place is relaxed and quaint, in a snoozily-and-happily-spend-the-afternoon sort of way. Deja Vu dictates that Haggis, Neaps and Tatties must be on the menu. It’s a good plateful and as we polish off the pot of tea the clock suggests that it’s time to reluctantly move on. It’s a great place and if I’d have known the closing time, I would have paddled harder.

We vainly look for other camping options, but finally acknowledge a sheepish return to the campsite where we spend a harried night parked by the soon-to-be vomit spattered toilets.

I'm relieved to have rounded the Mull of Kintyre, it ended in a happier manner than the first time around. Even so, it had its moments and of course there was an end of day sting in the tail. But it's done and dusted now. It is surprising just how quickly you can progress in a little boat, and just how swiftly and distinctly the scenery, geography and people change along with those paddling miles. It's only a few days ago that we were at Skye, yet it seems so distant. 

The Irish Sea looms.

Mini-Miles

Day 64 – Keillmore to Ronachan - 23rd July – 14.8 nm

Tayvallich sneakily hides us from the wind, the various forecasts disagree today, so it’s a just-in-case early start and we head down the narrow road once again back to Keillmore.

The exposed finger of a headland is windswept and the sound is full of a choppy white-caps, we are not going anywhere for a while. We take a little nosey around but soon tire of the wind and return to the shelter of the van.  There is not a lot of life today, we are both tired.

We sit and wait for developments once again, it’s a tiring and frustrating way to spend a day, waiting for something that may or may not happen. It feels that we are not doing anything productive, but it does give us a little time to catch up, even if motivation is a little lacking. Reluctantly diaries are written, planning done, kit checked and snoozes happen. Time usefully spent after all...

The wind rattles all day, the odd visitors appear, following a not-quite-telling-the-full-story map, before they struggle to turn their cars around and head back towards the bright lights of Tayvallich.

Early evening the wind does eventually ease a little and we take the decision to go, there’s not much left of the day but every mile counts.

As I leave, TM heads up to visit the nearby restored chapel. It’s obviously been there a long while, as it watches history pass by.

There’s still a stiff breeze from the south, there’s nothing white out there now and no swell there's still a bit of chop left over. I shadow the coastline as the miles steadily tick off.

It’s a remote part of the world. The Knapdale peninsula falls behind and the Kintyre one lies just ahead. Another stress-inducing part of the world to come, but we’ll cross that bridge later...

The optimistic end of the plan called for a landing at Point Sands campsite across from Gigha. I have fond 2012 memories from there (it started well when a beer was thrust into my hand before I could clear the beach) and Team Manager was keen to see what I've been waffling on about. But as I close on Ronachan Point I realise that disappointment lies ahead once again. Light is fading, the temperature drops and now I'm cold, the desire to continue has faded. I know I’ll regret not taking the miles tomorrow, but that’s the way it is some days.

 3 hrs 30 and 14 nm, oh well.

We are only a month since the longest day, but as we gradually make our way south there is already a noticeable difference in the length of the days. Just as I was getting used to the all-night daylight of the northern bit. The evening sunlight seems to grow thinner each day somehow.

We both think it’s too late to go hunting for a campsite now and so we set up in the lay-by. It’s a busy road and everything goes by too fast to see just what it was. Eventually things settle as the night draws in and we have a surprisingly good night of sleep on the edge of the road.

Just Another Ordinary Day

Day 63 – Cuan Sound to Keillmore -  22^th July – 23.8 nm

It's slightly strange that as we pass Skye we feel we are now nearing home. But when you look at the map, and consider the geography, you realise there is still much left to contend with. We have cleared Mull now and Kintyre is now within reach. The fat lady ain't even warming up her voice yet though...

In the night a curious squall battered the van, the wind and rain was strong enough to wake us, but it only lasted a minute and then the calm returned. As did the snoring.

Today starts with a little boat-packing-free luxury, we are on the water’s edge here and it’s less of a carry and really more of just a lift to get on. The sun is out and it’s a pleasant start to the day as I thread my way through the channel around Torsa. Team Manager takes her bike across on the ferry to Luing for a little exploring.

Reaching Shuna I find myself being followed by a small motor cruiser, soon I'm getting a little concerned as he gets closer and closer. I'm just about to tell him to ‘go away’ when I realise that it is Andy Morton. Busted once again.

Andy is long a paddler, he rather uniquely paddles a ruddered Marlin WWR in all sorts of weird and wonderful open water venues. I can’t believe we stumble across each other at 8:30 in the morning at the top of Shuna Sound, neither of us are exactly locals.

We have a chat, and then Andy opens up the throttles (a little) to give me a wash down towards the bottom of the island. We make nearly 7 kts into wind for the next two miles. A little faster than I would ideally like at this time in the morning, but it would be rude not too.  But then Andy has to return to his fishing and I have a wind to slog in to. A quick goodbye and then Andy roars off in his rather shiny boat, while I wonder just where I would be now if I hadn't wasted so much of life going canoeing.

For a while I slog against tide and wind, half the speed of what I had with Andy taking the lead. But then the tide starts to run and soon 5.0 kts or more sits on the GPS. Unfortunately this brings a splashy wind over tide ride too of course.

The sound is littered with overfalls and races as the route threads southwards. Some enliven things a bit and some appear best avoided in the stiff breeze. It’s a slightly intimidating area with Corryvreckan on one side and Dorus Mor on the other, tide-squeezing islets and scattered shallows in between. But once again self-imposed reputational pressure doesn't quite live up to the actuality.

By the time I draw near to Carsaig Bay I am struggling. I became a little too sweaty working on Andy’s wash earlier and now the wind has chilled me. The previous few days are taking their toll too. The wind is rattling up the sound now, rain squalls bouncing between the hills, and I am knackered. I head into the bay to gain a bit of lunchtime respite from the wind. But once I decide to get out to change into some dry clothing I know the die is cast, I'm not going anywhere for a while now.

   

I have completely run out of steam. A pleasant picnic lunch starts on the foreshore, but the rain returns, and lunch break now becomes a humid dayglo huddle as I sit on a soggy bench wrapped inside my shelter. People make a good job of ignoring the eccentric looking visitor as they pass.

TM finally tracks me down to bring a little welcome van-based shelter. As she arrives the sun comes out of course, but then she always brings a little of that into my life. I listen to tales of her bicycle ride this morning and as we sit in the sunshine we watch a couple of rubber-clad girls swimming out into the bay.

Eventually I finish my pie-powered de-wussing and head out once again, paying now for my reckless time-out as I work against the flow. There’s no landing for 5 nm or so now as I slog against things. Eventually I make the landing at Keillmore but Team Manager points out that the parking arrangements are smaller than the van and there is enough chop to make the jetty a mildly tricky landing. We decide to move around the corner into Loch na Cille. After a tiring day it seems to be wasted effort that takes forever, in the overall scheme of things of course it’s not significant.

As we load kit and boat we take a little time to absorb the mellow surroundings, and a little sunshine. It's a remote spot, pleasantly remote.

The narrow road takes us back to Tayvallich where the campsite owner welcomes us. We have a pleasant chat before heading to the pub in order to purchase a little strength for tomorrow. I figure a few extra liquid calories won’t harm either, later we wander back to the campsite, me in a rather unsteady and roundabout way, TM smiles wryly.