Cape Wrath And Beyond.

Or as we dubbed it on the day, Cape Serenity. But more of the serenity of Cape Wrath later. 

The Calmac ferry arrived in Ullapool at a good time for us, the tide was high enough that the car deck was just about level with the street making hauling the kayak on its trolley off the ferry far easier than it could have been. A few hundred metres of hauling later and we’d found a spot for the tent just metres from the beach and tomorrow morning’s high tide. 

Through the Summer Isles the next morning with a light following wind then on around Rubha Coigeach crossing to Achmevich Beach for lunch. The now windless day was soft shades of translucent silvery grey. The sea sluggishly moved with a barely noticeable south westerly swell and above us the thin low cloud veiled the sun but admitted a satiny brightness that made the mirror-like sea glisten like mercury. 

On around the Point of Stoer travelling fast now with a healthy SW wind filling both sails. Just before the Point itself, The Old Man of Stoer, a sea stack well known to UK rock climbers stood tethered to the cliffs by a climbing rope. Turning into the wind around the Point it was a bit of a push against the fierce wind funneling over the headland and out through the bay to find a campsite in the shore of Culkein village. 

The South Westerly was still blowing the next morning so it was a very fast sail NE across the bay and then North to Handa for a cuppa and something to eat. Handa Island is leased to the Scottish Wildlife Trust. It is of particular significance for its seabirds such as guillemots, razorbills and great skuas breed in internationally significant numbers. 

 

A little after 1pm and we’d set up camp at the top of the beach at Kinlochbervie and let Alan know we had arrived. Alan, a work colleague from many years ago, was joining us to round Cape Wrath and along the north coast. 

In the pub that evening we pored over maps and tidal information and decided that the conditions the next day looked good, the east going stream started about 5:30pm and we had a weakening SW wind to help us up the coast, so a sleep in and a lazy morning before heading off. 

As we left the shelter of Loch Inchard and turned north, the southerly tide and rebound made for slow and uncomfortable going for a few kilometres - hopefully not a taste of what may lay ahead. 

Sandwood Bay about 15km south of the Cape was realistically our only opportunity to land along the cliff bound and rocky shore and the benign sea conditions meant the surf would be small. Sandwood is just one of those amazing beaches, sweeping for about 3km in a graceful arc backed by dunes and low rocky hills. 

The SW wind had weakened considerably and all was pretty calm until an area of boils and a quite unruly sea just south of the Cape indicated a lot of water was still moving. Somewhere.

It was hard to tell. 

Did this mean we had our timing wrong? 

The sea calmed down closer to the Cape and by the time we arrived it was as serene as we could have hoped for. In fantastic sunshine we passed through two big arches right on the Cape, lining up photos, meandering as well as it’s possible to meander in a 5m+ double kayak back and forth revelling in the serenity of Wrath. 

On to Kearvaig and its luxurious bothy, but before we could settle and put the billy on it was a long long haul with our kayaks and gear over the long low tide length of beach of soft sand. 

Some days, and this was one of them, it seems harder work at the end of the day getting the kayak above the high water mark and camp set up than the whole day’s paddling. 

Kearvaig is one of those special places, remote wild and wonderful. You’ll probably look it up on Google Earth and get some idea of the place but either by foot, bike or kayak endeavour to get there in real life. Arriving by kayak is probably the most challenging but whatever you do, try and avoid arriving at low tide like we did. Not only is Kearvaig an amazing spot but we were treated to a calm evening of amazing light and cloud scapes. 

Cape Wrath in the background.

Out through the small but messy surf the next morning to pass spectacularly high cliffs abounding with puffins and guillemots. We thought the arches at Cape Wrath were impressive but this coastline just became increasingly magnificent. 

Durness was murky with drizzle but that didn’t deter the beach goers who we spotted huddling out of the rain under large beach towels. Too hard core for us - we went to the pub for a pint and counter meal still in our dripping kayaking gear. 

Being comfy and warm in the pub, and a second pint, inevitably meant lunch was a bit longer than it would have been if we too had huddled on the beach in the drizzle, so Rispond, a few kilometres along the coast offered a good landing and camping space. 

Rispond’s little harbour with a beautiful stone jetty and adjacent buildings were built in 1788 initially for trade in wool to Holland then salt herring and a salmon bottling plant. Now the buildings are holiday rental accommodation and a private holiday house, all in very good condition and well cared for. We certainly appreciated the flat grass on the front lawn. 

The very sheltered harbour and slip are used almost exclusively by the local lobster fisherman, who stores a week’s catch in slatted wooden crates tied floating in the water there until he heaves them all onto his ute to be shipped to Portugal.  There is no quota, the lobsters just have to be the legal size.

If you have the chance to go sea kayaking anywhere in the UK pick any section of the coastline between Cape Wrath and Thurso. Just when we thought the arches, caves, tunnels, stacks and cliffs couldn’t get any more impressive we rounded the next headland and discovered more. 

Caves we entered without a torch enveloped us in total darkness long before reaching the end, and all the while the echoey disorientating sound of the sea swishing, booming and gurgling filled our ears. One particularly spooky cave had a beach of white sand at its head, but in the semi darkness it wasn’t readily apparent what the vague whiteness ahead was, until we were aground. In the gloomy light, the long wave-smoothed purple/red rocks of the tunnels were reminiscent of the view from those tiny cameras when travelling down an oesophagus. The gurgling sea added to the effect.  

Much of the coast is easily accessible, not particularly exposed or committing and the sections between road access are short. Information on launch spots, tides and all other necessary info can be found in this excellent guide book from Pesda Press in the UK. 

Our last tidal ‘interest’ was Strathy Point, sticking some 4km out into the Pentland Firth. With low tides in the morning we were paddling most, if not all day with the east going flood so we were expecting an accelerating current around the Point but were disappointed. 

Our last night before Thurso and the end of our trip was the natural harbour at Portskerra.

 

The last day of paddling was as spectacular as the previous few - a myriad of caves, maze like channels between sea stacks and through arches. A nice wind too so with sails up we made good progress past Dounreay, one of the earliest nuclear power and testing sites in the UK. It is now being decommissioned which was originally scheduled to take 100 years then accelerated to take 60 years at an estimated cost of £4.3 billion (~AU$8.6 billion) The site is now surrounded by two large wind farms. 

As we rounded Holborn Head and Thurso appeared in front of us so did the wind. The same lovely sailing wind we’d had earlier in the day was now right on the nose. With 6 weeks of paddling fitness in our upper bodies we just went for it, paddling hard the final 3km to the boat ramp just at the mouth of the River Thurso. 

The last of the whisky was drunk to celebrate another fantastic day on the water and we wandered off into the streets of Thurso in search of a shower, food and beer. 

Not necessarily in that order. 

Butt of Lewis

Plod, plod, plod, the  low rocky coastline of NW Lewis slowly disappears behind us. To be replaced by more of the same around the next headland in front of us. 24kms of it. Not exactly a boring coastline but to be honest not a particularly interesting one either especially on a windless overcast day, the smooth oily sea barely undulating beneath us. A zephyr of a SE breeze moving a knot or so faster than we were just filled both sails for a while but mostly it was plod, plod, plod. 

Quite a contrast to the day before off Gallan Head where messy confused seas threw us around and slowed us down for what seemed an awfully long time. 

John and Lorna Norgrove who we’d met through a mutual friend in Tasmania (Hi Luke!) had waved us off from the beach at Carnais. 

Thank you John and Lorna for your hospitality, a comfy night in The Wheelhouse, and an insight into life on Lewis. 

Retired now, but as is often the case with active and inspiring retirees as busy as ever with a myriad of activities. Most importantly they run The Linda Norgrove Foundation https://lindanorgrovefoundation.org/ 

The foundation, dedicated to their aid worker daughter killed in Afghanistan in 2010 funds education, health and childcare initiatives for Afghan women and children. We were particularly impressed with the funding of female medical students all the way through their studies, 33 currently and they are aiming for 50. Seriously, throw them some funds. 

The plodding continued to a beach about 4kms from the Butt of Lewis where we waited for the tide to flow NE. The Butt of Lewis is one of the windiest places in the UK and the tides can run up to 6kn as the Atlantic Ocean tries to squeeze around The Butt into The Minch and then back again. By the time we were looking up at the lighthouse on the tip the overcast skies had cleared and there wasn’t a breath of wind or at slack water a trace of current. Meandering around the coastal rocks we contemplated how often the conditions are so benign to enable kayaks to get in so close. 

A day of contrasts. The NW coast of Lewis from Barvas may have been a bit tedious and uninteresting, but the NE coast to the beach at Tolsta was the opposite. Fantastic cliffs, offshore rocks, caves and arches and just screeching with with bird life.  In the bays between the rocky headlands, the waters abounded with marine mammals - we saw dolphins, Harbour porpoises and at least 6 Minke whales, one of them breaching.

The thought of a beer, the first since Castlebay, as Stornaway loomed ahead of us had pushed us on around Tolsta Point to land at 6:30, a bit later than our usual knock off time. At least our feet were on dry land, a pretty good signifier that a day on the water has been a 100% successful, but camping was limited to the dry, deep loose beach sand. Just the worst! And really not what we needed to cope with at the end of a long day. 

The incongruous Tolsta pier at the end of the beach came to the rescue with smooth, flat and having been in the sun all day, warm concrete. The pier built in 1894 against the advice of local fisherman had finally proved useful, as a campsite. Cue a rave for freestanding tents. 

Stornaway!

The ramp we’d hoped to use to wheel the kayak ashore for the ferry didn’t exist so we tied up in the marina and headed for the homely Heb Hostel. With bodies hosed clean by glorious long hot showers and smelly thermals going around in the wash it was beer o’clock at the Crown, the only pub in town with hand pumps. 

Pedal powered Harris Tweed loom. 

High tide and on its trolley we hauled the kayak out into the street and around to the Calmac terminal for the ferry the next day.

Castlebay and The Vatersay Boys

The two very windy days camped on our ‘nae midges’ knoll on the NE tip of Eriskay made us very appreciative of our sturdy, seemingly bombproof, little tent. 

Eventually the wind dropped and veered NW so in theory an easy 25km downwind run to Castlebay. We left mid afternoon and shot down the Eastern shore of Eriskay but crossing the Sound of Barra even though only a couple of kilometres was full on with the wind and a steep choppy sea right on the beam. There was no way we were tackling that wind all the way to Castlebay so ducked into the channel between Gighay and Hellisay to find a camp for the night.

Another plod into a fierce headwind the next morning and we finally reached Castlebay. A scenic little sheltered harbour dominated by Kisimul Castle standing proudly on a skerrie smack bang in the middle of the bay. It was busy too with the daily Cal Mac ferry from Oban, the tall ship ‘Lady of Avenor’ running evening cruises and visiting yachts of all shapes and sizes. 

Between the late 1800s and the early 1900s Castlebay was at the centre of the herring boom. At it’s height the shoreline was a hive of activity with thousands of men working on the boats, the herring girls in the gutting sheds as well as coopers and other associated trades. 

We tied up to a pontoon in the marina and found a lovely sheltered grassy spot for the tent nearby, just above the high tide mark. With the marina showers and washing machines just metres away we rapidly sorted our smelly and salt encrusted bodies and clothing and wandered in to Castlebay. Within a matter of hours we were warned that the harbour master was a grumpy bas.…erh, shall we say, person and that he may object to us camping on the foreshore near the marina. Later, back at the tent sure enough there he was, busying himself around the marina and the incoming yachts. Inevitability he came over with a “helloo”.  His only concern was our kayak tied up at a quiet end of one of the pontoons. Once we explained we were moving it ashore at high tide he was cool even mentioning what a sheltered spot we had for the tent. 

A little while later the tide app told me there was another 1.2m of water to come in. Mmmm, that’s extremely close, if not above groundsheet level. We looked with concern at the seaweed tangled through the grassy patch we were camped on. Perhaps it wasn’t storm tossed seaweed, perhaps it was the springs high tide mark and the grumpy harbour master didn’t have to move us on as he knew the tide would do it in a hour or so. 

There was some discussion about membership of the Underwater Camping Club, of which I’m a full member. Ask me how to join, it’s quite easy.

We’re going to be here a couple of days and the tides are getting bigger so membership of the UWCC seemed a certainty, until I rechecked the tide app. This time it had updated to the correct time and told me there was only further 30cm of water to the tide height of 4.2m. The next couple of days the tide is 4.4m, but still heaps of freeboard.

Given the forecast for the next few days we were uncertain whether to stock up on food and carry on knowing we’d probably not make much progress up the West Coast of Barra and beyond or rest up and hope for the predominant Westerlies to abate. This decision was made for us having spotted an unassuming little poster advertising a gig by The Vatersay Boys at Vatersay Hall on Friday. Decision made! Tickets bought! 

Some boat maintenance, a walk up Heabhal at 383m the highest point on Barra, Castlebay Heritage Centre, wifi at the Community Hub, reading, eating and shopping for a weeks food filled Weds and Thursday.

Friday and all stocked up with food, we set off into the low cloud, drizzle and stiff Westerly aiming to camp on the West Coast of Vatersay. It was a bit of a plod across then straight into the wind so the first beach on the south Coast was too tempting to pass by. 

With the tent out of the wind in the lee of the gable end of a ruined house we were within walking distance of the Hall for The Vatersay Boys gig in the evening. 

An impressive drum kit, a piano accordion, a button accordion and bagpipes make a lot of noise, more than enough to fill the Hall. It was a sell out evening and obviously very popular with the locals whose ages ranged across four generations. The young teenage girls dressed in night club finery were first on the dance floor, the teenage boys weren’t far behind. For the best part of three hours the teenagers dominated the floor as the Boys pumped out one tune after another.

What a fantastic night!

Outer Hebrides.

We really could not have scored a better day for crossing from Milovaig on Skye to the isle of Ronay, NE of Benbecula. The distance is almost exactly the same as Banks Strait between Musselroe in NE Tasmania and Clarke Island in The Furneaux Group, similar tidal flows too. We’ve crossed Banks Strait a good few times but there was a tad more nervousness for this crossing. Unfamiliar waters maybe but perfect weather forecasts. The Windy app was giving us variable winds from the SE of up to 8knots, the Inshore Waters forecast was giving us variable winds too, from the NE, Force 3 or 4. Either would do very nicely thank you. Both forecasts meant with the wind behind us we’d be sailing, but if we had a choice the Inshore Waters would come first as we’d be sailing even faster. The wind strength and direction might be uncertain but what was certain, given the general situation, was a hot sunny day.

The evening before we left Lynne got chatting with a fella at the Milovaig jetty. Once she mentioned we were kayaking he insisted on coming over to inspect our boat and chat all things kayaking as it turned out he had been sea kayaking for 30 years including a solo circumnavigation of the UK in 1994. He was out in his inflatable the next morning fishing and gave us a wave as we headed offshore. 

As it turned out neither forecast was quite right, the wind was NE as the Inshore Forecast predicted but Windy picked the strength, just enough to fill both sails and give us a little boost. We’d left about 10am which according to the Tidal Atlas would put us roughly in the middle of the crossing at slack water between the Southerly ebb and the Northerly flood. As it turned out we didn’t come across any perceptible tidal flow, and our track followed the straight line route on the GPS very closely simply by aiming for a prominent hill on North Uist all the way across. 

Without a cloud in the sky we paddled meditatively on without a care in the world. We could feel by the lessened load on our paddle blades that the sails were helping us along just nicely. 

Far to south we spotted a large freighter, heading north. Knowing we were crossing shipping separation lanes I repeated the mantra learnt as a kid crossing the road, “Look right, look left, look right again”, adding a contemporary “Then paddle like hell!”

A few checks of its position over the next few minutes confirmed the ship was going to pass well ahead of us.

A little while later Lynne spotted another, heading south. This one too was going to pass ahead of us, but much closer than the previous ship. We headed more northerly and slowed down to increase the distance between us. It rumbled across our bows about 1.5km ahead of us. 

Back on our original course we paddled on until ‘smoko’ time, about 2 1/2 hours from leaving the beach in Skye. We were ready for a break and something to eat, the GPS told us we had about 5km to go and while sitting there relaxing and eating the light North Easterly was pushing us along at about 4kph. 

I had checked out the east coast of Benbecula and the adjacent coastline on Google Earth for landing opportunities at some point. The continuous rocky shoreline seemed very uninviting with few if any beaches of any sort. I thought it can’t be that bad, there’ll always be something. Well I was wrong,  it was worse. 

Eventually, at about 1:30 we found a bouldery beach that enabled us to clamber out and pull the bow of the boat up on the rocks.  We stretched our legs and had a pee, and were tempted to linger longer and have a cup of coffee, but having just had a break we thought we’d carry on a bit further. Which we did. A bit further, and a bit further and further still as every headland, every corner, every bay just revealed more uninviting rocky coastline. There were a few pebbly beaches but once close they were all guarded by seaweed covered rock shelves or boulder fields. Finally, a couple of hours later, and by now really needing a coffee, food and a rest, we found a bouldery beach with no offshore rocks, just seaweed. I pulled the rudder up and we glided into the seaweed. 

And stopped dead. 

It was so thick and the water too deep we couldn’t even get out, let alone pull our the boat through it to the beach, 5m away. 

There was nothing for it, out came the standby food that lives behind my seat, a tin of baked beans and a tin of rice cream.

The map showed a sandy beach on the Southern side of a small island, so we navigated the maze of skerries only to find a mass of boulders.

Onward, but by now time was getting on and we were looking not just for a rocky beach to pull the bow up but a proper landing place where we could get the heavily laden boat right out of the water and camp. This was not looking too hopeful until eventually in the distance we spotted the Petersport jetty/boat ramp and on a knoll above the clutter of ropes, buoys and pots was a lovely spot for the tent. 

After nearly 50km with only one break ashore of 15-20mins the end of day dram of Jura malt never tasted so good. 

Heading south the next day into 15kn Southerlies we landed in the SE facing bay of Bàgh Uisinis with its comfy bothy looked after by the Mountain Bothies Association. By the time we were back on the water the wind had all but dropped away so we made good time to the entrance of Lochboisdale. It was well past lunch and we were looking for a landing spot, hah! We discussed heading into Lochboisdale itself knowing there would be a boat ramp/jetty but the extra few kms in, then back out again wasn’t attractive.  

Luckily on the southern shore alongside a steep rocky gulch we were able to climb straight out of our cockpits up onto the rocks without the need to beach the kayak at all.

The map showed a number of small sandy beaches on the Northern shore of Eriskay, and this time it did not let us down. We pulled ashore just on high tide on peerless white sand and just meters away a perfect spot for the tent on beautifully flat machair. 

“Nae midges” I shouted over the roar of the wind and the buffeting, flapping tent. It’s become a bit of a catch phrase on this trip as when we can we’ll always camp on a high point so as to catch the slightest of breeze to help keep the ‘wee beasties’ at bay. It also has advantage of panoramic views. 

So far this has worked very well with only a couple of mornings of midge terror in three weeks paddling. 

Even before we’d landed at our perfect white sand beach I’d realised we were only a couple of kms from the ‘Am Politician’, the Eriskay pub. The thought of a pint or two and a pub meal only half an hour’s walk away.…well.

For smelly, salt encrusted, hungry and thirsty sea kayakers the pub would at least sort out the two most important of the four. 

The SS Politician is the name of the vessel that went aground off Eriskay in 1941 carrying a huge cargo of malt whisky. The locals of course thought this manna from heaven was wonderful; the Police and Excise officials less so. The story of the SS Politician and the horde of whisky is told by the book and film “Whisky Galore”.

Whisky bottles from the ship SS Politician, the bottle on the right still containing the original whisky. 

With the pub wifi enabling contact with the outside world I had confidently messaged a mate near Fort William that we’d be in Castlebay the next day. Only 25 kms away and Castlebay would sort out the smelly and salt encrusted parts of us that the pub couldn’t. But that was before we checked the weather.  Ah, right, maybe I spoke too soon. 

The Inshore Forecast predicted W or SW 5 or 6 and Windy’s forecast was a mass of the angry looking hues that indicate without any further detail that little, if any, progress was going to be made the next day. The general situation with a low passing close to the NW of us confirmed the predicted winds. 

We’re always hopeful, maybe on the lee side of the islands we’ll have enough shelter to make more than head banging progress into the wind, maybe it’ll just blow for a few hours and then drop out. The night brought thunder and lightning, torrential rain and gusts strong enough for me to check that our dry suits, life jackets and spray decks stacked neatly outside the tent doors weren’t in danger of blowing away. They weren’t, but “Nae midges” I shouted into the night over our gale swept knoll. 

The alarm at 6 went unheeded apart from to turn over and go back to sleep. At least the morning, if not the rest of the day in the tent, plenty of time to satiate Lynne’s new found Archers addiction with the Sunday omnibus edition on Radio 4.

Our campsite on the NE tip of Eriskay. 

Sunday went quickly even though we were pinned down by South Westerly gales. Reading, knitting, Radio 4, snoozing and being largely a dry day out and about exploring the nearby coastline. During the night the wind veered North Westerly and is still blowing as strong as ever. With no phone and barely any VHF reception for a forecast we may have to go to the Am Politician again for their wifi.