kayak across the water

Photo courtesy of Mark Carter

Following on from my post entitled, They shoot seals don’t they?, I have received a communication from Mark Carter. To say that this gentleman has the courage of his convictions is an understatement. I quote from his own Website:

“Mark Carter is on hunger strike; in order to raise public awareness of shooting seals in the UK and the need for Highly Protected Marine Areas. The British Isles is home to important populations of Common and Grey Seals. Common Seals are in a catastrophic decline and both species can be “confused” when being shot. Shooting gives rise to terrible welfare issues, is inhumane and can leave seal pups to a long lingering death.”

Mark has advised,

The No.10 Petition is in need of a little help. It currently has nearly 350 signatures but requires 500 before the Prime Minister will look into matters; are you able to help spread the word?

Naturally, I am only too happy to assist and would encourage anyone who appreciates the company of seals around the UK shores to sign the petition and to spread the word.

Further information can be found on the Marine Concern Website.

Some vigorous rolling practice back at Garnock pool on Friday night produced good results for Alan and me, under the guidance of the very helpful Lewis. Duly inspired, we decided to go for a quick paddle up Loch Striven on Saturday morning.

Container ships on Loch Striven

There’s been a bit of a change of scenery since we were last there and anyone familiar with the area will know that the loch is being used to pen some rather large container vessels in “cold lay-up” to sit out the recession. These are the same ships that made their considerable presence known for several weeks at the anchorages on the lower Firth of Clyde before being taken to their new home in the loch. Basically, with the downturn in demand for consumer goods, there is presently a global excess of container vessels to requirements. As a result, many ships are being “parked” in various locations throughout the world until the economy picks up.

As soon as we turned in towards the Kyles of Bute, we saw the ships up ahead. They are, of course, a reminder that looks are deceiving and that, despite its serene and unspoiled appearance, Loch Striven has been used for many a military-industrial purpose from the past to the present day. Aside from accommodating previous ship lay-ups (with 2 ships remaining there for 20 years), it houses a NATO refuelling depot at the mouth of the loch, where a naval vessel was in fact present as we paddled past, as well as comprising a submarine exercise area (as revealed by nautical charts of the loch). Indeed, longer-term residents of Cowal will tell the tale of how the loch was used for tests of a smaller version of the “bouncing bomb” used to destroy the Ruhr dams in 1943.

As we were pushed handily northwards by the wind and the tide, we were overtaken by 4 porpoises who duly broke the personal-proximity-to-kayak record, for me anyway. That initself made our trip worthwhile, however, the investigative reporter in me wanted to press on to get a bit nearer to the mammoth container ships. Part of my curiosity lay in the fact that they are the biggest and fastest ships of their kind (reportedly reaching speeds of over 30 knots), with some of the biggest engines in the world. Here is an excerpt from the ClydeSights Website:

“MAERSK BEAUMONT is the seventh, and last, ship of the VWS 4000 class built at the German Volkswerft Stralsund shipyard and delivered to Maersk UK in December 2007. She is 294.1 metres in length – similar to some of the larger bulk carriers that have visited the river and making her one of the largest vessels that can be accommodated within the locks of the Panama Canal – and has a deadweight of 52,400 tonnes. She can carry up to 4,170 TEU containers, and appears to have last been employed on a service to South America. MAERSK BEAUMONT and her sisters all fly the Red Ensign.”

GREAT BIG SHIPS ... and toty wee kayak

All I can say is that I’d much rather encounter them safely tied up than out on the high seas. They made our kayaks seem very, very tiny indeed and its hard to believe that 2 such disparate vessels can possibly share the same waters. It remains uncertain as to whether or not the 4 ships presently laid up will be joined by any others. There had been rumours of anything up to 18 more ships on their way. Perhaps a sign at the mouth of the loch will be needed to indicate “Spaces” or “Full”.

Having satisfied our curiosity, we about-turned and headed back the way we’d come. Of course, we knew the wind and tide would now be against us and it was a bit of a slog. By the time we reached Toward, however, it was straying beyond a slog into the territory of panic skills-testing. Alan is a lot more cool in these situations and was positively enjoying bouncing along on the frothing waves (apart from the occasional whining noise coming from somewhere behind him). I, on the other hand, have read one too many “how-it-all-went-wrong” reports and remained acutely aware of the marked absence of an essential bit of safety kit, namely a Level 5 coach with excellent rescue capabilities. Never mind, all of that will be put to right next week when we travel up to Skye to test out those very capabilities as exemplified by Skyak Adventures. Can’t wait!

Erin

This blog post is dedicated to a very special friend – our first and original kayaking teacher, Erin. Erin is a woman of many talents – a paramedic, firefighting, marine biologist, Web developing, surfing, mountain biking, nature-loving kayaker (I’m sure I’ve missed something). She used to work as a guide for Monterey Bay Kayaks so we press-ganged her into telling us everything she knew about paddling during her first visit to Scotland. That was 2 years ago, when she braved the icy temperatures of Loch Eck (and, as it turned out, a bout of bronchitis) to get us up and running in our Capellas. We really didn’t know much at all back then, so it was a hugely appreciated head start.

A couple of weeks ago, Erin returned for a second visit and it was a real pleasure to go paddling with her on our home turf (so to speak). We’d already kayaked with her in Monterey Bay, where the wildlife frightened delighted us with their enthusiastic leaping and frolicking in the waves, so now it was our chance to let her see their more shy Scottish counterparts.

Out on the Clyde

During the first half of Erin’s stay, we started to fear that we wouldn’t actually get out on the water, so dismal were the conditions. It seemed that Erin would finally learn why her ancestors had left Scotland. It was proving a quite different experience from her first trip here when it appeared that she had brought the California weather with her. Happily this time, however, the weather had just been delayed by security at the border (sunny, warm conditions – very suspicious) but did arrive in time for us to take advantage.

The seals start to circle

Our first outing produced a most unexpected outcome – the first known case of a Californian overheating on Scottish waters. Poor Erin was sensibly wearing her surfer’s thick neoprene wetsuit but, with temperatures climbing, she was cooking by the end of the day. In fact, we all were! But not before we had experienced another unexpected event. As we approached the Perch off of Innellan on our way to Bute, we suddenly became aware of a sense of being watched. It started with one seal, then we counted 2, then 3, all popping up to check us out. Before we knew it, we had been encircled by 7 seals. What a thing! Whilst some might have viewed this as a little sinister, it was clear that the seals were not closing in on us, but were simply inspecting us before allowing us to continue on our journey. It really was a special moment. That day, we also saw gannets, eider ducks, cormorants, terns, guillemots and – for the first time out on the Clyde from our kayaks, porpoises!

Porpoise

Undeterred by her near-melting experience, Erin requested to go out paddling again, so this time – more airily attired in a rash guard – she braved the unusual Scottish conditions once more. Yet again, we saw porpoises, as well as a little troupe of baby eider ducks. Unable to launch into their usual flapping-away frenzy at the merest sight of humans, the accompanying adults had to make do with guiding their little ones into giving us an extremely wide berth. More seals made their presence known with several snorts and plops from behind us.

Two of my favourite people

Erin has gone back to California now, leaving us with a great sense of sadness that she is so far away. It seemed that the Scottish critters put in a special showing for her visit – perhaps, like us, they recognised and appreciated a true and special friend.

In my ongoing attempts to save the seals/seabirds/whales/dolphins/trees/planet one blog entry at a time, I want to highlight this latest piece of information, recently exposed in the news.

“”We believe there is a mass slaughter of seals in Scotland, up to 5,000 each year.”

Mark Carter, of the Hebridean Trust, said the general decline in seal numbers was particularly noticeable around fish farms.”

Following on from my earlier blog post about the massive decline in seal numbers around Scotland, this is obviously a source of grave concern. Whilst fish farms might not be the sole cause, and without getting into a discussion on all of the environmental issues surrounding the growing number of fish farms in Scotland, it’s clear that there is no room for any additional, unnecessary losses in the seal population.

I have written to my MSP to encourage him to pay heed to this, particularly in relation to discussions on the forthcoming Marine Bill which, it is hoped, will be geared towards protecting all marine wildlife. A few appropriate letters to supermarket chains wouldn’t go amiss either. I’m sure that economic concerns will be cited in defence of the fish farms, but recent events (environmental and otherwise) must surely demonstrate where a standpoint that favours economic and profit-related considerations at all costs, including the survival of a species, can lead.

“The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” Mahatma Gandhi

Out on Loch Striven ... on a Thursday

I recall a TV advert some years ago (in the US, I think) which featured a be-suited chap walking down a busy city street. He is stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of a SUV driving past, fully laden with adventure gear and evidently heading off to the great outdoors somewhere well beyond the city limits. As he stares in disbelief, he mumbles, “But it’s Tuesday”. I can relate to both parties in that advert – I have been that frustrated office worker, but more recently I have been that Tuesday skiver. Guess which one I like best!

So it was Thursday and the sun was shining. As much as I love my days spent in the office clicking a mouse and attending to the whims important and pressing needs of my customers, I decided to take advantage of the benefits of being self-employed and awarded myself a well-deserved day off. Alan did likewise, so we hit the high seas for a day of unremitting enjoyment in the wind and waves (and calm). We had a bit of everything to keep us entertained, a brisk breeze and some lumpiness upon setting out (which saw our Nordkapps friskily at play), followed by an ethereal flat calm by the end of the day.

Returning in the gloaming

After reaching Bute, we headed north towards the Kyles. We stopped for lunch at a nice little beach back over on the Cowal side and noted that the temperature would suggest that it wasn’t quite summer yet. As we were approaching Colintraive, Alan commented that his shoulder was beginning to hurt. Rolling practice has taken its toll, alas. I therefore resigned myself to a slightly shorter paddle than I’d been anticipating. We turned around and started heading homewards, but then Alan suggested we take a detour up Loch Striven, and very pleasant it was. Having gone some way up the loch, we worked our way back down towards Toward. After 26 km of paddling, I began to notice that I was feeling the tiniest bit exerted, and contemplated who, at this rate, would win the competition for the sorest shoulders. Alan appeared to have worked through his pain, but I was developing some new and interesting aches all of my very own. I consoled myself by focusing on the beautiful surroundings, the various seal sightings (5 total!), the birds, the peacefulness and the realisation that I was building some good conditioning for the months of paddling ahead.

Miscellaneous observations from our outing:

• I still cannot imagine making an urgent surf landing after a full day’s paddling. As I peel my spray deck back, it takes some considerable time for me to re-engage the use of my legs. This, combined with the uneven surface of the shoreline, often reduces me to a state of near crawling on hands and knees, which is all very pathetic. Answers on a postcard please …
• If I tweak the wrist seals of my drysuit throughout the day, it stops my hands from swelling. Good to know.
• Sanitary products of a feminine nature do not miraculously evaporate when flushed down the toilet. If they don’t choke the sewage system, they are likely to end up floating in the sea, which is unpleasant for humans and wildlife alike. (Perhaps there is a need for an awareness campaign here).
• To my mind, seals sound a lot like whales when they snort unexpectedly behind you.
• Nordkapps handle chop with consummate ease.

And so on Friday, I returned refreshed and renewed to my desk … until such time as the contents of my inbox disgorged themselves on to my PC screen at least. I’m not sure if these sneaky days off truly serve the purpose of renewal, especially as I do have to make up the lost work time, or if they just leave one yearning for a lot more of the same.

“Some people say that mountain climbers are really wasting their time. They have nothing better to do so they climb mountains, tire themselves out, and come back with nothing to show for it. Yet a person who climbs a tall mountain sees the world and experiences nature in a very different way from someone who never leaves his own front door. Genuine mountain climbers do not struggle up great precipices for the glory of it. They know that glory is only a label given by others. A true climber climbs for the experience of climbing.” Ch’an Master Sheng-yen,

Does a frog have Buddha nature?

Forgive me for straying a little (a lot?) off topic, but I wanted to share a small something with you. Coming home one recent evening, we found a visitor on our doorstep. It seemed that our usual doorstep resident, the garden Buddha, had acquired a little student. A frog had taken up a meditational pose alongside him and was evidently lost in deep contemplation, so much so that he was oblivious to our shuffling past him to enter the house, put on the lights etc.

There is a Zen koan which asks, “Does a dog have Buddha nature?”, the answer to which is considered inaccessible and elusive. Adjusting this koan slightly, however, I think that we may have found a valid response – a frog most certainly does!

Guillemot adult and juvenile on Clyde

You learn something new every day, and today I learned that a puffin chick is called a puffling (awww …). I found it out when reading this heart-warming article. Other news about the Scottish seabird population has been more heart-rending than heart-warming, as it relates to the huge decline in numbers as a result of yet another disastrous breeding season. The RSPB reports that its coastal reserves have shown that kittiwakes, Arctic terns and Arctic skuas reared almost no chicks to fledging in the far north in 2008. Other affected birds are guillemots, razorbills, and puffins. The cause is believed to relate to a reduction in the availability of small fish with which the birds can feed their chicks. Seabird chicks therefore starve in their nests, or adult birds choose not to breed at all. Lest we all get too depressed, the RSPB are always good at tempering bad news with good, and they also report that seabirds that eat a bigger range of food from a wider area – such as gannets and cormorants – are doing better. Being a glass is half empty type when it comes to environmental news, I find only a small amount of solace in this.

Other than tapping away at a laptop and sharing the woe on the blogosphere, what can be done? Is it too late? Some might say that it is, but I like to think it is not too late to at least make an attempt to turn things around and to help preserve what is left. It takes a village – so how about a village of sea kayakers? I would hazard that most fellow paddlers have, at some level, come to know and appreciate the company of seabirds while out on the waters, therefore, who better to speak up and advocate for our feathered friends? Of course, you don’t have to be a sea kayaker to participate. The RSPB and the Marine Conservation Society have been working hard to promote a Marine Act for Scotland that would protect all Scottish marine wildlife. And if we must speak in the language of government and business, this would also help the Scottish economy, being that Scotland is Europe’s number one wildlife-watching destination. The horrible irony, however, is that some of the measures being proposed to promote renewable energy via marine power (and help avert the climate change that is causing the loss of zooplankton that is in turn causing the loss of small fish) are themselves a potential threat to marine widlife.

The official consultation period for the Marine Bill is over, but that doesn’t stop us from maintaining vigilance and contacting our elected representatives to encourage them to ensure that the marine environment of Scotland, and indeed the UK, is comprehensively protected for future generations – of seabirds and people.

08/02/09 Addendum: Ministers go back on promise to protect UK waters

Scenic Inverkip Power Station

This blog was named after a commonly used expression where I live, ie “across the water” which refers to the other side of the River Clyde, where industry and (some) civilisation exist. Of course, people on the other side similarly refer to the Cowal Peninsula as being “across the water”, especially as the principal means of getting here is by ferry. So, with that in mind, it is notable that the one thing that Alan and I had not yet done was kayak across the water. Which makes this blog a bit of a fraud really!

We’ve often been asked if we have paddled over to the other side and have responded with expressions of fear of: conditions, stealth tankers, speeding powerboats and – my own personal worst nightmare – suddenly emerging nuclear submarines. In view of the fact that the latter are unlikely to announce their activities over the VHF airwaves, I have harboured visions of my small kayak being hoisted aloft by the hulking mass of a surfacing Trident submarine, only to tumble into the roiling, turbulent waters created by same, never to be seen again – as I’m sure the Royal Navy/MoD would cover their tracks and erase all record of the incident (I really must stop watching Jason Bourne movies). The response we have received from others, however, has been in the vein of, “What’s the big deal?”, so yesterday we decided to find out.

Conditions were perfect, a complete 180 degree turnaround from the weather of last weekend which saw howling gales and cancelled ferries. Gorgeous autumn sunshine beckoned us to come out to play, so we set off for Inverkip and kept a sharp eye out for other vessels and anything resembling a periscope. Being as the season for pleasure craft seems to be over, we scarcely passed another boat of any description. It was like crossing the Sound of Gigha all over again.

Arran mountains

Yesterday’s trip was especially enjoyable for me as I have recently had to contend with a bout of optic neuritis. I know, I’d never heard of it either. Suddenly, I lost a fair chunk of vision in my right eye, like the lights had been dimmed. I couldn’t see colours well and had blind spots. All fairly distressing, as you can imagine. And, when you start losing vision, you don’t automatically assume that you will get it back again. Fortunately, the optic nerve is capable of mending and, with a renewed and urgent focus on a healing diet (fruits, vegetables, nuts, seeds), I am pleased to report that my vision started returning late last week. It’s not 100% yet, but things are looking very good indeed (in every sense). Before I understood my condition, and as I contemplated the worst, it’s interesting to note that I didn’t find myself panicking about not being able to work any more (sorry, customers). I was singularly panicked by the prospect of not being able to get out in my kayak. Funny that.

Snoozing Seal

We said hello to Inverkip, paddling north a little past the Marina, before deciding to head back well in advance of darkness falling. Our seal count was just the one, which only added to my concerns about their diminishing numbers. But it was nice to see him/her poking his/her nose out the water regardless.

Now we can say we’ve done it – we have faced down our fears and paddled across the open waters of the Clyde, and lived to tell the tale.

Common seals, Kyles of Bute

Reading this news was not the best way to start the week. It’s disturbing in any number of ways, but especially for sea kayakers who have enjoyed the company of these gentle creatures on our travels.

Lately, it’s been feeling like awaiting a storm to hit. Between the global economic crisis, and the equally/more ominous environmental crisis that are both building, it’s hard not to get depressed. I remember what it was like to live somewhere that was frequented by hurricanes. During the days preceding the storm’s arrival, we were warned of its approach and we avidly listened to the forecasts and analysed the indicators (heightened surf, evacuation of ships from the main port etc). There was a sense of unreality, and something like disbelief that anything bad would actually happen. I’m reminded of that feeling now. Perhaps that’s why, when news like this occurs, there is still a sense of shock. At some level, we’ve all been hoping that the storm doesn’t actually exist, or will somehow miss us, or at least our lifetimes.

I still find it hard to accept that there seems to be insufficient room on this planet for both humanity and our fellow creatures. At times it seems hopeless. Yet, we can still all do our own little bit.

The QE2 sailed back to her birthplace on the Clyde one last time today, before heading for retirement as a floating hotel in Dubai. This was quite a momentous event – almost as momentous as her 40th birthday celebrations last year, which we had also thought was her last visit to the Clyde. I still haven’t really determined if I got that wrong, or everyone else did. Nonetheless, it’s always good to see the QE2 again and to feel the pride (and poignancy) of knowing that such a splendid vessel is Clyde-built.

Thar she blows! (And so does the QE2)

So today we decided to join in the festivities on the water, especially seeing that it was a fittingly beautiful, sunny day. Moments after spotting the QE2 with her escort, HMS Manchester, from our house as large dots on the horizon, we headed down to launch at Cluniter in Innellan. We knew that it wouldn’t be long before we were alongside both ships, although perhaps not in the strictest sense. A few things prevented us from getting up too close, including the exclusion zone in operation (had we known about it), but mostly the prospect of being mowed down by the behemoth vessels (and entourage of followers) with which we found ourselves sharing the Clyde.

Sure enough, the celebrity liner, her military bodyguard and flotilla of fans and paparazzi sailed grandly past, a couple of miles to our starboard, as we stuck to the quiet side of the river. We took photos and listened avidly to the greatly increased VHF radio traffic which served to heighten the sense of occasion. Helicopters, including the Royal Navy’s, flew directly above us – I’d like to think they found us interesting had seen us, but we resisted the temptation to wave lest an airman were to urgently descend on a rope to perform a rescue (things not to do …). Certainly, if we had planned on having an emergency, today would have been a good day to do it, being that there were any number of potential rescue vessels and aircraft in the vicinity.

QE2 and HMS Manchester (swell to follow)

As it became apparent that we couldn’t quite match the speed of the QE2 and her fleet, we dropped back to our usual more leisurely 3-4 knots, but soon discovered that the real fun was only just starting! Suddenly we became aware of a significant and increasing swell. It soon became quite reminiscent of our trip to Lewis as we bounced up and down on the wake generated by the QE2 and her fleet. Well, perhaps the swells weren’t quite as high as those experienced in Lewis, but we estimate a good metre’s worth and certainly enough to give our Nordkapps their first experience of something resembling “conditions”. What fun it was! Finally we had confirmation of the Nordkapps’ legendary solid handling of waves and neither of us felt at all uncomfortable or nervous. I would go as far as to say that I felt less anxious than when in my Capella, but of course time and a little experience could have helped a bit with that.

It was with disappointment that we determined that the swell had diminished by the time we approached Dunoon. Once again, the entertainment was provided by the radio traffic. I had been noting communication with the aircraft carrier HMS Ark Royal and started to speculate that it was still to sail up-river, which could only mean one thing – more swell! Sadly, however, it came into view in the vicinity of the Tail o’ the Bank having anchored there stealthily outwith our awareness (perhaps sailing up yesterday when we could scarcely see across the river due to poor weather).

Beautiful Holy Loch

We cruised past Dunoon and on to Hunter’s Quay, paddling briskly past both ferry stops (never good places to linger). As we turned into the Holy Loch, we were once again reminded of the magnificent scenery right on our doorstep and we took a few moments there to fuel up on snacks for the return journey. Conditions were by now completely calm and, it must be said that, despite the sunshine, the scenery, the wildlife etc, we did feel a small sense of anti-climax in the knowledge that the excitement experienced on the outward journey would not be forthcoming on the return.

Still, it was good to turn our attention to the less temporary visitors and residents of the Clyde, being the birds and the seals. I spotted a few turnstones and stopped to watch them shuffle about the shore line whilst Alan was visited by a seal. There were all the usual cast and crew of eider ducks, cormorants, oystercatchers and gulls – all no doubt wondering what the fuss and noise were about.

The CalMac ferry’s hourly sailing appeared to have been delayed, so we paddled under Dunoon pier and around the linkspan to avoid the risk of being caught up in any sudden departures. A leisurely journey back to Innellan saw us home by 4 pm, having been on the water since 10 am. A little stiffness was noted as we clambered out of our kayaks and I have still to determine how this will translate when potentially making a speedy exit during a surf landing (yet to be experienced). I imagine a lot of flailing and cursing may be involved.

As I type this, the QE2 is due to make her final sail down the Clyde any minute now. I’m certain a little lump will come to the throat as we bid her farewell for the last time (this time) and say good bye to a grand Scottish lady. We will remember her fondly, not least because of the fun she provided 2 tiny kayaks sharing her waters on this special day.