A two day Torridon tour - changing like the weather

 July and August of 2017 offered little in the way of settled weather in Scotland.  Frequent spells of windy conditions limited the opportunity for anything more than brief outings.  In the second week of August Allan and I spotted a couple of days in the forecast which looked like giving a good chance of doing a camping trip - though there was uncertainty about the wind strength.

In general it looked to be from the south for a day before swinging through west to north for the following two days.  Finding somewhere which would offer shelter from opposing wind directions on consecutive days was an interesting conundrum!  We decided on a trip from Loch Torridon, with options to head out to the island of Rona if the weather was particularly obliging, or staying within the loch if it proved less benign.

We drove over to the west coast and prepared to set out from Shieldaig (from the old Norse "Sildvik" - Herring Bay).  The sky looked quite threatening as we packed our boats, we hoped that the forecast of brighter conditions later was accurate.

 We started out heading north west towards the outer loch.  Loch Torridon is in three sections, the outer loch which is a wide expanse opening to the Minch, Loch Shieldaig forms part of the middle section and an upper loch which laps the feet of the great Torridon rampart, Liathach.

 Shortly after setting out the overcast, drizzly cloud began to break up and allow some warm sunshine to break through.  As so often in Scotland, the speed of the change from grey to dazzling colour was startling......

 ....and we were soon in bright sunlight under blue skies.

 The view up the loch to the distant Torridon hills was particularly fine, rows of shapely summits marching into the distance.  We landed in a rocky bay to take a leisurely second luncheon and enjoy the sun on our backs.

 It was clear that the sunny conditions wouldn't last too long though, and with an approaching cloudbank came a strong southerly wind.  This caused us to revise our plans - the strength of the wind within the shelter of the loch suggested that things would be a lot more gusty in open water. Our plan had been to paddle out of the loch and head south to camp in a bay which faced south - this was in anticipation of stronger northerly winds the following day.  It was clear that we'd have a slog to the intended bay and that it would be exposed to swell and weather.  We rafted up for a quick reassessment.....


Our revised plan was to paddle along the southern shore of the outer loch as far as Rubha na Fearna, (one of two headlands with the same name, less than two kilometres apart, the name means Point of the Alder trees), then to cross the loch with the wind at our backs to the north shore and camp there.  The campsite would be exposed to the southerly weather but I knew a place that we could find a sheltered spot - and we'd be in a good position when the wind did swing to the north.

We weren't the only folk to be wild camping on the shore of Loch Torridon that evening; a pair of fishermen had set up their tent on the turf of a sandstone shelf.  The site was very sheltered, but you wouldn't want to be prone to sleep-walking here!

In the late afternoon we reached the outermost point of Loch Torridon and turned our bows to the north.  A steady breeze at our backs made for good speed as we set out.  Away to the west lay the distant silhouette of Skye's Trotternish peninsula.  As we moved out into open water the swell and wind increased and all my imaes of the crossing were spoiled by water splashing onto the camera lens - it was good fun though and we made cracking speed towards our camp.

Falling over on a Stag night

I recently did an overnight kayak trip in Outer Loch Torridon, setting out from Shieldaig on a bright afternoon.  Cloudbanks away to the northwest looked a bit ominous, but the weather in Loch Shieldaig (from the Norse Sild Vik - Herring Bay) was fine.  As things were to turn out, I should have made the most of the sunshine.....  Some days or trips just end up being a succession of challenges, and this was one of those occasions.

My destination was the former Youth Hostel at Craig, which was turned over to the Mountain Bothies Association in 2006 having been decommissioned as a Youth Hostel in 2003.  Having arrived at Shieldaig later than I'd planned I hurried through loading the boat which resulted in it feeling a little "down by the head" and made for hard work paddling the two hours or so towards the bothy.  As I headed out from the shelter of Loch Shieldaig (which is actually the middle part of Loch Torridon) the sea got up a bit but nothing too concerning.  The wind had swung to the northwest and the clouds had become very dark looking and heading towards me.

All the photographs below were taken on the following morning.

 

This is the boulder beach below Craig at near high water approximately mid way through the neap/spring cycle.  When I arrived (30 minutes prior to sunset) it was near to low water and a small swell of about 0.5 metres was washing directly onto the beach. I also arrived at the same time as a torrential rainstorm. The landing with a heavy boat was a little tricky and I struggled a bit to stop the boat from broaching as I tried to minimise the amount of banging on the boulders.

Having dragged the boat clear of the water on barnacle covered boulders I started to unload the contents into bags to get my kit above the HW line before moving the boat.  The rain was absolutely lashing down at this point which probably contributed to the next mishap.

I moved up the beach to a point where the barnacle covered rocks gave way to smooth and rounded sandstone boulders about the size of melons.  Immediately I stepped onto this part of the beach I took a crashing fall, my feet competely whipped from under me by the lethally slippery boulders which were covered in a green sheen of weed.  It was several minutes before I could move, such was the impact of the fall and I consider that I was pretty lucky to have escaped with just a bruised forearm.  The rain had now reached a real intensity and my kit was scattered about on the rocks.  I gathered everything (including, sadly, a broken bottle of wine...) and moved carefully up the beach before returning to move the boat.  This was a really frustrating job; I didn't dare pick it up to go across the slippery zone of the beach and ended up dragging it whilst sitting on the ground.  Eventually everything was above the HW mark and I could set off to find the bothy.

In hillwalking lore, bothy doors rank as some of the most difficult targets to navigate to, and Craig proved no exception.  I'd taken so long to sort out the mess on the beach that it was now fairly dark and still raining, though thankfully not as heavily.  The ground had become very flooded and I set off up the hill to try to locate the bothy which was about a kilometre away.  The building lies in a a dip above a river, which is itself in a bit of a gorge.  Below the bothy and stretching almost to the beach is a straggling wood of birch and willow.  It all made for an interesting navigational exercise!  Eventually the door was located and unsurprisingly I was the only occupant.

I quickly got my stove sorted and made a cup of tea, then got the woodburner lit, mentally thanking the previous occupants for leaving some dry wood.  Candles were lit and as the downstairs room warmed up I took off my paddling kit and went upstairs to get a sleeping spot chosen.  At this point I realised that I'd left my sleeping bag and Thermarest back at the boat, a kilometre down the wet and dark hillside - it really was one of those days!

Back into wet kit, a log onto the woodburner to keep it going, candles in every window to aid my return and off I went back down the hill.  Half way down I smelled burning and my headtorch went out.  A wiggle of the wires and it came back on; fortunately I had a small reserve headtorch in my pocket.  Having retrieved the missing kit I slogged back up to the bothy and back out of the wet kit.  An examination of the headtorch revealed that the cable insulation had broken down allowing a short circuit.  After seven years heavy use, I suppose I can hardly complain.



                                                                             

The main room of Craig has an impressive celtic mural, echoed on the door and window lintels.  It's a real 5 star bothy with real bedframes upstairs and a bucket flush loo at the back.  I got a meal cooked and was able to chuckle at the day's events.  No wine, but a warm room and a hot chocolate drink made a good nightcap.

 After the rain stopped, it became obvious that the Red Deer rut was in full swing; several stags were roaring on the hillside beyond the bothy.  Late in the evening the rain started again and things quietened down.  I bedded down in the smallest of the upstairs rooms (the small rooflight window in this picure) and dropped into a sound sleep.

Sleep was shattered about 3am when a very large stag (the deepest one of several I'd heard earlier)  roared just a few feet from the bothy door.  Although I knew instantly what it was, it's fair to say it gave me a start - at a distance the roar is impressive, this close it was a primal shockwave of a sound.  After I'd gone to the window with a torch he moved away a little and all the roaring subsided a bit.  It took a little longer for my heart-rate to subside and sleep to return though!