Paddling along the east Bute coastline

It started out just like any other kayaking day trip – pleasant conditions beckoned (albeit a little windy in places) and we were eager to get out on the water before summer was once again cancelled. We jumped in our kayaks at Toward and headed over to Bute before proceeding southwards to Kilchattan Bay. That part was very enjoyable and we (along no doubt with the resident seals) kept a sharp eye out for the orca which, most excitingly, was recently reported to be sojourning in the Firth of Clyde.

We turned into Kilchattan Bay accompanied by a playful grey seal (who apparently hadn’t got the memo about the orca). We were then greeted by 2 fellow kayakers who were emerging from the shelter of the bay. They were paddling 2 very eye-catching kayaks – golden, starfish-covered, and very glam-Rockpools. They advised that they were spending a couple of days paddling around Bute, but had pulled in due to lumpy conditions. They were reassured to hear that conditions appeared to have calmed since we had ventured on to the water at least.

At Kilchattan Bay, Bute

We contemplated crossing the Clyde over to Cumbrae at this point, however, the unrelenting procession of outbound warships dissuaded us. Fresh from their “Joint Warrior” NATO exercise, we feared that, still in war games mode, they might not be able to resist a bit of target practice if we couldn’t paddle out of the way quite fast enough. And so we simply reversed our route but then found ourselves, troublingly, doing a little battle with the outgoing tide combined with the easterly wind. Monitoring my progress against the “transit point” (of sorts) provided to starboard by the colossal Maersk Beaumont anchored off of Cumbrae, I couldn’t help but notice that I wasn’t making much headway at all. Of course, this is a rather massive ship (recently joined by another huge Maersk ship also in layup – it’s a veritable parking lot out there), so perhaps not the best gauge for assessing advancement. Instead, I concentrated on the Bute shoreline to port but, sadly, that only served to confirm that it was indeed heavy going.

The next thing I noticed was a growing pain in my right elbow. Shortly thereafter, my left elbow came out in sympathy. My increasing focus on this latest discomfort was interrupted by a pleasant encounter with a flotilla of very smart TideRace kayaks which had set off from Castle Toward. Alan commented that he’d never seen so much bling on the Clyde in one day. The paddlers were in fact trainee instructors from the Castle Toward outdoor centre and were accompanied by Roddy, the eminent kayak coach from Bute (who we regularly bump into on our seaward travels these days) and Peter, who heads up the training centre. They too were on their way to circumnavigate Bute, which seems to be the thing to do. After a blether, we were back on our way and my attention was re-captured by my sore elbows.

It was then that Alan noticed that his skeg appeared to be non-functional and, with some dismay, he recalled experimenting with it before going ashore. This is rather atypical behaviour as Alan rarely uses his skeg. Unfortunately therefore, it had been in a downward position when he dragged his kayak on to the beach, thus causing the cable to kink and rendering it essentially knackered.

The aforementioned glitches served to compound the experience of paddling in increasing chop and it really did become quite challenging as we approached Craigmore. I mentally rehearsed my recently rediscovered self-rescue abilities, but felt these may well be impeded by the very real presence of quite boisterous waves. We soldiered on bravely in the hope that some shelter would be afforded by the upcoming approach to Rothesay Bay. My elbows were screeching out in protest just at the point when, thankfully, sea conditions did calm. We paddled against the wind back to Toward and I was very glad to make it home, this being the first trip where that goal had not been guaranteed.

But my troubles were not over because, as the evening progressed, my left elbow pain descended into much more acute wrist pain which lasted through to the end of the week. Even today, it is not completely healed. I am now left contemplating the cause. The suspects are: gripping the paddle too tightly – but I really did pay attention to this and I swear I wasn’t, or insufficient torso rotation – um, not sure. Could it even be the tightness of my wetsuit cuffs cutting off synovial fluid to the tendons? (And yes, I do have a PhD from Google University, in case you were wondering).

Still, as my mother (who, incidentally, used to holiday in Kilchattan Bay as a child) would have said, what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. It says a fair bit that, despite the tribulations of my latest outing, I am still looking forward to getting back out there with the gannets, the goosanders, the seals, the orcas … and the bling.

After several weeks at the Riverside pool in Dunoon, the newly re-formed Cowal Kayak Club has transferred its Friday night activities to Loch Eck. The sea kayakers are presently outnumbered by the river kayakers, but hopefuly in time, as word gets out, this imbalance may be rectified. Already we have formed the expected “us versus them”/sea versus river cliques. We sea folks remain dubious of any ostentatious displays of kayak acrobatics by the river guys, and they in turn have watched with derision fascination as we practice our wet exits and re-entries. Cruising around in our sea kayaks amongst the river boats is a bit like being a whale surrounded by lots of little fishies.

It has come to my attention that Loch Eck is rather cold, actually Baltic, to use the vernacular. This has made me less than enthusiastic to plunge myself into its freezing depths, despite wearing a drysuit. Bracing practice for me has been a rather muted affair, and I have rarely surpassed a “2″ (out of 3) on the edging scale. Rolling is out of the question quite frankly, as I’m not sure my noggin could handle the shock. Alan, on the other hand, has been throwing himself into our various practice drills with gusto and is accelerating past me on the learning curve. I plan to catch up just as soon as the loch warms up – even if that is only for one week in July.

Nonetheless, I did manage to chuck myself out of my kayak for a bit of self-rescue practice. I confess to not having attempted this for quite some time, for similar temperature-related excuses reasons. And it showed. After about 15 attempts to climb on top of my kayak, during which time Alan had been deftly demonstrating correct technique to a rapt audience of river folks, he noticed that I was positioned at the wrong spot. My memory had dimmed since the last time I’d practiced – but it is now seared on my mind that the correct place is precisely where my “Nordkapp” logo is located. Unfortunately, after all those failed attempts I couldn’t succeed in completing the rescue due to having run out of “oomph” and having lost all sensation in my (by now blue) hands.

Following on from that, I sensed the commencement of what I’ve come to know as the “Friday night funk”. No I didn’t immediately head for the night clubs, instead I observed my mind descending down the spiral of negative thought. It goes something like this:

• I am a failure and will never learn to (insert desired skill here)
• (Insert name of person) can do it so much better than I can
• Everyone must think I’m a loser
• Everyone must be laughing at me
• If I can’t (insert skill) soon, I will have to give up kayaking for good

Of course, you can see a common theme here. The frequency of references to “I” and “me” gives it away. Yes, that old culprit – the ego. It doesn’t like when it’s been given a bit of a battering and can tend to exact its revenge by undermining any consoling thoughts that one might happen to muster. Conversely, I confess to having allowed my ego to enjoy a little inflating in the recent past. For example, when I learned to roll in the pool, I definitely permitted myself more than one happy dance (much to Alan’s nauseation). But that only serves to create a bigger fall when the next setback occurs.

As we drove home, it occurred to me: I can let this encroaching gloom engulf me, or I can … not. It is like the Cherokee legend about the two wolves. One is angry, envious, greedy, self-piteous, proud and arrogant, the other is joyful, peaceful, loving, hopeful, serene and kind. The question is, which wolf survives? The answer is, the one you feed.

In kayaking, as in yoga, as in life, failure is not a defeat, it is a learning experience. We never stop practising and we never stop learning.