David Turner and I (Nick Jacobs) spent nearly a week on Islay with our families and managed some local paddling as well as this longer trip. David was in his familiar P&H Orion and I was in my new, second-hand NDK Romany.
The day was mild with a gentle sw wind and with the aid of David’s tidal stream atlas, and charts we had planned to paddle to Port nan Gallan and back, a bay some ten miles west on the Oa peninsular where his parents used to farm. Our families would drive and walk there and we would rendezvous for a picnic.
To avoid an unfavourable tidal stream we were afloat by 8:30, waved goodbye to the distillery and the local seals, and left our sheltered home bay into a gentle, slightly chilly head wind, aiming for the end of Rubha nan Leacan, the most southerly point on Islay, on the horizon seven miles off. Initially the sea was slight with a choppier moderate section where it ran shallower between Texa (island) and Islay. After group trips up the Thames and from Whitstable to Margate the degree of openness was novel and whilst not alarming it reminded me that this was a serious undertaking. The sea was still very cold. At the same time there was the captivating scenery with abundant wildlife, little alarmed by people in kayaks. All along our route parties of black guillemot swam, like small black sea-chickens, continually dipping their beaks into the water. If we got too close they flew, trailing their brilliantly red legs then landed twenty yards on to resume their dipping.
In the middle of the five mile crossing of the bay we were some two miles from the nearest land and kept a close eye on the ferry coming in to Port Ellen, which crossed our path a mile ahead. Disappointingly its wake never reached us. After the headland we found a small sandy landing to take a leak and eat a butty.
On the water we’d both needed pogies but out of the breeze the sun’s heat was delicious. A mile off shore big waves and whitecaps marked the overfalls shown on the chart; thankfully we had plenty of room to sneak past inshore. As we continued gannets flew past, their size and easy speed impressive. Razorbills and guillemots were already congregated on the cliff ledges for for nesting and flew and fished nearby. We approached a minor headland under a towering boss of rock crowned by a trig point at 681 feet.
Beneath the headland we paddled inshore to see a rusty drum as big as a living room, perhaps a ship’s boiler, nestled battered between the rocks while the adjacent beach was strewn with large pieces of matching wreckage. An Atlantic Seal, far bigger than the common seals at Lagavulin, slid off its rocky couch as we passed.
Just after eleven we approached Sgeirean Buidhe, the elephant’s head, the headland before our destination of Port nan Gallan. The head is a two hundred and sixty foot cliff, sheer at the sides with the front sloping steeply to a rocky trunk that tapers into the sea. Fulmars swept round its ears and skimmed close to ours, wings never quite touching the water. We were within a quarter of a mile of our rendezvous but where the trunk disappeared the sea was confused with waves up to five feet high arriving at conflicting angles. We hung back assessing the conditions; no safe passage between the inshore rocks and no calmer water visible offshore. It was no time to get nervous. After a brief chat we felt our way into the confusion, watching the waves and each other carefully until we made the shelter of the bay; relief and contrast, from ocean to pond.
We explored the small, calm bay and then David took us along a twisty, hidden channel, five feet wide, to a small sandy beach where we parked the boats. Port nan Gallan has a steep bouldered beach heaped with small wood, large timbers, rope and the usual multi-coloured detritus of modern life. Behind the beach lies a flat, sheep-cropped meadow divided by a stream and sheltered by steep grassy slopes. Most of the area is an RSPB reserve and as we lay out of the breeze, dozing in the sun I heard the distinctive call of one of the species the reserve was created to protect, a chough, a small crow the size of a jackdaw, with buoyant flight, red legs and a red curved bill.
Our families turned up a couple of hours later with extra food and the boys lit a fire, as boys do. Hoorah! Rest, food and warmth.
At three fifteen we left to start our return trip with tidal stream and wind in our favour. The waves over the elephant’s trunk were even bigger than before, so we’d lose sight of one another in the troughs, but thankfully they were ordered and predictable. Still, they carried a thrilling sense of the ocean and with the wind behind us we were constantly surfing small waves. Just before starting to re-cross Port Ellen Bay a peregrine falcon appeared over the cliffs, its rapid wing beats and short glides quickly carrying it out of sight along the coast. As we got out into the bay the wind came from our port quarter and varying amounts of skeg were useful. We rested for ten minutes, rafted up for tea and sandwiches, then carried on to Lagavulin, arriving home at twenty to six. Though the return felt quicker than the going there was less than five minutes difference; 2:26hrs going and 2:22hrs returning.
We both felt pleased with the trip. Planning decisions had been vindicated, difficulties dealt with and experience gained, plus we’d had a great time in stunning surroundings.
Personally I was relieved to feel I had bought the right boat (always some doubts!) and choughed to have given it such a memorable first trip.
Good paddling!