Loch to loch – Morar to Nevis

Loch to loch – Morar to Nevis

Kirston and I had spent the year trying to arrange diaries to coincide with each other’s availability, and almost by accident, we found ourselves with a spare week in the north of England in early December, where the stars seemed to align!

We decided to focus our efforts and attempt to paddle a West Highland loch and set our sights on Loch Morar and, if conditions were favourable, a portage over to Loch Nevis and exploration of its eastern reaches.

We set off from Ullswater in the Lake District, not knowing if snow gates would be closed en-route and relishing the opportunity for a proper winter adventure. We were in Fort William six hours later, stopping off for final provisions ahead of the final push towards Loch Morar. As we approached the beach at our planned launch point, the sun was setting and painting a glorious sunset over the loch, and we instantly knew we were in for a very special trip!

A final kit and weather check ahead of an early night, and we were good to go. Waking early, we readied kit and canoes before dawn and launched into a stunning sunrise with mountain tops painted with dancing sunshine.

Remoteness

As the last few dots of houses slipped past us, the remoteness of this magnificent loch soon became apparent. We soaked up the moment and re-energised our souls with uninterrupted views.

Wind conditions kept us on our toes, which meant that despite the clear blue skies, a reasonable degree of technical and tactical paddling was called for in order for us to make good progress.
One of the objectives for the trip was to recce the bothy at the eastern reaches of the loch on day one and then head back to the portage point overnight before the attempt on the portage and exploration of Loch Nevis the following day. This is where comedy moment number one struck!

Bewildered

I had been without a watch for some time, and after what felt like a solid two-hour post-lunch paddle, I called over to Kirst enquiring as to the time. “Just gone half three mate,” came the response. A quick map check and ground orientation later left me bewildered – surely, we must have paddled further than this by now, but if that’s the time, we should abort on the bothy attempt for today and look for somewhere else to overnight instead.

Fast forward an hour, and we are holed up in a derelict wriggly tin sheep hut and making ready for the weather we knew was due to arrive in the next 12 hours. By this time, Kirst has taken off his buoyancy aid and glances at the watch strapped to it. “Bugger,” came the retort, “I never rewound it an hour when the clocks changed!” That would explain it!

Not to worry, it gave us reasonable time to practice some bushcraft skills in the last moments of daylight before an extraordinary evening of stargazing. The true remoteness of our location hit home; free of all light pollution and save for the noise of the loch, free from all noise pollution – genuinely remarkable. We headed off to bed, Kirst on the slope and me nestled against the wriggly tin sheets next to the shore.

It must have been around 03:30 when I woke to rain, and then snow blew across my face and comedy moment number two.

Kirst had repeatedly slid down the slope and repositioned himself back on his sleep mat time and again, but this wasn’t the issue; the lapping waves now sounded very close – too close! A quick look and what had previously been a good few yards of shore between us and the water was now less than a foot away from my bivvy bag! 

The weather front, which had brought in the rain and snow, had also whipped the loch into a bit of a maelstrom, and the waves were certainly making their presence known! Oh well, I could always join Kirst on his slope if my wriggly tin defence became breached!

Kirst now picks up our story from day two.

Overnight in our tin shed hotel had been interesting. Warm and toasty in our sleeping bags and drysuits with several layers on, we settled down by the fire with the most spectacular view of the night sky stars through the shed entrance I’ve ever seen. About 01:00, I was lucky enough to see a shooting star pass over the mountains as well. I’m a relatively light sleeper, so my night as ever was a mixture of sleep and wide awake.

We knew that snow had been forecast, and for a while, until about 02:00, it seemed like the forecast might be wrong. At this point, my error in positioning where I slept was to be soundly identified. The skies darkened, and the wind got up, and before long, the snow began to fall pretty heavily. Unfortunately, the wind was westerly, and you guessed it – the large opening in the tin shed was westerly facing. After five minutes of being blasted in the face by strong winds laden with the telltale signs of lots of snow, I retreated further into my sleeping bag, pulled a cover over me and decided that I was never going to beat this weather. A couple of hours later, I awoke to clear skies and a dusting of snow over myself and my bed.

Dawn broke over the mountains about 07:00, and I rose to watch the sun come up with a boiling jetboil at the water’s edge. Wishing the jet boil to hurry up and boil my morning cuppa, I made some breakfast. By 07:30, I was starting to make out the rocks in the hills with the strengthening light and by 08:00, holding my brew, I sat on a large rock by our tin hotel; the sun appeared over the hills. Richard had by this time joined me, and the most spectacular sunrise revealed snow-covered mountains and hills. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled more on a paddling trip before this sight. The only shame was that even in this isolated location, we found an empty crisp bag and two bottles – which we put into our rubbish bag back on our boats.

After breakfast and packing up, we set off to find South Tarbett bay and the portage to Loch Nevis. This wasn’t immediately obvious, and after a few minutes of looking at the map and the topography, we realised we had already reached it. A welcoming jetty and a path over the hills met us, and we walked up the path to see whether it was suitable for future expeditions. Getting up into the hills showed us another aspect of the beauty of this loch and the area.

Leaving South Tarbett Bay, we headed for the far end of the loch to see if we could reach the bothy. We were heading east; by this time, the wind had – as predicted – shifted to an easterly, although not very strong. We got to within 3km from the far end of the loch and again were greeted with some of the most amazing views I’ve ever been privileged to see. Just how remote and away from people became apparent as we sat there – our canoes gently rocking in the small waves that the wind was encouraging along the surface.

The most beautiful place

The sun was shining and highlighting the snow on the hills and mountains; we both felt like children in a toy shop as we looked around and realised how privileged we were to be in such a place. I have to say it was truly the most beautiful place I have paddled so far, and the weather made it that much special. We both had grins from ear to ear as we turned and headed back down the loch towards South Tarbett Bay and Swordland. As we reached Swordland, the wind had once more shifted to a southeasterly, and this meant that as later we will round the headland by Brinacory Island, then the shoreline was generally northeast. The wind would be behind us; would this give us a chance for some sailing? Fingers crossed!

As we paddled, we discussed the remoteness of the loch and the ‘what ifs’ on an expedition here and whether we could walk out of an overnight area should something happen. Several hardy walkers appeared along the shoreline, and a good conversation soon found a general path line through the grass and bracken if needed. As we continued, we spotted another sheltered beach under some trees and decided that the stoves needed to see daylight again. A good hot cuppa, some lunch and good conversation, and we were off again and passed by Brinacory Island with the wind – just as we thought – now behind us.

The snow was still on the hills as we rounded the headland and entered the bay at Ceann an t-saideil. A slow, purposeful paddle towards our get out was a sign of our reluctance to admit the trip was coming to an end and we must leave the water of this beautiful loch.

Helping each other out of the water, we both turned back towards the loch to look at the place that had been kind enough to reveal even a small amount of its beauty to us over the last two days and nights. Our promise to this loch and ourselves that we will return in the hope that we would be privileged enough to see more.

Notes and observations

With our notes and observations for our future expeditions and boats secured, we set off for Fort William. The chirping of our phones indicated to us as we got nearer that we were getting phone reception and back to the everyday world again. But how much of that normal world we continue to live with and take part in was – at least for me – radically changed, such as the effect of the trip on me.