30th December 2016 - South stacked it

Al's account:

It all looked so good on paper the night before. 

Forecast: F3 gusting F4. 

Tidal planning: Last of the flood should take us from Porth Darfach, past Penrhyn Mawr after its most lively. Quick trip round South Stack lighthouse at slack water. Start of the ebb to aid our return to the beach.

So it was we set off at early doors and arrived at a slightly breezier than expected beach. Using the designated water sports drop off area, we unloaded the boats conveniently next to the sand, before parking the vans a little way up the hill.

There were a few more white caps than I expected looking out from the bay, but I put this down to the spring tide still running swiftly. It was still a little while before we set off and by the time we were out of the bay it would all have calmed down.

Al's account cont...

Spirits were high as we launched and headed away from the beach. I love the sensation as the first waves break over your bow, the salty spray lashing your face. Approaching more open water, the swell was definitely bigger than I was expecting and in places waves were breaking in more confused patches of sea. "It's the last of the flood," I told myself, "it'll calm down soon." Anyway, the roller coaster of the swell was exhilarating, I was enjoying myself!

Rounding a small headland, Penrhyn Mawr became visible for the first time. It was still at least 500m away but there was no doubting the line of white water extending from the headland. If it looked that big from here, how big would it be there? It didn't take me long to decide I didn't want to find out, even if the strength of the tide was decreasing.  Dick and James looked like they were enjoying themselves, so it was reluctantly that I shouted across, telling them I wanted to bail. It was a relief to find that they felt the same way and so swinging my bow around I didn't feel too bad.

Now this was a different experience, the swell was now hitting on my rear quarter, giving a much more discomforting ride. While I was confirming with Dick that we'd made the right decision, he noticed that James's track was not in line with ours but in an Easterly direction, parallel with the swell and not in the direction of landfall and our beach. As we paddled to join him, James went over. My worry was short lived though as he soon rolled back up and we were once again on our way, heading for our cove.

The Irish Sea at the end of December isn't known as being one of the World's balmier seas.  I hadn't brought my pogies and my hands were definitely feeling it. Despite his body being cocooned in a drysuit, James though had had his head in, I couldn't imagine the ice cream headache he must now be feeling, the cold being completely energy sapping. It wasn't surprising, therefore, that shortly afterwards he was in again.  Despite valiantly attempting to roll again, he wet exited and we set about getting him back into his boat and the water pumped out.

Glancing up during these manoeuvres, we suddenly realised we were drifting quickly and not towards a nice soft landing, fingers of rock sticking out between the breaking waves (you can see the drift towards the fort on the GPS track on the map above). We quickly arranged a tow and I set off paddling, away from the cliffs while Dick and James, rafted together, finished pumping and putting on spraydecks.

Paddle, paddle, tug. Paddle, paddle, paddle, tug. Paddle, tug. There never seemed to be a constant rhythm to the tugs on the line as I was surfed away from the other two and the anticipation of the jarring that I knew would come didn't make the paddling easy. Little by little though, our cove eased closer. Entering into the bay I was concerned the others would be surfed into me. James and Dick though managed to prevent this happening and even managed to shout me a warning as the larger waves reared up behind. At one point a shout of "Big wave!" had me thinking, "How big!?", but the waves were losing their energy now.

Just a few more strokes brought the bow of my boat up onto the golden sand and before I knew it, James was dragging my boat further up the beach so I could step out onto dry land.  Almost immediately the "what ifs?" started going through my mind, but here we all were, back on terra firma, a bit more experience under our belts.

Dick's account.

Like Al, I was looking forward to a trip in some slightly rougher water to develop my paddling skills. A journey through the overfalls Penrhyn Mawr as it calmed down, followed by a circumnavigation of South Stack was an exciting plan.  The sight of the whitecaps outside the cove as we arrived at the drop off point, however, had me thinking that maybe it might be a bit more of an adventure than I had planned but Al and James seemed confident so, hey, lets give it a go.

Once out of the bay the swell and occasional breaking waves necessitated more than the occasional support stroke as we headed towards the headland that hid Penrhyn Mawr from our view.  Once around this, the sight of the white, boiling mass of water that was the tide race made me question my skill level and the thought of one of us capsizing in it filled me with dread as to how we would effect a rescue. The weather conditions were not those we had seen in the video we had watched a week earlier of a team playing in the waves in sunshine and smooth seas, laughing as they sat in a back eddy and recovered a paddler who had come out of their boat.  This looked way more serious but ... Al and James were paddling purposefully towards it so if they were OK so should I be.  Then Al (to my great relief) suggested that perhaps this was not our day and we turn back.  I readily agreed and turned the boat to head back.

As described above things developed after this, as paddling into the wind and waves on the way out was (comparatively) easier than wind and waves on the rear quarter.  When James went over the first time and I watched him fight to stabilise the roll I realised the amount of effort it had taken to do it and the effect of the cold, despite the drysuit must have been debilitating.  Once he was in the water the seriousness of our situation hit home.  We had to sort this ourselves and quickly.  The suddenly noticed drift towards the rocks prompted a quick discussion about whether we did a rock garden landing but the remoteness of the headland and high cliffs would have meant no exit.  Al towing while I held James up was the only answer.  And as it was it worked.  We arrived (eventually after a monumental effort by Al towing) back at the beach.  Metres from the shore I cast James adrift to land and as he pushed off I realised that my paddles were stowed under the deck lines.  In the next wave, over I went and in the final five metres ended up exiting the boat and wading to the shore!

So what did we learn from this experience?

1. If things look a bit rough out at sea while standing on the beach, they will be a lot bigger when you get out there
2. Share concerns earlier rather than later.  Just because people look confident doesn't mean they are.
3. A group of 3 is the minimum for a safe party of our experience.  I'm not sure what we would have done if there had been just the two of us and one of us had experienced a similar situation.
4. Tow lines are the length they are for a reason!  (The towing boat could be one side of the wave and the towed boat the other).
5. Have your paddles in hand before you split up a raft!

Was it a fun trip?  Maybe, maybe not, but it certainly gave us something to talk about when we got back home!

3rd November 2016 - Dorset delight

With a family holiday once again taking us down to the stunning Jurassic coast of Dorset, I hoped I'd be able to fulfil a dream of doing some exploration of the coastline in my sea kayak.  Incredibly as the departure date came closer, the stunning autumn weather we've been having looked like it might just hold too.

Had we had one good paddling day that would have been great, but the weather was absolutely superb and not only did I get a morning paddling with my wife (thanks Tom and Annabelle for looking after the boys), who has made all this paddling business possible by buying me a boat, but I was also able to have a great day paddling from Wareham to Swanage.

Emma exploring the caves near Old Harry rocks

For our quick trip to Old Harry we set off from the National Trust car park at Knoll beach which gave a short carry to the water, with only a barrier wall of seaweed making launching slightly trickier than it otherwise might have been.

Setting off just before the 'stand' between the two high tides they have in these parts we hoped at worst the tide wouldn't impede us and at best may actually help on both the outbound and return journeys.

Hugging the shore the cliffs get bigger and bigger as you approach the headland and the stacks and arches of the rocks themselves make for absolutely superb paddling and far too soon we had to start our return journey.

A couple of days later the family dropped me off at the Quay car park in Wareham at local tide. Parking here is a bit of a bargain compared to some of the coastal car parks and offers incredibly easy access to the water. There are even free public toilets with the best taps ever which kept the kids entertained for a bit (we really know how to live it up in our family!).

The first part of the journey is down the River Frome. Walls of towering reeds on each bank limit the view slightly, but there is plenty of interest in the hundreds of leisure craft that use the river as a mooring. Around a final bend though and the vista widens massively as the estuary opens out to great Poole Harbour.

Lots of small boats were scurrying around on the flooded part of the estuary, though remaining in the buoyed channel I didn't get close enough to find out what they were gathering. On the opposite bank a group of stand up paddle boarders were enjoying the tranquillity of the bay, escorted by the noisiest safety RIB I've ever heard.

The Harbour narrows again briefly before opening out into an island studded expanse of water, it's entrance still kilometres away. I chose to try and take the quietest route along the southern side, accompanied by hundreds of wading birds, but sadly no seals.

Ahead now lay the bit of the day that I had least been looking forward to, leaving the mouth of the Harbour.  The 300m wide entrance is guarded by a chain ferry that regularly shuttles between Sandbanks and Studland. Not only do you need to avoid the ferry which can do nothing to change its course, but I was also worried about the chain fore and aft of it to. Fortunately I was able to time my passage 'behind' the ferry, just as it docked at Studland and maintained eye contact with a member of the crew so he knew I was there.  It's worth noting the black ball that is raised on the 'front' of the ferry just before it departs.

The clapotis from the swell reflecting from the ferry did little to diminish my relief at having passed this obstacle and I landed on the stunning beach to report my progress before heading once again out towards Old Harry.

There was lots going on in the bay. First the Poole all weather lifeboat passed me returning to Poole on what must have been one of its final outings. Its patch is shortly to be covered by the new Swanage boat. Then a large military plane which had passed overhead a number of times while I was in the harbour flew very low before dispatching something on a number of parachutes out the back and into the water. A very militaristic RIB then flew by, blue lights flashing (I later learnt this was the Dorset Police RIB).  Finally a coastguard helicopter that had been hovering by the rocks set off in pursuit of a RIB towards Knoll beach before landing.

Heading across Studland bay towards Old Harry

Arriving at the rocks the water level was lower than on our previous visit and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to utilise the gap we'd used previously.  Going to have a closer look there was suddenly no real choice as I was whooshed through a gap that fortunately did exist by the ebbing tide.

Might need a bit more water

Old Harry isn't the only bit of interest on this section as not only do the impressive cliffs continue, but there are also further stacks known as The Pinnacles. I felt very small at the foot of the cliffs and it was quite reassuring when the Swanage inshore lifeboat sped past, crew waving.

The Pinnacles with Swanage bay just visible in the distance 

Entering Swanage bay the cliffs fall back to be replaced by familiar sites in the bay. As I neared the shore I thought I spied an extremely familiar site and stopped to ring my wife. Sure enough, she confirmed that it was our van I could see and that she'd drag the lads out of the penny arcade and be there to meet me, a fantastic end to a superb trip.

Huge thanks to Mark Rainsly and his South West Sea Kayaking guide, without which I would never have thought of starting at Wareham and would have then missed this contrasting part of the trip. Thanks too to Em for looking after the boys while I had the day paddling. 

3rd August 2016 - Cross bay paddle

Weather permitting, every day I go to and from work, I look out across the bay. A trip across has therefore often been on my mind. Getting the right tides, right weather and a paddling partner all to coincide with time off can be tricky though and many forecast weather windows seem to either move or disappear as the alloted time comes closer.

With everything seeming to align and Sharon agreeing to look after my lads, we found ourselves ready for the off at Glasson dock, well not before lunch at the great little caf there! 

Finally it really was time to go, but the weather seemed a little breezier than forecast.  We checked a couple of weather sites and while a storm would be coming in later that night, we should be OK. We decided we would reassess at the Lune buoy before making a final decision, so off into the gloopy mud we went.

Dick's plan seemed to work the best, sledging in his kayak down the mud bank into the muddy water, while I just slowly wallowed. Thoughts turned to Willy Wonker's river of chocolate as we were sped ever faster down the Lune, passing a couple of fishermen in traditional boats and the Cockerham light looking a little worse for wear after a collision with a vessel (ouch!).

A patch of more turbulent water and a significant change in its colour signalled the transition from river to sea, if life came with a soundtrack, the Waterboys would have been on full blast.  The presence of two large merchant vessels also indicated that we had moved into deeper waters.

After a hundred or so metres though the choppiness died down and the air felt much stiller and despite the misty haze obscuring our destination we knew the crossing was on.

Paddling for any distance on a bearing was a new experience for both of us and it was with real satisfaction that a special buoy, our nominal way point, came into view, not far off our heading. Stopping each hour for a break, a bit of food and a GPS check on our position seems to work well for us and also allowed us to relay to each other that each of our left arms were becoming progressively wetter and wetter!

Paddling in the bay is a strange experience, is the water inches deep, feet or fathoms? Series of breaking waves gave a clue to the shallower areas as our objective began to appear out of the murk. We were glad we had a bit of local knowledge as we knew that paddling straight towards our objective would lead us to becoming grounded in the shallows.  We therefore kept heading for the southern tip of Walney before turning to make our final approach in deep water.

Landing on Piel Island was a fantastic feeling and even finding that the pub was shut did little to dent my elation, though the carry of the boats up onto dry land definitely took the edge off! We set up camp in the outer parts of the castle and were just finishing tea as the weather started to change, our starting point lost in the murk. 

Our starting point somewhere in the murk

One of the things I love about activities on the sea is occasionally being able to justify a long lie in and a relaxed morning due to waiting for the tide. Emma though had been up bright and early and would soon be waiting for us on the other side of the channel so we got our stuff together, paid our dues at the pub (he'd closed the previous evening as he'd run out of food and gone to buy some more!).

Packing the boats for the return to the mainland

Both the wind and the tide were moving at a fair rate as we left the shore and headed out from the lee of the island. Poor Dick spent the entire crossing knowing that something wasn't right, but only realised it was that his paddles were upside down as we neared the far shore. Something definitely wasn't right here either...

Setting off from Piel

Emma was stood waiting at the top of the slip but the lovely little beach that we normally land on had been replaced by waves breaking straight on to the steep sea wall. My plan was to head off to see if we could find a better landing, but Dick remembered a Gordon Brown video we had watched about swimming your boat in.  We both got in close to the shore and found that the swim was unnecessary as we could step out of our boats into the shallow water and guide them in. Poor Emma then helping us manhandle them up the steep sea defences.

Kayak back on dry land, Piel in the background

Huge thanks as always to Sharon and Emma for dropping us off/picking us up and looking after the lads in between (though I think Sharon was looking for an excuse to go and see the BFG at the cinema!). Thanks to Dick too for sharing the adventure.

29th May-1st June 2016 - The Garvellachs

With just a stop for chips in Inverary, the journey North seemed to fly by and after no time at all we were pulling into a small carpark in Arduaine. Built specifically for the Aryll and Bute sea kayak trail, a sign offered us information about the local area and tides and a nicely built path an easy way down to the shore.  Despite being light, it was actually quite late and the glassy waters of Loch Melfort would have to wait till the morning.

Looking out from the car park over our play ground for the next few days

The waters in this area can move at an alarming rate and even though we were on neaps, careful planning would be required in order that the tides would help, rather than hinder us.  Dick fortunately excels at tidal planning and so it was that our departure would be timed to ensure arriving at Cuan sound for the West flowing stream to take us through.

Ready to depart

It's always great when a plan comes together and sure enough we enjoyed the ride through the sound, requiring only minimal effort on our part.  While the tide was right for going through Cuan, we would need to wait for an hour before it was set to aid us on the next part of the route, South towards the Garvellachs.  A small rocky beach on the North West corner of Luing afforded a good resting spot and a chance to look close up at the slate that was once a major source of industry in these islands.

The slate itself looked almost iridescent and it's surface made all the more spectacular by the cubic crystals of fools' gold embedded in it.  In places this had rusted away leaving small, square holes and we wondered if this slate was ever used for roofing!

It was terrific to watch the direction of the flow in the sound change over the course of a few minutes and with the onset of the Easterly flow, we were spurred into action and set our sights on the Fladda lighthouse in the distance.  A slight course change then brought us to Belnahua, an island whose slate heart has been removed, leaving large lakes and abandoned buildings, echoing how busy a place this must once have been.

Arriving at Belnahua

Lunch on Belnahua

On leaving the slate beach we made our way towards the most Northerly of the Garvellachs, passed by a lone porpoise and then wound our way between them, passing incredible cliff architecture complete with a spectacular natural arch.  At the Southern end of the island chain we entered a narrow harbour, once used by the monks visiting the monastery that now lies ruined here.

Most northerly of the Garvellachs to the left, southern Mull to the right

Island hopping along the Garvellach chain

Natural arch

Boat landing once used by monks in their curraghs

Why monks, whose day job here must have just been surviving interspersed with a bit of contemplation, can produce a much better camp site than people whose day job is running a camp site I'll never know, but it was nice when each peg slipped effortlessly into the ground.

The ruins of the monastery are well worth exploring and we spent a good while sitting next to the alleged grave of St Columba's mum looking out over an incredible vista.  Hopefully she won't have minded too much as we were drinking Murphy's at the time.

The monastery enclosure from what is alleged to be St Colomba's mother's grave

Islay in the distance

The famous paps of Jura

Camping on the East side of the island, the sun soon dipped behind the hill side leading to a sudden invasion of midges and therefore a very early bedtime.

The sun beat down on the tents in the morning though and we were able to eat our breakfast without being eaten for breakfast. Our view across the sound showed a steady Northerly force 4 and the entrance to the Grey Dogs about 5km away.  This was to be our longest open crossing of the trip and once again our arrival time needed to be planned with precision.

Leaving the Garvellachs

On the crossing to Scarba

Landing on Lunga

Tidal planning is at its best when it involves an hour long sojourn lying on a sunny and sandy beach, chatting with locals and watching a sea eagle heading out to hunt.  In the back of my mind though was what was around the corner, though not as infamous as its neighbour the Corryvrekan, the Grey Dogs still have a reputation and tales of rescuing kayakers from it from a local boatman didn't do anything to calm my nerves.  His final, "But you'll be all right if your heading through now" though, did instil a little more confidence.

Enjoying lunch, waiting for the tide

Approaching the Grey Dogs

"Adventure is just bad planning" they say and as Dick's planning was perfect I think he was seriously disappointed as we were carried through the watery col with barely a ripple around us.  A building sea breeze causing rougher seas as we approached the West coast of Luing and our camp site for the night.

Passing through the Grey Dogs

End of the day on Luing, with the Grey Dogs behind

Luing campsite

What a camp site too.  Wood for a fire, sunlight till well after I'd gone to bed, no midges, mini volcanoes, otters, fresh water and hardly any carry to the water.  It really doesn't come much better than this and hopefully it was a little tidier after our visit too.

Mini volcanoes?

Cooking tea

Planning tomorrow's route

Looking back to the Grey Dogs

Mull in the evening sun

Mountains of Mull at 2am

Awaking on a stunning Scottish island, under clear blue skies, I made my way down to the water's edge for my morning ablutions. Wedging myself nicely between two boulders serving as a terrific loo with a view, the boulder beneath me began hissing angrily before a large otter bolted between my legs and into the sea. I can't imagine a worse way to have your breakfast disturbed!

Once again we needed to time our departure carefully, this time so that we would be swept north.

Ready to leave Luing

Holes left by the rusting away of the iron pyrities

Laurence (the green camper) comes into view

Journey's end

29th-31st March 2016 - Raasay and Rona circumnavigation

As the days went by, a forecast three day weather window seemed to be holding fast and so we made plans to head north to try to circumnavigate the islands of Raasay and Rona off the East coast of Skye.

Monday morning saw me loading my kayak before heading shopping, ably assisted by my eldest.  Provisions for five days acquired, we picked up the rest of the family and headed to Dick's.

Having swapped over my roof-rack and boat to Dick's van we said our goodbyes and headed for the M6. Unlike recent journeys, the motorway was mercifully clear and we were soon crossing the border. A brief stop in Fort Bill afforded me the opportunity to feast on one of my favourite traditional Scottish dishes, a king rib supper with curry sauce. I'm presuming the reason you don't see this on every episode of Masterchef is that it would be regarded as unsporting. 

The hills of Kintail, Eilean Donan castle and the Skye bridge were passed and we were soon pulling into the car park for the Raasay ferry at Sconser. Huge thanks to Dick for a superb stint at the wheel. 

Unlike when it's due to pressures of work, there's something great about not being able to get to sleep with excitement, just like on Christmas Eve as a kid. How would the morning dawn?

The journey begins 

With hardly a cloud in the sky and in the shadow of snow capped hills, we quickly packed the boats at a superbly sited slipway and at 9:33 began the crossing to Raasay on a glassy sea.

Crossing to Raasay 

Looking back to Skye

Fish garden ornament 

Arriving at the Raasay coast we passed a fantastic Grand Designs house, complete with great garden ornamentation.  We were also joined by the first otter of our trip, swimming nonchalantly in front of us, only occasionally checking over his/her (my otter sexing isn't great) shoulder to check where we were.

Selfie with the highest point of Rasaay behind

After a brief stop for first lunch and rearrangement of clothing, we carried on North, passing impressive cliff scenery and a waterfall that wouldn't have looked out of place in a Jurassic Park film.

Tropical!? waterfall 

Bit of a doer upper - Brochil castle

For our second lunch we landed at Brochil to admire what must have once been an impressive fortress. Returning to the beach we were hit by a brief but heavy squall that whipped up the waves instantly and made launching look like a daunting prospect. As quickly as it had arrived though it passed and we once again launched onto a benign sea.

End of day one, North Rasaay 

All too soon navigational marks denoting the entrance to Caol Rona appeared and we escorted to our landing spot for the night by seals from the resident colony.  While the camping spot just above our landing point looked superb, a short walk brought us to an even more inviting bothy.  Having ferried our belongings from the beach, we set out on a short walk to the hillock above the bothy.  The sweeping vista reached from Applecross, past the Torridon hills, shrouded in cloud, over to the Isles of Harris and Lewis in the far distance and finished with the Game of Thrones like coast line of Skye.

Looking over to Rona from above the bothy 

Stunning bothy

After tea we once again headed up the hill and on returning I thought Dick had succomed to cabin fever, as he seemed to be talking to himself.  The reality was that another sea kayaker, a day ahead of us on the circumnavigation had returned to the bothy having paddled round Rona that day.

Start of day 2 with James our bothy buddy

Waking up to another sunny day in paradise we set off across the short Caol to Rona and got our otter quota for the day in early, surprising two very furry sunbathers, drying themselves on the rocks. Having seen eagles circling high above on day one, we were treated today to seeing two perched on the skyline of the ridge above us. Given they were still a good distance away, they must have been huge as even at this range they loomed large.

Winding between islets on the NE coast of Rona 

Threading our way between islets and ever more aware of the NATO base at the North of the island, we popped out of a narrow gap and into our first ocean swell of the trip. Conditions though we're probably perfect for rounding the headland, with virtually no wind but still with the excitement of the swell crashing onto the many skerries.

Our most northerly point, rounding the top of Rona 

With a following sea, we pointed the bows of our kayaks southward for the first time on the trip and began to fly down the East coast. Realising we hadn't stopped yet, we sought shelter in a little inlet for lunch and for Dick to catch up with a bit of work.

Lunch stop on Rona

Dick catches up with a bit of work from a stunning office

The 1 o'clock weather forecast caught us a little off guard. We knew bad weather was on it's way, but it was now forecast to arrive earlier. Rather than a short day, with another night in the bothy, we now felt we needed to get as far South as possible, neither of us fancying paddling against the predicted force 5-7 winds.

We surprised even ourselves with the speed with which we returned to Caol Rona, my navigation being well and truly caught out. Fortunately we recognised local landmarks and we're soon safely at our beach. The tide though was on the ebb and so we paddled a few hundred metres further through a tiny, drying gap separating two islands. While this meant a slightly longer carry with our gear and a more exciting launch from what would become a rock platform a few feet above the sea, it would save us a few kilometres of paddling and we needed to do anything that would hasten our southerly journey.

Rocky landing 

We quickly packed and felt pleased with ourselves when on returning to our boats, the channel behind them had now dried. Once we realised we would need a line on the boats to hold on to them after we had lowered them into the sea, the launch went without incident and with a now larger following sea, we made for another short cut between islands.

Only an hour before low tide, a narrow, dry causeway lay between us and the continuation of the channel, but the inconvenience of a short portage was more than made up for in terms of the time saved.

The freshening northerly brought short, sharp squalls and steepening seas, but it also kept our speed up. We kept glancing enviously at the coastline to our left, vowing to return to explore it properly in the future.

Somewhere under the rainbow...

Brief squall

The sun setting at the end of day 2

The sea began to ease as the ferry port came into view and after a nearly ten hour day in the boats we slid thankfully onto a beach in the harbour.  With Dick in charge of shelter and myself tasked with food, we were soon sat in the warmth of our tent, hunger satisfied and thirst quenched. Hatches battened down, I slept fitfully, awaiting the coming storm.

Not the prettiest of campsites - but very welcome 

The following morning dawned crisp and bright with not a ripple in the harbour. Leaving the shelter of the tent to use the superb facilities at the ferry port gave us a view back across to Sconser and the barely rippling sound between. We were still ahead of the coming storm.

Storm clouds gathering!?

Aware of the speed with which the weather can change, we decided we would still head straight back to Sconser and we enjoyed the short, hour long crossing, drenched in sun.

Returning to Sconser 

Journey's end

Closing the gate to the wilderness 

This is a fantastic trip and it deserves much more time than we were able to devote to it. I'm sure we'll be back. Fortunately the predicted storm arrived much later and we were treated to a stunning drive home, flanked with snow capped hills.

Massive thanks to Dick for doing all the driving and for sharing the adventure and to Emma and Sharon for keeping the lads entertained while I was away.