By Aaron Rolph @aaronrolph
Featuring Ed Ghilks
Photos: @britishadventurecollective
Supported by: Zegul Kayaks
Kayaking Scotland’s wild isles
For most, the UK is hardly synonymous with wilderness. Leading the agricultural and industrial revolutions meant pretty relentless deforestation for fuel and land use change, all in the name of productivity. With such intensive industries historically, our population was able to thrive and grow far beyond what most would deem sustainable, thus putting our remaining wild spaces at risk.
Growing up in Cumbria afforded me the huge privilege of wide open spaces, and although heavily managed, I was fortunate enough to reach some wilderness. Now living in the south east however, I can’t help but feel that finding untouched landscapes or any kind of wilderness completely impossible. Like so many, I live life in two extremes; spending most of my time in the Big Smoke to spend my weekends seeking out isolation and much-needed space to think. This time, we’d trade our running shoes for paddles and explore just some of Scotland’s 700 islands, of which the vast majority are completely uninhabited.
As isn’t uncommon on sea kayaking trips, our original plan to follow the well-documented Argyle Sea Trail was foiled by some rough seas and very strong southerlies but we were determined to make the most of our time in the Inner Hebrides. Fully laden with enough food to sink a ship (hopefully an expression that would not become a reality), we put in at the quaint village of Tallyvallich.
The wind has really picked up, clearly much stronger than forecast, making even crossing the relatively sheltered Loch Sween hard graft as the wind beats us back. My friend and paddling partner Ed, a notoriously stoic man of few words offers nothing more than a nod as we battle against the whistling gales and splashing waves, both knowing this could mean trouble when we get out at sea. We do however find some shelter by remaining close to the shore and despite slow progress against a rising tide, we do eventually reach the mouth to undoubtedly rougher seas.
Aiming for the Isle of Jura, the sound involves a committing 12k crossing in waters that have little protection and boast infamous and complex tidal races and it was a full moon meaning we would be out during spring tides. We make our break for it and test the waters running alongside adjacent to a network of small islands called the MacCormaig Isles.
It doesn’t take too long before its reputation proves justifiable, there seems to be tidal races running all over and our boats are being pushed and pulled in every direction. To make things worse the wild Atlantic swell is plummeting down on us, frequently losing sight of one and another through the vast waves. I can’t help but find joy in feeling so small, as we are tossed around by the raw power of the ocean. Somehow we keep our boats upright and progress roughly in the right direction, deciding to land on the largest island, Eileen Mòr.
Belonging to nature
As we enter a small sheltered bay, the waters and my heart rate calm in equal measure. With the downpours continuing, we spot what appears to be a basic shelter on the other side of the cove. None of these islands have had a resident in decades, so after earlier resigning ourselves to a very wet and wild camp, a refuge to escape the rain and cook some decent food was a real treat. It transpired the island was entrusted to the Scottish National Party in 1978, and the then chair, William (aka Billy) Wolfe took the onus to care for the island and build a visitor centre to host the occasional boat trip.
Although there were still remnants of a human history with a 14th century chapel, it was clear the island belonged to nature now. We had our very own island and were treated to a wildlife show even David Attenborough would have been impressed by, with countless seals, sea birds and a family of otters.
The next morning the air felt settled but fresh despite the thick clouds still lingering on the hills in the distance. The committing 10k crossing to Jura provided periods of calm seas intermittently followed by clean but powerful waves and the occasional pod of dolphins. Eventually we reach the forested shores of Jura and landing on a remote beach, I turn to take in the panorama and am taken aback to see no less than 25 seals staring back at us. If their curious Labrador-like faces weren’t so endearing, it might have been eerie but we stretch our legs and have some lunch during yet another wonderful standoff with the wildlife.
Paddling north, we ride the tidal streams which resemble whitewater rivers more than sea kayaking and in turn make quick work to the top of the island, clocking 22kph in places. Ed and I have been known to throw caution to the wind on plenty of occasions but the next crossing, the Gulf of Corryvreckan would not be one of those times. This narrow strait between Jura and Scarba boasts Europe’s largest whirlpool and infamous waters that are known to have claimed numerous lives including almost that of George Orwell which provided an experience which inspired aspects of his much acclaimed novel, 1984 which largely was written on Jura.
Although most reports online advise you to steer clear of paddling this area, we understand it is possible for skilled paddlers to cross the strait at slack tide. Hiking uneven and boggy terrain, we reach high ground to observe the condition of the gulf, and although we can clearly see the whirlpool in full flow, it appears from there to be manageable.
Having already witnessed some of the fastest flowing water I’d ever seen at sea today, I have no doubt the Corryvreckan is capable of churning out some of the most dangerous waters in the UK. With such complex tidal patterns and underwater topography, timing is everything and thankfully we hit slack tide just right and cross without issue. Making haste toward our bothy for the night, we land on the pebbled shores of Scarba and breathe a sigh of relief.
A whole new world
The water is too clear to resist a swim before enjoying some food and a whisky in front of the fire before calling it a night. Still under the grasp of the gulf, we set an early alarm before heading for the mainland in beautiful but eerily still waters. With dense fog rolling in, it was completely impossible to tell where the sea ended and the sky began; we were well and truly in the white room. Admittedly, navigation proved to be more demanding but breaking trail through these silver glassy waters felt like we’d entered a whole new world.
The serenity is only broken by fleeting dolphins, flocks of birds and our ever present entourage of seals. The cloud eventually surrendered to the overpowering morning sunshine and we land back on the mainland to finish a trip of a lifetime. We faced rough seas, high winds, heavy rain, dense fog and I loved every single moment. With hundreds of islands in Scotland alone, the majority of those without any human population, there is a lifetime of wilderness to explore and a sea kayak might just be the way to do it.
