Phalarope and Whale

Mount’s Bay which contains Penzance, Newlyn and Mousehole (and a few others), is the last sheltered stretch of water before Land’s End. Good for launching a kayak.

And the ten mile stretch of coast between Penzance and Gwennapp Head, the southwestern tip of Cornwall, is very definitely a hotspot for wildlife and claims to be the best site in the UK for cetacean spotting. There are some strong currents around this bit of coast and some deep water close in, so a focus of food for the sea creatures. Also the tip of the southwest peninsular is bound to have a concentrating effect  on any sea-based animal that is wanting to migrate south to north or vice versa.

I have ventured down there a couple of times recently on relatively windless days, using the big carpark beside Newlyn Harbour as a base, and a great view point for searching the surface of the sea.

There is a constant stream of boats of all descriptions emerging from the harbour: big beam trawlers, tiny fishing smacks, yachts, the lifeboat and a Fisheries protection vessel. In your little kayak you’ve got to watch your back for the first mile out around to Mousehole because none seem too keen to adjust their course to avoid you. The same applies to the Scillonian III coming out of Penzance harbour, but even more so. I had to take really quite dramatic evasive action as it was powering directly towards me.

Beam Trawler
Newlyn Lifeboat
Scillonian III

Still buzzing about my whale encounter off Eddystone two months ago I paddled offshore once I had rounded Penlee point,  hoping for another big cetacean interaction. But the sea was pretty quiet, apart from a sunfish flopping about near the surface as I approached the Runnelstone buoy. The sea got very lumpy here with current against wind so I made for the shore and followed the coast back to Tater Du lighthouse.

Logan Rock
Tater Du Lighthouse

The surface then glassed off and if there was any sea life at the surface I was going to see it. There were noisy eruptions of sprats splashing at the surface so surely they were going to be eaten by something BIG. Unfortunately they weren’t, although a handful of Common Dolphins sprinted past me en route to somewhere important, and a few porpoises rolled slowly at the surface.

Fish at the surface
Common Dolphin in a hurry

The next day I completed a fifteen mile circuit of the bay heading out to the east but saw virtually nothing at all. Until that is I was about to put the kayak back on the roof of the car, and a fin belonging to a pretty stout-looking dolphin appeared just beyond Newlyn Harbour wall. I hurled my kayak back onto the water and mounted a hot pursuit, but the dolphins were in travelling mode and were soon lost to sight round Penlee point.

I’m pretty sure they were Risso’s because they had very tall and narrow dorsal fins and showed a bit of a spout as they breathed. Too far away to see the pale grey bodies though.

distant Risso’s Dolphins

My most recent venture to Mount’s Bay was another thriller, although I was initially disappointed that I couldn’t venture too far along the South Penwith coast because it was just too lumpy to be enjoyable. There was a very long wave-period swell with a heaving sea and combined with the tide flow I decided to turn about for the less swirly waters off Mousehole. Anyway cetacean spotting isn’t so good in choppy seas, so I might as well sit around in calm water in a relaxed state rather than in a state of agitation in a hostile sea. Good move.

I was just about to crack open the flask of coffee when I realised that the little pale bird on the surface close by to my left was not a Guillemot or a Razorbill, it was a Grey Phalarope. A gem of a pelagic seabird, and only the third time I have seen one in the UK. (although I have seen vast numbers from a ship off the west coast of Africa, but that doesn’t count….it wasn’t from a kayak.). It was very busy pecking at plankton on the surface, and was even spinning around in the way that Phalaropes are supposed to do. I cannot see the point of spinning around and pecking at something on the surface rather than just pecking at something on the surface without the spinning thing, but I’m sure they know best. I watched it for five mins, then the sea state seemed to have got a bit calmer so I paddled a bit further offshore.

camera-shy Grey Phalarope
Grey Phalarope

While sitting slurping coffee about two miles offshore between Lamorna Cove and Mousehole, having been in complete silence for several hours so my senses were sharpened, my body locked in sudden terror as there was an explosive loud gush of  air from directly behind me. I lumbered my kayak around (it doesn’t turn very quickly) just in time to see the broad back and dorsal fin of a whale , I presume a Minke ,as it surfaced for its next breath fifty metres away. The smooth patch of water where it had breathed behind me was less than twenty metres away! Such a pity it didn’t pop up in front of my kayak instead.

Anyway, that was it. I didn’t see it or even hear it again. It was very lucky I saw it surface because if it hadn’t I wouldn’t have been totally certain of what the noise was.

I thought I glimpsed a few dolphins’ fins streaking across the surface but couldn’t be certain, so had to settle for a couple of small schools of porpoises doing their usual unobtrusive rolling at the surface, but with their characteristic puff as they breathed.

Harbour Porpoise

And just to round the day off, a couple of Balearic Shearwaters zipping past and a flypast Great Northern Diver. Winter is on the way.

Terrific Torridge

From its confluence with the River Taw at Appledore the Torridge estuary provides nine miles of varied scenery and a really excellent paddle. A big Spring tide will get you within two miles of Torrington.

I’m always a bit unsure about whether you are supposed, or allowed, to paddle on the river above the tidal extremity. I certainly wouldn’t even give it a thought during the fishing season which is the beginning of March to mid-October. I have mixed feelings about all this but if there is a prohibition to paddlers it means that the river is kept quiet and provides a safer and more acceptable home to the Torridge’s number one special creature, the otter, then it can only be a good thing. Otters seem to be very sensitive to human disturbance although I suspect it is actually the dogs who hang around the humans that really spook them. Incredibly otter hunting was only banned in the 1970s.

And there are a lot of otters on the Torridge. It was of course home to Tarka.

You don’t need to venture out of the tidal reaches to see otters. Very early in the morning I have  seen them in the last couple of miles above the bridge at Annery Kiln.

The first stretch from Appledore to Bideford takes you past Appledore shipyard and a load of boat carcases before you pass beneath the new Torridge Bridge and into Bideford. The Old Bridge doesn’t impact on the skyline quite so much.

New Torridge Bridge
Old Torridge Bridge

Bideford is an underated town and looks pretty smart on a glassy day.

Upstream of Bideford is one of my regular paddles. And it’s popular with activity groups with good road access from the A386. It’s imperative that you time there-and-back upstream paddles with the tide unless you want to be burning up huge amounts of energy and not actually going anywhere. On a Spring tide high water arrives at the very upper reaches about thirty minutes after Bideford.

Sit-on-top heaven
Sit-on-top heaven


I have had some memorable wildlife encounters here, whether it is families of Swans or Shelduck in the Spring, or a Roe Deer swimming across the river in front of me. Or a peregrine taking a stoop at some Teal.

Swan Family
Shelduck Family
Swimming Roe Deer

p1060199p1060230_01Above the bridge at Annery Kiln the Torridge takes on the look of a freshwater river. Kigfishers attract attention with their piercing whistle, although they seem very wary and never allow you to get too close. This seems true for most of the Torridge birdlife…a bit of a contrast to the birds on the River Thames.

Annery Kiln Bridge
Torridge Dawn

Dippers inhabit the extreme upper reaches and bob about on the rocks.

But the Torridge is all about the Otter. They are always very difficult to photograph as they tend to be out in poor early morning light and are often tucked in under the bank.

Relaxed Torridge Otter
Torridge Otter

But it is always nothing short of thrilling to see them. If you are watching an otter you are in a very special place. It is about as close to the true wilds as you are going to get, otherwise the otter wouldn’t be there. They are very discerning and picky about where they hang out. And at the slightest wiff of a problem (or even the slightest wiff), they are gone and you do not see them again.

One exception to this. I once paddled round the corner and surprised a big dog Otter on the River Tone. I immediately drifted into the depths of a riverside bush and waited in silence to see if it would reappear. I gently turned my head to detect the source of snuffling from an even denser patch of bush to my left, and saw the otter was in there as well, waiting for me to reappear, or ideally not! That was the day I came of age in terms of otter-spotting……I was beginning to think like one.

otter plus lunch

Fortunately public enemy number one (or wildlife enemy number one , at least), the Mink , seems to be less common than the Otter.

Beam Weir….not for the faint-hearted


Expedition Scotland part five

Expedition Scotland (part five). Final Fling


Cush and I had six days to play with before my adventure was due to end back at Oban. We started with a cruise up Loch Sunart on Sea Canter. This was my second trip up the Loch, and it was raining and misty just like the first time. However Sunart is an extremely scenic loch and the low cloud and mizzle doesn’t seem to detract too much from its splendour.

We moored at the pontoon at Salen. Superb spot. I was keen to do another hefty day-paddle and had rather regretted missing out on Loch Teacuis when I passed this way seven weeks ago.

So I was up at five and paddled across Loch Sunart to its deserted southern shore in the hope of another wildlife encounter. There is no doubt that otters and their friends are more active early in the morning.P1050453

Paddling more or less silently about ten yards off the shore I saw a pine marten working its way across the rocks of the shore towards me. It had no idea I was there. I had the perfect view of it hunting, then halting and pouncing on some unseen and unlucky small creature in the long grass. The clicking of my camera made it look hard in my direction but it soon lost interest and went on its way.P1050460

The south side of Loch Sunart is indeed wild as there is no road access. However there are a couple of fish farms which make a bit of noise. One reeling clicking noise is particularly weird as you can ‘hear’ it in the back of your head from quite a long range but it is completely undirectional and impossible to work out where it is coming from. Birders amongst you will know what I mean when I say it sounds like the song of a Grasshopper warbler.

After about an hour and-a-half steady paddling I arrived at the mouth of Loch Teacuis. It was everything I hoped it would be. Scenic, remote, interesting. Islands, tall trees, steep hills, loads of wildlife. An otter slunk off, a red deer hind stared at me from behind a bush and a couple of small and fluffy fox cubs went tearing off when I surprised them coming round a mini-headland.P1050473

And there was that reeling noise again. But no fish farm this time, it was a singing grasshopper warbler!

Quite a tidal flow in the narrow neck half way down the loch, and then it opens out to a lagoon in which I was surprised to see a couple of boats moored. And a few houses on the shore.

I stopped for a tea break on Teacuis right at its head. Then back along the western shore, trying not to disturb the large number of harbour seals plus small pups hauled out on the islands adjacent to Carna.

Mother and son/daughter seal

I stopped to watch a pair of otters fishing in the strong tidal current at the neck of the loch, and a school of porpoises, and then retraced my route along the south shore back to Salen. I didn’t fancy the north shore as it is followed by a main road. Good move as I saw three more otters.

25 mile paddle, surely one of the best in Scotland in terms of variety, remoteness, and wildlife.

Back on Sea Canter we stopped overnight at Loch Drumbuie then sailed to Dunstaffnage near Oban the next day.

I paddled round the island of Kerrera before our very final two days exploring the Ross of Mull.

Near Carsaig Bay, Mull

The kayaking near the south-western tip of Mull is exceptional. If it was in south-western England it would be rated as the number one kayaking destination and be crawling with idiots in sit-on-tops, like me.P1050658

P1050701It’s got everything, and was certainly looking at its best as it was calm and sunny. So the white sand beaches were perfect. A very complex coastline with twists and turns and islets and a handful of beaches at the neck of craggy inlets. Lots of seals too. Golden Eagles soaring over the tops of the hills.

Then it was back to Oban, and that was it.

Duart Castle

Expedition over.

785 miles paddled.Plus a further 500 or so miles sailed/motored on Sea Canter.55 otters, 4 pine martens, 2 mink (all from kayak), 6 minke whales(all from yacht…still havn’t seen a whale from kayak…), 30 lots of porpoises, 10 sea eagles, 6 golden eagles, 2 basking sharks. One St.Kilda wren. And a trout and a pollack. And one Stealth Bomber.

A few key bits of kit have ensured a successful, and enjoyable trip:

1. A decent tent. I took a Vango Tempest 300. A fairly rugged D of E type tent and big enough to move around in. Easy pitching. No broken poles.

2. A good cooker/water heater. My Jetboil was ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC. Ultra quick in any wind condition. Economic on gas. I took far too much gas,in fact had enough for another two months camping.

3. A good boat. Controversial one this, I suspect. Everyone thinks they have the best  kayak. But I would consider my Cobra Expedition sit-on-top (SOT) hard to beat. Long.Narrow.Fast.Huge hatches (yeah, OK, they leak a bit).And the ease of use of a sit-on-top. Just hop on and go.

Plenty of opportunity to move around if you get a sore butt.

And of course hugely safe. If you have a spill you just climb back on. Or do you? In the same way as I would suspect that a average paddler in a conventional sea kayak could not roll up if they get tipped over in a big sea (and if they did,they would be subject to exactly the same conditions that just tipped them over,so they would probably go over again), I would worry that I may not be able to get back on my SOT. It’s fine if it’s flat, but conditions bad enough to result in a capsize (surf excluded)would be pretty nasty anyway.

However at least I would have the chance of a simple re-entry and not be struggling with a swamped kayak, pumping it out etc.

The sit-on-top/sit-in kayak (SINK)  debate is potentially very long. I just like to keep things ultra simple. Simplicity means more time on the water and less time faffing about. Float it out onto the water.Sit on and go. No struggling with a spray deck on the beach and then scrunching across the stones it into the sea.

Yes OK you need a decent drysuit for all season SOT paddling, but apart from that, clutter is a minimum.

Considering my expedition round the west of Scotland as a whole, there were three or four occasions when I was concerned about my safety because of the sea state. Probably unnecessarily so, as I never came close to capsize. But paddling round the ‘dark side’ of St. Kilda I would have been in a state of severe anxiety if I was in a SINK. The unsinkable, unswampable feature of SOTs with their drainage holes provide a feeling of security.

I suppose it boils down to enjoyment. My expedition was probably 80% enjoyment, 20% worry. If I was in a SINK that would have been 50%/50%.

I could go on,and on, and be a bit of a bore about the SOT advantages. Maybe it’s because they are so sneered at by most SINK sea kayakers.

Just one more thing. How many times have I ventured out onto the water on a foul day on a SOT when if I only had a SINK it would have stayed in the garage. A lot.

Anyway, Scotland over, its back to footling about in Devon and Cornwall.P1070079



Most disastrous bit of kit was my ghastly trainers I bought from our local factory shop for a fiver. Unbelievably cheap, unbelievably plasticky, and unbelievably smelly. like the worst teenagers socks. The combination of permanently damp feet and overwhelming stench was a recipe for nausea, but I think it helped keep the midges away.P1050733P1050388_01

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Expedition Scotland part four




Phase two of my kayak expedition involved ‘nipping’ over to the Outer Hebrides and working back down to the south of the island chain before crossing back to Oban to complete the entire circuit of Western Scotland.

Enter Cushing with his yacht. He had left Bristol in early May and we met up to discuss plans on ‘Sea Canter’ at Kyle of Lochalsh. Das boot (my kayak) fitted snugly on the foredeck, so the second half of my trip was going to involve stealing a lift for all the nasty and tiring bits so I could cherry-pick all the best bits. And Sea Canter had some nice big storage spaces for food…and drink.

Cush and Sea Canter


Together with Marcus and Gordon who had just got off the train at Kyle, we sailed up the east coast of Skye, crossing over to Scalpay in North Harris on a still, misty day. I did a bit of exploring  by kayak up the north Eastern tip of Skye before we crossed, along the line of the very dramatic Trotternish mountains , and checked out the lofty waterfall  near Staffin.P1050127


Are the Outer Hebrides starkly beautiful or appallingly bleak? I suppose it depends on whether a landscape devoid of trees and composed largely of rock appeals to you. The sun would help the appearance enormously but we didn’t see a lot of it, initially. In fact we didn’t see a lot of anything because of the  mist.

Typical Hebridean Scene

We anchored in the perfect natural harbour at Rodel, poised for an assault on St.Kilda the next day. We couldn’t believe our luck at the favourable forecast, a large area of high pressure anchored to the west of the UK. Only questionmark was a bit of mist and fog.


So the next day we motorsailed up the Sound of Harris and out into the Atlantic. Slight swell, light winds. No problem.  Six hours later we saw the St. Kilda islands ahead. The outline of the main island of Hirta looked a bit dull in comparison to the jagged relief of Boreray and its adjacent stacks.


We anchored in village bay and worked out our plans for the next day, keen to make the most of  the UK’s number one adventure destination.P1050172

I was dead keen to paddle round the island. I have a huge amount of respect for those few who have paddled to St.K from Uist…not sure I could have done it. So I HAD to paddle round it. Had a quick preparatory paddle early in the morning and found a tiderace off the tip of the island of Dun that I couldn’t paddle against. Pity our arrival coincided with June’s biggest high tides. The local seals didn’t seem too phased by the nasty tide race though.

Laid back St.Kilda seal

We all ventured ashore and got absorbed in the history and haunting basicness if the row of old stone houses in village bay. And the astonishing number of stone storage huts or ‘cleits’ dotted about all over the place including way up the side of the steep hills.

The old settlement at village bay

Its a bit of a pity there is a military installation right slap bang on the shore in village bay with a generator the size of a ship’s engine running 24 -7.

We sent off a ream of postcards with the St.Kilda postmark. I was pretty pleased to see a St.Kilda wren singing from a chimneypot, and surprised to see a pair of swallows zipping about.


So back to the kayaking.Low tide might mean the tide races were less so off I paddled, anticlockwise. The tops of the hills and cliffs were lost in dense mist which was a pity as they are the highest in UK. When I rounded the sharp corner to the north facing coast I ran into a fair swell which was bouncing back off the sheer cliff. Very atmospheric with the hoards of fulmars circling around, but I was on the edge of my comfort zone and was gripping the paddle very tight. Ten miles of vertical cliff, no shelter, no beaches.And no rescue.P1050199

Everything about this place was primeval. The cackling of gannets and fulmars, the raucous clamour of auks on their nesting ledges, the boom of the swells breaking under pressure in the sea caves, and the haunting cry of the seals.Don’t supposed its changed a lot since the ice age. In fact probably since a long time before that as St. K wasn’t covered in the ice sheet.


I was not hanging around and arrived at the gap between Hirta and Soay quicker than I had thought. Still a stiff tidal current but it was in my favour. I was a bit concerned there was even more swell on the west facing coast although was kept distracted by the tens of thousands of puffins rafted up on the lively sea. Although I’m sure it is usually a lot livelier.

Raft of puffins

I could have missed out the island of Dun by nipping through the gap but wasn’t ready to finish yet so tackled the tide race at the end again which was just manageable, although against my direction of paddle, predictably.

Das Boot at St Kilda

I was quite relieved to arrive back at Sea Canter in village bay. It allowed the colour to return to my knuckles,and pulse rate to return to a level more sustainable for long term survival.It was only ten miles and only two and a half hours  but probably my most exciting paddle ever.Totally extreme. I was pleased to have got one over on the raft of Bonxies that were sitting about in Glen Bay, clearly discussing how my body parts were going to be shared out when I came to grief.

We departed for South Harris the next morning and our very memorable St.Kilda experience was nicely rounded off by seeing a Minke whale close to the yacht, including hearing it ‘blowing’ as it surfaced.P1050250


Back at Rodel we had a shower and a meal in the excellent Rodel Hotel to celebrate Cush’s birthday.

Then down the east coast to Lochmaddy. An extrordinary place. A ferry terminal, a hotel, a line of houses and a shop.Actually quite busy for Uist.

Ferry hiding at Lochmaddy

I paddled right round Loch Maddy. 14 miles. Good thing I took my map because getting lost amongst the maze of islands was highly likely. And some astonishing tide traps. I shot down one rapid into a lagoon but then had to fight my way UP the next one as the tide was surging in from the other direction as well. 6-7mph flows.

Great for otters as I don’t suppose they get disturbed by kayakers very often. One attempted to hide under the weed. Unsuccessfully.Four altogether.

Low-profile otter

Next day, farewell to Marcus, and Cush and I set off down the east coast of N.Uist, Benbecula and S.Uist. Overnight anchorage in  Lochboisdale and on towards Barra. Two days of sailing and hardly a house to be seen.

South Uist city


We had Vatersay as our target and a white sand beach. Upon arrival I paddled ashore to hunt for the legendary Corncrake. They used to be common throughout the UK but change in farming practices has led to them just clinging on to normal life in the outer isles.I wandered across the amazing machair and its swathe of flowers, listening hard for those raspy calls.

Vatersay machair

I had given up and was nearly back at my kayak when I heard a characteristic  call wafting over on the wind, coming from a hayfield behind the crofter’s houses. Yes, a Corncrake, and several more answering nearby. Stare as I might, I couldn’t see them. They keep their heads down in the grass.

Next day I set off on a big paddle around the south of Barra, east of Vatersay and over to Sandray. And would you believe it, the sun came out and we saw the white beaches and turquoise water shown off at its best. I rubbed shoulders with a couple of sea kayak groups in Castlebay, watched a Sea Eagle and Golden Eagle flying together, and stepped ashore on the most perfect beach on the east of Sandray.P1050373

P1050388MINKE and MINK

Time to head back to the mainland. A drizzly start but flat calm as we motored away from Barra. Perfect for wildlife spotting. Three Minke whales, two Basking Sharks, loads of porpoises and seabirds including shearwaters, skuas and storm petrels.

The sun emerged as we approached Ardnamurchan point and headed for the marina at the crazily quaint town of Tobermory.And our first trees for two weeks.


Rather surprised to see a Mink hunting on the shore during my early morning paddle the next day.Evil little beasts, they are very bold and approach the kayak before getting in a panic and tearing off into the rocks when they realise I am not edible.

Last part of adventure coming soon…part 5  ‘Final Fling’

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Expedition Scotland part three

Expedition Scotland (part three) Loch Ewe to Handa



I knew the favourable weather window wouldn’t last so I needed to keep clocking up the miles. However I was also keen to explore into most of the sea lochs that cut into the heart of the Highlands. The compromise was to paddle round all the lochs without main roads beside them and bypass the others e.g the Loch Brooms.

Another sunny stillish day as I circuited Loch Ewe , skirted Isle Ewe and had a bit of a stock up in Aultbea stores. I was having a very social two days having spent the night in a friend’s house in Cove, and then meeting my brother and another chum for camping at Mellon Udrigle.

Lots of jellyfish about including a large Lion’s mane jelly:

Lions mane jellyfish

P1040781Another big headland beckoned, Greenstone Point. Another easy one with calm water. And upon rounding it another vista of fantastic Scottish mountains to enjoy.  Farewell the Torridons, hello to An Teallach and the Sutherland peaks.

Mellon Udrigle camp

Mellon Udrigle is the perfect white sand beach, the only problem was that a lot of other people thought the same and it was actually quite busy. My companions arrived and we sped off to the Aultbea hotel for gnosh. One too many pints of the local brew led to a slovenly start the next day, and it was the last of the still days so multi miles was essential.

Friend David came along in his Prowler for the first half of the day. David quickly spotted movement amongst the rocks on the shore and we were astonished to see a pine marten hopping about. Reasonable view.

David's pine marten

The Gruinard beaches are sensational, and looking their best in the sun. We stopped for a snack on one of the many and then on around to Mungasdale, another beauty, where I bad farewell to David. Despite being certified free from Anthrax, we bypassed Gruinard island.

Gruinard beach

I was suddenly gripped with an urge to blast onwards, fast. In the back of my mind I was worried about Coigach Point and the weather forecast for tomorrow. The sea completely glassed off allowing me to maintain 4 to 4.5 mph which is about my max cruising speed.

I sliced across the mouth of Little Loch Broom and as I was passing Cailleach Head I made the spontaneous decision to cut straight across to the Summer Isles, five miles away. This would mean missing Loch Broom and Ullapool which wasn’t going to be the greatest disaster.

Avoiding nearly being run down by a trawler I passed up the middle of the Summer Isles, heading for Isle Ristol where I knew there was a decent beach. But stupidly I stopped short on a shingly beach pointing south and set up my tent in a bog. Bad. A good campsite is hugely influential in deciding whether I have had a good day or not.


Next morning another three or four battle squadrons of midges needlessly erased their existence in  and around my face, and I noticed my hands were shaking as I folded up the tent poles. And my mouth was dry. I really was getting in a bit of a stew about rounding Rubha Coigach.

It was because the weather had broken. Overcast, drizzle, and steadily increasing SW wind. And my fears were proved correct. A moderate swell, whitecaps, bounceback from the cliffs and stiff tide stream (at least in my favour) led to a hairy five miles. Gannets and fulmars zipped past and it was a bit concerning that the bonxies were hanging around shadowing me, no doubt discussing amongst themselves who had first peck at my eyeballs when I tipped out.

Pretty stupid really. But suddenly I was around the point and paddling SE in a completely different world.  Calm , sheltered and laden with interest in the form of coves, cliffs, stacks and caves. Otter, seals, peregrine.

I was soon on my way north up the amazing rocky coastline of Enard Bay. Barren and remote. Like a twit I sopped early at Inverkirkaig and camped at a lousy spot beside the river mouth. Even more midgy the next morning.

And another nervous day. Onshore wind and swell creating a bumpy ride. As soon as the sun comes out everything looks friendly. When it goes in the sea becomes battleship grey and seems hostile.I had a nose at Lochinver and bought a cup of coffee in the Spar. As I got back to my kayak I slipped on kelp and landed hard on my backside on a rock and hurled the coffee all over me. Much to the amusement of the people waiting for the bus.


I cowardlily cringed out at Clachtoll campsite after only thirteen mies but at least this put me in a good position for Stoer point tomorrow.

Didn’t like Clachtoll. No good reason apart from the fact that I really should be seeking wilderness campsites and leaves the cosy places to the campervanners. I needed a shower though.

Stoer point was a thrill. It had everything a major headland should have. Mighty cliffs, lighthouse, squadrons of Guillemots and Razorbills zipping about, islands, surging tide currents, and the most unlikely towering stack, the Old man of Stoer, which had a narrow kayakable channel on the inside.

Old Man of Stoer

Excellent. Then back into calm waters in the shelter of Culkein and Clashnessie Bay. I had my eye on a camp on Oldany island. Spotted a sandy bit on the north-east corner on the map. I needed a good camping spot after a succession of bad ones.

Ooh perfect. Short turf overlooking a sandy beach. Nobody or nothing else in sight apart from a deserted bothy.Just the usual plovers, arctic terns busy on a nearby island, eider ducks cooing. I set up camp and took a quick spin around the island.

Oldany island camp

My penultimate day paddling up the Scottish west coast mainland was probably my most enjoyable. Oldany island to Kylesku bridge and then around both the remote sea lochs that carve into the mountains from there. Loch Glencoul and Loch Glendhu. Huge variety of scenery and wildlife.

It was a reasonably sunny day so paddling wasn’t an effort. I called in at the Kylesku hotel to ask if I could use their outside tap to fill my water bottles. Shoudn’t have bothered because the water tasted so horrible (iodine I think, hopefully not weedkiller) I ditched it and scooped some out of a stream containing a couple of sticklebacks instead.

Then I paddled into Glencoul. Terrific. It took me right into the heart of the mountains consisting of 50% rock ( obviously 100% rock, but 50% rock showing at the surface). As usual I paddled silently along close to the shore in the hope of seeing a Scottish speciality creature. Something russet moving amongst the rocks caught my eye. A pine marten. It was a long way from the nearest pine, in fact there weren’t any trees in sight. It worked its way over the rocks and stopped to study me briefly before deciding I wasn’t a threat and carrying on with its hunt.

paler Pine marten

I continued  through the narrows to Loch Beag and was quite impressed by the huge waterfall further up the Glen which I was told would be a disappointment.

Glencoul Waterfall

Then round into Glendhu. An even more impressive craggy glen and another top wildlife encounter. I had crossed to the north side of the Loch to try to shelter from the increasing headwind and was tucked in only yards from the shore. An otter surfaced a few feet in front of me and was heading in the same direction. I followed it for five minutes as it busily dived and surfaced and slithered through the kelp, intermittently coming to the shore to noisily munch some of the huge marine worms it seemed to find.P1040911

P1040927 I found a superb place to camp right on the shore opposite Glendhu bothy and enjoyed the evening sun as a golden eagle soared far overhead.

Loch Glendhu camp

My final day paddling up the mainland could not have been more of a contrast to the previous day in terms of weather. The rain started in the early hours. I was on the water at 5.30 because I was keen to get on (you don’t say) and the midges were worse than ever.

The W wind steadily increased and the day panned out exactly as I had feared. First bit to Kylesku bridge….easy. Second bit to Badcall bay, strengthening headwind and moderate swell. Heavier rain and feeling colder. Third bit from Badcall Bay to entrance of Handa Sound….terrible. Strong headwind with wavechop, swell and long cliffy sections providing a whiteknuckle ride. Fouth bit, up Handa Sound to the beaches….more sheltered…phew.

As a last fling I paddled round Handa island, admired the vast number of seabirds, including a few puffins, paddled in, around and under the Great Stack of Handa, got to the legendary cafe at Tarbert before it had opened (so missed out on food) and watched a bonxie eating a dead Guillemot, which I suspect it had just killed.

Handa puffin

Handa Bonxie

Handa Arctic Terns

Then the sun came out, I paddled back to Scourie, and was picked up by my brother Tim. Just outside Scourie beach were a load of moon jellyfish and the apology I made every time I accidentally whacked one on the head with my paddle were the first words I had uttered for a week (apart from the very brief exchange with the hotel manager at Kylesku).

Moon jellyfish

So that’s it for phase 1 of my adventure.. No more genoa cake for lunch. 550 miles completed.

Next: the Hebrides….and St. Kilda!

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Expedition Scotland part two

Expedition Scotland (part two) Kyle of Lochalsh to Loch Ewe



Before continuing on my way up the coast I spent a very entertaining couple of days with my two sons plus chum touring round my favourite spots around the area in search of its amazing wildlife.

Camping was cold at Sligachan on Skye.


And wet at Moidart.

But we got a great view of a White-tailed Eagle.

White-tailed Eagle (aka Sea Eagle)

And had a bit of sport paddling down the river Shiel again. This time there was a rapid at low tide where the river exits into the sea.

Ready for the River Shiel

Shiel white water


When son Tim dropped me back at Kyleakin so I could continue north, the northwest wind was whipping under the Skye bridge pushing up a mass of whitecaps and the temperature was well into single figures. A wiser person would have checked into the local Hotel for the night. But we had already done that and it smelled a bit musty and I didn’t want to go there again. I wanted to get moving. So I did.Bad move.

I passed underneath the bridge as Tim passed over with the car on his way back south and his wave somehow conveyed that he thought I was completely moronic paddling off in these conditions.

Away from the relative shelter of the bridge the waves repeatedly sloshed into the cockpit and I was sitting in a foot of water as it drained out slower than it filled up. And a few slapped me in the face. Although I felt a bit vulnerable the biggest issue was that the amount of forward progress really didn’t match the amount of effort put in.

I laboured past Plockton and then across the mouths of Loch Carron and Kishorn. I found a dismal place to camp in the rain on the (unnamed) peninsular on the far side near a thundering waterfall.Still better than the musty hotel though.

Continued rain and north wind in the morning ,but I packed up and made a bolt for Uags bothy in the shelter of the craggy coast. I arrived before 12 but there was such a welcoming patch of putting green type grass that I couldn’t resist pitching my tent there. miles from the nearest road

And there I stayed for two days while the winds abated. Loads of cuckoos.

I managed a quick turbo-paddle around the Crowlin islands but even this was a bit hairy with a one-mile open crossing which became severely lumpy as the tide pushed against the wind. Nice seals though.

speckled Crowlin harbour seal

I wasted no time with an idiotically early start the day the wind dropped. Excellent otter encounter , in fact several, as I passed Applecross and scrounged some milk from the hotel which was full of bikers eating huge fried breakfasts. Funny how bikers seem to be about the same age as sea kayakers?!? Generally a different shape though.And more tattoos.

Applecross dog otter

Cup of tea at the lovely sandy beach called ‘Sand’ (come on…be a bit more original) and then a long haul ten mile up the dead straight and fairly uninteresting coast towards Loch Torridon. Still a niggly headwind and bouncy swell.

Suddenly livened up however by the explosive appearance of a large and very active school of Bottle-nose dolphins. They powered around all over the place and sploshed beside me. A little bit intimidating in fact as they are quite big and condition were still lumpy.P1040620

P1040625At  Cuaig the sun emerged, I found a deserted sandy beach and pitched camp, drying everything out while admiring the view over to the northern tip of Rona and Skye, and watching the dolphins appear again and surge past.

Top of Rona and Skye


I was eagerly anticipating my entry to Loch Torridon and the view of its mighty mountains, many of which I have hiked when my legs were a bit more functional and had a bit more meat on them.

But rounding Rubha na Fearn into Loch Torridon I was confronted with a howling southeast wind that was funnelling down the loch, complete with its complement of large waves. Blooming heck. I dodged about trying to find as much shelter as possible behind islands and headlands but was pretty pooped by the time I arrived in the very quaint hamlet of Shieldaig.

Stuffed in a cod and chips before camping on a grassy beach and then getting awful indigestion from eating all the greasy batter (or was it the pint of Guinness?).

I was determined to paddle round the entirity of Loch Torridon to get the best views of the mountains so set off into the unforgiving headwind the next day. Needless to say it suddenly dropped as I reached the head of the loch and started to head back.Typical.

Beinn Alligin

27 May is my daughters birthday and when I checked I had phone reception so I could give her a birthday call, there wasn’t any. Lucky it was 5 am, so I had a chance of getting a signal at the mouth of the loch. Only problem was that was fifteen miles away. (I wasn’t going to ring her up at 5 by the way, I was just checking for later. I’m not THAT weird).

My hasty de-camp was made even more rapid by the plague of midges that hurled themselves in vast numbers into my ears, up my nose , and into my eyeballs. Can’t see that it can help the species as a whole when half of them failed to return from my various orifices alive.

It was a sunny flat calm morning so my progress up the north shore of Loch Torridon was as quick as it could be. I was rather sorry I didn’t get a better look at the village of Diabaig which is squashed between the rocky hillside and sea  Norwegian fjord style. The sun was directly in my eyes. And I didn’t want to hang about.

Redpoint east beach

I made a very brief stop at the excellent sandy beach of east Redpoint and then tried for a signal while bouncing about off the headland. Success. Phew.

My afternoon destination was Big Sand campsite on the north shore of Loch Gairloch. Time for a shower. Superb location above a long sandy beach and I plonked my tent just above the slipway.

The campsite was highly organised and clean and very busy with campervans. I made straight for the shower block and was a bit puzzled why I attracted longer ‘glances’ from passing campers than I would have otherwise expected.

The huge mirror in the shower block revealed why. Angelos Epithemiou sprang to mind.My budget underclothes smacked of refugee, and my face was encrusted in dried salt,sweat, dozens of dead midges and I think that was a bit of  Tikka Masala in my patchy stubble.

Next day was a doddle, a tour round Loch Gairloch. Past the cosy shelter of Badachro and up to where the Kerry river pours into the sea. I stopped in a cafe for a full fried breakfast which was surplus to requirements as it was only 9am and I had already consumed my five Weetabix and a Kitkat Chunky. It went down well though…think perhaps I wasn’t eating enough generally.

The forecast of light winds for the next few days made me much more relaxed about tackling the big headlands of Rubha Reidh and Stoer. In fact Rubha Reidh was about as easy as it could get with smooth surface and only a slight swell.

Rubha Reidh Lighthouse

Otter just after the lighthouse. I stopped for a tea break at the stupendous beach of Camas Mor. This has g0t to be the best beach in Scotland. Remote location, beautiful sweep of sand, backdrop of steep cliffs and stacks, dunes with the perfect pitch for one tent. I was tempted to stop but was due to meet an acquaintance in loch Ewe.

Camas Mor beach

I sent my fishing rod back home with my sons. Long distance touring and fishing just don’t go hand-in-hand. And towing a lure behind the kayak doesn’t yield the results it does in Devon and Cornwall. So that’s it for fishing…maybe.





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Expedition Scotland part one

Expedition Scotland (part one) Oban to Kyle of Lochalsh


Cobra Expedition in expedition mode


Two months paddling around the west coast of Scotland. Up the mainland and then back down the outer Hebrides. Kayak stuffed full of Genoa cake from Holsworthy Co-op. Totally self sufficient. Camping on the way.And I would take a fishing rod of course but I’m not sure whether towing a lure as you go along is as successful in Scotland as it is in SW England.

That was the plan. I mentioned it to a very level-headed and practical Scottish work colleague, with a first of May start date. She replied immediately “That sounds cold”. Oh crikey.


You can’t do a full-blown expedition in (on) a sit-on-top kayak. You need a fancy sea kayak with a cockpit and spray deck. Wrong. My Cobra Expedition is an excellent fast boat with gigantic hatches perfect for stuffing full of tons of clobber.( Yes OK they leak a bit).I couldn’t imagine a better expedition boat. I squeezed in one 25l dry bag, two 20l and three 13l bags and a kayak trolley in the hatches with a 60l and another 13l on the back deck. Loads of stuff I would never use, of course.

Pre departure pose

And it’s plastic, so robust for dragging over barnacle-encrusted rocks. I got our local plastic guy to weld on a couple of extra ‘sacrificial’ strips along the keel for extra wear.

I took two drysuits. One ‘all in one ‘ Gul Scapa for those really wet days, and a salopette/dry top combination for slightly less wet occasions.

No backing out. Too many people told. So on 2 May I found myself paddling away from a nice sandy beach outside Oban, being waved off by my wife Becky. See you in a couple of months. Gulp.

Actually there was nearly no paddling at all. I had named my kayak ‘Das Boot’ on the spur of the moment , forgetting that Das boot was a U-boat. As I heaved the vast weight down the beach into the water it appeared that floating would not actually take place and the Genoa cake would take it straight under.

See you in two months (ish)

But it did float , two inches lower than normal,and I was away.

Fortunately Day 1 was a cracking day with no wind. Fantastic. I was soon lost in kayaking dreamworld as I paddled up the east coast of Lismore island , meeting a couple of otters on the way.

Looming Ben Nevis

Then mistake number 1.


I remember reading in some book to watch out for the fast ferry that services the local superquarry near the top end of Lismore. No problem. Dead flat conditions. Clear vis. What could possibly go wrong?

This. The ferry blasted past just as I about to cross a shingle spit. It was towing a hefty wake which I could see would break impressively in the shallow water. Instead of waiting I chose to nip across before the wave broke but unfortunately got completely stranded as the water sucked out in front of the wave tsunami-style and was then doused in a two foot wall of water, amplified because it actually wrapped around the spit and formed a peak in the middle, right where I was cringeing.

So I had to change into my emergency dry clothes within two hours of the start. Not good.

Nice easy three-mile crossing over to Morvern and then down the mainland coast. I was invited in for a cup of tea by a crofter called Iain. Fantastic…this is what it’s all about.

Another otter and a Sea Eagle on a nest. Even better.

I camped beside Inninmore bothy at the entrance to the Sound of Mull.A stag came to say hello and the rest of the herd spent much of the night munching unbelievably loudly right outside my tent.

Friendly stag chums

Good first day.

I spent Day 2 paddling up the sound of Mull. I had done my homework about the tides and what direction they flow and how fast, but quickly realised that close to the shore you can get as many counter eddies working in your favour as you can  the main flow working against you.

Six more otters, camp in Loch Drumbuie.

Fluffy otter

Not so fluffy otter

Otter with unfeasible tail


Then it started to rain.As it did on-and-off for the next month.


I had been eyeing up Ardnamurchan point but given the dodgy forecast, and having read one too many reports about how nasty the conditions off the point could be, I somehow thought a portage from Salen to Loch Shiel would be the better option.

So I sogged it through the drizzle up beautiful Loch Sunart.Beautiful EVEN in the rain. And exited at Salen.

Soggy Sunart

I nearly ruptured in several places heaving Das Boot onto its trolley, which sagged alarmingly, and then could not pull the vast weight up the steep hill.

So I had to relay the bags up to the hotel forecourt which conveniently had just opened providing the opportunity for an energising drink, supplemented by an entire Genoa cake.

Pub stop portage

Then the three-mile road portage to Acharacle. I really regret this because although it meant I could keep moving I would have done better to sit tight for a day in my tent and then enjoy the beauty of Ardnamurchan and its beaches.

should've been at Ardnamurchan

Not a good portage. I got very very hot indeed and even hotter when I lurched into the tea shop at Acharacle which was inexplicably kept at about 100 degrees F.

I took to the water again at the pier in Loch Shiel and looked for somewhere to camp. Only acres of bog stretching into the distance. The rain intensified. The wind picked up. I had to camp in a bog. My morale plummeted. Only done 3 days. Yikes.

Day 4. As predicted the southerly wind was howling but I had cunningly factored this into my paddle down the lovely River Shiel which flowed north. And I even caught a decent trout at the exit of the loch.

Loch shiel brownie

I hoped that the well-wooded Loch Moidart into which the Shiel flowed would offer some protection from the near gale.I wasn’t really in the mood to enjoy the extraordinary Castle Tioram and its surrounding islands…I had to find somewhere to camp before I arrived at the open sea.

There was only one tiny flat green pitch on top of a rocky islet. I spent ten minutes trying to pitch my 3 man (Vango Tempest) tent in the strong wind, and failed. A little bit panicky. One more effort to get the pegs to stick in the bare rock. Success and I hurled myself into the tent and cowered in my cosy sleeping bag. And wolfed down a sachet of Chicken Tikka with Rice (Wayfayrer) followed by half a genoa Cake (Holsworthy Co-op).

precarious Moidart camp

Day 5 . Right on cue the wind dropped to nothing in the early hours. Perfect for the four mile crossing to the Arisaig peninsular, but conditions were still a bit hairy. So it was with great relief that I rolled up at my first white-sand beach of the trip, just as the sun came out!

Glassy Moidart dawn

Beach at port nam Murrach

Fantastic. I needed no pursuasion the set up camp immediately and dry out. Even the local bull wasn’t going to put me off.

Idyllic camp ,Port nam Murrach

Non hostile bull

The water I managed to find was alarmingly brown (in fact a passer by thought it was petrol!) but I boiled it all up using my excellent Jetboil so hopefully all nasties were eliminated. My Jetboil has completely revolutionised my camping experience. Waiting for water to boil has always driven me potty, and if there is the slightest wind it takes centuries. But Jetboils are as quick as an electric kettle, whatever the conditions.

Excellent Jetboil


Unfortunately my water foray into the heather resulted in an assault of ticks which sank their fangs into various soft and squidgy body parts and provided extreme itchiness for the next two days.


Day 6

On into Arisaig and a stock up at the Spar. More Fruit Cake. Then I thought I would treat myself to a proper campsite and a shower. I hadn’t yet taken off the clothes I had set off in (apart from the dousing at Lismore).

Gortenachullish campsite  looked good. The £10 per night seemed a bit steep but it was my first campsite so I didn’t know. I have since learned this was a complete rip off so I will definitely not be going back.

Day 7

Flat calm day so I paddled the ten miles over to Eigg. Hoped to see a whale but failed. Arrived at the cafe before it opened. Starving. Never seen anyone fry bacon so slowly. Maybe shouldn’t have had an eigg but it seemed appropriate.

over to Eigg

Then up the east side of Eigg and back to my ghastly campsite (but couldn’t be bothered to move to a more reasonable one…too tired.)

Day 8

On past the gob-smackingly beautiful sandy beaches, but sprawling caravan parks, of Arisaig and Morar, not looking their best in the rain. Loads of Great Northern Divers loafing about in the bays….its a bit worrying they havn’t migrated north yet. Do they think summer has not arrived?

Stop in Mallaig for a shop (more cake, this time cherry for a bit of a change). Then up Loch Nevis before hopping across to the legendarily remote Knoydart peninsular. I had been looking forward to this.

I found a decent sandy beach at Sandaig (the other one) and camped. Pity about the quantity of plastic rubbish at the high-tide mark.

Day 9


I had set myself 3 modest wildlife targets for my expedition. To hear a Corncrake, to see a Minke Whale, and to see a Pine Marten. None of which I had encountered before.

So I was pretty pleased as I supped a cup of tea at 5.30 am (I like an early start) and a pine marten bounded across the whole length of the beach. Good start. Then an otter in the bay as I departed. And a couple of Bottle-nose dolphins at the mouth of Loch Nevis. Just as I had hoped.

Bottle nose dolphin in rain

Pity about the heavy rain and north wind which made it feel blooming cold as I paddled around into fantastic Loch Hourn.

I found a sensational place to camp on a shingly spit , and the sun popped out. Warm and still, and not midgy.

Superb Loch Hourn camp

As  always a pair of Ringed Plovers were nesting on the beach and I watched quietly as Mr (or Mrs) plover crept across the shingle, called softly to Mrs (or Mr) plover to get off the eggs, and dutifully took his (or her) turn to incubate the eggs.

Ringed Plover

can you spot the eggs?

There they are

Day 10.

I continued up nearly to the head of Loch Hourn as I like its remoteness and feel.

Mighty Loch Hourn Pollack

I caught another fish on a trolled Rapala. A miniscule pollack which went back. I don’t know whether I can be bothered to do much more trolled fishing as I seem to spend an awful lot of time taking weed off the lure and not catching many fish, as I suspected. Maybe it’s still a bit early in the season.

More otters and a school of porpoises.


And a small dark Mink that was swimming about diving for fish in an ottery manner. Another top camp at a sandy island at the Sandaigs (the other ones) with a lot of Gavin Maxwell fans wandering about.

Camp at Sandaig islands



It was absolutely chucking it down as I packed up this morning. Thank goodness for my full drysuit. But I’m getting expedition hardened and starting to trust my gear. Totally waterproof drysuit and totally waterproof tent. A group of three otters then another fishing just off the pier at Glenelg.

wet wet wet

I arrived at the notorious tide trap at Kyle Rhea at exactly the wrong time but was gung-ho about being able to paddle against the tide. Wrong. Nearly. It was absolutely surging where the little ferry goes across and I could only just inch my way forward paddling absolutely flat out. I was just about to give up when I found an eddy, and it was easy after that.

The Skye bridge lured me on and I camped just round the corner to  await the arrival of son number 2 for a brief break from my progression up the coast. And the sun came out again.

Skye Bridge

Phase one complete. 200 miles paddled . 11 Genoa cakes consumed.

And I havn’t even given the seals a mention

side-on seal

head-on seal

Risso’s and Jelly

Risso’s and Jelly

Charlie and Jelly

Where on earth do Barrel Jellyfish think they are going? And where on earth have they come from? And why on earth do they like to congregate off headlands where their unbelievably weak and slow swimming action is even less effective at getting them where they want to go because headlands are always the places where tidal currents are strongest. They will end up going with the flow whether they like it or not.

Barrel Jelly

But however casual and frilly their approach to life, they seem to have hit upon a winning formula as this Spring they are around the coast in vast numbers.Maybe they do know what they are doing despite apparent frailty and vulnerability. They are big (3ft long) and a bit ghostly and very weird. And great to see as you cruise silently above in your kayak.


And how excellent is it that the most successful creature around at the minute does not even have a brain. It confirms that life is sustainable without an i-phone (and having a casual and frilly approach to life is not necessarily a bad thing).

In Mount’s Bay the other day just beyond St. Michael’s Mount there was a swarm of Barrel Jellyfish.Many hundreds of them. Taking random photos underwater from the edge of my kayak would show up to five jellies on screen at any one time. Amazing. I wonder if it means that the sea creatures that feast on jellyfish, Sunfish and Leatherback turtles, will also put in a big appearance this year.Hopefully.

Jelly Trio

May’s weather has, as usual, been a bit catchy especially, as usual, down here in the South west with strong winds making the sea out of bounds to kayaks for much of the time.

But being forced to head inland for a bit of kayaking action is not necessarily a bad thing. The Tamar estuary upstream of Calstock is always a favourite.

Kayaking the Tamar near Gunnislake

And a two -day trip to the Upper Thames provides an unexpected ribbon of wilderness within a shout of Swindon. Trilling Curlews, cuckoos , screaming swifts and bushes full of a variety of singing warblers. And  as many ducklings, goslings and cygnets as you would care to see.P1080015

P1080032Locks and lockkeepers cottages remained unchanged for centuries.P1080004

The canoe pass at Radcot lock is inspirational. More please.

Radcot lock canoe pass

Only one thing split the sound of nature, and it kept going round and round as it practised landing at RAF Fairford.About as unfeasible as a Barrel Jellyfish.

Globemaster transport

Nice camp spot with a decent view along the river:

Tent window with a view

I have ventured out for one brief fishing session off the south coast during a window of quieter weather. My first mackerel of the season was followed by half a dozen pollack, a couple of whiting and a grey gurnard. All caught on a string of silver foil feathers. All small. All put back. While in fishing mode I took a spin round Newlyn harbour to see how the ‘big boys’ do it.

Grey Gurnard

Busy Newlyn Harbour

My most recent visit to Penzance provided BIG excitement. Not just for the vast numbers of jellyfish and the scenic backdrop of St. Michael’s Mount jutting out into the middle of the bay.

St.Michael's Mount

Launching from Marazion I ventured out offshore in the hope of encountering some sea creatures. I soon saw a big fin at the surface, but too sickle-shaped for a shark and too big for a common dolphin. In fact too big for a bottle-nose dolphin as well, I thought. I got my camera ready and of course did not see it again. For a while anyway.

Ten minutes later a different big fin surfaced quite close beside me and I floundered to get my camera poised in the choppy conditions. It surfaced briefly four times then once again was gone. I was pretty sure this was a Risso’s dolphin considering the size and shape of the fin but was keen to get a better view.

Risso's dolphin

Over the next few hours I saw the big fins about ten more times. Usually a single, big, dolphin but also one or two small groups. And in the far distance beyond St. Michaels’s mount a wild splashing that must have been of dolphin origin. I paddled over to have a look, saw nothing, paddled a mile back to the middle of the bay, and glanced back to see the exact splashing again where I had just been. So I paddled back,waited around for half an hour, nothing appeared, so I paddled back to the middle of the bay again, and unbelievably the splashing once again appeared in the far distance, in the same place. Maybe they just didn’t like me.

As I pondered over a ham sandwich (with lettuce and coleslaw), another big fin sliced the water in front of me, this one looking very bleached..surely a Risso’s. As I was waiting for it to resurface a school of very active but not particularly friendly common dolphins appeared and surged all around. Very much smaller than the Risso’s and much more dashing. Impossible to photograph. I suspect the wildlife watchers on Shearwater II had a better and more stable view than I had.

Wildlife watchers on shearwater II

Before I headed for home I caught two very brief glimpses of Risso’s dolphins breaching. One had a lot of white on it and the other was greyer but showed the characteristic blunt head. I didn’t get to see the ‘classic’ scarring marks that Risso’s are supposed to have on their bodies. They didn’t seem to be inquisitive like bottle-nose dolphins and were intent on feeding, apparently on cuttlefish.

The local gulls were very pleased to clear up the pieces. This Greater Black-back puffed himself (herself) up to look even bigger and even more threatening than normal.

Greedy Gull

So very pleased with a new dolphin species seen from kayak. Just got to see that whale now!

Another Risso's fin

Loch Shiel Circuit

Loch Shiel Route Map

Boy were we lucky with the weather. I’ve been having a bit of a winge about the incessant wind in south west England messing up plans for some open sea kayaking, but 500 miles further north in Scotland it’s been a whole lot worse. You might expect that to be the norm as you get closer to the North Pole, but often it isn’t. Good thing I did my mega trip up the Scottish west coast last year. If it was this ‘summer’ I would have spent an awful lot of time staring at the inside of my tent.

Our expedition was planned for early June (so this report is a bit out of date). As usual I was glued to the weather forecasts in the preceeding few days, and by sheer good fortune it seemed that the latest deep Atlantic depression was going to pull away from Scotland as we drove up the M6, to be followed by a period of slack winds.

Not worried about rain or temperature, the wind strength and direction was key to the trip as Calum and George would be piloting a Canadian canoe, and they were (justifiably) a bit anxious about the exposed section of open coast from Moidart to the entrance of Loch Ailort.

Calum and George

Brother James and I rolled into Glenfinnan after a trifling 600 mile drive from Devon, and soon found a good launch spot beside the loch. A few red deer browsed unconcernedly nearby.

With Calum and George’s Canadian loaded up with provisions we were soon on the water and looking for a place to camp, as there was nowhere suitable in Glenfinnan itself.

And before we had de-fuddled our heads from the long drive, we were straight into an encounter with a superb Scottish speciality wildlife nugget, a Black-throated Diver. While James and I (as southerners) were fumbling for binoculars and cooing over the beauty of the extraordinarily intricately marked extreme bird of the Highlands, Calum and George paddled on chatting merrily and the diver had soon submerged, not to be seen again.

camp 1 at Eilean Dubh

As I had hoped, the little beach at Eilean Dubh provided the perfect place to camp with a good view down the loch. The stiff headwind (which had apparently been blowing for many days), had been easing as we paddled… sheer luck our trip seemed to have been timed to the nearest minute with regard to weather. A couple of short, sharp showers during the night were the last rain we would see for the whole trip.

Day 2 was Scottish freshwater loch paddling at its best. Light winds (OK not that warm and not that sunny), big mountains all around, natural deciduous woodland alive with the song of willow and wood warblers , and the occasional cuckoo. Not a lot of sign of human existence. Fantastic.

Upper Loch Shiel

We were pretty keen to eyeball a golden eagle so during lunch on a sandy beach binoculars were trained on the hillside opposite. We did indeed spot our bird but it was at extreme range and I don’t think came close enough to be seen with the naked eye.

James Eagle hunting

After Polloch inlet on the south side of the Loch,the shape of the loch  suddenly becomes more interesting. The way forward is apparently barred by the extraordinary little island of Eilean Fhianain, where we landed for a bit of a nose around the spooky burial ground consisting of graves dating back many hundreds of years ,dotted about randomly.

Eilean Fhianain

We opted to camp beside one of the last sandy beaches just after the island before the long stretch of flat bogland which I knew from my adventure last year offered poor camping opportunities.

As we connected tent poles and pushed in tent pegs our eyes were drawn to the source of a weird wailing cry. It came from the vast silhouette of a sea eagle hanging in the wind, yelling to its mate a bit further away. Not a very regal call from such a majestic beast.

White-tailed Eagle dwarfing a pair of Hooded crows

I was awoken in the middle of the night, which never really gets dark at this time of year this far north, by the piping song of Greenshank and the bubbling call of Curlew. These ground-nesting waders are in serious decline further south, but there’s not a lot to disturb them up here in these vast tracts of undeveloped land. Long may it continue.

Our immediate aim at the start of our third day was to get a good view of the Sea Eagles. They are so massive they didn’t take a lot of tracking down. We could see one perched in the top of a tree on the other side of the loch from a mile away. Not quite such a challenge to spot as the Golden Eagles that favour distant remote crags.

James Eagle watching (again)

It lumbered off and sat in a withered tree which somehow didn’t enhance its status as admiral of the air.

The few miles approaching the end of the loch are bleak, as I discovered last year when I was paddling here in a storm. Potentially Scotland at its worst with  flat boggy shore and no shelter from the wind.

However today we were lucky…..little wind and the start of a favourable current to suck us into the mouth of the River Shiel for our journey down to the sea. A quick stop in Acharacle for milk.

This short river is really excellent. Completely different to the previous 20 miles and there is an unexpected treat with a mini-gorge and ancient bridge before it opens out a bit into sweeping bends.

River Shiel

Our planning was perfect. Nearly. We knew there was quite a drop into the sea at Loch Moidart creating a challenging short section of rapids, but at high tide this is ‘washed out’ and covered by high water. It probably would have been if it had been a Spring tide, but as it was Neaps the rapid was still very evident. And the recent heavy rain meant a powerful flow.

I pulled every zip on my drysuit as tight as it would go before tackling the shoot and only just avoided a dunking with a nasty surge from the left which nearly flipped me.

A couple of Canadian canoeists were not so fortunate.

Canadian catastrophe

And so out onto the extraordinary Loch Moidart, with its steep heavily wooded banks, many islands, and nucleus of the crumbling Castle Tioram. We had a leisurely paddle of the Loch before sauntering down the south channel to the bottom left-hand corner of Eilean Shona and its sandy beach for a place to camp. Perfect, with a view over the open sea out to the west, and the Isle of Eigg with its Sgurr.

Castle Tioram

And even better for the serious birdwatcher, good views of Twites, another West coast of Scotland speciality. Barely distinguishable from a sparrow to the casual observer (in fact maybe even duller), so not surprisingly beaten to the front pages of tourists brochures by the more dramatic White-tailed Eagle and more charismatic Black-throated Diver.

Day 4 was crunch day. Three miles of exposed west-facing coast before the haven of Loch Ailort. Phew. The wind was light and it looked good enough. Just.

I sneaked ahead for an early morning otter-spot and nearly knocked into one which was eating something on a rock and got almost as much of a surprise as I did.

George’s recollection of seeing someone tip over in a Canadian canoe and only just make it to shore last time he visited Eilean Shona didn’t help. There was a noticeable quiet about our group, and it was indeed a bit lumpy past the rockier sections with a bit of wave bounceback from the sheer cliffy bits.

In front of the Sgurr of Eigg

Things looked up as we were lured to the lovely sandy (but surprisingly busy) beach at Smirisary escorted by a posse of seals. James followed a smart breeding-plumage Great-Northern Diver around the bay for a closer look.

Stoked up by (yet another) cup of tea from the Jetboil, and a noticeable decrease in the wind, the second section of exposure was looking like a doddle. And it was, just an excellent paddle with the backdrop of the small isles including the lofty peaks of Rum.

We were soon ashore again stretching our legs on Samalaman island and feeling so smug with ourselves that we even decided to bypass the trough-stop of Glenuig Inn, which had been the main carrot for doing the ‘exposed bit’ in the first place.P1010271

Instead we found a perfect sandy beach lunch-spot on Eilean na Gualain, at the head of Loch Ailort. And the sun came out and the sea turned from battleship grey to a Bermudan green and all was well.

Lunch beckons

It got even better as we crossed over to the remote Ardnish peninsular and pulled up on the wide sandy beach at Peanmeanach for our final camp. A huge area of flat short-cropped grass perfect for camping. The well maintained bothy was not an option (although would have been if it had been raining and/or windy).

Camp at Peanmeanach

With the tents set up I took a solo paddle to the end of the Ardnish peninsular and spent a long time peering at a pile of boulders on the shore from which emanated a chattering scolding noise. I suspect pine martens but saw nothing.

James opted for minimalist camping and opted for his bivvi bag. Maybe it was time I changed my socks.P1080284

The final day for the easy paddle up the length of Loch Ailort was about as relaxing as it could have been. Glass calm surface. Silence apart from the clamour of an assortment of seabirds, mainly terns.

Glassy Loch Ailort

Finish. A ten mile shuttle to pick up Calum’s car. Mini adventure over.

This near complete circuit has to be the most interesting in terms of variety of scenery and variety of paddling (freshwater loch, river, wooded sea loch, open sea, sea loch) in the whole of Scotland. And all packed into a mere 50 miles. Fab.

But beware the ticks. I was scratching for days.

Paddle Therapy


Following a total knee replacement at the beginning of the year, and all the inactivity and slobbing about thereafter, it was imperative I got back onto the water as soon as possible. Paddling a kayak is the perfect antidote to chocolate hobnobs and daytime TV. And if you get a move on you can be back in time for ‘Pointless’ anyway.

It probably isn’t the best from of exercise to bulk up the leg muscles following knee surgery, in fact huge amounts of time sitting in a boat with ‘vestigial’ legs (as my chum described them) probably contributed to the problem in the first place.

But what the heck. It’s good for the soul.

Roadford lake


I started off with flat water. Bude canal and Roadford Lake. Superb. As the Spring got going the surrounding bushes and trees were a cacophony of birdsong.

Roadford Lake


I certainly wasn’t expecting to encounter a Roe Deer swimming a mile across the middle if the lake.P1120401P1120407

As the sea settled down after winter we cherry-picked sheltered sections of the Southwest coast to explore during daytrips.

Charmouth, Lyme Regis and the Jurassic coast.P1110473

The only problem with the south coast is the easy access and flat water which encourages the scum of the seas.  To which  of these blubber -laden sea creatures do you think I refer?…

Blubber A

Blubber B


Dave and I spent a tremendous sunny day around Gerrans and Veryan Bay in South Cornwall, featuring my first cetacean encounter of the year…..a very small porpoise, and a fantastic aerobatic display by a cornish Chough including a gravity defying g-force loop, with its legs on the OUTSIDE of the circle. Reminiscent of the Eurofighter at Dawlish air display.

Superb Chough


six-star porpoiseAnd when eventually the swell abated on the ragged North Cornwall coast, making it accessible for kayaking for about the first time in six months, we wasted no time in a tour along the Hartland Heritage Coast.

The reefs here must be respected as highlighted in the cheerful proverb/shanty/sonnet:

“From Hartland Quay to Padstow Light,

‘Tis a watery grave by day or night”

Plenty of evidence of this at low tide:


As the sea began to warm up and the sandy bays echoed to the grating calls of migrating Sandwich terns, I thought it was time to concentrate on a bit of dolphin spotting.

My paddling fitness had returned which made me a bit more confident about doing some offshore paddling.

However this was not necessary for my first dolphin encounter of the year….a pod of Risso’s dolphins which I picked up right outside the entrance to Newlyn harbour and followed for a mile to Penlee point. Like Bottlenose Dolphins they cruise along at 5mph so take a bit of keeping up with. A superb encounter, my best views yet of Risso’s dolphins. They showed their typical colour variation: one almost white, one almost black and one pale grey with a characteristics pattern of scars on its dorsal fin that would allow individual identification (which I am following up).



The scarred dolphin did a respectful little jump right beneath the slipway of the old Penlee lifeboat, used for the last time in December 1981 when the lifeboat, and the entire crew, were lost while carrying out a rescue.P1120342

My second dolphin encounter of the season was a distant view of a fast moving pod of Bottlenose dolphins at Pentewan beach, Mevagissey. No photos, too far away. The only other notable ingot of wildlife on that day was a Great-Northern Diver dressed up in its spectacular breeding plumage. Most have departed for the far north by the time they have changed into their smart clothes, but this year for some reason many have been slow to depart. In fact I saw one still lingering on 18 June.

Breeding plumage Loon


To complete my dolphin species hat-trick I had to make a bit  more of an effort. Common dolphins usually keep further offshore so I thought a jaunt out to the Eddystone Lighthouse, ten miles beyond Plymouth breakwater, should do the job. I wasn’t disappointed. On the way back I found myself amonst a group of about a dozen Common dolphins which surged all around for a couple of minutes.

Common dolphins


Throw a few porpoises, a Sunfish and a dozen Puffins into the mix and it was worth the strain.

Eddystone Puffin


With the reported sightings of several Minke whales in the west of Cornwall, plus a handful of Humpbacks and the amazing record of a Bowhead whale loafing about only just off the beach at Penzance, a whale encounter from my kayak has got to be my next big wildlife goal. In the UK of course. OK it’s not going to happen. But it just might.

Till then I’ll just have to be happy with the local foxcubs (viewed from the kayak, of course).P1120912

And if all else fails, find a deserted ‘kayak only’ beach and just enjoy the scenery.P1110473P1120958

This particular wordpress blog has now run out of space to download photos. And as I seem to have ‘gone off ‘ the fishing side of things for the time being, in favour of touring and wildlife encounters, I will write future Blogs on my other site Follow my adventures there.