Making waves on River Thurso

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Perhaps I sit by the fire with a bottle of whisky and make it all up.

Or maybe, in reality, it’s my wife who does all the outdoor stuff and I just do the writing, cutting the distances and speeds by half of course or everyone would think I’m exaggerating.

Truth is, sometimes I just haven’t done anything particularly exciting. Sometimes it’s just been a case of relaxing outings in well-known places. I can’t really write about walking round Dunnet Head again.

Well, it was interesting to see how quickly the several square miles destroyed by fire are regenerating with probably at least a hundred million new little heather plants coming up.

And good to see that the otters have not been deterred from taking their little path from the sea, climbing steeply up the slopes of Ashy Geo and then heading on through the heather and rushes to the lochs.

And work in the wood needs to be done, and takes time from getting out anywhere else and is, well, work in the wood.

Cutting down leaning trees, cutting up fallen trees, gathering and stacking or burning brashings, planting new seedlings, trailering logs… one year much like the next.

But nice to see how the dead trees I’ve left standing, where the top has snapped off in a gale, are now being used as lookout posts by buzzards. And very encouraging to see some of the trees planted a few years ago now taller than me, with others beginning to burst out of their sheltering tubes.

And how many times have I cycled round Scarfskerry and John O’Groats and Freswick? Well, in December it’s always good to make the most of daylight even on such an ordinary trip, to remind oneself of the beauty of low afternoon sun gleaming red on the cliffs of the Berry, across the firth. Or of the quiet beach at Scotland‘s Haven, with grey seals lying out on the rocks and other heads bobbing in the water.

Or of Stroma, suddenly illuminated in a patch of sunlight, or to watch the Merry Men of Mey becoming wilder and whiter as the ebb tide builds against a strong westerly. Or to climb up onto Warth Hill and look across the land of big sky to distant Spittal Hill and remember how this was a key stage in the Ordnance Survey triangulation of Britain – when men measured, on foot, the exact distance in a straight line between the two triangulation points to check that all the previous measurements and calculations were correct.

The ruins of Bleachfield close to the River Thurso‘s bank.

And to think how a few, against the wishes of the vast majority of local residents, wish to destroy this landscape with expensive, largely useless wind farms for the sake of the proverbial 30 pieces of silver.

Just one new thing I did, though hardly adventurous. The River Thurso, beyond some minor rapids at Halkirk, flows gently down the valley to Thurso, a passage which I’d been meaning to paddle for a while. I’d bought a new toy, a little river kayak, designed to cope with real white water.

Rivers can be graded on a scale of one to six, grade one being really smooth and easy and six being the limit of possibility with waterfalls and steep rapids. My new boat would, in the hands of a skilled paddler, happily cope with grade four. I have no intention whatsoever of ever doing anything beyond a grade two, and the northern stretch of the River Thurso is certainly no more than a nice grade one! Indeed the main difficulty of a river trip is organising it. First I had to wheel and drag the boat down, across the fields, to the river below Halkirk (not wishing to attempt the faster-flowing section at Halkirk on a first trip). Leave the boat, return to the car, drive down to Thurso with a bike on the roof, leave the car at the seafront, cycle all the way back, leave the bike and walk down to the boat – making sure I have all my gear such as paddle, buoyancy aid, waterproof bib, cagoule and spraydeck and get kitted up in the cold, late November, wind. (The fishing season largely rules out summer trips).

By now I’m feeling rather silly, equipped with over £1000 worth of gear to tackle a stretch of river which could probably be safely done in a £20 inflatable from Tesco. Having often smiled at those hill-walkers who set up some gentle Lake District fell on a nice day with more and better quality gear than Mallory and Irvine had when attempting Everest, I hope nobody is watching.

The trip took no more than a couple of hours, less than all the shuttling back and forth with car and bike. But it was a lovely, relaxing paddle along a stretch of river I’ve often walked. The boat is a tub, and it was hard work to paddle the flat stretches of river against a strong wind, however, for much of the way the river flows at a reasonable speed, and it was good to make fast progress here with little effort.

The recent floods had been high, very high, there was even debris washed up on the railway bridge, a foot below the track. I hope they weren’t running the trains then! A whooper swan swum away then took off, wings flapping against the water. Ducks quacked and took to the air. A shower blew over, heavy rain and hail bouncing in the water. Rounding the big bends by the ruins of Bleachfield, now approaching the town, I made sure to paddle to the bank at the salmon pool, not wishing to attempt the weir.

Back in the water below this obstacle, and the first time I’d ever travelled into Thurso via the river, paddling under the new cemetery footbridge and then on under the road bridge and out to the harbour.

The final stage of my little trip was to try the boat out in the sea, just enough surf to make it interesting, with surfers out at Thurso East. As you paddle round towards the beach you just have to watch that break off the end of the harbour where a big wave can suddenly rear up from nowhere. I surfed into the shore a couple of times before beaching the boat, pleased that I’d managed to keep dry for once.

Then to change clothes again, put the boat on the roof, drive back to pick up the bike. It’s a lot easier just to go for a walk or a cycle ride. But then I end up with nothing to write about… Yes, it was a lovely ride round Castletown this morning, in the grey light of dawn, to buy the papers, but when I’m doing no more than that, it will have been long past time to put away my keyboard!