Sea kayaking: Circumnavigation of Raasay & Rona islands

It is not until you test your limits that you find out what they are, although I confess I had much darker thoughts during a challenging kayaking trip around two far-flung islands in north-west Scotland.

Yet, the three-day adventure had started much more benignly.

Day 1: Kayaking around Raasay & Rona islands

My husband Gordon, friends Stewart and Alan and I departed the small crofting township of Sconser, on the east coast of the Isle of Skye, in Loch Sligachan.

We paddled into narrow stretch of calm, clear water in the Sound of Raasay and then around the southern end of the Isle of Raasay. Thanks to a light wind at our backs and a favourable tide, we made quick progress northwards along Raasay’s eastern coastline.

Hugging the shore, we enjoyed close-up views of rocks, cliffs and the island’s rugged yet verdant landscape.

Just minutes into the journey, we spotted our first seal, which turned out to be one of countless sightings of the wonderfully curious creatures. Numerous birds swooped side to side ahead of us, flying low or diving into the sea.

Raasay is home to shags and cormorants, which we spotted both in the water and resting on rocks, as well as oystercatchers, curlews, waders and red-throated and northern divers.

The setting was magically absorbing and, with little to think about apart from the rhythm of my paddling, I felt myself relaxing into the adventure.

Knowing we had around 17 miles to cover on day one, our pace was steady and we stopped at several peaceful and secluded beaches when we wanted to rest or eat.

Fact: Raasay measures 14 miles north to south and three miles across with a high point of Dùn Caan at almost 1450ft. Like the northern end of Skye, the terrain is often described as Tolkeinesque.

Wild camp on Raasay

By the time we approached the northern tip of the island where we hoped to find a wild camping spot, my body ached. Stepping out of the kayak and on to a stony beach, I slowly stood up, stretching my leg muscles and then my back and shoulders.

Between us, we carried our boats high on to dry land and then unloaded camping kit. Our P&H Scorpio kayaks have a generous 150 litres of space in four watertight hatches and I was carrying a host of essentials, plus many luxuries.

Discovering a flat grassy area just above the beach, we pitched our tents and set about cooking an evening meal on camping stoves.

A light breeze kept the midges away and, as we sat in camping chairs, we heard the call of a distant cuckoo and surveyed a picturesque vista of sea and the craggy outline of the neighbouring Isle of Rona, where we hoped to kayak the following day.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t difficult to fall asleep after the long paddle and I slept soundly, awakening to the noise of Gordon making coffee.

Day 2: Rough seas for Rona kayak

The four of us gathered while eating breakfast to discuss our plans. Overnight the wind had strengthened, although the weather forecast was for reducing wind speeds as the day progressed.

Any kayaking trip in Scotland requires careful planning, with consideration given to tides and weather. We decided we would still head for Rona, paddling the more sheltered eastern coast and with the option to turn around if the wind increased and conditions worsened.

My body complained as I clambered from land into my kayak and pulled the spraydeck around the cockpit. It took a while to ease back into paddling but, again, the rhythmic movement brought a great sense of calm.

Rona, which measures less than five miles by 1.5 miles, is wildly rugged and home to very few permanent inhabitants. It did, however, offer the opportunity for more wildlife spotting and rarely were we without the company of seabirds or seals. To our delight, we also saw a white-tailed sea eagle.

Like Raasay, the coast of Rona is rocky with many natural caves. One large cavern, Church Cave, takes its name from what looks like a stone altar and stone benches.

Towards the northern tip of Rona is a lighthouse. It was built in 1857 and automated in 1975. The closer we paddled, the more I understood the reason for an alert signal at this point. The sea became much rougher and there were many rocks that could have been the potential downfall of a misguided boat.

This was when I started to sense my limits being pushed. We entered a stretch of choppy sea that made me wonder, suddenly, if my kayak was as solid and stable as I’d assumed.

The water rose and fell turbulently and noisily, waves spilling over my boat and, at times, when I looked across at the others, their kayaks seemed half-submerged. Closer to the shore, I saw angrier waves crashing on to jagged rocks.

Fear made my heart race and my stomach churn. I felt my body stiffen, while my mouth dried uncomfortably.

Although I had completed many safety sessions and I knew how to get myself back in my boat, I worried about what would happen if the sea reared higher and capsized me.

In a calmer spot, between a couple of headlands, our group came closely together for a chat. We looked at the map and decided that the tougher conditions would be fairly limited to a few rocky points and jutting headlands – and only between longer sections of sheltered bays.

We stuck together and shouted words of encouragement to each other when needed.

As we paddled on, seemingly making very slow progress, I realised I was on a steep but rewarding learning curve. The feverish sea was challenging both physically and mentally but my boat provided a solid companion and I was able to put previous experience into practice.

I paddled with conviction and I was alert to the need to adjust and balance when the sea threw up wobbles and unexpected waves.

Eventually, we turned away from the worst of the winds and journeyed into increasingly smoother waters. As forecast, the wind also started to drop. I was able to relax again, turning my thoughts to the fabulously remote setting rather than a belligerent sea.

It had taken us longer to paddle a shorter distance – 13.5 miles – compared to the day before and we were ready for a rest, recharge and overnight at the same camp spot.

Again, after a much-needed meal, we happily turned in for an early night. This time we set our alarms for 4.30am.

Day 3: The homeward paddle

To navigate a couple of narrow sea passages between Raasay and smaller out-lining islands, we required a high tide and this meant we should be on the water by 5.30am latest.

In contrast to the previous day’s conditions, it was a treat to paddle in serene early morning waters and with the promise of sunshine glimmering through the clouds.

At times, I paddled companionably alongside Gordon, Stewart or Alan, or else I enjoyed the silence of a solo pursuit. The views of Skye’s mountains, including the jagged Cuillin ridge and the other-worldly shapes of the Quiraing hills, were magnificent

After another 16 miles of paddling, we crossed the Sound of Raasay again and returned to Loch Sligachan, where three seals appeared, their heads bobbing up as if greeting us home.

As we stepped back on to the mainland at Sconser, I reflected on all the ingredients for a great adventure, including natural gems, fantastic views, remote camping, brilliant company and a mix of easy and challenging – sometimes very challenging – paddling.