Winter Sea Kayaking on the Sound

Sheer rocky cliffs rise out of the still dark waters as the biting winter temperatures numbs my exposed flesh. The car park of Deep Water Basin does not make for the best changing room, but it certainly has the best views. Dressed in ill-fitting stripey long johns, a day glow yellow cagoule and sandals, I may not look like an explorer; but I hop in my yellow plastic vessel to explore this World-famous fjord.

In my opinion, one of the best perspectives you can get of Milford Sound is from a kayak, dwarfed by the cliffs. Our scenic loop takes in the mile high Mitre Peak in its winter coat, the towering sea cliffs weeping waterfalls and seals soaking up the sun in this majestic winter wonderland.

The Great Escape

The morning weather forecast brought nothing but doom and gloom. A very strong Westerly wind is predicted for the next three days meant that our sheltered sheltered bay would become another prison, so we started to dig an escape tunnel...

I hiked along to the nearest road and tried to hitch hike back to our starting point to collect the van and canoe trailer. Meanwhile the rest of the group would transport all the gear to the road.

Thirty-five minutes, and several passing cars, into my hitch hiking cherry and things were not going well. Given that it has been several days since I have seen a mirror, I can only hazard a guess as to why the cars are passing me by ;-) The kind shopkeeper from across the road of my chosen begging spot, came over to offer me condolences, advice and a cup of tea.

Moments later, as if ordered by the shopkeeper, along came Mark and Rachel in their motorhome. Rachel was a kind-faced Health Visitor and Mark was a wirey, ex-military man who was celebrating his retirement with a maiden voyage in their new van. Our conversation made the thirty minute drive fly-by and, before I realised it, I was hopping out of the motorhome on the outskirts of Arisaig.

From here I needed to walk the lonely road across the peninsula to the bay which heralded our arrival. Roughly three-quarters of the way along this single-tracked road, a Campervan pulled along side me to offer me a lift for the final stretch. I said my goodbyes to the family from Leicester, hitched the canoe trailer to the van and went to find my friends.

My arrival could not have been timed better. The van and trailer were quickly filled and we headed off to find more sheltered waters on the North coast of Loch Sunart. Sadly, there was no real access to the Loch and the Westerly wind was ripping up the Loch, causing the sailing boats already on the water to lean at a 45 degree angle. After much discussion, we decided to call it a day and head home.

The drive home gave me time to sit and reflect on our adventure. Time is a valuable commodity. As my work-life balance has become increasingly unbalanced, I am as guilty as the next person of following the sensible, restrictive well-trodden path. My friends and I find it more difficult to justify disappearing on another fool-hardy adventure when formerly we would not have even looked for a justification. With such limited opportunities to get away, we have to choose out trips carefully. Ultimately, I asked myself: would I do this trip again? Every salt encrusted moment, without a doubt.

8 Seconds

Our kayaks glided silently across the glassy surface of the bay as we enjoyed a calm start to the day. Out of the shelter of the bay, the seas were not rough, but the winds were spinning my boat around slowly, very slowly, like an unhurried compass needle; east, north-east, north; then paused, and, after a few seconds, turned as unhurriedly back towards the right. As a result, I struggled to keep close to the shoreline and out of the strong winds as I zig-zagged along the Loch.

Out of Loch Ailort, the coast was composed of beaches interspersed by low rocky headlands. We were not in any hurry to get anywhere so we followed every rock indentation, nook and cranny.

The final push of the day was across an exposed stretch of water and got the adrenaline pumping once more. The wind howled across the surface of the water and I leaned the boat to the left into the force of the wind. With alarming regularity, stronger gusts would rock the boat so violently that staying above the surface of the water was like trying to ride a rodeo bull. Twice, I came close to capsizing, but managed to slap the water with my paddle to right the boat. Through gritted teeth, I fought my way across and into the shelter of Samalaman Bay.

From the relative safety of the bay, we could enjoy the stunning views to the West and North of Eigg, Rum and the soaring gabbros ridges of the Cullin Mountains of Skye. Next, we turned our attention to the beach, which was covered by countless thousands of shells. We landed carefully and behind the beach, tucked deep in the trees, was the most idyllic campsite. Again, no discussions. We set up camp.

After such a tough few days, we decided to hike from the sands of Samalaman Bay to the welcoming Glenuig Inn for an excellent evening meal and plenty of Scottish brewed Real Ales.

The View from the Eyrie

My heart was thumping in my chest and my palms were sweaty tho you could not tell this as they were soaked in the brine. I tried to keep a steady pace with my paddling to settle my nerves. Tick-tock, splish-splash,... It seemed to be working.

Once we rounded the eastern headland of our bay, we hugged southern coastline to shelter from the strong winds. This led eastwards into Loch Nan Uamh. An hour or so later, the sun came out and we could have been forgiven for thinking we were in the Caribbean. Paddling through crystal clear waters above milky white sands with the sun blazing overhead. The wildlife even came back out to play. Surely this cannot be Scotland!?

As we rounded Eileen Gobhlach at the end of Loch Nan Uamh, there was a stark reminder that this was Scotland! The wind had strengthened causing almost a meter high waves to crash over my boat from the starboard side. These were worse than the conditions in which I capsized. To keep this from my mind, I raised my left knee to tilt me boat into the waves and focussed on paddling at a steady rhythm. Tick-tock, splish-splash,... My rhythm was only broken by a wave crashing on top of the boat or an airshot as I sat on top of a wave. The latter unsettling me the most.

For about an hour, I needed to maintain this rhythm and level of concentration until we passed between Rubha Chaolais and Eileen a Chaolais into the sheltered mouth of Loch Ailort. Here, we were able to breathe a little easier. Around the next headlands our camp for the night, the beach in front the ruined settlement of Peanmeanach.

The sun was setting as we devoured Tortellini with Ricotta and Spinach smothered in pesto alla genovese and accompanied with a Chilean Malbec. Who says you need to rough it when camping?! ;-)

Trapped

We did not need the weather forecast to tell us to stay in bed this morning, the tent bending winds and heavy rainfall were sufficient. The weather forecast did, however, force us to rethink our journey as the winds have picked up and changed direction, essentially trapping us on our beach. Still, there are worse places in the World to be stuck.

It was 13:00 before the weather released us from our tent-shaped prison.

First, we scampered out along a rocky ridge to the edge of the bay to see if we could formulate an escape plan. As far as the eye could see there were white-capped waves crashing all around. There was no escaping today. Maybe tomorrow.

The rest of the day was filled with exploring along the coastline, drying and repairing, recharging body and gadgets, asking "what if...?" and fishing.

With the sun setting and the winds dying down, the final weather forecast of the day gave us a glimmer of hope for tomorrow.

Oops Upside Your Head

We were awoken, later than planned, by a violent shudder of the tent. Whilst the storm had passed, the winds had not abated. Tuning in for the weather forecast did nothing to play my fears, but the rest of the group were keen to paddle to the end of the sheltered bay to see if we can hop from bay to bay, finding shelter where possible, to make progress eastwards.

At first, the paddle out of the bay was a joy as my boat cut through the breaking waves like a samurai sword through a silk scarf. Out of the shelter of the bay, we were exposed to the full power of the wind and the decision was swiftly made to return and re-establish our camp. In that brief moment, the wind caught my boat spinning me around towards the rocks on the shoreline. I heard screams of "paddle hard on the right" and obediently did so. Despite all my efforts the rocks were getting alarmingly close. Within about one meter of the rocks, my boat finally turned. I was saved.

I still could not tell you what happened next. Was it the relief of missing the rocks? Was it my inexperience as a sea paddler? Or was it simply fate?

Whatever the reason, I had ended up side-on to the waves and one of them engulfed my boat. My World then turned upside down. 

I was surprised at how calm I remained as I tugged at my spraydeck and, on the fourth attempt, rolled forward out of the boat. This may sound strange, but it was a serene and beautiful moment as I stared up at the silhouette of my sea kayak against the azure seawater surface. One that shall stay with me for the rest of my days...

Upon reaching the surface, the serenity was broken as everyone frantically paddled towards my upturned boat; two in their sea kayaks and me, doggy-style. Before I knew it, I was back in my sea kayak frantically pumping out the seawater as Dick towed us away from the fast-approaching rocks.

Back on our lovely white sandy beach, the rescue continued as I changed into dry clothes, was force-fed hot soup and ordered to the tent which an hour or so ago we were taking down! A calmness soon returned to the camp and with it I licked the salt from my wounds. Wet clothing was strewn across the place in a vain attempt at drying, damages to the boat and myself were examined and more hot beverages were consumed.

After a short hike on the tick-infested fells, the storm hit hard again, forcing us to return to our tents and wait for tomorrow.

The Bog of Eternal Stench

Given it was my first time in a sea kayak, we thought it prudent to paddle the short distance to Arisaig to collect some fresh water. The journey there was straight out of a Disney movie. Seals came bobbing along to say good morning. Oystercatchers would swoop by to whistle hello. Herons stood to attention as if they were giving us a guard of honour into the bay.

At the entrance to the harbour a flotilla of sea kayaks greeted us and warned of the a turn in the weather... A storm is brewing.

With our jobs done in Arisaig, we discovered our first rookie error of the trip... The tide had gone out, leaving an ever expanding expanse of mud mounds made of grey gelatinous gloop. Alistair took charge and led our first futile attempt to escape our pestilential prison. We admitted defeat as we were knee deep in the most foul smelling, putrid, rotting organic matter. That smell will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Our retreat resulted in losing the odd shoe, which, unlike our pride, eventually resurfaced. The winning strategy was to carry our three fully laden boats over slimy, seaweed-covered rocks. The eventual escape led to Loch Nan Ceall and the Arisaig skerries. Here, we stopped for a spot of lunch on a pristine white beach.

Around the headland, we left behind the crystal clear waters surrounding the sandy skerries and entered the emerald green depths of the Sound of Arisaig. A swarm of jelly fish guarded the entrance to the sound and once they allowed us to pass, we threaded our way between the turrets of sedimentary and igneous rock. Beyond the rock sentries, we found a white shell beach with gin clear waters. Closer inspection revealed a babbling brook of fresh drinking water and a flat green meadow where we could pitch our tents. No discussion was required. This was home for the night.

After establishing camp, we watched a sea otter playfully hunt for his evening feed. This special moment ended abruptly when the sea otter, with a mouthful of food, swam directly towards us. He was less than two meters away when our eyes met, he paused momentarily and then scarpered. Come to think of it... Given his reaction, the sea otter was probably a girl ;-)

The storm, as foretold by our fellow sea kayakers, arrived with surprising punctuality forcing us into our tents for the night.

Wilderness Found

After the final jobs were ticked off, the three sea kayaks were loaded onto the rickety old trailer and a seven hour drive North, we drove through Arisaig and turned onto a single tracked road towards Rhu and the setting sun.

As the recently set sun continued to sink further below the horizon, the darker sky to the North West also took on a wondrous orange then pink glow. We really did not know which way to look as the palate of colour, which was lighting the wilderness round us, changed with every passing minute. We sat at the waters edge to better enjoy the drama of the sunset. In the still-cold air, condensation formed on our clothing.

The near-complete silence in sound was that of a true wilderness and the only slight sound was that of the seals barking in the distance, the fish leaping or the bats stalking their prey. A final flash of crimson on the underside of a low cloud finally signalling that our day was over. We had discovered wilderness in the Sound of Arisaig where, for the next few days, we hope to unearth more...