Out On Your Ear...

Day 49 – Tarbert Ness – 8^th July – 0 nm

It was Deja Vu squared. 

We were back in Tain, 3 years down the line, in a B&B directly across the road from last time, eating in the same hotel and dodging the same winds. Strange how things work out.

The weather is blowing a hooley; the breakfast room has an impressive view of the bay, but it’s all too impressively white out there for my liking.

It appears that I didn't make too good an impression on arrival at the B&B after all.

We have a pleasant chat with an American family over breakfast. The father is a Professor on a placement at Cambridge for a year. We talk of endurance running, warm beer and small houses amongst other things, before they head off to make the most of the Scottish scenery before their imminent return to the land of the free.

 With breakfast over, I go to confirm our second evening in the B&B but am told that a last-minute booking came in overnight and the room is now taken – the room we are already in. How does that work then?

I return to the room to check the weather, only to find that the WiFi has been switched off. Somebody has been in our room during breakfast too – it’s time to take the hint. This is a first. We've not been kicked out before, I feel slightly proud as we carry our bags out to the slimey goodbye. Yeah and your sausages were undercooked and the dog is ugly too...

We head out to Tarbert Ness, just in case. But the little wind machine is nudging 30 mph at times and the swell is breaking over the reef still. It’s a no-go for now.

I make sure I have a good weather-day faff all the same, dry a bit of kit and waste a bit more of life. But eventually we have to accept that it is not going to happen today – no Brora, no nothing. So we head back to Tain to grab a bite of lunch. We are not too welcome in the bakery either it seems - have we stood in something? It reminds me of our time down at Cruden Bay, and the campsite man in Golftown. Shops don't seem as cheerful. As we head north I am beginning to feel less of a welcome than usual. Could things changed since the referendum I wonder?

After food we head over to Bonar Bridge, where Team Manager goes for a bike ride up the valley and I plan/snooze by the river, under the suspicious eyes of the fishermen. Go on - throw a boat on the roof, it’s a great way to win friends and influence people.

TM returns safely, much de-stressed by her two wheeled time-out and we head over to the campsite - a £22 per night + 20p for the showers affair. I don’t mind the extra 20p it’s just the faff of finding the damned coins – just make it £23 and dump the shower shrapnel FFS.

But the pleasant evening is lightened further by a young lady driving by in a multi-coloured van with rather large lettering on the rear: “I was a good girl then I discovered nipple clamps”.

I was intrigued, and then rather disappointed, as she drove by the spare slot next to us...

Don't Believe Everything You Hear...

Day 48 – Lossiemouth to Tarbert Ness – 7^h July – 19.2 nm

Today I don’t want to repeat the 2012 stranding on Tarbert Ness; a crossing to Brora is on the cards and the forecast looks favourable – winds below 10 mph for the day, and sunny-spells for the most part – that will do, Brora here I come.

It’s a welcome, lazy 11:30 start, as the plan takes me across tide for the day. There is no wind, the sun is out and it would be peaceful, if it wasn't for the fly-boys from Lossie’ poncing about overhead. I pass through the skerries, clad in dozing seals, before heading towards the Ness. The distant lighthouse is lost in the haze – it’s a compass and GPS trip by the look of things.

By the end of the first hour the wind has picked up a little, from the NE, and the sun has sulked away. Not part of the plan, but it’s not a big deal either.

By the end of the 2^nd hour things are starting to get a little choppy, but I am distracted by more squabbling gulls. I head over to take a look and get a rather close-up look of my friends, the Minke whales. One rises a few metres ahead of the boat, it’s quite a large looking beast – hmm...that’s close enough for now.

But suddenly they are gone, the gulls melt away just as quickly. I continue alone into the splashy NE wind. Still the lighthouse is lost in the haze. 

Somewhere along the way it all starts to go a little Pete Tong. Break No.3 is a hectic and splashy affair, the few minutes are grabbed greedily as the boat takes a chunk of downwind drift. Break No. 4 doesn't happen.

By the time No.4 is due I am working hard but the speed is down to 3.5 kts. I've been watching a large rain fall developing down the coast – it’s big and dark, it seems to be drawing winds in. I expect it to fade away, but it doesn't, it sits there stubbornly and then slowly expands up towards the Ness. Things have gone from choppy to beyond chunky and the wind is blowing hard now. I’m starting to get cold in my lightweight cag.

The lighthouse stands obviously now, but it’s not getting any closer. By the time I am 2 miles out I have to accept that I am not going to make it. The combination of tide around the end, with the wind and the swell running through, is too much. Things are getting a touch dodgy now.

But it’s not quite that easy: the landing on the Ness is up-wind and up-tide, after that there is only rock, backed by low cliffs, all the way to Balintore – 7 nm to the south. At least it is down-wind, but even so it won’t be an easy one. I try to weigh up the options, but there aren't any really. I realise I can’t stay here for much longer, but I’ll be buggered if I'm going to give the miles away.

   

I turn down wind a little and head straight for the low cliffs. If in doubt, get in an eddy. I am hoping that the waves will be running along the rocky shore and if I don’t blow too far down then I can scratch my way back up the eddies to the Tarbert slipway. If that doesn't work, then it will be Balintore - irrespective of what I want...

I can’t get too close in as the swell is running at an angle, but I get enough respite from the tide that I can make ground against the wind. I finally sneak nervously through the reefs to hide in best big-girl fashion by the slipway.

That’s me, I’m all in, there’s no more, not today. Time to get off.

So, where did all that come from? What happened to the 10 mph wind and the sunshine? Who ordered the swell then?

We hang around for a while, as I hope for a chance to continue across towards Brora. It doesn't look good. Once I am changed, the wind drops – bastards.

But just as I am about to get changed once again, it returns – double bastards.

 Let’s not fart around here. I go to watch the increasing swell breaking over the submerged reef at the top the headland, there are a plenty of whitecaps. I’m tired and I realise that the day is over. It’s not what I hoped for, but to be honest it’s a relief.

We can’t find a campsite and head in to Tain for the luxury of a B & B. I am still a little dazed and struggle to answer the B & B man’s questions as we book in – it was a rather long short day. He looks unimpressed, the feeling is that we are not making a good impression.

Yeah, whatever...

 

Moby Dick

Day 47 – Pennan to Lossiemouth – 6^th July – 35.3 nm

The split-shifts continue - we are nearly 50 days in now and Paddler is getting tired of paddling, Team Manager is getting tired of everything else.  The long days are starting to add up. Team Manager’s diary sums it up with: “Not enough sleep leaves me faffing and undecided all morning”. I could agree with this of course, but I’m too tired and can’t be arsed.

Tarbet Ness beckons and the weather forecast is a little mixed ahead, we need to get to Lossie’ today to be in a good position for the crossing.

On the water before 8:00; launch off a slightly smelly beach at pretty Pennan and then out under grey skies, with a gentle chop. The forecast today is for no swell and winds should be light, throw in the split shift and it looks like it’s going to be another double-edged long day.

Along the cliffs the fog still lingers, but today it drops no lower than the top of the cliffs.  I pass by some Puffins on the way out and then head to Troup Head. From here it’s a straightforward stretch with no tidal problems or headlands - a direct line towards Portknockie then.

3 hrs later the breeze has dropped, the chop has faded and I find myself sweating a little as the overhead grey turns blue. A little short of Portsoy I notice a number of tight circles of gulls squabbling on the surface. I head over to investigate only for them to abruptly disperse and head off. This repeats a number of times, but then as I close on one of the squabbles, a sudden white wave spoils the oily calm and I watch my first kayak-viewed whale break the surface, while the feathered squabblers dodge the big-mouth of doom.

It’s dead calm now and I find myself amongst a number of whales, the sounds of their ‘blows’ comes from each side and I watch more of the gull squabbles form – a useful indicator for where to watch next. The trip has had a scattering of wildlife but this is the best so far, I spend the next hour or so working my way along the coast with my fish-herding Minke friends for welcome company.

By the time I reach the headland it seems that the word is out and people can be seen on the tops looking out to sea, a converted trawler festooned with binoculars heads in the opposite direction, while small boats head out from the harbour. It’s no longer peaceful out here. The whales, it seems, feel the same way – they quietly disappear.

The tide is against me now and after 5 hrs or so on the water it’s time to head in. In 2012 I ended a shitty squall-dodging day on a grim and miserable beach by Buckie. The Gods of Fate have another laugh when I find myself hauling out on the same beach, more of that déjà vu stuff it seems. At least the sun is out this time though. We pass the time for a few hours, while Buckie is viewed safely from a distance.

Motivation is lacking and I struggle for excuses to not get on, the wind is picking up and things are going grey once again. But eventually I succumb to the inevitable and start to head across Spey Bay. The wind strengthens as I head further out and soon I am surfing along towards Lossie’. It’s a good following sea, not quite too big, but enough to put a smile on my face. It’s strange how confidence ebbs and flows from day to day – one day this could be big enough to make things tense, on another the same is a bit of a hoot. Whatever... today’s good, bring on the miles.

The low, featureless coastline gives a further-out-than-it-is feel, but with the following sea the miles tick off nicely.  I survive an attack by a militant Guilliemot, and then cross the chop outside the harbour before gliding smoothly into the natural harbour on the west of the headland.

Long day – good miles – extra calorie pizza for tea.

Rattray Head?

Day 46 – Port Erroll to Pennan – 5^th July – 32.7 nm

Blue skies and no wind – game on! As we are getting things together down in the small harbour, we find ourselves chatting with a charming couple. The gentleman was a German trawlerman who married a local lass from Aberdeen and has lived here ever since. It’s a pleasant start to the day as we ‘compare notes’ on cross-border relationships and chat about life in general. But all too soon the tidal clock is ticking and I head out of the harbour. There is only a gentle swell out in the bay, it looks like a good day lies ahead.

But as I paddle around the corner I am met by the fog once again, visibility drops to nothing as I paddle through the grey wall. An hour later I am off Peterhead and still there is nothing to see. The  rumble of heavy diesel engines drifts over from my left, it’s disconcerting, I can hear things moving but I can’t see a thing. The tide across the headland helps me cover the ground quickly, it's not the day to hang around here. A small lobster boat appears Mr Ben's Shopkeeper-like out of the mist and is just as quickly swallowed, we are both a little on edge I suspect as a quick wave is exchanged.

Eventually the throbbing diesels fade to the stern and my course continues towards Rattray Head. I was looking forward to paddling by here, it is a regular shipping forecast acquaintance and was a striking sight under dark skies in 2012. But today it’s the disappointment of another milk bottle moment, the fog means that there is nothing to see.

As the GPS shows that I am across the headland I am suddenly against the flow and the swell picks up a little over the shallows. The waves appear silently out of the fog and lift and drop me as they pass by, but it’s not a problem. I can see the sandy bottom pass beneath in the clear water, it is paradoxically disconcerting as some sort of primeval instinct looms at the back of my mind.  I find it strangely disorientating to see the sand with no sound of surf or any links to the coast, out in the fog I feel a long way from shore.

It’s now flat calm as I reach the shallow gap at the Cairnbulg rocks, here the downstream ripples confirm the change of tide. I drift over to take a look at the wreck of the Sovereign trawler, stuck on the rocks for 10 years now. The last 3 years of rocky exposure haven’t been easy by the look of things. As I start to paddle away the fog suddenly lifts and I can see the beach over to the left. It’s time to end the first shift of the day and I head in to land on the sand at Fraserburgh.

It’s another afternoon highlighting the romance of the UK Circumnavigation. We sit in the carpark and watch young boys driving up and down the road at more relativistic speeds, trying to keep up with the Ramsgate cousins. I am impressed how expensive the cars are. Every now and then they pop into the car park to wang their rubbish out of the window, before shooting off again. Team Manager goes for a walk in to town but soon returns.

As the afternoon wastes away the fog comes and goes while the wind picks up a little. Eventually it’s time to grab a few miles, the mist lifts conveniently on time and I sneak across the harbour mouth to work a little further eastwards. Everybody has been waiting for the fog to go it seems and it’s like a maritime M25 along the coast. I wonder just how they know when the fog is to clear.

There was a sailing festival further along the coast, and an interesting and eclectic mix of vessels pass me on their way back home, I get the odd wave.

The cliffs poke out of the top of the rapidly thinning mist and eventually a halt is called at the pretty little spot of Pennan – pretty from the paddling point of view, less appealing from the van driver’s point of view with the narrow road it seems.

Inadvertently we have stopped on the opposite side of the headland from Stuart Trueman who is paddling the UK Circumnav in a clockwise direction. Stuart is due to finish in Grimsby, so the end is nearly in sight now for him.

We head up the hill to camp in a cramped corner of another hilltop, I guess the view would be impressive but once again we are lost in the mist. Food is eaten in the darkness, another rushed and soggy late finish. It was a long day, 13 hrs in total for 7 hrs of paddling, but life could be worse - it was good to take the miles today.

2 out of 3

Day 45 – Port Erroll – 4^th July – 0 nm

The campsite was lashed by the rain and rattled by the wind all night long, but within the security of the van all was fine. I'm glad I didn't have to flap my way through through that lot in a tent.

The fog hasn't gone anywhere, the view extends no further than the hedge at the edge of the camp field. The forecast is for 20 mph wind and with a large swell, on the hilltop outside it’s breezy but not 20 mph. Today’s route involves get-out-free cliffs for the first hour or so – I fancy taking a look before I commit.

We get soaked as we fight our way down a soggy, overgrown track to the cliff edge, only to find there is not much to see – through the fog we can make out the water at the base of the cliffs but little more. There is a large swell running, the cliffs are buffered by a width of white foam that fades into the fog. But we can’t make out anything beyond this. We can hear more than we can see.

We drive further along the cliffs and go for another wander. On the way to the cliffs we pass a returning group of bemused French tourists who are trying to find a good viewpoint. Today? Try Machrihanish I reckon.

Once again there isn't much to see, but one thing is obvious the 20 mph wind just isn't there – it’s calm. Bugger.

Another faff as we head back down to the harbour at Port Erroll, here the swell is obvious as it climbs up the sandy beach.  Here we go again - it’s now crappy decision time.

I believe it’s not going to be nice along those cliffs with the swell, but I can’t say for sure, because we just can’t see it. It may be ok around the corner, or it may be nasty, who knows? I wish someone would make the decision for me...

We are 6 weeks in now and physically I feel pretty good - we need the miles, I want to be able to crack in the miles. Today is frustrating as there is no wind – without the swell it would be a fairly straightforward paddle.  But the combination of swell, fog and cliffs is too much perhaps? Drop any one and things could be on.

As we head to the reliability (and calories) of the supermarket cafe I suspect it’s going to be a paddle-free day, with a good serving of second-guessing and doubt...

Just for a change.

Apocalypse Then

Day 44 - -Stonehaven to Port Erroll – 3^rd July – 31.8 nm

07:30 on the water again; it’s a bit of a drag struggling out of a warm maggot so early, but once the boat leaves the beach a slightly smug feeling develops as I get started before the world or wind-gods awake.

Out of Stonehaven paddling on an oily calm under clear skies, there’s a lazy swell but that’s all – a nice start to the day.

The tide is running and the low, green cliffs slide by peacefully – the map displays some intriguing location names: Tilly Tenant, Grim Brigs, Brown Jewel, Through Gang Point, Arnot Boo and the best of all – Blowup Nose. It’s a pleasant and uneventful paddle, and I'm happy about that.

I clear Girdle Ness on a food-break drift, but my laziness is spotted by Team Manager and I receive a quick ‘morale-boosting’ call to ‘help’ me on my way. Next I have to work my way through the fleet of moored platform support vessels. I'm slightly on edge as some seem to hold position without anchors – so there is little warning when they decide it’s time to suddenly head in to Aberdeen for a brew. The last time I crossed here I was impressed by, and eventually weary of, the number of helicopter movements. There was a constant thrumming beat in the air – Apocalypse Now. Today the skies are much quieter, just the odd cab heading east to make a black-gold shift change. The price of oil is low now – Apocalypse Then perhaps?

Back to reality: the sun is still out, but the tide is starting to fade now, it’s another split-shift day of course. Just ahead lies the Black Dog Range, it’s not a big one, only just over a mile wide but I can’t make out the buoys on the far side. In fact I can’t see anything on the far side; everything lies hidden beneath a great example of a North Sea Haar. The fog starts in a perfectly vertical grey wall, it creeps slowly and slightly ominously towards me. It reminds of the sort of film where nothing good comes of the variously hapless characters. 

I reckon if I can’t see the edge of the range then the chaps with guns can’t either – it’s nearly Friday lunchtime anyway, they’ll all have nobbed off home by now. I head in towards Balmedie, where the plan is to sit out the tide for a few hours in the country park.

I disappear into the chilly fog, it’s strangely choppy and breezy inside, outside it was a still calm – a sudden and slightly unnerving contrast. Balmedie lies behind a long featureless beach according to the map. Visibility is down to less than 100m now, if we don’t get this right I can see a comedy afternoon as Team Manager and Fatboy stumble around in the fog inadvertently avoiding each other for a few hours. ‘Excuse me. Have you seen a guy dragging a kayak on a trolley – a grumpy and soggy looking guy?’

 A quick call and the brief is for Team Manager to stand at the end of the stream, while my end of the bargain is just to get my act together and find it. I sneak through a premature sand bar of surf and then hit the beach just a few metres to the side of the stream (got to handrail you see?), at the feet of Team Manager – she’s well impressed! Thank-you Mr Garmin.

We haul the boat past the burnt-out shell of a Fiesta, a nice beach decoration, and then along a convoluted walkway to the van. We sit out the afternoon accompanied by the coming and going of a wide-ranging selection of society. Some of them are a little unnerving. I enjoy people watching now and then, but I’d rather be watching some of this lot through binoculars at least. Later on, entertainment is provided by Aberdeen’s Formula One Branch as they race around the car park. It's impressive how much effort they put into scaring grannies and trying to kill kiddies on bikes.

Eventually the tide has turned and we watch the country park flag stream as the wind increases. I head slowly down to the beach, if I move slowly enough it might all go away. I hope the wind will shift the fog, but no such look, I head out into the unknown.

There’s a bit more swell now and the S wind makes a splashy chop. It’s rather unnerving to have no visual cues at all, even with the compass and GPS I find it a struggle to maintain my heading as I zig-zag my way northward.

With the sandy beach somewhere on my left the conditions are not a problem. After Newburgh the map shows a low rocky coastline and things chop up a little, but it’s ok.  A little later things start to become more confused, the map shows cliffs along the edge and I guess the swell is rebounding out. The foggy zig-zags are becoming more pronounced now, as the boat sneakily turns to match the sea. It starts to rain, a miserable cold drizzle.

By the time I get to the appropriately named The Skares I’ve had enough. I drift blindly into the confused waters off the end, the swell is starting to break now and then and I'm not getting much warning of it coming through the fog. I turn into Cruden Bay and immediately things settle, I consider carrying-on but as I look over to the side a chunky one looms out of the fog and I quickly switch back to Wuss-Mode - harbour here we come! Once again, Mr Garmin helps me out as he takes me to the Port Erroll harbour entrance.

I'm glad to be off the water, the fog and drizzle doesn't really do a great deal to help the motivation. From the top of the sea wall I can’t see much, but the waves I can see don’t look that big, but then I'm looking at a sandy beach now I 'spose. Oh well, I'm off now anyway.

 A little drier and warmer we head up to the pub to see if we can get some food. The young staff are surprisingly rude and I distinctly get the feeling that my not-from-here accent sealed the deal when it came to not serving us. We leave empty handed.

I'm on a bit of a healthy-eating drive at the mo anyway, so we head into a rather bleak Peterhead and buy a healthy and nutritious takeaway from a very friendly Turkish gentleman - "Anything on it Sir?" - "yes, more calories please..."
We retire to the wet and windy hilltop campsite, still enveloped in the fog.

Oh the glamour.

Warp Drive / Just Another Day

Day 43 – Arbroath to Stonehaven – 2^nd July – 28.6 nm

The campsite man is pleasant and we have a nice chat. He corrects me though when I reply that I am paddling around the UK – I am paddling around Scotland, the rest doesn't matter he tells me – there’s no smile in his eyes, he’s serious - unusual.

It’s not FFS early, but it’s early enough. We return to Victoria Park, it’s peaceful and very pleasant as an early morning mist slowly burns away.

I head up onto the cliff-tops once again and things look much better, there’s still a tell-tale band of white foam along the base of the cliffs, but it shouldn't be a problem – the sun is out after all.

I can’t be bothered to drive back to the beach at the south end of town so we take our lives in our hands and carry the boat gingerly across the slippery rock ledges for a sneaky launch through a narrow gulley. I paddled by here yesterday, before I turned back, so I guess it still counts? Team Manager frowns unhelpfully.

There is still a swell running but there is no wind. It takes a bit of fortuitous timing to leave the gulley safely, but I'm soon out into deep water and happy to be paddling once again, under sunny skies - 07:45 OTW.

The cliffs drop to the rear, leaving Dickmont’s Den and The Deil’s Heid behind is probably not a bad thing I reflect. The swell makes enough rebound to keep me awake and I am happy to accept that I made the correct decision when I turned back yesterday. Conditions are much better today but it’s still enough to keep me a distance offshore, yesterday could have ended in tears I reckon.

Lunan Bay is a sandy oasis lying rebelliously in the rocky coastline, it looks like a pleasant spot but it’s not on the destination list today – hopefully.

I close on the shiny lighthouse at Scurdie Ness, by Montrose, and once again I spot my mad female stalker waving furiously out to sea, that lass is going to get locked up one of these days...

Montrose Bay resorts to bit of one-upmanship as it extends its quiet sandy beach for twice the distance of Lunan Bay, before the low rocky coastline begins again.

We are on split-shifts once again; this morning’s landing options are probably going to be a selection from Johnshaven, Gourdon or preferably Inverbervie. The tide turns on time, but a little quicker than I expect and as the swell lifts I find myself in a bit of a scruffy tide race off the rocky ledges at Johnshaven. The map shows a rather narrow gap for an entrance to JH, this is confirmed by the Team Manager who stops for a look on her way by. The swell isn't big but it’s enough to mean that you don’t want to get too close to those ledges. Landing through the gap doesn't sound like the cleverest option.

I'm pushing against a knot of tide now and the swell is breaking along the ledges in a sort of  ‘you ain't landing here’ reminder. Team Manager calls to say that the beach at Inverbervie is dumping but has a gap - if I'm quick. Oh yeah, I’ll just pop it into Warp Drive then.

Before I can get there I receive another call, the beach has just closed out – ‘You Snooze - You Lose’.

Well, it sounds like a harbour landing in Gourdon then. There is an impressive break on a reef just outside the harbour, I do a Major Tom, skirt the reef (by miles) and then follow a small, blue crab boat in. The reef was one of those micky-taking, wind-up ones – you get all worked–up and all dressed-up, to then have a perfectly flat paddle in of course.

The sun is out and we sit on the edge of the harbour, watching Gourdon life go by in a flurry of fish-processing and loud cars. At the same time there is something of a paradoxically sleepy air about the place. After a morning on the water the ‘Award-winning’ Fish and Chip shop (sorry, restaurant) sounds the perfect lunchtime option.  I can’t see that they would have won any awards where I come from...

Team Manager heads off on her bike for a ride in the sunshine while I take a wander around Gourdon and do the scruffy traveller impression as I clutter up the place with drying kit. 

Eventually our harbour-side idyll has to be broken by a return to the water – Stonehaven next. On the way out of the harbour I overhear a couple of tomb-stoning lads discussing the fun that would be had if they grab and capsize me as I pass. They run down the wall and jump, but forewarned is forearmed, a hard-right rudder and a couple of quick strokes and I’m soon beyond swimming reach – up yours ugly. I don’t feel as guilty now about washing out my pee bottle in the harbour.

The tide runs well now and I'm ticking along nicely at six knots. As the sun disappears, it grows a little chilly and with the grey skies things suddenly seem less fun.

As I watch the rocky reefs slowly morph into low cliffs, the swell now starts to rebound. The conditions aren’t big but they become quite confused. I can’t see a pattern to the chop at all, the swell seems to constantly vary in size and frequency, and it comes from all sorts of directions. The boat wallows and slides around tediously.  Eventually things are big enough to put a kaibosh on admin breaks and so I head in to Stonehaven to eat and to consider my short term future. I watch a sea kayak / lifeboat exercise (I think) as I eat.

I was hoping for a Newtonhill finish today, but after a few minutes of luxury in the still water of the outer harbour and a wuss-call with Team Manager I decide to call it a day.

Just another day.