I had enjoyed a week of settled weather, an Indian Summer of sunshine and light winds, but this looked likely to end as the month drew to a close. Tomorrow’s forecast suggested the first of the autumn’s storms would arrive sometime late in the afternoon, so I planned to do some cycling in the morning and pack up a dry tent in the afternoon to return home a night early. 

Today then would be my last paddle in the Trossachs. Camping as I was on the banks of the River Balvaig, I decided to follow it downstream to Loch Lubnaig for a round trip. 

The campsite is about 1.5km upstream from the loch, the river running slow and calm between two narrow banks. 

The plantations on the flanks of Benvane were reflected between the bank-side trees.

A previous evening I had seen a beaver swimming along here and been startled by the tail-slap of another that had seen me first. No sign of them this morning however, even though I was afloat quite early. 

The river debouched into an equally calm loch, the surface barely ruffled by the morning air.

Here there was evidence of the beavers – a starburst of felled trees splayed over the banks of an island at the channel’s end. 

Although technically autumn already, the woods were only just starting to change colour along the shore. The higher slopes were blanketed in a commercial coniferous monoculture.

I spent a while meandering along the shoreline passed Druim a’Chasteil and Laggan. Woods gave way to reeds at the water’s edge. 

A mute swan glided by. 

I passed the low, marshy promontory of Ardnandave and carried on downstream passed the more wooded foreshore of Dail an Dubh Shruith, pausing here and there to enjoy the colours and reflections. 

Some Michaelmas daisies caught my eye amongst the foreshore vegetation. 

A sharp headland, Roinn Ghainmheach, stuck out from the shore, and extended some distance further below the surface, necessitating quite a detour to keep paddle depth. Hooded crows waded in the shallows. 

The shoreline now ran north-south, the loch having a significant bend in the middle. Looking back, Meall an t-Seallaidh dominated the head of the valley. 

The view forward was a gentler affair, the hills fading gently away as the young infant River Teith passed Callandar beyond my horizon.

Beinn Bhreac climbed high above the loch on the east side as I neared the outfall. 

In the final bay I took a while to just drift, enjoying the small landscapes of the water’s edge. 

After a while, the view of my return track enticed me back into action.

The dead calm didn’t last however, a moderate breeze rising as I neared the mid-point of the loch. 

Rounding a wooded promontory, I slid the canoe onto the beach to stop for lunch. 

Sheltered from the wind, I took the time to explore the shore.

Tree cast lines of shade into the water to lie under reflected clouds in the wind shadow

Refreshed after some food and a cup of tea, I resumed my journey. The sun was lower in the sky now, cross-lighting bringing some interest to the plantations rising above me. 

An insistent buzzing grew into a roar as a small float plane flew low down the loch. I wondered briefly if the pilot gave lifts to canoeists – what a great way that would be to get to the head of Loch Katrine!

I was nearly back to the River Balvaig now, but it was proving quite hard to spot the entrance. 

A quick study of the map helped me set my course, and I was soon moving upstream against a gentle current. I had been chasing dibbers all week, trying to catch one on camera. Here, finally, I managed to find one that stood still long enough. 

The channel narrowed steadily as I approached the campsite, but the current remained very manageable as the banks closed in.

Just beyond a stand of trees I could make out tents. And was soon pulling the boat out on the slipway, just a short drag across the grass from my tent. 

My final day on the water ended sat in the sunshine with a pot of tea brewing while my kit dried ready to stow in the truck. 

In all, I had explored seven lochs (admittedly cycling along the banks of Loch Katrine rather than paddling) and 3 rivers in my week in the Trossachs – a fine way to celebrate the end of summer.