I was working my way through my lists of things to do/take/buy in preparation for my trip to Scotland. In doing so I found myself at the checkout in Tesco’s. 'Do you have a bag for life sir' asked the young lady on the till. Apparently 'Not since the divorce' was not the right answer. 

I beat a hasty retreat to the sanctuary of my campervan with my purchases. A few basic things to see me through the trip to Scotland, a week wild camping and the return trip. As ever I'd bought enough to feed an army. 

Back home, checking yet another list, this time of kayaking kit to take. A list wasn't really necessary, I was basically taking everything kayak related that I owned. Dutifully bagged up I loaded the van. Kit for the journey up, kit for kayaking, kit for the return.

Double checking everything was where it should be, Katie Kayak strapped to the roof, one last vacuum round (I have no idea either) and I was off. 

My cunningly brilliant plan was to take my time getting to Scotland. I allowed so much time in fact, I could have almost cycled it quicker. (although very difficult with a kayak strapped to my back, but you get my drift).

After a night in the middle of nowhere in Cambridgeshire I continued north, A1, A66, M74, Glasgow, Erskin Bridge and into the wilds of beautiful Scotland.  a second night in the van I eventually found myself at Craobh Haven marina, our meeting point. Looking out through the windscreen I could see white horses blowing across the water. And that was just on the puddles in the car park! Yes, it was blowing a hooley, as they say. In Scotland, would you believe it?

The plan was to meet Saturday between 9am and 5pm, dine at the Lord of the Isles pub and leave for our weeks wild camping first thing Sunday. Because I'd arrived 24 hours early I set about killing some time, wandering about and generally getting a feel for the place. 

Saturday morning saw me checking through my kit, trying to organise it, as to what would go in which hatch. Somehow missing were my kayaking shoes. Also, my tow line, paddle float, repair kit, survival bags and a whole host of other bits. Because this was an organised trip and I was a fare paying customer, the missing kit wasn't really necessary but nevertheless it was stuff I like to carry with me.

What I couldn't survive without was my water bladder which was also missing. A quick phone call to my neighbour confirmed what I already knew, I'd left a bag of kit at home. (Perhaps next time I should include the number of bags to be loaded into the van)  dash into Oban 40 minutes away saw me £140 poorer but the proud owner of another water bladder and a pair of dry trousers.

Yes, you can never have too much kayaking kit! 

Back at the marina the team gradually arrived. Gethin who owns and runs Sea Kayak Wales based in Anglesey, the group leader I knew, accompanied by Richard, the second leader. Two of the nicest blokes you could wish to meet.

Over the evening meal we all got to know each other a bit. One of the others, another Richard, I'd paddled around Anglesey with last year. By bed time the wind had dropped to a force 4.

Maggie and Kevin, Richard and myself slept in our respective campervans. The others all had the pleasure of sleeping in tents.  The uninitiated, wild camping is something men of my age do because we think we're only 22.

The reality is there are no home comforts and you carry with you everything you'll need for the duration.

The plan was to paddle around the area of the Slate Isles, enjoy some challenging sea conditions, spot a bit of wild life and leave the lunacy of the real world behind for a few days.

Mother nature has different plans though.  following day, Sunday, the wind had eased considerably and we enjoyed an easy paddle heading north, pretty much along the west coast of Luing, stopping briefly for lunch and a stretch at Cullipool, only to find it was closed. All of it. 

Continuing on, the sun shone and for a while, to make thinks a little more interesting, the swell got up to just over a metre meaning other paddlers disappeared from sight in the troughs. Passing to the west of Easdale and Seil, we eventually landed and set up camp.

I initially pitched my tent in a rough area of grass. Concluding I was about as much like Bear Grylls as Larry Grayson, (anyone under 40, Google him!) I then decamped to further along the small bay to a flatter pitch. Keeping the tent doors downwind I set about getting comfortable. By that I mean having a chance of getting some sleep whilst using a rock as a pillow. 

I struggled out of my dry trousers, winter cagoule and wet paddling boots in the confines of a two-man tent, surrounded by my worldly goods, only to find I'd left my dry shorts and lightweight paddling shoes in my kayak, 50 metres away.

I couldn't be bothered to go through all of that palaver again so crawled into my sleeping bag and went to sleep. It was 6.30. I wasn't the only one that had an early night. As predicted, the winds had returned and it was raining.

Monday dawned. Very strong winds with a bit of early rain thrown in. By strong winds, I think they were force 6. Breakfast was porridge and a mug of tea. Just like being at home but there I don't go through the ten-minute yoga routine as I try to get out of my sleeping bag and liner before my bladder nearly bursts.

We were all competent paddlers, it was decided we'd wait an hour or so and see if the wind abated. This being Scotland, it didn't. Meanwhile, I prepared pasta and tuna ready for lunch, whilst scoffing cake and drinking copious amounts of tea. Whilst sitting in the tent with my feet in the 'porch' I couldn't help but notice how wet the porch was. Using my mattock (a tool for digging holes in the woods when nature calls, in case you were wondering) I dug a hole and watched it fill up with water. It quickly dawned on me that I'd pitched my tent in a very slight gully which accounted for most things feeling ever so slightly damp. 

The rain eased but the wind didn't. An executive decision was made and we headed to the nearby pub, outside of which was the 'Bridge over the Atlantic' built between 1792 and 1793. There we stayed for the best part of the day, slowly drying out, en masse putting the world to rights and swapping stories. 

Maggie, the only lady in the group, made the brilliant suggestion, considering the weather forecast, that we return to the Croabh Haven marina and perhaps depart from there on what would essentially be day trips, as opposed to getting stranded camping, too far from where we really wanted to be.

We put it to the vote. Yes, hot showers, proper toilets and my campervan, here we come! I enjoy a bit of camping and am always amazed at how quickly we can adapt to what some would consider hardships and discomfort. Nevertheless, a decent shower did seem very appealing. 

The following morning, squinting at my watch I desperately hoped it was showing 1125. But no, it was in fact 4.55 and time to drag myself out of my pit. More yoga, wet boots, cake for breakfast, everything stuffed into dry bags, half dragged, half carried to Katie Kayak and shoved into the hatches.

We were, on the water 0715. early start is always magnificent. Dark, mysterious, mist topped hills. Nothing but sound of paddles entering the water and hushed conversations amongst some of the others. Way off in the distance was a small fishing boat, alone fisherman working away. Not to take anything away from the man, but I couldn’t help but notice the contrast between his lifestyle and that of so many, particularly in the south east. No M25, no commuting, no delayed trains, queues of traffic everywhere, stress, aggravation and hardening of arteries. It was 9am and we were in a different world.The return journey wasn't overly taxing although it was still windy and raining. I find a strange beauty in paddling in the rain.

In particular that part of Scotland which seemed somehow even more wild and remote.

By the time we got back at the marina though, I was on the uncomfortable side of cold.  (I think) saw more high winds.We drove into Oban for coffee and cakes returning early afternoon. Nature is always going dictate the day, By the time we got back at the marina though, I was on the uncomfortable side of cold.  (I think) saw more high winds.We drove into Oban for coffee and cakes returning early afternoon. Nature is always going dictate the day, so trying to make the most of things and with on shore winds, under the coaching of Richard, four of us headed just out the marina for a bit of kayak surfing. 
With the wind force 4 gusting 6 with two and a half foot waves which made for an entertaining couple of hours. 

Thursday saw me smugly alight from my van having had another decent kip under a quilt and my head resting on a proper pillow (I know, smart arse!) whilst those in tents had endured a particularly windy night kept awake by the wind whistling and howling through the yachts rigging which slapped constantly against their masts. 

It was decided today to head up through the Cuan Sound then, weather dependant, out towards some of the smaller islands. The wind had eased a bit but given the forecast and tides, we anticipated more challenging conditions on the return leg. 

Cuan Sound is a narrow stretch of water between Luing and Seil. Although the water does race through, it was still paddlable using the eddies and we made it to the far end, had a look westward but decided that discretion was the better part of valour (a proverb apparently first used in in 1477. See, you're being educated as well!) and retraced our route. 

We headed south, this time along the east side of Luing. The island gave us a fair bit of shelter from the head winds to start with, but with a following tide, as the waters became more exposed, the more interesting the sea state became. For me, this is what kayaking is all about. I know it's not everyone's idea of fun to have the swell roll up the front deck of the kayak then smack them in the chest, but it is mine. Then, when we reached the southern tip of Shuna and turned eastward, we had the fun of having the swell come at us from the side, sometimes breaking over the cockpit. Sea kayaking at its best! 

After another very windy night and with no let-up in sight we again discussed the options. Given the fact the wind had changed direction thereby making a surfing session more trouble than it was going to be fun, we decided to call it a day, pack up and head home. 

Was the trip worth it? Without a doubt, yes. For all sorts of reasons, I'd not actually looked forward to the trip but having been in the company of some lovely people, paddled in some challenging waters in a stunningly beautiful part of the world, seen eagles and sea otters, I was much sadder to be leaving than I was to be going. That, dear reader, must surely say it all.

Roger