The run up to my first paddleboard trip of the year wasn’t good, but I started my 2021 paddling with a bang! My long-COVID had deteriorated at the back-end of 2020 and I had been struggling all year. Even if my body was limiting me, my mental health needed a break so I booked a cottage in Laide at the end of May.

Laide overlooks Gruinard Bay, with a lovely view across to Gruinard Island and the mountains beyond. The island is famous (or infamous) for experiments in the second world war, which involved tying up goats and sheep and bombing them with anthrax. The latter, unfortunately, is notoriously persistent and the island was a no-go area for decades. In the 80s, protesters forced the government to act. The island was doused in chemicals and declared safe. No-one chose to test that by living there, although sheep sometimes graze there. I know noone who has even visited it, which, of course, made me want to go there!

TBH I wasn’t sure how active I could be on my week away. I packed my paddleboard, but not my bike. I did throw in my relatively new electric scooter though! The plan was to see how I and the weather felt. The latter was nice when I left, but the forecast was for a deterioration. As it turned out, I picked the best week of the year to go away! The Sunday dawned sunny and pretty still. I woke up around 5am and it looked spectacular! If any day was going to be ok to paddleboard, this was it. So I packed my kit and drove round the bay.

Faff and prep

I did go back to bed after my early rise, so it was mid-morning before I was on my way. I enjoyed the nice views along the way, and the novelty of being able to drive with the window open. The day before, I had spotted the jetty marked on the map opposite the island. There was a small parking bay just beyond, which I pulled into behind a camper van. These were unusually prolific: I’d seen more on the journey up than I would usually see in a month.

The first experiment was my new compressor. As I was worried that lots of pumping would tire me out too much, I had splashed out on one for this trip. However, it came with too many similar adaptors and o-rings to create a seal. Back home, I’d picked what I thought was the best combo. Out in the field, or layby, I realised I hadn’t got it quite right. It got my board to about 8psi without any problems, but then slowed dramatically with air hissing out. I pushed the valve in harder and it worked better, but only so long as I held it. Must do better!

The other problem with the compressor was its noise. The inhabitants of the camper van were sitting on a couple of chairs about 100m away, no doubt hoping for a nice quiet time enjoying the more than pleasant view. Instead, I was chuntering away. I hid the compressor in the car, shutting the front door as much as I could. It dampened the noise, but didn’t feel like enough. I did think about going and apologising to them, but embarrassment, or British reserve, stopped me.

The sea beckons

Although the jetty wasn’t far away, the shore was even closer. So once I was ready I just carried the board down, stepping carefully down a steep muddy patch in my neoprene slippers and gingerly over some rocks. I found a good launch spot amongst the craggy coast and managed to keep dry feet as I got on board. My first paddleboard trip of the year was underway!

I was also aware this was my first ever sea excursion too! I hadn’t checked for any currents, but it looked calm enough and the lay of the land suggested this was probably relatively benign. Which it proved to be. At least I had a bouyancy aid now, though I forgot to put my leash on which probably more than offset that!

As I set off towards the nearest part of the island, which was the southern end, a gentle breeze blew from about 45^o-60^o to my right. Given my fragility, it was enough to raise a concern in my head, but not enough to stop me. Although not quite flat, the wavelets were really small. Paddling across didn’t feel hard, but I was aware it wasn’t without a little effort. Maybe a bit of paranoia, but I was continually monitoring myself and trying to keep my strokes as relaxed as I could so I wouldn’t tire myself out.

As I approached the end of the island, I turned north. I had the idea of walking to the island summit and, as paddling is easier than walking for me, wanted to get closer to the summit, despite the southern end being the obvious place to land. Maybe the island funnelled the breeze, or it picked up a little, but paddling directly into it needed more effort than I expected. I looked for a landing spot.

Anthrax island!

Although I’d left the big beach behind and the coast was now quite rocky, I could see a gap with a pebble beach in it. It proved to be a little awkward: although I could get close to the shore easily, the pebbles were pretty chunky which made stepping on them underwater uncomfortable. Nevertheless, I was soon on anthrax island. As with many things, the actual arrival on this legendary place proved to be somewhat anticlimactic. Here I was on this little bay, with a steep rocky and overgrown bank to get out of it. Nice view back to the mainland, but the was a rather nondescript spot. Nevertheless, I felt pleased to have made it there.

But my challenge was to walk to the summit, so I put my boots on, ate my cereal bar and tried to pick the easiest way off the beach.

This proved to be quite hard. Either there was steep grassy rocks or dense and nettle festooned undergrowth unattractive to those wearing shorts. I ducked under a tree whose shade seemed to hamper the vegetation and clambered up a steep bank to a heather covered ridge. The heather was dense too, and thigh deep. By the time I reached the crest of the main island I was knackered.

As I surveyed the land, I realised this wasn’t going to happen. This is what vegetation becomes without our domesticated mowing machines: without sheep, it was dense all over. A fully-fit me might have seen it as a challenge and pushed on. Long-covid me knew it would be foolish to destroy myself on the first day of a week-long holiday. Letting common sense prevail, I turned round and heading back the way I had come.

Paddling home

After a wee break so I could catch my breath, I got back on the water. The breeze had definitely picked up. Not enough to be difficult, but would make paddling across it a bit awkward. So I started off by heading for a buoy that I could see a two or three hundred metres away. It was a little north of me and meant paddling with the wind about 45^o to my left. I presume it was for fishing, but couldn’t see anything attached.

Having headed into the wind a bit, my plan worked and it was mostly at my back for the remainder of the trip. Did need to keep adjusting as I paddled, and it wasn’t strong enough to stop paddling altogether, but was much more comfortable. Apart from when I stood up. I was really wobbly and uncomfortable. Don’t know if my illness is affecting my balance or its just my lack of conditioning, but didn’t feel at all confident. So it didn’t last long, and I returned to paddling on my knees.

The landing was fine, just returning to the original rock. Did take me two trips to carry everything up to my car though. And my feet sank into the steep muddy bit. They washed fine 🙂

Still haven’t found anyone else who has been to anthrax island. If I was going back, would definitely land at the southern beach. Much easier access to the island for wandering round.