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...

Where the river ends and plunges to the sea.

 It is difficult to say where Loch Shiel ends and the River Shiel begins but...

by the time you arrive at the triple arches of Shiel Bridge (1935) the current leaves you in now doubt that this is now the river.

Slightly downstream is the older single arch bridge built by Thomas Telford in 1804. In higher flows a little rapid forms just out of sight and downstream of the bridge. On opur last visit we could hear it roaring.

On this occasion it was like the proverbial millpond.

The Shiel is an important salmon river and the season runs from early May to end September. As we were here in Mid October we had the river to ourselves.

Unlike the majority of Scottish rivers there is no weir or dam to control water levels. On our last visit the river level was as high asa the fishing platform hand rails.

The river winds through some magnificent countryside. Gentle riffles signify the presence of...

...shallow shingle raspids.

The autumn colours were stunning.

As we were due to arrive at low tide  there would be about a 3m drop over the final rapid to the sea so we decided to portage...

...through the lovely deciduous trees that line the river.

Ian's orange deck was particularly harmonious with the fallen autumn leaves.

The rapid was not nearly so fearsome as on our last visit, however a nasty eddy can catch the unwary here and with loaded sea kayaks we were happy to leave this section un-run.

After a diversion to see the Falls of Shiel, it was but a short stroll till we caught sight of the sea in the sheltered waters of Loch Moidart,

For the full stereo vision 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..

Stags on the high tops joined us in roars of approval.

Just as we arrived at Glenaladale, the estate boat Fionn Aladail (Fair Aladale) left the rickety wooden jetty with a shooting party aboard. Her helmsman courteously kept the engine revs down until they were well past us. We were right in the middle of the Glenaladale red deer stag shooting season.

As we paddled past the delta of the Aladale river the glen stretched away into the distance then above...

...the steep slopes of Croit Bheinn 661m (the hunchbacked hill), we caught sight of a magnificent golden eagle soaring in the updraft above the mountain side.

South of Glenaladale the woodland became even denser with trees clinging to the steep slopes from shore level up to the crags high above us.

 

As we neared Gaskan we came across a delightful...

...wooded isle called Eileen Comhlach.

Its name could be isle of the meeting place, fellow warrior or suckling pig.  Several lochs have islands where warring chieftans met without fear of being ambushed by each other's men.

We drifted for some time in the lee of the little isle hoping that it would be highlighted against the dark hills behind by a blink of low sunshine.

Our patience was rewarded.

This little tree will need to have much patience to grow tall as its roots clutch only bare rock on the loch shore.

By now the sun was sinking fast and the shadows were lengthening. We had an idea of where to camp based on a previous trip but we had met a couple of open canoeists who had camped there the previous evening and found their night disturbed by a herd of cattle.

I had in mind an alternative but had never landed there. We decided to detour to my back-up but knew that if it was not suitable we would be setting up tents in the dark at our original destination.

As the sun sank below the clouds we were bathed in a beautiful light.

Although we had a fair way to go...

...we could not help but stop and savour the beauty of Loch Shiel at Sunset.

The low sun really turned up the vibrance of the autumn colours.

But we needed to press on, light was fading fast we were now committed to camp "B". By now the landscape ahead was of low gently rolling hills and...

...we soon left the high mountains...

...in our wakes.

We arrived at our destination, camp "B", at sunset. After a quick check we decided it would be ideal. I went for a quick swim to freshen up before the warming rays sank below the horizon.

After getting the tents up we quickly gathered some firewood before darkness fell.

We cooked our meal by our fire's flickering flames then afterwards baked potatoes for afters which we enjoyed with butter and salt.

Then Ian surprised us with poached pears in brandy for second afters. It seemed that the stags on the high tops joined us in roars of approval. 

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