Tag: camping

We arrived at Bardentarbet Pier just after midnight. I pitched my tent behind the car. Nick slept at the wheel with the seat back. By 5am it was light and the midges had already decided to choose violence. They attacked my face the instant I unzipped my tent. 

Chunky, rough cobbles covered the beach between the road and the sea. Unfortunately, we put the boats down in the diluted liquor that was oozing out of a bloated, dead sheep. We hastily sidestepped onto clean ground. 

We took it in turns to take the car a mile back the way we had come for a final porcelain poo. 

As we shuttled back and forth from the car to the boats, I found a pair of Nikon binoculars in a see-through Lomo dry bag. They were compact, weighty and of very high quality with a metal body and glass lenses. They had been carefully sealed in the bag. Surely only another kayaker would have dropped them there. I stowed them safely out of sight in the car planning to try and trace the owner at a later date. 

We paddled off, aiming directly for Tanera More. I’d read about it already; it was said to be privately owned and protected by security guards. We took a look at the settlement without getting too close, continuing clockwise. 

A shiny-looking Land Rover Defender appeared to keep us in sight as we rounded the corner. We avoided that and found a nice secluded midge free beach where we could brew up and have our breakfast. 

We paddled about 30km circling the islands, paddling into caves and getting a feel for the area. Two or three dolphins breached nearby. It was pretty well flat calm with sunshine all day, we had been very lucky. 

At just after 4, we settled for a scrappy, rough campsite on west side of the uninhabited island Tanera Beg. We had a dodgy carry-over of more slippery cobbles to get the boats clear of the high tide mark. What had looked like flat, green grass was actually six inches or so of undergrowth, gorse and heather. It was flattish. There was plenty of driftwood though and no “neighbours” to offend. 

We’ve executed this drill many times now, so we were all set with tents pitched and settled in within 45 minutes. 

Personal admin is of critical importance on these trips. We stripped off to our undercrackers and wobbled our way back into the sea. I’ve got some travel soap that seems to be ok with salt water. I used my microfibre travel towel to dry off, a blast of Lynx and I was ready for my clean, dry clothes. 

Nick is the designated firestarter but I helped gather a respectable pile of washed-up fence posts, pallets, branches and twigs. Dinner for me was an Uncle Ben’s rice and tinned salmon followed by a nice cup of tea and a chocolate bar. Nick’s more of a boil-in-the-bag man. 

The next bit is my favourite. 

Lighting the fire and pitching into some tins of beer. Guinness or Adnams Ghost Ship for me, Shipyard for Nick. I don’t know how many, definitely too many. Beer, fire, shooting stars, satellites, pretty amazing to think the closest other humans were several miles away and separated by water. 

We had a fair night’s sleep and awoke to a midgey breakfast, porridge for me, boil in the bag all-day breakfast for Nick. Nice cups of tea. 

Welcome back if you skipped the last paragraph. 

We got underway. Heading south east towards Horse Island. On the way, Nick, with his eagle eyes, saw dolphins breaching about one kilometre away. I don’t tend to notice these things as I’m a) short-sighted and b) map reading. 

We wouldn’t dream of disturbing wildlife, but as it was, we were headed that way. 

Twenty minutes later, we met the dolphins. There were about 25 of them, arcing out of the water in twos and threes, playing, enjoying their athleticism. For fifteen minutes they crashed in and out of the sea, sometimes as close as ten feet from me. I have rarely felt quite so alive. I could smell them. I was being lightly splashed as they re-entered the water. They created a wall of sound with their snorting, breathing and smashing into the sea. I held my underwater camera beneath the hull, hoping to capture it.

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We both managed a bit of film which I have edited together here.

As we ate our lunch, the coastguard transmitted a missing person bulletin on VHF channel 16. A lady, in her sixties, on her own, out in a kayak, not too far from us and overdue back to her family. We know each other from our time in the police, so we both mentally switched on. When we peered into the distance, we saw a sea kayak slowly heading our way with a grey-haired paddler. Surely not! 

The paddler had seen us; at 30m, we realised it was a man, not the missing person then. He stopped for a chat. Straightaway, he was two leagues better than us. His composite sea kayak was well used, patched in places but of top-notch quality. His gear was high spec, slightly sun-bleached. He had a dry suit, we were in t-shirts. He was about 70. We made him a cup of tea and swapped war stories of kayaking trips past. He was humble, a soft East of Scotland accent, clearly a highly accomplished paddler. 

He very politely and diplomatically put it to us that we were a bit risk-averse and challenged us to up our paddling game. This was a breath of fresh air as most people we meet tell us we’re going to die! 

He showed us some of his kit, I noticed he had a medium sized plastic bottle with the bottom cut away just in front of his seat. I’d had to make myself one of those once when I needed to empty my bladder, but we didn’t comment on it. He proudly showed us a pool noodle that he had modified as an aid to self rescue in the event of a capsize. 

As an aside, I mentioned the binoculars we’d found. His smiling face broke into a beam, he explained that his was the car next to ours back at the pier. He had set off a couple of days before us. He had lost his binoculars but did not know where and had been emptying his kayak and retracing his steps totally unaware that they were left on the beach where he had set off. He described them to me, this was unnecessary as I was already totally convinced he was a genuine person. I took a note of his address and asked for his phone number so I could confirm he would be around, these were valuable and would need special postage. I found it quite charming that he did not know his number and his phone was safely powered off inside a dry bag in the depths of one of his hatches as he got it out and looked it up for me. 

Mr W told us the best place to camp. He went north, and we carried on south to the beach he recommended. 

This was a proper, perfect campsite. Actual flat grass, sandy beach, bountiful firewood, and even a fireplace. Just before we turned our radios off for the night, we heard with relief that the missing lady kayaker had returned in one piece. 

As the tide fell, Nick noticed the remains of some wood structures and rocks that we surmised were to hold fishing nets to sieve the small bay’s catch from the retreating sea. We thought about those who had gone before, sat around a fire on the exact same spot as us, bellies full of fresh fish. 

When the sun settled, the midges came out. These were the worst midges I’ve ever experienced in my 46 years. 

I’ve spent a lot of time in Scotland. This was the midge apocalypse. Words cannot convey how serious this was. It was not a case of the air being thick with them. The air was them. Every inhale sucked hundreds of them into my throat and lungs causing sharp coughs. They filled my ears with tiny, whizzing screeches. My eyes itched and wept involuntarily. We both had mosquito nets, but it was unbearably humid and unpleasant underneath them. My snood was literally a lifesaver. I used it to cover my ears and mouth, I think I would have gone insane otherwise. 

We both had to abandon our beers and head into our tents. It was that bad.

Overnight, my eyes started discharging sticky pus. My eyelid muscles were not powerful enough to open, so I had to manually pry them apart with my fingers whenever I needed to see anything. 

Things were not much better the next day, so we packed up and fled into our boats. Midges never seem to follow us more than 20 ft or so out into the sea. 

We headed back north, taking a meandering route around the northern summer isles. More arches, caves, and dolphins. 

We discovered a cow-sized dead animal floating in a little cove. Probably a whale. The sea was getting lively, so we pressed on for the commercial campsite at Altandhu. 

All the other campers had gravitated towards the upper pitches, near the road. We were the only ones to arrive by boat, so we had the lower beachside terrace to ourselves. We paid the man and luxuriated in lovely hot showers. 

The pub next door (Fuaran Bar) was busy. They were serving food but told us there were no tables. But there was room in the bar. And they were doing takeaways. So we had takeaway fish and chips at a table in the bar. And many, many pints. 

The last day was easy, a 6km paddle back to the car and home. 

When I got home, I sent a text to Mr W and he gave me his address. I carefully wrapped his binoculars in bubble wrap and put them in an old amazon box, they were sent special delivery. He sent a very gracious thank you, his offer to pay for the postage was declined and we both said we would meet up if we’re ever in each other’s neck of the woods. 

When I think back on this trip – the dolphins, the apocalypse midges, the perfect campsite – what stands out is Mr W. We only spent an hour with him, but his influence was lasting. He challenged us to be bolder. He shared his best campsite. He showed us a little into our future being decades older than us and still in the midst of our shared hobby. And somehow, through pure chance, we were able to return something valuable he’d lost. That felt right.

This trip happened between 17 – 20 July 2025.