(click on photos for bigger versions - mostly about 30k)
Two previous attempts to paddle to the Treshnish Isles and Staffa off the west of the big island of Mull in western Scotland had failed. On the first, the weather forecast was so awful that we cancelled our ferry to Mull several days out. For the second go, we were committed to paddling in the area for a week, but winds kept up in the force five sort of level for part of every day and open crossings to islands with difficult landings weren't really on the programme.
Whitsun 2004 and the forecast was not looking great, with force eights in sea areas Rockall and Bailey - those winds might reach us during the weekend, and even if not, there was bound to be a significant swell. But this time we kept our nerve and resolve, and eight of us were boarding the "Clansman" soon after 7 am. The forty minute crossing and the drive on Mull's narrow winding roads were in glorious sunshine and we picked a put-in well down the north shore of Loch Tuath, opposite the gap between Ulva and Gometra. There was not much swell this far up the loch, but the sea got more interesting by the time we reached Rubh'an t-Suibhain.
From here it is three and a half miles out to Cairn na Burgh Beg, with a bit of a dog
leg at the end as it became more obvious that the tide was carrying us gently north.
Round the north of this smaller island and into the sheltered gap, we landed for
lunch on Cairn na Burgh Beg, visiting its ruined "castle" (barely more than a couple
of walls of a small farmhouse) and high point at 35m with a fine view of the bigger
islands of the group ahead of us to the SW.
Putting back on, we took the outside of the island and crossed the half mile gap
to Fladda, against which the swell was now breaking impressively at about 11
second intervals. Between Fladda and Lunga there is a veritable archipelago of
small islands and skerries with some sheltered passages and some impressive reef
breaks. From the lee side of Sgeir a'Chaisteil we started following the mile
long exposed side of Lunga, past an impressive and seabird-studded stack up
which the breaking waves sent spray many metres in the air. We could now clearly
see Dutchman's Cap (Bac Mhor), the distinctively shaped last main island to the
SW, and as we crossed the mile and half gap, its 86m peak repeatedly disappeared
behind the oncoming swell.
As we got nearer, a very obvious loud crash with each wave became apparent, and
a periodic light-coloured patch off the north tip of the island resolved into a
cloud of spray from a spout shooting up to the plateau level of the island, perhaps
20m above the sea. Treating this with some respect, we paddled down the lee side of
the island to the gap before Bac Beag, the last small island of the group. Here the
swell from the exposed side broke over reefs, and a narrow channel failed to lead
to a safe landing. Though the wind had now dropped off completely, the sky to the
SW was darkening ominously, with lenticular clouds over the peaks on Mull itself.
Weather was clearly set to deteriorate, so we revised our original scheme to backtrack
and camp on Lunga and instead set off SE for the five and half mile crossing to
Staffa, which would leave us much shorter crossings for the next day.
At the halfway point, the scenery off left was still bathed in sunshine, and the
swell was glassy. But the blanket of dark cloud was rolling in overhead, and soon
enough, the surface of the sea to our right darkened. This heralded the onset of
the blow, switching almost instantly to force three. The ripples darkening the
surface built to a chop with just the occasional white cap. We had hoped to pass
to the south of Staffa, but this end now had an onshore wind as well as the big
swell, and it looked increasingly inadvisable, as one of our number was tiring.
We headed in close to the western shore, inside a reef and below the tiered
basalt cliffs. A steep bouldery beach would have offered a difficult landing,
with no guarantee that we could breach the cliffs to reach a camping spot, and
the risk that we would be unable to launch on the morrow, so we regrouped and headed
round the north of the island, Eilean Dubh. Beyond the most westerly point at Meallan
Fulann, the rain added to the sense of weather bearing down on us, but the sea
state was a little more benign, and we picked out a rocky beach some way north
of the jetty where the tourist boats land. By now we had paddled almost twenty
miles, mostly in one push. It was late and the last tourist boats had gone home,
leaving us the island to ourselves.
We quickly set up camp, and cooked a meal in another downpour, before a break
cheered us up and we headed along the precarious causeway to the southern tip
of the island and Fingal's cave. Here the swell was sending two metre walls of
crashing foam through a narrow gut every eight seconds, and in the cave, all was
confusion and heaving foam. An impressive sight - and one not to be approached
from the water ! We were rewarded by a clearance from the west and another
super western isles sunset over the silhouettes of the islands we had visited
during the day. It wasn't until 10.30 that we got our fire going, and with
everyone tired from the day's exertions, it was a little more subdued than
a normal apres-paddle beach party, not to mention quite a lot briefer !
Sunday dawned dry and clear, but with the swell still running and a huge bank
of cloud capping the wilderness coast of Mull above the cliffs. Knowing we had to
be at the take-out and back across Mull in time for a lunchtime ferry on Monday,
and unsure if the weather would hold even that long, we decided to camp Sunday
night at the take-out and consider our options for a short day paddle. But first
we headed at a respectful distance to the south of the island, to see the entrance
to Fingal's Cave and get some photos of the swell crashing into the cliffs. The
day's first tourist boats were being tossed from side to side as the swell built
over the offshore reefs and only the bravest ventured closer. Paddling in the
rough is not the hard part - letting go the paddle to take photos whilst going
up and down several metres proves to be the most unnerving part of this game...
As we paddled back into the open water for the three mile crossing to Little Colonsay, the deeper water kept the swell down to a relaxing couple of metres, and a mixed sky suggested a sunshine with showers sort of a day. As we approached the west of Little Colonsay, spray from breaking waves washed the rocks. We headed towards the northern tip of the island where there were considerable reef breaks, but there seemed to be a clear gap between the island and a drying reef at Rubh' a'Bhogha Mhoir. We headed through this where, indeed, a clear channel offered a straightforward passage. The reef to our right seemed to offer surf at a manageable size, and Clive turned back to head out through this. I followed at a distance. Clive paddled over a couple of big green waves, which headed towards me. The first broke well before I reached it, and the wall of foam was hardly a problem. The second closed ranks and converged, so I paddled hard to the left of where the converging waves were breaking in a high wall of water, again leaving a manageable wave I could break through, but enough to decide that I would not try to surf back in. Clive was now beyond the break and turning back towards me. There were no more waves approaching and I began to relax, thinking I too was beyond the break. Then suddenly, a green wave reared up ahead of me. I formed a vision of a two metre wall of water, with daylight shining through it and seaweed streaming upwards. I really hoped this one would break before I got to it, but knew I had to paddle hard at it whatever. In a couple of seconds my bow was through the wave, but it hadn't broken. although now the face was all but vertical. As the water hit me in the chest and broke over my head, I was pushed flat to the aft deck and I could feel the buoyancy of the bows lifting into the wave. Yep - I was going to get backlooped. But suddenly the stern hit rock, with the boat almost vertical in the air. I was ejected backwards from the cockpit, breaking the backstrap in the process, and never got the chance to roll. This was unfortunate, as I was now a swimmer next to a loaded boat with a cockpit full of water, in a place where clearly the surf could do its worst with us. I quickly got to the seaward end of the boat and looked to see if another set was coming. But those were the three big waves, and we hastily got out of the surf zone before any more came in. Calmer water saw me restored to the cockpit and the boat mostly pumped out. But I was clearly still disorientated, as the lovely sheltered inlet I knew of for our lunch stop was now behind us, but I led on round the other side of the island to a less sheltered landing at Port an Roin, on the opposite side of the island's only building.
However, drama over, and restored to a semblance of dryness, we put back on and
headed over to weave our way in and out of the small islands off the south coast
of Ulva. Heading WNW again, along the rocky coast, the swell crashing into the
shore made for exciting photography before we rounded the last headland into the
sheltered channel between Ulva and Gometra. Here we ambled rather slowly, as the
channel under the little bridge between the two islands is only passable at the
top of the tide, and we were a little early yet. However, there proved to be just
enough depth to sidle through between the rocks, and land for afternoon tea on
the Lock Tuath side, on the shore of Gometra.
Another party of kayakers passed through before we got back onto the water and
made our final crossing in beautiful evening lighting back to Traigh na Cille
and the track back to the road where we had left the cars. A brief session in
small, benign surf rounded off our trip, and we quickly gathered an excellent
supply of driftwood for our fire - one thing these exposed western coasts of
Scotland are rarely short of.
Andy