An evening on Muck and the end of a journey

On the final night of our journey Douglas and I stayed at the Muck Bunkhouse.  The warden, Rosie, is a great character and has a wealth of knowledge about the island.

The bunkhouse is warm and cosy; heated by a Raeburn stove burning fuel oil, which also provides the hot water.  Muck doesn't have a constant supply of electricity and the times when the power is on are on a notice on the wall.  There are candles for lighting outwith the "electricity times".  We were very comfortable here and would highly recommend a stay.  It's easier if you have your own sleeping bag, though bedding can be provided.

We cooked an enormous meal of haggis, carrots and mashed potatoes, accompanied with a Guiness and followed by a dram of Jura whisky.  It was a very chilled out evening, made possibly more enjoyable when we heard the rain drumming on the roof....

The morning dawned grey and wet, but the rain soon cleared through.  We went for a walk across the island to explore a little.  Muck is farmed as a large single farm by the MacEwen family.  They are forward thinking land owners, and are constantly seeking to keep a mix of families on the island, recognising that a vibrant community is the heart of an island.

We identified a couple of beaches for future landings and,perhaps, camp sites.

The sun burned away the mist as we returned to Port Mor to collect our things from the bunkhouse and head down to meet the ferry.

Loch Nevis arrived spot on time.  The crew asked how our journey had been, and we enjoyed a fine meal on the passage back to Mallaig.

Our journey was now truly over, but what a fantastic journey it had been.  I was so very pleased to have been able to share the trip with Douglas; we both know we'll return to do a variation on this journey, there are just so many options and we didn't paddle some stretches we'd like to do.

This journey through the Small Isles is undoubtedly the most enjoyable trip I've ever undertaken, and for so many different reasons.  The journeying, the folk we met, the places we stayed and the things we saw all added to the experience.  Douglas and I share a common outlook on trips like this, and that shared philosophy/approach made for a hugely enjoyable time. We also had time to plan some other trips for the future  :o)

Roaring surf and a wall of tombstones - don't underestimate Muck!

Having arrived on the Isle of Muck, our plan was to paddle anticlockwise around the north and west coasts to arrive at Port Mor, where we'd phoned ahead to book beds at the bunkhouse.   It was low water, two days after Springs and vast Laminaria weed forests were exposed by the tide.

We looked at passing through the gap between Eilean nan Each and Muck, but although the Ordnance Survey 1:50K and 1:25K maps both show water in this channel at low water, there is most definitely not.  It seems that a boulder beach has been thrown up and Eilean nan Each is now a tidal island.

Overhead, a graceful arc of cloud marked the edge of a weather front; we estimated we could see the cloud front reaching away for over two hundred miles in a single sweep.

Paddling around the outside of Eilean nan Each (Horse Island) was a special experience.  The sea was calm but a low and powerful groundswell was roaring over shallow reefs.  We had to carefully time our passage inside the smaller islet of Eagamol as the swell compressed and propelled us through at a most satisfactory rate.  The 50 metre cliffs on Eilean nan Each aren't even shown on the maps - and this underestimation seems to be something associated with Muck.

I admit that I hadn't expected Muck to be as dramatic or interesting in a paddling sense as the other Small Isles, perhaps because it is low lying and outwardly unassuming.  I'm happy to report that I was utterly wrong!

The "fingers" which are such a feature of the island when seen on the map are reefs reaching from the shore at just the right angle to magnify swell and cause it to race up the exposed rock in a welter of surf and noise.  Added to this, the west coast is absolutely and totally exposed to Atlantic weather.  There is no VHF reception, no habitation and nothing on the horizon except the low shape of Coll - beyond; nothing but ocean.

On the west coast, at the back of Camas Mor (Big Bay) is this set of cliffs.  Their name translates, ominously as "The wall of tombstones" !  The height to which big swells have cleaned the rock can clearly be seen.  There is a large cave at one end of the cliff and a collapsed cave system at the other which has formed a cicular inlet known locally as the Witches Cauldron.  We felt disinclined to investigate either more closely!

A large raft of Fulmars (Fulmarus glacialis) took off from the water in Camas Mor to make close inspection flights past us - it's a real characteristic of these super birds, it seems to be pure curiosity on their part.

Over the low central portion of Muck, the Rum Cuillin could be seen; they had been our near constant companions on this journey.

All too soon we rounded a final point, squeezed through a narrow channel and entered the bay of Port Mor.  This would mark the end of the paddling on our journey in the Small Isles, but not quite end the trip itself.  We slowed our paddling speed, not really wanting to finish the paddling......