The Sound of Harris

Looking across the Sound of Harris

Several years ago, paddling around the south west coast of Skye, a line of islands gradually emerged from the distant haze. This was my first view of them, apart from on trans Atlantic flights of the Outer Hebrides. Known to the Vikings as Havbrødøy, they truly did appear as “Islands on the Edge of the Sea.”

The opportunity to visit this island group did not arise until July 2005. Evenings were spent pouring over maps and reading pilots to discover potential routes but it was clear that we would be at the mercy of the weather. The topography of the archipelago, numerous deep inlets and a multitude of islands, meant that paddling would be possible in most weather conditions. We were prepared for a variety of weather conditions but the bright sunshine and gloriously clear air took us by surprise. The Cuillins on Skye remained clearly visible for 8 continuous days. This clarity was at a cost, a north easterly wind and it was destined to increase.

It was definitely a steady force 5 and there was the hint of a force 6. In grey low cloud and drizzle, a wind of this strength would be enough to send most kayakers in search of a local café but with blue skies it was different proposition. Paddling was the order of the day.

A quick check with the local fish farm that they would keep an eye on the car for about 4 days, and we were off. The Sound of Harris offers a lifetime of paddling opportunities and we were only going to scratch the surface. By now the wind had increased to a constant force 6 although the wave size was limited by the length of the fetch. Island and skerry hopping to gain some protection from the wind we took just over an hour to cover 1½ nautical miles to our island camp site. A sheltered inlet proved to be an ideal landing spot and the persistent wind ensured dry paddling kit but more importantly no midges! As with so many Scottish islands there was evidence of previous human habitation but on that particular day it was just us, some sheep and a variety of wildlife.

Our island home in the Sound of Harris

The following day dawned bright but the wind had increased by another notch so a day of reading and exploring our island home was the order of the day. The day’s entertainment was provided by the arrival of the local farmers who proceeded to round up the sheep for their annual trim! Equally entertaining was the almost continuous procession of gannets and manx shearwaters around the northern tip of the island. The wind which forced us to remain fixed to the land freed them for a session of aerial gymnastics. And again there were no midges.

Although we had fallen asleep to the sound of flapping tent fabric we awoke to silence. It was time to go paddling again and the lack of wind meant that the midges encouraged us to speed up our packing. It is unnecessary to describe our route in any detail as one of the major pleasures of paddling in the Sound of Harris is the opportunity for personal exploration. In fact. we had no pre-planned route; we allowed ourselves the freedom to roam. Lunch on one beautiful beach, a break on another and a quick visit to Leverburgh.

Black House on Berneray

We largely had the water to ourselves, just a couple of yachts slipping quietly by. Rather by fault than design, as we meandered through the myriad of islands, we found ourselves close to the island we had left 6 hours previously. We decided therefore to return to our previous campsite. The continuing lack of wind meant that the midges forced us into the tents early and ensured a speedy departure the following morning.

Breakfast was missed on the beach as our minds were firmly set on a delightful café on Berneray. In just over the hour we had landed and orders had been placed for a cooked breakfast. It is possible for sea kayaking to be a civilized activity!

Approaching Pabbay

Our target for the day was a circumnavigation of Pabbay and a return to the fish farm before our friendly car watchers started to think about our welfare. This was not the time for idle watery wanderings, there had to be a purpose to our strokes. As we crossed to Pabbay we began to feel the impact of the open ocean for the first time in days. A long swell was rolling in from the north west and releasing its energy in explosive fashion as we paddled along the northern shore of the isle. Our eyes remained focused on the approaching swell as opposed to scouring the hillside for the resident herd of red deer.

We did find shelter from the swell in the reefs of the southern shore and had a short break for refreshments. Our every move was closely surveyed by a group of about 20 inquisitive seals and one otter. As we returned back across the Sound, the western shore of Berneray glistened white in the afternoon sunshine, the machair tempting us to camp but we pressed on. The gentle flow of the tide helped us on our way, the strands of kelp, clearly visible in the crystal clear waters, indicating the best route to follow.

We took our time on the water, reluctant to finish what had been a great few days. Once we landed on the slipway though we hit another gear. The midges had clearly been on standby for our arrival and attacked with surprising vigour. It was a matter of throwing kit in the car and driving as quickly as possible. As we drove along the coast road there were tantalizing glimpses across the Sound of Harris. Our playground of the last four days, but it was clear that we had hardly scratched the surface.

Kevin Mansell