Take To The Water
Cameron Mcneish, Scotland’s top outdoor writer, takes adventure to a new level on the waterways When you are in need of a little stimulus to turn your long walks into an adventure, it may be time to try packrafting
Cameron McNeish discovers a fun new mode of exploration that fits right in your rucksack
THE unmistakable outline of Suilven was silhouetted against a dark sky as we pulled our packrafts out of the island-studded Loch Sionasgaig. We were deep in Inverpolly in north-west Scotland and our arms were about to fall off.
The 5.2km (three mile) paddle against a westerly wind had been tougher than we envisaged but we took some comfort in the knowledge that if the wind continued to blow on our trip the next day we would be comfortably blown back to Elphin.
All thoughts of climbing Suilven before supper were abandoned. We were too tired and as the winds eased, midges drove us into our tents. It was to be a long night.
The next day, the disappointment of not climbing Suilven was hastily forgotten. We were here primarily to packraft a route that has taken on an iconic reputation among Scotland’s small band of packrafters. A loop of lochs that lie deep within one of the most majestic and wild parts of the Scottish Highlands.
From our overnight camp a short hike took us across a boggy moorland to the head of the long and sinuous Loch Veyatie, a watery highway in the shadow of Suilven that would return us to the A835 at Elphin.
Most folk with an interest in Scottish history, will be aware that our Celtic forefathers travelled largely by sea, because so much of the land was forested and difficult to travel through.
For most of my life, I have planned long hiking expeditions that avoided large expanses of water. I’ve seen them as a potential hazard or a barrier to progress, but over the past few years, many backpackers have undertaken routes that utilised expanses of water.
In turn, these intrepid backpackers have revolutionised wilderness exploration and travel, and I have gladly joined them taking packrafting trips through stunning vistas across Loch Maree, Loch Leven and many others.
This rafting revolution has come about because of lightweight inflatable packrafts that can be easily carried. To quote wilderness packrafter and author Roman Dial, “The packraft may be the single most liberating tool for exploring wilderness in the last few decades.”
Roman has written what is currently the only users’ guide to packrafting. Packrafting! An Introduction and How-to Guide is an inspiring little tome, full of photos of these little inflatable boats, some of them in very uncompromising white water situations. He also describes some of the trips that packrafts have accomplished.
“In 2004 a young couple used Alpackas – the most popular model of packraft – to fjord-hop along Alaska’s glacier-draped coast; a gang of climbers packrafted the Nahanni River to climb Canada’s Lotus Flower Tower;
I’ve paddled to the Arisaig Skerries with Atlantic dead” seals, and visited the island of the
and a group of Scandinavians made long, Class 1V first descents in Norway. The packrafters’ time had come.”
My Alpacka Yukon Yak weights a tad under 2.27kg (5lbs) and packs down to the size of a two-person tent. The paddles break down into four sections for portability.
I’ve enjoyed a fair bit of paddling in the past, mostly sea kayaking, but I’ve been intrigued by the possibilities packrafts offer. The thought of floating down a river instead of walking alongside it appeals to me and I can think of a dozen islands in various lochs I’d like to explore, including some on Loch Laidon and Loch Ba on the Rannoch Moor. An island hop across the moor from the A82 to Rannoch Station would be great, and once you’ve visited the tearoom you could island-hop back again. And although I’ve never done it, many packrafters are happy to combine packrafts and bikes for the ultimate in long distance, self-supported travel.
I have a couple of bigger trips planned for next spring, Covid-19 permitting, but in the past few years I’ve enjoyed many play-trips on lochs and rivers. I’ve paddled out to the lovely Arisaig Skerries in the company of Atlantic seals, and I visited the island of the dead, Eilean Munde in Loch Leven, the traditional burial island of the Macdonalds of Glen Coe, the Camerons of Callart and the Stewarts of Ballachulish and Ardsheal.
It’s there that Alasdair Ruadh Maciain Macdonald, 12th of Glencoe, known simply as Maciain, was buried after the Massacre of Glencoe in 1692. It felt disrespectful to land on this island of the dead, a place of bracken and
lush grasses, wild flowers and pine trees. The lack of sheep has given this island a verdant feel, a place of flourishing life rather than the graveyard it is. A narrow path leads from the small bay through the trees and undergrowth to the western end of the island where most of the gravestones are.
A little apart from the others, stands the large memorial to the 12th chief of the Glen Coe Macdonalds, murdered by government soldiers under the command of Colin Campbell of Glen Lyon.
Perhaps one of my most memorable packrafting trips was to Eilean Maolruibhe in Loch Maree in Wester Ross. The weather was glorious and I floated out on calm waters to the island of Saint Maol Rubha, who founded the ancient monastery of Applecross in 672AD.
This remote island was his hermitage and today you’ll find the remains of a chapel, graveyard, a holy well and a curious wish tree. Legend claims that your wish will come true if you hammer a coin into the tree. I’m not sure any wishes have come true but the coins have effectively killed the tree from copper poisoning.
Another packrafting excursion took me through the marshes of Loch Insh, an RSPB reserve that is normally inaccessible to walkers. It was a delight to paddle upriver listening to the call of curlews, oystercatchers and lapwings.
On my return to Loch Insh, I silently floated towards a stationary heron that waited until the last possible moment to take off, heavy wings beating the air like some ancient pterodactyl. Buzzards mewed overhead, marking their territories, and sandpipers kept me entertained in that twittering way of theirs.
I’ve enjoyed some sunny summer evenings floating down the Spey from Loch Insh to Aviemore, where I stopped for a pint at the Bridge Inn, before hoisting my packraft into a day pack and catching the bus home.
More recently my old pal Hamish Telfer and I drove along to Lochan Uvie, below Creag Dhubh, where we hoped to access the River Spey. The idea was to float downriver back to Newtonmore or Kingussie, depending on how the river was running.
Lochan Uvie is a lovely spot, two small lochs that look as though they may have been part of an ox-bow lake at one time. Both are connected to the Spey by what looks like man-made channels. We put the rafts in at the west lochan, deep in the shadow of the Creag Dhubh crags where I’ve enjoyed some pretty hairy rock-climbing in days gone by. This trip was meant to be more relaxing, but it didn’t quite turn out like that.
It transpired that the channel connecting to the Spey went through a large pipe that was too small for us to float through so we simply dragged the rafts over the grass to the river and put them back in the channel beyond the pipe. The river was moving slowly, and stately. Almost serene.
And the first section was certainly relaxing, drifting downriver with little effort, enjoying the familiar scenery but from a new perspective. As we approached the confluence with the River Truim, the character of the water changed a bit. It was much shallower and we were both getting bruised backsides from bumping along over rocks. It was here that we learned a little technique that was to prove useful further down the river. Whenever we reached a shallow section we braced our feet against the front of the boat, leaned back over the stern and raised our backsides off the boat floor – that made all the difference.
Several times we had to get out and push or pull it clear but we soon learned to watch out for the deeper channels. There was another reason for seeking out these channels – they were faster and much more fun than simply floating gently downstream.
I would be exaggerating if I described any of this as white water rafting, but it was hugely enjoyable, so much so that when we reached sections of flat water it seemed like tremendously hard work to have to paddle through it.
Just beyond the Newtonmore road and rail bridges we enjoyed some of the best sections – quick moving water where we had to watch out for overhanging trees.
By the time we reached Kingussie we were absolutely delighted by how much fun it had been. We immediately began making plans for a trip to Inverpollaidh where the loch systems and wild remote campsites were calling us.
Best of all, I’m looking forward to packing my camping gear next spring and summer and floating off down some other Sutherland rivers or lochs for a wild and remote camp somewhere. I might even load my bike up with the packraft and combine a few days rafting and bikepacking. The packraft really has revolutionised wild exploration and travel. I suspect it’s going to prove highly popular.