Source to sea – via Suilven

After months of planning, outdoor instructor Chris Wilson and pals embark on a memorable paddle journey in Assynt – with a bit of climbing thrown in.

It was in spring last year that I found myself a bit lost above Ullapool and decided to do something very unmanly and check my map. As is my nature, my eye started to drift over the map to see what else was in the area and I couldn’t help but notice a tempting line of water that started at Loch Veyatie near Elphin and passed through Fionn Loch and into the River Kirkaig before emptying out into the sea at Inverkirkaig. In previous years, I had completed a coast to coast trip from Torridon glen (where I work) to Dingwall (near where I live) and could now envisage another possible long-distance journey. A plan began to form.

It turns out that Fionn Loch is well frequented by kayakers and canoeists as it is regularly used to access Suilven – that great hulk of a mountain that towers over the village of Lochinver. It looked to be a fairly short section of paddling on the loch so the idea of climbing Suilven after the paddle just seemed natural. The final section along the river was a bit more complicated but I saw no reason why it couldn’t be bolted on to be a key part of the trip.

I gathered together a team of four other like-minded paddlers – Richard Trott, John Johnson, Nick Thompson and Fergus Andrew – and between us we started to examine the logistics involved. It quickly became obvious that the journey would take three days – one for each section.

However we had a problem. Most people on this kind of trip use sea kayaks or canoes – craft that offer plenty of room for carrying kit. However, as we planned to tack on a stretch of river paddling at the end, we had no option other than to use river kayaks, so greatly reducing the amount of space available. After a bit of thought we came up with a novel solution of towing an additional stripped-down kayak behind us. Quickly nicknamed the barge boat, the extra boat would contain all of our kit – or just about all.

Hitting the water

As with all trips that journey from A to B, the day of the expedition saw us up early juggling with cars and shuttles before we even got on the water. First, we had to leave one vehicle at Inverkirkaig just outside Lochinver. We then drove all the way back to Elphin, some 25 minutes north of Ullapool, for our put-in and to leave the second car.

The put-in turned out to be more difficult than we had anticipated – largely because the weight of the barge boat meant it felt like we were towing a small elephant. But after a bit of juggling with kit – and some finger-pointing about how much of his gear John had packed into the barge boat – we were all set.

The easiest place to put in required access via a private road that led to a fish farm. Rather than just assume all would be ok, we asked permission from fish farm staff and they were more than happy for us to access the loch in this way. I have found this to be true of most landowners encountered over many years of wandering Scotland’s hills and waterways. A simple bit of courtesy goes a long way.

Once on the water, the big topic of conversation was how much higher John’s kayak was in the water than everyone else’s so you can guess who got the first tow of the barge boat. After months of planning, it was great to finally get on the water. The trip was on.

The initial paddle down the loch was stunning. The weather was good with only a slight head-wind and the rain stayed away. John didn’t seem to struggle too much with the barge boat, with the loch so calm that the boat just glided through the water. As we travelled, we saw many little bays and small sections of water disappearing around corners that were not on our intended route but which cried out to be explored another time.

As we paddled on – the barge boat shared between us as we travelled – the cloud lifted to reveal the stunning coire of Cul Mor. The climbers amongst us couldn’t help but look towards its great walls and wonder what the climbing might be like.

As we stared dreamily at this hidden coire, the cloud continued to rise like a stage curtain to reveal another hill that instantly commanded our attention. It was of course Suilven. Although not particularly high by Scottish standards, Suilven stands proud from the surrounding landscape and you cannot help but marvel at its towering buttress and sheer sides.

We continued on with occasional glimpses of deer and buzzards until the loch narrowed into a slow-moving river that popped us out into Fionn Loch close to our planned camp site. However, the wind had started to pick up at this point and the thought of camping on an exposed shoreline did not appeal so we scouted around for a suitable camp site.

John finally came across an old sheep pen that was about a ten-minute walk in from the shore. Nestled behind a little hummock with a small hill rising directly up from the walls, it offered great protection from the elements. We unpacked the kayaks and left them where they were. That evening we set up our tents, lit the fire in a responsible manner – i.e. no one swore or made rude jokes whilst we did it – sat back and enjoyed the evening with a boil-in-the-bag meal and a tin of Best Bitter. It had been a perfect start to our expedition.

Time to climb

The weather the following morning was ideal for a day on the hill, with high cloud and a gentle breeze, just enough to keep us cool. We had breakfast, which included a bacon sandwich expertly cooked by our resident chef Nick, and donned our walking kit. This feeling of doing something completely different on an expedition was new to me. All my previous trips had been completely on foot or by paddle and this sudden change in direction, kit and how the day would pan out was something that we all relished.

The walk in to Suilven was not as bad as it looked with a well-used path laid out before us and after about an hour-and-a-half we were at the top of the mountain’s famous saddle. The first thing that grabs you is the staggering view. Suilven is unique in the fact that it stands almost alone, which means uninterrupted views in all directions. Fergus, who is nearly seven foot taller than the rest of us, claimed he could see Ben Nevis or at least most of the Torridon area. What we could definitely all see was miles of glorious coastline to the west and, as the haze cleared, the Western Isles far out to sea.

Having soaked in the views, we headed east to the higher of Suilven’s two tops – a route that took us through the most random dry stone wall I have ever seen. The wall spans the saddle of Suilven and seems to cut the hill in two. I have no idea who built it, or why, but just seeing this amazing bit of workmanship made me marvel at the time it must have taken to build.

The walk up to the highest point was simple and the summit itself was a big, wide expanse that offered even more of the views that we had enjoyed earlier. And just so that Suilven didn’t let us forget how it dominated the area, a quick stroll to the edge led to a 1,000-foot drop straight down to our camp site.

We turned and started heading back down to the saddle to tackle Suilven’s west summit, passing a rock shaped like a giant fossilised crocodile. As we walked, the ridge began to narrow and soon became a much more serious proposition. The once obvious line started to thin into a trail that was sometimes there and sometimes not. As we traversed, we dropped into a steep mini-saddle just in time to see a deer leap across the side of the hill, putting us all to shame with its agility.

On the other side of the mini-saddle was a steep-sided rock wall with few obvious lines to climb. We spent a few minutes exploring the rock, trying to find the safest and easiest line and with a bit of scrambling and some nervous grins finally hauled ourselves onto the summit.

After a well deserved rest and a spot of lunch, we started to scramble back to the saddle, picking our way down a different line. It was tough going, but with a bit of Mountain Leader rope magic we managed to skip our way to the saddle before anyone seemed too scared.

The walk back from the saddle was much like any other descent of a hill but instead of the long walk out, we knew that within an hour or so we would be back at our tents enjoying an evening by the fire. And so it was: an amazing day spent on Suilven and we were only just over half-way through our trip. All we needed now was a bit of rain.

Let it rain

The old adage of be careful what you wish for could not have been more true when we woke to howling wind and pouring rain. The only thing for it was to pile into the largest tent and fortify ourselves with tea and yet more bacon sarnies.

We then climbed back into our kayaking kit and once again had that feeling of starting afresh as we began the next leg of our journey. As we readied ourselves, we chatted about how much easier it would be to pack the barge boat and how much lighter it would be now that all our food was eaten and all the fire-burning material we had carried in was gone. But how wrong we were: no matter what we tried, we couldn’t seem to make the barge boat any lighter or fit more in.

This led to an in depth inspection of John’s boat but we found he was actually carrying kit this time and I think the main problem was that this was an all-male trip. In my experience of wrapping presents, putting clothes away or packing shopping I always fail miserably and yet when my wife does it, everything fits perfectly, usually with room to spare. Next time I will helicopter my wife in to help us pack.

Once on the loch, the wind started to create waves which were fun to ride but not so great for Rich who was first up with the barge boat. On more than one occasion we had to draw level with the barge boat to prevent it moving side-on to the waves and rolling over. It felt more like sea kayaking than a simple trip down the last stretch of the loch.

At the mouth of the Kirkaig River we headed into the first section of moving water before jumping out at a small bay to scout the rest of the route. This was important as a little further down are the massive Falls of Kirkaig that are impossible to kayak. If you are ever in this area the Falls are well worth walking up to (from Inverkirkaig), particularly when the river has been fed by heavy rain.

Once we had located the main falls, we decided the quickest option would be to carry our kayaks from where we had just got out. This proved to be the hardest part of the whole trip, with each kayak, including the barge boat, having to be carried for about 800 metres along narrow footpaths. We must have appeared a strange sight to the young German couple we bumped into as we came over the crest of a small hill, nowhere near any water except what was falling from the sky in great torrents.

And things did not get any easier from there. Dropping down to where we would eventually put our kayaks back into the water involved three lowers of 15 or so metres. After the third lower, we were finally at the base of the falls and just had a final, short lower down to the water. This involved a bit of steep scrambling and some precarious climbs back into the boats, but the chance to explore the nearby falls made all the hard work worthwhile.

Grateful that we were in river kayaks, we paddled in amongst the foam and roaring water. The power of the water was immense and the constant wind created by the waterfall itself was deafening – a truly once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Our moment spent at the base of the falls was matched only by a feeling of excitement as we moved further into the river part of the trip. As we travelled, the gorge walls reared up and completely enclosed us – just the kind of river kayaking I love. When completely sealed in like this, you have to work as a team, taking it in turns to scout the river and help each other along the way.

Once committed to a certain line on a river like this there is no going back and if you end up swimming there are very few places, if any, to get out before the next rapid. It is a committing style of kayaking that requires trust and team work. In a sport that is often associated with thrill seekers, you normally find that when a team is working a gorge, things are actually very quiet and there is an air of intense seriousness. Every decision can have a huge impact on the safety of the rest of the team.

We started through the gorge by first pushing the barge boat down the rapids and following behind to make sure it didn’t get stuck. The upper section was amazing and the rapids were an enjoyable grade three (there are five grades – one being the easiest, and five being near death) with the barge boat flowing down each section fairly easily with little assistance needed.

We then hit the first of two major grade four drops. The first passed through a gouge in the rock and needed some tight manoeuvring to dodge a rock sticking out at head height. I set myself up for this, but hit a rock as I dropped which caused the front of my kayak to rear up and I only just avoided the edge of the cliff as it flashed past. Still breathing hard after this near miss, my boat then hit the side of the wall and the power of the river catapulted me out into the waiting pool.

The second drop was impossible to scout and what little could be seen gave us the impression that there was a choice between a second gouge to drop through that did not look very appealing or a two-tier drop. I opted for the two-tier drop. On the approach, I tried to control my kayak against the power of the water so that I could possibly gain a fraction of a second to decide how to handle the blind drop to come.

I paddled over the falls in the most defensive style I could in order to do what is known as ‘boofing’ – when a kayaker uses the momentum generated to make the boat jump a short distance over a waterfall to clear any possible danger lurking directly underneath. As I approached the edge, I kicked through my kayak and found to my delight a smooth water slide that dropped me into another deep pool.

The rapids kept on coming but none were as serious as that we had just tackled. There were some twists and turns and some interesting rolls by Richard, but slowly the river started to ease and the gorge walls dropped away to reveal the gorgeous scenery around Inverkirkaig.

As the river emptied into Loch Kirkaig, we realised the trip was almost complete: source to sea via Suilven. But as we paddled the final section of the river and the ocean views spread out before us, my only thought was what we would see if we just carried on paddling.

About the author

Chris Wilson is an instructor at Torridon Activities – an activity provider based at the foot of Liathach by the shores of Loch Torridon. The company offers a range of guiding and experience days in the hills and on the water. www.thetorridon.com/activities

See the spring issue of Scotland Outdoors for our writer’s somewhat less adventurous account of river and sea paddling in Wester Ross.