Late October is my regular time for a photographic trip to the Highlands with friends, and as usual this year I had arrived a few days early to do some canoeing before they arrived. Having spent several trips exploring around Glen Affric, we had decided to move west to enjoy the best of the autumn in Torridon, so I treated myself to a little luxury and booked a room in the Kinlochewe Hotel. My plan was to explore Loch Maree more fully than on previous visits, with a round of the islands, and then a journey round the head of the loch and the delta of the Kinlochewe River. 

After a short drive from the hotel, I arrived at Slattadale. Since my last visit, pay-parking has been introduced, perhaps to discourage van-lifers. Access to the water was simple, just a carry of a few feet from the truck to a pebble beach. 

The loch was calm, a broken layer of cloud snagging the summit of Slioch at the top of the loch. 

The islands beckoned, dark woods brightened by bands of sunlight

That deep relaxation that comes from floating on calm waters took root as soon as I launched. Effortless, gliding movement, the rhythm of the paddle, water passing the bow with barely a rustle – it was hypnotic. 

A short transit to Eilean Ruaridh Beag took me into the archipelago. I decided to wander through the maze of islets in the strait between Eilean Ruaridh Mor and Garbh Eilean and take advantage of the calm conditions to explore the outside of the islands.  

Slanting sunlight cast dazzle patterns under the canopy as I paddled close by the shore. 

Every island of any size wore a cover of scots pine. I love these trees, bottle green foliage held aloft by stately limbs, bark running from silver to russet. There are very few places in the UK where they grow in natural abundance, which makes these islands somewhere to treasure. 

I became engrossed in navigating the many small channels, threading the canoe into bays and cul-de-sacs, my route dictated solely by curiosity. 

Wind lanes across the water gave patterns of light scatter delineating patches of perfect reflected detail. 

The outside of the islands can present very different conditions to the more sheltered bay I had launched into, but today the whole loch was tranquil. Small islets dotted the water, some little more than bare rock, but even these supporting trees. 

On the larger islands, dense stands of Scots pine grew down to the shore with an understory of heather and juniper, in a stark contrast to the denuded landscape on the mainland – testament to the impact large numbers of deer have on forest regeneration.

I spent a little time exploring the small landscapes around me, details of woodland and water. 

The views up and down the loch from my sheltered enclave were stunning. It was hard to decide whether to hold the paddle or the camera.

Eilean Loisgte provided a breakwater to a deep bay on the north side of Eilean Garbh, creating a natural harbour that was a joy to explore in a small craft. I spent a happy hour following its myriad waterways between sunlit shores. 

In places, it felt like paddling through a tree-lined avenue

In others the waterways opened out to give views of the wider landscape.

Finally sated after a feast of visual delights, I found a way from the labyrinth. A glance northwest down the loch showed clouds building in the distance. 

Something to keep a weather eye on as I traversed the north shore of Eilean Subhainn. And as I half-expected, the wind did pick up a notch or two as I approached Isle Maree but nothing to cause concern. 

Isle Maree sits slightly separate from the main group of islands and has a very different appearance and atmosphere. The flora is completely different to the other islands, a wide variety of deciduous trees forming its canopy. Geologically and biologically, it is closer to the Letterewe Forest on the north shore. This area supported extensive oak woods in the past, but these were heavily exploited for charcoal, manufacture to feed a local iron industry that amongst other products made cannon which were exported as far away as the Netherlands.  Then sheep farming and deer stalking took over as the timber supply was exhausted. Remnants of the forest survive along the steep shores below Beinn Arigh Charr, but Isle Maree gives a glimpse of what might have been. 

I put ashore on a sheltered pebble beach on the northwest side for lunch and a leg stretch. 

Wandering the island’s length, I stopped to enjoy the play of light across the woodland floor. 

Autumn colours were starting to show.

Back at the canoe, I sat for a while longer, soaking in the atmosphere, but after another cup of tea, it was time to move on. My return route would be back along the corrugated shore of Eilean Subhainn and through the straits into Ob na h-Innse Moire before crossing back to Slattadale.

The cloud base had thickened and lowered while I rested, Slioch’s summit now blanketed.

Looking north, skies were clear, colouring the water the deep blue I only ever seem to see in the north of Scotland. 

Two inlets run into the interior of Eilean Subhainn. The more easterly was quite wide, tree-lined banks framing Slioch and its reflection.

On previous visits I have often seen paddlers’ encampments along the shore here, but today I had the place to myself.   

Emerging from one inlet, I decided to visit the other. A splash of sunlight on the midground caught my eye as I turned northwards. 

The second inlet did communicate with the main loch, but in today’s water levels, only just. Too shallow to paddle, a narrow rock-choked channel linked the two. 

The interior of the island was surprisingly open.

I had been on the water a fair few hours now, so with a final glance across the islands, turned to go. 

I had timed it right. As I crossed back to Slattadale, a brief squall blew across, followed by sunshine that just caught the summit buttresses of Slioch. At first glance I thought it was snow-covered, but through the long lens I realised I was seeing the gleam of wet rock. 

Not a bad way to end my circuit of the islands. Tomorrow’s forecast also bode well so I would get afloat again, but this time would to the head of the loch to explore freshwaters. 

A new day, and a different put-in, down a steep bank from the carpark below Coille na Glas-Leitre. There are some excellent waymarked trails running through the woods and into the Beinn Eighe NNR from here, which I would explore when I got off the water. But now, I wanted to get afloat. The day was greyer than yesterday, and the forecast not as favourable, a band of wind and rain expected mid-afternoon. 

I wanted to explore the interlaced channels of the delta where the Kinlochewe River flowed into the loch. This area always caught my eye on the map, but it looked like a pig to reach on foot. By boat, it was a short paddle along the shore to reach the top of the loch. 

The first channel lead close to Taagan farm then quickly petered out but gave a flavour for the area.

The view down the loch really emphasised just how big Loch Maree is – easy to forget when navigating the watery maze amongst the islands. 

The landscape was very different too, birch, alder, stunted oaks and grass in contrast to the Caledonian wildwood of the islands. It had an impermanent feel. One good flood would alter the map completely. 

The main channel starts wide and deep but quickly shallows and braids. I worked my way upstream to a substantial shingle bar. There is a cross-Scotland route described in the ‘Paddle Scotland’ guide that travels this way – it would be quite a challenge following the river up Glen Docherty.

Further north there were some more fairly large channels, which looked like remnants of previous river courses. The woods here looked more established, though the trees were bent and battered by the wind. 

I picked my way up one of these until tree fall blocked passage. 

As I turned back downstream, sidelight brought the scene to life. 

I could see my starting point on the far shore, but conditions were holding, and I wanted to explore further before I turned back. 

The pedestrian access route to Slioch runs along the northeast shore of the loch here, having detoured some distance upstream to cross the river at Incheril, before turning uphill after crossing the Abhainn an Fhasaigh

There are earthworks and the remains of iron works marked on the map, and the embankment is easily seen form the water. I went ashore here to explore a little on foot and managed to identify the iron works amongst the bracken. 

A short distance further on an ancient site – Clad nan Sassunach – is marked. Being a Sassenach myself, I thought I should try to find it. The area was heavily overgrown with bracken and thorns, but an earthwork of sorts could still be made out. The name translates as ‘the Sassenachs’ graveyard’. Local tradition has it that the interred were workers from the iron works, lowland Scots or English brought in to work one of the first industrial ironworks in Scotland, though archaeology suggests the graveyard is much older.

Regardless, the gravel beach shelved gently into the water and made a comfortable lounger on which to stretch out and enjoy some refreshments. 

Although sorely tempted, I didn’t linger too long. That approaching weather front was on my mind, and I didn’t want to be on the wrong side of the loch when it arrived. That said, the cloud base was still high, and I reckoned I had a couple of hours grace. Plenty of time to go a bit further.

The shoreline quickly became quite inhospitable as I continued northward, cliffs bulging muscularly from the water’s edge. The old postal path runs between these cliffs and the next rise that continues straight up to the summit of Slioch – a hard paper round indeed!

A small stream, the Allt Smiorasair, tumbled prettily into the loch. 

I decided I would continue to the next headland, Rubha a’Ghuithais, which marked a narrow point in the loch, and cross back to the south side there. 

In fact, when I reached that point, it was easier to do a long wind ferry to return directly to my embarkation point, the wind and waves being such that I could just paddle straight, letting the wind hold my bow on line. There’s something satisfying about finding that balance point, the miles sliding under your keel as you keep the rhythm. 

I emerged from that trance-like state as I neared the far shore. Looking back I could just make out the headland about three kilometres distant down the loch. 

Under the heights of Beinn Eighe and close by the shore once more, I was once more afloat on a mirror. 

On the opposite shore, the afternoon sun caught the cliffs of Beinn a’Mhuinidh as I put ashore. 

Two vey contrasting days on the same body of water, and I still feel it has more to offer. I will be back.