Visiting Morag

It is a glorious day of bright sunshine, the car of the kind B&B owner is fully-loaded with our bags. We make the short drive, with it’s The Lord of the Rings-esque views east across Loch Morar, to launch point on the edge of the loch.

First, we unearth the boats, load them and push our canoes off the slipway for our first tentative paddle on Loch Morar. This is a large and beautiful loch, lying amid wild and magnificent scenery on the west coast of Invernessshire, in the south-west portion of that county. There are four paddlers here for an eight day expedition from Scotland’s wild west coast to the Moray Firth near Inverness.

The heavily laden Canadian canoes are a very different beast from the sea kayaks I used weeks earlier. That said, we establish a steady rhythm as we trace our way along the short west coast of the loch. We dart across to the south coast and head into the wind for the rest of the day as we make our way slowly through the dark treacle like waters.

Morag is a mysterious creature said to inhabit these dark waters. After Nessie, it is among the most written about of Scotland's legendary monsters. Reported sightings date back to 1887, and included 34 incidents by 1981, but sadly Morag did not wish to greet us as we paddled along the loch.

We are surrounded by a spectacular amphitheatre of rugged mountains as we reach the halfway point along Loch Morar. Our breaks become more frequent as the need to rest our weary arms and refuel becomes a priority. That said, the midge infested beaches ensure that we do not lay idle for too long.

By the end of the day, we reach Oban Bothy at the head of Loch Morar. We snoop around, but everything is locked. Paddling further, we reach the end of the loch and the start of a river which quickly peters out, as does our will to continue any further.

With day one complete, and nobody capsized, we are all cautiously encouraged but reminded of just how precarious we feel in those slivers of fibreglass. We unload the canoes, cook and eat together and discuss the weather, the wind and the waves. It is not quite the land of the midnight sun but I am out of my tent at 10.30pm after dinner and it is as bright as it was at 6pm.

The light is theatrical, freighted and atmospheric as if a storm were coming in. Above our base at the river's edge, a wave of mist is suspended on the crenellated high ridge. A cloud of midges bring a darkness to the vibrant red sunset and signal the retreat to our tents.