By Mal Grey

As with so many of these trips, it all began whilst under the influence of drink, camped by the fire on the banks of a small river in Wales, at new year. A couple of us were talking about where we would be heading on this year’s ‘Pirate’ adventure at Easter, and the seed was planted without really considering how the reality might be.

A walk across Inverpolly, Scotland

This would be the sixth Easter in a row, where the Pirates have headed with canoes for the wilds of the Scottish Highlands. The Pirates themselves are the kids, Tobey, Alex and Ben; the adults merely make up the crew. On the first of these trips, Loch Shiel, the youngest was merely three, the oldest six. Now they are a few years older, eight and 11, the trips are becoming more and more ambitious. On this trip, teenagers Nick, 14, and Matt, 19 would make their debut too, and prove a real asset to the expedition. The adult crew were made up of Lynne and Darren, Liz and Rob, Nige, Pete and myself.

There are several routes linking the lochs of Assynt, Inverpolly and Coigach, that wonderful land in the far north west where steep mountains leap skyward from a wild moorland studded with lochs of all shapes and sizes. Some of these are almost ‘popular’ these days, trips on the beautiful lochs of Veyatie, Fionn Loch and Sionasgaig. Mostly these are ‘there and back’ routes, or circles linking several lochs via portages. The line we had carelessly drawn on the map, though, was a linear one, albeit a rather convoluted one that wound its way from the main road at the east to the coast, though the heart of this magnificent country. On the way, we’d paddle on 13 lochs. Clearly this also meant many portages, and three of them would be big ones of a kilometre or more…

Carrying the gear

The long journey north from England over, 12 of us gathered by the Ledmore River, which leads into Cam Loch. With some cars dropped on the banks of Loch Lurgainn, roughly two thirds of the way through the route we’d planned, we kept our options open, for the weather would inevitably influence our route and timing. It also allowed for a cache of supplies. For we don’t travel light. One of the joys of the open canoe is the ability to carry gear to make the wilderness a little more comfortable. With kids along, having comfortable camps, where we actually spend a lot of the time, makes the trip much more enjoyable, for them, and for us. The Pirates can basically ‘go feral’ and make the most of living in a wilderness playground, whilst the crew sit around under tarps and socialise. This means a number of things. Tarps, several of them. Metal things, fireboxes and big pans. Wood, bags of it. Proper food, for we need plenty of tasty fuel. And lastly, ballast, of the red liquid variety mostly, but supplemented with gin and whisky.

As we headed down the little winding river and onto Cam Loch, the day was bright, and the views to the remarkable spine of Suilven drew us onwards. It was, however, windy – and it would remain windy for, err, most of the week. Now wind is the enemy of the open canoeist, and this would influence our planning many times in the week ahead. Here though, it was behind us, and we made our way along the loch to the west. Most people portage from Cam Loch at its south eastern point, a short hop to Loch Veyatie. We though, fancied spending time at the head of the loch, then a longer portage out to the south west.

Rising winds

Now though, the wind was rising. As we crossed the large bay on the southern shores, the waves were crashing against a headland ahead. With laden canoes and kids on board, the decision was made. We’d portage the heathery headland and find somewhere to camp. Having followed the exploits of Graham of Moosehead Canoes, we knew of a portage route we could maybe follow the next day.

Our first camp was a little rough and ready, sheltering in the tiny ‘key hole’ bay at the start of the portage. With strong winds forecast for the next day, we realised the portage would need to be from here, we would not be paddling. Over the first of many excellent meals, pulled-pork and veg, cooked from scratch on fireboxes and complete with pudding including real custard, we plotted our route options.

portage pleasures

Morning came after a breezy night. Bags were loaded, with the biggest log bag falling to me, and off we headed. Uphill, on typical terrain of mixed heather and tussock, with the odd bog thrown in. Climbing southwards, we fell into our usual routine; carry for a certain distance, usually about 3-400m, then make a bag dump and return for canoes. In this terrain, possibly to the horror of purists, we find dragging the canoe easiest, especially in this wind. Stumbling about in tussocks with a canoe on your head isn’t much fun, and it also means smaller lighter items can be left in the canoes.

It’s hard work. For some reason, though, I for one find it fun. Perhaps it’s because the idea of carrying canoes, gear, bags of logs and boxes of wine across some of Scotland’s least travelled bits of moor is pretty ridiculous. Especially when you consider that, over the week ahead, most of us were doing two bag trips and one canoe drag for each portage leg, so actually travelled five times the distance on the map. What really makes it is the camaraderie; if you can’t laugh at yourselves in this situation, then you’re doing it wrong, as far as I’m concerned.

The rest stops are particularly happy occasions, sometimes the guitar even comes out. It does take its toll though, and is physically arduous, we were burning off thousands of extra calories on the big portage days, even though they were fuelled by handfuls of ‘trail mix’ and chocolate ‘portage eggs’. Here the teenagers proved themselves to be tough, strong and surprisingly not at all stroppy about being asked to lug bags of stuff over the hills.

The shores of Veyatie

After several hours, we reached the high point. The terrain had been rough, but with the Highlands so dry this year, the feared bogs were few and far between. Now we would drag downhill, and this meant the gear could mostly go back in the canoes. It still wasn’t easy, as parts were steep, and combined tactics required to keep control using lines and brute force. We’d chosen a longer, diagonal route, to finish at a spot on the shores of Veyatie that looked to be sheltered by a hilly headland from the easterly winds. We never made it, for a flat area at the side of a lonely and rarely visited, let alone paddled, lochan, proved too tempting for our weary team.

That night I was on chef duty, as we take it in turns to cook for the whole group, and I cooked up a Chinese chicken meal under a flapping tarp, the only shelter around. We were all stumbling around the tussocks, which became a bit of a running joke.

The following day, the wind was still very strong, ending all hope of going on to Loch Veyatie and paddling to Fionn Loch to one of our favourite camp spots from a previous trip. And we were somewhat knackered. So, we declared a ‘rest day’ and merely moved our camp a few hundred metres to a lovely little curving beach partly sheltered behind the headland. Many of the best moments on these trips are the long evenings passed happily on loch shores, whilst the kids build harbours and the adults try to take on enough calories to fuel themselves for the difficulties ahead.

Grab the moment

On these trips, you need to be ready to grab those moments when the loch becomes calm, and move onwards whilst you can, whatever the time of day. Waking early the next morning, I peered out of my tent door, hazily making out pretty calm water and the figure of Liz wandering past saying, “We need to go.” So, we did, after a hasty snack breakfast and breaking down of camp.

Heading down the wild and lovely loch, it was a joy to be afloat again, and the wind was tolerable, though still perhaps touching force 3. More importantly, the waves were modest, no whitecaps, and the breeze was behind us. We paddled on, turning into one of the wildest little spots I know in the Highlands, the inlet of Loch a’ Mhadail, protected by a delightful little sandbar. The wind was now angry again, and into our faces suddenly, but we only had this short crossing to make, and we’re soon ashore once again.

This was the start of our next big portage, from here to Loch Sionasgaig, for we had cut short our original longer planned route by Fionn Loch to make up some time. This one we’ve done before, in the other direction, so knew what to expect; five or six hours of portage along a shallow valley to the old shieling at Clais, slightly downhill this time. By the time we reached the ruin, most of the day was gone and we decided to camp there. This was the end of day four. So far, the paddling had made up a total of just 2 ½ hours of our trip!

With a tarp over the end of the ruin, and tents nearby, we made ourselves at home. In the morning, the wind still pushed and pulled at the tarp, but the day was bright, wonderful warm sunshine reaching us in this magnificent wild spot beneath the towering flanks of Cul Mor.

A scouting mission found us stood on a hill overlooking the island-studded waters of lovely Loch Sionasgaig, which we hoped to paddle today. The panorama of the isolated monarchs of Assynt and Inverpolly, Suilven, Cul Mor, Cul Beag and Stac Pollaidh, was simply breathtaking. To the north, the nearest bay of the loch was wild and bouncy looking, that wind had not yet given up. To the west though, after yet another portage from Lochan na Claise, the loch was calm. This was the direction we would head, foregoing an exploration of this special loch to get safely to its head.

After dropping camp and lugging to a beautiful calm beach, we were greeted with an area of calm loch, across which our eyes were drawn to the rugged ridge of Stac Pollaidh. We knew that the wind would find us eventually, but for now we paddled happily on sheltered water. Beyond, a headland proved to be the cause of the calm area. On the southern side, the wind was quite strong, but with the fetch from the head of the loch now shorter, the waves were manageable.

Isolated

It was tough going to reach the beach at the south easterly corner of Sionasgaig, but we were happy to be paddling properly at last, beneath towering hills, in this vast stunning country. Journeying through these lands by loch and land takes you to places walkers rarely reach, for their routes tend to head straight to the hills. This was day five, and as yet we had not met a single other soul.

One of our shortest portages took us to Lochan Gainmheich and then on to windswept Loch an Doire Dhuibh. Here we faced our hardest battle, a diagonal crossing to a sheltered cove on the far shore, during which we fought waves and wind, but the reward was worth it. For here, lying at the base of towering Cul Beag above, a little bay sat, perfectly sheltered from the wind. Ancient woodland clad the slopes with lichen-clad birch trees, and above the shore, a few flat spots were perfect for tents. With bodies feeling battered by portages and windy paddling, we instantly knew that tomorrow we would have a full day’s rest in this wonderful place, a true gem amongst wild camps.

Easter eggs

The day that followed was perfect. These rest days in the wilds, time spent living outdoors in comfort, but in the most spectacular locations, are amongst the best times I’ve ever had. Some went for a walk, some explored the shores, some did a few chores, and some paddled empty canoes in the sheltered bay. Mostly we just relaxed in warm sunshine by sparkling waters. Across the bay, a small islet was a perfect target for the kids to paddle solo to, especially after I’d hidden Easter eggs on it, and the Pirates revelled in taking charge of the adults’ boats. These are truly special times and make all the hard work getting there totally worthwhile.

Ahead of us though, was our biggest challenge. The following day, we would be taking our canoes and all those bags of gear, over the hill to Loch Sionasgaig. The route was a bit of an unknown, no information on the internet from other daft portagers, so all we had to go on was good old-fashioned map reading and Google Earth. It looked doable, but the climb to its summit was at first steep, as was the final drop to the road and the loch. At the top, a little blue circle on the map marked Lochan Fhionnlaidh, and we would take our canoes there, and paddle it. For no particular reason other than because it probably hasn’t been paddled before. I mean, why would you be there with a canoe?

The climb was tough, at first through the rough woodlands, but as we came out into the open, the angle eased. The dry conditions helped us massively; in a normal year I fear parts of this route would be a real bog-fest. Perhaps six or seven arduous portage legs got us to the lochan, which proved to be shallow and windswept, making our planned paddle brief and hilarious, as I tried to corral the seven canoes into one spot for a photo. It was hopeless, no way could they hold station in the wind with no depth to get a paddle in. It was, though, a superb spot for lunch.

It had taken a long time to get there and the descent ahead could be steep and difficult. We then needed to get to camp, ideally at the far end of Loch Lurgainn. We looked over the edge of the slope and, miracle of miracles, found a shallow, grassy gully led easily downwards, winding its way like some slow-speed theme park ride. With canoes fully laden, we simply slid them downhill in under an hour to the loch shore.

We met our first people in seven days, a lady with two kids, who’d told us that from the summit of Cul Beag, we looked like some sort of biblical migration, and that our progress had been quite the topic of conversation. We’d done it, we’d crossed Inverpolly, the initial target of our trip. However, we were now enthused enough to want to finish it, to follow the line of lochs northwest from here to the sea.

reloaded

We paddled down Lurgainn, at long last the winds were only modest. Stopping briefly beneath Stac Pollaidh, where our cars were parked, we reloaded with logs, canoe trolleys, and of course, wine. Once done, we returned to the loch, paddling beneath majestic mountains, past pine-clad islands, and along rocky shores, to our camp at the far end of the loch. This is one of our favourite campsites anywhere, a place we’d stayed the year before. A curving sandy beach, breached only by a little stream perfect for dam building, looks out on to the stunning mountains of Coigach and Inverpolly. Behind, a woodland area has room for tents, tarps or hammocks.

The route on Paddle Points: www.paddlepoints.net/PaddlePoints.php?PP=963&r=949

Interactive route on OS Maps (try the ‘Fly Through’): https://osmaps.ordnancesurvey.co.uk/route/3273757/Cam-Loch-to-Garvie-Bay

Sadly, since our previous visit, two fire scars had appeared. Please, if you visit this spot, leave no trace. We did our best to repair and remove them before we left. First, though, another day in paradise, for we would stay here two nights before our final push to the sea. I cannot think of a better place to spend time, in the evening round a fire in shelter with the stars wheeling above the trees, in the day sat on the beach with the guitar, or literally whittling away the time with knife and stick.

Over the last few days, the starts of a song had come into my head, using the tune and words of the traditional song, “Over the hills and Far Away” as a framework. Here I jotted it down, ready for a first performance that night, a song that would commemorate our trip. Later, Rob put a video together to go with the recording made by the fire in the most beautiful camp in Scotland;

 Our final day dawned. Today, we would link four lochs and the portages between them, and then head to the sea at Garvie Bay. As we set off, the conditions were magical, the wind gone, clouds clinging damply to the towering hills, misting the pinnacles of Stac Pollaidh, giving us a dramatic farewell. A quick portage to the small Loch Bad na h-Achlaise, a simple crossing of that, then a very short but rocky haul to Loch Bad a Ghail, all went smoothly enough.

The efforts of the last week were taking their toll though, and we were all tired, and carrying various sprains and injuries. Loch Bad a Ghail is the last one that lies directly under the hills, and as we reached its far shore, the way ahead was empty of the silhouettes of mountains. The river from there to our final loch, Osgaig, is not one that laden open canoes can paddle – tricky at first, then empty of water but full of rocks to finish.

This was why we’d picked up the canoe trolleys from the cars, for the road runs parallel to the river. With Rob carrying one boat, we wearily trudged onwards with our canoes on wheels, reaching Osgaig without incident, until I realised the heat had melted part of the axles on my trolley just as we finished. OK, I had slightly overloaded it!

Dropping down to our last loch, we paddled quickly down it in a rising cross wind. The final landing onto a rocky shoreline was slightly comical, each canoe landing in strong wind and bouncing over hidden rocks, but finally we’d done it.

All that remained was a walk, with no gear, from there to the wild shore at Garvie Bay. This turned out to be the boggiest part of the whole adventure, but nothing was going to stop us now, after nine days of travelling, 13 lochs, 11 portages and 32 miles of travelling. Except it wasn’t really 32 miles, for by the time all the portage legs had been added up, it was well over 70. There, on the rocks of a lovely, lonely bay, we celebrated with a dram. I for one, was very proud of what we’d done, reaching that point across fabulous wild country, with kids in tow. We’d even paddled some of it.

As the chorus of our theme song goes:
O’er the hills and o’er the bogs
With whisky, wine and lots of logs
We heave and haul canoes all day
Over the hills to where they’ll float