I always say that in Caithness you really need to make the most of the rare fine days, but then usually fail to do so myself. Having watched three wonderfully calm days pass, by the time I got out for a paddle on Loch Watten the weather was breaking. Dark clouds massed at the far end of the loch. I paddled slowly out into a rising wind and my progress became slower and slower as rain sheeted towards me. If you can keep the boat moving forward it naturally turns into the wind and waves, but once the wind gets above force six I don’t have the strength. With sleety rain stinging the eyes and the wind now well into force seven I was moving backwards; the boat went sideways onto the waves and there was nothing for it but to turn and head rapidly back to the shore.

With difficulty I relaunched the boat after being washed up on the bank, hoping to creep slowly westward. The wind was now relenting a bit and in a brief lull after the squall I even managed to cross the loch to the old boathouse halfway along the northern shore. Passengers on the Wick-bound train, if there were any, would have wondered what anyone was doing out on the loch on such a windy day.

Gallery1

But it was wonderfully fresh, and bright, clouds scudding across a blue sky, face masks and Covid a million miles away. White horses speeded me back to the end of loch but it was bitterly cold for changing and getting the boat back onto the roof of the car.

Quiet days for sea-kayaking are indeed rare at this time of year. A week earlier, a mere force four from the south gave a chance for a late autumn dander round the Kyle of Tongue. Provided the tide is coming in (or you may end up stranded on the mudflats) the upper kyle gives a good trip in relatively safe water when the open sea can be too wild.

Even so, it was quite choppy as I paddled across from the bridge towards the ruin of Caisteal Bharraich on its rocky knoll just west of Tongue, no doubt watched by a dozen pairs of binoculars from the white houses of the village! Once tucked under the steep slopes there was some shelter from the wind. It’s then a lovely paddle southward for a couple of miles below wooded and craggy slopes with a surprisingly wild feel to them. Few visit the little stony bays, though no more than a couple of miles from the village.

You’re heading up into the mountains, the precipitous slopes of Ben Loyal to the left with Ben Hope rising into the cloud to the right beyond Kinloch. Progress was slow with the wind funnelling down the kyle into my face, and I could see a haze of approaching rain.

Some may like the adrenaline of risk but I prefer to be somewhere safe, and however strong the wind there was little hazard in pottering slowly southwards enjoying the freedom of the paddle. There was no need to fight all the way to Kinloch at the far end of the kyle; I simply let the wind take me across to the western side. The rain had come and gone, the weather was clearing but the wind was still blustery. I could enjoy the choppy paddle back to the causeway knowing that the worst that could happen was that I’d be blown ashore and could then easily walk back down the road to the car.

I’d timed it to pass under the bridge as the tide was turning, so avoiding any rough water caused by wind against tide, and soon was back on land by the cemetery where I’d left the car. The main problem with winter paddling is that of getting the boat strapped back onto the car roof, usually a miserable business with cold wet hands in a freezing wind. All I need is for somebody to do that for me while I sit in a convenient warm coffee shop, and the day would be perfect!

Do you want to respond to this article? If so, click here to submit your thoughts and they may be published in print.