The Sting in the Tale

It is our last day and, in some ways, the most challenging.  Wearily, we follow the established morning routine and carry our boats down to the shore for one final push.

The day starts by retracing our route to Lochend. Our aching limbs power the boat forward, crashing through waves that have grounded a sailing yacht further along the coastline. At the headland, we try to pick a route between the stranded sailing yacht and the shore, whilst Brian and Matt gave the stricken vessel a wide berth. Alistair and I did not choose wisely. The narrow gap left little time to counteract the force of the huge waves which are sending us closer to the shoreline and, ultimately, for our first unplanned swim of the trip.

Fortunately, we remain in one piece and everything is washed ashore. After a quick bail and repack, we bounce back out into the waves. Once we round the headland, the waves lose some of their force. That said, they are still strong enough to force us into an unwanted beaching.

Once again, we bounce back out into the waves and after a few miles we reach the relative shelter of Loch Dochfour out of which flows the River Ness. This in turn flows gently towards Inverness and out into the Beauly Firth; the end point of a memorable canoe trip through the Great Glen. After sorting our kit, we hand back the boats and head into town to celebrate...

Bounce and Slap!

Today was supposed to be easy...

As soon as we are out on the open loch, the strong tail wind catches the rear end of the boat and spins us sideways. We are now side on to the waves and about to be engulfed by an incoming white capped swell. Our boat shakes violently from side to side, though fortunately we are able to stay in the boat. Shaken, but not stirred, Alistair and I continue to paddle in a northeasterly direction.

Loch Ness is awesome in any weather conditions, but today is extra special. The gusting south-westerly winds, strong tides and currents, may be easy by a seasoned paddler’s standards, but they are at the edge of our limits. We keep tight to the coast the first few miles, taking shelter in the shallowest of bays to the amused audience of day trippers as more civilisation begins to encroach on our adventure.

Urquhart Castle guards the bay into which we plan to paddle for our lunch. As we land on the pebbly shore, Neil the Security Guard appears to explain the rules (strictly speaking, we should pay the entrance fee). As Neil is explaining this, he looks out to the squalls on the loch, takes pity on us and allows us to stay, without paying, on the condition that we do not wander around the grounds. We duly oblige and take advantage of his generosity by eating what food we have left under the shelter of a tree.

From Urquhart Bay to Lochend is over a mile wide but before too long the rocky headland that marks the end of the loch is in sight. We are out in the open loch once more as we contemplate crossing the loch directly to Dores. The peaks are four feet high and there is strong currents to contend with. The waves broadside the boat and the alarming lateral motion threatens to tip us into the loch again. I find myself constantly stabilising with the paddle and we are making slow progress. It is nerve-wracking and I feel certain we will pitch in. We continue to paddle hard, correcting the drift and finally we give in to the wind-driven waves and land on the headland. We portage along the spit of land to paddle across the exit of the loch and begin the arduous journey upwind. Crossing the loch in these conditions is simply too much for us, so we paddle upwind using the shore as shelter.

Paddling into the fierce winds is hard work. I keep an eye on the shore to gauge our progress. Two strokes forward and then Mother Nature, reminding us who is boss, send us half the distance backwards. Eventually, we tip around the small headland to face the southern shore of Loch Ness. In the distance is the pristine white building of The Dores Inn, our eatery for this evening, draws us closer, giving us an ounce of extra power for each stroke. We must paddle hard through these choppy waters and, with the extra effort, our boat bounces and slaps its way closer to the shoreline. Only a few hundred metres to go, and our energy levels dwindling, so we turn the boat to face the beach and ride the powerful surf in, inching our way ever closer to the soft and sandy shore.

We finally land on the beach with simple brute force to overcome the backwash and then make our way to the B&B for a quick turnaround. After a belly full of fantastic food, beer and whisky the trauma of the day seems like a distant memory and distracts us from the fact that tomorrow we must go out there to do it all again...

From Locks to Loch

We pile gear on every part of our bodies, like pack mules, and hike back down the road to where we had stashed the boats the previous evening.  The journey starts along a short, beautiful tree-lined section of the Caledonian Canal, before we reach Loch Oich, much the smallest of the Great Glen’s lochs. We pitstop at the Well of the Seven Heads to pick up provisions for the day and have a bacon sandwich, whilst reading the story of the wells gruesome past.

The drizzle begins as we weave our way in and out of the green and red buoys that marked the safe passage for the larger vessels. Back on the Caledonian Canal, we regularly hop in and out of the boat to portage the many locks until we reach Fort Augustus. Here, we have the longest portage of the trip (750m), round a series of six locks. We get some strange looks as we walk through the streets of this small town with a boat balanced on one of our heads. Our efforts are rewarded as we canoe out onto the mighty Loch Ness, hugging the North coast to be one of the final guests of the SYHA Loch Ness, which sadly closes next week.

Something fishy!

Today begins like any other. We sleepily drag ourselves out of our tents, eat our breakfast whilst battling a cloud of midges, jump in the boats and paddle eastwards...

After an early morning exploration of the local fisheries nets, we duck under a bridge to join the River Arkaig. A considerable river, the Arkaig drains the wild and remote mountain area that we have spent three days travelling through. It links Loch Arkaig to Loch Lochy. The river will provide us with our most difficult paddling of the trip, so it is with some trepidation that we launch ourselves between the eddy lines.

Heading downstream, the river is flat and gentle until we come to a left-hand bend, where the river picks up. It is also the site of a new hydroelectric plant. Fortunately, we arrive the day before the planned diversion of the river!

From the construction site, we plan out our route through the first major rapid. I am in the second boat and watch Brian and Matt take a perfect line through the first and the second part of the rapids and then I watch them disappear right. This seems odd as we had agreed to go left there. They were out of sight, so we had no option, but to follow...

Alistair and I hit a rock in the first rapid, but managed to keep our balance and complete the second rapid perfectly. We then pulled into an eddy on our left to see where the other boat went. We can see the boat wedged on a rock, with Brian and Matt sheepishly bailing out the boat.

We regroup to man handle our boats down the left channel to avoid the final (and most challenging) part of the Grade 4 rapid. The river from here slowly winds its way through the rhododendron bushes. There is the occasional surf wave (nothing more than a Grade 3 rapid) to keep us alert. That said, this section is not completed without incidents as Alistair and I narrowly avoid getting tangled up in a hefty tree, whilst Brian and Matt take another bath! Sadly though, the final rock-filled rapid above the bridge comes all too soon.

Beyond the bridge, the river opens onto the glassy waters of Loch Lochy. We skirt the tiny islands that sit in the mouth of the river and then raft together to enjoy a short break to take in the stunning views of the rounded mass of Ben Nevis and beyond. All around is total tranquillity, the water is a perfect sheet of dark blue silk. It is hard to believe that anything so boisterous as a rapid lies just a few hundred metres from our boats.

We resume our journey eastwards towards the end of the loch. The tail wind encouraging us to our final destination, but before we get to relax, we have one last obstacle: our first portage around a lock. Once the lock is successfully negotiated, we paddle the final few kilometres along the flat waters of the Caledonian Canal to South Lagan and our first taste of civilisation since departing Morar.

Drifting along...

A plague of midges greet us with the morning sun at our make shift campsite. This speeds up our morning routine of striking camp and loading the boats. We are soon under way, as we continue to float and paddle our way along the River Pean.

The journey is filled with such contrasts. One minute, waist deep in water and barely able to stand, we are lugging our heavy boats through a rock filled rapid. The next, we are drifting lazily along at a speed dictated solely by the current of the river. Eventually the River Pean feeds into Loch Arkaig. We stop for a spot of lunch on the bank that was supposed to be our campsite last night!

Refreshed and raring to go, we paddle along the south coast of Loch Arkaig. The slight tail wind is most welcome and helps us to catch up the distance that we lost yesterday. We reach our planned campsite, on the south east edge of the Loch, squeeze our tents between the trees and build a camp fire to keep away the midges (with limited success). We then settle in to enjoy our final camping experience for this trip as tomorrow we join the Great Glen Canoe Trail.

Just suppose I juxtaposed with you

portage

Pronunciation: /ˈpɔːtɪdʒ/
noun
The carrying of a boat or its cargo between two navigable waters.

If anyone had been around to witness the striking of camp, they could have been forgiven for questioning such a strange sight. Rather than heading out on the open waters of Loch Morar, I balance a canoe on my head whilst the other three members of the group load up with bags as we head into the hills.

Our objective is to carry all of our gear up and over a col into Glen Pean and onwards to Loch Arkaig. Total distance of 12km. How easily this tripped of the tongue in the planning of the trip. The reality is very different...

Anyone who tells you portaging is fun is either a liar or crazy. The first part of the portage is excessively rough. With the wind whipping over the col and onto the nose of the boat, lifting and spinning the boat like a bucking broncho. The unrelenting repetition drives home the point: this is hard damn work with mishaps possible at any moment. In the end tho, as we reach the col and look down on the bog that gives rise to the River Pean, a sense of accomplishment kicks in.

After the two and a half hour struggle, we dump our gear, take a short break and then retrace our steps to collect the second boat and the rest of the gear to start the arduous journey all over again. The second time seemed to be much quicker, tho surprisingly it took the same length of time. Drained, but with under half of our daily distance target covered, we push on...

From the col, we slip and slide to the beginning of the River Pean and continue to descend downwards into Loch Arkaig. The combination of floating and carrying our boats, as we travel with all our gear for the first time all day, proves effective and we begin to eat into the remaining distance.

By 8pm exhaustion and hunger were setting in, so we establish our camp on the banks of the river, a tiny spit with 360-degree views around the crucible of wild crags. Without many discussions, we ate by 9pm and were in bed by 10pm, except for Alistair who was busy looking for his tooth!

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.

Getting to Morar

A bizarre blend of German efficiency, a good natured Geordie and a Hen Party carry me towards Inverness, where I meet a minibus and a trailer full of canoes. We hit the open road towards the traffic jam known as Fort William.

Crawling into second largest settlement in the Highlands, we greet Brian and Alistair - two of my companions for the forthcoming adventure. Our road trip continues to the village of Morar which is at the western end of Loch Morar, the deepest freshwater body in the British Isles, and the starting point for the 40 Year Old Adventure.

After we stash the boats and take care of a few domestics, we head to the local hotel for a final taste of civilisation. En route we climb a steep tourist track to the viewpoint above Morar which offer breathtaking views of the Inner Hebrides. The colours continually change in the subtle and soft light of Scotland as the sun retreats beyond the horizon.

Last minute details of our journey dominate the conversation during our pub grub meal, after which we head to the train station to collect Matt (the last member of group) and then head to the homely B&B...