Delicious home-made curries served with freshly baked chapattis ; scrambled free range eggs mixed with the finest Norwegian smoked salmon and freshly-caught trout; organic ciabatta rolls, cream cheese with delicately sundried tomatoes, washed down with copious quantities of the very finest wines and malt whiskies…this isn’t just any camping, this is…(well, you get the picture?)
In spite of all this classy food malarkey, we were still camping out in the wild, far from the madding crowd and all that kind of thing.
What a fantastic weekend though.
The actual weather forecast was seriously shite, but thankfully completely wrong ; dry and sunny being the order of the day.
The initial canoeing down Loch Veyatie was pure bliss.
I found it all very Zen-like and relaxing gliding down the Loch…
However, carrying the canoes down from the road to the launch site was slightly less enjoyable.
They don’t feel too heavy when you lift them up for the first time, but after the first 100 yards, it starts to get more than a little painful.
We were all on 2-man “Canadian-style” open canoes.
I was at the front and my old mucker John was at the back.
It’s easier being at the front in that all you do is just concentrate on paddling without taking direction into account, although physically it’s harder overall..
The person at the back, as well as normal paddling, constantly has to adjust the line of the canoe using their paddle as an improvised rudder.
Half way down the loch we decided to switch positions.
This was where things went rather awry.
It wasn’t the best timing in terms of changing the positions ; the water had suddenly become a bit choppier, and in the technical jargon of canoeing , I was making a complete cunt of things.
On a couple of occasions I tried to straighten the canoe as we were blown off course, but inadvertently exaggerated the misdirection, (it’s like doing the opposite of what you would do to correct direction, if you were in a rowing boat..I think)
In a couple of nasty moments we were side-on to the waves and very nearly went over.
It could have been very serious because at this point we’d become separated from the rest of the canoes and would have been stuck in the freezing cold water for an indeterminable period of time if we’d gone over.
In fairness to the other canoes, it is difficult to track people behind you because leaning round and looking back makes the canoe rock from side to side, which is not hugely enjoyable in such situations.
The agreed practice in the event of a capsize was to cling to the canoe and wait to be towed in by another canoe, but in this instance we would have just had to swim to the shore.
I reckon we would have been ok, but it was a far from comfortable experience.
Anyway, we made it down to the camp site, set up, then climbed Suilven in the afternoon.
What a fantastic mountain.
There are amazing views, also some exposed, easy scrambling to get the adrenaline going.
I did the summit but decided against doing the dodgier East Ridge mainly because it was blowing a gale and with my newly acquired lighter frame, I would be risking getting blown off , (but not in a good way).
Mitch (who is apparently now heavier than me) and Bob did conquer the dodgy peak, and in doing so cemented their position as the “Tenzing and Hillary” of the 2008 expedition.
The Saturday night was great craic.
A roaring fire, a big curry banquet, a clear night sky (we did actually see some odd UFO-type things shooting across the sky), and some tip-top quality banter.
There were 9 of us, and often in groups that size it’s likely that there will be splits into little factions.
It’s fair to say that this was never the case on our trip, and it really did feel like a unified co-operative team , happily devoid (for the most part) of hissy fits and pointless arguments.
It’s just a group of people who have known each other a long time, who don’t feel the need to puncture any silences with banal chit-chat, and who are just seeking some good-natured fun in a wilderness environment, (even if that sounds like PR for a “Doggers’ Society”).
Whilst the canoe down was fairly straightforward with a following breeze and favourable river current, the home journey was always going to be a lot harder.
To add to our worries , the wind freshened up and we faced a strong headwind all the way back.
When the first canoe set off, it was less than reassuring sight to see the crew paddling madly without moving an inch in the homeward direction.
In the end we had to combine towing the canoes past some of the shallow, fast-moving sections of the river.
This could only be achieved by wading in the freezing water for sustained periods of time, dragging the canoe, , and alternating with a period of paddling.
After a long haul we did finally get back to base…
I was knackered ; probably as much by the mental strain of keeping the canoe the right way up (I was still a little freaked out by the first day canoeing near-miss), as just the physical toll of paddling.
There was a definite sense of achievement at having made the journey.
At a couple of points in the return leg, I was absolutely convinced we were going to have to abandon the canoes and walk back in.
What a weekend though. Superb. It certainly got me out of my comfort zone.
And we even survived driving down the A9 to get home.
(I couldn’t help but mull over the irony of surviving the scarier aspects of the canoeing trip, but then fall victim to an oncoming, suicidal overtake by some boy-racers in a souped-up Ford Escort convertible)
