My original plan was to leave Gigha by heading to the North end of the Island and then doing a crossing to the Knapdale coast. Friday morning was grey and still. The visibility was down to about 3km. Not exactly a pea souper but when you can’t see where the sky finishes and the sea starts its weird. It’s like when the hair on your neck joins the hair on your face….how do you know where to stop shaving?
Two reasons made me change my plan, I’d not be able to see the big Islay ferries crossing my route, and they’d have less chance of seeing me and after having Calum’s paddling company for a couple of days he was returning to the Clyde via West Loch Tarbet so I decided to handrail the coast with him.
This added a wee bit of time to the journey, but it was worth it. After crossing over to the Kintyre coast and then working up to West Loch Tarbet I said my farewell’s to my lifelong pal and paddling buddy and continued up the Knapdale Coast on my own.
The breeze got up a wee bit out the south and helped push me along. The next few hours flew in as I started to come across the tide and it’s rippled fingerprint on the surface of the water. This was a sure sign that Jura was nearby (West – left) but I still couldn’t see anything but the odd dark silhouette of a headland ahead on my right coming out of the grey.
I managed to keep the pace lifted enough to make the headland at Rubha na Cille where the tide was still pushing round, but then the power ran out and with no discernable tide to do the work for me I hugged the coastline like a toddler to a parental leg. I only had another 8 or so kilometres to get to my to target camp for the night, but I kept spotting viable options that’d do in case of complete engine shutdown.
The coast here just past Rubha na Cille is littered with little boreholes that gulp in the swell and belch out the trumpets of a discordant symphony. The entertainment kept me ticking over for most of the remainder of the journey. When I got to the next bay, the last one before Carsaig Bay, and I was completely gob-smacked. I’d paddled into a scene from the Goonies movie. Poor visibility, low cloud, rocky headlands, skerries, trees and quite possibly the most beautiful wee bay I’ve ever paddled through. I didn’t meet One-Eyed Willie, but I did rediscover my childhood hooting and hollering at the echoes.
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