Leaving the tourist honeypot that is Doolin at 6am we pulled our kayaks along an empty road that is normally alive with throngs of holidaymakers wondering what to do next now they’ve reached the end of the road. While sensible people slept we were heading for a seaweed covered concrete slipway whose development with harbour facility meant the contraversial destruction of a 10 metre wave rated amongst the top 5 in the world by surfers.
We looked west from the bottom of the slip at the 7km crossing to The Aran Islands but saw nothing other than Crab island and its mysterious structure 0.5km to the northwest. We were supposed to be in light winds and a sea of 0.4 metres but what faced us was mist, drizzle, a larger sea and force 4 wind right on our nose; this wasn’t what we expected from the forecast but we’re used to that by now and despite this disappointment we knew that the next 4 day outlook was better with falling winds. So, at around 06.30 we slipped silently away into the murk and felt the now familiar ache from the arms as the first paddle strokes of the day began.
We had decided to cross early to avoid the regular ferry and sight seeing boats that run from Doolin and travel in excess of 14 knots but more importantly don’t strictly follow the routes marked on the charts, they have difficulty seeing us on the sea as we had found out a few days earlier while approaching Doolin via the Cliffs of Moher, so avoidance is the best policy. The NDK Explorer kayaks perform well in these condition and we crossed in good time opting to go around the south side of Inisheer once again to avoid the ferries.
We rounded Tonefeehney Point stopping to gaze at the very impressive surf breaking on the headland and headed into Foul Sound with a good tidal flow supporting us against the head wind. We were making for a beach to lunch which is a very rare commodity on the west coast and would be our first chance to stop for one since rounding Mizzen Head almost a month ago. This fact may surprise some, it would me before we started this challenge; the answer lies in two words ‘Atlantic Ocean', the coastline is brutal having been striped clean of any luxuries such as fine sandy beaches unless they are protected behind reefs, land there and you run the risk of getting trapped behind the reef as the tide falls. The few beaches that have survived without protective reefs look enticing, little different to a Venus fly trap, beautiful until you are in their claws and the surf has you. If you are fortunate enough to land and be upright then the surf will probably get you on the way out, we have had three opportunities like this to land but have opted out every time. Occasionally though there is one to land on and spend the night, beware, we check and check again the forecast for wind and surf or run the risk of entrapment on a beautiful island or cove until the Atlantic decides it's time to let you out again. A good friend of ours Martin Rickard had a 4 day wait years ago when he did this trip which is fine if you have enough food and water, if not then some big decisions have to be made, try to get out and run the gauntlet with large surf or call for help. The first two beaches we approached were dumpy (steep sided and crashing waves) so we carried on to Sandhead on Inishmaan island, a beautiful beach and ancient sand dune system sitting on limestone.
We landed and enjoyed lunch as the mist blew through revealing glimmers of hope in the form of blue sky and sunshine, this time the sun endured and we stayed longer than we should, okay fess up time, I fell asleep which I hasten to add is better described as a power nap if you don’t mind !. By the time we were back in the boats the mist had once more descended and worse still the wind had picked up together with the sea which had risen to the challenge. We pushed on to the western edge of the island and looked across Gregory’s Sound to Inishmore Island and it was a scene of white water everywhere as the tidal flow was against the wind direction and the two fought for supremacy, this was no place for us so we headed into a very convenient new harbour at Caladh More and the tranquility that lay behind the breakwater. There was no slip and no easy way to get onto the harbour wall, it was low water and we opted to climb onto seaweed covered rocks and hold a meeting of the ‘what the hell to do” committee. The meeting was a short one , two options, sleep on the old harbour wall we could see about 500 metres away or go back out and cross the Sound to Inishmore. As we were about to climb back into the boats we heard a vessel approach and seconds later a new sleek looking ferry roared through the tight entrance (anyone heading out would have been hit at the speed the vessel was doing). They then proceeded to do a donut spin at speed to face outwards and align perfectly next to the harbour wall and the one waiting passenger boarded and within a minute or so the vessel was away again at speed. We were both quite staggered at this manoeuvre and what may have happened if we had left a few minutes earlier, we are used to the stately and predictable CalMac Ferries which this certainly wasn’t treating pickups more like a F1 pit stop.
We carefully left the harbour and it was immediately apparent that the sea condition while still fast flowing and showing breaking waves was not as inhospitable as it had been 30 minutes earlier due to a fall in the wind. We have noticed this often happens around low water and the change in flow after ‘slack water’ , the upshot was we considered it safe to cross to the largest of the island Inishmore and head for our proposed camp spot at Portmurvy. The passage across Gregory’s Sound was uneventful until the last third when head wind speed pick up again and having already done 32km into the wind and falling behind schedule due to my ‘nap’ at lunch we decided to try and find a camp spot within the beautiful Killeany Bay a semi-circular natural harbour with protection from all but northerly running seas.
We spotted what looked like a good camp location on Straw Island with its north-west facing lighthouse but on landing we realised very quickly that this was an extremely large herring and black-backed gull colony, no place for humans in a tent wanting a quiet night plus we could see that the young had fledged and were walking around the beach. It just didn't feel right disturbing their peace so we headed westward across the bay to French Strand a large section of beach . It was approaching low water as it would be for the rest of the week as we launch in the morning and land at night, this can be difficult depending on the environment and amount of reefs that are exposed at low water. The whole of the lower beach was covered with partially decomposed kelp and the rocky back shore, while not high was steep with no level ground or even slightly level for camping. I climbed out of the boat and walked up the beach to look for possible camp spots, there was nothing on or beyond the beach that was usable. By now we were tired and becoming a little despondent at our failure to find a suitable spot so we headed further into the bay and rounded the harbour wall at Kilronan which is a large harbour catering for ferry traffic as well as inshore and larger fishing vessels.
The light was fading , it had been a long day and we were in no mood for further exploration for a suitable site. There was a concrete slip next to the RNLI pontoon and its attendant vessel that we pulled up to and much to the amusement of a looker on from the large ocean going cargo ship moored alongside the quay we loaded the boats onto their trolleys and hauled them up the slip.
At the top we were faced with three options , camp in the car park, next to the large cargo ship or sneak in between the 3 metre high concrete harbour wall and two rusty shipping containers, it was late and we opted for discrete and shelter so shipping containers it was. One benefit of this unsavoury location was the fact that concrete holds on to the heat of the day and once the tent was up and sleeping mats down we had underfloor heating which made for a very happy tent and when combined with being tired made for a wonderful nights sleep.
Each night one of the last things we do is record a brief spoken blog of the day and share how we are feeling, this started a little vanilla at the outset of the challenge but deeper honesty has crept in and its a useful exercise to see how the other is feeling and record the days events. We were behind schedule so the alarm was set for 5am which after packing, breakfast and ‘the rest’ would have us on the water for 6 to 6.30 the following morning.
We were woken to the sound of a reversing vehicle and its honking safety warning then the backwards and forwards of a forklift truck plying its trade and obviously emptying a wagon of its contents. Shortly after this there was a regular backwards and forwards of vehicles and doors opening, morning greetings then doors closing and cars leaving. When we finally popped our heads out of the tent around 5.15 we could see that the large cargo vessels has delivered goods for the island community and locals were arriving to meet the man with the manifest and collect their orders mainly in cardboard boxes before the rain got to them as there was no covered storage area. It felt more like mid-day than 05.30 but that’s island life and living by the sea you must live with the sea and its time table not yours.
We didn’t waste much time but had a coffee and porridge from water boiled the night before and stored in our trusty Stanley flask named the ‘torpedo’ with whom I have a daily love (how it keeps water warm for 2 days) and hate (fitting it in the boat hatch with its unyielding shape and construction). Drizzle was in the air together with the now familiar sea mist that has its very own shades of grey changing by the minute due to the thinness of the mist bank and affects of sun from above. I climbed up to the sea wall to look out and was met with the most beautiful of sights as the mist rolled across a flat mirror calm sea and across to the north east the light was wonderful on Straw Island Lighthouse as is came in and out of view with the mist waves sweeping across and faint rays of sunlight shone on the island, a moment I will remember for quite some time.
We knew the wind was forecast drop over night and so it had, to nothing, this speeded up our preparations as we pulled the trolleys back to slip stopping briefly to say hello and answer questions form the odd bemused local who to a man and woman were surprised at what we were attempting to do and where we had camped. As we climbed into the boats a call from a blue van above parked on the quay above caught our attention, where are you off to ? . The conversation that followed was friendly and informative as the driver was also a member of the lifeboat squad and he knew the North Sound water well that we were about to cross as we head towards the Connemara coastline, so we picked him clean of knowledge about flows, rates and best courses to Slyne Head.
We each said our goodbyes and we were off out of the harbour and into the stunning bay heading for Carrickadda Point where we would decide on a straight crossing of 14km to Lettermullan or follow the Inishmore coastline to Portmurvy the make the 10km crossing. As we paddled along eyes transfixed on the light show being given by Straw Island the only noise we could hear was the faint lapping of waves on the shore and terns all around the boat diving into the sea for breakfast, the most idyllic start to a day possible in my world. As we neared the Point it was clear that the North Sound crossing would be in mist but visibility we estimated at 100m. Sarah checked for AIS (automatic identification system transmitted by vessels) which we use to see what vessel traffic is around us, their destination, bearing and speed though it has to be said that trawlers tend to turn this system off so rivals don’t know where they are fishing, this can be a dangerous practice for minnows like us on the sea no knowing the vessels intentions. Nothing was showing and we knew we were out of all the charted ferry lanes to the Aran Islands so we opted to cross directly to Lettermullan and took our bearings of 323 degrees 14km and off we went. The mood was good, we hadn’t paddled in a calm sea like this for almost 6 weeks and it was a delight; visibility across the water was good for 100m or so and it wasn’t long before the cry of dolphin was heard from Sarah as two white beaked dolphins came alongside her for a look then disappeared again to get back to the day job. Half way across we felt the tell tail sign of a faint whisper of wind on our faces, almost undetectable but by this stage we are attuned to most changes in the sea environment and we knew a change was afoot and sure enough with 30 minutes the sea had changed, the mirror surface had gone and replaced with a short pitch ripple now passing under the boats that picked up to 30cm and within the hour a 0.5m wave height with short period and a firm force 3 on our faces still from the north west. This was not forecast it was supposed to be westerly with a little south in it which would have been very useful but as we know only too well, the weather does not read the forecast it simply writes the records. There was no sight of land at this stage either ahead or behind us now and we generally stop every 30 minutes on such crossings to check bearing, progress, the need for food and opportunity to complain about the wind, all that done we normally start again and look forward to the next stop. That’s the way with long open crossings, we both find them quite boring, preferring the paddle close to the coast when we have something to engage the brain other than how sore my left shoulder is or third toe on the left foot !!. I can categorically say that the muscle that causes the most trouble on trips like this rests between my ears, I bore easily and open crossings are the breeding ground for unhelpful thoughts as the mind wanders and eyes seeks to find something of interest to engage and deflects me from the nonsense going on within. You reach a point in this grey watery world where you start to question your decisions especially the bearing and it is very easy to become disorientated just as a white out in the mountain and at times like this trust in your equipment and skills is essential if you are to avoid costly mistakes and going where you think is right rather than where the instruments tell you. Its always a good moment when you start to see fragments of seaweed or a long line of white water full of flotsam you know you’re nearing land and its usually followed by a call of land ahead roughly where you expect it to be. At these moments and only for the briefest of seconds as you lift your compass you can cast your mind back 500 years to the feeling Columbus and all his peers must have felt when they first set sight on land then reality kicks in and you rest your carbon fibre paddle down to check the AIS while establishing a satellite GPS location to confirm, yes its Lettermullan and not Trinidad and 2022 arrives with a thud.
Lettermullan and yes the kayaks are in there somewhere!
Lettermullan I find an unusual name but the Gaelic means rough hillside which makes perfects sense as you look at the island and its string of houses scattered along the coast and rough but managed hinterland. At its south western tip is Golam Head and its Signal Station built around 1800 by the British ever watchful for maritime invaders, we have passed Stations like this on our entire journey and their infrastructure and logistical management intrigues me in such wild and inaccessible areas. We noticed on the chart a potential landing point just east of the Station and took a bearing. The wind has risen now to the Force 4 which had improved visibility but we were once again finding it hard work on our nose and progress was falling significantly as we pulled into the stunning natural harbour that appeared between Lettermullan and Golam island. Sheltered from the wind and sea we paddled into a scene from a movie with crystal clear turquoise sea and white sandy beaches and only the occasional seal for company. We pulled the boats into a small sandy cove and marvelled at what we had just paddled into and made more beautiful still by the heat of the sun on our faces as the cloud gave way to reveal blue sky. On this challenge around Ireland we have very occasionally been blessed with moments like this which leave me wondering if this is a brief glimmer of what heaven looks like. I don’t know, that doesn't matter but one thing that does is my belief that all this cannot be random and somewhere a force that I choose to call God must love us to have created such beauty and our ability recognise it, I then had a nap!.
Regretfully we loaded the boats and set off from our haven and before we saw it we heard the sound of the Atlantic pounding the western flank of the island and as soon as we left our rocky shelter the wind hit us followed by a view of the sea state which had risen appreciably. I looked alongside the boat at the Sea Thong (Himanthalia elongata) drifting alongside like spaghetti and could see that the tide flow was against us, so we now had wind, swell and flow against us which is about as welcome as a crab in dry suit !!. We battled on woefully behind schedule and making little progress as we averaged 3.5kph about half our usual speed. Two hours later we stopped and looked back to the Golam Signal Tower which confirmed what we already knew that in these conditions our paddling was futile, it was like paddling on a tread mill. When we researched the area before setting off there was little tidal information on flow rates or times and locals we spoke to said there was little flow of any concern in North Sound but we seemed to have found enough to cause a problem. We knew under the current conditions there was little point continuing and we should look for a suitable location to camp so we scrutinised the charts knowing we would be a good 15km short of our daily schedule. Ahead of us was a very different seascape to what we had been paddling in for last 6 weeks, it was dominated by small islands and we selected one that looked most suitable and headed off.
There was much discussion about our situation because we still had nearly 100km to go before we knew a Force 7 storm was arriving 2 days from now and this had been a consistent part of the forecast for that last 4 days so would likely happen. We didnt want to be trapped north of Slyne Head in a force 7, we wanted to reach Roonah Point or Clare Island and be in a safe location as we didn’t have food or water for an extended wait in the tent for days for the sea to fall. This summed up perfectly the ever present tensions we have paddling on the west coast, there is alway a hint of fear not far from your thoughts because we know what happens to this sea and how fast when the wind blows it reacts and rises, then when combined with Atlantic swell, it can become fearsome. We had little option now though other thanto land early, camp and get up with the dawn the following morning and attempt to make up time as the wind was set to fall. This meant we would have to paddle 30km before lunch if we were to round Slyne Head before the tidal flow changed against us plus an additional 12km at least if we were to have a chance of making Roonah Point the following day.
Two kilometres from our island of choice we could make out a sandy beach that was not exposed to Atlantic swell and that became our main target.
At about 1 kilometre there was a smell in the air we hadn’t smelled before, a fragrance but we couldn’t make sense of it, it became so strong we could almost taste it when the realisation clicked that it was the north west wind carrying the aroma of wild flowers from the island.
We pulled the boats up the beach and were presented with the most idyllic scene imaginable for sea kayakers , pure white sand gently sloping up to a small island dominated by wild flower meadow many of which were still in flower and I would be well entertained that evening photographing and trying to identify them.
We set about our usual routine of partial emptying the boats into Ikea bags and carrying them up the beach and as Sarah erected the tent I started dinner. We had the usual array of bird species around us but no gull colony which was a surprise , Oyster-Catchers with their young already fledged gave us a noisy welcome until sometime later the group clearly decided we were not a threat and went back to probing the sand for supper. Skylarks and Meadow Pippets sang to their hearts content and ours while Curlew called all over the island. This was indeed the most beautiful of locations surrounded by a deep blue Atlantic Ocean with turquoise submerged sand banks and the ever present sea mist rolling through clearing now and then to let the sun shine through bringing the entire landscape to life with intense colours and warmth. This is why we sea kayak, our kayaks are the key to the door which opens into this magic kingdom.
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