South West Sea Kayaking

Believe it or not, this is Graham’s good side.

Today (in fog and then burning sunshine) we paddled our local waters, the Purbeck coast  … again. I suppose that I should be getting bored of it by now …

Last weekend the heavy autumn rains came, and so we gave up on sea kayaking for another winter; the white water season began! This weekend we assumed that we’d be off to the River Dart again, but the weather Gods are being rather capricious. Confusingly, they’ve now given us a bit more of the fantastic settled sunny weather that aided our recent unseasonable passage to Lundy. Today I communed with fairies and goblins in and around our village*, and tomorrow we’re off sea kayaking … again! I nipped out and took the moon photo twenty minutes ago, it was more fun than checking the almanac as a form of tidal planning. What could go wrong?

*We Dorset folk don’t get out much.

A contribution from Mrs Rainsley …

Weeks and weeks ago I promised Mark that I would do some guest posts. I have failed miserably at getting round to it. But it is Friday night, the sun has gone down and it is good to look back on the summer.

Long anticipated and finally viewed for real from the deck of a pitching boat, the cliffs of Boreray, Stac an Armin and Stac Lee seemed unreal and ghostly. Or, perhaps I was simply drowsy from the travel tablets. Watching the gannets wheel and plummet, I stood –or rather rolled from foot to foot- as the boat came around and headed into the bay of St Kilda.

Heather

All that remained on Sunday morning, was the paddle back to the mainland. The sea and weather conditions were ‘manageable’, with the only obstacles being the occasional porpoise.

Over a weekend that was simply perfect in every way, we broke the Curse. We’ll be back.

Saturday evening, out in the Atlantic. To begin our Lundy Island circumnavigation, we paddled north to the island’s northern point, which we were going to round against the tide. This wasn’t a problem as a series of smooth-walled tunnels offer a short-cut right under the North Light lighthouse to the west coast!

Lundy’s west coast is something utterly unique - I have paddled the UK’s entire Atlantic coast and I can think of nowhere vaguely like it. The smooth granite slabs are famous among climbers, and as we paddled south, the slabs gradually turned to a dark shade of amber as the sun melted into the west.

The unusual geology means that numerous tall and narrow tunnels dissect the headlands, quite exciting with even the slight swell that we encountered! There are also dozens of deep caves, but we avoided these as we could hear the newly born seal pubs wailing inside. We encountered one pup clinging to rocks out in the open, happily unflustered by the groundswell occasionally submerging him. All the girls went “Aaaah”.

The sun finally set as we rounded the southern tip; we had paddled at sunrise and sunset that day! Landing back at the island quay, we changed quickly and raced up the hill to catch last food orders at the Marisco Tavern …

So there we were, 20 miles offshore, emptying our kayaks onto a 5km long lump of granite and slate sticking up out of the sea; Lundy Island.

We managed to blag our gear into the back of a ranger’s Land Rover heading for the island campsite, meaning that we made the 400 foot climb to the island’s plateau unencumbered. We caught up with our gear, pitched our tents and headed for a very late breakfast (it was early afternoon and we’d been going since 5 am!) in the ineffable Marisco Tavern. Servings of Lundy Lamb broth were just the thing we needed …

Then it was a time for a siesta in the afternoon heat. Was this really autumn? Everyone zoned out for a few hours, knowing that we’d need a rest before we headed out to sea again in the evening …

I have been lucky enough to paddle to the glorious island of Lundy twice. However, both of my trips have seen the weather turn bad when I’ve arrived; meaning that it wasn’t safe to cross the tides back to the mainland of north Devon. Both times I’ve had to return - rather ignominiously - with my kayak strapped to the deck of the tourist boat.

This past weekend saw remarkable weather for later September; sunshine, high pressure and no wind. Eight of us planned to visit Lundy and try to break The Curse!

Heather and I woke at 5 am after a night sleeping in the car at Lee Bay. The other six had arrived in the night and were also dotted around the car park, asleep; everyone was in the right place at the right time, for once!

Under a sliver of moon, we loaded up the kayaks and launched at 6.30 am. Bathed in pink pre-dawn light, we paddled out into the tide stream and set course for Lundy, 21 miles offshore but nowhere to be seen. A basking shark cruised upstream past us, hoovering up plankton; and then the sun rose over Exmoor, a crimson fireball.

We only spotted Lundy when we were just four miles off; even though I know the place well, the sheer granite cliffs were still a surprise as the haze cleared to reveal them. Due to relatively mild tides, the crossing had taken longer than usual (despite a very strong group) and we stepped ashore after 4 hours and 45 minutes afloat. It was good to be back …

A few of us escaped work early for a paddle at Studland Bay last night. The sunny weather we’d enjoyed all week abruptly vanished as soon as we arrived; strong winds whipped up choppy surf and made the ride out to see the tide races at Old Harry Rocks fairly lively. We all retreated to the beach and did a spot of surfing, as well as some (unscheduled) rescue practice.

Fingers crossed that the weather will be better for the weekend, when we head to north Devon in order to gaze across the waters towards Lundy Island …

Useless trivia: this blog is highly rated by fans of Seth Lakeman.

I tested two shiney toys out, early this morning.

The silly photos should give you a clue as to what the first toy was; I just spent a sum equivalent to the economy of a small Latin American nation on a fisheye lens for my camera. Expect to see lots of these gimmicky pictures, until the novelty wears off. It’s a safe bet that it will wear off for you the viewer long before it wears off for me …

The second toy was a PH Capella 167. This rather garish red and yellow boat was loaned to us by PH Kayaks, rather convenient really given that my PH Cetus is still far away up in the far north of Scotland, kindly being looked after by Cailean Macleod. The Capella has already been taken out to St Kilda and Brittany by my wife* during August, but this was my first try in the glass version of this classic jack-of-all-trades design. All good, I enjoyed taking it for a lively spot of surfing in the reefs and tide races around Old Harry Rocks. I even managed not to break it, something I have an unfortunate habit of doing with borrowed property.

PH apparently have a big backlog of custom kayak orders and can’t keep up with demand, so non-custom models of the Capella 167 are now being manufactured in Europe to maintain availability for those who want their sea kayak now. PH say they are very happy with the construction quality and indeed, we couldn’t spot any issues with our loaned boat (apart from the colour scheme). So, expect to keep seeing pics of the garish red boat for as long as we can avoid/ignore PH’s calls and emails asking for it back …

By the way, if anyone fancies a quick Dorset test drive, drop me an email - markATukriversguidebookDOTcoDOTuk.

*Heather keeps promising to do some ‘guest blogging’ and post here about her exotic summer trips. Watch this space.

On the final morning before I left the Scottish coast, I woke before dawn for a call of nature. Having done my business, I took this photo from my tent flap. These chaps had kept me awake with their mournful wailing over three nights, indeed managing to drown out the noise of more than one storm. 

That was nearly a month ago. Despite such an active summer, I’ve been outrageously lazy and inactive since my return. In one whole month, I’ve managed to achieve a small bit of whitewater paddling, a smidgeon of running and an awful lot of lounging on the sofa eating chocolate. I haven’t paddled on the sea at all since returning to work! Part of the reason lies in the fact that this is always the busiest part of my generally rather busy working year, but there is much more to it than that. I’ve experienced this phenomenon before. You come home from a big trip where you’ve pushed yourself hard day after day after day; but once you’re back in reality, it’s oddly tough to motivate yourself to do anything at all.

But I’m going paddling on the sea, first thing tomorrow morning. All good.

This hirsute chappie lives on the Ardnamurchan Peninsula, up in Scotland. The lighthouse behind denotes the most westerly point on Britain’s mainland, just a few miles further west than Cornwall’s ineffable Land’s End. Arriving at the lighthouse at a glorious sunset after a headbanging 30 mile slog into a headwind was certainly one of the highlights of my summer trip.

Anyway, a few snippets of news/trivia …

There is a detailed review of South West Sea Kayaking in the latest edition of Ocean Paddler Magazine. It focuses heavily on the lack of info about local transport in the book (here you go, OP) and also seems unaware that the book covers the entire south west coast (as opposed to selected highlights), but on the whole it’s generously positive - thanks OP!

Many thanks to Steve Beith who organised the ‘Blue Moon Paddle’ last weekend, a very civilised get-together of sea kayakers in Hampshire. Regrettably, I forgot to take my camera - so you’ll have to take my word for it, that we paddled in the only good weather of the entire summer. In the evening, the paddlers attending were polite enough to sit through a talk about my work on South West Sea Kayaking without yawning too loudly.

All good.

The photo above shows me at Sandwood Bay, a few miles short of Cape Wrath - Britain’s north west extremity. I waited there for three nights until the wind and surf settled enough to go around the Cape itself.

I’m back home having completed my trip at Dunscanby Head, the far north east corner of the UK mainland. Cape Wrath and the north coast were fantastic - seriously exposed, wild and rugged. Given my earlier good progress I had hoped to get much further but in recent weeks, the weather was hopelessly windy, and I spent more time ashore than paddling. Blame El Nino apparently, it has meant that for the second summer running, the Jet Stream has lurked unusually far south over the UK, creating prolonged lousy weather. My eventual progess was 557 miles over 25 days of paddling, with day paddles ranging from 8 to 35 miles. I’ve covered all of Scotland’s west and north coasts, which without a doubt offers some of the finest sea paddling to be had anywhere.

I’ve had a completely marvellous trip, experiencing some wonderful places and taking away some amazing memories. All good.

After 19 paddling days and about 450 miles covered, I’m now camped within sight of Cape Wrath - splendid! Most importantly, I’m still having fun and managing to endure my own company. However I have to take a little time out to call in at work before I resume paddling; so here I am back at home for the day.

If I make it around the Cape, I’ll certainly aim to paddle along the north coast of Scotland, but then have to make some tricky decisions based on the weather and remaining time available - do I then head north or south?

Updates still HERE.

Well, I’m still alive and well, but currently pinned ashore by strong winds at Machrinhanish. The good news is that (by playing join-the-dots with a series of headlands) I’ve actually made it out past the Mull of Kintyre to the true west coast of Scotland. It’s everything I hoped it would be, and more.

I will keep posting updates HERE.

The giant fish/lobster thing above is located beside the Mayflower Steps, on the city of Plymouth’s waterfront. It probably represents/means/signifies something, but I’m currently too tired to recall or research. I was in Plymouth for the past few days with a load of my Sixth Formers, giving them an introduction to ’student life’ at the University. I took the photo as we set sail for an evening cruise (007 themed) around splendid Plymouth Sound and the River Tamar. Given my recent work on the book, I was able to regale anyone who would listen (eventually, no one) with lots of trivia about the places we passed. I was most annoyed to see that the ugly great silo on the waterfront, mentioned in my book, has been demolished this year; so South West Sea Kayaking is out of date already.

The living room floor is covered by bags, boxes, random items … I’m packing for my big summer trip, departing shortly. This will probably be my last blog post for a while (unless the wild west coast of Scotland proves to be crammed with cybercafes), but Heather may do some ‘guest posting’ if she finds time inbetween walking the Coast to Coast trail, and sea kayaking in both St Kilda (organised boat trip) and Brittany (girlie trip) this summer. Being teachers isn’t so bad, we do rather enjoy our long summer hols.

Anyway, wish me luck with Scotland; the weather is improving slightly, so I’m marginally less scared by the whole thing. It’ll be interesting to see how much of the Scottish coast I can cover. For no particular reason, here’s a pic of me doing a Sean Connery impression on Plymouth Sound last night …