Kayaking, a whole canoe experience!
The last time I stayed in a youth hostel I was in my teens – and it was far from a comfortable experience. I was kept awake by an orchestra of snoring from nearby guests and an interminable debate going on in the street below about Jethro Tull’s best-ever gig.
Worse, I had to wear my flip-flops at all times, worried what my bare feet might pick up from the grubby carpet. It kind of put me off ever since.
Several years on, I have managed to exorcise those demons, and I have booked into my own smart room in a youth hostel with fine views over Oban harbour.
I’ve joined a small group of novice kayakers on a weekend’s sea kayaking adventure off Scotland’s west coast. The weather is amazing. It’s more Caribbean than Scottish: warm with not a cloud in the blue sky.
It’s our second day on the water and we set off from the beach at Ganavan Bay, paddling around Maiden Island. By mid-morning, our excellent instructor has one ear cocked to harbour radio. He waits for the call notice for a ferry about to leave Oban harbour. We have a couple of minutes to paddle clear of the main channel.
It’s unlikely many of us would have been able to meet such a deadline the previous morning when most of us stepped into a kayak for the first time.
Then we were taught forward and reverse paddling, and how to turn. We also learned how to conserve energy, and paddle against wind and waves.
Once we are a safe distance away, we line up in formation to watch the huge ferry begin its journey to the Isle of Mull. Then comes the fun bit: we paddle head-on into the waves created by the ferry’s wash – and tackle these watery speed bumps with aplomb. Ferry gone, we paddle on in its wake towards the small island of Kerrera.
As we paddle past fish farms, oystercatchers swoop low and inquisitive seals raise their heads above the water.
Kayaking creates a huge appetite, so we paddle into Slatrach Bay and demolish our picnic lunches. Beside us, pink thrift wild flowers grow out of the rocks.
We are on the water most of the time. It feels like the summers of our childhood when we would spend whole days outdoors.
Back at the hostel in the evening, my new kayaker friends and I compare the blisters on our hands from hours of paddling.
There are no world championship snoring contests taking place anywhere near, and I fall asleep serenaded only by the gentle lapping of waves outside my window.