Paddling and portaging in the wake of the dead.

Our original intention had been to paddle the Small Isles at the beginning of May but a last minute increase in the forecast NE winds caused us to head further south for a trip out to Oronsay and Colonsay via Jura. It is just as well we did. My brother Donald (who we had arranged to meet on Eigg) has a large inflatable with a 25HP outboard and he had committed to the Small Isles but spent 3 days and two nights on Canna stormbound. So David, Ian, Maurice, Sam and I met at Carsaig Bay on the Sound of Jura. We were bound for Tarbert Bay on Jura where we would portage across into West Loch Tarbert, following the route of the wealthy dead of Argyll as their bodies were carried out to the Holy Isles of either Oronsay or Iona.

The Paps Of Jura rose enticingly above the low headland which encloses Carsaig Bay.

Due to the last minute change in venue we were just too late to catch the north east going flood tide in time to get through the Corryvreckan before the start of the ebb. As a result our rout SW to Tarbert was thwarted by the last of the NE going tide. However, a SW going eddy runs down the delightful channel inside the islands to the SW of Carsaig Bay.

It was very pleasant being carried towards the distant Paps by the swirling waters of the Sound of Jura.

However, all good things come to an end and we set off across the Sound of Jura with the tide carrying us to the NE. We did not bother ferry gliding because the tide was due to turn when we were in mid chanell.

Slack water arrived bang on time and with it the light breeze dropped, leaving a glassy calm.

You can see where the tide changed, mid channel on the first part of our route to the isles (bottom right).

The tide was now in our favour and by the time... 

...we reached the entrance to Tarbert Bay on Jura we were being carried along at 8km/hour.

As we slid into Tarbert Bay, we were following an ancient coffin route from Argyll to the Isles.

So our journey was to follow the route of the dead on their last journey. To avoid the tidal Gulf of Corryvreckan to the north and the Sound of Islay to the south, our bereaved ancestors landed at Tarbert and set off on foot across the narrow isthmus that joins the north and south parts of Jura. Their destination was the head of West Loch Tarbert, a deep sea loch which nearly bisects the island. So we loaded our kayaks onto trolleys and set off in our ancestors footsteps... on the coffin road to the west.

Like them we were heavily laden and rested our kayaks at many of the spots they would have rested their coffins. This ancient standing stone marks the route. It predates Christianity by thousands of years but there is also an ancient chapel nearby where mourners would have said prayers for the safe journey of the departed to the next world and for their own safe return from their journey to the isles.

After a long hard portage it was a relief to see the head of the loch and that the tide was still in.

The head of West Loch Tarbert drains almost completely so it is worth timing your arrival for round HW, which is 40 minutes after Oban HW. There is a narrow sea gorge to manoeuvre through to exit the inner loch. The tide runs through it at 8 knots springs so you better set off on the ebb! Just as we were leaving, the local resident laird, Andrew Fletcher, his wife and daughters passed by. They gave us big smiles and welcoming waves. 

It is a most wonderful feeling of lightness getting back in a boat after a laden portage. Our passage was assisted by both the ebb tide and a gentle NE breeze. We had to press on as to achieve our goal of circumnavigating Colonsay, before David had to return to work. We had to get as far down West Loch Tarbert as possible and it was already 18:45!

You can also follow this trip on Ian's blog here...

Grey Moidart skies and green seas

As we carried the boats to the water's edge, low grey clouds were streaming from the summits of hidden mountains to to our east.

Under the grey skies the shallow water appeared an almost luminous green that matched the green of the machair we had just left.

 Although the clouds were scudding over head we...

 ...were paddling in the lee of the cliffs until...

...we passed the ancient crofting township of Smirisary. "Spade among the rushes" is an evocative book by Margaret Leigh. It describes her hardships trying to recover an abandoned croft here after WW2 as she tried to make a living to support herself and her mother.

 Once past Smirisary our bows began to turn east into the Sound of Arisaig and the wind picked up.

 We got a little respite as we passed close under Rubha Ghead a' Leighe but...

 ...then it was heads down as the easterly wind funnelled out of the Sound of Arisaig.

It was a cold, fitful wind and I could only snatch photos in the short lulls. My hands were numb with the cold and at one point I nearly dropped my camera trying to get a photo of the clouds streaming of the summit of Rois-Bheinn (878m).

Then we arrived in the shelter of Salalaman Bay just as a...

 ...blink of sun provided a moment's warmth before the rain started. It was here where we had left our shuttle car and our journey through and round the lands of Moidart came to an end.

On our previous trip we had left the shuttle car at the head of Loch Ailort. I am glad the weather forecast had accurately predicted the strong easterly!

Tourists fled from Castle Tioram on our approach.

We were quite hot by the time we had finished the portage and manoeuvred the boats over a salt marsh to the edge of Loch Moidart where we...

 ...joined these mallard ducks on salt water (for the first time in this trip.)

 I always love that feeling of weightlessness when you paddle a heavily loaded boat away from the shore.

 We were not going very far. We still had to do second luncheon and we needed to wait until the flood tide had filled the tidal north channel of Loch Moidart.

Castle Tioram (pronounced Cheerum) sits on a tidal island and would make an ideal place to stop. We saw various tourist fleeing the island as the rising tide threatened to cut them off. However we would not have the castle entirely to ourselves...

 ...this magnificent sea eagle was wheeling overhead on its great barn door wings.

I always associate Tioram Castle with the birl of the bagpipes because on my first visit,  there was a piper playing at the foot of the castle wall. He was not a local, in fact he was on holiday from Nova Scotia! The sound of the pipes echoing from the castle walls and the misty cliffs round lonely Loch Moidart was spine tingling. I nearly expected to see the Young Pretender himself being carried up the loch in a birlinn.

At first it looks like there is nowhere to land as the grey walls of the castle merge into the grey rocks of the isle which fall steeply into the sea but...

 ...turn a corner and there is as delightful little beach. However, who knows what grisly deeds took place there in the castle's heyday?

Tioram was the ancestral home of  Clan Ranald from the 14th century. The family owned the castle until the early 20th century, though it has been a ruin since  the early 18th century. The castle currently belongs to a Scottish businessman, Lex Brown, who has been in a long battle with Historic Scotland to restore the building to a habitable state.

We spent a lazy hour as the tide rose and I even managed a swim in the 11C water then it was time to continue our exploration of Loch Moidart.

For the full stereovision experience read Ian's account here...

A pier with the site of a Viking slaying at one end and a pie shop at the other.

Leaving St. Finan's Isle we entered the outer, lowland section of Loch Shiel.

At  Dalelia we spotted a tall stone cross, almost hidden by the trees. It is a war memorial erected by Dalelia's then owner, Lord Howard of Glossop, to his son. Lt. Philip Howard. Philip was only 23 years old when he died in action in France in 1918, near the end of WW1. His family's wealth could not protect him from the ultimate sacrifice and waste of war.

 At first the loch was still narrow and we paddled close to shore but...

...then the loch opened out again as we left the mountains behind.

 A brisk tailwind meant we made excellent progress...

 ...and the combination of sun and a following wind...

 ...brought great smiles to our faces.

Ahead we saw the pier at Acharacle. It was time for a stop. Acharacle is a corruption of Àth Tharracail which is Gaelic for "Torquil's ford". At the end of the Viking occupation of Scotland Torquil was the leader of a band of Vikings who fled here pursued by Somerled the Lord of the Isles. Unfortunately the water was too deep to cross and they made a final stand but all were slain.

 We pulled the boats up onto the grass beside the slipway and left them in the shade of a...

 ...magnificent rowan tree. Then we proceeded...

...along the pier to...

 ...the pie shop where we enjoyed hot soup and pies before...

...slowly returning to the loch side where boats were nodding gently at their moorings, where once a Viking band was slain..

Fr the full stereo vision experience read Ian's account here..

For whom the bell tolls on `St Finan's Isle.

We arose well before dawn. It was cold in the still morning air by the shore of Loch Shiel. That cold of course is what kept the midges away. A few months earlier and a windless morning like this would have been Shiel hell with midges.

We left the tents up till they were nearly dry and...

 ...loaded the boats all before...

 ...the rising sun's rays hit the beach.

Soon we were back on the loch and as we approached a...

 ...wooded narrowing, we turned a slight bend and  there before us lay...

 ...St Finan's Isle which almost blocks  the loch. It is a moraine island which formed as the glacier which cut Loch Shiel melted depositing its rubble. At one time it probably dammed back the waters of the loch raising the shoreline.

 We landed at the old stone jetty where generations of locals have brought the remains of their dead...

...to be buried within its relatively soft soil.

 Stones of various ages crowd the summit of the isle around the...

 ...ancient walls of St Finan's chapel. It was built in about 1500 by the chief of the Clanranald to  replace an earlier wooden structure. It was abandoned in the late 1600's so was already a ruin by the time Bonnie Prince Charlie came this way in 1745, on his way to Glenfinnan at the head of the loch. Almost certainly the Prince would have stopped here and made his way up to the chapel. St Finan (the leper) was born in Ireland and is thought to have lived between about 520 and 600. Several places in Scotland and Ireland are named after him. He is not to be confused with the later St Finan (of Lindisfarne) who died in 661 after becoming Bishop of Lindisfarne.

At the east end of the chapel lies the altar backed by a recess, which contains a stone cross. On the altar is a remarkable object. It is a Celtic seamless cast bronze bell. Amazingly it has been here for over a thousand years. Nowadays it is chained up but it is amazing that it has survived the millennia without being plundered. Of course there is a dreadful curse attached to the bell and any one who stole it would regret doing so for every second of their few remaining days... During an internment, the bell is taken down to the jetty and rung at the head of the cortège as they slowly make their way up to the waiting grave.

The bell has a remarkably pure tone and it is always a pleasure to ring it. How many objects round us today will still be in full working order in 1,000 years time?

The chapel offered a clear view down the lowland outer loch which contrasted... 

 

...with the mountains that crowded the long inner loch.

All too soon it was time for us to leave the peaceful isle. We could just have paddled past but why race through life? It's those that rush, for whom the bell tolls...

For the full stereo vision experience read Ian's account here: