Paddles, Pedals & Peaks
Locharron, Scotland. Nessie was on her spring break…
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
I looked up from the small, rusty crew boat which bobbed about on the choppy surf in Cromarty Firth, near Inverness, Scotland. Towering above me was the huge, grey steel hulk of a semi-submersible drilling rig, destined for the Falklands once it had completed a maintenance period near Invergordon.
The Noble Endeavor, formerly the Ocean Endeavor, gave us little shelter from the howling wind and sideways sleet which turned to snow, as the crew boat belched out more smoke and the crew put the brakes on ready for our disembarkation.
“I thought Billy Pughs were banned in the North Sea?!” I moaned for the umpteenth time.
Clearly, I was wrong, as the crude, 4-person basket was lowered by crane onto the boat deck.
I’ve done various forms of crew change over the years, from helicopters to gangways, Frogs (seated baskets) to scaling the side of an enormous dive ship by the wooden pilot ladder in a force 6…
But a Billy Pugh was a new one for me. After lots of teasing the guys looked after me and I was soon on board my new home from home.
I had booked the Loch Ness Etape, a 105km closed road, cycling sportive around Loch Ness, scheduled 11 days after the end of my trip.
So, I drove up to Inverness with my sea kayak, camping kit, hiking gear and my bike and was all set for an adventure when I left the rig until race day.
The weather had other ideas. Despite some gloriously sunny and glass calm days in the Cromarty firth, the wind had picked up furiously and I lost my first day’s planned paddle on the Moray Firth.
The next day looked a bit less wild in Cromarty, so I thought I’d take my DJI mini 4k drone for a spin. It was a cracking opportunity to get some aerial shots of my own rig which sat in the mouth of the Firth between Cromarty and Nigg.
Stupidly, maybe due to post work fatigue or just general idiocy, it is hard to say, I did not take into account how hard it would be to fly my drone back against the wind. It also did not occur to me to land it on the enormous helideck on my own rig when the battery warning started to complain.
Needless to say, it did not make it back and is now a feature on the bottom of Cromarty Firth.
However, luckily DJI have pre-empted this kind of stupidity and automatically saved a copy of the footage to my phone. Furious with myself, I ordered another drone for next day delivery to my comfy campsite in Dingwall, while reviewing the footage that cost me £189 in new drone.
My car, my kayak, my rig. Cromarty Firth, Scotland.
A unique view of Noble Endeavor.
The weather showed only marginal signs of improvement and my plans to head west were held back by my determination to bag the Munro, Ben Wyvis. I had been watching it every day from my oil rig, changing colours with the time of day and the cloud cover and sun, mostly covered in snow, which was gently receding, but not quickly enough.
I headed into Inverness to pick up some Norwegian snow spikes, which fall only a little short of crampons, just in case the path was a bit icy on top.
Tiso Outdoors in Inverness is an extremely dangerous shop. I got in and out as fast as possible and left my credit card in the car.
THE most dangerous shop…in the world!
New map of Ben Wyvis in hand, I made a plan to set off in the morning. Everyone else seemed to think waiting until the afternoon was better when the forecast was set to slightly improve.
I don’t think it made much difference. The walk up the valley was drizzly and misty but not unpleasant. There was nobody about at all.
As I started to gain height, the clag obscured Ben Wyvis summit and I just followed the obvious path around the contours and up some steep bits until I was completely shrouded in thick cloud, coupled with violent wind and sideways hail.
Well, it would be good to find out of my so-far untested Berghaus Gore-Tex coat was up to scratch. It absolutely was. I was bone dry and with a few base layers beneath, it kept the wind at bay too.
I found the cairn on the plateau, just short of the ‘real’ summit only a few hundred yards ahead. I saw no point in getting battered any further just to say I’d been there. I knew I could get there – I just didn’t want to!
Ben Wyvis hidden by cloud.
The objective of the day had been achieved. There was no view at all, but I’d burned a lot of calories and strengthened my Ironman legs with some cross training.
I cowered behind the rocks in the cairn and changed from my Gore-Tex to my new synthetic RAB winter coat. I’ve had to go away from down feathers as they make my eyes itch, so instead I have replaced both my sleeping bag and down jacket for synthetic fibres. They proved to be equally warm and also better at handling the wet. I was bound to be colder going back downhill and my RAB coat held up perfectly.
I trudged back down the dank valley which was probably stunning on a sunny day – and also doubtless full of midges.
Munro checked off, gear successfully tested, I headed back to Dingwall Campsite for one last night before heading west to Locharron.
Comfy camping at the lovely Dingwall Caravan & Camping Club site (yes, I am a member!)
I picked Locharron owing to its proximity to Baleach Na Ba – a stupendously scenic but brutally steep bike climb that I’d had my eye on for a while.
Since I’d heard about it, I had decided I couldn’t do it. But I was getting braver, more confident and stronger. I may be slow and would certainly have to stop, but I was game for giving it a shot.
My body and the weather had other ideas.
I woke the day after Ben Wyvis with serios DOMS – my legs no longer worked! What the hell?
I was fit enough to do an Ironman 70.3 but climbing a Munro all but finished me off!!
I was so sore there wasn’t much to do but rest my legs in my sea kayak for a bit. The Wee Campsite by Locharron is in a stunning location overlooking the loch, with nearby local shop for everything you need, fuel station and easy kayak launching.
The facilities had been upgraded and there were electric hook ups and the guy who ran it was a delight to deal with.
I decided to have a day’s paddling on Locharron. No sooner had I sat in my boat and the heavens opened. Ok, I was in a drysuit, but it was still pretty miserable. Luckily it was short lived, and I was soon treated to rainbows, cloud inversions, steaming post-rain pine forests and a glassy water surface, only punctuated by sea birds and a nosey seal.
With no plan, I just paddled for a couple of hours until I’d had enough. I stopped for a snack and to fly the drones, both my HoverAir and my DJI Mini 4K – two very different drones for two different purposes.
Having drowned one of each I took a bit extra care this time!
The paddle back yet again demonstrated why even sheltered waters in Scotland should not be taken lightly. The last hour was paddling full gas into a head wind piling in down off the mountains. There was no shelter and stopping just for a moment, the boat would turn on a sixpence and start heading back to where I’d come from.
My next plan was to do a kayak overnighter on Taransay, made famous by the TV reality series ‘Castaway’. Unfortunately, the Calmac ferries were having something of an epic. One ferry had broken down and the knock-on effect meant there were no vehicle spaces on anything heading over to Harris or Lewis.
Dejected, but having already booked a campsite in Uig, close to the ferry terminal, I headed over to Skye and enjoyed an utterly stunning drive. I managed to find a spot to fly my drone this time under the Skye bridge and it was nice to be able to take my time through Skye, enjoying the imposing mountains soaring above the sparkling sea.
Skye bridge
The campsite was another friendly affair, but alas pointless as I couldn’t get on any ferry to the Hebrides. Instead, I took my sore legs up a lovely little climb out of Uig and across to a viewpoint overlooking the western isles, which was a simply fantastic, short evening ride.
I had plenty of space and time to pack my kayak overnight kit for a plan B, which I missed out on last year, purely through lack of time.
I’d long wanted to do a lap of the Isle of Raasay. A £2.50 ticket on the ferry from Sconser on Skye, would take myself and my boat across to the slipway ready to start the paddle.
Ready to board the Raasay ferry
The weather looked perfect. Blue skies and still a little snow up on the Cuillin Ridge, the sea had barely a ripple. I felt a little buzz of excitement as I left my car and all its comforts behind in the ferry car park and dragged my kayak, fully laden to the gunnels with camping kit, up the ferry ramp.
The Calmac staff are wonderful. They helped me park the boat and showed me where I could leave the trolley where it would be safe. Nobody would be likely to pinch it.
It felt beautifully committing. Raasay is inhabited but the northernmost reaches were likely to be devoid of other people. I was excited about my adventure.
Without much tide to worry about and the wind perfectly manageable and forecast to drop, I planned to paddle for about 6 hours and see where it got me. A late, lazy start plus the ferry meant I didn’t set off until 11am, so a circumnavigation of Raasay wasn’t really the plan.
However, after paddling into a gentle headwind around the southern point of Raasay and maintaining a decent 5kmph, I made the natural decision in my typical style, to just go for it.
Skye road.