I was not told that trip reports are a traditional conclusion to a club outing. It came as somewhat of a shock to learn that, on only my second excursion with the club, the task of writing a trip report fell to me. The report, I was duly told, needs to be informative, entertaining, and a close-to-truthful reflection of events as they unfolded, and of sufficient quality to merit publication on the club web portal. In the interests of keeping the peace after a memorable couple of days, I agreed to scratch some words together in the fervent hope that my efforts would at least be appreciated in the spirit of the tradition, if not necessarily the quality of the writing and reporting.
David Towsey was the instigator of this trip, and erstwhile leader. He told me to be at Resipole by 10:30 on Saturday morning. An early rise and departure from sunlit Roslin saw me at the Corran Ferry, still glowing in the morning sun, by 9:30. Resipole on the north shore of Loch Sunart was reached shortly after, though now under the cover of dense clouds that had determined the sun should not shine on the West Coast of Scotland this particular weekend. While the rest of the UK sweltered in the hottest temperatures of the year, we had made the correct decision to seek the comfort of the grey, cool, and damp weather we understand best.
Being a newcomer to the club, I had not previously met David Towsey, Clare Eadie or Angus Crozier. As I pulled up in the car, their waves and warm greetings immediately put me at ease. Clare and David had camped overnight near Kilmalieu, to which my brother-in-law’s wife has a long-standing connection. Now this tangential observation would not be worth mentioning had it not been for the fact that Clare, I was soon to discover, seems to know everyone in Scotland and so, naturally, knows the Burns family at nearby Kilmalieu.
My shiny (almost) new kayak was much commented on, mainly for its lightness and lack of scratches – I was promised that the team would do all in its power to rectify the latter. Boats were packed and, after pointlessly smothering myself in sun cream, we soon set off from Resipole to the west. Conditions were good, a gentle breeze in our faces translated to little more than wavelets on the sea surface. We hugged the south shore of Loch Sunart and made our way to Camas Salach, which I have since discovered means ‘foul bay’, though it was pleasant enough for us. My brief research also determined that the bay has been settled since at least 1560, as indeed much of the surrounding area probably has been. A recently constructed cairn marks the shoreline, embedded in which are several plaques mentioning the names of the current owners and their family. We know this because this is what we were told by a family who were staying in a cottage just behind the shoreline, and whose peace we had evidently disrupted by turning up unannounced. Luckily, the natives were friendly, and after a good chat we made our way westwards once more.
Lunch was at the bay by Glencripesdale, which I was pleased to see if only because my wife had a summer job there as a teenager, long ago when Glencripesdale Farmhouse was a hotel. Rather more interesting for the general reader, the jetty is formed of a large decaying barge that has been filled with stones and boulders, and on which vegetation and young trees are now growing. Apparently, the barge was emplaced to allow the seaward extraction of timber from Glencripesdale estate.
Onwards westwards, we passed a ubiquitous fish farm in slightly breezier conditions, and ultimately to the Caol Charna channel between Carna Island and Loch Sunart’s south shore. We had a number of campsite possibilities, and explored several of these only to agree on returning to the first. The threat of midges loomed, and later materialised, but not to any great discomfort. The location was beautiful, still, and quiet. We relaxed, chatted, and drank beer, before turning in for the night.
The next morning was calm though beset with low clouds. Convinced we would be immediately targeted by midges in such conditions, we steeled ourselves against the coming arthropodic storm. We were, however, pleasantly surprised to be left in peace with no midge to be seen. Perhaps the Sabbath had something to do with it.
The plan for day two was to paddle to Oronsay and explore one of the inlets, or geos, on the northern side of the island, then cross over to the loch’s north shore and back to Resipole via ice cream at Salen. That’s pretty much what happened, except for the ice-cream (more on that later). Oronsay is, apart from one recently constructed holiday home, now uninhabited. Old ruins indicate that the island once supported a small community, and an abundance of bracken implies it was also farmed and grazed. It is now slowly being reclaimed by trees, native and exotic alike, and will likely look very different in another 20 or 30 years’ time.
Paddling across to the north shore (avoiding the numerous yachts making their way up and down the loch) brought us in sight of Glenborrodale Castle, a somewhat ungainly construction dating to 1902. Turning eastwards we paddled past Risga Island and a very pleasant mostly wooded coastline inhabited by seals, terns, oystercatchers, cormorants, and a bevvy of gulls. The terns were particularly impressive as they repeatedly flung themselves into the water to catch fish. No sign of otters on this occasion, though I have seen them plenty of times before on Loch Sunart.
A lunch stop was followed by a quick paddle to Salen where the prospect of ice-cream loomed prominently in my mind. On disembarking the kayaks at Salen we were greeted by Ronnie and Billy, whom Clare (who, as aforementioned, knows everyone in Scotland) was well acquainted with. The original plan of ice-cream at the Salen hotel would have, admittedly, required the pretence of a hot summer’s day, so far more agreeable was the company of Ronnie and Billy who furnished us with tea and brownies, to which Clare added fruit cake. We had a very enjoyable afternoon tea, chatting and watching the birds by Salen Bay.
A short paddle back to Resipole concluded the two-day trip, or so I naively thought. It was at this point the suggestion was made that I should write up the trip report, to which I dutifully agreed. Thereupon the underside of my kayak was approvingly checked for scratches. Angus summarised the stats for the trip – 19 km paddle on the first day in F3 conditions (at most I thought), 25 km on the second, with a gentle F2 at our backs for much of the way.
I very much enjoyed the trip, not least on account of the company. David, Clare, and Angus gave me lots of tips along the way, and it was fun to hear their stories of recent and past trips. Among other lessons, I learnt that leaving the IKEA bags in the car is not the wisest of choices!