|
I thought I ought to put finger to keyboard to let my kind sponsors know how the Scottish paddling trip went. I can't believe another month and a half has gone by without getting this written.
Well we had a good go! Having set off a day late because of Rob's other commitments, we arrived at Ballinluig to drop a car off at what we hoped would be a staging post on the way to Perth. From Ballinluig on the confluence of Tummel and Tay, we then had to drag all the gear in Rob's van, across to Bridge of Orchy for the night, to be in position for the next morning's logistical juggling.
After all the rushing around, I set up the tent while Rob slumped
back into his seat saying that his daughter had been violently ill the
day or so before, while they travelled back home from their tour down
the River Spey. Rob went quieter and quieter, with just the
occasional belch giving notice of the rising storm.
I feasted on a
huge chicken curry while Rob groaned. The rain started, which would
have been a good thing, if only it had been decently heavy. After a
long natter, we crashed in the tent. I was out for the count very
quickly and was only vaguely aware of Rob stirring. However after a
few hours kip, even my frazzled brain was awoken by the unmistakeable
sounds of someone firing at both ends. Rob had gone down with the same
bug as his daughter.
I had a vague notion that the "Cross
Scotland" trip was over before it had even started, but I was only
dimly conscious and soon drifted back to sleep. Next morning Rob was
pretty wrung out and the rain continued its drizzling. A half hearted
war conference was held and we decided to wait for a brightening in
the weather - and Rob's constitution. He's a plucky character is Rob
and a good old dose of "The Wildies" wasn't putting him off the
possibility of his trip.
It took a couple of hours, but eventually my mate started to show distinct signs of life. It was game on!
It
was necessary to shuttle 2 open boats, 2 barrels of food, canoeing and
camping gear, 2 bags of assorted clothing, a day bag each and a weird
looking collection of aluminium poles to the roadside on the A85,
beside Loch Ba. This is a place well known to travelling
photographers, with stunning views across Rannoch Moor and the Black
Mount. Once unloaded, Rob drove his van back to Bridge of Orchy in the
hope of finding safe parking for the next several days. I then had the
joy of ferrying the assorted pile of kit to the water's edge, while Rob
hitched back up. Soon the task was complete and Rob rolled back after
a surprisingly painless hitch back up the road.
The first lesson
for this novice open boater then commenced. The black art of packing
an open canoe for the "Big Trip". This went fairly painlessly and we
were soon ready to cast off into the wilderness. By now the mornings'
rain clouds had cleared out to give an absolutely stunning afternoon.
The moorland was showing its most varied shades of spring green and the
Blackmount behind us was highlighted by remnants of the winter snows.
As
we made our way across Loch Ba, it was pretty instantly obvious that it
was a team of one pro and one novice. I was left trailing in Rob's
wake as he effortlessly glided across the azure surface of the lake.
By contrast, my erratic zigs and zags must have been excellent fat
burning exercise. It didn't really matter though, because after so
many years of being too far inside my comfort zone, I knew I was going
to have to learn - or burn even more flab.
After probably less
than an hour we found the exit from the Loch into the R. Ba. Clearly
the overnight rain had made little impression on an unusual Scottish
drought. To call the river boney would not be doing it justice. It
was a bit like the legend of the "pub with no beer": this was the river
with no water! Between the occasional pools, each rapid was a rocky
toothed, body and boat breaking obstacle course. This is how Ranulph
Fiennes should train for his polar sledging epics. We dragged and
shoved; cajoled and cursed; grunted and giggled at the sheer daftness
of our little holiday as we slowly crept down the couple of kilometres
of river towards Loch Laidon.
Eventually the lake came into
view and painfully (after several slippery rock induced dead legs) we
got clear of the rocky river bed and pulled round a corner onto the
lake shore for a quick breather and decision making. It was early
evening now and we weren't at all sure we would get along Loch Laidon
before it got dark, reckoning it to be something like a 3 or 4 hour
paddle (longer with me I think). However there was a reasonable breeze
blowing in roughly the right direction so we went for broke and decided
to get some miles in by sailing.
This was the start of my
introductory; rafted canoe sailing 101 course. A collection of ropes
and poles and a hefty lump of timber were dragged from the bags and
boat bottoms and quickly assembled into an A frame masted catamaran.
We cast off and after a couple of false starts, we finally picked up the
best stream of breeze possible and at last we were flying!
We
absolutely creamed our way up the lake; with the biggest tarp acting as
a Viking style square sail and paddles jammed into the water at odd
angles acting as rudders and lee boards. Our canoe sailing contraption
was shifting as fast as a sophisticated sailing dinghy. Within an hour
and a half, we were bearing down on the end of the Loch and right by
the opening of the R. Gaur was a beautiful curving sandy beach with a
sheltered cove behind it, perfect for tents and sheltering us from the
oh so helpful wind. Mind you it was a bit sobering to think that in
the 5 hours we had been going we had only made 14km of the 134 we
needed to cover if we were going to get to Perth by Friday evening.
We
quickly set up camp and after a large belly full of nosh for me and a
couple of tentative mouthfuls for Rob, I finally got that early night I
had been promising myself for the last 18 months.
Look out for the next instalment ...
Trackback(0)
 |
TrackBack URI for this entry
