Scotland: Loch Lomond Multi Day Trip

I’m a prolific wild camper. The feeling of remoteness, isolation and freedom is hard to beat, but one of the best things about it that few people ever mention is the spontaneity it allows: when you don’t need to book accommodation, taking a trip somewhere wonderful can be done with very little planning ahead. And so it was that I asked my partner “Would you mind looking after the cats next week? I want to go up to Scotland for a few days”, and that was that.

Having visited Loch Lomond briefly last April en route to my expedition around the Isle of Bute, I’d been keen to return and explore the islands that I’d seen lying tantalisingly just offshore. Keen also to avoid the hordes that no doubt descend on the area (and ruin it) in the warmer months, I figured a trip up whilst the UK was still in the grip of winter would be my best bet for some peace and quiet!

I spent an afternoon stuffing dry bags with my gear, water, food and other essentials. With the forecast showing varied conditions, hovering around temps of around 0-5ºC for the duration of my planned three nights, I took along some of my more durable and winter-worthy equipment. For my fellow gear nerds, the basics were:

• P&H Cetus MV custom kayak
• Celtic Omega 650 paddle
• Select XTR bent shaft 590 paddle as spare splits on deck
• Kokatat Odyssey drysuit
• Astral Brewer paddling shoes
• Peak UK Explorer PFD
• Garmin InReach Messenger satellite communicator
• Hilleberg Allak 2 tent and footprint
• Mountain Equipment Helium 600 sleeping bag
• Sea to Summit Thermolite Reactor sleeping bag liner
• Big Agnes Rapide SL Insulated Wide sleeping mat
• Thermarest Z-Lite Sol closed cell foam mat for extra insulation from the ground
• Sea to Summit Aeros Premium Pillow
• Jetboil Minimo stove
• Robens Lumberjack wood stove and kindling
• Thermarest inflatable sitting pad

In hindsight I regret not also bringing along one of my Hilleberg tarps, as cooking would have been easier with the tarp pitched in the on-and-off rain that permeated the first few days. Lesson learned!

I arrived on a sunny afternoon, and parked up in the village at Luss, where I’d already pre-paid for four days of parking for £36 via the site’s parking app. Luss also has the advantage of having clean public toilets (costing a reasonable 50p a visit), and a very decent cafe/shop along with a petrol station to refuel before heading to the motorway and its expensive services stops.

Being a Thursday in February, the car park was virtually empty upon arrival, and I managed to get the ideal parking bay right alongside the path leading down to the beach. I unloaded my kayak, wheeled it down to the beach, and packed all my equipment into it, having already roughly weighed everything out and allocated it all to specific hatches to ensure I maintained good trim whilst underway. As I launched and warmed myself up by paddling a kilometre or so north, a rainbow appeared over the water, a fitting start to what would be a fantastic few days.

I’d already roughly planned where I’d stay each night by studying OS maps of the area and satellite imagery. I knew I wanted to spend my first night on the island of Inchmoan, which has some appealing stretches of sandy beaches; unsurprisingly, being winter the water level was quite high, covering much of this sand but both the northern and southern sides of the island did nevertheless have more than enough sand for a bit of a “beach experience”.

I pitched up along the northern end, in a quiet bay formed between Inchmoan, Inchcruin and Inchconnachan. The water was smooth and glassy as the sun was lowering in the sky, and the sandy shoreline and gentle slope from the water to the land made landing faff-free; I’d previously had some trepidation about handling my fully-laden Cetus by myself, as I’ve previously always been with at least one other person when doing multi-day camping with my kayak, but in the end I found that using the water to hold the weight, unloading the hatches strategically and using log rollers at times got the job done.

It rained on and off throughout that first evening, heavy at times, the pitter patter of the drops a pleasant soundtrack as I cooked dinner and settled in for the night. Apart from the birds and a few deer strolling nearby, there was no sign of any other life on the island. Sadly the evening was incredibly cloudy so there was no sunset to speak of, but dawn the next morning was quite something, with absolutely mirror-like water and just a lightly cloud-dappled sky ablaze with the peachy tones of sunrise as I packed up my camp and prepared to leave. As idyllic as my spot was, I chose to move my campsite each day to reduce my impact on each area. After double-checking to ensure I’d not accidentally left anything behind, I launched back into the small bay.

I decided to paddle back across to Luss to check on my car and get a hot roll at the cafe, paddling up through the narrow winding channel between Inchconnachan and Inchtavannach, keeping an eye out for the wild wallabies that live on Inchconnachan, having been imported by an eccentric woman in the 1940s. Sadly they’re evidently shy creatures! Or just spitefully selfish about having their photos taken. There was plenty of birdlife to keep me interested though, and the heavily wooded shorelines along here are really lovely.

The hours easily pass when you’re sightseeing from the water, and I spent the whole morning and afternoon just cruising around the shores of Inchlonaig, Inchcruin, Inchmoan and Inchtavannach, as well as heading out to the tiny islet of Inchgalbraith, which has the crumbling remnants of Clan Galbraith’s stronghold still standing upon it; it amusingly reminded me of the Castle Argh in Monty Python’s Holy Grail. I found myself wondering what the area must feel like in the warmer months when I know many visitors descend upon it; sadly, the telltale signs of humanity are all too frequently encountered along these shorelines in the form of discarded plastic, bottles, and other litter. I struggle to fathom why people litter anywhere, even more so in a place of such astonishing beauty as this. I picked up as much litter as I could over the duration of my visit but it was impossible to stop and collect everything I saw, especially as a lot of the shoreline is too steep and rocky to safely land.

For my second night, I chose a spot on the northern shore of Inchconnachan, picked for its very fine view down the loch, and, admittedly, faint hopes of a wallaby sighting.

It had been snowing quite a bit on the hills and peaks surrounding the loch throughout the early afternoon, and with the air very frigid by early evening, it was time to whip out the Lumberjack stove and warm my weary bones, carefully placing the stove on flat stones to reduce any chance of leaving scorch marks.

Because Inchconnachan is heavily wooded with tall trees, it’s home to an evidently large owl population, whose mournful hooting provided a restful soundtrack to the night. To my annoyance however, despite hearing much snuffling and scuffling around my tent in the wee hours, and discovering numerous wallaby tracks all over my campsite in the morning, there was still no sight of the actual blighters. Damn it.

After returning once more to Luss to leave some items in my car that I reckoned I wasn’t going to use, I happily spent the day just paddling around the southern end of the loch again, circling around the islands and challenging myself to mini crossings (until recently I’ve had quite a lot of fear about crossing deep water, so I enjoy challenging myself to do it now and see how it makes me feel). With barely any wind throughout the morning and afternoon, the loch surface was mesmerisingly mirror-like, making for a very atmospheric day, especially as it would occasionally get a little misty.

The previous day I’d come across two chaps camping on Inchconnachan with a Canadian canoe; we’d chatted quite a bit and they’d said they’ve leave me some firewood in their site once they’d left. Sure enough, when I returned to their site, which was really just a few hundred meters to the west of where I’d spent the previous night, to pitch up for my third night, they had indeed left me a generous amount of wood that I split into smaller pieces to use in my stove. This was the coldest night so far and I had several cups of hot chocolate while tending to my little fire.

This was the only night where I almost fully sealed up my tent, as the air was positively glacial. I also had to stuff several Thaw heat patches down my clothes and into my sleeping bag, before zipping myself in for the night.

With the local owl chorus in full performance once again, I actually found this the most restful night of my trip, despite the cold. The wind had turned northerly, and the lapping of the water on the shore a few yards away with extremely relaxing. As before, there was plenty of shuffling around my tent in the wee hours, but once again, the wallabies themselves eluded sight.

By Sunday morning, the northerly wind had picked up the water quite a bit; despite being only a Beaufort Force 2 wind, the length of the loch has enough fetch to kick up some fun rolling wavelets which made my time on the water throughout the morning extremely enjoyable with its very sea-like bounce. Between the islands themselves the water was still glassy and smooth, however, and I took the opportunity to go on a “greatest hits” tour of my previous nights’ campsites before returning back across the bouncy bay to Luss and preparing to leave.

There was a large group of women bravely swimming at Luss beach, who were quite curious about me and my experience over the previous few days. I explained that, as a solo female, I’m far safer camping out in the islands (and hills and woodlands, for that matter), that I am walking home after dark in many cities. Encouraging other women to confront and hopefully dispel their fears and anxieties and go on adventures of their own is something I feel very strongly about, and I hope that the few women who said they’d definitely try wild camping for themselves will indeed do so.

Driving back home via the Lake District for another day of paddling was a bittersweet feeling. I dearly love Scotland; my one grandmother was an Erskine, a clan hailing from the Glasgow area, and I do genuinely feel a connection to the area. Scotland’s rugged beauty and wildnerness blow me away every time I visit. Although winter camping demands a certain level of gear, I would highly recommend visiting Loch Lomond in the colder, quieter months to truly appreciate its pristine charm.