Return to the North Sea...launching.

Red and green, port and starboard...
and a sleek yellow "banana" on the side.

The forecast day finally arrived, conditions on the North Sea would be perfect. The plan was to launch at Arbroath. Over the last several years, we've stayed, for extended periods, in this lovely seaside town. It's the home of Arbroath Abbey, founded in 1178 by King William the Lion - 20 years or so after the parish church where I currently serve was built. The abbey was the site of the signing of the Declaration of Arbroath - Scottish independence - in 1320.

The beach where we usually launch sits just below the Signal Tower, built in 1813. Now a museum, it served as the shore base of operations and family living quarters for the brave keepers of the Bell Rock lighthouse. Constructed between 1807 and 1810 by Robert Stevenson, and sitting 11 miles off-shore, it is the world's oldest sea-washed lighthouse. Interestingly, Robert was the grandfather of another famous Stevenson, novelist and poet Robert Louis Stevenson, who wrote the classics, Kidnapped, Treasure Island, and Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It's a small world.

The elegant Signal Tower Museum, former base of land ops.

Launch is a lovely word. It suggests the beginning of a journey, perhaps the initial step of a grand adventure. For most sea kayakers, the preparation for the launch is a labour of love. Before leaving home, gear and kit is assembled...we've finally learned to keep it all together in two large, blue IKEA (International Kayaking Expedition Association) bags. ;)

Kayaks are then lifted onto the roof of the Moderate Terrain Kayak Transport Vehicle, also known by its civilian designation as a four-door Ford Focus. The boats are secured, and checked.

The drive to the launch spot is always one of quiet and delicious anticipation. We park and carry or roll the kayaks to the shoreline. We squeeze into the dry suits. Like two astronauts-in-training, we check one another for secure (and therefore watertight) zippers and seals. Gear is tucked into designated hatches. The two-piece, adjustable, paddles are put together, mine at a 15 degree "feather", Joan's at 30 degrees. Everything is ready.

The two "pals" are getting closer to where they want to be.

The moment having come, we launch into the very still water.

Setting out.

Leaving terra firma, and the harbour behind, it's difficult to believe that this is the North Sea...in February.

Last "land".

On this day, it might be possible to paddle all the way...to Denmark.

"Joan, I mean really...Danish pastries or not, it's too far."

But we don't. 

A slow and arcing turn to the port side points us towards the dramatic cliffs and the darkened, eerie caves, carved into the ancient red sandstone. It was this very sandstone that built the medieval Abbey...and most of Arbroath.

It was going to be a perfect winter day in a small northern country, once known as Caledonia.

The launch accomplished, the adventure begins.