The LSKC ‘concerned look and suck air slowly through the teeth’ group met up in the lounge of Calmac’s MV Argyle as it began its crossing from Wemyss Bay to Rothesay in the morning this past Friday 12th June. What was the cause of the concerned look? Well – two things. First, the view. There was none. Not of Bute. Not of Toward. Not of Wemyss Bay. Only rain and fog. And second – wind. Lots of it – we’d been blown sideways getting out of the cars to go to the ticket office prior to boarding. It was not exactly looking brilliant for our afternoon’s Kayaking…
Force four, gusting seven, was the consensus at Kilchattan Bay where all the group convened for Friday’s paddle. We were there as part of the Bute weekend organised by Kayak Stardust (henceforth KS), and this first paddle was from Kilchattan Bay, at the southern end of Bute, up to the big smoke of Rothesay. KS was leading this paddle, and his beach briefing was notable for an instruction to make sure we put skegs up before rounding the headland, unless we wished to have an early supper in Largs, back on the mainland. Strong westerlies were expected. Deterred only quite a bit, we set off into the bay. And yes, it was very windy as we tracked initially across the wind and then downwind towards the headlands, trying to regain our sea legs.
As soon as we rounded the headland though, everything changed. Now we were in the lee of the shore, and we journeyed up it sheltered from the force seven gusts. It almost felt like a gentle afternoon paddle. Conversation – which had been noticeably absent previously as we fought the wind and waves in the bay – returned to the group, and we were a happy tribe meandering northwards along the coast of Bute, past spectacular weather worn trees, and past the Marquis of Bute’s modest mansion at Mount Stuart.
We were being treated to unparalleled local knowledge, in a series of episodes of storytelling that would become a memorable and intruiging feature of the weekend, and which gained the nickname ‘Jackanory’ (who says that LSKC folk don’t have their finger on the pulse of pop culture, with references like that?). We learned about the construction of Mount Stuart, and more alarmingly of a thing called a ‘Jobbywheecher’, that we would see on the approach to Rothesay. This, apparently, was a kind of Victorian centrifuge for unwanted effluent, that would process some of the less desireable outputs of Rothesay’s denizens, by flinging it around at high speed in a circle, and then shoving it out into the Clyde. Fortunately, given how we planned to travel past it, it had been closed some years ago, and apparently, preserved – being replaced by something a little less revolting in concept. Apparently this was Rothesay’s number two tourist attraction. Notwithstanding the Jobbywheecher, the water around Bute – and Rothesay – was blue and clean – suggesting that its days were indeed done.
Having had a wee rest on a sheltered beach at Kerrycroy – we noted a distinct change to the weather. Although the sky had indeed been virtually opaque on the Ferry in the morning, the kayak journey itself, so far, had been had under lovely sunshine. I wouldn’t say it was warm, but it wasn’t that cold, and, sheltered from the wind as we were – we were a contented bunch. But dark clouds gathered over Rothesay as we passed the Jobbywheecher in all of its cylindrical majesty. As we turned into Rothesay Bay, to head west for our final 3km into the town from Bogany Point, we discovered where the Force 7 gusts had been hiding, and started battling into the teeth of a proper squall. As the rods of rain struck us, it became noticeable that our forward speed had dropped to near zero – and that we were making poor progress. We had been going for about 3 hours, and it looked like it would take another 3 hours of misery to get to Zavaroni’s fish bar in downtown Rothesay. Time to stop on a conveniently located beach to our left, and regroup.
Upon regrouping on the beach, we noticed a bus stop. I’ve heard it said that one key thing that makes expert Sea Kayakers into experts is not necessary their skills (though of course they will have these in abundance) – but their ability to make good decisions in a timely fashion exactly when appropriate. We were being led by one of the best, so, fifteen minutes later, we were all on the bus back to Kilchattan Bay, warm and dry(ish) and chatting animatedly. A case study of good decision making. We did not see Ailsa Craig.
Arriving in the Bute Backpackers Hostel, it became obvious just how large this happy group of paddlers – I think we were 22 – when we sat down for the trip planning meeting for Saturday’s paddle. The room was hot – but the news from the weather apps was not. Even stronger winds, tomorrow would be a walking/exploring day.
In fact, though, two groups did get out. KS offered a coaching session in a sheltered bay, and a select group of us were given a masterful demonstration of coaching skills as we were led to discover how we could enhance our sweep strokes. I found this a great experience and picked up a number of key things to work on going forward. As readers will probably know, there’s kind of a limit to how long a focused coaching session can be, so this one ended after a couple of hours with a wonderful 15 minutes spent gently bobbing around the rocks at the entrance to the sheltered bay as the sun again managed to briefly show it’s face. A memorable morning. The other paddling group group was formed of FM and RB, who took on the worst of the conditions and paddled around the Kyles of Bute.
What else did people get up to on Saturday? Well, with KS providing excellent local knowledge there were trips for a walk at the southern tip of the island, to Mount Stuart, the big house of the Marquis of Bute, to the Bute museum, and to a Fernery which was not a mobile phone shop in East Yorkshire, but was a glasshouse of exotic ferns.
Mark bravely stayed up until 2 AM to watch some football match or other, as, it seems, did most of Rothesay!
Ailsa Craig was not sighted.
Sunday dawned fine and dry, with calm conditions. Game on for paddling, but… for the slight matter of the world’s most complex shuttle. Rob and Fiona headed off to the south of Bute, as the plan for the remaining paddlers was to head and do a route that was the same (though in an opposite direction, I think) as they (Fiona and Rob) had done the day before. That left 19 paddlers and – er – fewer than 19 cars to enter into a shuttle puzzle. This puzzle was of Kafkaesque difficulty, but was skillfully solved by one of our group, using a pen and the back of an old envelope.
The instructions for the shuttle might have been clear, but it still took a modicum of faffing to get sorted, and soon we were ready to launch from Rhubodach, under the nose of the Calmac ferry to Cowal and Colintraive. Two groups formed, one led by MH and one led by JB. Snicking behind the ferry we nosed off up to the Kyles of Bute, where we – in no particular order, saw the Burnt Islands (which weren’t), some seals, Eilan Dubh, a beautiful and very grand boathouse and wee harbour, two motor yachts, two porpoises and a jetski. Conditions were perfect, with a very noticable helping hand from a tidal flow which took us down otherwise calm waters to Tighnabruaich for a lunch stop.
From Tighnabruaich we headed south and east back across to the Bute shore, which we clung to for several km as we headed for the end of the paddle in Ettrick Bay. A long, low, old coaster came past in the middle distance, and someone said it was the Vital Spark. A sea otter was spotted at play (or so the people who claimed to see it claimed), and also Sea Eagles soared above us on this part of the trip. As we approached Ettrick bay there were more signs of human life, and the contemplative reverie of the passage of nature gave way to the excitement of beach holidays and the sights and sounds of people having fun on a beautiful afternoon. We landed on Ettrick Bay, loaded up the vehicles and headed back to the ranch to dress for dinner. We all ate together on Sunday evening, at the Kingarth Hotel, Kilchattan Bay. A fine evening was had, good food and good company, with beautiful sunny weather and only moderately angry insect life in the car park, some of which also ate quite well…
There were no sightings of Ailsa Craig.
On Monday, we headed back to Ettrick Bay – well, those of us who had had the foresight to have booked the Monday off work did – to head first along the coast for a few kilometres towards St Ninian’s Point and then across the sound to the island of Inchmarnock which lies just to the west of Bute. Inchmarnock is an unpopulated (usually) island with farmland on it, and we did an anticlockwise circumnavigation, entailing views of Kintyre and Arran as well as Cowal to the north. Beautiful sunny conditions and a nice wind – gentle, just enough to stop the sea from being glassy smooth. We pulled in for lunch towards the southern end of the island, at the only point on the west coast that was accessible at all states of the tide. Once replenished, we headed around the southern tip of the island, and then back up towards St Ninian’s point. At this point, a group of four (myself included) peeled off to eke the most possible paddling hours from the day, and to gamble on the last ferry from Rothesay, while cooler heads prevailed for the majority, who headed back to Ettrick Bay.
Our little group had had notions of heading south around Garroch head, to reach the bus stop in Kilchattan Bay that would enable us to get back to Ettrick Bay, but eventually a calm analysis of the maths and the maps identified that that would lead to us sleeping in our cars on Rothesay Pier, waiting for the first ferry the next morning, plus difficult conversations with those who were expecting us back at home. So instead we put into Scalpsie Bay for a wee break (paddling in there seemed to take an eternity) and for an opportunity to inspect (from the sea on the way back) a fallen rock arch on the shore that had formed a stack, as well as a curious group of cows, who had moved back to the beach. All that remained for the trip was 11k back up to Ettrick Bay via St Ninian’s bay and it’s low houses and ruined chapel on the headland. It was during this part of the journey that we experienced the weirdest sinusoidal wave – about 2 ft tall, so not really scary, but very smooth and swift – and much bigger than the surrounding seas. It looked for all the world like the wake of a huge ship passing some distance away. But there was no ship to be seen. We spent the next several minutes looking for a periscope, but to no avail, and the cause of this unexpected peturbance remained a mystery.
We did not see Ailsa Craig, again.
A short while later, we pulled onto the pier just as the six o’clock ferry slipped its moorings and set sail, allowing us some time to explore the delights of Rothesay Pier’s world-famous Victorian Toilets. Truly a pearl among conveniences, and striking to see how the Jobbywheecher was fueled, back in the days of ‘doon the watter’.
Where did we stay? In the Rothesay Backpackers Hostel, in the heart of downtown Rothesay. A great place – kind of a window on the past in terms of décor but warm and (mostly) dry, and very well-run and friendly. And absolutely spotless. A great base for four solid days of kayaking, and a great location from where to explore Bute. And Bute itself – well, we were privileged to be able to explore it under the guidance of KS, a man who had lived there for decades, and raised a family there. It was his stories (‘Jackanory’ moments) and insights and knowledge that helped us really get a feel for this wonderful island that makes a fantastic paddle trip venue. Easily overlooked in favour of more remote locations, Bute and the Clyde estuary made for a fantastic, exciting, challenging, beautiful, exhilarating, convenient and accommodating paddling venue. From the slightly fading glory of Rothesay (with Zavaroni’s famous chipper and the amazing Helmi’s Patisserie) to the twisted tree trunks of the east coast, and from the Burnt Isles in the Kyles of Bute to beautiful beaches at Kilchattan and Ettrick Bay, we were shown a wonderful time by Bute, and were shown around it with care and passion by KS. He’s clearly proud of it, and rightly so.
A brilliant trip, packed full of comradeship and companionship, but with wind and waves and countless wonders. Thanks to everyone who came along, but particularly to MH and JB for looking after us on the water, and of course to Kayak Stardust, whose idea the trip was, who organised, it and who made sure we all saw Bute’s best side.
As we looked out over the ferry terminal at Wemyss Bay, back (nearly) on the mainland, from the Lounge of the MV Argyle, One member of the group pointed at the skyline and announced with some glee, ‘Look! That must be Ailsa Craig’.
Stephen Darling