Shewie and Teepee came up to visit last week - a little spring break out the west coast. As usual a few of us decided to tag along.
We met up in Tayvallich(the pub with the put-in - my kind of combination) and guddled around packing the boats. Stephen was in the sea kayak, Pete too(the very same model as Stephen as it turned out), Rich was solo in the Bob and Stuart and I tandem in Stuart's canoe.
As the rag-tag fleet bobbed out the harbour we caught our first breeze of the week. It was going our way so we made our way up the loch to what's becoming a bit of a home-from-home on the edge of where the FC cleared an area a couple of years ago. There we settled down and spent a few days doing the fixed-camp bit.
For some reason only Stuart and I had looked at the weather forecast. When we described it to the guys that night there was a slight air of disbelief. Talk of spring seemed to be winning over from the idea that there might be force 8 gales and snow on the way.
Still, we were cosied up under a poly tarp and everyone was geared up for the worst. We blethered about the differing attitudes to winter camping, from muggins(camping season starts at the end of march) through to Teepee("I like it when things are a bit extreme").
Camp was nice. I found a tree that had been on the edge of the plantation and been blown down recently due to not being sheltered anymore. ID opinions were varied but I decided there was a paddle in it regardless and took to whittling.
One day Rich, Pete and I had another shot at beaver spotting. Whether they were off out on the main loch for the day or tucked up in the lodge I don't know but there was no sight of them around their dammed pool. We settled down for a while at a good vantage spot but no joy.
Next time...
That was the day the weather hit. In the evening we gathered branches from the plantation debris and piled them into a windbreak, topped up the water supply with run-off from the tarp as is become the norm at this spot then rode it out with a few drinks and good company round the fire.
Woke up the next morning(first mistake of the day ) to talk of moving on. A local had been by scouting for deer before the start of the roe season and filled folks heads with talk of a lovely camp up the loch a ways. The wind had dropped a bit so we packed up and set off.
Again I took the bow of the boat figuring that the in-at-the-deep-end approach had worked for Stuart learning to paddle solo, might as well try it again with learning tandem. By mid crossing he had his hands full as the winds started gusting and the waves started picking up.
Meanwhile the others weren't having much more fun, being solo the sidewind had locked them into a slightly different heading to us and after crossing they'd found shelter and waited on us to work along the shoreline to them.
Everyone was being pushed. The kayaks were coping much better but it was both Stephen and Pete's first time out on the salt and they were just getting used to things. Stuart was doing a good job in the back of our boat but from his tone I could tell he was getting sick of me trying to draw out a little more paddle power. I was shattered. Rich was at least in familiar territory but had said the crossing had included a few "moments".
After a rest we pushed on round the shore, hoping to bay hop and rest our way along to our goal about a mile and a half further. Within about a hundred metres though the wind kicked it up another gear and stopped the canoes dead in their tracks. In an attempt not to lose our hard-earned progress we sided up to a slightly sheltered cliff and clung onto the seaweed, waiting for a lull to make a break for it. The kayaks hovered offshore waiting on us.
After a few minutes it became clear that lulls weren't going to be coming anytime soon. We'd sat the day before and watched the waves crash against these very cliffs and as the wind continued to pick up there were comments like "We can't stay here!" and "Much more of this and we'll be swimming!".
Decided on one final attempt, there was a calm(ish) bay just ahead so we pushed off and paddled as hard as we could.
Wasn't enough. I hated doing it but declared it hopeless, turned and ran. Stuart managed the turn with me frantically scull-drawing the front round and as we passed the others we shouted that we were done and heading back to the safe inlet where they'd waited on us earlier.
Weren't out of the woods yet though. Running downwind can be tricky and Stuart was just getting used to rudder duty. Not being able to see the waves coming anymore doesn't help either. About the only good thing was the pace, we were back to safety in short order.
Rich was right behind us. As we landed he told us Pete was swimming and Stephen had held back to help out. We'd been totaly oblivious to anything but staying upright and hadn't noticed that he'd ditched it making the turn. Rich ran up to the top of an outcrop and declared Pete safely ashore and sorting things out. A relief all round because although we could have cut out and lent a hand the prospect of doing it in the middle of the squall with loaded boats wasn't appealing, just as good a chance that someone else would have ended up swimming as well.
When we were all back together and all the "Extreme Pete" jokes were out of the way we decided it was a write off. No-one fancied making the return crossing to the previous camp, there was no hint that the wind was going to do anything but increase and nowhere to camp on the downwind stretch. Time to say goodbye to Loch Sween.
Got the boats out the water, Stuart and puppy stayed with them and the rest of us set off for the cars. Had seven or eight miles to do but managed to half that after Stephen and I done a bit of creative hitching, thumbs out and finger up to indicate we really only needed a lift for one. The weather was still toying with us and chucked in a couple of hailstorms for good measure as we walked.
While the rest of us sat waiting on Stephen we discussed options. Talk kept returning to the Loch Lomond, which as Rich said at least we knew well enough to maybe find a calmish route out to the islands. Personaly I wasn't convinced and had to remind everyone about the times we've watched it frothing up.
In the end we decided on Glashan, up by the dam. It was on the way home so if we didn't fancy it could always continue on and see what Lomond was like.
Stephen decided to call it a week said his farewells. Not as daft as he looks that one.
The problem with the spot at Glashan was that I was the only one among us who'd been there - once - twenty two years ago.
In that time the plantation had been cropped and replanted, what in my mind was a huge pine wood turned out to be fresh wee trees planted so close you couldn't sqeeze between them if you tried. I couldn't find the spot I was looking for and led everyone a merry chase back and forward along the forestry tracks until it was nearly dark.
Everyone was tired, it was chucking it down, I was frustrated with myself for dragging folk on a wild goose chase, Stuart had had a weary momentry lapse of concentration and reversed the fully loaded frontera into a ditch, everywhere we looked was dense young wood and soft, squidgy clay. The decision was made to write-off Glashan as well and try elsewhere.
Then on the way out I spotted the path I'd missed earlier, looking just like I remembered and leading to a clump of the big old trees the area used to be covered in. How I'd missed it earlier I'll never know.
As we started setting up camp the wind picked up some more and worse it swung round so it now had a bit of north in it and was blasting the rain across the loch straight down onto us. I'd just put a light to the fire when the tarp ripped out one of it's pegs. By the time Rich and I had found it and put it back in the fire was out. By now we were starting to use words like 'fiasco' and 'nightmare' and it was pitch black.
With a few general sweary words Stuart and Ciara disappeared into their tent. Then Rich passed by mumbling something about forgetting something and sleeping in the car. Rather than trying to find a sheltered pitch myself I opted for trying his Terra Nova bivi, which he'd already set up in a cosy little pocket of still loveliness.
There I lay listening to the gale whistling over the trees and going over the days trials, chuckling away at times. Turned out we were all doing much the same thing, next morning everyone was on pretty good form.
Pete had a bit of a bouncy night in the van, the wind had tried to dissassemble Stuart's tent and Rich's hooped bivy was too small for me to lie on my side without my top arm touching the material so I woke a few times with drips seeming to tap on my shoulder. The wind howled away all night, you could hear the gusts through the trees coming from miles away and even make out from the sound when the wind changed back to a westerly again.
Next day Stuart and I decided enough was enough. Adventure Rich and Extreme Pete said they were going to try for Wallaby Island for a night or two but as we drove past Loch Lomond it was rougher than I've ever seen it. The wind was dropping onto it from all directions, kicking up patches of total chaos and what looked in places like little twisters. Was no surprise that evening to hear from Rich, safe and sound at home, asking that the next time he suggest the west coast in march we give him a slap and tell him to shut up.
Pete was apparently last seen sitting on the bonnie bonnie banks looking out wistfully so there might be more of the story to tell yet. That's the bulk of it though.
Should be a few piccies to follow, I barely took out my camera(too wet) but snapped a couple. Others might have a few too.
All good fun.
Josh
We met up in Tayvallich(the pub with the put-in - my kind of combination) and guddled around packing the boats. Stephen was in the sea kayak, Pete too(the very same model as Stephen as it turned out), Rich was solo in the Bob and Stuart and I tandem in Stuart's canoe.
As the rag-tag fleet bobbed out the harbour we caught our first breeze of the week. It was going our way so we made our way up the loch to what's becoming a bit of a home-from-home on the edge of where the FC cleared an area a couple of years ago. There we settled down and spent a few days doing the fixed-camp bit.
For some reason only Stuart and I had looked at the weather forecast. When we described it to the guys that night there was a slight air of disbelief. Talk of spring seemed to be winning over from the idea that there might be force 8 gales and snow on the way.
Still, we were cosied up under a poly tarp and everyone was geared up for the worst. We blethered about the differing attitudes to winter camping, from muggins(camping season starts at the end of march) through to Teepee("I like it when things are a bit extreme").
Camp was nice. I found a tree that had been on the edge of the plantation and been blown down recently due to not being sheltered anymore. ID opinions were varied but I decided there was a paddle in it regardless and took to whittling.
One day Rich, Pete and I had another shot at beaver spotting. Whether they were off out on the main loch for the day or tucked up in the lodge I don't know but there was no sight of them around their dammed pool. We settled down for a while at a good vantage spot but no joy.
Next time...
That was the day the weather hit. In the evening we gathered branches from the plantation debris and piled them into a windbreak, topped up the water supply with run-off from the tarp as is become the norm at this spot then rode it out with a few drinks and good company round the fire.
Woke up the next morning(first mistake of the day
) to talk of moving on. A local had been by scouting for deer before the start of the roe season and filled folks heads with talk of a lovely camp up the loch a ways. The wind had dropped a bit so we packed up and set off.Again I took the bow of the boat figuring that the in-at-the-deep-end approach had worked for Stuart learning to paddle solo, might as well try it again with learning tandem. By mid crossing he had his hands full as the winds started gusting and the waves started picking up.
Meanwhile the others weren't having much more fun, being solo the sidewind had locked them into a slightly different heading to us and after crossing they'd found shelter and waited on us to work along the shoreline to them.
Everyone was being pushed. The kayaks were coping much better but it was both Stephen and Pete's first time out on the salt and they were just getting used to things. Stuart was doing a good job in the back of our boat but from his tone I could tell he was getting sick of me trying to draw out a little more paddle power. I was shattered. Rich was at least in familiar territory but had said the crossing had included a few "moments".
After a rest we pushed on round the shore, hoping to bay hop and rest our way along to our goal about a mile and a half further. Within about a hundred metres though the wind kicked it up another gear and stopped the canoes dead in their tracks. In an attempt not to lose our hard-earned progress we sided up to a slightly sheltered cliff and clung onto the seaweed, waiting for a lull to make a break for it. The kayaks hovered offshore waiting on us.
After a few minutes it became clear that lulls weren't going to be coming anytime soon. We'd sat the day before and watched the waves crash against these very cliffs and as the wind continued to pick up there were comments like "We can't stay here!" and "Much more of this and we'll be swimming!".
Decided on one final attempt, there was a calm(ish) bay just ahead so we pushed off and paddled as hard as we could.
Wasn't enough. I hated doing it but declared it hopeless, turned and ran. Stuart managed the turn with me frantically scull-drawing the front round and as we passed the others we shouted that we were done and heading back to the safe inlet where they'd waited on us earlier.
Weren't out of the woods yet though. Running downwind can be tricky and Stuart was just getting used to rudder duty. Not being able to see the waves coming anymore doesn't help either. About the only good thing was the pace, we were back to safety in short order.
Rich was right behind us. As we landed he told us Pete was swimming and Stephen had held back to help out. We'd been totaly oblivious to anything but staying upright and hadn't noticed that he'd ditched it making the turn. Rich ran up to the top of an outcrop and declared Pete safely ashore and sorting things out. A relief all round because although we could have cut out and lent a hand the prospect of doing it in the middle of the squall with loaded boats wasn't appealing, just as good a chance that someone else would have ended up swimming as well.
When we were all back together and all the "Extreme Pete" jokes were out of the way we decided it was a write off. No-one fancied making the return crossing to the previous camp, there was no hint that the wind was going to do anything but increase and nowhere to camp on the downwind stretch. Time to say goodbye to Loch Sween.
Got the boats out the water, Stuart and puppy stayed with them and the rest of us set off for the cars. Had seven or eight miles to do but managed to half that after Stephen and I done a bit of creative hitching, thumbs out and finger up to indicate we really only needed a lift for one. The weather was still toying with us and chucked in a couple of hailstorms for good measure as we walked.
While the rest of us sat waiting on Stephen we discussed options. Talk kept returning to the Loch Lomond, which as Rich said at least we knew well enough to maybe find a calmish route out to the islands. Personaly I wasn't convinced and had to remind everyone about the times we've watched it frothing up.
In the end we decided on Glashan, up by the dam. It was on the way home so if we didn't fancy it could always continue on and see what Lomond was like.
Stephen decided to call it a week said his farewells. Not as daft as he looks that one.
The problem with the spot at Glashan was that I was the only one among us who'd been there - once - twenty two years ago.
In that time the plantation had been cropped and replanted, what in my mind was a huge pine wood turned out to be fresh wee trees planted so close you couldn't sqeeze between them if you tried. I couldn't find the spot I was looking for and led everyone a merry chase back and forward along the forestry tracks until it was nearly dark.
Everyone was tired, it was chucking it down, I was frustrated with myself for dragging folk on a wild goose chase, Stuart had had a weary momentry lapse of concentration and reversed the fully loaded frontera into a ditch, everywhere we looked was dense young wood and soft, squidgy clay. The decision was made to write-off Glashan as well and try elsewhere.
Then on the way out I spotted the path I'd missed earlier, looking just like I remembered and leading to a clump of the big old trees the area used to be covered in. How I'd missed it earlier I'll never know.
As we started setting up camp the wind picked up some more and worse it swung round so it now had a bit of north in it and was blasting the rain across the loch straight down onto us. I'd just put a light to the fire when the tarp ripped out one of it's pegs. By the time Rich and I had found it and put it back in the fire was out. By now we were starting to use words like 'fiasco' and 'nightmare' and it was pitch black.
With a few general sweary words Stuart and Ciara disappeared into their tent. Then Rich passed by mumbling something about forgetting something and sleeping in the car. Rather than trying to find a sheltered pitch myself I opted for trying his Terra Nova bivi, which he'd already set up in a cosy little pocket of still loveliness.
There I lay listening to the gale whistling over the trees and going over the days trials, chuckling away at times. Turned out we were all doing much the same thing, next morning everyone was on pretty good form.
Pete had a bit of a bouncy night in the van, the wind had tried to dissassemble Stuart's tent and Rich's hooped bivy was too small for me to lie on my side without my top arm touching the material so I woke a few times with drips seeming to tap on my shoulder. The wind howled away all night, you could hear the gusts through the trees coming from miles away and even make out from the sound when the wind changed back to a westerly again.
Next day Stuart and I decided enough was enough. Adventure Rich and Extreme Pete said they were going to try for Wallaby Island for a night or two but as we drove past Loch Lomond it was rougher than I've ever seen it. The wind was dropping onto it from all directions, kicking up patches of total chaos and what looked in places like little twisters. Was no surprise that evening to hear from Rich, safe and sound at home, asking that the next time he suggest the west coast in march we give him a slap and tell him to shut up.
Pete was apparently last seen sitting on the bonnie bonnie banks looking out wistfully so there might be more of the story to tell yet. That's the bulk of it though.
Should be a few piccies to follow, I barely took out my camera(too wet) but snapped a couple. Others might have a few too.
All good fun.
Josh
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