Rhum, part 3

In the morning, the wind had eased and it was time to get moving. The coast running north west from Harris is fine and rugged, with some wonderful names- Wreck Bay, Schooner Point and Bloodstone Hill. I've made some attempt to learn to understand Gaelic place names, but they always seem to translate into "rough mountain", "big white hill" or something equally dull.

From the westerly point of A'Bhrideanach ( I don't know what that one means), I struck out across the Sound of Canna. First landfall was the adjacent island of Sanday, which I skirted round to Tarbert Bay, for lunch.

It looks idyllic, but the temperature was arctic and it would have no surprise if an iceberg had floated past. I was paddling wearing gloves and pogies together.
The coast of Canna is steep and rocky, resembling the ramparts of a castle. There were otters playing about on the sunnier south side.
Before reaching the west end of Canna I had noticed next to no effect of the spring tides. Here, however, was a substantial tide race heading into the Minch. It extended as far as I could see- breaking waves as it churned along into the wind. Keeping close to the rocks I could avoid getting pulled into it.

The north shore was quite tiring going thanks to mild but fairly unrelenting clapotis. I was glad to pull into the quiet waters of Canna Harbour.

Since I'd been out of VHF contact for some time, I paddled over to a moored yacht to ask if they knew the weather forecast. The captain simply said "lovely", then turned away and went below. Not only was the forecast a bit unseamanlike, it also seemed a bit rude. I later took a self portrait on my camera, which maybe explained why he didn't want to speak to me. A few days in the wild take their toll. I'm not going to publish it!
At this point I had been thinking of crossing back across to Rhum for the night. Leaving the harbour, however, I spotted a patch of flat turf only 5 yards from the water. I stopped to camp on the shores of Sanday. Behind the tent, a short walk took me to some lovely view points.

I settled down for another peaceful night.

In the morning, a gang of Sanday youths had surrounded me. After a bit of stand off they finally left me in peace for my breakfast, not before kicking my boat about.

I headed back to the Rhum coast to investigate something I had spotted the day before.

It is the wreck of Jack Abry 2, a French trawler which ran aground on a winter night in 2011. Curiously, it's predecessor Jack Abry 1 had come to grief in the Uists.
On the day of the wreck, the captain had travelled out from France to join her at Lochinver- a long journey. He'd been having some domestic problems and spent some time on the phone home. At the end of his tiring day he had been alone in the wheelhouse. He fell fast asleep, probably thinking that at least his day couldn't get any worse...

It was a short step to Kilmory bay for a quick pit stop before the big crossing back to Skye.

The less said about the crossing, the better. On the way out it had been the start of an adventure, on the way back it was just a pain. I'm sure I'll be back to Rhum again, but next time I'll take the ferry to get there.

Rhum, part 2

In the morning, it was quickly clear that I wouldn't be paddling. Despite being on the sheltered side of the island there was a brisk, cold breeze coming down the glen. Harris bay was flat calm, but out to sea a jagged horizon was moving in the wrong direction. It didn't seem worth either the effort or the risk of attempting to gain a few miles.
I set off to explore, meeting first the various inhabitants of Rhum...

,,and then climbing the western hills of Ard Nev and Orval. I'd been here once before, on a hill walking trip. It was sobering to realise that this had been 30 years ago, travelling between the bothies of Dibidil and Guirdil Bay. A pause to reflect on the passing of time would have been in order, but I was being blown about by a vicious wind and it wasn't a day for hanging about on the summits. I wonder how many others have climbed these hills in the 30 years- possibly not many.

Ard Nev in the foreground

Back at the tent I settled down to a pleasant afternoon and evening. By and large, a busy life discourages me from reading big books, so it was a pleasure to relax with Nelson Mandela's autobiography. Only a few weeks before I had been walking the Indian Ocean coast not far from his birthplace. It was easy to picture the rolling hills and grand rivers he describes. Robben Island also put a day stuck on Rhum into perspective.







































Behind the mausoleum I came across the remains of an earlier grave. Apparently the Bulloghs didn't find this one good enough, so blew it up and started again with the Greek temple affair.

Harris also boasts a large raised beach and a fine crop of primroses.

That evening there was no spectacular sunset. Instead there was a moonrise that was truly magical.

Rhum, part 1

I'd had a bad start to this trip. The drive to Skye was even longer than usual, thanks to an accident blocking the road. In Broadford the clouds were low and threatening rain. Then came a glimpse of sun, and a lift to my spirits as I turned into Glenbrittle. The Cuillins were clearing quickly.

The beach at Glenbrittle campsite was the start of my journey to the remotest of the Small Isles. Unfortunately, on a spring tide it was a long way to the sea.

I took a long time to get launched, but once afloat a fair wind helped me down to the mouth of the loch.

From here it is about 12km of open sea to the north of Rhum, which I wanted to circumnavigate. A quartering wind gave some help, and I was pleased with progress to reach the beach at Sabhnan Insir. Despite the sun, it was bitterly cold and I could stop only to take some pictures before jumping back into my boat to keep warm. The view backwards did give me a pleasant sense of achievement, though.

One of the disadvantages of paddling alone, with a loaded boat, is that it is very difficult to take much of a rest. If the tide is going down, the boat is left high, dry and impossible to move. If the tide it is rising, it floats away. Coupled to this, Rhum is short on good landing spots. I managed a quick break at Loch Scresort, where the thrift was beginning to bloom.

The brisk breeze helped me down the north-east coast of Rhum towards Loch Scresort. Travelling down here I picked up the coastguard weather forecast. I'd been expecting the following day to be windy, but the wind speed was now be due to be up a notch at 6 or 7. I reckoned I'd have to make some distance today.

From here the coast becomes steadily more rugged, with fine views to the Rhum Cuillins. I paused in the bay at Dibidil bothy.

I'd thought of stopping here for the night, Dibidil must be one of the loveliest bothies in Scotland. As a paddling halt, however, it has the disadvantage of a steep boulder beach in a narrow gap. It would ensure a good shower before leaving the water, though.

I was getting tired, at this point the wind changed abruptly. One moment it was pushing me along, the next it was straight into my face,
Again the rocks and cliffs were spectacular, It is hard to get to more remote places in this land.

I finally fetched up on the beach at Harris, after about 45 km.
It is a truly wonderful place, but my pleasure at being there was touched with a bit of anxiety about the following day. I'd only just landed when the sky began to darken as the forecast front moved in. I fed myself quickly and had a short walk to try and ease stiff muscles.
Rhum has a strange history, having been the the property of the Bullogh family in the early part of the 20th century. They seem to have though a lot of themselves, and chose this far from anywhere spot to build themselves a grand mausoleum,
I lay in my tent, tired and a bit cold. Quite suddenly I became aware of a change in the light outside. For a few minutes the setting sun lit up the slopes of Runsival. It was exactly the colour of my whisky. In the other direction, the mausoleum was in silhouette.

It was then time for bed.