A sea kayak battles the freezing Irish waters as the morning sun rises out of the countryside. On the western horizon is the pinnacle of Skellig Michael-700 feet of vertical rock rising out of exploding seas. Somewhere on the isolated island are sixth-century monastic ruins where the light of civilization was kept burning during the Dark Ages by early Christian Irish monks. Puffins surface a few yards from the boat, as hundreds of gannets wheel overhead on six foot wing spans. The ocean rises violently and tosses paddler and boat as if they were discarded flotsam. This is just one day of Chris Duff's incredible three month journey. Chris Duff has traveled over 14,000 miles by sea kayak since 1983 when he paddled 8,000 miles around the eastern third of the United States and Canada. In 1986 he became the first person to solo the entire British Isles and is currently planning a solo circumnavigation of New Zealand's south island. Chris is a contributing author to the book Seekers of the Horizon and has written for Sea Kayaker magazine and the International Sea Kayaking Association. He lectures across the country and lives in Port Angeles, Washington. On Celtic Tides One Man's Journey Around Ireland by Sea Kayak By Chris Duff St. Martin's Press Copyright © 2000 Chris Duff All right reserved. ISBN: 9780312263683 Chapter One Shannon River Reflections ... Yet I cannot tarry longer. The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark. For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mold. ?Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet In the gray of dawn I rolled over in the sleeping bag and slowlycame out of my dream world. I looked up at the peak of the tent andremembered where I was: camped on a patch of grass above a cobbledbeach at Kilbaha, near the mouth of the Shannon River. Memories floatedthrough my mind as the waves broke gently on the cobbles. I recalledwaking up on Scattery Island this same time yesterday morning. I hadpaddled ten miles upriver to explore the tenth-century monastic ruins onthe island. The evening ebb tide had carried me back to the north side ofthe mouth of the river, my present camp. I wanted to be in a good positionto get around Loop Head, which was now just a few miles around the cliffshoreline.     I slid out of the bag and unzipped the tent flap. Droplets of condensationfrom the sagging nylon fell on my back and I shivered, looking out onanother overcast morning. The sea had a cold look to it, a greasy smoothblackness that made me want to curl back into the warmth of the bag.There was a breeze on the left side of my face?a northeast breeze. Themornings had been dead calm lately and this breeze made me edgy. Mymind kicked into gear. I would be sheltered under the cliffs until I reachedLoop Head, then the approaching weather would be on the bow. I wouldhave to hurry if I was to get around the headland before the winds pickedup. Thoughts of retreating into the bag were forgotten as I pushed handfulsof its warmth into the stuff sack and started breaking down camp.     Within an hour I had eaten breakfast, reluctantly pulled on my damppaddling clothes from the day before, and carried all the gear and the boatto the water's edge. The tide was dropping, leaving wet rocks where therehad been the lapping of wind-driven wavelets. I finished packing the gearin the three compartments of the boat: the heavier items, the stove, tent,and food bag, as close to the cockpit as possible; the lighter bundle ofcloths and tent poles jammed in the far ends. There wasn't room for anextra pair of socks by the time everything was carefully packed. I ran backto the tent site as much to get warm as to make sure I hadn't forgottenanything. Only the bent grass where I had slept remained.     I returned to the boat, sat on the rear deck, and slid into the warmconfines of the cockpit. As I snapped the spray deck in place I wentthrough my pre-paddle checklist: hatches secure, map folded for the day'sroute and sealed in the chart case on the foredeck, camera tied off to itstether, and the spare paddles held on the rear deck with the bungie cords.The last thing I did was to fasten a two-inch-wide safety belt around mywaist. It was attached to a length of one-inch webbing that ran to the reartoggle. A short length of webbing tied the paddle to my wrist.     I threw my weight forward and the boat slid off the algae-covered rocks.The northeast breeze of an hour earlier was now more of a wind. It wasbuilding faster than I thought it would. It caught the boat and drifted ittoward a rock ledge extending out from the cobbles. I leaned the boat overon its starboard side and with a sweep stroke pulled it away from the ledgeand onto a course leading to the mouth of the river.     Beneath the cliffs, gusts of wind curled from their heights and hit thewater in a broad fan. To my left across the ten-mile-wide river, I could seewhere the ebb