Having learned that sea kayaks are allowed in the Riverside Leisure Centre pool (as long as they’ve been thoroughly washed), we decided to bring one along to practice some “real” rolling at the Club session on Friday night.  Of course, I was keen to take my Rockpool Isel, but this was not conducive to letting other folks have a shot, being that the Isel’s footplate takes a bit more work to adjust than foot pegs. And so, we took along Alan’s Valley Avocet. This choice caused me a little trepidation as my history of rolling the Avocet has not exactly been one filled with glowing accomplishment. I have had the odd moment of success, but it’s been exactly that – odd. And, of course, after the arrival of my Isel, I was in no rush to go back and engage in further self-torture. I managed, however, to delude myself into thinking that I had been making decent progress in improving my skills in the pool boats, so perhaps rolling the Avocet would be a scoosh now. Or perhaps not …

The moment of truth arrived. Alan jumped in and rolled in his usual style, with grace and poise. Next up, it was my turn. After a particularly ugly roll, I then went for a little swim. This was followed by a couple more laboured efforts and some more swimming. Sigh …

Meantime, various other members of the Cowal Kayak Club (mostly river paddlers) jumped in for a go, and each one of them rolled the Avocet with ease.  By the end of the evening, it was as if my ego had imbibed a shrinking potion and  promptly jumped down the rabbit hole into a distorted wonderland of neurosis and despair. Through the haze of blind rage chlorine, I heard a coach’s voice advise something about giving it more “oomph”, fixing my hand position … oooh and look at how good Terry’s (first ever) roll in a sea kayak is … it’s so good, he doesn’t even know how good it is … yada yada yada (I hate Terry …*).

We did of course bring along a camera and I have now reviewed the video evidence.

Readers who are bored senseless at this stage can skip.

For the remaining 2 of you, I give you Exhibits A and B (and C and D):

Alan at set-up, note that kayak has started to rotate already	Pam at set-up, note that kayak is not rotating at all
Paddle at 90 degrees, and Alan's well on his way	Paddle at 90 degrees and kayak only just starting to rotate

So, what’s up with that? Yes, yes, I know what you’re all thinking – HIP FLICK! But I swear I can’t get it going any sooner in the Avocet.  Is this a connectivity issue (with thanks to Julia for supplying that technical term), or am I just rubbish?  My most successful roll was the one that involved an absence of noseclip which resulted in a degree of urgency, or “oomph”. I am now inclined to learn a C-to-C roll for those kayaks with which I have difficulty, being that the first half of my sweep isn’t achieving anything anyway.

Fast forward to Saturday and I awoke to a disinclination to go anywhere near a kayak. The prospect of sulking at home all day, however, was even less appealing, and so we trundled along to meet up with our friends and then made our way to Strachur.

Hebridean Princess

It was a pleasure not to be warding off frostbite as we got our gear ready for going on the water, and we were soon heading south towards Strathlachlan, with some slight wind coming from the northwest. There were few other vessels on Loch Fyne, and we were passed by the Hebridean Princess (HM The Queen was not on board). Alan took a photo of her (the ship) with me in the foreground and said he was going to label it “Hebridean Princess and cruise ship”.  I simpered obligingly.

Castle Lachlan

We stopped for lunch at the Inver Cottage Restaurant, whose welcoming fireside is always appreciated.

Upon departure, I took the opportunity to surreptitiously dip my hands in the loch to test the temperature. It wasn’t exactly bath-like, but I speculated that I could perhaps handle a little dunking as long as I kept my drysuit on. In other words, I needed to regain my rolling mojo. I read a book recently that dealt with how the brain attaches to negative associations, being that primitive peoples had to place great focus on matters such as not being killed or starving to death, versus the more positive matters of finding a mate, or a flat-screen telly.  And so we are hard-wired to attach to negativity. The book recommended that, when something negative occurs, you should immediately replace it in your mind with something positive and, in so doing, you can effectively rewire your brain.  My intention, therefore, was to replace the painful associations of the previous evening, with the memory of a perfect, effortless roll in my Isel.

Loch Fyne

It didn’t work out exactly as planned. No sooner had I capsized than I became aware of a complete inability to surface. Convinced that I’d been snagged by the Loch Fyne Monster (or at least an especially vicious piece of kelp), I went for yet another frantic swim. On my next attempt, Alan pinpointed the problem. My drysuit was full of air and I was resembling the Michelin Woman upon immersion. Lesson No. 1: always make sure to fully purge your drysuit. Alan helped me deflate by hugging me (which Julia mistook for a romantic gesture – as if!).  Finally, I nailed the roll and it felt exactly as it should – effortless. I love my Isel.

I cheered heartily, however, not as heartily as Alan did. I’m sure I heard some utterances about finally getting some peace. Well, I can take a hint.

Now, I wonder if I should take my Isel into the pool next week …

* With apologies to Terry, it was the chlorine talking

Last weekend, Alan and I were on our own, our usual paddling pals having better other things to do. We decided to go somewhere not too far away, largely due to the fact that I’d had a cold the previous week. The cold itself was quite mild, but all the sneezing involved had aggravated my shoulder/back injury of old, being as the original muscle and tissue damage  is situated right next to my left lung. I read somewhere recently about just how extreme an act sneezing is – all bodily functions stop apparently, including the heart. Anyway, it was nothing that a couple of ibuprofen pills couldn’t sort out and we were soon putting in at Toward.

The weather had continued its warming trend and felt quite balmy as we made our way across to Bute. Until the sun went in at least … and then it turned frosty again, encouraging us to make haste to the tea room at Craigmore. Conditions were remarkably calm and it was difficult not to be mesmerised by the blending of sky and sea as the latter reflected the former like the proverbial mirror. It was with some disappointment that we discovered that the tea room was closed for refurbishment. And so, we paddled on to Rothesay, dodging the ferry before finding sustenance at a shore-side tea-stop.

Behind you!

As we consumed our tea on the beach, we were approached by a person displaying interest in our kayaks. This often happens when out paddling, and many times we have heard from people expressing a desire to take up the activity. This individual, however, informed us that he was already the proud owner of a TideRace kayak and we soon established that he was a fully fledged member of the kayaking community, being a Bute Kayak Club member. And so followed an interesting chat on matters paddling. It’s always good to make new friends and, being that the world of kayaking is a small one, I am sure we will bump into one another again on the waters of Cowal and Bute (or beyond).

All the clouds were out

Alan and I then headed back to Toward, where we bumped into our kayaking neighbours and had yet another interesting chat about matters paddling. It’s heartening to see so many people enjoying getting out on the water, especially in such a low-impact way. However, not everyone would agree – which brings me to the controversial part of this post.

Recently, any paddler in the Dunoon and Cowal area has become accustomed to being greeted with the question, “That wasn’t you that got rescued off the West Bay the other day, was it?”.   To explain, there was a bit of an incident a couple of weeks ago. Not much information is known about the paddler, except that they were in a Canadian canoe and, word has it, that they were quite experienced. It’s remarkable that they withstood so much time in the water, and fortunate that they were spotted by a local worker who called the rescue services. This has prompted a letter from an anonymous person in the local paper this week, from which I quote:

“I write with anger as I note that a lone canoeist was rescued from the Clyde last week.

Has he been sent the bill for the rescue?

It was nobody’s fault but his own that he chose to go canoeing on  his own in February weather. Why should the tax-payer have to pay for this man’s folly?

When the search and rescue services are privatised … in 2011, do you think that people who choose to put themselves in danger will be rescued without receiving a hefty bill?”

The Anonymous Person goes on to say,

“Helicopters can only be in one place at a time and, while they are engaged in the rescue of an idiot, they cannot be available to rescue people who are in difficulty through no fault of their own.”

Oooh, not feelin’ the love here at all.

Various metaphors spring to mind, mostly involving cans and worms, hornets and nests and slippery slopes. I won’t get into the associated controversy of the privatisation of the search and rescue services (and the inherent utility fees that will be paid to the companies involved), that’s for another day perhaps. But I would like to raise a few points for Anonymous Person (AP) to consider:

• Who will pass the moral judgement on whether someone’s actions can be classified as idiotic or accidental and, if the former, worthy of a “hefty bill”? Whose code of standards will prevail? The rescue services’? The private companies’? The Anonymous Person’s?
• Who can afford to pay said “hefty bill”? And who will administer these bills and pursue their payment? Who will fund the administration? In keeping with the privatised model, maybe it would be easier if the rescue services just billed everyone? Should this be extended to other emergency services?  (I’m sure insurance companies would be all in favour of this potential new line of business).
• What are the implications for calling in your own rescue if you know there’s a possibility that you will be presented with a “hefty bill”?
• Dependent on whose standards are adopted, how would the rescue of a hugely respected, capable and experienced kayaker be assessed? Is he too an “idiot” who must be billed?
• According to AP, the rescued person should not have gone out on their own in February weather.  So the discussion has not even proceeded on to how prepared they were in terms of equipment and clothing (which is unknown), the actual conditions of the day (which were not inclement) etc before they are dismissed as an “idiot”.  By this standard, no-one should “put themselves in danger” and go out in a canoe on their own in February. I suppose, therefore, one might conclude that it is safer to stay indoors watching television, say. Ah, but what if, in our little cocoon of safety, we lack exercise and eat a few too many cakes? What if we gain a little weight and become a bit short of breath? What if we have a heart attack?! It could hardly be said that it occurred through no fault of our own – so should the NHS present us with a “hefty bill” for resuscitating us?

You see where I’m going here.

Self-rescue practice

Rather than advocate for invoicing rescuees, a better approach might be to strongly foster safety consciousness in all outdoor activities. This can occur via the funding of organisations that engage in and assist with such activities. It is hoped that AP would not have an issue with taxpayers’ money being used to bolster organisations such as the MCA and, indeed, the local Cowal Kayak Club, whose first AGM this week included plenty of reference to safety training.

There will always be “idiots” in all walks of life – and one person’s idiot might be another person’s hero. It is impossible not to put oneself in danger – life is dangerous. Anything could happen, any day. As my mother used to say, “There but for the grace of God go I”, and I certainly wouldn’t like to be the one playing God.

After a weekend off from kayaking (other than the pool), it was back to normal last weekend as a group of us rendezvoused at Fairlie on Saturday. This was in order to coincide with the Karitek demo day being held there as we were all anxious to fondle the lovely range of Rockpool, P&H and UKSK kayaks on display. Of course, Alan and I are not in the market for another kayak, but it’s always nice to look at the latest offerings regardless. Hopefully the good people of Karitek didn’t notice mind one chap testing out Alan’s Nordkapp.  We bumped into quite a few “well kent” faces from the paddling world and it was only after Alan had launched my kayak without me in it that I took the hint, stopped chatting and  jumped in. Apart from anything else, I didn’t want it to be inadvertently taken out for a demo and returned to Karitek!

Approaching Wee Cumbrae

We headed over to Little (or Wee) Cumbrae and stopped there for lunch. The island is under new management in the form of the Patanjali Yog Peeth Trust. As a yoga student myself, I am of course pleased that the island will be used as a centre for yoga and the promotion of ayurvedic wellbeing and non-harming – a much more favourable prospect than the potential shooting and quad biking options that were advertised on the prior “for sale” listing (somewhat oxymoronically alongside birdwatching). I have it on good authority that the owners are welcoming to sea kayakers, merely requesting that visitors respect the island’s ethos, although disappointingly allegedly, it is not necessary to swear an oath of vegetarianism in order to land (but don’t quote me on that).

View from atop Wee Cumbrae Castle

We consumed lunch beside the square Castle remains and did a bit of exploration both inside and outside. Sufficiently fortified (us, not the Castle), we were back in our kayaks to cross over to Millport on Great Cumbrae for further sustenance in the form of a hot beverage in the Ritz Cafe. Following that, we hopped back to Fairlie, passing Hunterston’s terminal where a bulk carrier all the way from China was now berthed. Landing back at the beach should have been an uneventful affair, had it not been for Alan’s back going into a spasm which found him writhing about on the ground emitting “man groans” (akin to “man flu” in terms of the immensity of suffering involved). Not only that, my efforts to assist my fellow paddlers went horribly awry when I tripped over a stone and promptly dropped my end of Henrik’s kayak.  Henrik was very gracious about it and I didn’t even see him applying the duct-tape before putting his kayak back on the car roof.

Heading to Millport

One thing had become apparent during our outing and that was the almost, but not quite, spring-like quality to the day. In fact, we almost, but not quite, entirely dispensed with our pogies, neck gaiters and hats. At least I thought about it. Any weekend  now, I reckon.

And speaking of getting warmer, we’ve been trundling along to the pool each Friday evening to diligently work on skills improvement. A week ago on Friday, I jumped in, capsized and had the mental equivalent of a computer’s “blue screen”. The rolling program in my mind did not start and all that was left in my head was a blinking cursor.

Action shot

There was no-one more surprised than I was about this. But it was actually a good thing as it caused me to have a total “reboot” (I won’t say where). I took myself (and Alan) back up to the shallow end and got right back to basics, once again building up what I consider to be the 2 core elements: sweep and head position. A bit of video replay had revealed a virtual absence of both which I soon corrected and was back feeling more confident by the end of the evening. In retrospect, I’d known that something wasn’t quite right the week beforehand and that my rolls were pretty laboured, but I hadn’t been able to fix it. So sometimes it’s better to utterly fail in order to deconstruct then reconstruct. The key is not to self-destruct, and that initself is a skill.

“You’re the only one who knows when you’re using things to protect yourself and keep your ego together and when you’re opening and letting things fall apart, letting the world come as it is – working with it rather than struggling against it. You’re the only one who knows.”
Ani Pema Chödrön

Review posted by guest blogger:alanf

The Canon Powershot D10 waterproof digital camera has been around since mid 2009, and is the first Canon aimed at the watersports market. It is a 12 megapixel digital compact camera.

On first inspection, the camera is very stylish, with barely a hard edge anywhere. Most surfaces are smooth and round. The detachable front cover is a snazzy teal colour and, as an optional extra, can be interchanged with extra coloured panels. The teal one is quite nice though. The construction feels good with a lot of impressive looking hex screws clamping the body shut. The lens for this camera is a 6-18.6 mm f2.8-4.9 zoom lens, which actually protrudes out from the front of the camera by about 25 mm (a new first for waterproof compacts?). The zoom lens can actually be seen to move in and out when zooming, inside the waterproof lens housing. In this sense, the camera is a lot more like conventional compact cameras rather than the thin and flatter waterproof ones available to date. This may give better optics, but will also take up extra buoyancy aid pocket room, although it fits with room to spare into a Palm Kaikoura BA pocket. In use out on the water, however, I did find that the lens catches a bit on the pocket zip, although it is tolerable (just not as smooth as my older, thin Pentax Optio W20).

There is no viewfinder on the camera, and the 2.5” large bright LCD screen produces a very clear, crisp and visible display.

There are two waterproof access seals – one on the bottom of the camera for memory card and battery access and one on the side for DC adapter/USB cable access. This is one more access panel than the old Optio W20 which dispenses with DC input and USB access. The optimists would say that it is nice to have a USB access point, but the pessimists would say that there is double the chance of seal failure and water leak into the camera! (I do however need the USB cable since my laptop can’t read High Capacity SD memory cards directly). The seals themselves are a side o-ring for the bottom panel, and a face o-ring for the side panel. Both are secured in place by a grey plastic catch. Only time will tell how robust these are, but I remember having similar reservations with the Optio W20 a couple of years ago, and have had no issues with it.

The rather strange feature on this camera is perhaps the strap attachment and tether mechanism, which gives the user the choice of the 4 corners of the camera to attach the cord to. There are really only two positions that are practical, so it’s a bit gimmicky rather than being an important feature. The cord attaches to a metal bayonet type fixture which can plug into any of the 4 corner fixtures. The corner fixtures themselves are metal, and give a sense of robustness, however they are locked in place only by the actions of a small plastic pincer mechanism which, when squeezed, can cause the whole tether mechanism to be released fairly easily. This makes me feel that it’s not that secure. Do I really want to trust this mechanism out on the water where I’m taking the camera in and out of my BA pocket all day? I feel that Canon should have used a more secure attachment for this purpose. I also feel that once I have settled on the corner that I want to use, I will more than likely try to make it more permanent by squeezing some silicon sealant into the mechanism to solidify it (will my warranty still stand?). I would also have liked Canon to have supplied blanking caps for the other corner tether holes, since they are just left open and serve no purpose other than to collect grit and water. A carabiner fixing cord is available from Canon, but at £35 it’s a bit of a steep price, and I’ll just have to settle for making my own cord and attaching a carabiner!

The turn-on time of the Canon D10 is much faster than the Optio W20. It is really fast! I can turn on and take a single shot in under 2 seconds. The auto focus seems a whole lot quicker than the Optio too, even in lower light conditions. I have been getting fed up using the Optio due to the slow turn-on, slow/poor focusing and shutter lag, and in comparison, this camera is great. These two factors alone make the Canon stand head and shoulders above the Optio.

The 12 megapixel sensor delivers fairly good quality detailed 4000 x 3000 pixel images, although for me, an obvious downside is that Canon seem to have used too much jpeg compression to limit image file size (full size files are in the 2.2 – 3 MB range, compared to the 4+ MB file size range of my 12 megapixel Nikon digital SLR camera). I have never understood manufacturer’s desire to trade off image quality for memory card usage via jpeg compression. I’d prefer less compressed jpegs (or at least the option of setting the camera to use less compression!). Unfortunately there is no ‘super fine’ image quality option in the camera’s shooting menu, only a ‘fine’ and ‘normal’ mode (you don’t select ‘normal’ mode – it’s not normal!). With ISO at 200, aperture at F2.8 I ran a side-by-side comparison of shots between the D10 and a Nikon DSLR, per the 2 images below. The detail from the Canon D10 is good. However, when cropped down and magnified to 500% as shown in the cropped/zoomed images in the comparison chart below, the greater jpeg compression on the Canon D10 image becomes more apparent. On the second image comparison, the nice almost uniform blue sky suffers from jpeg artifacts too, which I’m sure could be eliminated by less jpeg compression. The D10 images also looks a bit more contrasty, probably due to internal auto leveling and sharpening algorithms inside the D10, which the user has no control over.

Image comparison chart Canon D10 v Nikon dslr both (12 Megapixel)

(Click on thumbnails for full image size)

	Canon D10 image	Nikon DSLR image
Full frame shot – scroll to click outside of large image to return
Cropped shot same image
Cropped shot same image 500x magnification
Full frame image (new scene)
Cropped frame image (new scene)
Cropped shot same scene

As well as control over jpeg compression, it would also have been a big plus to have seen the option to use RAW files. Maybe its a deliberate choice by Canon so this camera doesn’t compete with their more expensive pro-sumer models?

Exposure Control

Click to enlarge

The other slight gripe with the camera in ‘P’ mode (where the user controls the settings) is its propensity to overexpose images on multi matrix ‘evaluative’ mode, with 0 ev compensation (ie the default). In an image that has average brightness in the foreground and bright sky, the sky will have very burned out highlights ( a big no-no in photography). In order to preserve the highlights, it is necessary to knock the exposure level compensation in ‘P’ mode down to -1 ev (others may prefer -0.33 ev or -0.66 ev).

Spot metering seems to deliver better results, but how often do you have time to spot meter on an action shot on a watersports day out? You usually just want to point, click and forget!

The ‘Auto’ mode fares quite well with highlights, but do I trust the auto mode to not blow highlights 100% of the time? I don’t think I’ve used ‘Auto’ mode on any camera before, ever!

Apart from it’s handling of the highlights, Auto mode has a tendency to switch to ISO800 a lot of the time leading to grainier images, even when it doesn’t need to do this, eg when there are ample light conditions.

I normally prefer to knock the ISO level down to 100 from the default ‘Auto’ to prevent high ISO graininess, but unlike some other cameras, in ‘P’ mode the auto iso setting seems to limit at ISO400, so this should prevent the camera from producing excessively grainy shots in low light conditions. However you will notice image graininess at ISO settings of above 200 so manually setting ISO to 100 or 200 may be the best overall option. The Image Stabilisation system will also help out shooting in lower light conditions.

There is no manual exposure or aperture priority mode, ie you can only manually control ISO, exposure compensation, and focus, not shutter speed (apart from long shutter speed in scene mode) or aperture, which is a pity.

Summary

Why am I comparing the D10 to the DSLR? Well doing most photography outside of kayaking with a DSR, I ultimately need a camera to compete with my DSLR when I’m kayaking. Is the comparison fair? No, but it does give you a flavour of what corners are being cut with compact digital cameras. Overall, however, once the settings are optimised, the D10 is a fun to use camera. The controls are smooth, the menu buttons are great, and the image stabilisation seems to work very well, as does the Auto-focus including the facial recognition system. Menu system and functionality options are wide, including the standard scene, movie etc modes. Editing features eg movie editing etc seem to be very handy and powerful, and the images produced are certainly very lively. It also has the option of an intelligent ‘i-contrast’ option which will auto correct dark “contrasty” images, eg bright sky and dark foregrounds. (Note: I am normally adverse to auto corrections, but the D10 does a very good job of brightening up dark foregrounds whilst maintaining overall image contrast).

Other advanced features include facial AF, eye blink recognition, AE lock, AF lock, custom white balance and tone controls, servo focus for moving subjects, and slow sync flash for nigh time photography, which tend to be found on more advanced pro level cameras.

Click to see full, 12 megapixel image. Click outside of large image to return

In conclusion, this camera packs quite a punch for it’s size and price. That coupled with a 12 megapixel sensor, fast turn-on time and minimal shutter lag times make this a big upgrade from the Optio W20, and I am really looking forward to using it out paddling in 2010.

D10 Pros

• 12 mega pixel sensor
• smooth edged design
• robust looking build quality
• good optics
• choice of tether mount point
• fast turn on time
• responsive autofocus including low light conditions
• fast responsive shoot time, minimal lags
• good image quality
• fast lens F2.8-F4.9
• image stabilisation
• auto white balance seems to work well
• intelligent ‘Auto’ mode, guesses scene type
• some interesting exposure adjustment tools like i-contrast to help brighten up dark areas
• intuitive buttons, menus and features
• programmable ‘print’ function key
• some advanced features
• usb/ dc input
• price (notably reduced from original early release price)

D10 Cons

• tether mount point locking mechanism robustness/security/ease of unlocking
• no covers for unused tether points
• lack of superfine mode for less compressed jpeg image files
• no raw file support
• ‘Auto’ mode varies Iso up to 800 which can be grainy
• 3x optical zoom a bit boring especially given the IS
• tendency to blow (overexpose) highlights in ‘P mode evaluative metering’ (needs manual compensation down to -1ev)
• Second waterproof seal panel for USB/dc adaptor means 2x risk of seal failure?
• full operation manual only available as pdf on supplied CD – I’d have preferred it on paper instead of 5 different language paper versions of the ‘quick start guide’!

D10 Kayaking specific pros

• waterproof

• fast lens (quicker shutter speeds, fewer blurred images)
• image stabilisation (fewer blurred images)
• fast turn on (no excuses for not photographing that dolphin that just appeared!)
• fast focus even in low light (faster shots, fewer blurred images)
• good auto mode (point and click photography)
• multiple tether points
• optional tether with carabiner available

D10 Kayak specific cons

• tether point robustness, ease of release/durability
• lens protrudes, may not fit some BA pockets
• lots of crevasses for salt water to stick around in (will need rinsing after every outing)
• twice as many waterproof seals to worry about!

What better way to start the year than on the water, even if it is a little chilly out there? Recent weather would suggest that the much rumoured “switching off” of the Gulf Stream (which is supposed to keep our climate from going the way of Canada’s) has now occurred. We’ve had snow and ice on the ground for so long now, I can barely recall the colour of grass. OK, I exaggerate – but it has been a couple of weeks at least since our “big freeze” began and it’s going to take a bit of practice to re-learn how to walk without shuffling or clinging on to walls and such by the time the thaw does come.

No such worries on the water and New Year’s Day found a group of us shaking off 2009 with a refreshing paddle from the Holy Loch to Loch Long and back. Some eejit suggested that, in the tradition of the New Year’s Day “dook” (trans: swim), a New Year’s Day roll might be in order. Fortunately no-one heard me.

Palm River Tec Paddle Mitts

Santa was very good to well-behaved paddlers this year, and I donned my new Arctic gale-proof Palm River Tec pogies, eager to test them out. Northern Kayaker has already reviewed them here – and I concur with her opinion. They are a little tricky to get on, I’d say impossible without the use of teeth. I’m thinking about asking Palm what they recommend – surely it’s not the inelegant tugging and biting performance that I put on (people with dentures can forget it). Once in position, however, the pogies sure are toasty.

Alan - back on the water (and testing my pogies)

Suitably bolstered by this auspicious start to the paddling year, I was back out on the water a couple of days later, but this time a special treat was in store – the return of Alan! After hand surgery which was immediately preceded by a sternum injury, the latter being particularly debilitating, he has been out of commission since October. We didn’t go too far, not wishing to cause re-injury, but it was lovely to float about on the Clyde and do a bit of seal-spotting on a bright winter’s day. And it was especially lovely to see Alan back in a kayak. I have missed him.
I do like to set a few intentions at this time of year (or in the yoga nidra tradition, some sankalpas). I won’t bore you with the minutiae of my more minor resolutions (mostly addressing sugar intake and time spent on LOLcats). It would be easy to say my primary intention is to go paddling (well … it is!). But I will also mention my other “big ticket” item, which does tie in: I intend to live in the present tense. It is, after all, the only thing that exists – the past and the future reside only in our minds, and all we have is this very moment. Kayaking has a way of plonking you straight into the moment and making you literally sit up and pay attention. Perhaps that’s part of the reason why we get so much out of it, because it relieves us of all the other “junk” in our heads for a short while. And what a relief it is.

On that note, as we raise a glass to the New Year, indeed, the new decade, let’s also raise a glass to this very moment.

Makes much more sense to live in the present tense.
Present Tense, No Code, Pearl Jam

If someone had told me earlier this year that most of my kayaking would be done in the winter months, I would have pointed out the error of their assumptions. As it turns out, it seems that my paddling gear has barely had time to dry before I am back out on the water during these shorter, colder days. As I have perhaps mentioned, it’s been my very good fortune to find friends who are enthusiastic and serious kayakers and for whom a little cold weather is no reason to forego a good day out on the water.

Last Saturday was one such cold day. As we were enjoying some settled conditions, however, it seemed guaranteed to be sunny. Winter sunshine provides some of the best lighting for photography. With that in mind, Alan (who is still healing from injury) accompanied us in order to provide a roving shuttle service and land support where needed, as well as on-shore photography.

Kayakers (and ducks) on Loch Fyne

Suitably attired in warm paddle-wear, our group launched at picturesque Otter Ferry and the low sun lit up the landscape as we crossed Loch Fyne. We landed at a small beach and, failing to find a 4 star eating establishment, we consumed our respective packed lunches, compensated by the beauty of the scenery before us. The sun managed to keep the temperature bearable.

Scottish sea kayaker in winter plumage

At this point, it is useful to note what constitutes adequate and warm apparel for cold-weather paddling. I find I am perfectly toasty in a decent fleece base layer and a drysuit, accompanied by mukluks, a neck gaiter and – my latest prized possession – a fleece-lined Gore-Tex cap with earflaps. The appendages most at risk of freezing off a kayaker are, however, the hands. I have tried neoprene gloves, but find that they alter my grip of the paddle to the extent that certain wrist/arm tendons start to hurt after a while. I also haven’t found them especially warm. Since I’ve taken possession of borrowed Alan’s Kokatat pogies, however, I have decided that they are my accessories of choice as they do a great job of keeping the icy breezes off of your hands whilst allowing you to grip the paddle shaft as you would normally.

Synchronise your paddles

Following lunch, we ferry glided our way back over Loch Fyne and made for Castle Lachlan by sunset. At this point in the journey, the sky started to really put on a performance, glowing with the most beautiful pastel and russet hues. We spotted Alan’s car by the shore as he stopped to take pictures of us. He then drove on in order to take photos of us landing at Castle Lachlan where, inspired by the recent photographic achievements of a certain well-known Scottish paddler, we practised some synchronised paddle strokes under the direction of Wing Commander Andy. All that was missing were some vapour trails.

Sunset at Castle Lachlan

Our arrival at the ruin of Castle Lachlan was almost exactly timed with the sun finally going down around 3.30 pm. This in turn coincided with an immediate decline in temperature. Upon withdrawing my hands from my pogies and hauling my kayak ashore, I instantly lost contact with my fingers to the point that I was almost launching a search for them along the shoreline. I have never known such rapid freezing of digits! Our group quickly abandoned the kayaks and beat a path to the nearby InverCottage Restaurant where – oh bliss – a cosy fireside awaited. I took urgent advantage of the empty seat next to the hearth and all but crawled into the fireplace. Alan had to point out that my fingers were melting before I would remove them. Tea, coffee and hot choc all round ensured that we soon thawed out sufficient for some of our party to venture back out in order to retrieve cars from our launch point. The rest of us volunteered to “look after” the kayaks – an onerous duty involving a good deal of mutual reassurance that the kayaks would probably be fine as we continued to warm ourselves by the fire.

Upon returning home, Alan and I reviewed our collective haul of photos. The trouble with having 2 photographers at work is that there are (at least) twice the number of photos to sift through. Still, such superb conditions warranted ample recording. I’m sure that there will be plenty of duller days to spend reflecting on a perfect winter’s day of paddling.

After spending another Friday anxiously hitting the “Refresh” button whilst viewing the Met Office site on my Web browser, I realised that there was no getting away from it – Saturday (14 Nov) was going to be windy. Indeed, I awoke to a view of a very choppy Clyde, as well as a strange lack of appetite. It was decision-time: should I call my friends and wimp out, or bite the bullet and show up for a day’s paddling? This is a difficult judgement call when one must weigh up one’s abilities versus the nuances of the weather forecast versus imagined fears versus the abilities of one’s fellow paddlers. No-one likes to be a liability but, at the same time, how can you progress from liability to asset without going out and gaining experience? Eventually, and in the spirit of the yogic concept of “letting go”, I decided to go with the flow, to turn up and see what would happen.

I tried to ignore the view to my right as I drove along the Innellan and Dunoon shore road, although occasional bouts of jostling, confused waves caught my attention. There’s nothing like a dose of clapotis to make you feel a bit squeamish in the morning.

A sense of foreboding

My paddling pals couldn’t help but express some congenial surprise at my appearance. No, not my stylish fleecewear, but more to do with the fact that I am not known for jumping to the head of the queue when rough water paddling opportunities arise. I instantly latched upon their reaction as a cue for me to bow out gracefully after an obvious misjudgement on my part. They, however, would hear none of it and insisted that I join them, even although (being that they are of advanced abilities) I am certain it meant an adjustment to their potentially more ambitious plans.

The prevailing wind was due to be westerly, so it was decided that we would put in at Ardentinny with a view to considering 2 potential destinations. Magda profferred a choice between the “warmth” (emphasis hers) of Knockderry House Hotel on the eastern side of Loch Long, or the (somewhat cooler) “mysteries” of Carrick Castle to the north. Purely because at least 2 of us had recently visited Carrick Castle (and for no other reason), we decided to head for Knockderry.

Crossing Loch Long was breezy but manageable and, despite all of my noises to the contrary, I will confess (just a tiny bit, let’s not get carried away now) that I do enjoy some weather. I love the feeling of freedom that is afforded by being out in the midst of the elements in your small craft, the sense of being in a minority of fortunate folks who have the chance to experience this level of exposure to nature. Surrounded by changing seas, and skies that range from bright to brooding, being followed by the occasional seal and laughed at by the seabirds, certainly beats sitting at home*.

We duly reached the shores of Knockderry and I managed a small surf landing, something I definitely need to practise. The great thing is that, in my Isel (with its lovely footplate), I now have sensation in my feet upon exiting my kayak and can walk like a normal person up the beach. I am still getting over the novelty of this.

Knockderry House Hotel

It seems that the owners and staff at the Knockderry House Hotel have no issues with sea kayakers dripping their way into their cosy and well-appointed establishment. Magda had been correct about the warmth as we took up prime position next to the log fire. Just the ticket! As a well-known coach has commented already (hello Richard) – this was proper sea kayaking! Lunch was served and it certainly looked very nice. Due to previously referenced dietary issues, I chose instead to dine later al fresco in the shelter of Lewis’s luxury emergency shelter. This wasn’t bad at all actually – the company was excellent and, unlike the others, I had cake.

Soon we were gazing out to the white horses on Loch Long and, I suddenly noticed that I was feeling absolutely no sense of anxiety at the sight of them. Obviously, the company that I keep (and that would include my Isel) is having an influence upon me.

White horses on Loch Long

We battled our way against the wind to the other side of the loch and, upon reaching more sheltered waters, we proceeded to chat about important paddling matters. From Lewis I learned a great deal about paddle types, lengths and blade sizes and we swapped paddles in order for me to experience a Werner Shuna carbon model – an interesting revelation.

No paddle expedition is complete these days without a cuppa at Julia’s on the way home, at which point some time was spent exploring Facebook and its many uses. Against my better judgement, I now have an account and am publishing away merrily there as well. Between Facebook, my blog and all the many useful paddling forums and Websites out there, if I’m not careful, I’ll soon have no time for actual paddling. I know, I’m just being ridiculous. I could always give up work.

* With apologies to Alan who is still sitting at home battling injury.

Those of you who have been keeping track of my blog (which is more than I’ve been doing …) will be aware that, up until now, I’ve been a bit of a Valley Girl (I know, readers from California are now confused). To explain, I have always loved my Nordkapp LV, which is made by Valley Sea Kayaks. A year on from having the good fortune to take ownership of the Nordkapp, here is what I continue to love about it:

• It’s super speedy
• It edges beautifully
• It’s lively and playful
• It’s nice and roomy for camping trips (at 326 litres volume)
• It has quality and heritage
• It looks beautiful – to my mind the most aesthetically pleasing kayak out there. I know looks are not everything, but a thing of beauty is indeed a joy to behold.

Shameless posing with Rockpool Isel (Photo courtesy Julia Darby)

Having said all that, during my time up in Skye, I came to appreciate some other kayak qualities in relation to rough water, comfort, rolling and the like, and a seed was planted in my mind that perhaps a kayak that would not so much compete with, as complement, my Nordkapp would be in order. The idea is to gain experience and hone skills in a kayak in which I feel confident and which enhances my skills, and use that foundation to “grow into” my more challenging kayak. That’s the plan at least.

Enter the Rockpool Isel. Again, avid blog followers will recall that I test drove one last month and was extremely impressed. The situation evolved and somehow I found myself hooked up with a beautiful Isel of my very own.

I was, of course, delighted to have the opportunity to embark upon an inaugural trip on the Clyde in the company of Julia (herself an Isel owner) and friends. I had reluctantly turned down the opportunity to go out the previous weekend having discovered that, no matter how many times I hit “Refresh”, the 40 mph gusts showing on the Met Office Website refused to disappear. Apparently, surf was definitely up. The 20 mph gusts forecast for this weekend seemed a positive relief in comparison. Indeed, it was a little windy, but this was all the better for giving me a feel for comfort levels (of both the physical and mental kind) in my Isel.

A swan escort for my Isel

My fellow paddlers spent some time kindly complimenting my choice of kayak as we set off (apart from that one comment … the response to which is, it’s glitter, not dirty marks! Oh, and the design is seaweed, not squiggles). Soon we were emerging from the Holy Loch out into less sheltered seas.

As the journey progressed, I was not disappointed in the Isel. Here are some reasons why:

• The Isel is built for the smaller paddler. It therefore fits someone of “lesser” dimensions snugly and has less windage.
• I’m finding that, the plain fact is that I do better with harder chined/flatter hulled kayaks in choppier water at this stage in my kayaking “career”. I hope that I will eventually do as well in rounder hulled kayaks, but it’s nice to have a choice.
• I have had issues with foot pegs. After a few hours of paddling, my feet ache and I have numb toes. This is actually quite a big deal, as it really can detract from the pleasure of an outing. In retrospect, it might have been better if I’d ordered my Nordkapp with a customised bulkhead, but obviously this makes the kayak very specific to the owner (thus reducing potential resale value and preventing others from using it). The nice thing about Rockpool kayaks is the incredibly comfortable footplate that comes as standard. There is no pressure on the ball of the foot, no numbness, no pain. I love it!
• When it comes to rolling, I find I benefit from “aggressive” thigh grips that translate all of one’s effort into the maneouvre/roll. The Isel has me clamped nicely into my kayak – it almost won’t let me not roll. (I’m sure I’ve just cursed something now).
• 

  Rockpool Isel seat

  Another comfort issue relates to back pain. I’ve mentioned previously that I’ve had some significant problems with this too and I think it relates to sacral/lumbar support. Whatever it is – whether it’s the positioning of the lower glass seat (versus the Valley kayaks’ standard foam seats), the shape of the seat, knee positioning, or the back rest – the ergonomics in the Isel are just right and it equates to zero back pain (for me so far at least). Again, a very big deal.

• The quality and build is flawless.

Moody Loch Long

The swell pushed us up Loch Long nicely and attempts were made at having a bit of a surf. I enjoyed scooting along as the waves caught my stern. We stopped for lunch at Ardentinny and then, as is often the case, the return journey was against the wind. The Isel remained comfortably under control (always nice) and I remained remarkably dry despite the oncoming waves. A good workout was had by all.

Our launch site beside the Marina at high tide turned out to be a less than ideal return site at low tide. Scenes entirely appropriate to Halloween ensued as we found ourselves being sucked into the gloopy, stinky mud-swamp that awaited us. There were moments when we thought we’d never see our friends footwear again. Fortunately, we did manage to make it intact all the way back to the cars.

As I reflect on how wonderful it is to have so many quality kayaks to choose from on the market, I find that, with the Isel in particular, I feel a real sense of appreciation that the designers have taken the time to consider the needs of the smaller paddler. In the paddling world of big, burly, beardie blokes, it’s quite touching to think that we svelte types have not been forgotten and that we too can share in the joy of a snugly fitting, comfortable, maneouvreable craft.

Pap of Glencoe and Loch Leven

It was high time for a Garnock Canoe Club jamboree and one had duly been scheduled for last weekend. If I hadn’t known better, however, I would have wondered if the organisers weren’t trying to throw us off the scent in the communications leading up to our departure. The email entitled “Arisaig Trip” which informed us that the trip that had previously been moved from Arisaig to Oban had now been relocated to Glencoe, was especially confounding. Undaunted, we tracked everyone down to the Invercoe campsite in Glencoe on Friday evening. As various cars emptied out their occupants, something became apparent to me and that was a growing sense of being outnumbered. To explain: there was me, and then there were 10 chaps of the male persuasion. Which leads me to ask the question – oh, where were the women of Garnock? At least the conversation around the campfire didn’t resort to the usual stereotypical subject matter of football and cars (no, it was much worse than that).

Setting out on Loch Leven

I would like to say that I was up and about, bright and breezy on Saturday morning, but this was not the case at all. Unfortunately, Friday night had been claimed by the demons of insomnia from whom I receive occasional visitations. Once they appear, no amount of relaxation technique, yogic breathing, counting sheep or just plain wishing will get me to sleep. What starts as a small, nagging worry that I haven’t fallen asleep yet becomes a full-blown anxiety attack that I will be trapped in a torturous hell of sleep deprivation the following day, and, of course, this becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Not to worry, I somehow managed to find myself sitting fully dressed in a drysuit and in a kayak on the waters of Loch Leven on Saturday morning. Not just any old kayak mind you, but a beautiful white Valley Avocet with black trim. After the very favourable impressions that had been made upon us during our week with Skyak Adventures, one thing had led to another and we were now taking a lovely, nippy wee day kayak out to play. Through the foggy haze (I refer to my sleepless state and not the weather conditions), I became aware of some truly astounding scenery as we paddled from our campsite eastwards to Kinlochleven. Majestic mountains prevailed, and it was wonderful to admire the Aonoch Eagach ridge from the water having climbed it some years ago. The conditions were most favourable, especially with the wind pushing us along.

Heading for the rocks at Kinlochleven

Upon reaching Kinlochleven, the environment began to take on more of a feel of a river, as opposed to a sea loch, as indeed the loch effectively becomes the River Leven (or that might actually be the other way around). The water narrowed in on us and became “gushy” in places, and there were lots of rocks. You can tell from my description that I am not a river kayaker. There are reasons for this, mostly relating to sharp, pointy rocks (did I mention those?), icy cold, moving water – er, and unrelenting fear. Regardless, some members of our group saw this as an excellent opportunity to toss their kayaks about the rocks. I started to believe that my tired state was causing hallucinations when I then saw bodies floating down the river, but it seems that certain individuals had abandoned their vessels altogether in favour of engaging in a whole new sport the name of which eludes me (“unkayaking”? “drysuiting”?). Having no desire to scratch wreck our kayaks, or get icily cold, Alan and I sensibly decided to have some hot soup and pull up a chair to watch the other hardy souls from the sidelines.

Garbh Bheinn, from Loch Leven

Whilst the rest of the group then embarked on an elaborate climbing exercise in order to consume their lunch on top of the riverbank, Alan and I, having dined already, decided to start heading back the way we’d come. Our progress was slowed by the wind which was now doing its best to place us in reverse gear. Around the half way point, my lower back was screaming for a rest and we pulled in to a pebbly beach. Here, a solo paddler in a Capella 163 came ashore and sat down with us for a chat. It seems that whenever I write about paddlers whom we happen to bump into on the water, to my delight they somehow later find my blog and make contact. Perhaps I will hear from this lady too. Anyway, let me just say, it was nice to enjoy the company of another female paddler.

Soon our group had caught up with us and quickly embarked on a challenging and manly survival exercise on the beach involving fire-building and slater-eating, in the manner of – I think I’m safe in saying – Ray Mears. I had dared to mention the name of Bear Grylls, which was greeted with snorts of derision from the guys. I wonder if female paddlers feel similarly?

Making friends with a guillemot

At this point, Jordan graciously offered to swap kayaks with me in order for me to try out his Rockpool Isel. This is a relatively new Rockpool kayak, designed for the smaller paddler, and I have been very interested in learning more about it. To be able to try it out was an opportunity not to be missed. Well, let me just say – I like it very much! Whilst I cannot put a kayak through its paces in quite the way Jordan can, here’s what I did manage to observe:

• What a great fit! Part of the trouble that I’ve had in assessing fit is that the majority of kayaks out there don’t fit the smaller person well – so how do you truly know what a good fit is until you actually encounter it? The Isel makes snug contact in all the places that matter, including the excellent thigh braces. I felt like the kayak fitted me, as opposed to me trying to fit it via outfitting (or eating pies).
• After kayaking back the remaining half of the return journey, my back no longer hurt. The seat and lumbar support are exactly that, supportive.
• My feet loved the footplate (versus foot pegs). I could feel the blood in my toes again. Such comfort.
• The hard chines took me back to my Capella a little and edging seemed “stickier” than the Valley kayaks – obviously not an issue to the skilled paddler.
• The Isel doesn’t turn quite as responsively (imho) as the Avocet, but it turns perfectly well nonetheless.
• Despite tiredness to the extreme, a less than ideal set-up, and some gusty wind, I managed to roll the Isel. It wasn’t my prettiest roll ever due to the aforementioned, but the kayak simply has that feeling that suggests that you can rely on a roll even when conditions/you are less than perfect. I really like that feeling.

Meanwhile, it was fun to watch young Jordan making our Avocet dance in the water the way it was meant to. If kayaks had emotions, ours would have been very happy to have someone with such natural skill in charge.

Eilean Munde

Before returning to our campsite, we detoured over to Eilean Munde, the “Burial Island” of Loch Leven. We stepped ashore to explore its many gravesites. I hadn’t realised that they were so numerous and it was interesting to read the inscriptions and examine the symbology (to use a Dan Brown kind of term), as well as to view the graves’ seemingly random placement across the island. Many of the slate gravestones seemed as new, no doubt scoured clean by the prevailing elements.

It was a short trip back to Invercoe where a hot shower followed by dinner in the smirry rain awaited. In danger of falling asleep as we sheltered in the car, Alan and I turned in for the night not long after 9 pm. Sleep came upon me like an anaesthetic and I would have known nothing of the party in the neighbouring tipi but for the impressive amount of recyclable materials and marked lack of perkiness that emerged from it in the morning, combined with the run on Powerade in the campsite shop.

Eilean Munde

What with all the blustery wind and rain on Sunday morning, I was gutted to learn that no-one seemed keen to go and get soaked and freeze in the Falls of Lora as had been originally planned. But a consensus of reluctance had been reached and who was I to argue? So we packed up and made our way homewards. After having nearly lost our kayaks to the wind on the way over Rannoch Moor on the journey to Glencoe, we decided to take the less gusty route home via Oban. This took us past the said Falls of Lora where, to our surprise, we found other members of the Garnock club! Apparently, a second branch of the club had arrived for Sunday’s activities. As inviting as it was to get out and join them, Alan and I were in full “going home to cosy fireside” mode and, after stopping to chat briefly, proceeded on our way. I confess, however, that a slight pall hung over me as often occurs when left with the feeling of having missed out on something. Never mind, the cosy fireside was nice.

And so concluded a fun weekend in a beautiful location, in good company (despite there being gender disparities) … what more could you want? Apart from a good night’s sleep.

Arran mountains from Kilbride Bay, Loch Fyne

On days when the sun is shining, the skies are blue, and the temperature is balmy (well, above 15°C), it is not unlike a form of torture to find oneself working indoors. On such days, the call of the kayak becomes deafening and I find that I am doing my customers no favours by attempting to continue working. Resentment festers until I am incapacitated by belligerent rage. I get distracted.

So, in the unpredictable climate of Scotland, on such days it’s often better to just down tools and get out there. There will be plenty of rainy days to catch up with work.

I am learning, however, that the weather forecast can be a little “quirky”. This is not a startling revelation to Scottish readers who know that the only reliable forecast is the one obtained from looking out the window. But I refer in particular to the prediction of wind. For example, more than a few times Alan and I have convinced ourselves that the occasional 30 mph gust is within our remit, as long as the background wind remains at the forecast 5 mph level. Alas, it’s more often than not been the case that we have then encountered one day-long 30 mph “gust”.

Cirrus clouds above Loch Fyne

On our most recent excursion, such occasional gusts had indeed been forecast. We entered Loch Fyne from Portavadie and decided to head north. It was all very pleasant, if bumpy, for about the first 15 minutes but then I became aware of that familiar feeling of teetering over the fine line that differentiates “a wee bit lumpy” from “where did I put the flares?”. A quick shout over to Alan confirmed that he was experiencing the same feeling and, abandoning all our recently learned, fancy-schmancy bow-ruddering techniques, we hefted our kayaks somehow, any-old-how against the waves into a 180° about face. Influencing our decision was a quick scan up ahead which confirmed that the sea state looked equally lively further north.

I have no problem running up the white flag of – not so much surrender as – admission of limitations. In kayaking, taking a risk can quickly end in tears, a costly rescue and several embarrassing column inches in the local rag (who’d no doubt print our ages). It’s inconvenient, to say the least. When it’s just the 2 of us out together, Alan and I are not inclined towards heroics. It wasn’t like we were attempting the Tsangpo Gorge, just going for a wee putter on Loch Fyne, that’s all.

Ascog Bay lunch stop

But, facing the prospect of having to abandon our paddle altogether, we were pleased to realise that the “gusts” were calming sufficient to allow us to explore the coastline south of Portavadie. Lunch was consumed at picturesque and tranquil Ascog Bay, which we had to ourselves, and there can’t be much more beautiful scenery than that looking out towards the Arran mountains from Kilbride Bay where we also landed for a quick sunbathe. The water was so clear, I contemplated a little rolling practice, but was overcome by stage-fright upon realising that five a small crowd of people (and a dog) had appeared on the beach, constituting a potentially critical audience for whom I was not prepared.

Poor technique on Loch Fyne

During the southward journey, I became conscious of my previously injured left wrist tendon “tweaking” a little. Of course, I am once again using my Werner Cyprus paddle, having had a little break to use my Lendal Kinetic one during the last couple of outings. You might think, therefore, that there can only be one conclusion – that my Werner paddle is causing me injury. I would argue au contraire – the Werner is much too expensive well-designed for that to be the case. It is a poor workman who blames his tools. Indeed, the problem lies with the user, ie me. I started to pay close attention to the exact point during my forward stroke when I was feeling the tweak and it became clear that it was during the catch phase of the opposite (right) blade. I examined where my left hand and wrist were positioned at that point, and compared them with Alan’s. And therein lay the problem – my wrist was flexing, or bending back on itself, and my hand was bending away from my thumb, putting strain on the tendon leading to the thumb, whereas Alan’s wrist remained entirely neutral throughout the stroke.

Alan at Ascog Bay

I should explain that Alan has had to perfect his paddling technique due to the fact that he suffers from a career-ending repetitive strain injury in both wrists (caused by years of computer-intensive work). Ensuring correct wrist positioning for him is more than just a comfort adjustment, it’s the difference between paddling and not. So he’s a pretty good person to go by.

Inadequate rotation was part of my problem too, as well as a general lack of mindfulness of hand and arm positioning (wrists bent, arms bent, quite a mess really). It seems that the Werner paddle’s neutral crank, which differs from the Lendal’s “modified” crank, has somehow “encouraged” this little non-neutral idiosyncrasy of mine. Very ironic and, as I mentioned, not the fault of Werner. The good news is that I am now a lot more mindful of my hand/arm/wrist/torso positioning which should lead to (hopefully) many years of more comfortable paddling.

And so, managing to forestall capsizing and debilitating pain, we were able to explore a portion of Loch Fyne successfully. And what’s the definition of success in sea kayaking? Possibly that feeling of sun-burned, wind-blown, salty, sea-sprayed contentment that accompanies one on the drive home.