Hirta, or the island of St Kilda, reached out of the sea like a spectacular monolithic cathedral some 40 miles distant, dwarfing our Haskeir islands only 8 miles away.

Our original plan was to have chartered a boat to get out there, those foolish enough to want to kayak out would have been thrown overboard somewhere near the Sound of Harris, to meet up with the rest of the group back on board in Village Bay St Kilda, many hours later.

The island was originally kayak/sailed to, back in the summer of 1965 by Hamish and Ann Gow in an old ply and canvas covered kayak. Only recently has the return trip been done by a small number of kayakers and probably ranks as one of the most serious open sea crossings in Britain.

For many reasons it did not work out, but at least now I could see it with my own eyes. There is always another day — it won’t go away.

We were taking an evening walk round Ceann Iar on the Monach Islands. It was the middle of June, the long daylight hours and the settled weather, the norm for this time of year had allowed us four days earlier to drift out of West Loch Tarbert on the Island of Harris in the Outer Hebrides. The gentle easterly breeze pushing us on our way, the full moon slowly shrinking as it rose into the stars. 2,000 feet mountains imposed on us from both sides, we felt in awe of our surroundings, it was hard to believe it was one o’clock in the morning and I could still read my chart without a light.

The four double kayaks held a mixture of crew, nine in all? For some they had never kayaked before, for others piled high with gear it was their first expedition away, for my wife, the only female on the trip, it was the first long trip she had done without our two young daughters along. I did not want any epics! The master of this motley crew was the ninth member, ‘Kerry’ the dog.

We eventually made camp on the island of Taransay, forced out of our tents by the heat of the early morning sun. As we left the protection of the island we each slowly disappeared in the troughs as the long Atlantic swell sneaked under our kayaks. Rounding Toe Head we entered the Sound of Harris, an archipelago of beautiful, predominantly uninhabited sandy islands, stopping for lunch on Pabbay. We had no definite plans, just an idea where we like to go, it’s better that way. We cannot control the weather so why get disappointed?

The swell slowly increased in size during the afternoon. Cruising past Boreray we eventually camped on Veilish Point, trying our best to avoid the nesting oystercatchers. The forecast for the next day was for strong offshore winds, we would see what tomorrow would bring. Sipping our whisky we watched the sun go down, waiting for that mystical green flash as it slips below the horizon.

The flapping of the tent woke me up, the forecast was correct. I looked along the coast through my binoculars, the swell was impressive. If we were away quickly we could get through the inside of Vallay Island and into Vallay Sound. At the entrance a line of waves were breaking onto a sand bar, it was difficult to judge their size but to the right there was a way through. “We are not going through them are we?” was the comment from the back cockpit. “No dear,” was the reply. As we got closer the waves looked OK, I kicked the rudder over and edged our way in. “I thought you said...” “Just keep paddling, Ya Hoo.” We were off. Ten minutes later and half a mile ahead of the rest of the group — “It wasn’t that bad after all,” was the comment from the back cockpit.

We stopped at the entrance to Vallay Sound. At two o’clock there would be a forecast on the radio, so we basked in the sun like the seals on the off-lying rocks. The forecast was for the strong offshore winds to continue, We would not get around Griminish Point today. A number of the group went in search of water and to ask if it would be OK to camp. They returned with a tale of two well-spoken Englishmen who owned the land, there was no problem but it is always better to ask. We later found out from the locals that they were relations of the Queen, not surprising as it is one of Prince Charles’s favourite haunts.

We woke to a grey sky and rain, the wind had not changed. The forecast was for strong winds but to brighten up later. The great pancake competition continued until lunch, the judges unwilling to leave their tents to award marks because of the rain. I awarded myself ten out of ten, nobody else would!

During the afternoon we walked up a small hill that overlooked Griminish Point — we would not have got round!

For some reason the whisky flowed easier that night but we were all in a sorry state the next morning. The swell had died down but the chart had warned of a tide race off the point, we cruised around without a ripple on the surface and landed at Hougharry for lunch. A local couple who lived on the water’s edge brought us out fresh tea and supplied us with bread, cakes and beer. They said the weather had been perfect for the last six weeks but it was a different tale during the winter. We were sorry to leave such a beautiful place and such hospitable people.

We headed south to the Monach Island, just visible through the haze five miles away and a spot of fishing on the way brought us our starter for the evening meal. If there was ever a place I would want to be shipwrecked it would have to be here. The islands are a nature reserve and permission has to be granted from Hougharry if you wish to camp. The smell of the machair (wild flowers), the setting, the wildlife make this a very special place. I only wish that we had longer to explore it more.

The next day was critical for the timing of the tide. We had planned on arriving at the centre of North Uist at high water that afternoon, and therefore paddling through the Outer Hebrides to reach the area of water that separates them from the Isle of Skye known as the Little Minch.

We set off in time — just — people still having problems trying to get all that gear in their kayaks! We crept through the islands and sneaked up on seals sleeping in the sun, photographing them from only inches away. I took a bearing from the map and we set off on a 9 mile crossing to the entrance of Oitir Mhor, the mountains of South Uist looked like individual islands climbing out of the sea. As we arrived at the entrance I could see waves breaking on a sand bar, I had been concerned about this part of the trip, with a large swell and an ebbing tide it could be a very difficult place to land. The tide was in our favour and as we played with the waves we were sucked through the gap and broke out behind the sand spit for lunch.

We were just in time as we paddled under the causeway that carries the road from North Uist to Benbecula, we stopped at an old school to ask for some fresh water, yet again we were provided with overwhelming hospitality in the form of fruit juice and fresh fruit!

During the afternoon the wind picked up slightly from the west, as we were going due east out came the tarp and the next 4 miles we spent sailing down the loch to the Minch ahead of us.

We turned north and then back west to camp in Bagh Moraig, a secluded loch under the slopes of Eaval. As legend would have it, the lower eastern slopes conceal a cave where Bonnie Prince Charlie hid after his defeat at the battle of Culloden in 1746 before trying to flee to France.

We hauled the kayaks out on a small beach littered with mussel shells probably from feeding otters though we did not see any on this trip. The voracious Scottish midge had finally got their teeth, we tore off hatches in search of repellent before being eaten alive! The next morning a small group of us got up early to walk to the summit of Eaval. As we slowly climbed the southern ridge the view improved with every step until we finally arrived at the top. Surrounded by water fresh and sea, the Cuillin mountains of Skye to the east, Knoydart beyond. The islands of Harris and Lewis to the north, the long ridge of South Uist fading into the sea. We had to come back! We made plans for a return trip in ’94 as we reluctantly walked back down.

The plan was that those left in camp would have breakfast ready, the snores could be heard a mile away. We were soon packed, spurred by the teeth of the midges.

The east side of the Hebrides is a complete contrast to the west, rocky shores and mountains that fall into the sea. We were running short of time and our intended walk up North and South Lee had to be abandoned. As we cruised along the coast we met up with friends of mine who were heading south in a double; they were at the start of a three week trip, lucky them.

Lunch was spent on Hermentray but not a place to camp due to an abundance of rats. We missed the afternoon forecast so as we made our way towards Renish Point I made sure I had the radio handy for the evening one. During the afternoon small orographic clouds started to build up on the windward side of the mountains, the weather must be on the change? The forecast gave SW f6-7, heavy rain. At least it would be behind us and we could get some shelter from the land.

We pulled into Rodel to camp for the night, the hotel providing the liquid refreshment for the evening even though we could not understand the locals who still use Gaelic as a main language.

The wind arrived with a vengeance but it was not from the SW. I walked over to the headland with Stafford a close experienced friend of mine to discuss the conditions. The wind was from the south and blowing straight on shore, had we been on our own then we would have carried on — we had a good trip let’s call it a day. While two of the team set off to Tarbert to collect the van the wind and sea state increased — perhaps we are not that crazy after all?