Christine Grosart 18/12/2025 Christine Grosart 18/12/2025

The Surprise Scottish Summer (Part 2)

The drive between Inverness and Ullapool can only be described as jaw dropping.

It was the most gloriously hot and sunny day, and everything was vivid green and blue, with dark grey mountains towering over the most incredible, breathtaking scenery.

Once through Ullapool, the road is mostly single lane with frequent passing spots. Instead of travelling along the coast it heads inland around several lochs and passes a stunning sandy beach at Achnahaird. The road then swings west and starts to gradually descend towards the sea when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a sweeping bend gives way to a view of the entire Summer Isles.

I almost crashed my van and so did the family behind me! We all swung haphazardly into the passing place and whipped out our cameras quickly before heading on down to Port a Bhaigh campsite.

I had managed to book myself a front row seat right next to the beach and the check in was with a super friendly lady, who made sure I had a superb spot.

There was tonnes of space and nobody was on top of each other. I asked next door, a father and son in a rickety old campervan, if they minded if I fired up a small BBQ.

They didn’t mind at all and we got chatting. They were a bit ‘rough’ I suppose and I was wary of them at first.

I had plenty to eat and drink and slept well before waking up to another superb day, perfect for exploring the islands by kayak.

But first, a morning swim was on the cards. I managed 20 minutes in my wetsuit, about 700m which was about as much as I wanted to push my arm, especially with a day of kayaking ahead. Plus, I kept on running into Lion’s Mane jellyfish. They pack quite a punch if they sting you. The further out I went, the more frequent they became, so I calmly swam back to shore and decided that was enough.

My plan was to do a lap of Isle Ristol and round the back of Eilean Mullagrach, but with no tides, good weather and no concrete plans, I decided to see where the mood took me.

I launched and turned south through Old Dorney Harbour. The water here was insanely clear and I could easily see the bottom, as jellyfish of all kinds passed by.

It would have been completely silent but for the screeching sea birds overhead who were going nuts about something (not me I hope!). I so hoped to see an otter, but none were forthcoming. As I headed across the glassy bay between islands I pulled into a rocky gulley and came face to face with an enormous bull seal. My god he was huge!

I back paddled away and he followed me, ducking and diving and popping up behind me.

He had quite a harem of ladies on the rocks who watched us, lazily.

Seal in the Summer Isles

I carried on round the back of a small island called Glas-leac Mor, which was home to a huge seal colony.

The paddle north along the west shore of this island was glassy calm, with the warm sun on my back and the sea was sparkling. Nobody really knew where I was and I didn’t care. This was true freedom. Responsible for only me, with seemingly the whole ocean to myself.

As I turned east towards the mainland, those squalls picked up again and I had a bit of a battering trying to get to a sandy beach on the northern shore of Isle Ristol.

Paddling the Summer Isles. Shot on Insta 360 (carefully!)

I landed and sunbathed here for a bit, taking the opportunity to fly my drone and get some stunning shots of the northern Summer Isles.

As evening was drawing in, I made the short crossing back to the beach and the campsite. I left my boat tied up as I figured I’d paddle here again.

After a shower I returned to my tent to find the ‘rough’ Glaswegian father and son had made a superb BBQ and had made up a plate for me!

It was an array of BBQ chicken, beef, salads, all stuffed into a Greek wrap. I was really touched and grateful and they were simply happy to see the excess of food they had made not go to waste.

That’s how it works up here on campsites in Scotland. Remember my shower/razor incident on Barra? The campsite owners found out about my trip to the local hospital before I even got back to the campsite! Everyone looks out for each other up here as it is so remote and seems to attract like-minded people.

My Strava kayaking route

Such people came into my life the next day.

The wind had picked up significantly and this was definitely not a paddling day.

My new neighbours were trying to turn a huge van awning 180 degrees the other way to shelter from the wind and it was like a scene from Carry on Camping!

One lady, Helen, was in serious danger of taking off like Mary Poppins, while her friend Michele was desperately pinning a huge unruly tarpaulin down by faceplanting on top of it!

Their partners were called Alan and Steve, which I thought was hilarious (Google it) and I couldn’t help but offer to go over and help. What then ensued was one of the funniest few hours I’ve ever experienced. They were fab people and I was soon invited for beer, from which I couldn’t depart as their elderly chihuahua had made herself comfy in my arms and was practically hibernating.

We had a great day and went for a freezing cold dip in the sea in our cozzies, among other nonsense which mainly entailed the men chasing our towels across the beach in the wind.

The next day brought calmer conditions, slightly, but Scotland was still not to be underestimated. Below are three photos from the same spot, only 15 minutes apart!

I had breakfast and launched my kayak again to head this time around the southern summer isles.

Passing through Old Dorney again, I set off to paddle anticlockwise around Tanera Beg and Tanera Mòr.

It was a choppier crossing than 48 hours before but totally safe. I hid in little gulleys and bagged some sea caves and inspected the litter that had blown onto the stoney beach on the southern side of Tanera beg. The southern side was sheltered for the northerly wind but turning north was quite a battle and my arm whined a lot. I took a break in a little harbour at the back of a fish farm and had some lunch. Crossing back to the mainland from the most northerly point was hard work into the wind and the waves concentrated the mind.

*The Summer Isles, Scotland. Image: Christine Grosart*

I was pretty shocked therefore to come across a family kayaking, with one boat occupied by a father and young child combo in a sit-on-top.

These conditions were in no way appropriate for this. They had no radio, no rescue kit and in shorts and t-shirts seemed blissfully unaware of how quickly the weather can turn, even in summer.

I paddled across their path and asked if they were Ok. Of course they were. They completely missed the point of my question. If the child had fallen in, I’m sure none of them had any clue what to do about it.

Figuring they were not my problem, and stupidity would take care of itself, I continued along the mainland coast back to the entrance of Old Dorney when….

Oh my God, what’s that?!

Silhouetted against the evening sun and sitting quietly in the bay was a scene from Pirates of the Caribbean.

*A tall ship takes refuge in the Summer Isles. Image: Christine Grosart*

A tall ship, presumably heading to the same Tall Ships race in Aberdeen, as I was, had come into the bay to shelter form a wind that was in the wrong direction to make any more progress.

They had sent a little rib to the shore presumably to get supplies, and I paddled up to the ornate wooden ship and had a chat with one of the crew.

I then headed over to a nearby sandy beach to unpack my drone and get some shots that summed up the beauty of this place. The ship, with it’s tattered looking sails and majestic outline was set against the most incredible backdrop. The sun got lower and the sea sparkled while the colours changed all the time. The battle with the wind was soon forgotten in this haven with a view.

I mooched back through Old Dorney, taking my time as it was so tranquil and beautiful and I also knew this was my last day here.

Tall ship rests in the Summer Isles. Drone: Christine Grosart/DJI Mini 4k

I packed up my kayak, made dinner, chilled with my new friends and got ready for the drive over to the Isle of Skye.

The ferries to the Hebridean Islands were all full, so I had decided to head to Skye, where I had never been.

My boss on the Kestrel, Stu, who seemed to be more excited about my trip than me, sent me a wealth of information on a munro called Sgurr Alasdair. The only trouble was, I was pretty sure I had not packed my hiking gear, having only really set up for a few days kayaking.

One very expensive trip to Ullapool Outdoors later, I was equipped with a pair of Soloman trail shoes. I already owned two decent pairs of hiking boots so really didn’t want to get another. But I didn’t have any trail running shoes so figured I’d give these a go. They were fantastic to be fair.

The view from the Skye Bridge was truly breathtaking and I earmarked it for a future paddling trip. But frustratingly, there was no viewpoint to park my car and take pictures nor fly my drone. I went without.

Drone shot of Glenbrittle and the Cuillin Hills behind. Shot: Christine Grosart (DJI mini 4k)

I found the campsite Stu had recommended to me, at Glenbrittle, and checked in. The lady owner happened to also be a medic and had worked at Iqarus, my first offshore company. A small world indeed. She had upped sticks and set up a life running a campsite between the ocean and the mountains and it was stunning.

The cosy cafe had pizza evenings and the campsite sported new toasty showers – it was a serious step up from the barren camping field with ‘no facilities’ that Stu remembered. It was utter luxury.

I pitched up wherever I wanted, but always a front row seat by the ocean. I couldn’t get over the view. If I faced one way I was looking out to sea. If I turned 180 the other, I was staring up at the intimidating Cuillin Hills and the imposing Sgurr Alasdair, the highest peak on Skye.

It was too windy for sea kayaking, so my mind was made up. I would head up to Sgurr Alasdair. With all my triathlon training, how hard could it be?

The gradual rocky path ramp up to Coire Lagan was an absolute delight. The path roughly follows a singing stream with mini waterfalls and navigates some fun lava flow hopping as you enter the middle of the ancient volcano.

*Easy going path up to the Cuillin Hills. Image: Christine Grosart*

There were a handful of people about, but in the main I was all by myself and it was wonderful. Most folk stopped there to look at the lake, but I was headed up to the top to get a look at the view of the famous Cuillin Ridge. I was pretty sure due to the wind and my lack of helmet, I’d not top out on Sgurr Alasdair itself and opted to aim at a scree slope dead ahead which would land me on the ridge somewhere just east of Sgurr MhicChoinnich.

It was steep. Very steep. I hate scree skiing at the best of times and I leaned into the choss that moved each time I did, trying not to literally get blown off the mountain.

*Red line = My route. Blue line = the route I should have taken to Sgurr Alasdair Summit. Image from Google Earth.*

It seemed to take ages to get up to the ridge but I finally made it and met another team coming back down. I really should have brought a helmet. The scree slope was absolutely steep enough for decent rocks to unstick at will and whistle through the air. I stayed out of the firing line and kept going, feeling slightly safer the closer I got to the ridge.

A bit of scrambling later (great with my dodgy arm) I came across ‘the’ stone circle and the incredible view Stu had been talking about.

It was an incredibly clear day as no clouds of clag could stick around in this wind. I didn’t fancy heading up the next very exposed scramble, so I had some snacks and delayed the inevitable trauma of scree skiing back down again.

It is fair to say I got better at it as time went on. There is no point tensing up and shitting yourself because the mountain is going to move whatever you do, so you may as well go with it.

I chose scree that was big enough to move slightly so as not to trip over it and plummet to my speedy death, but not so small that I caused an unstoppable avalanche.

I concentrated on picking the right sort of scree and managed to get back down to the ‘normal’ track without incident. Once on a proper path I instantly went absolutely flying on a thin layer of chippings which laced the underlying granite. Bastard!

And again!!

Hell fire, I’d come all the way down that terrifying scree ski slope and couldn’t stay upright on a bit of tourist path!

I never go anywhere without my Leki walking poles and they saved my backside on multiple occasions.

*The only way is down….Image: Google Earth.*

Once back at the lava lake, of course it started to rain. Naturally I had left my goretex coat at home, not needing it for sea kayaking. So, I put on my £20 pac-a-mac that I reluctantly bought in Ullapool and trotted downhill back to the campsite.

The showers were more of steam room when I got in there and I knew I would be sore in the morning and boy was I!

I may well be a triathlete but nothing kicks your arse like a Scottish hill! All it did was make me want more, but I was sorry to have to go. My friends from Port a Baigh had also come over to Skye and we met up in the evening for a good chin wag and some whisky.

Soon, it was time to go. It is a long old slog back over to Aberdeen from the West coast. For some reason my sat nav decided to take me the ‘scenic route’ which is a fiddly to drive, especially with a sea kayak on the roof, but the views more than made up for it and I was in no hurry.

I rolled into my favourite Scottish Haunt, the Mal Maison Hotel, which I love not only for the superb rooms, food and whisky snug, but the easy parking that can accommodate my car and kayak.

I grabbed some fizzy wine and sank back into the free-standing bath, still sore as hell from my Sgurr excursion.

One steak and chips later and a good bath and I was almost human again.

This was just as well because it was time to go out again!

The next day I had booked to go and see the Tall Ships race in Aberdeen but not only that, I’d wrangled my mates Toni and Gail into coming along to the evening party. The Ministry of Sound Orchestra were doing an outdoors gig and I had been looking forward to it all year.

Of course it was drizzling. But, being mostly populated by people my age who were hard core 90s clubbers, it didn’t matter. We dressed for the occasion, got drunk and had an evening to remember.

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Christine Grosart 14/12/2025 Christine Grosart 14/12/2025

The Surprise Scottish Summer (Part one)

*Playing with tall ships in the Summer Isles. Heaven unfiltered.*

One of the best parts of my job is looking out to sea and feeling the warm sun on my back, the glassy, gentle carpet of the ocean moving ever so slowly. The only ripple is that of the vortex made by the vessel’s thrusters as they move a few degrees to port.

What an incredible day this would be for sea kayaking, I thought.

Luckily for me, I had thought ahead and decided that the month of May would be a good time to drive up to Aberdeen to work, instead of taking the usual flight.

I had chucked some basic camping gear in the car and my sea kayak on the roof, with a view to doing a couple of days paddling on the west coast of Scotland either before or after my trip.

As I drove towards Largs on the west coast, my planned overnight stop, the weather was not at all favourable. It was throwing it down with rain, very windy and the clag spoiled the view of Great Cumbrae island, my planned paddle the next morning.

I rocked up at Largs Yacht Haven, which was a friendly enough spot, allowing campervans to stop overnight without much hassle. It was also an easy launch to the slipway from the car.

Largs was familiar to me as I had once spent several weeks aboard a drilling ship moored there for a time, before sailing down to Gran Canaria. It looked like an idyllic place to paddle for me and a bit more accessible than the stunning Hebridean Islands on the west coast.

But the weather was not to be.

Unperturbed, I ignored at as ‘it didn’t seem that bad’ and launched my boat trying to make the best of the wind and tide on the return journey.

It took me a long time to cross over to the shores of Great Cumbrae, both against tide and wind and it was a miserable crossing. It crossed my mind several times to just quit. But quitting isn’t in my nature and anyway, it would soon get better once I was round the corner and tucked in by Millport.

It didn’t.

As I turned the southwest corner of the island the wind barged me violently into the rocks all the way along the west coast of the island before finally carrying me reluctantly across the path of the Caledonian ferry and some 4 hours and 18 kilometres later, back to the shores of Largs.

It was a miserable trip and my injured arm really struggled with it. There’s a lesson there somewhere. Sometimes you just have to say ‘not today’. One day I might learn.

I headed up to Aberdeen for an early crew change, parking my van at the work office car park. It drew quite a bit of attention with a bright red sea kayak perched on the roof!

I usually work on board a Diving Support Vessel for 4 weeks at a time. But, being the fickle north sea diving industry, things don’t always go to plan.

After a few weeks, a gap in the work schedule meant many of us were, with very little notice, sent home.

For many of us on day rate, this means a significant loss of earnings.

But, always looking for a silver lining, this meant I suddenly had an extra week on my hands – in Scotland, in the most glorious heatwave – and I had my van, kayak and camping kit!

Being holiday season, I couldn’t get a ticket on a single ferry to any of the Hebridean Islands, so I hurriedly worked through my ‘Scottish Sea Kayaking’ book and in combination with Google maps, made a plan of sorts. I would start locally, test my kit and follow the weather.

I had weeks of freedom ahead, no ties and the whole of Scotland at my disposal.

Prior to my trip I had booked some tickets along with first offshore bosses, Toni and Gail, to go to the Tall Ships event in Aberdeen. There was a Ministry of Sound Orchestra concert on the Saturday night and the only thing I needed to do was get back to the east coast for that.

Toni kindly took some parcels for me as my plans evolved. A crew boat approached the Seven Kestrel in the gloriously hot weather, the sea sparkling and I analysed the coastline in front of me that I would soon be exploring in my sea kayak.

We alighted in Macduff and were taken by coach to Aberdeen where I collected my car. Toni greeted me with rather more items than I’d stated (sorry Toni!) and after a quick foray to Asda for food and Decathlon to buy some items I hadn’t brought for a week’s worth of nomad lifestyle, I set off towards Aberdour Beach.

This seemed like a good place to stop for the night. It is an unofficial campervan stopover, and I anticipated it wouldn’t be too busy. How wrong I was!

Aberdour Bay

An entire village of gazebos had set themselves up at the far end of the beach on the grass, so I avoided them and found a decent spot for my van among the others.

I couldn’t resist getting into the clear waters for a swim, so got into my wetsuit and did a quick excursion across the bay. Kids messed around in inflatables; families had a go at (unsuccessfully) standing on SUPs and dogs chased sticks and stones until sunset.

Everyone seemed friendly and I settled in for the night with some wine and a front row seat, sea view.

My first plan was to ‘play it safe’ especially with my dodgy shoulder. I looked at the tides and figured an out and back camping trip was best done from Gardenstown, or ‘Gamrie’ as it’s known. This little harbour was a pleasant little place and I dragged my boat round to the slipway before carrying a night’s worth of camping kit and loading it up while I waited for the nice ladies at the little cafe to create me some breakfast and coffee.

I dutifully paid my harbour launching dues and as I finished prepping my boat I was approached purposefully by a guy.

Here we go. Have I paid? Have I got permission? Let’s harass the woman on her own…

I was so used to this behaviour in England my hackles went straight up.

But no need. This guy just wanted a chin wag and had no clue about harbour dues. He was English but had lived locally in Gamrie for ages. He had also worked offshore for a time. Chatting delayed me setting off, but it was pleasant and a nice half an hour spent given I was spending most of my time alone. I started to relax. I had all the time in the world to enjoy the moment.

I paddled out of the crystal clear, green hued water of the harbour, avoiding children dive bombing from the harbour walls. I headed east and picked up a bit of a head wind. As I crossed the bay, passing the small village of Crovie, I headed for some nice-looking sea caves at the start of Troup Head.

Troup Head is an RSPB reserve. It has the largest Gannet colony on mainland Scotland, along with Puffins (my favourite) Kittiwakes, Guillemots and Razorbills. There are plenty of seals but in my typical ‘wildlife repellent’ style, I didn’t see a single porpoise, Otter or whale.

The sea was sparkling and I could see the bottom. This was an absolute paradise and I just couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have both the weather and the opportunity.

As I rounded Troup head the noise was deafening. Birds of all types screeched and cawed and screamed at each other. Gannets dive bombed in front of me and puffins bobbed about eyeing me warily. The cliffs were plastered from top to bottom with white guano and fluffy gannet and gul chicks peeked out from their lofty nests.

The place was noisy and it stank, but it was amazing.

I paddled in and out of scenic little gullies, dodging the katabatic winds that poured down off the cliffs, whipping up little squalls that grabbed at my paddle and tried to turn my boat around. This was going to be slightly harder work than I expected and was forecast. My arm struggled a bit, and I took refuge in the many little gullies, joined by the odd seal pup.

I pulled into a pretty little cove for a break and a snack then carried on around to Aberdour.

Camping on the beach where I’d stayed the night before didn’t seem like much of an adventure, but I was playing it safe with my arm in case for some reason I wasn’t able to paddle back, at least I was in contact with some sort of civilisation.

It was a tad windy when I arrived and all the decent grassy camping spots had been taken, so I pitched up away from everyone else on the beach. For some reason I thought pitching a tent on a rocky beach would be easy.

About an hour of kite flying later I managed to get my small tent and excruciatingly overpriced MSR tarpaulin up – but it was a struggle. The tent pegs were useless, so I resorted to cave diving tactics and made some wraps round some big boulders. This only worked for a while though as the wind had other ideas and systematically ruined my plan by picking up the tent and the tarp and dragging even the biggest rocks along the beach.

I was treated to a fabulous red sunset that evening, but an almost sleepless night as I wrestled with the tent flapping noisily, pulling at the useless rock anchors.

I would need to come up with a better plan than this in the future if I was going to wild camp around Scotland from my boat. In fact, the only reliable anchor was my boat.

Morning came and the lack of sleep was unwelcome. I packed everything up and dragged the boat back down to the water to launch.

My journey back to Gamrie was significantly quicker as the wind was now mostly behind me, but the squalls still whipped up and made life difficult without any warning. I still shaved an hour off my time heading back over the 12km.

I was exhausted but determined to get on the road to somewhere I had never been before but was excited to visit.

The Surprise Scottish Summer (Part 2)

The Surprise Scottish Summer (Part one)

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