Prone – Pentland Firth

John O’Groats, mainland Scotland to Sandwick, South Ronaldsay, Orkney.

June 2026

Just before midnight on the 21st of June, 2019, Alison Rennie, Allistair Swinsco, Rhona and I raised our third, (or maybe fourth), glass of plonk to celebrate the longest day of the year. As we stood above the cliffs at Dunnet Head, (the most northerly part of mainland Scotland), in the near daylight conditions, we looked across the Pentland Firth to the Orkney Islands, a mere14 kilometres away. As one does after a few wee drinks, I said, “that would make a great paddle”. 7 years later, (to the day), Rhona and I were heading north to meet up with Patrick Winterton to give it a go.

A few weeks after our 2019 visit to Dunnet Head, I spoke to Patrick about crossing the Pentland Firth on a prone paddleboard, and we began to make plans. However, every year, from 2020, we picked a week or two when the tides would be perfect, and the weather should be good. And every year the Weather Gods had failed to play ball, and we had had to cancel.,

At the beginning of this year, we came up with a new plan. This year we selected several days each month, from June to October, when the tides would be good, and we kept our fingers crossed that the weather would be kind to us. If the weather looked right, we would make the call and aim to be on the water within 24 hours.

Our first set of dates were 22nd-25th June. Over the previous week, Patrick and I chatted on the phone every other day, keeping an eye on the weather. At 9am on Sunday the 21st, the final call was made, and Rho and I headed north to meet up with Patrick, who was already at Duncansby Head, monitoring the Firth, taking notes and making calculations. Although this would be Patrick’s fifth Pentland crossing in a kayak, every trip had been different. That is why he was treating this crossing as something new, and taking nothing for granted.

One description online describes the Pentland Firth as “a treacherous strait in northern Scotland, separating the Orkney Islands from the Caithness mainland. Connecting the Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea, it is renowned for having some of the most powerful tidal currents in the world (reaching up to 16 knots – 30kmph)”. The description failed to mention the multiple overfalls and a large whirlpool, (or maybe that comes under the “treacherous” bit).

And, according to AI; “at peak flows, 2 million cubic metres of water pass through the Pentland Firth every second. To put this into context; that is 10 times the outflow of the Amazon, and only 1.5 million cumecs, (cubic metres per second), come out of all the world’s rivers.” That is why we chose to do the crossing during a neap tide as opposed to a spring tide – neaps being smaller than springs.

From Patrick’s calculations, he suggested that we set off from John O’Groats and head east, following the coast, as we crossed into the first tidal race. Our goal was to ferry glide – a technique in which you use the current to push you sideways towards your objective without losing ground downstream – across the first race, aiming for the Pentland Skerries – 4 uninhabited islands in the Firth. If we hit this race correctly, we should get across it, but if not, we would be washed east, and then south down the east coast of Scotland, where we would have to go ashore and wait for the tide to change, to get us back up north. The tides, even on neaps, flow at 2 to 3 times faster than I can paddle, so timing was everything.

Once near the Skerries, we should make a mad dash, at slack, across a 2 km stretch of water before hitting the next tidal race that would then wash us west. Again, we would aim to ferry glide across this, hoping to land at Burwick. We had to get into the north going current between Swona and North Ronaldsay to prevent being swept west through the tide race off the south coast of Swona. Ideally, we would land at Burwick, but there were a couple of other options up the west coast of South Ronaldssay. Too slow and we were likely to be spending the night on Swona. (We had packed a tent and sleeping bags just in case.)

After multiple kit checks and some food, (which due to nerves, I was struggling to get down), we retired to our vans for some sleep around 8pm.

At 3am we were up, getting dressed and fuelled, (I was still struggling to eat), and by 3.30 we were off to John O’Groats. 40 minutes later we were unpacked at John O’Groats harbour and while Rho and Patrick did a quick shuttle to drop Patrick’s van off at the ferry port at Gills Bay, I did my final kit check, pack, unpack, and re-pack.

When paddling, I use a piece of kit called a Marlin. It gives me an audible read-out of my pace, timings, and distance. For 5 minutes before we hit the water, it had worked perfectly. Then, as I picked my board up to launch, it stopped working. A quickfiddle with it told me that it wasn’t coming with me, and I left it with Rho. This was quite a blow, because not being able to see much, it is very hard to know if you are doing OK, or if you need to push harder, etc. This was a real psychological blow. The last bit of independence I had had now failed me, and I was 100% dependant on Patrick.

As we paddled out from John O’Groats harbour, we turned right , (east). The start of the paddle was expected to be calm, but when we entered the first tidal race, Patrick said it could be quite messy, and advised me to wear my cag for the first 40 minutes until we got into the race.

Without my Marlin to give me distance and time, I started counting my strokes. I reckoned that every 100 right hand strokes should take approximately 1 minute and should cover 100 metres. This wasn’t an exact measurement, but it gave me something to focus on. On longer paddles like this, I like to break it down into short blocks. Focus on the next 100m, and when that’s done, just focus on the next 100. Telling myself I’ve got a long way to go doesn’t really motivate me. What is it they say? “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.”

For direction, Patrick told me to aim slightly to the left of the sun. (Even I could see that.) But to keep me on course, we used the whistle technique we had used when SUPing to St Kilda – 1 whistle meant go to 1 o’clock, and 2 whistle blasts meant go to 11 o’clock.

Around 40 minutes into the paddle, the water had calmed down a bit, (it’s all relative), and it was time to take off our cags, (and about time too, I was roasting!) We had planned to stop every hour for 2-3 minutes, but due to the sea conditions, apart from stopping to get our cags off, that was the only stop we made that lasted more than a few seconds.

Another 40-50 minutes in, the water was getting quite lumpy, and I occasionally lost sight of Patrick, as he and his kayak disappeared behind the waves.

Soon it was time to make a mad dash from the east moving tidal race across to the west moving one. This meant a hard and fast paddle of about 2kms. I got my head down and went for it, knocking out my 100 strokes and reducing the 2km by 100m every cycle.

Soon we were in the next tidal race, and I expected us to change direction, but no, Patrick insisted that I keep pointing left of the sun. This confused the heck out of me, but I trusted Patrick and stuck with it.

Now the waves were battering me from my 2 o’clock, and I was starting to get cold. I reckoned I had less than an hour to go, so told myself to manup, and throw a few sprints in to warm up. I had rarely been cold on my proneboard before, and on the few occasions I had been, a couple of minutes sprinting normally did the job. But not today. The waves made it very difficult to sprint, whilst trying to hold my course. Every time I got my head down and started sprinting, 5-10 seconds later I would hear the whistle and have to slow down to correct my course.

An hour later Patrick came alongside and told me that we had been taken past Burwick, our planned exit point. We could either turn around and head east, against the west moving tidal race, to Burwick, or we could aim for a headland Patrick could see ahead of us. Looking at his map, Patrick calculated that it was only about 4km away, and it looked like we should be able to land in a bay just next to it, called Sandwick.

Sandwick was the logical choice, and I told myself that I should be able to cover 4km in about 40 minutes. “Let’s go for Sandwick.”

2km later things weren’t great, and Patrick must have noticed this. When he asked how I was, instead of my usual, “all good”, I told him that I was cold. He told me I needed to get my cag back on straight away.

I did as I was told, pulling my hood up and trying to generate some heat. Although I was cold, I was still knocking out my 100 strokes and repeat, albeit at a slightly slower pace.

A wee while later Patrick was alongside again and telling me that we had less than 400m to go. Brilliant, 400m, that was nothing. I can do that in my sleep. Head down I started my next 100 strokes.

3 strokes in and something felt wrong. My arms became incredibly heavy all of a sudden. It was almost impossible for me to lift them out of the water. By 10 strokes I was almost done, and by 20, I had to stop. I gave myself a few seconds rest and started again. This time I managed 25 strokes, but again I needed to take another break. My arms felt like I had just done a thousand press ups, and there was no strength left in them.

I pushed myself and managed to do 30 strokes this time, but the rest breaks were getting longer. I knew that the tide was pushing me away from Sandwick and towards the really nasty waters around Swona, so I couldn’t stop, but neither could I go on, I was beat.

During training Patrick and I had practiced towing techniques, and I told myself the only way I was getting across now was if he towed me. But then I thought about how crap it would be if Patrick had to tow me the last 400m. I dug deep and asked for a little help from my wee sister who I lost in 2005, and my Dad who I lost 4 months ago.

Over the next few minutes I pushed out 20-30 strokes, stopped for a few seconds and started again.

The “good” prone paddlers spend most of their time on their knees, as this is a much more efficient way to paddle, using bigger muscle groups. But I am far from being “good”, so spend the majority of my time lying down, especially on lumpy water, but I was keen to try anything. Getting up on my knees, I used my upper body to swing my arms forward and then pull them back through the water. But after 4 or 5 strokes, I realised that due to fatigue, my balance was shot, and the last thing I needed now was to fall into the sea. So, I lay back down and knocked out another 30 strokes.

Eventually the water went super flat, and I knew we were almost there. A few more strokes, and I felt the sand under my board. We’d done it!

Once ashore we carried everything 150m up the sandy beach to some grass, where we stripped the kit down, got out of our wet kit, got dried and then put on our dry kit. Then it was time for food. Patrick reckoned the reason I had hit the wall towards the end was the fact that I lacked fuel. Although I had been drinking my Tailwind every 15-20 minutes, I had taken on no solid food, since 2 spoonfuls of porridge and one ring of pineapple at 3am, almost 6 hours earlier. I know he was right, but I just can’t have anything in my stomach before I prone. In the past, when I have stopped for a wee snack on the sea, I have thrown it up within a couple of minutes. I guess I just need to find the right thing to eat.

Even with my wonderful Palm Tsangpo suit, (a thermal onesie), socks and other layers, it took me a good couple of hours to warm up properly.

At 11.30, Rho arrived with the van, which we quickly loaded up before heading into St Margaret’s Hope for some well-deserved lunch.

Although it looks like I am the first person to cross the Pentland Firth on a prone paddleboard, this was most definitely a TEAM effort. Simply put, without Patrick and Rhona, this crossing would still be one of the many challenges rolling around inside my head, still waiting to be done. So a massive THANK YOU goes out to them both!!

The total distance for this crossing was 19.911km, and it took 3hrs 42mins, and the paddle was completed on my 14ft Vanquish Expedition board – “Flying Molly”.