The Roof of Britain Kayak Expedition - Part 1/3
By Sean Morley & Ian Wilson

'Those that ask the question will never understand the answer - those that understand the answer will never ask the question'. Wally Herbert and Sir Ranulph Fiennes

like circles. A circumnavigation has a sense of completeness about it. Ever since man discovered how to float he has been circumnavigating the variously sized lumps of rock on this watery planet. To do this in a kayak, the most simple, yet versatile of watercraft, where the only means of propulsion is the symbiosis of wind, wave and paddle blade, is doubly satisfying.

The idea of a circumnavigation of Northern Scotland came to me whilst paddling around the coast of Devon and Cornwall in the summer of 1997. I started at Lyme Regis on the Devon / Dorset border and finished 9 days and 413 miles later on the Devon / Somerset border at Porlock Weir. Although a bit of an epic in itself the 'circle' could not be completed. I had paddled 'Around the Sharp End', it seemed logical that my next trip should be around the other end of the United Kingdom and this time it would be a true circumnavigation.

The journey would begin at Fort William at the Atlantic entrance to the Great Glen. The route would be initially south west down Loch Linnhe, then north west through the Sound of Mull to the Small Isles and the Isle of Skye. Continuing north through the Inner Sound and along the shores of the Minch to Cape Wrath, the north western tip of Scotland. A traverse of the north coast, the 'Roof of Britain' to the Pentland Firth and John O'Groats before turning south, down the sheltered east coast to Inverness, the opposite end of the Great Glen. The circle could be completed by following the Caledonian Canal through the Great Glen back to Fort William.

I asked Ian Wilson to join me on the 'Roof of Britain Kayak Expedition'. He has proved that he is one of the toughest endurance kayakers in the country by completing a record breaking crossing of the Irish Sea with Jim Morrisey and myself in just over 11 hours. He has finished three 125 mile Devizes to Westminster Races with his K2 partner Peter Jacks and has come a close second in two Western Isles Challenges. He is a mountaineer and ocean sailor having done the Fastnet and Round Britain and Ireland. In fact there is not much that Ian hasn't done and if anyone comes up with a daft idea that involves getting wet, cold and hungry, he is the first to say "Let's do it!"

This is how he put it to his long-suffering wifeTeresa:

I drove home to Essex (after the Irish Sea Crossing) and burst through the door of our house full of the excitement of what we had achieved over the weekend. I was met by Teresa,

"Hello dear, we got the record and Sean wants to know if I can go for a paddle next June?"

She looked at me with an air of suspicion she only shows when I mention Sean's name.

"Where?" Teresa asked with a tone that suggests I am about to suffer physical injury.

"Oh, around Northern Scotland" I answer casually.

Over the years I have found that it's best not to lie in these situations, it's a damage limitation exercise. Teresa looked at me like an animal eyeing up its prey,

"So what about me, the children, the up-keep of the house, finance, your career?"

The list was endless.

"How exactly are you going to fit it in?" she added.

I figured we were reaching the end of the negotiations, things seemed to be going well and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

"I`ll tell you what I`ll bin the Mont Blanc trip," trying to make it sound as though I was making a tremendous sacrifice.

"Sounds good to me" came the answer. Hooray! I had a pass.

His ability as an extreme sea kayaker aside, the main reason I asked Ian is that even in the most testing, uncomfortable conditions imaginable, like in the middle of the night, 90 miles into the D.W. race, when everyone, including the support crew is at their lowest ebb, he will come up with a funny that has everyone in stitches. His ability to laugh at himself and get everyone laughing with him makes him the perfect companion for the journey I had in mind. My original intention was to again raise money for charity. I approached a national charity that both Ian and I felt we could support but unfortunately it took them so long to decide that they would indeed like us to raise funds for them that it was too late to do anything about it. Next time perhaps. We wanted to do the journey anyway, but it led to the inevitable conversation with onlookers curious as to why we were putting ourselves through such obvious discomforts,

"Why are you doing it?"

"No reason......!"

Sir Ranulph Fiennes, whom I have had the privilege to paddle with, in his book 'Mind over Matter' quotes Wally Herbert, another great British polar explorer, as answering his critics by saying:

"And of what value was this journey? It is as well for those who ask such a question that there are others who feel the answer and never need to ask"

(Ian has adapted it slightly for our title so that even I can understand it!)

An alternative title for this account could have been, 'Rev-heads do Scotland!' The concept of paddling around a stretch of coastline as quickly as possible does not really conform to the stereotypical image of sea kayaking. I would be the first to agree that this mode of travel does not give much opportunity for exploration or for soaking up the atmosphere of a place. But I am impatient by nature. I had never been to the Western Highlands and Islands. I wanted to see as much of it as I could in one go. With my marathon racing background I actually find it less tiring to crack on at a fast pace than to potter along at a slow cruise. I knew from our close battles during several sea kayak races that Ian and I had identical fast cruise speeds. He shared the same impetuous, youthful (some may say immature) desire to get from A to B as quickly as possible. I also wanted to prove that the Inuk sea kayak, manufactured by Kirton Kayaks, could be used for an extended expedition in what was likely to be fairly serious water. I had already shown that the Inuk is surely the fastest sea kayak on the market by the 65 mile days I was able to put in paddling up the North Coast of Cornwall and Devon and by our Irish Sea record.

Ian is an Inuk fan too:

The Inuk is fast. Designed by Rob Feloy, it is a very sleek-looking craft with an almost straight bow and very low stern. The bow is superbly designed, curving out from the bottom to the deck so as it falls off waves it lands level rather than falling left to right and therefore needs no body adjustment. Concentration can be kept on the stroke, an advantage that we both appreciated as our trip progressed. The boat also has an ability to reach, almost unaided, if the wind is on the beam. The boat also has the dreaded rudder! Ever since we started to race the Inuk we have both been told the main reason we win races is because we have rudders, nothing to do with our ability or perhaps that we train all year round. I accept the rudder helps the boat point more accurately, unlike a conventional sea kayak which requires the paddler to continually change his paddle stroke and the amount of pulling effort he puts into each side. It reduces fatigue. The rudder also helps the boat to surf longer, by giving the paddler the ability to link up with waves ahead if the wave he is on dies away, but it still requires an amount of skill. We also were aware that being lower volume there was a belief that the Inuk could not take the amount of equipment required for a decent expedition. A fourteen day self supported paddle around Scotland should dispel those thoughts.

The solution was to utilise all the available space within the kayak and with that in mind I approached First Ascent, a company who import Seal Line Dry Bags and other products designed and produced by the American company Cascade Designs. I had seen a brochure containing their Kodiak tapered dry bags with air release valves to keep their volume to the absolute minimum. They seemed perfect for getting kit up into the very ends of the Inuk kayak. I was delighted when they replied to a speculative letter informing them of our forthcoming expedition. Not only did they supply us with the dry bags we needed but they also gave us other products from the Cascade Designs range to try out including Ultra-lite ThermaRests, PackTowls, waterproof map cases and Platypus waterbags. We are very grateful to Angela Pendry of First Ascent who put her trust and faith in us to complete our journey without mishap and the products she provided greatly enhanced our comfort during the expedition.

I also approached Arktis, a local company in Exeter. They have been producing a range of specialised products for the Special Forces of the Armed Services and Tactical Firearms Units of various Polices Forces around the world for a number of years. They have recently entered the outdoor leisure market and their knowledge and experience of what really works in extreme conditions has enabled them to produce simple, but extremely effective products that will soon be recognised as breaking new ground in this growth market. Ian was not amused. Arktis wanted me to try out some kit to see if I would be more comfortable in the various climatic conditions than he was. He complained that his kit was ancient, that his cag, which certainly looked as if it had been used it for all the 20+ years he had been canoeing, could not be compared with my brand new kit from Arktis. After several days of constant moaning I gave in and gave him the Pertex jacket which I knew he had been eyeing up with increasing envy. He was like a kid with a new toy and I now bitterly regret giving it to him. It was such a nice jacket!

Our kit worries sorted, Ian volunteered to organise the food for the journey. I told him that I would eat anything, I wouldn't mind what it was as long as there was lots of it. I had no idea what a task I had given him and I must take this opportunity of apologising to Teresa who spent many hours individually bagging two weeks worth of food under Ian's supervision.

I'll let him tell the story:

I was given the task of organising the food, a subject very close to my heart. So I started arranging the logistics of menus and quantities of food about a month before we were due to set off. The problem I had was that I was doing ten days yacht racing in the two weeks before our paddle. I returned home from sailing, took the morning off work and hunted the shelves around Sainsburys and Tescos. I thought at one stage I was going to get thrown out for loitering! I decided there was a need to vary the menu and make sure we would not eat the same meal more than twice. It amazed me the variety of long life food available to the budding explorer, from Naan bread to pasta sauces in light weight plastic containers, fresh fruit in easy to open tins and minute boil pasta, ideal for a quick lunch stop. No need to buy expensive, cardboard-flavoured de-hydrated food. I also decided to pre-pack porridge, mixing it with sugar and milk powder and dividing it into separate day bags. What a laugh that was, measuring what Teresa and I decided was a hearty bowl of porridge for two people. Anyone that has tried to get Readybrek from a mixing bowl into a sandwich bag will know what a mess it can make. We were finding porridge flakes all over the house. It became a real problem for the kids trying to explain to their teachers why they had porridge on their homework. On past paddling expeditions I have done all the food had been loaded into the kayaks at the beginning of the trip and at the end of each day we would have to ferret about in the boats looking for morsels to make up that day's meal. To stop this happening again I made up bags containing an individual evening meal; day bags consisting of a lunch and nibbles; and a breakfast bag. This system worked brilliantly and I would recommend it to anyone considering a self supporting paddle.

In return for Ian doing the food I volunteered to get some sort of route plan together and get the boats ready. I had already spent many a happy hour studying the Ordnance Survey 1:250 000 scale maps of Western and Northern Scotland. I now needed to study the route in a bit more detail. The local library has proved an excellent resource for my various trips. I could photocopy and cut into bits the various OS maps and Imray charts of the route and gather all the pilotage and tidal information I needed. I believe in keeping things simple as much as possible and Franco Ferrero's book on Sea Kayak Navigation follows that principle. It was an excellent reference. I knew that weather permitting we would be doing some fairly committed open crossings to some of the islands and across some pretty big bays. Having photocopied and laminated every bit of coastline I could, I set about transferring tidal information relevant to our trip onto the numerous sheets using an indelible pen. Several coastal Guides from back issues of 'Canoeist' magazine also proved useful. The main difficulty was that I could not be precise about when we would get to the various problem points along the route. I resolved to plan each day's paddle the night before. I am glad that I did not bother to plan too much in advance. As it turned out we started half a day early which immediately threw my tidal calculations upside down!

Kirton Kayaks were again fantastic, allowing me to take over an area of their workshop to tinker with the works Inuk kayaks they were lending us for the expedition. With foot pumps fitted, rudders fine tuned and deck lines renewed where necessary it was then a case of wondering where all the kit was going to go.

Day 1 Fort William Pier to Camas Chil-Mhalieu (18 miles)

As we live at opposite ends of Southern Britain the plan was to meet near Preston where friends of Ian's had offered (?) to put us up and look after my car whilst we were away. To get me in the right mood I listened to an audio book of Moby Dick on my drive north. Clive and Dorothy were well used to Ian invasions and seemed completely unfazed as we emptied the contents of two cars on their lawn. We stuffed and packed and re-stuffed and re-packed by the light of our head torches until we were fairly confident that we could at least get the majority of our kit in the kayaks. We headed off again early the next morning sharing the driving on the long journey to Fort William. The journey went quickly, chatting all the way. This set the tone for the rest of the expedition. We have so much in common, not just through our job but our shared outlook on life. Even though we had only met a couple of years before and had seen each other perhaps six or seven times during that period we had established a firm friendship based on healthy competition and a deep respect for each others ability.

The weather was excellent as we entered the Highlands and I saw for the first time the majesty of Glen Coe in all its glory. Patches of ermine-white snow like robes draped regally over the mountain tops reminded us that winter had not long left these lands. We stopped briefly at Bunree to look at the Corran Narrows where the tide sweeps through at up to eight knots. The flooding tide was producing standing waves mid-stream but I was confident that if, for some reason, we ended up paddling against the tide it would definitely be possible to make ground using the eddies, given a fair wind. Fort William is a busy place. Perhaps not the most beautiful of towns it is functional and a focal point for most activities in the Western Highland region. A look in either direction and you are immediately reminded of its location at the gateway to the Glen. Steep sided mountains falling into lochs with roads clinging to their sides. And of course there is the Ben. The big brother, omnipresent, creating its own cloud which seems to keep the town in permanent shade. I was never to see the summit of Ben Nevis. The days when the summit is free of cloud are rare but that maintains its aura, its mystery and explains why thousands of people trudge to the top every year.

Having arranged to leave Ian's car at Fort William police station all that remained was to wait for morning to commence our journey.

I thought aloud, "the wind this evening is blowing straight down Loch Linnhe towards the sea".

Ian read my mind. Something else that was to follow a pattern during our journey. Whenever I suggested a change in plan Ian was already on the same wavelength. There was rarely any need for discussion, it really was like we knew what the other was thinking.

"You want to start now?" he confirmed.

"It's a lovely evening and just look at that wind, we'll surf all the way to Mull!"

A quick bite to eat at the local supermarket cafe then we got changed in the car park. The first of many occasions when Ian exposed his bottom, albeit briefly, to the population of Scotland. Having packed the boats earlier at our selected start point on Fort William Pier, I was somewhat concerned that when we (only just) managed to lift a kayak at either end it sagged horribly in the middle. I had visions of the craft folding in half before we even got them on the water! That would have been a little difficult to explain to our sponsors. We had managed to get 12 days food and all our kit in the boats. Testament to the superb design of the Inuk kayak and the efficiency of the SealLine taper dry bags.

I gave Ian a deck bag I had hurriedly 'invented':

As we were about to leave Fort William, Sean gave me a present. A new bit of kit he had picked up. It was a large mobile phone case from the days when you needed a shopping trolley to carry your phone around. By putting some shot cord and some hooks on it he had made quite an effective deck bag that could be anchored on the deck in front of you and contained lots of goodies. The bag also made an effective wave break, except that instead of the wave travelling up the deck and flooding over your spray deck, it now travelled up the deck, hit the bag and smacked you fair and square in the face. How I hated that bag by the end of the trip!

We got the kayaks onto the water without mishap and at 4.30pm on Friday 11th June we headed off down Loch Linnhe towards the sea. The proprietor of the sea food restaurant on Fort William Pier, Lorna Finlayson, who had shown considerable interest and some concern at our intended journey enthusiastically waved us off, entering into the spirit of adventure by taking a photo of us then hanging precariously off the end of the Pier to give Ian his camera back!

Conditions could not have been better. A Force 4 on our backs we surfed down through the Corran Narrows into the long expanse of Loch Linnhe, the warm evening sunshine on our faces. With Ben Nevis as a back drop and the summit silhouettes of Mull in the distance it was the perfect start to our adventure. We covered some eighteen miles in two and a half hours! Ian describes the paddle:

I`ve paddled fully laden sea kayaks before and they all seem to handle so much better full rather than empty, gliding through nearly all sea conditions. The Inuk is no different, it cut through the water with a real ease and grace. The sea state was just enough to give us continual small surf to glide down the loch on, about a foot high, just enough to bury the nose and send a wall of water travelling up the bow of the boat and sweeping around the cockpit. Now this is where a rudder really comes into its own, by working the foot bar continually you can chase each wave and plan your course to accommodate another wave as the one you are riding dies away, ease off the stroke and let the swell do the work, you can achieve massive runs with out any big power strokes and can cover long distances with relative ease.

Ian had badly injured his shoulder November last in a 50 metre fall off Sharp Edge on Blencathra. It had caused him some concern leading up to the start of our expedition but it seemed to sort itself out during this 'warm-up' paddle. We spotted an ideal campsite in the small bay of Camas Chil-Mhalieu (your guess is as good as mine on the pronunciation!). The gently shelving beach meant a fairly long carry up to the high water mark on a grassy bank. We were approaching spring tides and would have to be mindful of this in our selection of suitable stopping places.

We met a German couple who had parked their camper van on the raised storm beach. They only had a limited supply of drinking water so despite their generous offer Ian went and saw the local farmer who had just driven his tractor and trailer onto the beach. He offered to give us a lift on his trailer back to the farm where, he said, we would find "the best water in the Highlands". It probably was but unfortunately it had acquired the taste of the hosepipe through which it was delivered. Still it was good enough for cooking and Ian soon had the first of many excellent meals underway. We immediately adopted a routine without discussion whereby Ian would cook whilst I planned the next days paddle and took photos of our campsite. I would then do the washing up and we would both settle down to writing our diaries. We had resolved to keep independent diaries throughout the journey to see how our perceptions varied. We were both aware that friendships can be put to the test during this type of expedition. Myself, I had never before slept in a tent with another male for such a long period of time. Ian was quite used to it - which was even more worrying! Peter Jacks had very generously leant us his Terra Nova Quasar ETC. Apparently he rarely had the opportunity to use it as it was permanently on loan to Ian. It proved to be the perfect expedition tent, the extra tent canopy (ETC) giving Ian sufficient space to create his culinary masterpieces whilst I admired the view out the back. It very soon became our home, a haven not just from the midges but also from the wind-chill that seemed to be a permanent feature however warm the evening sun.

It was my first opportunity to try out my ThermaRest. We had opted for the Ultra-lite, willing to sacrifice a little comfort to save weight. We need not have worried. The Ultra-lite was unbelievable compared to a normal foam sleeping mat. It took seconds to inflate and once it was, you couldn't get me off it! It was a revelation for me. I had always been put off by their price. Believe me they are worth every penny! Having enjoyed a sunset over Mull we were soon asleep. Almost mid-summer the sun was setting at about 10.45pm.

Day 2 Camas Chil-Mhalieu to Kilchoan (39 miles)

I awoke at 4.30am. It was well and truly daylight. I dozed until 7.30am whilst Ian slept soundly. I'm a 'mornings' person and will always wake at daybreak. I'd have to adjust to the short nights if I was not to become over-tired through lack of sleep. Breakfast of ReadyBrek mixed with powdered milk and sugar was quickly consumed. Ian, bless him, was fastidious about ensuring we got equal quantities of grub. I pointed out that with his high metabolic rate and low body fat he could not afford to lose too much weight. I reassured him that I would not be upset if he gave himself a little extra. I had deliberately pigged out in the fortnight leading up to the trip, so much so that I was keen to re-discover my abdominals! It was certainly my experience during the South West peninsular challenge that it was impossible to eat enough during such a prolonged journey. I had visited just about every bun shop and fish and chip take away on the coast of Devon and Cornwall and still I had lost half a stone in 9 days. This expedition was likely to be even more demanding of calories as the weather was considerably cooler. It took us two hours to get breakfasted, packed and the boats to shore. The gently shelving beach had been transformed overnight by the falling tide into a painful trial of strength as we carried each boat in turn over the two hundred metres of rotting seaweed, sharp rocks and slippery pebbles to the soft sand at the waters edge. We resolved to be more selective with our choice of campsite; the steeper the beach the shorter the carry. Good in theory, in reality we were not able to be that choosy.

The wind of the previous evening had died away and we had our first topless paddle! It is an odd tan one acquires whilst sea kayaking. It ends somewhere above the navel. Indeed I have various banding according to the garments worn. At least the backs of my hands were brown! I am in favour of wearing a hat to shield the sun from my eyes. I find the salt water soon crystallises on any sunglasses worn making them completely opaque. Ian dislikes hats and would resemble some monster from the deep by the end of the day with large deposits of salt around his eyes. He was already weather beaten by the considerable sea mileage accomplished earlier in the year during other exploits. With his short, dark, curly hair and rugged looks, he looked more Gaelic than many of the locals.

We were reminded that this was most definitely the sea when thousands of jelly fish appeared near the surface. We also met our first seals. These inquisitive creatures make an exaggerated fuss as you approach, diving as if their lives depend on it, only for them to resurface just a few feet behind you as their curiosity gets the better of them. As we approached Rubha an Ridire, where Loch Linnhe emptied into the Sound of Mull, the wind died altogether. This heralded a change in wind and tide. As soon as we turned the corner and started to head north west up the Sound the wind was right on our nose. Blowing a steady Force 4 it was enough to get us wet as the chop broke over our decks. It did occur to me that it was going to be a very hard paddle up the west coast if the wind remained in this quarter. Our first porpoise cheered us as we bashed across to Fishnish Bay.

After what seemed like an eternity of ploughing through cold steep seas we reached our planned lunch stop. We glided up a fine shingle beach and jumped out of the kayaks for the first time in a good few hours. I got my dry cag on and some water-proof trousers and set to preparing lunch. Sean was already sponging any water out of the boats and making sure everything was still strapped on. Although we knew each other fairly well we had not actually been away together and it was a bit unknown how we would get on. Yet here we were on the first real day with a routine of jobs to get done and no discussion as to who was going to do what. It was as if we had already completed an expedition together.

It had become overcast and before long we were shivering with cold. I found it almost impossible to keep warm in salt-water soaked clothes, despite the best efforts of my Nookie Aquatex Sea Cag and Helly Hannsen trousers. Ian donned his favoured Palm dry cag but he too was uncomfortably cold. We hurriedly got back into our boats to get warm. This proved to be a continual problem. The paddling kit we had was excellent for paddling in, the dry kit we had was lovely once we had got it on. It was that period in between when we would get very cold, often doubling up in uncontrollable shivers. As soon as we were paddling we quickly got warm and had to shed clothing. There is not a simple solution, especially when weight is such a crucial factor.

The afternoon paddle was tough. Again a Force 4 bang on the nose. We measured our progress by passing close to the lighthouse on Dearg Sgeir. It was a shame; the wind was all but cancelling out the benefit of a flooding tide. Once we had rounded the aptly named Rubh' an t-Sean Chaisteil ('Headland with Sean's castle on' as I chose to call it) we tucked under the heavily wooded cliffs of Gualan Dubh, out of the wind. The area reminded me of one of the most dramatic stretches of cliff scenery on the North Devon coast between Ilfracombe and Porlock weir where the rolling hills of Exmoor drop suddenly nearly a thousand feet into the Bristol Channel - a 'must' for any sea kayaker. Like a couple of viking invaders we sneaked between Calve Island and the 'mainland' of Mull and into the enchanting, picture postcard harbour of Tobermory, its colour-washed houses brightening up our day. It is a prosperous, busy wee town although little is left of its once substantial fishing fleet. Its continuing prosperity relies on tourism and the affluence of the visiting yachtsmen. It was nearly 6.00pm so they were unlikely to get much out of us. I was suprised to see several shops were still open, including a bakery. The temptation was too much and we sat scoffing Scotch Pies, caramel slices and iced doughnuts until even I felt quite sick.

I rang the coastguard at Oban informing them of our progress so far. I had written to them some time ago and had promised to keep them informed of our plans. The provisional route plan I had sent them was already superfluous but they seemed happy enough so long as we rang them at least once a day. We chatted to a girl working behind the counter in the bakery. Her other occupation was whale research. She informed us that we could expect to see minkie whale the next day. Our energy levels restored we prepared to put to sea again. However we first had to explain, in some detail, our journey and the different bits of kit on our kayaks to some interested local boys. Ian was tolerance personified. He has a special ability to 'chat' with people on their level. His skill in developing an immediate rapport with anyone he meets was used to good effect on several occasions during the trip.

When we got back to the boats three lads were standing by them. They were about 8 years old and fascinated by the kayaks especially when we told them we had just paddled up the Sound and where we were intending going. They told us they had been guarding them for us, in case of pirates I imagined. So we took a photo of the lads and they stood in their best poses. I wonder what stories they told their parents and whether their parents believed them.

We hugged the north east coast of Mull avoiding the worst of the now opposing tide. Our destination was Kilchoan on the south side of the Ardnamurchan peninsular. It involved a four mile crossing from the lighthouse at Rubha nan Gall. I kept checking our transits as we made excellent ground into the small bay, protected by the mountains from the north westerly breeze. We had covered about thirty nine miles in our first full day of paddling. Most of it into a head wind. We could have gone on but it was 7.30pm and there was no suitable landfall between Kilchoan and Point of Ardnamurchan, our first big obstacle. We chose our campsite carefully finding the perfect spot. A steeply shelving beach backed by a grassy field with a suitable level area for the tent. The short cropped grass was perfect and we soon had the tent erected and our wet clothes hung out to dry on the barbed wire fence. The only problem was that we were overlooked by several crofts. On our way to the telephone kiosk a short way down the single track road we passed the first croft. I saw the occupants staring at us with just a little hostility. I waved at them and mouthed the question,

"Is it okay to camp there?"

The elderly couple came out to speak to us. It would have been more polite to ask first but then we might have been refused. The old man explained how he put his sheep on the land every day during the summer. When we explained what we were about and that we would be gone first thing in the morning they seemed pleased to help. Again another trend was set. Whenever we had cause to ask for assistance from the local inhabitants, be it fresh water or the use of their phone, we were met with a warmth and generosity that re-established our faith in human nature. We met so many people on our journey who understood completely what we were about and wanted to help in any way they could. My theory is that this wild and untamed landscape attracts or keeps a hold of anyone with an appreciation for natural beauty. That common thread runs through both the resident population and the many tourists who return to the Western Highlands and Islands year after year.

A four cheese ravioli with garlic and mushroom sauce mopped up with nan bread, followed by rice pudding consumed to the sound of Gaelic music on the radio, with a view of the impressive 528 metre Ben Hiant, finished the day off nicely.

Day 3 Kilchoan to Armadale Bay, Isle of Skye (38 miles)

Ian entertained me with his snoring during the night. He had adapted to sleeping in a tent so quickly it was as if he had been doing it most of his life (which he has)! An occasional nudge was enough to allow me to sleep until the alarm woke me at 6.00am. It had been raining for much of the night. A real blessing in disguise as the wind had backed south westerly. Much more favourable for our first big crossing. The Point of Ardnamurchan is the most westerly point on the British mainland. Suprised? I too had always thought it was Cape Cornwall, but check it out - it's true! The rugged peninsular thrusts out into the Atlantic and has steadfastly refused to be tamed by modern man. Its rolling moorland hills and secluded lochans are a haven for wildlife including red deer, sea otters and golden eagles.

Sadly we saw none of these as we left Kilchoan under leaden skies. The massive cliffs obscured all but the next heather-clad headland. The sense of remoteness increased as we headed west then north, the swell increasing as we rounded Corrachadh Mor. This feeling of isolation was spoilt somewhat when Ian spotted a set of traffic lights on the single track road leading to the lighthouse! Someone with a sense of humour must have come up with that idea. There were many times more seals than there were ever likely to be cars. A quick photo and a crunchy bar, there was nowhere to get out so we pushed on towards Sanna Point. Having rounded the headland we could see the Small Isles of Muck and Eigg as dark smudges on the horizon. Visibility was poor, the wind increasing all the time. I was not looking forward to the crossing. Ian, as usual, was up for it. I insisted on a pee stop then we headed out into the murk. I already had a bearing worked out for Port Mor (on the island of Muck) seven miles away. The wind was playing tricks on us. It had been south westerly first thing. Then it had veered southerly and now east sou'east. It was a solid Force 4 with gusts of 5 to 6. By confusing the residual south westerly swell it made for an uncomfortable paddle. We had gone about half way when I called Ian over. I pointed out that if the wind stayed as it was or went even further to the east it would make the crossing from Muck to Eigg extremely difficult. We agreed to alter course and head for Galmisdale on Eigg, passing just a couple of miles east of Muck. I had wanted to spend some time on the Small Isles of the Inner Hebrides but the weather was not good and the last thing we wanted was to get stuck on the islands for several days. Ian describes the crossing:

The rain was coming in squalls and would occasionally reduce the visibility. Sean and I started to move away from each other. Not too far, just enough to keep each other in sight in the swell. Having paddled so far together on the Irish crossing we have found that when the conditions are rough enough it pays to put all your effort and concentration into what your doing not your partner, plus it makes the time fly by when you can switch off. After about an hour we saw a large yacht approaching in front of us. It was about 50 feet in length, an ocean-going ketch. The bow was burying into the water sending sheets of water cascading over the decks. As she ran along side of us the cockpit hatch opened and a man stuck his head out into the wind and rain, to check if we were okay or needed anything. I bet he could not believe his eyes seeing us crashing through the surf on such a dreadful day.

We decided to have lunch on Eigg and then head directly across to Point of Sleat on the Isle of Skye. The lyric of Robert Stevenson's 'The Skye Boat Song' came to me as we bounced on over the swell:

Mull was astern,

Rhum on the port,

Eigg on the starboard bow

Well not quite but it was close enough. In the Sound of Eigg we were buzzed by a hundred or more Manx Shearwaters. I became quite giddy as they circled erratically around us. The mighty black rock of An Sgurr on Eigg is one of the most distinctive features of the Inner Hebrides. It really does look like an upturned ships prow and must have made an excellent fortress for the Picts in the early years of the first millennium, guarding one of the main sea paths of the Celtic world. The shelter created by this rock wall has created a sub-tropical micro-climate where the islands flora, including rare ferns and palm trees flourish. We found no such shelter from the bitter south east wind and heavy rain that welcomed us as we arrived in the small harbour. We were just trying to find a refuge on the shore when a call came across the water,

"Do you fancy a cup of tea?"

We turned to see a grey-haired, sun-tanned face smiling at us from the cockpit of a wooden yacht moored in the small bay. We warned him that we were soaking wet but he reassured us and we paddled over to the yacht called Tammie Norrie (Caithnesian for Puffin).

At the back of the yacht was a small inflatable, Sean took no time in jumping out of his boat and diving into this small craft, as he tried to get his balance he looked like someone drunk on a bouncy castle. He quickly grabbed hold of the stern of the yacht, over the rail and was gone, into the cockpit and into the warmth. I tied a line to my boat and clambered aboard the floating bouncy thing. I got my balance and shuffled to the stern of the boat and was just about to dive into the warm interior of the yacht when Sean (expedition leader) stuck his head out the companion way and shouted:

"Ian get the maps off my boat, can you?"

I am now shivering with cold and can hear the kettle whistling as it's starting to boil, but I have to make my way back into the bouncy thing that has a couple of inches of cold water in it. By the time I get onto the yacht Sean is comfortably seated inside talking to our host.

Hugh Eaglesfield was sat in the cabin of his yacht surrounded by all manner of books about the sea and adventure. He was a rugged looking man who from his appearance had written most of the books from his personal experiences. By the time I had finally got into the tiny yacht, Sean was well away, telling Hugh the details of our trip and was seeking his advice and any hints to assist us with our navigation. There was nothing left for me to do but to establish myself in the galley and get on with lunch. While I beavered away at my culinary master piece, two minute boil noodles, I listened with interest to Hughes advice. It appeared that Hugh had sailed every part of Northern Scotland and was still going strong. He had worked at Doonreay, the nuclear power station on the north coast, on retirement he had moved to the east coast. His wife did not sail, so once a year he would sail over to the west coast and appeared to know the waters back to front. I served lunch and finally sat down in the small cabin. It was great just to sit down on the soft seat instead of the hard cockpit of the Inuk. As I tucked into my noodles it was not long before Hugh and I were exchanging stories of our adventures at sea. Although I have competed in some classic major yacht races, such as the "Fastnet" and the "Round Britain and Ireland" it was obvious Hugh had far more experience than I did.

Sean and I started to relax, we were warming up and the sound of the rain and wind certainly did not entice us outside. Could this be the end of the day's effort? No such luck!

"You won't break any records sitting in here" said Hugh, "best you get out and start paddling".

We looked at Hugh and knew he was right and also knew he was not just trying to get rid of us, he knew we had a lot of hard work in front of us and he also had every confidence in us and sitting in his boat telling war stories was getting us nowhere. We climbed outside, the wind had got stronger and the rain more persistent - a constant drizzle, it really was very cold and unpleasant.

Thanking Hugh for his hospitality and promising to keep in touch we headed north, following the saw-tooth ridge of Beinn Bhuidhe until we could see Point of Sleat some eight miles away. We took a bearing straight for it. As we passed the northern tip of Eigg the massive bulk of Rhum was revealed. A shifting window in the clouds allowed watery sunlight to filter through, foreshortening the distance to the island turning the heather-clad flanks the colour of burnished bronze. The island beckoned us but we resisted the temptation. It would have meant a really hard paddle from Rhum to Skye later that day. It was a major disappointment for me. I yearned to see white-tailed sea eagles soaring below its four high volcanic pinnacles.

"I'll be back," I promised myself.

Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3