The North Coast with Kelly
Last year, I heard that Kelly — a paddler I’d met briefly at the Sea Kayaking UK symposium — was planning to paddle from Fort William to Inverness. When I found out she was heading for the North Coast of Scotland, my ears pricked up. That’s a section I’ve always wanted to paddle — and having company on a remote coastline is always a good idea. To my delight, Kelly was happy for me to join her.
After a few chats and some planning, we agreed to meet in Kinlochbervie and set off eastward on June 2nd.
The Drive North: A Rocky Start
Well, that’s tomorrow’s problem.
Saturday morning was a whirlwind of phone calls — probably rang 40 garages between my brother-in-law and me. Finally, a mechanic further afield could fit me in. Just one issue: the battery was completely drained, and the van wouldn’t go far without an alternator. To my surprise, the mechanic came to the roadside and fixed it right there. Relief doesn’t even cover it — I was back on the road and made it to Kinlochbervie by Sunday afternoon.
Cape Wrath or Plan B
We met that afternoon and checked the weather. Moderate south westerly winds — but a storm was brewing for Tuesday. The original plan was to do a short paddle on Monday, then around Cape Wrath on Tuesday. Not anymore.
We toyed with the idea of launching straight away and trying to sneak around before the storm hit — but as the wind began picking up, a shared look said it all: not worth it. So we made the call to skip Cape Wrath (it's not going anywhere, after all) and start further along the coast to make some miles before the storm landed.
Scotland's North Coast
Day 1: Durness to Farr Bay (Bettyhill)
About an hour in, my left footpeg failed. Not ideal in rough water. I wrestled to keep the boat on track until we reached Whiten Head, found shelter, and rafted up to fix it. Temporary fix. It gave out again, but we were nearly ready for lunch. Chose a lovely-looking beach… which turned into a full surf landing with boats flying toward shore like missiles. We survived unscathed, and I patched the footpeg with epoxy putty.
Afternoon brought a wind shift, making the crossing of Torrisdale Bay to Farr Bay a bit of a slog, but we made it.
Days 2–3: Storm Stop in Bettyhill
Day 4: Farr Bay to Portskerra
The surf in Farr Bay had been pounding for days, and neither of us fancied another dicey launch. I’d spotted a calm cove on our way in, so we walked over to check it out — flat as a pancake. It meant trolleying our boats 2km, and with a sore knee I wasn’t thrilled, but Kelly was convincing. Worth it.
After a well-earned cafe breakfast, we launched into decent swell and wind. Not much chat early on, but the conditions eased as forecasted and the paddle became a joy. We reached Portskerra — easily one of the best campsites of the trip. Cracking view. Even went for a dip.
Day 5: Portskerra to Dunnet Bay
A stunning day. Tailwinds early on made for smooth paddling along dramatic cliffs — puffins everywhere, the most I’ve ever seen. The Orkneys came into view, which felt surreal.
Rain started just as we reached the campsite. At first, they said they were full… then magically found a pitch at the far end. Kelly got her long-awaited shower; I hid from the downpour and charged my phone in the visitor room. All the faff definitely put Kelly off campsites. I can't blame her — wild camping is free and, often, far better.
Day 6: Dunnet Bay to John o’ Groats
We cut a straight line from St John’s Point to John o’ Groats, spurred on by the promise of chips — which did not disappoint.
Kelly was keen to pitch our tents right outside the five-star hotel. I gently suggested the footpath might be more appropriate. It ended up being quite the romantic little bivvy spot.
Day 7: John o’ Groats to Wick
Tides meant we had to be on the water early. We launched at 0900, catching the ebb around Duncansby Head. The stacks were breathtaking — towering sea pyramids rising from calm water. Absolute highlight of the trip.
A surprise lunchtime pier revealed we were 5km further along than expected. With the wind dropping, we pressed on across Sinclair’s Bay and rounded into Wick. Boats packed into the van, celebratory pizza devoured, and I slept like a log. The next morning, I waved Kelly off on her journey while I regrouped at a cafe, planning the next stage.
Orkney: Solo Paddling
Day 1: Gills Bay to Burwick via Stroma & Swona
I sent a message to my land contact, Kellie, explaining the plan — nothing to panic about, just good to have someone knowing where I was heading, even if only from a distance. Then I packed up and launched from Gills Bay at 1400.
Crossing over, I managed to hold a decent course over ground, but I was still fighting the west-going tide. For most of the way, I kept thinking, Oh gosh, I’m going to end up on Hoy. The fog came in, too, making the crossing even more daunting. But finally, I caught the eddy west of Swona and could start gaining ground east. Phew.
At the north tip of Swona, I hit slack water — as hoped — and turned east for the final crossing to South Ronaldsay. From there, I followed the coast south to Burwick, where I found the least romantic camp spot of the trip: a small patch of grass on the side of the road. But after that crossing, I wasn't too bothered.
Day 2: Burwick to Newark Bay
What I really wanted to do was paddle the east coast of South Ronaldsay. But after studying the tides, I realised there was only a one-hour window of north-flowing current — and it came quite late in the day. Instead, I opted for the west side, where I'd read there's a reliable north-going back eddy all day. Perfect, I thought — that’ll help me cruise up the coast.
Within about an hour of paddling, I reached Barth Head… and promptly hit a strong tidal stream charging south. Exactly the wrong direction. The flow was fast and determined. There were two races — an outer and an inner — divided by a long, flat rock that jutted half a metre above sea level.
First, I tried the outer race. No chance — I was going backwards. Then I gave the inner race a go. Same story. No progress.
Cue panic. Everything was in there — all my comms gear, essentials, the lot.
So I leapt back onto the boat and clipped my carabiner on fast. Now soaked and shivering, but feeling very smug about "doing it properly" at last, I climbed up onto the rocks and dragged the boat over.
From there, I carried on through Weddell Sound, did a short portage, and dried out my kit. The paddle along the west coast of Mainland was worth every sodden moment. I finished the day with a beautiful wild camp at Newark Bay.
Days 3 & 4: Newark Bay to Kirkwall
A storm was on the way. Southerly winds were forecast — not ideal — but from my camp, it meant a short push into the wind followed by a fantastic 10 km downwind run.
And it was fantastic: lovely swell, good surf, towering cliffs, and a symphony of seabirds overhead. Rounding the headland brought me into calm seas, sheltered by high cliffs. There were a few lively sidewind crossings, and then a final battle into headwinds to reach Kirkwall.
Camping options were limited around town, but I found a discreet spot near the sailing club.
The next day, the wind strengthened as predicted. I’d already planned a land day — mostly spent anxiously checking the tent’s guy lines and listening to the relentless flapping of fabric. Concentration was nearly impossible.
To distract myself, I wandered from café to café — breakfast in one, cake in another — then back to the tent for a futile attempt at reading.
Bliss.
My first shower of the trip felt like heaven. I wrapped the day up with pub grub and a real bed — small luxuries that felt well-earned after days of salt, wind, and water.
Day 5: Kirkwall to Stromness
The wind was still strong from the south, though forecasted to ease by 6 pm. My plan was to paddle west along the north coast of Mainland, with the wind either at my back or sheltered by the land. By the time I reached Brough Head and turned south, I hoped the weather would have calmed.
I set off into the strong winds behind me but soon found myself battling a bit of tide. The swell was sizable, making my kayak snake and dance unpredictably. I just had to trust it and let it do its thing. The crossing felt endless, but finally, I reached the lee of the wind. The conditions settled, and I pressed on westward.
The tide now pushed in my favor, the cliffs grew taller, and the swell grew even bigger. The wind, however, had a mind of its own, gusting wildly from every direction. One particularly fierce gust stole my cap—so if you see a cool fish wearing a SKUK cap, it's probably mine.
I started to doubt myself and wished I had company out there. I was searching for a cove I’d noted from the guide, but the swell was intimidating. Would I be able to land safely? And what if the tide swept me around the headland and back into the strong southerly wind?
Eventually, I reached the cove. Landing was surprisingly easy, but the wind was still howling. I tried for a weather update, but there was no signal. My last forecast said the winds should drop by 6 pm, with another storm coming tomorrow—this time from the east. I wanted to push as far as possible before that.
Hour by hour, as daylight faded, I committed to the stretch ahead — edging closer and closer to Stromness. And just in time, I arrived. A long day — 60 km — but I felt safer knowing the strong winds were behind me now. I camped at the sailing club, exhausted but relieved.
Day 6: Stromness - St Margaret's Hope
Ideally, I would have liked to paddle along the west coast of Hoy and then cross back to Mainland Scotland. But the weather — and time — were against me. Easterly winds were now picking up fast.
So I set a new goal: reach the ferry at St Margaret’s Hope.
The spot where I’d camped was a hotspot for swimmers, and it took a little longer to get going — lots of friendly folks curious about what I was doing. Eventually, I got on the water and began the tough push into the wind.
First came the crossing to Houton Head, then the main channel to Flotta. The boat traffic was intense — dodging ferries and larger vessels definitely kept me on edge.
Paddling along Flotta’s north coast, I suddenly realised I’d forgotten the ferry times back to South Ronaldsay — not ideal when trying not to get run over. I hadn’t seen the ferry for a while and debated: avoid the shipping channel, or go for the shortest crossing?
I chose the direct route and powered across. Just as I reached the far side, the ferry came into view — perfect timing.
From there, I followed the coast around into St Margaret’s Hope Bay and landed on a slipway just as the rain began to pour. I strapped the trolley onto the kayak and wheeled it up to the ferry, joining a small group of equally soaked travellers.
Finally, back on board and bound for Mainland Scotland. My van was waiting at Gill’s Bay — along with a dry set of clothes and the beginning of the long drive home.
What a Trip
The Scottish North Coast and Orkney — wild, beautiful, spicy, unpredictable. Exactly what sea kayaking should be. There’s something about the rhythm of long paddling days, the silence between waves, and the kindness of strangers that just resets your soul.
Here’s to the next adventure.
Thanks for posting this Ashley. A very enjoyable and inspirational read
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