Cross-Country Rowing: Scotland
5-days rowing the Caledonian Canal 60 miles from West to East Scotland, Fort William to Inverness, in Tramp, a mahogany skerry rowing boat.
Day 0 Warm-Up: Climb Ben Nevis
To limber up, we climbed Ben Nevis, the highest mountain on the island of Great Britain*. At Glen Nevis, 20m above sea level, it was cloudy and we couldn’t see the summit. Prepared for all weather, we layered-up before we got cold, drank before thirst and ate before hunger. We hiked into the clouds, woke up bum muscles, and stopped for coffee and flapjacks. Visibility varied between low and lower. Surprised to see a group of three hikers in kilts, one of them looked in discomfort, looked like his nuts had frozen. Up up up with wind and refreshing rain. Time passed upwards, we walked, we walked, we walked until suddenly…we were stopped by a green, spacious valley smiling at us before the clouds quickly closed the curtains again.
A cairn welcomed us to the final part of the ascent — we both placed a stone upon it and continued walking. I figured we were getting closer, we pushed onwards…. to yet another cairn, they slowly appeared closer and closer together, ‘How wonderful, we must be there’ I thought.
Repeatedly.
More cairns, still we couldn’t see the summit, more upwards path remained — my kid voice whined “Are we nearly there yet?”
Not yet, and still not there for much longer after that first cairn than I had hoped. We stared over the edge at a steep drop, looked like doom loomed down there. Finally we saw the ruins of the observatory, people hiding from the wind behind low, crumbling walls. Cold, wet and windy. A small platform — a solidly built cairn with stairs — marks the highest point of Ben Nevis with its Ordnance Survey’s trig point. I hula hooped. With my finishing flourish, the hoop flew off my shoulder out of my hands, “STOP THE HOOP!” I shouted as the hoop bounced towards the edge. I watched, worried of the danger of a lost hoop like a lost ski, hurtling out-of-control down a mountain, hopefully not across anyone’s path. The hoop rolled to a halt centimetres away from the edge. No hoops or lives were lost.
The descent felt distinctly wetter so I put on my MC Hammer waterproof pants. We hurried down, occasionally pretending to run. I asked whether we should imagine that the car was getting a parking ticket, or we really needed the toilet, or if we were being chased. Occasionally, I slipped on shingley stones. It didn’t take long before my legs were feeling jelly-like, I wished I had poles. We passed the kilted group again, one of them was lying huddled in a thermal sheet— his nuts had frozen! We saw two guys hiking up with folded up stretchers and rescue gear on their backs. We still had a long way down and it wasn’t coming soon enough — my left knee was shaking and stopping didn’t help. We returned to the car and drove a beautiful winding wrong way to no campsite nor toilet. Someone’s dislike of camping presented us one available pitch at Ben Nevis Holiday Park. While I was grateful for the use of a toilet and hot shower, I was astounded to learn that at £22 per night, sleeping in a field with some facilities costs the same as monthly rent.
Day 1 rowing: start Caledonian Canal at Neptune’s Staircase, Banavie, to Gairlochy lock
The lock-keeper at Corpach gave us a key for the canal’s facilities (water, hot showers, loos) and advised us to start from Banavie, shaving about a mile off our expected 8.5 (13.5km). Neptune’s Staircase is a series of eight locks which engineers the canal from the sea at Corpach, up 19m (62ft) over a quarter of a mile of canal. Using the watery staircase would have created a lot of work for the lock-keepers so instead, we manoeuvred Tramp off the roof of the car and into the water at the kayakers’ launching point at the head of the staircase. We loaded her with the tent, hula hoop, bags, buckets of food, and flapjacks easily accessible. The rowing began. We had the canal to ourselves. Peaceful. We spotted a rare grassy clearing at the canal edge and stopped for lunch — miso soup followed by baked beans. As the water was heating, we accidentally toppled the stove and boiling water burned my arm. I ignored it — my first injury.
Sitting low in the water, Tramp glided under Moy swing bridge. We rowed faster than walkers on the towpath and slower than runners. It didn’t take long to reach the day’s rowing goal — Gairlochy lock — where I performed a comedy failed rope throw to the lock-keeper and the ropes splashed back down into the water around me. Sitting in the lock, we saw a group of 1-inch long fish lying gasping occasionally flipping on the stone step in front of us. As the water rose and we floated upwards, I encouraged the fish to keep on breathing a little longer. When the water level lifted them to liberation, I celebrated and hoped they’d learnt not to hang out on the steps again.
We continued into our first loch, Loch Lochy, the lochiest loch of them all. Serene, empty, we noticed a beach that looked good for camping. Teepee tent set up waterside, the infamous midges quickly joined us and we started testing out our three different midge repellants, none tasted good. Beans for dinner no doubt, I hula hooped and stretched. The boiling water burn had formed a large liquid blister on my arm so I knelt to bathe it in Loch Lochy, about six hours too late. Later, lying on the air mattress looking out to the loch, I savoured the spectacular scenery, reminded of other stunning waterside locations I’ve lived. Midges shared that love so we zipped up the tent for the night. One or two boats passed, sound carried so far it felt like they were right in front of us.
Day 2 rowing: Loch Lochy through Laggan Locks and Loch Oich to Invergarry
Gairlochy to South Laggan locks is about 10 miles (16km) to row today. After a coffee and dark chocolate starter, we ate an oat cuisine breakfast, made in bed eaten in bed— porridge with chopped apple and sunflower seeds. We packed up camp Tramp and set off, aiming to fill up water at a mooring near the Letterfinley Hotel on Loch Lochy’s southern edge, maybe four miles away. Row, row, row, rhythm flow, being on a private lake felt exclusively spectacular! I hoped that we’d earn our morning break at the hotel but we cracked early for a flapjack when we still couldn’t see it. Row, row, rhythm flow, a few buildings eventually appeared on the loch’s edge and finally we saw the mooring. We walked up the hill to the Whispering Pine Lodge Hotel where our coffees were served with fudge in the Robert Burns Bar. The barman filled our water, about three 1.5l plastic bottles and a few drinking flasks. Their fine toilets included a shower in the mens for cleaning the rear.
It didn’t take long to reach Laggan locks. Once the gates ahead opened, we paddled to a mooring on a pontoon. It was time for my morning spa — a hot shower that our canal key gave us access to, followed by a full body coconut oil self-massage. We’d already reached our rowing goal by early afternoon so we ate beans, Cheddars, more coffee and flapjacks, and continued rowing.
Laggan Avenue was one of the most difficult portions of the Caledonian canal to construct, taking hundreds of men using pickaxes and shovel to dig deep into the stretch of land between Loch Lochy and Loch Oich. It took them — and later a dredger — about seven years to complete. Thanks to their efforts two hundreds years ago, we were able to enjoy a calm row on an empty canal hugged from both sides by trees. Time glided by, stroke by stroke, sometimes one of my oars bounced on the water, messing up my rhythm. I was reminded that in rowing, in cars, and in life, we can’t drive looking in the rear view mirror; we will make mistakes, we just do our best and carry on, sometimes learning! Laggan Avenue ends at Laggan Swing Bridge, under which we rowed into Loch Oich.
Loch Oich is the narrowest and highest loch along the Caledonian canal. With water so ready to drain away, larger boats stay within the central channel to avoid the shallows. On the loch’s north side, we found the Well of Seven Heads, a monument to some 17th century revenge killing and cleaning of decapitated heads. I wondered if the cleanliness of the seven decapitated heads was noticed at their presentation in Edinburgh. Our next rowing milestone was the ruins of Invergarry castle, very ruined indeed. Seeing Garry on the map, we realised that inver meant river, which makes the river Garry sound rather less impressive. We left the channel, paddled across the shallows between rocks up to a natural mooring with a spongey-wet log next to the river bank. I noticed an intuition warning flare… something was not right though the signal from my body couldn’t tell me what exactly that was. I didn’t say anything.
We tied the Tramp to two trees and walked to Invergarry. The village’s well-signposted public toilets have recently had their funding cut but they welcome donations. The national speed limit sign on the other side of Invergarry told us that we weren’t going to find a shop so we went for dinner in the garden of Invergarry Hotel Brasserie. My vegetarian lasagne was served with a soda water served in a champagne glass with a slice of lemon. Well fed, we walked the mile or so back to set up camp.
We returned to find Tramp bobbing around in rushing water, the log we had used to step onto the bank mostly submerged. Though we’d both seen the metal gates on the other side of the river, neither of us registered until we faced the torrents of water it was letting through. We pulled Tramp out the water to avoid her getting stuck, and followed the Great British General Emergency Management plan: a cup of tea. A grassy spot we’d originally considered for the tent now seemed too many metres walk away so we set the tent up there in the woods. Though my reference point on the spongey log stayed above the waterline, I was still concerned. We stretched the tent out its farthest and laid fenders under two tent edges in case of rain. I kept my torch and rain gear readily accessible from my sleeping bag. Knowing we’d done all we could, we fell asleep to the sounds of the water still gushing through the gates.
Day 3 rowing: Invergarry to Fort Augustus
Laggan to Fort Augustus is 10.5 miles (17km). Already in Loch Oich, we had a head start on the day. It was quiet when I woke, hopeful that we might be able to depart in the calm water we’d arrived in. A chugging of machinery and spluttering of dam-released water soon ended that morning dream. Knowing how many hours the water had gushed last night, it was clear we had to leave in the rushing flow of Invergarry hydroelectric power station (20MW capacity). I said I was worried about not being in control of the boat to steer around the tree branches above and unknown shallow rocks below. I climbed into the front of Tramp with no steering responsibilities. As we untied, the water quickly took us between the branches, I was relieved. But were we clear of rocks yet? I was hoping so until CRREEEAAAAKKK we were stuck, Tramp was making a terrible cracking sound that made me wince. Wood on wood screamed for a few more seconds before the water pushed us onwards and clear of the Loch Ness monster lost in log form in the River Garry. Water wasn’t gushing into Tramp so we decided to inspect at the next chance. I realised I should have shared yesterday’s body intuition warning and vowed to do so in the future.
Rowing tired in the rain, we made our way to the end of Loch Oich at Aberchalder swing bridge. A few more strokes took us to unmanned Cullochy Lock where a father and son were fishing. We decided to do the heavy lifting to continue our day’s journey, and did the 200m walk around the lock carrying our tent, bags, buckets, and oars, in two trips. Thankfully, the father offered to help us carry 62kg Tramp — so much easier between three. We looked for damage and though we could see a split, it didn’t seem too serious. Fuelled by more coffee and flapjacks, we rowed along Coiltry Reach, the start of the descent of the canal towards Loch Ness. A fair amount of rain had fallen and I wasn’t sure if the water accumulating by my feet was coming from above or below. I mopped the wood with a sponge and saw water seep out each time. At Kytra Lock, there was no lock-keeper and once again we had to lift our stuff and Tramp up and around, this time helped by a father and young son. There on the mooring, I learnt about the art of wooden boat repair: Gorilla tape along the crack on both the outside and inside.
The rain became increasingly heavy during the remaining miles to Fort Augustus. We tied up the Tramp and walked to see the five-lock water staircase that lay between us and Loch Ness. This set of locks was much longer in distance, about a 10-minute walk with no gear. The wind was whipping into our faces, the rain persistent, and white horses were breaking on Loch Ness. A lock-keeper told us that they didn’t usually let rowing boats through the locks but that we could return the next morning to see if there was space among the traffic to allow us safe passage. At Fort Augustus tourist information (a notice board with hotel phone numbers), we found a room at the Caledonian Hotel and were soon greeted in a well-heated room with coffee and Tunnock’s Teacakes, the traditional Scottish chocolate covered marshmallow-like substance on biscuit.
It felt like the hardest day so far and the least distance rowed. We lazied up for the afternoon, exploring the tourist shops overlooking Loch Ness, and the most impressive building complex which are now the Highland Club Scotland’s self-catering apartments. I enjoyed my second spa experience, a long afternoon bath, drinking mint tea, listening to Mendelsson’s Hebrides Overture because I’d seen a road sign for Fingal’s cave on our car journey up.
Day 4 rowing: Fort Augustus to the other end of Loch Ness
After porridge, berry fruit salad, and cooked Scottish breakfast, we found about 15 other boats waiting to get through Fort Augustus’s locks. The lock-keepers asked us to wait as they let the working boats and pleasure boaters through first. Would there be space for us in the locks? The prospect of hauling all our gear up and out and down before rowing Loch Ness was very unattractive. Would they let us through? I took a lesson in rope-throwing, my third and fourth attempts enough better than the first to declare it a success. Next I decided it was time for the positive energy and of hula-hooping. Since the lock-keeper wasn’t keen, I hooped at the mooring as other boats passed by into the locks. Hoop-magic took effect and we were signalled to go through the locks with the last of the three pleasure boats. We paddled to the lefthand side of the first lock, threw the ropes up to the lock-keeper, and climbed up the ladder. With the front and back ropes, we slowly guided Tramp through the five gates, with plenty of interest from a boat-builder, a ship-fleet owner, and a father who declared Tramp ‘hilarious’. Finally we made it out onto Loch Ness, lifting-free — HOORAY!
Though we’d both considered that it could be cool to row 23 miles (37km) across Loch Ness in a day, it was about 11am by the time we got to it and I thought our chances were low. But the wind had dropped, the water was calmer, and conditions felt much better after yesterday’s storm. Off we rowed towards the mountains symmetrically framing the loch on our horizon, we couldn’t see the end. Row, row, row, rhythm flow we rowed we rowed we rowed, staying fairly close to the northern shore. It could have been minutes or hours before my bladder started calling persistently. There seemed to be nothing and nowhere to land for miles until finally we were forced to the water’s edge for a no-shame pee off the rocks. Sandwiches made and eaten on the water, we continued.
Tired, I soon felt ready for a break, but decided to row ten more strokes. As I did, I decided to get to 100 instead. Somewhere around 50, I joked to myself that I should go to 1000. I glanced backwards and saw an industrial building close to Foyers Bay on the south side of the loch. I thought the geographical milestone might serve better than stroke count, and carried on rowing and counting anyway. At 100 strokes, I hummed, imagining a boxing bell marking end of round one. Row, row, row, I hummed again as I passed 200 and onto three. Meditating rowing, the stroke-count kept climbing, we passed that building somewhere in the 600s. We continued rowing and I kept on counting, realising that if I were to reach 1000 strokes, I should at least go to 1100… and if I was to reach that, I should certainly go to 1110. Singing at each hundred-mark motivated me as I triumphed to 1000 and the extra 1110. That was plenty, I’d done it! When I totally lost the rhythm at 1200 I called a break and lent backwards to lie under the sky. Most of us can get a lot more done than we think we can! We guessed that we’d rowed about six miles in that single slog.
Finally we could see Urquhart Castle ahead so we rowed to its mooring for celebratory coffee and flapjacks and a lie down. We slipped in an extra meal of cous cous and cucumbers before a Jacobite Cruise boat came by to reclaim the parking space we’d stolen. We could see on the map that there at Drumnadrochit around 4pm, we were about 2/3 across Loch Ness, so we decided to row on. And on. And on. There was no wind at all and the water became mirror-like still. Out there alone I wondered what we looked like to the tourists taking photos from the road so far away. How did our trail look like from above as we cut through the still waters? We were rowing in a postcard and it was blissful. Magical moments murmuring through my soul.
Much rowing later, exhausted, we crossed south aiming for Bona Lighthouse at the end of Loch Ness. Within a hundred yards of the village of Dores, we realised that we were too far south and not yet done. Nothing to do but carry on, we rowed back up and around the shallows of Tor Point. “I’m done!” I cried, finding it more and more difficult to keep in rhythm, when would the day end?! When we finally saw Aldourie Castle on the shore, I didn’t think I could be happier, until moments later when we discovered the remains of a stone mooring next to a little sandy beach — the perfect final Tramp camp . We’d done it! I hula hooped and stretched on the beach to thank my body before an early bedtime and that special kind of sleep one earns from rowing Loch Ness in a day.
Day 5 rowing: Bona lighthouse to Muirtown locks near Clachnaharry
I woke feeling slightly sad that this was the last day of our adventure. Reassured that this was only the first of other, bigger adventures and fuelled by coffee, chocolate, and oats, we set off passing the last manned lighthouse on Britain’s inland waterways, the squat Bona lighthouse. Rowing the one mile of Loch Dochfour felt quite easy after all we’d done and we were soon at Dochgarroch lock.
The lock-keeper came over to tell us that for safety reasons, he couldn’t let us through Dochgarroch lock. We told him that we’d been through Fort Augustus and he responded with the very parent-sounding “That was there, and this is here — I won’t let you through”. Knowing it’s better to use your energy on lifting than wasting it on disappointment, I opted to start carrying the bags so we could know the route before carrying Tramp. A couple on a pleasure boat in the lock asked where we’d started rowing, they’d seen us at various points along the way. “Fort Augustus”, we said, “five days ago”. The lock-keeper apologised that he couldn’t help us, and said something about a license…. “We have a license, and insurance!” Could this be the magic password? “Really?” he exclaimed, BOOM! Password CORRECT! “I’ll get you through, do you have ropes?”
As we worked together to get us through the lock, the lock-keeper asked us about our goal, were we planning to go through Muirtown locks? “Our goal was to row across Scotland and I think we’ve achieved that” I said. He apologised for his initial reaction to us and was very informative about the rest of our journey. We sheltered under trees for coffee, filled up on water, then onwards we rowed to the outskirts of Inverness, it felt like the river Camb. The lock-keeper was right, lying down, we fit under Tomnahurich bridge and passed Caley marina. Boat-owners exchanged compliments and on we rowed the last four miles to the locks of Muirtown flight. We walked along the watery staircase and with neither of us strongly desiring to go down it, we completed our Caledonian canal adventure by hauling out Tramp to a grassy resting point, 1 mile before Clachnaharry lock.
We hid the oars behind Tramp and walked into town to ask about transport. With an hour to savour, we celebrated our accomplishment with lunch, coffee and cake at Blend before the 2-hour bus ride to Fort William. I felt content as we went alongside Loch Ness, picturing us rowing its miles steadily. We drove through each of the previous days’ milestones: Urquhart castle, Fort Augustus, Invergarry and finally, Ben Nevis welcomed us back to Fort William. We found the car smelling not as bad as we’d anticipated and drove back exactly the way we’d just come. Back in Inverness around 7:30pm, we saw a ‘Vacancies’ sign outside Trafford Bank guesthouse, the closest to Muirtown locks where Tramp was resting. Soft carpets, sheepskin rugs and blankets, and beautiful artworks everywhere — a little luxury we warmly welcomed.
Before this trip, I’d never rowed more than a couple of miles. My nephew had laughed at me, “You’re rubbish at rowing, and you broke an oar!” I told him the best way to get better at things was to do more of them. Neither had I camped in the wild before. The lochside locations we were lucky enough to stop at were incredible. I was delighted to return to my preferred waking environments. For free. Nature’s beauty, what better way to start the day? And though I’d done many day hikes and bikes, I’d never been on a multi-day adventure. Though certainly I felt exhausted at times, I realised that challenging journeys are made easier with beauty — I loved being in the wonderful Tramp and as we rowed across lochs between mountains along canals, my mind was clear and the world made sense.
*Many people (and my YouTube video) incorrectly state that Ben Nevis is the highest mountain in the UK. The United Kingdom includes Great Britain, Northern Ireland and the British Overseas Territories, such as the British Virgin Islands and Turks and Caicos Islands. At 3,239m (10,627 ft), Mount Hope in the Antarctic, is the highest mountain in the UK. If the British Antarctic Territory is not British, then 2,935m (9,629 ft) Mount Paget on the island of South Georgia (remote in the South Atlantic ocean, about 2000km East off the Southern tip of Argentina) takes the prize. Ben Nevis — 1,345m (4,413 ft)
Thank you to Anthony Burton, whose book “The Caledonian Canal: For Boaters, Walkers, Cyclists”(first published 1998) safely guided us from west to east Scotland.
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