Following a great night’s sleep even the overcast and showery conditions could not subdue my anticipation of the day to which I had been particularly looking forward because of all that I had heard about the loch and especially Saint Finnan’s Island with its ancient burial ground. A steady morning of beating against the light headwind saw us the 7 miles to the major headland just short of the narrowing at the bend in the loch where the historic clan graveyard is also found. During lunch I couldn’t resist looking round the corner at our route ahead. Loch Shiel is a fair size and full of interest, varying from steep mountain scenery at the north-east end to low-lying peat bog and lower, gentler but still craggy hills surrounding the western end. With a significant bend in the middle, a few side-arms, some islands, but virtually no “civilisation” except at each end and no roads alongside, it makes for a great cruising area. Turning the corner we sailed gently past some floating fish-farm cages to the narrowest part of the loch, dropped the sails in the fitful breeze and paddled the last couple of hundred yards to St. Finnans Island where we spent a fascinating half-hour examining the tombs, gravestones and crosses in the burial ground. The setting and atmosphere of the place is certainly very special.

A light rain had begun to fall on returning to our boats but at least the wind allowed us a mostly beam reach for several miles. The loch then bends round more towards the southwest and the resultant stiff beat in squally and at times heavy rain was not welcome. After playing touch-and-go with shallows for the final mile or so, we made it to the main public landing at Acharacle, very close to the end of the loch. Here our boats were abandoned in favour of the warmth and recuperative benefits of the village’s only hotel. Guinness was consumed for purely medicinal purposes (the mirror behind the bar assured me it was good for me!) and a hot bar meal also aided our well-being. Neither the foul weather nor the forecast and lack of obvious campsites encouraged us towards camping, so the quest was on for bed & breakfast. Unfortunately the hotel was full and it took a good hour of persistence, a mile or two of walking in the rain and some excellent kindness and hospitality from several locals for us to get fixed up with a place for the night. A hot shower was magic and the prospect of being served a full cooked breakfast made sleeping in a proper bed all the more wonderful.

 

The next morning was no better weather wise with heavy rain and strong winds anticipated all day. With the next part of the route going down the river and back out onto the sea, the right weather would be crucial so we rapidly concluded that progress that day would be not be possible.

By the time I had decided to make good use of the day by fetching the car and trailer to save time later, the only bus for the day had left. So taking a small bag containing enough to cope with being away overnight, I started hitching-hiking towards Strontian and eventually Oban and Crinan. The journey was fairly good until Oban, but I had to grit my teeth standing in the driving rain for over two hours to get a final lift down to Kilmartin to call on some friends before they dropped me at Crinan to collect the car and trailer. There had always been a possibility of my stopping overnight with them, especially as it was by now well into the evening. That temptation receded quickly on examining the Metfax that Chris got for me at the nearby outdoor education centre, where both he and his wife Ali worked; it suggested much better weather and moderating winds for the next day ,so a hot meal and a cup of strong coffee sped me on my way back to Acharacle, arriving just as the midnight shipping forecast confirmed my optimism for progress [NOTE: in 1994 we did not have mobile phones, let alone smartphones to obtain the weather forecasts we so readily benefit from these days!].

When I had left the other two, arrangements had been left very flexible and I did not even know if they would be camping or at the B&B again. The canoes were gone from where we had landed and in the dark I felt there was little chance of finding their tents. Neither would it be reasonable to go waking the B&B household. So I slept in the back of my reasonably spacious estate car until the six o’clock forecasts (still promising!) and then went walkabout to find the chaps.

Link to Day 7