Slow Boat to Knoydart

© JCurrie

The email arrived: "Just been looking at the 5 day forecast...looks good. The outboard's working, high water at Kinloch Hourn 17.10 on Saturday...ideal, we'll be close into Barrisdale at near enough high water slack so we'll be close to the bothy."

"Saturday drive up, launch, load, sail to Barrisdale; Sunday Luinne Bheinn and Meall Buidhe; Monday a day off for you to recover, we'll sail over to Arnisdale and I'll do No match for crag id:"Ben Sgritheall", maybe there's a pub? Tuesday Ladhar Bheinn;Wednesday a leisurely sail back to Kinloch Hourn..boat recovery. High water 9am so if were off by 8 no adverse tide back.......sounds easy! Cheers, Steve"

Ladhar Bheinn from Barrisdale Bay  © Dan Bailey
Ladhar Bheinn from Barrisdale Bay
© Dan Bailey

These three hills had been haunting me for years. A couple of operations had seen a lot of time slip away and as the dreaded three score and ten approached the trip had become a matter of some urgency. Steve's suggestion of saving the two-way six mile slog by sailing instead was too good to miss, and by coming in along Loch Hourn I would face much shorter days than yomping in from Inverie.

Now I may be ancient, but I'm not The Ancient Mariner and the terms highwater slack, boat recovery and adverse tides didn't mean much to me, so I seized the opportunity with both hands. Steve's boat is a 14 half decked Gunter rigged Tarpon with heavy (even very heavy) galvanised centre plate. He had built the boat in his garden in the early 80s from a Percy Blandford design. We picked Storm Daughter up on the Saturday morning from the Coniston Boat Club and headed north. Everything had fallen into place - forecast magnificent, routes planned, boat checked over and perfect tides. The adventure had begun.

Steve sailing down Loch Hourn  © Ron Caunt
Steve sailing down Loch Hourn
© Ron Caunt

All went well as we motored up Lomondside in heavy traffic, petrol at the Fort, chips at Spean Bridge and an exciting 20-mile drive along Loch Quoich [see this article on Britain's Best Hill Drives, Ed.] passing familiar hills from earlier visits before the switchback descent to Kinloch Hourn. At more or less high tide we cast off in perfect conditions. There was one small problem: we were sailing west straight into the light breeze. Leaving at 5pm we had planned to be at Barrisdale in a couple of hours leaving plenty of time to prepare for the morrow.

"That awful scraping heralded the inevitable outcome - we were grounded"

Loch Hourn runs more or less due west and we were soon tacking back and forth. Beautiful white cottages tucked into the hillsides, seals frolicking in the flat calm water, wheeling terns and magnificent divers all contributed to the delightful ambience of the occasion. The only problem was that we were making very little forward progress. At about the time we sighted The Saddle to the north we made the less exciting discovery that the outboard was not functioning, so from here it was either sail, row or tow. Time slipped by and as we negotiated the mini-whirlpools in the narrows of Caolas Mor I was assured this was a sure sign of a fast ebbing tide with still a long way to go.

The cluster of islands ahead indicated the left turn into Barrisdale Bay which seemed to be running dry even as we watched. A couple of futile efforts to find the line of the Barrisdale River through the fast emerging kelp proved fruitless. Centre board up, oars out and soon that awful scraping heralded the inevitable outcome - we were grounded. In spite of Steve's strenuous efforts to tow us and my less strenuous ones to push the boat we soon had to accept that we were marooned in the weed beds about 500 metres from the shore. By now the sun was fast sinking in the west and we had a boatful of gear which had to be manhandled in a couple of trips to dry land then another few hundred metres to the bothy, perfect prep for the big day.

Luinne Bheinn from Mam Barrisdale  © Ron Caunt
Luinne Bheinn from Mam Barrisdale
© Ron Caunt

Steve stowed the sails, rudder etc. on board and put out a couple of anchors before we began the sad pilgrimage over the mudflats and knee deep water to dry land. A final thrash through a copse and over some barbed wire fences saw us thankfully arrive at the almost empty bothy by 10.30. A quick brew and so to bed; hopefully the excitement wouldn't keep me awake too long.

"This is truly rugged country: rough, rocky, demanding yet with a wild beauty....the walking is hard and rough, but immensely rewarding as it takes you through some of the most glorious scenery in Scotland" Walking the Munros by Steve Kew.

We were on our way by 6.15 after a slight delay as Steve discovered he had picked up his wife's boots and was reduced to using his approach shoes. The sun was soon at full bore as we climbed Mam Barrisdale to be greeted on the col by a lone camper who was packing his kit for a return after three days alone in the mountains. He was the only person we saw until we passed back that way at the end of the day.

The SMC guide pulled no punches about what lay ahead: "The extremely wild nature of these two fine and complex mountains well justify the name the Rough Bounds of Knoydart."

Thankfully the northern slopes of Luinne Bheinn were in deep shadow and we made good progress to reach this beautiful summit. The fine ridges pointed down to the wildly impressive Coire Odhair with its sparkling tarns by which we would return later. A steep and rocky descent brought us to the col before the long ridge up to Meall Buidhe where Steve managed to find some water. A few ups and downs over Druim Leac a' Shith took us through some fine easy scrambling to the South East summit and so to the true summit. The views had been breathtaking and the heat breath-draining, but we were on top and the next question was how to get back.

We went back to the col and followed a very steep, grassy, mossy and sometimes rocky descent before a re-ascent to the two beautiful lochans which had been in view for most of the day. Tired but elated, I climbed the grassy rake back up to meet our route from Mam Barrisdale. Stage one was over; all that remained was the 5km descent to the bothy. Two down, one to go!

Steve approaching Ladhar Bheinn  © Ron Caunt
Steve approaching Ladhar Bheinn
© Ron Caunt

Steve was eager to see if the anchors had held on the incoming tide. Sadly they hadn't and Storm Daughter was about another 400 yards down the coast, perhaps about 150 yards out in deep water. The skipper, never daunted, wet bag under his arm, headed down the shore to rescue the craft. In the meantime I was stumbling up the track from the bothy to see if I could be any help in beaching the boat. As I passed the copse to get a view of the bay, there was Steve sailing in on the jib. What a relief - boat retrieved and soon safe on the shingle. The highlight had not been his 150 yard swim, but the desperate struggle he had to get on board. We headed back to the bothy knowing the boat was safe and at least I was in for an easy day tomorrow!

Monday dawned gloriously clear and hot. The breeze took us over to Arnisdale by about 11 and Steve headed of up Sgritheall whilst I failed to find a pub. What a sad state of affairs in such idyllic surroundings. I contented myself with a stroll through the village and visiting the man in the shed, an experience not to be missed by anyone with an hour to spare. The shed, however, would have benefitted from a little air con. I was directed to a knoll to the west of the village, where I was assured of a phone signal, and as if by magic it worked clear as a bell. Steve was back in about three hours and we had quite a breezy return to Barrisdale, this time epic free.

The bothy, however, had filled up, as had the campsite. Many of the new visitors were doing the Cape Wrath Trail [see this article, Ed.], the most vocal a Latvian lady who was quite insistent in wanting to know how many miles we had walked, and seemed most disappointed with my sun lounging day. We all tumbled to bed about 9.30pm. One big day to go and then the easy sail home; surely the worst was over?

Lahdar Bheinn, the most westerly mainland Munro, is regarded by many as the most beautiful mountain in the British Isles. It is a mountain of "soaring ridges, spectacular corries, testing remoteness and stunning panoramic views" says Ralph Storer's 100 Best Routes on Scottish Mountains.

Descending Ladhar Bheinn towards Loch Hourn  © Ron Caunt
Descending Ladhar Bheinn towards Loch Hourn
© Ron Caunt

You can't add much to that and the ascent of this magnificent mountain proved incident free. The beautiful Allt Coire Dhorcail is traversed by a stunning balcon path before crossing the river before the gruelling grass slopes of Druim a Coire Odhair. The sun beat down from the cloudless sky as we gained the delightful ridge which ascends over and around a series of craglets to the summit. The views are breathtaking in every direction and we were amazed that on such a day there was not another soul to be seen. We loitered for over an hour on the summit before regretfully returning. Apart from a steep descent of the ridge and a couple of involuntary nose dives down the final heather zig-zags we were back in good time, giving us the chance to ferry some gear up to the boat for our leisurely and stress free return tomorrow. Whether this would be the triumph of hope over experience would soon be determined.

Another busy night at the bothy and we were away on another beautiful morning to catch the tide. Sadly, not a ripple troubled the loch and our painted ship upon a painted ocean had to be rowed round the islands to pick up the very faintest of zephyrs which, needless to say was a due easterly - not good news. Endlessly we tacked the six miles back: sometimes rowing, sometimes on sail. As we entered the final narrows, Steve rowed manfully against the fast ebbing tide and we just about reached the roadhead before we ran out of water. Again it had taken us nearly six hours, but at least we were fairly near to where we could return Storm Daughter to her trailer, once the tide had turned.

photo
Steve retrieving Stormdaughter
© Ron Caunt

There were several diversions. Tea and scones at the farm sounded great, but they were away for the day. So we returned to the car and cooked what little food remained. By about 4pm we decided to manhandle the trailer down to the boat and haul her the 200 yards across the mud to the slipway. This proved to be the first of a series of bad choices. After about an hour of pull, push and grunt, we gave this up as the tide was now slowly coming in. Steve dragged the boat up to the slipway and we decided to attempt to reverse the car down in hope of towing the trailer with the boat on up to the road; second bad choice! Those who have visited this spot will appreciate this left virtually no room for manoeuvre, had we even managed to get the tow started.

The third bad choice was actually reversing down the slipway when, due to angle and gravity, reverse gear was no longer required, and the car slid effortlessly towards the beach. A handy spar shoved under the back wheels halted the awful descent, but the front wheel drive dug deep, spat gravel, chewed up anything we put under the tyres, and in spite of all our efforts, steadfastly refused to move forward. Now I was really starting to worry. Not only was the boat merrily bobbing on the fast rising tide, but it seemed inevitable that the car was soon to join it. What a long walk home this might be. As the tide neared the end of the slipway Steve made a bold and brilliant decision which has me trembling even as I write - he would reverse the car onto the mud and drive it 30 yards across the shore to the next slipway.

Now this second slipway was a crumbling weed covered relic but, and it was a big but, it did run parallel to the road. Things had to be done at a pace. We cleared most of the bigger boulders and it was chocks away and Steve boldly fired up the engine, released the handbrake and with everything crossed rolled down onto the mud. In what seemed seconds he bounced his way up the crumbling ramp and popped onto the road. Now only the boat to deal with.

Almost immediately after the car was on the tarmac, a lady who lived in one of the properties on the north side of the loch came along. She suggested we wait till the water was a little higher and we could sail over to some hard standing about 500 metres from the jetty. We willingly accepted the offer and by the time I had driven round Steve was coming in to land. It seemed within minutes we had gone from crisis to solution thanks to our generous hearted friend. All that remained now was the the journey home.

Apart from the motorway in Glasgow being shut and torrential rainfall we were back at Coniston by 3am. It had been another long day.

On reflection, I am drawn back to the Introduction of the 1985 SMC Munro Guide edited by Donald Bennett:

"It is a game remember... They have been done fast and slow, teased out over half a century... Thank God for Munros, however we approach them!"

Looking down Loch Hourn  © JCurrie
Looking down Loch Hourn
© JCurrie, Oct 2009



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