- An Ard Day
After one long and one short day on the water already, I was pleased to find that my injured shoulder was still coping ok with paddling. Especially as I had my new wide-angle lens to christen, and the weather looked perfect for a day of photography afloat.
I chose Loch Ard as my destination – from the wind forecast it looked most likely to be sheltered from what was already a very light wind.
The drive from the campsite was through a picture-postcard landscape, enlivened by a red squirrel scampering across the quiet lane as I approached my destination. Remarkably for such a lovely day, mine was the only car in the layby by the iron cross.
A short carry across the road, and I was sliding my Northwind Solo over the wall onto a muddy beach below. Lunch and cameras soon stowed, I paused for a moment to enjoy the view. It felt almost blasphemous to disturb the perfection of the water.
Having launched, I immediately put the paddle down to reach for my camera.
How could anyone resist? I had all day to enjoy this and wasn’t going to rush. I established a rhythm of sorts – a few Indian strokes with the paddle, glide, click the shutter, reach for the paddle… I wasn’t covering much ground, but it was glorious.
The road runs close by the north bank of the loch, but there was very little traffic to disturb my peace.
A small headland jutted into the loch, Beinn Lomond rising behind the trees.
Across the loch, the island of Dundochil glowed sunlit against the plantations rising up the slopes towards Bad Dearg and Innis Ard.
I slowly wended my way westwards, only to pick up the camera again as a spread of reed beds caught my eye.
The loch was a mercury surface, reflecting an unbelievably blue sky. Bein Lomond and its associated ridges had accumulated a scattering of cloud, but this, if anything, improved the scene.
I let the boat drift and my wake settle. Days like this are few and far between and need to be savoured.
Behind me, on the north shore, a confusion of oak limbs reached over a small jetty. I tried to make some visual sense of the shapes.
Once more the light on the forested southern shore attracted my attention. Slanting sidelight picked out individual trees against the shadows while the water echoed the scene with amazing clarity.
Looking eastward, the wooded promontory of Dun Dubh showed some splashes of autumn colour.
More accustomed now to visual delights surrounding me, and my hunger to make images in these conditions at least temporarily sated, I managed to make some progress westward towards Kinlochard. I couldn’t believe mine was the only watercraft afloat.
Bein Lomond continued to dominate the skyline. The slightest breath of breeze, barely a zephyr, gave some movement to the loch, enough to intermingle sky and skyline on the water.
In the shelter of the reedbed, the smallest movement of the boat as I shifted my position was transmitted to the shore, but I rather liked the zig-zag distortions that resulted.
I reached the head of the loch. A scattering of trees grew along the shoreline, a juvenile cormorant using one as a perch.
This part of the loch was a little windier, no reflections now, but still beautiful.
A heron flew by, one of very few waterbirds I had seen so far.
I reached the sailing club and followed the shore south-east.
It was late morning now, the sun backlighting the vegetation. Tricky conditions for the camera, high contrast, bright highlights and deep shadows, but the glow of light through leaves was worth the effort.
The south side of Loch Ard is interestingly convoluted, with islands and hidden coves to explore. I determined to poke the canoe into every nook and cranny. Through a narrow strait sat a sheltered bay, the settlement of Couligarten set some distance back from the water. Cloud shadows dappled the hillside above Kinlochard as I looked back.
The reflections returned in the shelter of the bay.
With no movement in the air, I was able to enjoy some close-ups as I followed the water’s edge.
The shade from an overhanging tree helped me avoid lens-flare as I shot contre-jour, my eye held by the glow of reeds in the sun.
At the back of the bay, the light changed as the shore curved clockwise. Cross light now highlighted the leading edges of the bushes, giving layers of light and shade. Time to reach for the camera again.
The north side of the bay was in full sun, giving another, different look. The bark of the birch trunks shone silver on the water.
The bay’s generosity wasn’t done. As I turned the canoe to head back to the strait, I was presented with a wide vista – two in fact, one above and one below the shoreline.
I headed back towards the open loch, passing through a tangling of waterweed that scribbled patterns on the surface.
My legs were in need of a stretch, so I circumnavigated the crannog and headed for an inviting small beach on Eilean Gorm, the ‘Green Island’. The crannog puzzled me. It is close to a larger and very habitable island, which would surely fulfil the need for a moat between you and the world. There must have been a compelling reason to go to all the effort of building it, and the inconvenience of living there…
Michaelmas daisies grew by the landing site, attracting plenty of insects.
A few metres into the wood, there was a picnic bench – perfect for a spot of lunch. I fetched my flask and sandwiches and enjoyed a comfortable repast in the sun.
I hadn’t researched the area beyond looking for put-in points, so was surprised to find a bothy on the island, even more so to find that it was unoccupied. In common with many bothies, it wasn’t much more than a single room with benches, a table and a fire place – I think unless it was bad weather, I would be more comfortable in a hammock or a tent. But the island abounded in good bivvy spots and considering that was remarkably unspoilt. One to come back to on another trip maybe.
I returned to my picnic table for a second cuppa, before relaunching, refreshed, to continue my clockwise circuit.
The south shore dropped steeply into the loch for the next kilometre, with few places to go ashore. Fortunately for me, the fine weather was here to stay all day, so I could enjoy the play of light through the trees as I paddled under the cliffs towards Dundochil.
Inside the string of islands that culminate at Duke Murdoch’s Castle, the light breeze dropped again. Two of the islands are dominated by Scots Pines, but the most westerly has only deciduous trees. Slightly different soil or microclimate perhaps?
Approaching Dundochil, I could see a very grand house between the islands. Obviously being renovated, it was clad in scaffolding, but even at this distance, you could see it was ‘posh digs’.
Somewhat in contrast to Duke Murdoch’s place.
All that remains are some low walls, but even in its pomp, a modern visitor might describe it as pokey. The tower is about 14m by 6m, with 1.5m thick walls, so the internal space would have been quite tight. Dundochil loosely translates as the inhospitable island, which seems quite apt.
Beyond Dundochil was another small, wooded cove. I finally encountered some more water-users here, a small party of wild swimmers. It was another beautiful spot, but I didn’t linger. I had enjoyed calm and solitude all day so far, so left the place to them to enjoy the same.
I was now almost opposite my starting point. Rob Roy’s Cave is marked on the map hereabouts. I didn’t find it but equally didn’t spend much time looking for it either. Hopefully it provided more creature comforts than Duke Murdoch’s des res.
The map showed another cove off the main loch, this one with a waterway leading off eastwards. Through the entrance I was once more in a mirrored world – possibly an open boater’s prayer: as above, so shall it be below.
Trees lined this sheltered alcove as well. Once more backlighting and a wash of colour on the water brought the camera to my eye.
The outfall wasn’t immediately obvious though, creeping into view behind a rocky outcrop. A proper hidden channel, leading to more treasures.
The banks closed in quickly, the trees leaning over the water adding to its air of secrecy.
Not far into the channel, a narrow, shallow section sped the current. Eddying out part way down, I checked I could make headway upstream before continuing. It would be a shame to spoil this day with a long walk back to the car. It was quite possible to regain ground, so reassured I continued to explore.
Round the corner, as I was framing another shot, a dart of blue and orange shot from the tree on the left bank, heading downstream. I actually caught if in the frame, a tiny electric blue flash below it on the surface – a kingfisher in flight, with its reflection!
I had to laugh – kingfishers have to be one of the most elusive waterside birds to catch on camera, and I had just pulled off a dream shot completely by accident, just with a lens about ten times too short to make it useable. It’s there, if you look carefully…!
This charmed stream continued to delight, the gentle current easing me eastwards through sun and shade, reedbed and woods.
A final corner took me from sun to shade before opening out into a secret loch.
The day just kept on giving. I decided to follow this loch to its end, at Milton where the infant River Forth headed east.
In the shelter of the trees at this farthest limb of Loch Ard, I turned to retrace my paddle strokes, but not before making an image of the surprisingly attractive if slightly ramshackle boat houses. Maybe it was the setting and the light that made it work.
The westward view encouraged me back upstream.
But before I left these secluded waters, I found another image in the woods lining the water.
There was another shingle bar to get back over at the entrance, but always enough water to make a paddle stroke.
Returning upstream was a leisurely affair. There was so much to appreciate on the way. Where the Narrows broadened a little, I paused for a while.
A series of sinuous bends led through reedbeds to the wooded slopes of Dun Dubh, their early autumn colours reflected in the channel.
The river narrowed as I got closer to Loch Ard, progressing back through that initial race with only a little effort.
Bein Lomond once again appeared on the horizon as I left the final cove of Loch Ard.
One last look westward as I neared the iron cross, then I was there, back at my starting point.
What a brilliant day, bright with sunlight and reflections, rich in silence and solitude, scattered with surprise views and secret waters. Without doubt, Loch Ard is a treasure of the Trossachs.