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.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Christine Grosart (@christinegrosart)

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.

Christine Grosart 06/12/2023 Christine Grosart 06/12/2023

Introducing Agnetha

*Always make sure your car matches your scooter!*

Meet Agnetha!

I had my trusty, battered Berlingo van for over 10 years and she was so reliable that I was loathe to get rid of her. She had just passed an MOT and was still going strong when I finally made the leap to buy myself a new dive wagon.

I had visions of buying a Dispatch van, keen to stay with Citreon, but the long wheel base model was hard to come by and I only had a limited time on-shore to choose a new vehicle.

A very persuasive car salesman at Citreon talked me into buying the 2018 Spacetourer.

I hadn't even heard of it.

It had the same wheelbase of the Dispatch, but was definitely a car rather than a van. It had a plush interior and all the mod cons; Apple car play, air conditioning and was a beautiful drive. Out of sheer impatience, I bought Agnetha. She looks Swedish, even though she's not, and my favourite singer's name suited her.

The downside is that she came with NINE seats!!

I fixed that right away by taking the rear 6 seats out and putting them into storage.

The main purpose of getting a car this size was to be able to 'get my head down' for a night or two.

My vehicle is normally rammed full of scuba diving gear, caving kit and sometimes items for events such as gazebos, tables, merchandise etc for our charity Ghost Fishing UK.

The car needed to be multi purpose. I need to be able to sleep in it overnight on diving trips and at events, without the hassle of having to put up a tent or the expense of a hotel.

It removes the aggro of having to plan, book then often cancel things like Air BNB. My life changes at such short notice I was throwing away a lot of money on bookings with no refunds. Enough was enough. I would take my home with me.

The next job was to get some rubber matting down. I chose this as it is easy to wash all the caving mud and sand out and it protects the van from damage to the floor.

I cut a few small gaps for the anchor points at the corners. The mat didn't fit quite perfectly, so I used two sheets and taped them together with black duct tape. Some careful stanley knife work later and the floor was in.

I curved it up slightly at the edges to stop any wash down water going underneath.

I wanted to take the grab handles out and replace them with some bolts, so that I could put up some hanging rails in the back.

This can be used for all sorts of things; hanging up drysuits, clothes, affixing lighting etc.

It didn't quite work out as, on removal of the grab handles (which wasn't easy at all) I was left with 8 square holes!

I improvised by putting in some pinch clips and attaching some curtain wire to them which seems to be doing the job.

I strung up some battery powered fairy lights and bought some cheap karabiners which come in handy for smaller, loose items. The interior makes it tricky to place additions as it's not a 'blank canvas' like a panelled van, so it needed a bit more thought.

Temporary battery powered push-on lights are handy too. They don't stick to the interior lining and fell off in the middle of the night scaring the living hell out of me! So mount them on the shelving, they work just fine.

With lights up (albeit no leisure battery yet) and floor down, it was time to start putting in some home comforts.

Stay tuned as I continue to transform Agnetha. Not too much, but enough to have the diving/camping/do-everything car that I dreamed of.

Christine Grosart 06/12/2023 Christine Grosart 06/12/2023

Happy Camping

Covid semi-lockdown

The UK is a bit of a madhouse at the moment, with people flocking to the coast trying to grab some rays.

We've decided to stay local to home in the Mendips and continue prepping the dive wagon for when things are less 'chaotic'.

I once passed comment on a friend's cave diving article about the use of caving lights beyond sumps (flooded passages) and I pointed out that the only real use for a Petzl Tikkina was to find your sleeping bag in a tent in the dark!

So that's what we use them for. Lightweight, using AAA batteries and easy to hang up in the dive wagon for when you need to rummage around in the dark.

Fernand Petzl was a caver and lived close to the Dent de Crolles mountain in the Chartreuse region of France. I've enjoyed phenomenal caving in this stunning region and Petzl, apart from record breaking cave exploration feats, began making caving equipment and then expanded into climbing and skiing gear.

It is one of the worlds most trusted and respected outdoor brands.

Don't forget your fire extinguisher!

Most fires in vehicles are electrical so powder extinguishers are most appropriate. Messy, yes, but they may well save your vehicle and everything in it.

Store it where it is easy to get to from the cab and familiarise yourself with the instructions.

The two camping items that folk seem to always forget are a sieve - and a can opener! Don't rely on ring pulls!

A small chopping board is always handy, kitchen scissors and a decent spatula and set of tongs are always handy.

Don't forget the wine bottle opener and a decent sharp chopping knife is important.

These collapsible washing up bowls are perfect for van camping and are super space savers.

Make sure you get ones with handles to make carrying them around a campsite easier.

I use a mini refillable washing up bottle and a good size ball of metal wire sponge for hard to clean pans.

Don't forget cloths and a tea towel.

In the last blog I showed you the new van curtains which are super cool. But I couldn't seem to find a way of blocking out the large rear window. I've found this blackout blind which can be easily cut to size and I have suckers which I can attach to the window as I don't fancy having velcro stickers over the rear door.

All you need now is a good book, some snuggly fleece throws, sleeping bags (or duvet, as you wish) and some pillows.

And some wine of course!

So far we've camped out on our driveway! Rules: Only allowed indoors for the toilet or more booze! The neighbours didn't bat an eyelid as they are equally as mad. We even brewed coffee and made bacon sandwiches much to the amusement of the morning dog walkers.

Soon I'll be looking at awnings, extensions and comfy ways to get changed in and out of caving and diving gear.

My good friends the Burkeys came up with this 'ingenious' idea for changing in blood curdling weather in the Yorkshire Dales.

Caving instructor and roving cave gear shop Starless River happened to be passing. Tony Seddon leaned out of the window and stated that he didn't know whether to be impressed - or appalled!

Once we are able to head out properly, we'll blog on our adventures, little trips away and much longer road trips with Agnetha.

Who knows when that will be.

But some day soon, I hope...

Christine Grosart 30/11/2023 Christine Grosart 30/11/2023

Home Comforts

Welcome to the next part of the Agnetha diaries!

Corona lockdown has given many of us the chance to ‘work’ on our vans.

Having shied away from a blank canvas, namely a Dispatch panelled van, I was left with some different work to do on Agnetha, my new Citreon Spacetourer.

The plush car interior meant I couldn’t do much ‘work’ without damaging it. What I did gain was more windows and built in insulation - but it all had to be worked around.

She was still looking a bit clinical and not very homely. Ok, she is meant to be a dive wagon and not a campervan. But she needs to be able to function as both. Stuff needs to be removable, swapped about and storage space for dive gear is important.

I bought a rug to brighten it up in there and make the floor comfy for bare feet.

Then I needed to find ways of blocking out the light when sleeping.

I found a set of cheap black out van curtains and they did the trick perfectly - complete with tie backs! Put the curtains on the rails first, then stick the rails up in the windows. One of the rails can be bent and formed into the shape of the window.

What I found when searching was a whole world of things designed for van and car conversions - there is a whole industry built around it out there!

The best buy I found was a blackout out windscreen cover from UK Custom Covers. Make sure you get the right size for your vehicle. It takes only a minute to put on and seconds to remove. You can then just fold it up and it goes neatly back into its pouch.

Next job was the bed. I did a lot of deliberating about this. I tried to get a custom one made but the cost was going up and I just wanted something simple that had plenty of storage underneath, was easy to remove and could be used for one or two people.

In the end I went for a classic rock and roll bed, which slides out as a double. Unless you enjoy building projects, I’d recommend for the extra cash you may want to get the vendor to build it for you and post ready-made. It is a lot dearer though.

For a simpler quick fix, there are any number of inflatable beds out there or even just use pallet furniture covers as mattresses. These are what I use on the bed frame.

You’ll need a few extras for the car before you hit the road. I bought a small powder fire extinguisher which is no bad thing to have in any vehicle.

Being a Paramedic, it’s all too easy to get carried away with my travelling first aid kit.

I decided to keep it simple and sensible - after all, this is my leisure vehicle - I don’t want it kitted out like an ambulance!

By far my favourite purchase is this storage caddy, or car trunk organiser.

It opens up into a rigid box with partitions so you can just chuck loose items in for your trip, especially in the Spacetourer where storage is limited and building some isn’t really an option.

There are nifty pockets all round it and I use it to keep things like loo rolls and books dry. You can also anchor it using the handy hooks to stop it sliding around.

Other creature comforts worth their weight in gold are over-seat storage pockets or car organisers.

These are nifty for keeping small nik-naks tidied away. I keep spare bulbs, fuses and a set of jump leads in one of these - just in case!

You will also need a bin.

I keep mine hung on the passenger seat and keep a small roll of biodegradable small bin liners in the bottom.

For the girls, you won’t want to go out without a tangle teaser which lives permanently in my car - and a she-wee for the great outdoors.

The pockets in the car organisers are perfect for these smaller items.

That's all for now!

Hang around for our next blog which will detail lots of essential - and very cool - items to take with you on your next adventure!

Christine Grosart 20/10/2023 Christine Grosart 20/10/2023

Moody Mull.

“Is anyone here a geologist?” our rather chilled out kayak leader asked.

“Me, me, meeeeeee!” I said, rather excited …and putting my hand up….seriously….

Well, not really. I did study geosciences for several years with the Open University and loved it…but never finished the degree because I had another medic degree going on….I digress.

We were on the Isle of Mull. Looking to cheer myself up after a rather stressful, fraught and astonishingly horrible start to the year, I clicked ‘going’ on a Facebook kayaking trip run by Ali Othen Mountains and paddles.

It was 7 days kayaking, circumnavigating Mull with 6 nights wild camping. We would be completely self-sufficient, taking all our camping and cooking gear with us and I was really looking forward to seeing places only accessible by kayak and wildlife spotting.

I flew home from work, threw the kayak up onto the roof and packed the car, before the long drive up to Oban. From there I jumped on the Craignure ferry and set up camp at the pricey but very smart Craignure campsite. I had a pint and a chippy tea with Ali and my diving buddy Darren who has lived on Mull for quite some time now.

Darren’s wife is part of the Otter fancying society on Mull and they build the otter crossings around the island. They also occasionally end up with run-over otters in their freezer for autopsies...nestled in between the oven chips and on top the peas, apparently...

After a cosy night in my van we met up with the other two random paddlers who were on the trip. I think it is safe to say neither of them were my type of person, but there was nothing I could do about it. My plan was to learn how much stuff I could get into my kayak, how it would ride fully laden, what worked and what didn’t work, so I could plan my own adventures going forward.

We set off in glassy, stunning conditions from Craignure and paddled along the south coast, wild camping along the way. We stopped off at gorgeous, white sandy beaches but as ever, they were blighted with piles of rubbish and I spied one large green fishing net.

Mostly buried and too big to even think about taking with me, I had no choice but to leave it.

I did spy a smaller piece which looked in good enough condition to do something with. I took pictures and logged the location on my phone. We found a comfy-ish spot for the night having paddled 16 miles.

On the second day, we arrived at Fidden Farm after a 25 mile paddle, familiar to me from last year’s adventure in Scotland.

After a night here, we crossed to Iona which was my first decent open water crossing. It was lumpy but prepared me well for what was to come.

From the northern tip of Iona we headed straight for Staffa, a 13 mile open crossing, to the famous Fingal’s cave.

The crossing had a reasonable swell but was perfectly manageable – until the tourist boats came thundering past and created huge wakes. Initially terrified, I settled down and began enjoying surfing them as we made the last strides towards the cave entrance which was fortunately in good enough condition to enter.

Balancing my phone on my lap, I shot some images and video and managed to choreograph Ali into position for that classic ‘kayak in a cave’ shot. The cathedral like cave entrance, made up of volcanic basalt columns was seriously impressive.

Not keen on getting tangled up with tourists, we had a quick bite to eat then headed on another open crossing to Treshnish and stopped on Lunga.

Puffin takeover on Lunga, Treshnich, Scotland. Images: Christine Grosart

The weather started to come in and rain and wind meant I got very good at putting my tent up quickly.

In the morning the waves were still a bit necky for crossing over to Calgary bay, so I took the opportunity in the sunshine to enjoy the colony of puffins who were busy building nests in the cliff edge.

They weren’t shy at all and I was pleased that I’d taken my DSLR and 300mm lens to capture their antics. I could have spent more than a few hours in the sunshine among the primroses and bluebells watching them.

Once the weather settled a bit we made a very bum-clenching 8 mile trip around to Calgary Bay. Normally beautiful, yet again on my second ever visit, it was overcast, windy and raining.

We hunkered down in our tents and despite Ali dutifully checking the waves every few hours, they wouldn’t calm so we had to spend another night in the rain, stuck fast.

It wasn’t looking hopeful to get around the corner to Tobermory.

As another night passed, this time with no sleep and some weird antics going on outside my tent, I decided to call it a day. We had to head back by bus to Craignure to pick up the cars to drive the kayaks around the corner in any case. I decided that this was a good time to bail. The Sound of Mull would keep.

I was grateful to get back to my cosy van and my own company and decided to make the most of my free time and head back to the beach where I had seen the lost fishing net.

This was easier said than done.

We had arrived on the beach by kayak and with a bit of advice, google maps and a helpful dog walker, I strode off confidently in completely the wrong direction to the wrong sandy beach!

It too had plenty of lost fishing gear washed up along the shoreline, but it was the wrong rubbish and the wrong beach.

Off I set on what should have been a half an hour walk…turning into a 2 hour epic!

Scaling cliffs, dodging sheep and landing thigh deep in a bog…I finally made my way to the correct beach..which I could have easily walked to down a perfectly good track from the car had I not set off in the wrong direction…

Hey ho. The sun was out, it was absolutely stunning on that southern side of Mull and I bagged up the net while another group of paddlers took a break nearby and the sea sparkled continuously.

It was possibly one of the most beautiful views I’d ever witnessed in the UK and I enjoyed it before heading back to the campsite and then Oban for the next crazy couple of days.

Ali keeps the lost art of writing post cards alive.

Christine Grosart 19/10/2023 Christine Grosart 19/10/2023

Amazing Annecy

“The Marmots were singing, the vultures circling and I froze my a** off!”

Sometime in the early 2000s, en route back from the epic Dent de Crolles cave system in the Chartreuse, France, we swung by a town called Annecy.

It frankly, took my breath away. A clean, cosmopolitan town with tree lined streets casting gentle shade over the many restaurants and bars, over looking a warm, mountain lake with a mountainous back drop. The canopies of parapentistes circled the mountain slopes, dormant ski lifts awaited winter and water skiers zoomed about all over the lake, dodging pedalos with beer swilling tourists.

It was idyllic and I vowed to go back.

It was almost 20 years before I did.

With a triathlon looming, what better excuse than to train for it on the banks of the stunning lake Annecy.

I was delighted to join a new vessel and a new company after the Licanke expedition. The Seven Atlantic is well known as one of the best flagship saturation diving vessels in the north sea. She didn’t disappoint. A friendly crew and lovely working environment, with a great back-to-back – I was able to settle into my training without issue.

I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to come with me to France at short notice. The upside was, it left me free to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

I loaded my van with a sea kayak, bikes, swimming gear, camping gear and pretty much anything I thought I might need. It was weird going to France without any diving kit.

Figuring as a free agent, time was my own, I saw no reason to bomb it straight down to Annecy. Besides, camp sites have weird opening and closing hours there so it made sense to arrive in daylight and not be trashed when I got there.

I was super motivated – captivated even – by the Tour de France Femmes. It had been some 30 something years since it had been allowed to take place. One of the stages passed through the champagne region of France. A quick search on Komoot and a few emails to the Epernay campsite and my plan was forming.

I set up shop at the campsite after an uneventful journey and planned my ride for the next day.

The route was 45 miles or so and took in all the famous vineyards such as Bollinger and Moet & Chandon.

It was warm, sunny and there were a few tell-tale signs of the tour that had passed through a couple of months earlier. I was super grateful for the municipal water fountain which also doubled as a book swap library!

The route was somewhat lacking in cafes, so by the time I got back to the campsite on just an energy bar or two, I was ready for a good feed.

On the advice of the campsite owner I was directed away from the pizza and frites I had been longing for and instead ended up in the best rated restaurant in Epernay. It didn’t disappoint I have to say.

I got on the road the next day down to Annecy and checked in at the campsite. The sky was a little moody and being September, the weather had started to become a little unstable.

Warm, sunny days were met with windy, thundery nights, sometimes with some serious mountain lightening storms.

It was during one of these evenings when the temperature dropped and the wind began to pick up, my fellow campers and I treated ourselves to the local burger van.

As I tucked in beside my awning, a lovely Welsh couple sheepishly wandered over to me. Looking up as they approached, they said "Um, I don't suppose you've heard?" They looked sombre.

"Oh" I said "Has she, ummm....."

They nodded.

The Queen had passed away. The mood on the campsite was strange. It was peaceful, people of all nationalities stopping to chat to each other - and several of us cracked open a bottle of something fizzy that we were keeping aside for some occasion.

We raised a toast.

RIP M'am.

Each day I got out to have a mini adventure. First I managed to ascend my first mountain on a road bike – the mini Col de Leschaux. Biting off more than I could chew, I went for Le Semnoz at the end of the trip which wasn’t the smartest idea. The Marmots were singing, the vultures circling and I froze my a** off! Even less smart was not taking a jacket as it’s really quite cold at the top of mountains! I was glad to get back down to the col and into the warm sunshine again.

My sea kayak gave me lots of fun on the lake and I paddled right into Annecy itself which was a stunning experience.

I found the most perfect little boat stand which made a great bike rack for practising transitions and I had a little circuit set up – swim in the lake, jog along the pontoon – transition to bike, lap of the campsite then transition to running shoes….jog round the campsite….

Unfortunately the worry of leaving the bike unattended prevented me from doing the full distance, but it was great for practising transitions.

Not long after I drove home I had the small matter of the Great Exmoor ride, which was a complete blood bath – ok, I finished it but doing such a hilly route when I was still sore after my escapade up Le Semnoz, was a daft idea.

A week later came my first triathlon.

I was delighted to complete it and not finish last. My swim was quick, but I’d over done it and was out of breath for quite a while once I’d jumped on the bike….then, given I had done no running training at all, the 3km time was very, very poor.

I knew what I had to do to improve and vowed to take myself away on another training camp before the next one.

It was fantastic to have three amazing friends turn up – complete with cream tea and prosecco and their cameras – I was so grateful to Lisa, Jo and Paul for coming along and offering support and encouragement. They are the best.

Christine Grosart 18/10/2023 Christine Grosart 18/10/2023

Hebridean Adventure, Part 3

I was sure someone would find my body sliced in half through the glass door of the shower where I’d slipped on my eco-friendly conditioner bar…

Beautiful Barra

In the morning I headed back to Oban to grab the Barra ferry and rocked up at the very delightful Wavecrest campsite. Right on the beach, it promised good paddling but it was time for the bike again.

The campsite boasted showers so I treated myself - and couldn’t even get that right!

The £1 shower started as soon as the money dropped and I stupidly hadn’t even got undressed. In my haste, I plunged my hand into my wash bag and felt the blade of my eco razor slice off the top of my index finger.

Without even looking, I knew what I had done.

Crap.

Blood poured everywhere.

Determined not to waste my £1 coin - I only had one - I wrapped the sliced finger in loo roll and held it up above my head which slowed the bleeding a bit, whilst I tried to shower and wash my hair in the allotted time.

This is awkward anyway, but in my eco-friendliness I was using shampoo and conditioner bars which made things even harder, trying to get the lids off the pots and I kept dropping the bars. I was sure someone would find my body sliced in half through the glass door of the shower where I’d slipped on my eco-friendly conditioner bar.

What a way to go.

The shower stopped without warning at the conditioner phase - could have been worse - and I tried to get dressed without getting blood on any of my clothes, before mopping away the blood splats on the shower floor. FFS.

Back to the car, arm in the air, I single-handedly fished out my first aid kit which had enough to patch things up for the night.

Fortunately, a diver friend of mine who knew the area well, with the assistance of Facebook, pointed out the local A&E which I could visit on my bike ride the next day.

In the morning, having spent a relatively comfy night with my arm hooked over the headrests of my car, I re-patched my finger and set off round Barra for a stunning ride. As I headed north towards Barra airport, the sea became more turquoise and sparkly, the sun tried to come out and the sands got whiter and longer.

When I say airport, it is actually a sandy strip of beach and the tiny twin props were in and out all day.

I spied a good launch spot for my kayak and continued the ride around the island, stopping off in Castlebay to chat the the local (only) friendly paramedic in his ambo, before locating the A&E. The nurse was lovely and we had a good chin wag before she stuffed all sorts of fancy finger dressings in my bag and sent me on my way. 26 miles with only one evil hill.

News travels fast on Barra. By the time I got back to the campsite, the owner and his wife enquired as to if I was the lady paramedic who had sliced her finger off - and was there anything they could do. Bless them. I expect they felt terrible but I assured them it was all my own doing and I had cleared up the mess. They couldn’t have been nicer.

Despite being on the beach, the weather wasn’t ideal on the west side of the island the following day, so I drove my kayak up to the launching spot I had found and with a bit of effort, got myself and boat down to the beach. The tide was going out which made for a bit of shuffling to find deeper water. I was just getting afloat when a twin prop zoomed right over my head - right at the point I noticed a sign saying: “Stay off the beach when the wind sock is flying and the airport is active”. Oops.

I made a hasty exit across the bay and imagined the pilot shaking his fist at me.

Bloody tourists.

I had a cracking 11 mile paddle and the white sand made the colour of the water just unreal. It could have been Greece were it not for the 8 degree water temperature.

Christine Grosart 18/10/2023 Christine Grosart 18/10/2023

Hebridean Adventure Part 2

…but with two bottles of single malt and a bottle of gin on his back, he lost his balance and found himself upside down in a bramble bush!

Marvellous Mull

After a quick lunch stop at a castle on Karrera and playing 'dodge the Calmac ferry', it was time to take the short journey over to Mull to meet up with my old diving buddy Darren Morley who had been living there for some years.

He had been doing all sorts of triathlons and sportives and I knew he would be up for a decent bike ride.

I met up with Darren at the local Salen Spar shop where I came across the local moggy, who was very chatty and fiercely guards the community defibrillator!

After a pleasant evening camp, we set off around northern Mull for a decent 44 mile ride. There were some evil hills with hair pin bends that scuppered me but luckily they were only short. The clag was down but Darren took the time to point out all the islands I would have seen on a better day!

We stopped in Tobermory to load up on whiskey and goodies, me thinking that all the hills were done.

How wrong I was! Shocked at the next one I was faced with, Darren kindly took all my whiskey swag and rode it up the hill.

It was to be his undoing as, some while later, a large lorry ran us off the road. Darren was fine but with two bottles of single malt and a bottle of gin on his back, he lost his balance and found himself upside down in a bramble bush! I sort of fished him out and we made our way back to Salen.

No sooner had we got back and Darren was away to rescue a lady from a campsite. He is part of the local mountain rescue on Mull and regularly gets called to drag hapless tourists up beaches, off mountains and out of campsites to the waiting ambulance.

Meanwhile, I set off on the single track road for over an hour to Fidden Farm, right at the other, western end of Mull. This was mean to be a kayaking mecca. I turned up in grey mizzle but parked right at the edge of the white, sandy beach with turquoise, calm waters. It was idyllic.

The next morning I literally rolled out of my sleeping bag and into my kayak for a gentle mooch just south west of Fidden Farm. There were seals and birds a plenty and lovely white sandy beaches on desolate islands for snack stops.

After a couple of nights here, I headed back to the mainland as I couldn’t get a ferry direct from Mull to Barra, my next stop.

On the advice of my good friend Dave Ryall, I found a nice little overnight top right on the shore of Loch Etive. The weather was ok, so I couldn’t resist a little paddle up the loch which was like glass; not a ripple. Then I heard a big splash behind me. I was being tracked by a couple of seals who no doubt hang out there in the hope of an easy meal from the fish farm in the loch.

After an evening of tinned camping food and some wine, I settled in for the night ready for the ferry crossing the next day to Barra.

Follow