Inverpolly – December 2016

I still am not convinced on the merits of packrafting when applied to Scotland, there are relatively few multi day river routes, mainly the Dee, the Spey etc. and the selling point for them so far, as appeals to me is the ability to cross lochs, saving the long trudge round, when in a few minutes you can have an inflated raft and be paddling serenely across the body of water towards the other side, wind speed and direction permitting.

This was my first packrafting trip, the recommendation from Andy Toop at Backcountry, was to head up to Inverpolly, so a trip was planned for the beginning of December. Sideways slewing torrential rain, numb fingers and thoroughly trying conditions were expected. As it turns out, we had one of the most benign December days I have known, little to no winds, mild temperatures and not a drop of rain.

Trip Report

Finished work at lunch time on Thursday and headed over to pick up the packrafts, PFDs and paddles from Andy Toop at Backcountry in Aviemore, collected Ned from Inverness airport and munching on fish and chips and catching up on news we travelled north west through Ullapool to Inverpolly, with frequent stops once we reached single track roads to encourage the deer in the darkness to move off the road.

Two other friends joined us, at our campsite for the night just off the road opposite the “put in” at Boat Bay.

We set off the following morning from Boat Bay on Loch Sionascgaig, stopping for a leisurely lunch on the small islet of Eilean Mor before following the loch south east, reverting to shanks pony before heading up to the bealach where sits the sandy beach of Lochan Dearg.

Watching the reflection of the sun sink lower in the infinity pool of this small lochan smoothed a few wrinkles from my soul that evening.

The race against fading daylight to the top of Cul Mor was fun, catching the last few moments of watching the long shadows reflecting on the bodies of water below turn to resolute darkness whilst we got our breath back.

If watching the sun sink over the water of Lochan Dearg was good for the soul, then the descent of Cul Mor back to the beaches of the Lochan where we camped for the night yielded a bump or two, for running head torch lit along the banks of a burn, the side gave way and I disappeared head first, legs following into the darkness below. It must have given Adam, who was following a few footsteps behind quite a fright as the waggling flicker of light in front disappeared. After I got myself the right way up and a swift pat down to check all was still intact we set off again, albeit at a slightly more cautious pace to reach the others setting up camp on the beach.

Teatime was standing around on the beach, racing spoon in one hand, food in the other alternating between gazing up at the stars showing between the clouds and chatting about the day, followed by washing down with Brandy/Rum Whiskey depending on our preferred potion before it got too cold and our sleeping bags beckoned.

I love my bed, and one of the things I love about the being out and about in winter is lying in my snug sleeping bag listening to the wind and rain knowing I have hours of sleep before its time to get up and go again. This night was no exception. It was about 7 or 8 pm when we got in to our sleeping bags and 7 am when we got back up again. I have to admit it, I got a great night’s sleep, whilst Ned who had borrowed my previous tent, a Gelert Solo (Ned is about 6’ 4”) felt like he had been lying in a coffin all night, he give an impromptu, but thorough tent review which had us all trying to stifle laughter and failing miserably – I don’t think we’ll find his review on any outdoor gear site any time soon, but it served me well enough until I could afford a better one.

We made our way over the saddle and down into Loch Veyatie, again the wind and the weather were exceedingly benevolent, allowing us to make good progress down the loch observed by small groups of red deer along the side, looking curiously to try and figure out what sort of beasts we were.

Through the narrows and into the Fionn Loch we went, assisted by the current. The water through the narrows was just deep enough to float and we paddled to the rushy marshland beneath Coire Mor.

Suilven had been a constant presence all day, and as we floated along we tried and failed to determine where the path lay up the south side, wherever it was it looked pretty steep.

The route from Fionn Loch was a steep haul to the top of the little plateau especially with an extra 10 kg of firewood in my pack. Dusk was starting to fall as we made our way to the ford across the burn before reaching the empty Suileag bothy.

The firewood proved to be a wise decision as it meant that the small store of wood within the bothy went untouched, and a roaring fire was soon throwing leaping shadows around the room, whilst tea was prepared and socks were hung up to dry.

Stocks of spirits were soon diminished and the warm glow from the fire was matched by the warm glow within as the story telling grew more lively. After a while the fading firelight matched our nodding heads and it was time to hit the sack again.

It was early up the next morning, three of us on the move in the darkness with a plan to be on top of Suiliven to watch the sun rise over the hills to the East and catch the first rays of daylight.

I was a little dubious as to how much we would see and how spectacular a sight it would be, but it was one of the most dramatic sunrises I have ever seen. The ball of fire raising its head and bathing us in an infused, surreal low light, creating mile long silhouettes of ourselves superimposed on the shadow of Suilven stretching out to the Atlantic.

For a moment we were giants and not a word was spoken as we turned about and took it in.

Then of course the cameras came out to record for posterity, loved ones and probably Facebook.

A swift trot back to the bothy for a cup of tea and biscuits before the last few kilometres back to where the car was parked, beside Glencanisp lodge.

If I ever have to pick another 3 days in December like we had, I don’t think I would ever be so lucky, but then again, some wind and rain might have been nice too.

The main motivations for doing this trip were twofold, one to try out packrafts, as I’d been thinking of incorporating a float section into my trip to the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, either down the Jago or the Hula Hula rivers to Kaktovik, however I was quickly disabused of this idea by Kirk Sweetsir of Yukon Air when I ran my proposed route by him, due to the high probability of getting killed and eaten by a Polar bear as I reached the mouth of either of the two rivers, and from there to Kaktovik. Needless to say, I took him at his word and changed my route.

The other reason was that I have a small group of close friends who I don’t get to see very often, so we try and get together at least once a year to do some sort of challenge. The previous years have seen us kayak the Great Glen Canoe trail – both ways in 4 ½ days (120 miles), cycle the Ring of Kerry in a good day out (100 miles) to name but two. We are working up to an Atlantic crossing, someday, perhaps.

Was I sold on pack rafting in Scotland yet – not quite, I can totally see the virtue for big river wildernesses in Alaska, Canada and much of the lower 48, but i think i’m going to need a couple more trips with one before I make my mind up – or maybe that’s just an excuse!