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A few years ago I built two kayaks - a single seater made out of marine ply and a glassfibre double. I was eager to use them in wild locations. I had always fancied a trip to Loch Coruisk as it is only a short portage from the sea, and I knew of no-one that had done it. I managed to talk two friends - Chris and Walter - into joining me, despite their total lack of experience in canoeing.

On arriving at Elgol, we sat in a car being shaken by the wind, looking out at the white-topped waves, and I sensed a certain disquiet that had not been present in the pub the night before. However, the wind was moderating and I took them out individually in the double kayak to show them that the boats could cope adequately with the conditions. We loaded enough gear for a few days, and with wind and tide in our favour had an exciting but uneventful journey arriving at the jetty near the Coruisk hut in less than an hour. Kayaking on the West Coast sometimes reminds me of winter climbing where there is the often the possibility of a difficult cornice at the top, except with kayaking there is often difficulty in getting safely ashore. Fortunately the little island of Eilean Glas gave sufficient shelter for us to land easily just below the Coruisk hut and we camped just a few yards from the sea.

The following day saw us heading up Loch Coruisk for an attempt on a new route on the south of the Coruisk Slabs but soon there were ominous signs that the weather was about to rapidly deteriorate so we abseiled off and and arrived back at camp in rising wind and driving rain. As it was obvious that we were in for a rough night I placed boulders over the tent pegs and tied the boats down at either end using their deck lines. Many years ago I learned that in rough weather you always get a better night's sleep in someone else's tent and again it proved true as I listened to the shrieking of the wind, concerned about my tent, while the others snored contentedly. The storm was still rising when a mighty blast tore out the front guys and caused the front pole to pivot backwards resulting in a u-shaped ridge pole and absolute chaos.Out into the dark we spilled, searching for, and finding, a suitable piece of driftwood with which to splint the ridge pole. With the pole temporarily repaired, it obvious that there would be no sleep for me that night, but I was confident that we could weather the storm. As I sat upright grasping the back pole I was surprised by the increasing ferocity of the gusts which seemed to hit the tent from all directions. With daylight there was no reprieve, only explosive blasts of wind. The tent was lashed with sea spray and suddenly there was a loud crash and the violence reached scary levels. A few moments later a fierce downdraught bent all the poles and suddenly the flysheet was torn from the ground, and snatched completely away - all that was left was few wee bits of tape and some Bulldog pegs. We strugged out of the sodden mass only to find that the loud noise from a few moments earlier was from the single kayak which had lost one of it's tethering lines, and had been thrown up in the air only to be finally restrained by the other deck line. The result was that the deck of the boat was torn back all the way from the bow to the cockpit, and resembled an enormous crocodile. The good news was that there was an excellent bothy less than three miles away, so we weighted the boats and the wrecked tent down with boulders and left a note in a poly bag to say we would retrieve them at a later date, then set off for Camasunary. As we were in a desperate state, the two major river crossings proved no obstacle, neither did the Bad Step although it was interesting crossing it in violent winds with crashing seas below.

A couple of days later, in less than ideal conditions, Chris and I set off to retrieve the gear from Coruisk.On arrival we discovered that the remains of the flysheet had been found and returned. We scoured the shore for bits of polystyrene, plasic bottles and anything that would float and soon completely filled the damaged kayak. With the deck securely tied down and the cockpit sealed with polythene we reckoned that the boat would remain boyant for the tow to Elgol. The plan was to use the last of the rising tide to take us up to Camusunary where we would be able to get ashore easily by paddling up the tidal river. We would then wait for the tide to turn then take it south to Elgol. As soon we put to sea the towed kayak turned upside down, but this proved to be beneficial as it trapped all the buoyancy for the rest of the journey, and the first part of the trip went according to plan.

As we rested at Camusunary I began to get a bit uneasy as the south-westerly wind was increasing, so we set off rather too early into rapidly rising seas. I've done many wild journeys by kayak but that short distance to Elgol still stands out in my memory as the wildest. At a small headland below Beinn Leacach we were static for over 15 minutes despite pulling frantically on the paddles. I would have cut the towed boat free but I feared that to stop paddling for even a moment would have resulted in us being smashed ashore. Unable to stop paddling we were just holding our position, being almost swamped by huge waves which threatened to breach the spraydecks. Several times Chris, who was in the front cockpit, disappeared from view under a welter of water. However, gradually the effect of tide came to our aid and we rounded the headland and made a slow but relentless progress to Elgol.

Getting ashore at Elgol was the crux of the journey. It proved to be wet and uncomfortable as I was flattened and submerged by the towed kayak then shredded by barnacles before finally dragging the boats free from the waves. When the boats were finally on the roof-rack I was so traumatised that I had to sit, staring blankly at the waves for a while, before driving to Kilmarie to walk into Camusunary to collect Walter and our gear, then driving home.

Sometimes I'm asked if I'm ever annoyed by the loss of equipment on such trips. My reply is always that it is a small price to pay for the privilege of experiencing extreme conditions in wild places. Far better for a kayak to be smashed on hostile rocks than coming to grief in your driveway as you carelessly reverse the car over it! May your life be filled with minor epics.

Jim McKenna