Parrot Island

Photo thanks to Parrot Trust Scotland

This post is to thank Neil Davies. Sea kayakers are a kindly breed, but Neil is right up there, top perch, one of the most thoughtful and definitely kind.

Sketch of the Sound of Kerrera. J. w. M. Turner. 1831 Couretesy of the Tate Gallery

I first met Neil two years ago when I was having a go at being an outdoor pro! Yes me, aged 72, starting on a new career thanks to Mike Mayberry of Mayberry Kayaks, Pembrokeshire. So there I was, learning the ropes from my daughter Amy, paddling round Skomer with Neil. Skomer is one of the classic trips of Pembrokeshire: great scenery, pleasing complexity in the tidal whoosh of Jack Sound, plus a tunnel with a twist and birds galore. But not parrots. Puffins, loads of them followed by the usual raucous galleries of Guillemots and Razor Bills.

Razor Bills on Skomer. Photo thanks to Welsh Wildlife

Parrots? Well the parrots were back at the campsite being looked after by Neil's wife Tracey while Neil was off on the water. They love and care for six of them. It's not often that you drive onto a campsite and see six parrots in six handsome cages, set out under a big awning. Six pairs of eyes followed us with disconcerting strength of character. "They get to have a fly about," he told us, "but only one at a time." They don't necessarily get on with each other or other people. They're picky (or pecky). One parrot, a grey fella he'd driven all the way to Liverpool to collect, had got on really well with Neil, was on ear nibbling terms straight away, but kicked off when it came to sharing Neil with Tracey. He'd had to take that parrot straight back to Liverpool.

A few weeks ago I met up with Neil at the Salt Birds and Sea Dogs Kayak Festival on Anglesey. "I've got something for you", he said and gave me seventy seven pounds in clean notes plus a two pound coin. "It's a pound for every island, you see, for your charity, for Aban." I was moved. And touched. And a bit overwhelmed: "I've still got about sixty five islands left to do, Neil." "That's alright, I'm looking forward to them."

Gylen Castle. It's a romantic ruin now, burnt down more than once. Photo by Wikipedia.

"So where next?" When I told him Kerrera he said "Oh! There's a Parrot Sanctuary there!" So obviously, I was on a mission to go visit Kerrera, and this island, obviously is for Neil. Thank you Neil, for your generous spirit and your enthusaism.

I'm still a bit overwhelmed though. I'm working on it but actually sleeping on 77 islands is quite a challenge. Circumnavigating islands is easy. Mull took us 7 days. Some little blob of an island big enough for a tent could take 7 minutes. But sleeping on them ... well obviously

that takes overnight. Cat naps wouldn't count. And the thing is, lots of islands don't have a beach you can actually land on, especially solo with Ethel, a delicate carbon boat.

The first campsite acted like a wind sock. Photo by Pen.

Kerrera, however, does have plenty of beaches. It's that sort of island. But once landed you've gotta be able get your boat up the beach quickly. You have to move fast. Ethel without me in her and at mercy of the next incoming wave is an unguided pointy ended missile likely to smash herself to smithereens or knock me sideways and roll me over.

Ethel sitting pretty on a beach that would carve her up. Photo by Pen

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This is a practical problem which has been limiting me: how to get a loaded boat up a beach once landed. Well, it is sorted now thanks to a simple but brilliant idea from an unknown woman on facebook. Take one children's swim noodle. Cut it in half. Fit it in your cockpit and flash 'em out when you land. Fit them like rollers under the hull. They scoot Ethel up the beach like honey. It's worked now on on a steep beach made of uneven, jagged, gnarly rockettes which no trolley could deal with, a soft sand beach which my trolley would bury itself in and a steep beach of fine pebbles that would have got stuck in the skeg casing. It's a great solution. It gives me such confidence. Thank you, clever woman, whoever you are.

Tuck in the noodles and pull her up. Sorted, quick as parrot could say "Ello, ello!" And please note the redundant trolley still tied on the back deck.

Kerrera, which means Coppice, is a soft, friendly, sensible sort of an island. It's farming land, good grassland, clean water from lochan and burn grazed by Highland cattle. The hills rise to a gentle 620 feet shadowed by a fuzz of coppice. Kerrera sound is only 500 metres where I crossed. On the sheltered south eastern shore there are sycamore trees looking comfy and statuesque. There's nothing gnarled or windswept in the lee of the hills. There's a community woodland planted here and it should do well.

Kerrera snuggles into Oban, protecting it from the full Atlantic swell, providing safe harbourage from the earliest times. I wanted to camp in Little Horseshoe Bay and explore the island on foot. I wanted to visit the parrot sanctuary and the Kerrera Tea Gardens. The ferryman at Gallanach slip eyed me up and gave a kindly warning: "It's a bit fresh out there today, and it'll be worse tomorrow." "If it's too much tommorrow will you let me and my boat back on the ferry?" I asked. "Why not, Hen? Your money's as good as the next I'd think."

Oban at it's shiny best, from a distance. It's a bit crowded for me. Photo by Pen

The south, south westerley wind was funneling straight up Kerrera Sound. It didn't look or feel peaceful. I could make my way across acurately enough by facing almost into the wind and looking only at where I wanted to go, the ferry jetty on Kerrera. It's a technique perfected by ducks. Watch them make their way across fast moving water, their little feet paddling hard. The kayak technique is the same but perhaps not as good as those ducks.

I could make the ferry slip but there was no way I could make Little Horseshoe Bay where King Alexander 11 of Scotland tried to take on the Norse fleet in 1219. He not only failed, he died here, not in battle but of a fever. He was buried here at Dal Righ, or King's field. The Norse king, King Hakon liked it here well enough to shelter his fleet in the sound before setting out for the Battle of Larg in 1263.

Hakon's fleet. Image thanks to Avaldsnes organisation.

What's good enough for King Hakon is good enough for me. The first campspot was pretty, had a firepit and soft grass with daisies- but had the wind tearing right through it. It felt like being in a wind sock. My tent tried to take off like a balloon on a string. The next spot, facing out of the wind a bit further up the sound was better but not brilliant. I sat watching the swell building and whitening. Yachts of all shapes and sizes were running for shelter on jury rig, hurrying for the shelter of Oban Marina. I felt pretty small and lonesome. And then the RNLI boat rushed by on a call out. Not good.

Apprehension called for a plan. The forecast, and I'd checked three of them, was for a significant increase in wind by morning but changing direction to become a westerley. So long as that happened the hills would protect the Sound from the wind and would push me home. But the weather has been volatile recently and forecasts don't always play out.

If the wind was too high tomorrow I'd just have to stick it out for another night. I had enough food and there are not one but two eating places here. It helps to have a cafe to sit in when all you have is a one person tent. Plan B, going back on the ferry wouldn't work: I wouldn't be able to paddle against this wind even as far as the ferry.

Photo thanks to Kerrera Marina

There was nothing for it but to enjoy where I was, take a walk to the castle, cook an amazing meal and drink the beer Neil had given me the day before. And then it started raining, hard. My Mum always said that if it rains the wind will drop. Turns out she wasn't actually right about this. At all.

I woke at 5.00am the next day. Still raining, still windy. At 5.30am the rain stopped and the wind stopped, sudenly. But for how long? Never mind breakfast. Never mind coffee. Maybe just whizz that bannana down you Pen! I've never got a tent down and a boat packed so fast.

Pink noodles under her Ethel stormed down the beach like a true Norse Princess. The Sound was weirdly, ominously flat, just a shiver of wind on the water. Twenty minutes later I was back on the mainland slip.

My pal the ferry man looked me up and down from his van window. "You slept over there?" Said in a kindly tone that implied "idiot". "Well yes, I mean I'm doing it for charity." "Hmm," He said, patting me down gently, "Well there's probably a charity that would look after you. Let's get this boat back on your rack or you'll be right in the way. Again."

Ferry man. Photo thanks to Cal Mac

Did I mention parrots? Oh well the parrot sanctuary gave up on the extra costs of an island home and moved to the mainland a few years back along with Karen and Nancy and Sue and all the birds. So no parrots this time. Just a couple of swans plus the usual suspects.

By the way, I lost my waterproof camera overboard the other day. It happens. So apologies for a few more personal photos this time, and more borrowed ones.

Neil's £77 turned into £94 because of Gift Aid, That's quite something. If you would like to help young people discover the world outside you can donate using the donate button at the top of the page -or you could spread the word by sharing on social media. It really does help. Thank you,

Places to stay

I would like to put in a word for Oban Youth Hostel

I tipped up there at about 9.00am. I was wet, pink eyed with tiredness and all my kit was wet, even the stuff I thought was dry. They booked me in for two nights and for two days I was able to use the washing machine, the kitchen and most of all the excellent airy drying room. The staff were so professional and kind. And everything worked.

I was unsure about staying there because I like solitude and the private world of van and tent. I wasn't at all keen to sleep in a "dorm" but it was ok. I had great views from my top bunk of the Sound, of Kerrera and Lismore and the business of CalMac ferries arriving and departing. The hostel is in a fine Victorian villa, a confident building with massive windows taking in the view. I also met some interesting fellow travellers but didn't feel pressed on to be sociable.

https://www.hostellingscotland.org.uk/hostels/oban/

I'm joining Hostelling Scotland too, not just because I believe I'll be looking for a hostel next time I'm done in but because, as a non- profit charity, they have a youth programmes which give young people and families, who otherwise wouldn’t have the opportunity, the chance to experience Scotland and develop their skills for life, learning and work. And that's pretty close to my heart.

https://www.hostellingscotland.org.uk/about-us/