Story and photos:
Angela Ward and Adam Evans
Day one:
Monday Our car journeys northwards always bring with them a sense of familiarity coupled with impending excitement. Passing by Loch Ba never fails to rekindle vivid memories of March 2017, when we set off from there in full winter conditions. Paddling through blizzards was certainly an unforgettably awesome experience!
Colin and Katrina Skeath
Colin and Katrina provide guided canoe trips in one of the most beautiful areas in Scotland, for all ages and abilities. Alongside paddling on lochs, they also offer introductions to canoe sailing, coastal canoeing and river trips. For further details, please check out their FB page ‘Source To Sea Canoe Adventures’ and their website www.source-2-sea.co.uk
Serenity on Sunart
These previously paddled places stir up so many memories and that only serves to heighten our excitement for the adventures which await us.
This time we were surrounded by the night-time majesty of Rannoch Moor, which gave us fleeting glimpses of stags and does, their gleaming eyes caught in the car headlights.
The Corran Ferry crossed the black waters of Loch Linnhe, before our short drive to the Sunart campsite. Strontian, at sea-level, greeted us with an iron-hard ground frost which we stumbled and slipped over in order to reach our cedar cabin. The luxury of all mod cons, including underfloor heating, meant that we could spend a few hours carefully re-packing our kit so as to have a quicker getaway in the morning.
Every canoe journey differs in its agenda and we’ve done many previous trips. In the past, we were focussed on making distance each day and so therefore travelling fast and light. This trip was to be very different. We wanted to have the time to appreciate and immerse ourselves (figuratively and not literally!) in this magnificent coastline. To soak up and savour this wondrous area, because taking time and enjoying was the rightful purpose of this trip.
On our previous ‘Morar Madness’ adventure, pack weight was a crucial issue and thus food had been basic and fast to cook. This trip was to be more about tantalising the tastebuds and satiating the senses. Whilst our eyes, ears and our spirits enjoyed Sunart, we planned to treat ourselves to such gustatory pleasures as ribeye steak, freshly brewed coffee and a smorgasbord of salivatory nibbles.
Day two: Tuesday
Post-breakfast and kit tweaks, we drove along the winding wintery road which hugs the shoreline, catching suggestive glimpses of the loch through the trees. After locating a suitable spot to park up and beginning to unload the boats, an elderly couple walking past asked us if we were lost. I’m not sure why they would think this because the fact that we had canoes and were on a dead-end road next to a loch should have been a give-away that we were not in fact lost.
With a sharp wind and the prospect of a short winter day, we didn’t have the light or the time to risk not making it as far as Loch Teacuis. Deciding that our get-in point would be at Glenborrowdale, an extremely short portage of around 20 metres led us onto the beach. We were then able to quickly load up our boats and slide into the water at near-enough high tide.
The first strokes were the christening of Adam’s new paddle, a WW Big Dipper which had been custom-made for him by Jude Todd at Downcreek Paddles. Close to perfect handcrafted strips made a strong yet elegant wooden paddle, capable of slicing through the water with such ease. The sunlight glistened on the blade with each effortlessly powerful stroke and it was wonderful to behold his new paddle start out on its maiden voyage.
Leaving the relative shelter of Glenborrowdale Bay, the bitter winds crackled across the December sea and nipped uncaringly at our faces. Chunky winter paddling hats with faux fur trim and faceguards were so successful at stopping the icy-fingered grip of the wind, that we actually ended up becoming too hot. An unexpectedly luxurious experience for Scottish winter paddling!
Adjusting our trim, we made slow steady progress into the headwind. The stunning expanse of Loch Sunart opened up in front of us. In my early days of solo paddling on open water, I would have found these conditions to be both extremely daunting and incredibly hard-going. Having subsequently spent many hours paddling on open water in conditions ranging from ‘ultra calm’ to ‘quite atrocious’, I now feel very much at home and at one with my boat. I’m always mindful however that the weather can change so quickly and the need to be able to deal effectively with whatever surprises Mother Nature may reveal, is paramount.
Keeping close to the edge of Carna Island afforded us some shelter, and the chance to cruise unfettered by the gusts. In the still waters behind us, we noticed the following noses and ever-observant eyes of a couple of seals, a mere 15 metres behind. I could barely contain my excitement! In fact, I didn’t contain my excitement at all as I embarked on my best ‘seal whispering’ techniques. This basically involves me waving at them and shouting, “cheeky cheeky seals” in a high-pitched voice. I’m not sure that Adam was too convinced about my tactics but the seals appeared to like it. In no time at all, we (although probably just me really) had attracted an entourage of cheeky cheeky seals. It was entrancing to watch them vanish from our sight and reappear elsewhere as if by underwater magic.
Our excitement increased again when we caught sight of wild otters in The Narrows. They were far less inquisitive than the seals, even bordering on nonchalance, nibbling on shellfish and floating lazily on their backs. Those of you who know me well will understand the significance of this. I’ve adopted a British otter called Sammy from a wildlife sanctuary in Devon and at the time of writing this, I have commissioned a new Lapwing paddle from Downcreek Paddles. Now that I ‘own’ an otter, I must also own an ottertail paddle!
In the far distance, we briefly saw three dorsal fin which we later learned were likely to be porpoises.
As the tide began to turn, the wind was on our left flank and we continued to forge steadily through The Narrows and saw Loch Teacuis lay out before us. Behind us we could see that we were still being followed by the cheeky seal convoy. We’ve since learned that there are several names for a collective group of seals. Pod, Bob, Harem , Herd and Rookery. There was certainly one incredibly cheeky seal who kept popping his head up out of the water at regular intervals in order to see what was going on. I became increasingly giddy as the seal quota increased and they swam increasingly closer to our boats. At one point, we counted 10 of them. Sliding our boats up onto the short grass at the very limit of the tideline at Eilean Gabhar, we were watched by the seals who by now were only metres away. To be able to interact with such wonderful animals in close proximity in their natural habitat is truly a privilege.
Thankfully, our flat patch of land served us well both in terms of space and good deep pegging points. Another fact to consider when camping on the edge of sea lochs is the availability of fresh water. Earlier studying of our maps located a tiny river in close proximity to our tipi and this fed into our loch. Fresh water found, we lugged our kit across the carrageen-covered rocks whilst a white-tailed eagle circled us overhead. We had come to a very special place indeed.
With 16 guylines and 17 outer edge pegs buried deep, the tipi stood resolute and it was a reassuring feeling to know that it would withstand pretty much anything that Mother Nature could throw at it in December.
For us, the two essential pieces of kit necessary for long winter evenings in Scotland are a bombproof shelter and a warm sleeping bag, to ensure deep restorative sleep. This shelter could be in the form of a tent, a tarp or a tipi. For this kind of trip, a tipi was preferable as it provided a place to sleep, eat, cook, clean, store our kit and also socialise in. After watching the sun set in the snowy distance and with the coming forecast of driving rain and gusting winds, we battened down the hatches ready for a heavy night.
As is customary, ‘Angela’s Exped Catering Service’ had supplied all the sumptuous provisions. Upon the purring petrol-powered stove sat a cast iron skillet with two succulent ribeye steaks. In addition, the expectation of long cold nights meant that it was vital to have copious amounts of hot drinks and belly filling food. As the darkness thickened, we indulged gleefully in Blue Stilton washed down with Ruby Port.
Of all the human-powered means of transport, I think the canoe is the one with both the capacity and versatility to transport such luxury to remote locations. We were reminded of this as we sipped Glayva liqueur from stainless steel shot glasses whilst listening to the sound of guylines singing in the wind.
Day three: Wednesday
As is customary on expeds, I was the first to rise, so I headed outside to check out the weather conditions. The sun broke through the clouds and unfurled like golden ribbons over the black-edged mountains. The sky was dour with the imminent threat of hail and sleet. Steadily the tiny frozen white baubles fell against the tipi and we could almost hear them slide down the heavy canvas, gathering at the bottom edge like a white-hemmed skirt encircling the base of the tipi.
Despite having excellent kit, neither of us fancied paddling in the peltin hail, which was a shame because the tide had crept silently up to our camp and settled a mere two metres away from our canoes. Quite possibly the shortest ever portage to water for us! Instead, we donned our heavy Ventile bush smocks and picked our way on foot along the edges of Loch Teacuis. The tide was now receding and the weather was now skittish with light, a continuously changing ambiance which gave way to picture-perfect moments, snatched amidst this classic dreich Scottish weather.
As the sun’s eyes became heavy, hues of rich plum and shades of deep resonant blue met the heavy blackness of the salty water. Perfect moments in places such as this simply remind you to slow down and just be part of it. No more needs to be done than witness the life around you and allow it to slow down your own rushing thoughts.
The tipi, now lightly decked in peppering hail, still held the remnants of warmth inside. A faint hint of petrol in the air and a brief flare, signalled the stove to fire into life and heralded the start of around 13 hours of December darkness.
We always take time beforehand to prepare choice foods so we are not simply eating to fuel our bodies but instead are eating to taste, savour and enjoy every bite. Tasting mindfully and with pleasure reminds us that we are present. After all, we are human beings and not human doings.
Day four: Thursday
We awoke after a long night of raw gusting winds to the sight of the sun tiptoeing through the clouds, alas with not a hint of warmth, a faint wisp of mist enshrouding the tipi. Usually on expeds, each morning we pack up our kit and change locations every day so the chance to relax is always most welcome. A roaring stove soon took the chill out of the tipi inner and we enjoyed a pot of freshly brewed coffee, the aroma of which drifted out over the loch, along with the delicious smell of our hearty breakfast of freshly made pancakes, as thick as plates and drenched in maple syrup.
With the wind dropping, the tide had slid out to reveal a seaweed strewn expanse of mud flats. We zipped up and buckled down and found the easiest way to get the boats to the sea , some 200 metres away, was to enter the small feeder river only 30 metres away and cautiously snub our way onto the loch.
Afloat on the salt water shallows, standing tall with our big sticks and poling along the loch edge, we gained a far greater panoramic vista than from the usual fixed position of our kneeling thwarts.
Today was a different world, and under an almost cloudless sky, as far as the eye could see, the only water moving was being moved by the very moon. It was as if this giant body of water wasn’t just a piece of geography, but a living breathing creature who inhaled and exhaled slowly and steadily twice each day. Each breath bringing with it the very life which keeps it alive.
It was blissful to be back on Loch Teacuis and making our way deftly and oh-so-quietly eastward, past small tide-bound islands on which basked, bronzed by the sun, a small colony of seals, appearing oblivious to our quiet respectful presence.
Momentarily their eyes made contact with ours and they seemed as enthralled with us as were with them, before they slid quickly and silently into the water. We’d assumed they’d skedaddled but instead, they played hide and seek behind us in gentle pursuit, dipping here and reappearing there, their eyes wide with curiosity.
The narrows of the loch created clean sea water down to it’s bed, scoured twice daily by tidal races which had left it devoid of seaweed. The crystal clear water let in so much light that we were able to see several metres down through the liquid glass. We could spy sea urchins and slowly moving starfish from our canoes above.
With no wind and no agenda, we let ourselves drift, to just allow ourselves the experience. Just like the loch and just like nature, there was no plan other than making time to be ourselves. Nothing more was needed other than to simply taking time and remembering to be present.
Gradually the loch drew itself in fully and the light began to fade. We paddled leisurely back to camp, with it’s welcoming plump down sleeping bags, fairy lights and hot drinks. There’s something very reassuring about heading ‘home’ at the end of a day on the water, with everything being there and ready for us
With the tide in, we could paddle right up to the edge of our camp. As is customary for Scotland, the weather had now changed. Fat juicy raindrops fell like cool marbles and ran down off the peaks of our faux fur winter hats.
Our own really thoughts about tomorrow’s homeward paddle was the weather and what impact this could have upon us. Loch Teacuis allowed us a complete technology detox with no phone signal or wifi. The drawback to this is that all judgements about the weather had to be done in real-time, a rare thing in today’s modern world.
Day five: Friday
Like wolves in the distance, the wind howled all night so we looked out of the tipi with a sense of trepidation to see what Mother Nature had in store for us. Gusting at around F4, it was so much calmer than it had been for the past 24 hours. We packed up our kit with quick fingers and military precision and planned our route back out onto Loch Sunart, taking into account the wind speed and direction.
On our way into Loch Teacuis, we’d paddled through The Narrows but today, we opted to head for Eilean nan Gabhar and circumnavigate Carna in the opposite direction through Caol Charna. This gave us chance to paddle in a more sheltered location with the hope of encountering more seals and hopefully some otters too. In no time at all, our seal entourage appeared and they seemed even more curious than usual. I’m convinced that it was my seal whispering skills which attracted them although I obviously can’t prove this. It’s a belief rather than a fact!
Hugging the rocky coastline, we made our way around Carna and this gave us the perfect opportunity to explore the tiny sheltered bays. As much as I love being in my boat, it’s great to head onto dry land and stretch our legs. We were mindful of the tidal changes though as we wanted to be able to get off the water relatively close to Glenborrowdale Bay rather than having to do a long portage if the tide was out.
After paddling past Rubha Bheithe and Rubha an Aisig Mhoir, we made good headway across towards Risga and then decided to see if we could take a shortcut through the channel between Eilean an Fheidh and the mainland. There was a definite way through and although the water was too shallow to paddle, it gave us the perfect opportunity to pole our way back into Glenborrowdale Bay. The tide was receding quickly although we made good poling progress and only had a short portage to get back to the road.
On the promise of a home-cooked curry by Colin and Katrina Skeath, we quickly loaded our boats and kit and dashed back to the Sunart campsite. Not actually knowing which house they lived in, proved to be no problem as Katrina waved to Adam from the bedroom window. Apparently this happens a lot!
Treacherously icy pavements were potentially the most dangerous part of the whole trip and we skated our way round to the Skeaths, bearing gifts of a three-foot long chorizo and a partly consumed bottle of Buckfast tonic. As we got closer, their house was instantly recognisable by the flotilla of canoes in the front garden.
For those of you who may not be aware, Colin and his nephew Davis circumnavigated the coast of Great Britain last year. Covering 2,064 miles in 86 days in an open canoe is an awesome achievement. Massive credit also goes to Katrina for her fantastic planning and logistical expertise (see the Paddler for the full story).
We had a brilliant evening involving chatting , eating and learning about their plans for a business venture which has now become a reality.
