Rendezvousing at Ellenabeich Sat 25 July and suitably faffed, our nine intrepid adventurers left at 1100 (slightly later than intended) skirting Easdale island and its ferry and straight into a stiff F3 which, combined with the ebb tide, made for a rather bouncier paddle down to Fladda than expected. At Fladda all sorts of things happen currentwise, and we wriggled our way cautiously down the Sound of Luing to the Grey Dogs at 1240, having left Fladda at 1200 and some 5km+ behind – clearly the tide was still helping overall. After some extremely tentative playing in the tide race we made our way down the eastern side of Scarba, spotting an otter on the way to the bothy on the SE corner of Scarba, where we had lunch at 1400.
We crossed a benign Corryvreckan and watched a sea eagle watching us as a group of seals became curious. By now the tide was flowing north up the Sound of Jura and although we used eddies and margins to make progress south, there were a couple of occasions where crossing the flow where it bent produced a definite line to paddle up through. We pulled in at Barnhill where a man once wrote a book, but decided to push further in search a better site. Good spots are few on the east coast of Jura so it’s possible to say we didn’t find one, but the small shingle beach and random pitches between the rocks were very welcome. Teas eaten, we built the first beach fire of the trip but hurried to our tents as the rain increased at 2200. 27km
Sunday 26 July was less than promising at 0730 with wind and tide creating quite unfavourable conditions. Things calmed down over the next couple of hours however as we packed rather damply, managing to leave at 1030 into an ebb tide down the Sound of Jura but with a good F3 gusting F4 in our faces. This was the story of the day overall; there was little further rain, quite a bit of sun but wind was ever-present and not in our favour. We hauled out at Lussa Bay for lunch to some local consternation but kept our considerable distance intact. A constant curiosity of seals, including some pups, had monitored our presence all the way to Ardlussa House, and a small colony returned to the water just as we did. We continued down the coast past Tarbert Bay and made camp at Lagg Bay; a hen harrier and an eagle were observed. Several paddlers went swimming including a plausible Daniel Craig impersonation from Neil. 24km
Monday: it rained. It had started before we got up and continued. Despite this – or perhaps because of it – and to the Chairman’s continuing astonishment, we left the beach 15 minutes early, rounding the corner of the bay into a favourable wind, a following tide and more rain. We made good progress, handrailing down the rugged coast and crossing open bays until we turned into Craighouse Bay after spotting an otter or two. We pulled out at the northern shore to stretch our legs and privately admitted that for a couple of us, our cags were not coping well with the incessant precipitation. The wind blew us down to Craighouse, where we collected an order of hand-dived scallops (thanks Anne) and indulged in welcoming soup and coffees at the Jura Hotel.
The wind had picked up further during our visit and fair skirled us across the bay, under the pier and round the next corner. Conditions meant we paddled tighter as a group and as we reached the mouth of the Sound of Islay, we met the full force of the west wind with some chop. Another sea eagle, this time closer up, flapped majestically away as we struggled slowly along the coast, catching as much shelter as we could – which was precious little – and hunted for a suitable campsite. Nowhere presented itself until the Ardfin estate and Jura House appeared. We landed and negotiated an overnight stay on the beach below the golf course. Yet another otter pulled out on the tiny skerry opposite, demolishing the fish it carried and subsequently performing satisfied aquatic tricks – quite the show-off. The scallops were dealt with by Anne, Chris, Gordon, Ian and Tim with the addition of garlic and parsley brought by Anne (who had included opening instructions and a recipe for the hard of cooking.) A walk up to the walled garden and golf course yielded two well-horned stags. 25km
Tuesday’s forecast had not been promising and although there was plenty of sunshine and some showers, the north-west wind whipping the Sound into white horses meant there was no way to make progress against the conditions. Stormbound, we enjoyed walks, drying clothing, tent pole mending and sunbathing in between retreating to our tents during the frequent showers. We watched the wind abate and rise again throughout the morning and early afternoon until we finally decided to wait till the following day to make our way through the Sound of Islay; an early rise implied. The evening was rounded off with an impromptu game of lawn bowls, utilising a fishing net float from Catharine’s burgeoning collection, selflessly beachcombed by the rest of the team. Ian’s backspin technique, shamelessly stolen from Neil, achieved the final victory overall.
Up at 0530, we were greeted with another otter performance as it swam slowly across in front of our campsite diving, surfacing and regarding our tents with some relative suspicion. Beach departure was at 0720 and although conditions were vastly improved from the previous day, there was still some westerly wind coming down the Sound of Islay though the tide was in our favour – so that when a solitary swan sailed past and disappeared into the distance we were encouraged to move into the main channel and maximise the flow assistance. The Port Askaig ferry crossed to Jura in front of us and we counted the distilleries as we floated northwest. Through the Sound in a couple of hours, the landscape changed and the cliffs, caves, rock formations and waterfalls of the western coast of Jura began to reveal themselves. The basalt intrusions straddling the shingled beaches and reaching out into the sea resembled ruined castle walls, with fallen sections creating natural arches. Ancient raised beaches, fields of shingle, reached far back into the land towards the looming Paps. Black feral goats, as distinct from the white we’d already seen on the east coast, stared as we passed. A day already lost and the impending forecast for Thursday meant a change of plan and, after a pre-lunch stop just south of Loch Tarbert, we paddled across the mouth and continued up the coast hoping to cover as much distance as possible in case conditions the next day would hold us back. The westerly wind and some slight swell gave us some bouncy paddling – interrupted by a brief lunch at Shian Bay; the relaunch into surf giving rise to a couple of soggy boats – we reached the more sheltered Corpach Bay to make camp. A big day: 37km
Based on the forecast and planning, the idea was to be OTW at 0800. However no southeast wind to push us up the coast appeared but rather a hoolie from the north with no chance of continuing. Broken poles were mended and rocks placed on pegs; all we could do was sit tight.
More poles were broken over the course of the day; Tim’s efforts with Neil’s tent were heroic.
Friday morning we rose late with some wind left over from a battering overnight. Neil’s tent had survived but when David checked the latest forecast with the CG and told us we were leaving as soon as possible, it succumbed again as it was being dismantled. OTW at 1200, with a SW west wind and the tide to aid us we made Glengarrisdale and Maclean’s skull cave by 1400, spotting eagles on route. An extremely brief lunch and we headed off for Corryvreckan – benign on neaps and at slack, the biggest issues were group cohesion and dodging the yachts coming through to anchor at Bay of Pigs. We landed at the bothy on Scarba, where a tentless Neil would spend the night and the rest of us make our final camp and beachwood fire of the trip. 22km
Despite Ian’s tent poles dying during the night, Saturday morning OTW at 1000 meant we took advantage of the flood up the Sound of Luing, initially handrailing the eastern coast of Scarba and then heading away from the Grey Dogs towards Black Mill Bay on Luing. From there we particularly enjoyed the tide between the skerries up to Cullipool, where a brief comfort stop led into a rather bouncier finish to the morning, with the Cuan Sound flood meeting the tide we had been following all the way into Easdale, where Gordon almost, but not quite, blotted his immaculate copybook of the week: however, the old pier stanchions are still standing. We beached at 1220, right on time, having covered 16 km.
Another fantastic trip organized by the Chair – as a replacement for the earlier proposed Barra venture – whose planning and decision-making was justified throughout. Strong paddling by the participants, as seen by completing the scheduled trip of over 150 km despite losing more than two days, and eight tent poles, to the weather. Terrific scenery and plentiful bird/wildlife: sea-eagles, otters, peregrines, buzzards, hen harriers, goats, deer, a cuckoo and feral mink. Expedition paddling at its best: a wide range of conditions both on and off the water, and a group who coped well with either. Huge thanks to David for the organization and to Anne, Catharine, Chris, Clare, Gordon, Neil and Tim for being such good companions.