Day 10: Mallaig to Loch Hourn (Loch Hell)

Our final day in Mallaig began reasonably early, the final antifouling around the repair having been completed in the middle of the previous night under the influence of alcohol and staggering around in the muddy dark with a headlamp at low tide. About 50 yards opposite us, a large converted wooden fishing boat was being hauled up a slip in the traditional way, and round the side of the rickety old wooden boatyard buildings, a pair of sea-otters were having a barney. The Skipper and Seaman Finnigan watched intently, imagining what on earth these cuddly little monsters were arguing about ("I told you we should have moved to a quieter neighbourhood" or "You always leave the worst part of the fish for me"). As the tide floated us off, we followed a fishing boat out along with a large seal which had obviously cottoned onto the fact that fishing boats carry fish a long time ago. It swam alongside, looking hopefully up at the fishermen like an attentive, begging dog. For all it's industrial greyness, Mallaig was certainly not short of wildlife.

Seal begging for fish on the left of the boat

 After a quick stop at the pier to collect water and ready for sea, the prow of the Good Ship pointed out into the channel and we were off again. Crossing the mouth of Loch Nevis (Loch 'Heaven'), the wind was light and the sun just beginning to bask the shore of Skye opposite with a warm yellow glow. The folding bucket disappeared over the side mid-deck washing unfortunately, but otherwise all was calm and serene on the Good Ship.

Heading into the Sound of Sleat

We had decided to visit Loch Nevis' sister loch, Loch Hourn (Loch Hell), partly for the navigation challenge (the loch has 4 sets of narrows and a number of shoals and rocks to negotiate) and partly because there are no roads down the sides of the loch. Solitude was guaranteed. Coming round the Knoydart peninsula, the loch opened up before us, a sttep-sided fjord of lush green hillsides and barren rock. It was stunning, and it would only get better. Passing the hamlet of Arnisdale, we hitched over to Barrisdale Bay, before sweeping round under engine into the first set of narrows. Passing close by to the little islets was like finding paradise - not another boat nor soul to be seen, and further treasures awaiting us as the loch snaked further inland. The afternoon reverie was only temporarily broken by an RAF Tornado that came rocketing out from a glen at what seemed like little more than mast height, obviously using the terrain as a training ground for the canyons of Afghanistan.

Sailing up Loch Hourn

1st set of narrows. It only got better after this...

As we motored through the sunshine, seals appeared with the occasional dolphin, playing on the still, sparkling waters.  The shores were largely empty, apart from an occasional house surrounded by woods and the romantic air of isolation (and not a road in sight). The interlocking spits of the 2nd narrows soon passed, and around 2pm we were negotiating the 3rd, a slightly more tortuous passage with a long sandy beach shoaling on one side and a group of islets on the other. Coming round the spit, we noticed a commotion on the water as a shoal of fish jumped around. Not wanting to miss the opportunity, we dropped anchor under a sheer rock-face and put the lines out. It was a lazy afternoon, the whole place was bathed in bright sunshine, with nary a whisper to ripple the still waters.

3rd Narrows

 In spite of the wee fish biting, the bigger fish chasing them stayed away and so we abandoned the fishing after an hour or two and set off again for the final set of narrows. The pilot book describes these as 'extremely tortuous and shallow', with the channel being essentially a shallow river bed at low tide that snakes in a tight s-bend into the deeper pool beyond. We aimed to go through at mid-tide, when the Skipper had calculated that there should just be enough water for the Good Ship to float, and enough time for the tide to rise a bit should we run aground. From above water, the narrows is deceptive - it looks like a wide, calm expanse of water. But to follow the channel required hugging the shore for 200 yards after a shed on the shore, then turning through 90 degrees to the way you wanted to go (lining up a rocky bluff on the opposite shore), crossing the narrows and then turning through 45 degrees to line up a bed of flowers on the first shore again. In short, navigational ecstacy. With 2 lookouts peering over the bow (both of them in disbelief that we weren't aground, indeed Seaman Finnegan was ready to get out and push at times), we negotiated the passage cleanly and entered the deep pool at the head of the Loch, surrounded by steep hillsides and lush forests. A Drascombe Longboat, with it's centreboard raised, followed us through, indicating that what looked on the surface like deep water on either side of the channel was probably only a few inches deep, too shallow for even a dinghy like that.

Looking back at the 4th narrows

 On anchoring in the pool, the Skipper and Seamen Farago and Janus set off in the dinghy to explore ashore. The scenery in the pool was stunning, with the small hamlet of Kinloch Hourn at the head of a grassy river delta, and the imposing Kinlochhourn House over on the other side of the loch. Kinloch Hourn is the starting point for the walk over the Knoydart peninsula to Inverie, a completely isolated village on the shores of Loch Nevis which we would visit later in the cruise. The hamlet itself consisted of only a couple of farm buildings and a couple of houses, with one of the farm buildings being a B and B as well as a tearoom (which quite possibly goes for days without a customer). It was PERFECT, and the yard at the back of the tearoom even had a Highland equivalent to a yard dog, a tame Stag sitting calmly and watching the world go by...

Old Stone Jetty

Funny lookin' yard dog (with antlers)

Path to Inverie

Path to Inverie

 As the rain came down and the midgies started to bite in earnest, we returned to the boat for a solid meal prepared by Seaman Finnigan. As the light faded and was replaced by the moody gloom of the steep mountains around us, with the mist hanging eerily in the trees. The brass oil lamps were soon glowing cheerily in the cabin, and as darkness fell we could only wonder at the incredible day, and feel lucky to be among so few people to have visited this isolated and spectacular gem of Scottish scenery.