By Roger Simmons

Date: 15th - 21st May 2021

Location: Croabn Marina, South of Oban

It had been nine months since I’d last been kayaking in Scotland.
Sometime during the dark depths of winter I’d decided it would be a good idea to return, having obviously forgotten what wild camping actually entails.

Scarba and the Sound of Corryvreckan — Scarba camping and the Sound of Corryvreckan

I met up with Gethin and Richard (Sea kayaking Wales) who were to be our leaders for the duration, along with six other paddlers, in a small marina on the west coast of Scotland, about twenty miles south of Oban.

The weather for the first part of our expedition looked good. High winds were however predicted for the latter half of the week.

The general plan was to paddle out to the Slates Isles, wild camp, leave the lunacy of the world behind us and enjoy the peace and tranquillity, nature and varied kayaking conditions which this part of the world has to offer.

We were heading into neap tides which given the often-powerful nature of the tidal flows in the area, thanks to the abundance of islands, would work in our favour.

Wild camping, for the uninitiated, is exactly that. Camping in the wild. Everything you need for the duration has to be packed into a sea kayak. From safety kit to food and water, to cooking kit, sleeping bag and tent and spare paddling kit. It all needs to go. I thought I’d done well packing a proper tea mug until the first evening when various bottles of whiskey appeared and were shared round along with a selection of cheeses on a board.

The answer to the question to myself ‘It’s May, how cold can it be at night?’ was answered on night one. Very cold. I woke up shivering despite wearing two base layers and a pair of socks so I topped them up with a third layer plus a woolly hat. I kicked myself for not going into Glasgow, as originally planned, to buy a better sleeping bag.

Night two saw us camped on the south east corner of Scarba. Just across the water, the Isle of Jura. The stretch of water between the two islands is the Gulf of Corryvreckan, one of the world’s largest whirlpools, a tide race of monumental proportions. An iconic paddle if ever there was one.

When the tide floods (coming in) the water flows east to west, when it ebbs (going out), west to east. A cunningly brilliant plan was hatched that, given the time, neap tides and general weather conditions, plus the teams paddling ability, we’d paddle along the south of Scarba, against the flow, then head north around Scarba to another tide race, Gray Dogs. This little jaunt was only possible by eddy hopping, hugging tightly to the rocky shore line to our right seeking out any coves and eddies to rest and regroup.

I was third to nose out into the flow, which even in the dying stages of a neap tide, still swung my kayak out to my left. Paddling hard I managed to get her heading directly into the flow again and maintained my position behind the man ahead of me, keeping as close to the rocks as possible. There was a small bow wave forming and this was surely an indication of how fast I was moving. How disheartened I was when to glanced to my right and realised I was travelling backwards!

Making every paddle stroke count we managed, one by one, to creep forward, eddy after eddy where we rested and awaited the rest of the group, eventually all rounding the south west of the island into less intimidating water. Now, if ever I have to complete a CV again I can rightly say, I’ve paddled The Gulf of Corryvreckan!

By the time we reached the Gray Dogs tide race, between Scarba and Lunga, the tide was flooding again creating some standing waves and turbulent water, which given the fact I was paddling a kayak which contained most of my worldly goods, was about as exciting as I wanted thing's to get.

One night, awake thanks to being of a certain age and my bladder, I made use of the in tent en suite facilities. By the light of my head torch I noticed I had a tick, (a parasitic arachnid and spreader of Limes disease, in case you didn’t know) which had attached itself to part of my anatomy which I rather wished it hadn’t. (About half way up, or down, to be precise). Using all of my surgical skills I tried to remove it. (They burrow into the skin and gorge on your blood). Perhaps not surprisingly I managed to do the one thing I didn’t want to do, which was remove the body but leave the head in. After a bit of digging around and failing miserably to get the job done, I did that very male thing. I crawled back into my sleeping bag and hoped it would drop off of its own accord (the tick, not what it was attached to, I hasten to add!) When we returned to the marina later in the week you’ll be delighted to know that with a pair of tweezers I managed to complete the task and, with the exception of being mentally scarred, appear to have come out unscathed.

High point on the Garvellachs (**Eileach an Naoimh)** with Mull in the background

About lunch time on day three we landed on Eileach an Naoimh (Isle of the Saints), one of the Garvellach islands. Thanks to the idyllic location, sunshine and beauty of the place it was decided to camp there, within the grounds of a Celtic monastery established around AD 542 by St Brendan.

Late the following day it was confirmed that the weather was about to take a turn for the worse so, with an extended paddle late on in the afternoon, we retreated to the sanctuary of the marina.

The remaining two days were spent paddling locally in ridiculously windy conditions with a helping of rain thrown in, practicing our surfing, rescuing and rolling skills.

All too soon a most enjoyable week was over and it was time to head south. I had a few days to fill so I headed to Wiltshire to visit my youngest daughter, son in law and grandchildren. I needed to build my strength up ready for my next kayaking trip in Pembrokeshire the following week.........more to follow!