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Demanding serious core strength and steely focus, paddleboarding transcend its reps as an entry-level water sport. We sent out man to hone his skills on the chilly, choppy waters of the Isle of Skye
The last time I was on a paddleboard, it was 30°C, sunny, and the only thing preserving my modesty was a pair of pink, pineapple-patterned Budgy Smugglers. I was living on Sydney’s northern beaches and had somehow signed myself up to play mixed supball – a cross between water polo and rugby on a stand-up paddleboard. In true Aussie style, Speedos were obligatory for men. I was, at best, an average player and spent most of my time in the water laughing. It was riotous fun, and I learned the basics of how to manoeuvre what – to me, as a shortboard surfer – felt like a cargo ship.
I had always viewed paddleboarding with slight disdain. I’d written it off as a bit pedestrian. But after my supball glory days (my team won the league), my view of it mellowed as I gained an appreciation for the broader appeal of the sport. I realised how tough it could be to maintain balance and competently command the board, and I appreciated how people of all shapes and fitness levels could climb straight on and have a go.
Fast-forward a couple of years and I’m back on a paddleboard. Having swapped that scorching harbour in Sydney for Scotland’s wild western coast, I’m wearing four extra layers to compensate for the 25°C drop in temperature. And instead of scoring goals and avoiding opposition supballers, my objective here is to keep myself and the waterproof sacks that hold my clothes, food, tent and sleeping bag dry. There’s one unlikely similarity, though: the sunshine.
“Ne’er cast a clout till May be oot,” goes an ominous Scottish proverb, which translates as: “If you go to Scotland before May, it’ll be cold and you’ll get drenched.” Pulling into Inverness on a grey April morning after
a pleasant night on the Caledonian Sleeper from London, I immediately notice the grey skies, incessant precipitation and depth of puddles
– all of which suggest that the proverb carries weight, and that my two-day paddleboarding adventure around the Isle of Skye is going to be, like Ben Stiller’s episode of Running Wild with Bear Grylls on the island, cold, sleepless, wet and windy.
As I wander through the train station car park looking for Donald, my guide, I spot a van adorned with paddleboards – bingo. Then a gust of wind almost knocks both me and my big bag over. I suddenly remember something that Donald said on our preparation call, a week earlier: “At certain wind speeds, no matter how good a paddler you are, you won’t be going anywhere.” I wonder if it’s too late to turn back. Then Donald clocks me and waves. Yep, it is.
When I’m embarking on a challenge, I like to know its parameters, so I can prepare for it mentally and physically. Such is the reliance of what’s possible on weather conditions in Scotland that I feel somewhat in the dark about what our 48-hour adventure will entail. On our long drive towards Skye, Donald schools me about the area’s history, while I quiz him about the next few days. I’m assured that we won’t be attempting a Jordan Wylie-esque feat of paddling round the entire island, given that Skye is 639 square miles. Instead, we’ll be paddling for four or five hours a day, hugging the rugged coastlines. There are a few caves to visit, one of which Stiller and Grylls slept rough in. Oh, and I need to carry all of my kit on the deck of the paddleboard.
I quickly realise that the challenge isn’t as simple as “turn up at a venue, take on a race, then go home”. Rather, it’s a matter of getting from A to B and surviving the journey. As my uncertainty clears, we turn west past Loch Ness and the rain stops, the clouds part and some blue sky reveals itself, apparently for the first time in months. “Never a bad day in Skye,” jokes Donald. I’m excited.
All kitted out, pumped up (the paddleboards and me) and packed, I quickly scan the Ordnance Survey map of the area to gauge my bearings, and we’re off. We wade down a stream just by Kilmarie, guiding our Red Paddle Co Voyager paddleboards out onto Loch
Slapin, before jumping on board. I’m wearing what feels like a waterproof onesie, but Donald makes it clear that if I fall in the water, I will likely still get wet. Though the wind has died down and the clouds have moved on, the loch is still quite choppy.
SHOCK AND OARS
My first impression of being out on the water is one of discomfort. Standing upright and uptight, angled slightly towards my paddling side just like Donald told me, I’m tense from the shoulders down to my ankles. All I can think is, “Am I going to survive on this thing for the whole two days?”
There’s a common misconception that you have to stand on paddleboards, which no doubt stems from the term SUP (stand-up paddleboarding). In perfect conditions, standing is the go-to position, giving you the most power with which to paddle. But if there’s a slight headwind, standing will turn you into a sort of sail, which can take you off course, or cause extra drift.
In my mild strife, I turn to see Donald on his knees, happily gliding through the water. I realise that if I am to get through this challenge, I need to heed all of his advice and work with the elements, rather than against them. I also need to quash any preconceived
ideas that if I’m not standing, I’m cheating. I drop to my knees to navigate the choppy water and immediately feel lighter, less tense and more able to enjoy and appreciate my surroundings.
In total, we cover around 10km at a pace of about 4kmph, which is a little slower than sea kayaking but conducive for exploring sea caves. That day, I clock a max speed of 6.8kmph, and my heart rate rarely goes above 100bpm. It’s tough-going. Though abs of steel aren’t a prerequisite, I quickly feel that enough practice would provide an efficient way to getting some.
By the time we reach our destination for the night, it’s approaching 6pm. We carry our boards ashore, carefully placing them down to avoid any punctures from pesky barnacles. Other than the seals that greet us upon arrival and the various birds that I interrupt on a jog around the island to scout for firewood and the best spot to pitch our tents, there are no inhabitants on Eilean na h-Àirde.
Donald surmises that perhaps only 100 people have ever spent the night here, so the fact that it still has a post code, IV49 9BQ, amuses me. As we put up our tents and fire up the gas stove to cook dinner, we have front-row seats to a rather spectacular sunset happening over the Small Isles. It’s a stunning sight, but it also spells the near-end to our primary source of light, so we wolf down our steak and mash while we can see them. I’m feeling the full-body effects of a day’s paddling, so I call it a night not long after sunset.
SKYE’S THE LIMIT
Day two brings similarly beautiful conditions, but in the physical stakes there are a couple more upwind – and therefore testing – paddles. My body is tired, but not for a lack of sleep, as I managed about nine hours’ kip. I’m aching all over, but it’s the good type of ache. As we make our way towards Elgol, where we’ll dock before heading to another village called Ord, I’m thinking about when and where I can next go paddleboarding. I arrived on Skye unsure of how much I’d enjoy it, but I’m already a convert.
The scenery is playing its part, but
I’m enjoying the level of physical activity it’s asking of me. The only other watersport to which I would compare it is surfing, which is far more explosive, whereas this feels more like a full-body workout. It’s less taxing but equally rewarding; low intensity but still a good cardiovascular challenge.
An important thing to note is that if you’re not familiar with Royal Yachting Association (RYA) charts, tidal planning and so on, it’s advisable to go with a guide who knows their stuff. Safety might not be sexy, but we can’t all harness our inner Bear Grylls to seek out an adventure. While I’m on the subject, the next time you’re trying to get to Spar Cave, Mr Grylls, might I suggest you’re better off paddleboarding than abseiling?
Arriving back at Inverness Station 36 hours after I first arrived, I’m shattered but exhilarated. My mind is crammed with picture-postcard visions of a blue-skied Skye that don’t come about often. From Spar Cave and its unique salt composition, Prince Charlie’s cave, Rùm, Soay, Isle of Canna, Elgol, Ord, Coral Island on Loch Eishort – it’s not lost on me that most of these places I’ve had the privilege of seeing are only reachable by paddleboard. As I say goodbye to Donald, he says with a smile: “Like I said, never a bad day in Skye, wink wink.”
Thanks to Red Paddle Co for the trip. explorehighland.com
“My body is tired and I’m aching all over, but it’s the good type of ache”