A re-boot

 When I started this blog back in 2009 it was primarily to create a record and to share some of the sights and experiences in Scotland's outdoors.  When things got busy with work or family life, the natural tendency was to post less, but lately I've really let it slip.  The last posts were some eight months ago - and they were recalling a trip in April 2022!  "Retirement" from a long career at sea in March 2022 was quickly followed by setting up a new venture in "retirement", so there has been a lot going on.

In my defence, I've been posting a lot on the Mountain and Sea Instagram page  and while enjoying the ability to post more or less instantly, I have missed the research and reflection that blogging offers.  

It's not like I haven't been getting out and about whether solo or with friends....  There have been some great sea kayak trips.... 

To the west - here on Loch Hourn

On the "home" patch of the Moray Firth in the northeast 

In the very heart of Scotland, here on Loch Ericht.

And in the far northwest, a here in Assynt.

The hills haven't been ignored either, whether in challenging weather

or in fair weather.

And talking of weather, the range of conditions experienced have been simply marvellous!

So that's the re-boot started, and hopefully I can do much better in posting here than of late!

Four seasons in a forenoon

I slept well in my tent, pitched behind Glendhu bothy.  We woke to frozen ground and a dusting of snow which was coming and going in light showers - quite a difference to the warmth of the previous afternoon!

It's often said that in Scotland you can experience four seasons in a day - and we were about to have just such a day. 

Snow was falling steadily on the hills above Glendhu.  Our bothy companions took a look outside and voted unanimously for a late start to see if it would clear.

After breakfast we got packed up, said goodbye to the lads and got on the water in improving conditions.  The wind died completely and the cloud began to break and lift up the crags surounding the head of the loch.  An easy paced paddle took us down to Kylesku in a little over an hour.

Our plan had now evolved a little due to forecast strong winds the following day.  We'd thought of shuttling a car ahead to Scourie and paddling from Kylesku north, using the camp site at Scourie, but the forecast northerlies would have made this a hard slog.  Instead, we decided to drop our camping gear and excess kit at the vehicles in Kylesku, then to explore Loch a' Chairn Bhain, returning to Kylesku to finish.

On the shore opposite the fishing jetty lie the remains of the two-car ferry "Maid of Kylesku".  She served the Kylesku crossing from the 1950's until 1967 when she was replaced by the "Queen of Kylesku" in 1967, which in turn was replaced by the "Maid of Glencoul".  When the Kylesku bridge replaced the ferry service in 1984, the "Maid of Glencoul" was redeployed as a relief vessel at the Corran ferry in Lochaber.

"Maid of Kylesku" was simply beached when she reached the end of her service life in 1967 and it's testament to the strength of her construction that she's essentially still in one piece over fifty years later - although she has certainly seen better days.

Having unloaded most of our kit back into the vehicles at Kylesku, wetook advantage of the strong ebb stream too pass under the Kylesku Bridge at quite a lick.  Rain began to fall steadily as we set out, and soon after we went under the bridge there was a dramatic change in conditions as a squall barrelled in from the north bringing a vicious mix of rain and hail on a suddenly strong wind.

As quickly as it had come in the squall passed through and disappeared over the summit ridges of Quinag, trailing veils of rain as it did so.  The wind dropped, out came the sun and it suddenly felt warm - another of Scotland's weather tricks.

By the time we reached the seaward end of Loch a' Chairn Bhain (loch of the white cairn) we were paddling under blue skies and bright sunshine once more.  I remembered a small pebble beach at the back of a tiny bay where we stopped for luncheon; there are surprisingly few landing places on the north shore of this wide loch.

The colours here were really fine, that alluring mix of white sand under turquoise water, a real treat.  Allan and Lorna were both suffering from heavy colds and decided to go just a little further before turning back.......

.....but first we explored the tiny Loch Shark, a lovely shallow loch enclosed by pine and spruce woods - most unusual for this part of the coast.  As Allan and Lorna began the return leg towards Kylesku, headed north to paddle around the island of Calbha Beag (little calf).

Almost as soon as I turned north the wind began to increase; in the channel between Calbha Mor and Calbha Beag it became a real effort to make progress and I reached the top of the island with some relief.

The north coast of this small island is rugged and steep; the wind had quickly built a swell in the wide open Eddrachilis Bay which was acting against the ebb tide to produce quite sporting conditions - lots of spray, noise and movement.  I was then treated to a fast, surfing run down the west coast of the island taking advantage of the wind-over-tide wave trains....there aren't any photos of this section!

From the still frost of the early morning, to snow, dead calm, hail and rain, bright sunshine and now a barrelling wind; we'd had four seasons in a forenoon never mind a day!  Truly, in Scotland we don't have a climate, we just have weather.......

I spoke to Allan on the VHF radio to let him and Lorna know I was back inside Loch a' Chairn Bhain.  A pleasant paddle took me back towards Kylesku, where the bridge is suddenly revealed when a point which seems to block the loch off is rounded.  This is still one of my favourite bridges, there's a simple grace to it and seen from the ridges of Quinag the curve of the deck seems to fit the landscape really well for a modern structure.

We packed up at Kylesku and consdiered options.  The forecast for the following day was poor and Allan and Lorna decided to head to Scourie to camp before taking a leisurely trip home.  I decided to head home to take the opportunity of seeing visiting family, and started on the journey back across country.

Before I did though, I stopped on the road at a layby with a view up the length of Loch Glencoul - a view familiar to many geology students and one that has few equals from a main road.

Heading over the watershed to the eastern side of Scotland, the higher hills were still plastered white - this is Ben Wyvis, a sprawling giant of a hill visible from a wide area.

A short trip, but a good one in a favourite part of the country; hopefully I'll be back there soon.

Light and warmth in the "dark glen"

As there's a track to the door, Glendhu gets more visitors than the bothy at Glencoul so we didn't expect to have the place to ourselves on an Easter weekend.  The two upstairs rooms each had a couple of sets of kit inside so we decided to put up tents behind the bothy for sleeping and share the downstairs rooms with the occupants when they returned.

A deer skull mounted on the wall above the fireplace in one of the downstairs rooms has uses way beyond a decorative trophy; in good bothy style it has multipurpose use as a drying rack and glasses stand.  Unfortunately I'd forgotten to bring the wi-fi code with me........

Soon after we got set up the folk already in residence came back from a long hill day - four lads from Northern Ireland and Scotland having a reunion weekend break.  We brewed up tea and sat outside in warm sunshine, our backs to the warm stone of the bothy - life seemed particularly agreeable.

I took a stroll up the hill behind the bothy to get a view over the head of the loch - this really is a great spot.  As at Glencoul, the call of a Black Throated Diver rang out; this time with a beautiful, eerie echo - a true voice of the wild and so atmospheric and "of its place" here.

We enjoyed dinner in front of the bothy before retiring indoors as the sun sank behind the hills down the loch; the air cooled rapidly, a reminder that it was still April despite the warmth of the afternoon.

The colours of the sunset were enhanced this evening by a pall of smoke hanging over the lower loch, though we couldn't see the source of it.  The breeze died away after sunset and in the dusk we saw an Otter fishing right in front of us, eventually disappearing with a splash when it became aware of our presence.

I went outside to fetch something from the boat after dark to a flood of pale light as a full moon came up into the "V" of the bealach (pass or col) above the head of Glendhu.  We all came out to enjoy this sight, our shadows were cast long and sharp in the moonlight - just magical.

Indoors, we'd got a fire going and with candles lit around the room there was a glow of light here too - perhaps one of the greatest pleasures of bothying. When we went back out to the tents the moon was riding high and a touch of frost was crisping the grass.

Two lochs, two bothies

Just around the corner from Glencoul there's a series of tidal islets guarding the entrance to an extension of Loch Glencoul.  Loch Beag (little loch) opens out slightly before reaching ints head among the hills.  It was a peaceful spot on this afternoon and what little breeze there was died away soon after we paddled in.  The haunting call of a Black Throated Diver echoed around the loch - the only sound apart from our paddles.

A little way from the head of Loch Beag is the Eas a' Chual Aluinn - Scotland's tallest waterfall.  Boat trips bring folk from Kylesku on a tour of Loch Glencoul and to see this waterfall - which has always seemed to me a bit underwhelming as waterfalls go; there's not usually a lot of water in it.  There's an impressive set of falls on the Maldie Burn which drains a hill loch system into Loch Glendhu; in wet conditions they're really something.

Having reached the head of Loch Beag we'd come as far as we could and turned back, out ito Loch Glencoul in mirror calm conditions.  The lovely weather seemed set to last for the afternoon as we made our way back down Loch Glencoul.

Rounding the Aird da Loch (height of two lochs) which defines Lochs Glencoul and Glendhu we came across the empty shells of two sea urchins - very likely the work of either gulls or an otter.  The urchins are often exposed at very low tides and become vulnerable; as we were just after low water a day before Springs these had probably met their end very recently.

The view up Loch Glendhu is as spectacular as that up it's "twin", a narrow fiord hemmed in by high and rugged hills.

A track runs along the north side of the loch, at times clinging improbably to the craggy shoreline;  the retaining wall is often the only indication of the track from the water.

Crossing to the north side of the loch gives a longer view to the hills beyond, a tantalising glimpse of snow capped summits.

As at Glencoul, there's geology on show here on a grand scale - the tilted plane of Cambrian quartzite overthrust by much older pipe rock and Gneiss.

We paddled steadily against a breeze which had sprung up, and gradually our target became more visible.  The buildings at Glendhu are utterly dwarfed by their surroundings - for me that's one of the attractions of this place.

The three buildings at Glendhu are all in good repair - all owned by the Reay Forest estate.  The two buildings on the right of this image are private, the left hand building is open and administered by the Mountain Bothies Association. 

Glendhu is "dark (or black) glen", which would seem to indicate a place of deep shadow and little sunlight.  In midwinter there's no doubt that the surrounding hills rob it of sunlight for part of the day, but the alignment of the loch allows the morning and afternoon sun to flood the glen at most times of the year- and then it's anything but a dark glen although the name probably refers as much to the narrow rocky valley beyond the head of the loch.  A spot I have good memories of, I was looking forward to staying here again.

An Old Man's warning

Pushing south against the ebb tide from the Point of Stoer wasn't too difficult and I soon reached the Old Man of Stoer.  A 60 metre sea stack formed of Torridonian Sandstone, it's an instantly recognisable landmark.  Climbed in 1966 by the Aberdonian climber Dr Tom Patey, it remains a popular though committing climb.  There are several stacks prefixed with "Old Man" in Scotland - the similarly named Old Man of Storr in Skye and the Old Man of Hoy in Orkney are the best known.  In each case the term "old man" refers to the priapic appearance of the stack - though another well known and priapic stack (on which Tom Patey was killed whilst abseiling) is known as A' Mhaighdean (the maiden) !

I'd looked across to the stack from the cliffs opposite, but not been this close up before.  From seaward the whole edifice seems to be leaning out gently to the west.  It is possible at certain states of the tide to paddle behind the stack, but not today.

A look to the south showed that the sky was dark grey and lowering, a sign of the approaching weather front which would bring strong wind and rain.  Suddenly, I didn't feel comfortable - a powerful and urgent feeling of unease gripped me.

Perhaps it was a combination of the strangely distorted verticals in the stack and the cliffs, coupled with the unusual motion of the swell which lifted the boat but slid it northwards with each surge.  Whatever, the uneasy feeling and the clear warning in the sky to the south decided the issue; I'd not continue south to Stoer Head lighthouse, but get back around the Point of Stoer as quickly as I could.

This inner, instinctive alarm system has served me well in the past on both mountains and on the sea; I've learned to listen.  I took no photographs on the way back around the point and found the paddling more difficult.  A tense half hour got me around, out of the strong tidal stream in the vicinity of the headland itself and into the relative shelter of the eastern side.

To the south east, Quinag lay under a threatening grey sky, the weather clearly beginning to make felt its presence.

In the boat, I was beginning to feel a sense of euphoria and an easing of tension, but this is no place to relax, there was still several kilometres of paddling along a cliff-girt shore and a tricky headland to pass before I could rest.

I did have time to appreciate the cliff scenery more fully on the way back though.  Contorted and weathered sandstone beds have been tilted and exposed to form some grand formations

It's an exceptional piece of coastline to paddle.

A bay of translucent green water backed by a purple-red boulder beach was a tempting place to try to land but the still powerful swell was a bit too big for comfort - one to save for another day.

Around the point of Rubh an Dunain (which was still as tricky as on the way out) and I could finally land next to the small jetty in Bay of Culkein.  Now the euphoria could be indulged - the rush of endorphins drained the strength from my legs and I felt a little shaky as I walked up to find a seat on the rocks and make a cup of tea.

I'd managed to round Point of Stoer twice in a day, achieved more than I'd thought possible in the day and extended myself to deal with something which intimidates me.  I had no sense of "conquering" the headland, I'd merely stepped out of my comfort zone, into the "elastic zone" and had a fantastic experience.  Had I backed off the point I'd have still had a great day - retreat would be no defeat at all and my decision would have been right for the day and the situation.  Solo sea kayaking puts these choices to a paddler in a very fundamental and direct way; it's part of the solo experience.

But I still had a couple of hours paddling to do, daylight was short and it was time to go.....

The rainstorms were sweeping northwards in grand curtains as I crossed towards Eilean Chrona (the dark, low island in this image).  I've often heard the otherwordly singing of Atlantic grey Seals here and today as I approached the song reached out across the water.

Grey Seals pup in November and it's possible that this is a breeding site because there were large numbers of rather portly seals hauled out.  I didn't want to disturb the animals and decided to give the island a good wide berth - but not wide enough.  A truly huge bull seal launched from the rock and swam purposely towards me, his body language and huffing an unmistakeable warning to stay away.  Somewhat less subtle than my inner system, this "old man's" warning was very effective and I put on a spurt to get clear of his patch!

Soon I was threading the Oldany Island channel and picking through the low tide skerries to arrive back at Culkein Drumbeg as the weather closed in and the wind picked up.  I'd been right to heed the signs at the Old Man.  During the night the wind and torrential rain battered Assynt and washed away hopes of a climb of either Suilven or Stac Pollaidh the following day.  No matter.