Five Humans, Two Dogs, Two Canoes and a Scottish Loch
As we leave the warmth and comfort of my sister’s house near Pitlochry, we wonder if we are doing the right thing. It is cold and wet; the wind having swung northerly the day we packed our van and prepped our canoe for several days camping and paddling in Scotland. Now with snow on the highest tops, frequent showers passing through and a chill in our bones, the idea of camping by the water’s edge is growing less appealing. We have good kit and have camped before in freezing conditions, but what about Benji? This is his first winter wild camp. Anxiety creeps in, but any thoughts of changing plans has to be quickly erased from our minds; our friends Rich and Clare are driving up to meet us along with their dogs, Moose and Tang. We have talked about doing this trip for a while. This would be the last chance before winter properly set in and we were all committed to making it happen.
The day before our trip, we had a diesel heater fitted in our van and we are grateful for its warmth as we sit in the back drinking coffee and hot chocolate en route to our first campsite. The nature reserve where we’re parked has a network of trails leading up through naturally regenerating birch and pine and I’m keen to explore. A little way away from the van, a squally rain shower heads towards us in a solid white sheet. Before long our waterproofs are soaked and I can’t help but shudder at the idea of sitting in a canoe in already wet clothes.
We have a campsite booked for the first night of our trip, not far from the loch so we can make an early start and be on the water for a full day’s paddling. As we roll in and drive around the campsite with icy cold rain pattering on the roof we notice a cluster of wooden camping pods - I half jokingly suggest we upgrade and Emma and Benji both immediately agree. The idea of getting our tent soaked before we even head out on the canoe obviously doesn't appeal to any of us. Back at reception and we’re in luck; a wooden camping pod is available, it has heat and lighting and somewhere to dry our wet kit and we couldn't be happier.
The morning comes dressed in patchy veils of low cloud, glimpses of golden birch and larch come and go and the mountains wear a fresh crown of white on their heads. It is cold but brighter than predicted as we leave behind the campsite and wind our way to the head of the loch. Our friends arrive. It is good to see them, familiar faces in an unfamiliar place. A flurry of activity ensues as we unload what seems like a disproportionately large amount of kit for a short trip.
Packing for canoeing is a new challenge for us; we have packed for hiking and backpacking so many times that our system is well practiced to the point of being automatic. Being on the water for days at a time holds different challenges, especially at this time of year and we have to pack for the worst case scenario even though it’s extraordinarily unlikely to happen - an overturned canoe with all of us in the frigid water. Things must be packed in such a way that self rescue is possible, and that our vital kit for staying warm and dry is easily retrievable.
A few weeks ago we did some open water rescue practice with a friend and safety is on our minds more than usual, especially for Benji who is the wildcard of the group; less able to keep calm if things go wrong and more vulnerable to cold than the rest of us. Still, we have the experience and skills between us to cope with almost any eventuality and if we limit ourselves to doing only things that are deemed risk-free then what sort of life is that?
Signs all around forbid us from leaving our vehicles overnight, but we get chatting to a couple of friendly locals about our trip and they let us park outside their houses for free.
It is a strange experience to push off from the shore, requiring a touch of bravery as we head into the unknown, leaving behind the comfort and safety of dry land for something altogether more unpredictable. It is at once liberating, exciting and laced with nervous energy. How far will we have to paddle until we find a good spot to camp? Will the wind and weather be kind? What will tomorrow bring? We don’t know, but with one push the canoe slides into the water, breaking the mirror smooth surface and we are off on our way.
For a while all is smooth and glassy as we paddle away from the shore, but soon a head wind picks up, ruffling the surface. The weather is dynamic, typically Scottish, with showers coming and going, leaving rainbows in their wake. We stop to let Moose and Tang run along the shoreline chasing us as we paddle alongside. Benji decides he wants to do the same and we watch from the boats as Moose, Tang and Benji run along the shore, wild and free. The scene is surreal and dreamlike. The wind drops as a shower passes and we are left paddling blindly into dazzlingly bright white light as the sun sinks low in the sky.
It is briefly warm in sun but the temperature drops as if a switch has been flicked as it disappears behind the mountains. There is some talk of paddling to an island, but me and Emma are keen to setup camp whilst it’s still light, only too aware of Benji’s limits. The trouble with looking for campsites when paddling is that there is always the promise of a better spot just around the next corner; we paddle on, passing several potential spots until we reach a sheltered gravel beach, just wide enough for our tents with an abundant supply of driftwood for the fire which looks perfect for the night.
The light fades fast as we busy ourselves making camp; I light a fire so that Benji can get warm. The driftwood is damp and I’m glad to have packed some dry firewood and birch bark from home to get the fire started quickly. Soon tents are up and the seven of us - four adults, one nine year old and two dogs - are huddled around the warm orange glow gazing out at the mirror smooth loch which reflects the last slither of light so beautifully. It is still early despite the impending darkness, but out here there is no need to stick to our usual routines - we can eat when we’re hungry and sleep when it gets dark. A hearty stew warms our bellies and we share stories by the light of the fire before the lure of warm sleeping bags is too great and we succumb to sleep.
It is still dark when the flapping of our tent door and the lapping of waves on the shore wakes me from an uneasy sleep. The forecast was for slack winds, but here the mountains and the water conspire to do their own thing, conjuring their own weather at will. I’m anxious to get up and see how windy it really is; everything is amplified in the tent, but there’s little we can do until it gets light so I draw my down sleeping bag hood up around my ears and try to ignore the sound of wind rustling in the last few dry oak leaves that still cling to the trees behind our camp.
With water boiling for coffee and the fire re-kindled, I gaze out across the loch. It doesn't look as bad as it sounded, but there is definitely a head wind to contend with, choppy water and a long paddle back. The wind is predicted to hit 40mph later in the afternoon and we’re keen to get moving just in case.
In contrast to the slow exploratory amble of the previous day, all our effort goes into moving the canoe through the water as fast as possible - if we slow our paddling pace it feels like we are going nowhere against the wind. The wind is cold and Benji has lost enthusiasm for paddling - he wants to get back to the warmth of the van and I guess I can’t blame him. A couple of hours of hard paddling and soon, sheltered by the mountains at the head of the loch, the surface of the water settles and our pace slows until we enjoy ourselves again, gliding smoothly, around an island covered in ancient pines.
My arms ache from paddling hard against the wind and my legs have stiffened from sitting in the cold - it feels good to get to the shore and step onto dry land. One of the locals is there to greet us, keen to share the view of Ben Nevis from his back garden, which certainly looks majestic dusted with snow, shoulders cloaked in clouds.
In a nearby cafe we drink hot coffee and eat terrible food, but it’s good to be warm and dry. The wind has picked up further and skies are grey which helps to justify our early start and frantic paddling. Our friends are heading further north for a couple more days of exploring and us back home so we part ways and begin what turns out to be a wild, windy and long journey south.
I wish we could stay for longer too, headed to a cosy cottage somewhere for a few days, but I’m grateful for the adventure we had - it feels good to have turned a glimmer of an idea into reality and a wonderful thing to have found friends to share these moments with.
For now the canoes have been put away for the winter, save for the occasional day trip but as soon as spring comes, here’s hoping we can turn more glimmers of ideas into realities…