Have Boat, Will Travel
Add packrafting to your treks to reach those remote peaks
THE isolated mountain of Suilven rises impressively above the remote moors-and-lochan patchwork landscape of Assynt, in north-west Scotland, attracting spectators, photographers and walkers alike.
At just under 731 metres (2400 feet) tall, the dominating rocky hulk does not qualify as one of Scotland’s loftier Munros or Corbetts – summits of more than 914 m (3000ft) or 760m (2500ft) respectively. Yet, to reach the summit there is a significant climb, not to mention a long walk from the nearest public roads.
Seen from a tiny, one-person inflatable boat as I paddle along the long ribbon of Loch Veyatie to the south-east of Suilven, the mountain looms large.
It also takes much longer than envisaged to reach the southern flank of the steep-sided, hump-backed ridge. While the weather is sunny and warm, my paddling speed is slowed by a stiff headwind.
However, it is easy to console myself. I am in a spectacular wilderness, part way through an exciting adventure – and I am definitely looking forward to the more favourable tailwind on the return paddle.
The plan, hatched by The Scots Magazine editor Robert and me, is for an overnight camp atop Suilven on the summer solstice weekend in 2019.
Rather than follow the traditional route, walking from the coastal village of Lochinver, we decided to hire packrafts and set out from the tiny inland settlement of Elphin, some 24km (15 miles) north of Ullapool.
The adventure begins with a walk to the south-eastern shore of Loch Veyatie. The rafts weigh around 2kg (4.4lb) each when uninflated, and we attach them to our rucksacks alongside oars and buoyancy aids. It proves to be a fairly manageable weight for hiking.
The boats inflate quickly and we set off from the shore at a gentle pace. I am immediately awed by the grandeur of the rocky terrain around us.
In the near distance, the low rolling vista is of Lewisian Gneiss, shaped by the process of glaciation over millions of years and now blanketed in a thick layer of grass and bog. Rising out of this is the omnipresent Torridonian sandstone bulk of Suilven.
Slowly, Suilven grows even larger as we paddle closer and I start to see a clearer outline. The ridge is more than a mile long with the high point, Caisteal Liath, meaning “The Grey Castle” in Gaelic, at the northwestern end.
There are two further summits – Meall Beag, meaning “little round hill”, at the southeastern end and Meall Meadhonach, or “middle round hill”, in the centre.
The southern slopes look impossibly steep from our low vantage point and I hope it is an optical illusion. Only time will tell and we still have at least a third of the loch’s length to complete.
By now, my arms, shoulders and back are tired and sore and I wonder if we should pull the boats from the water and return to walking. Robert checks the map and then points ahead to a low grassy knoll on the northern loch shore. He convinces me that it’s not far to go.
Finally, as the loch narrows at its head, turning into a fast-flowing river, we make our way to a sandy bank and step back on to the land, feeling slightly wobbly. We have seen only a couple of fishermen over the previous hours and it feels as if we might be the only people to have ever stepped on this tiny cove.
We decide to hide the rafts for our return the next day – thus lightening our load for the climb of Suilven. Again, I feel Lilliputian amid the grandeur of wild Assynt. In the near distance, consuming most of the horizon, the mountain’s less hiked southern side rears up.
A rough and rocky path zig-zags upwards but we are on fresh legs thanks to the rafting and we make quick progress to gain the ridge. To the west, the stunning spire of Meall Meadhonach rises dramatically. Meanwhile, looking south, we are also treated to another iconic mountain, Stac Pollaidh.