After reading the article by Adrian Lewis Evans, in issue No 137, on, amongst other things, multihulls and outriggers, I would like to pass on my experience with an outrigger canoe.

Whilst still a teenager in 1957, I built a wood and canvas PBK 14 Sesqui canoe. I modified the original design by increasing the length to 15’ 6” then adding leeboards, sails and a rudder to Percy Blandford’s design, sailed her with some success on the Norfolk Broads and Lake District.

In the summer of 1958, I designed and fitted a wood and canvas outrigger, then with my mate Dave ‘Jacko’ Jackson, set off for Scotland and some salt water cruising.

Monday 14th July. Fort William — Corran Narrows. Distance 6 miles. Dull, wind west, force 1.

We arrived at Fort William early in the day, set up camp on the beach — now a car park, I believe — had lunch and spent the rest of the afternoon sightseeing. We assembled ‘Calypso’ in the early evening, struck camp, packed up, slid the canoe over the wet shingle into the loch, and set off south. There was no wind, so we dug our paddles into the grey water with the sailing gear stowed. It was an overcast evening with the hanging damp mountains that surround the loch looming over the mist-clad shores, it gave an impression of gloom that we were glad to leave behind. After a long paddle through the glassy waters we landed on the east shore, just north of the Corran Narrows. We had not tested the new rig properly yet, but one thing was clear: it was out of the question to use the double paddles with the outrigger in place, as the blades struck the outrigger beams. Progress was only possible by using just one half of the jointed paddles over the clear, starboard side.

We found with our chosen camping spot, as we were to find with other places round Loch Linnhe, that there was little in the way of good camping ground close to the water as there was hardly any soil in which to put a tent peg: just shingle with the odd weed growing through. We cooked supper on a fire of driftwood and turned in.

Tuesday 15th July. Corran Narrows — Ballachulish. Distance 6 miles. Sunny, wind west, force 1.

We rose late, grinned at the sun, had a large breakfast, packed up and pushed the canoe into the blue loch. It was quite late in the morning and the flood was running through the narrows at about three knots. We could only make progress by keeping close to the shore using paddles, but we soon gave it up. We landed and went for a stroll until the tide eased off, leaving the canoe well above the high water mark.

From a hill overlooking the narrows we could see Lismore Island, twenty miles to the south, floating in the great expanse of the southern end of Loch Linnhe; bathed in sunlight the island looked grand. We returned to the beach. The tide was still too strong, so we towed the boat using long lines from the shore. As soon as we reached open water, we were able to board, and with a little help from the engine room we were able to make good progress. Once we started to go round the headland at Rubha (Cuil-Cheanna) we could dispense with the paddles as we came onto a reach and sailed properly for the first time. The boat sailed as if on rails, terrific! What a relief: all those calculations to determine the wind pressure on the sails, that gave the forces acting on the float, that allowed us to determine its volume and position etc. etc — it all worked, it all worked! Before we had a chance to take it all in, we were on a run and fast approaching the shingle beach between Onich and North Ballachulish, our camp for the night. With about fifty yards to go, we came to a halt surrounded by kelp, stuck fast; not to worry, we stepped out and found that without much effort we could tow Calypso over the weed-covered boulders and shingle like a sledge. We were soon sitting outside our trusty little tent, tucking into Spam and beans.

Wednesday 16th July. North Ballachulish — Loch Laich. Distance 12 miles. Sunny, wind east, force 2.

With the wind funnelling down Loch Leven behind us, we sped away from the beach in fine style running along at about four knots, the fastest we would ever sail on the whole trip. All of a sudden the steering went limp — the rudder was controlled by two wooden rods that pushed or pulled the headstock. I could see that the rudder had come adrift because I had not locked in the pintle. Luckily, because the boat was so stiff due to the outrigger, I was able to crawl round the mizzen and lock the headstock back in place. In no time we were heading south down Loch Linnhe on a broad reach, passing the headland at Rubha Mor and on to the Sound of Shuna. We had been sailing against the flood of about one knot for most of the afternoon and it wasn’t until about four o’clock that we passed slowly through Shuna Sound on a gentle breeze and into Loch Laich. Loch Laich is like a Hollywood film set. We saw it at its best, with a gentle east breeze on a hot sunny afternoon, wafting the heavy scent of pine toward us, against a backdrop of forest and blue sky, with, centre stage, Castle Stalker — then a ruin; I believe it has now been restored. The breeze faded as we drew level with the castle. We dropped sail and continued with paddles. Picking our way between the floating clumps of kelp, we made our way into the southern arm of the loch and came ashore on its eastern shore. Here the pine trees came down almost to the water’s edge leaving a small beach of fine shingle. That evening after finishing off the remainder of our food — we had not eaten since breakfast. We walked into Port Appin, refilled our water bottles and sat on the jetty and contemplated the trip we would be making to the western shore of Loch Linnhe.

A few notes on the construction of ‘Calypso’.

I was most careful to follow Percy Blandford’s advice, taking great care to pull the 18 oz canvas tight along the hog and up to the gunwale when putting in the copper tacks. It was a hot day when we put on the canvas which greatly helped to eliminate creases. I was amazed at just how tight the canvas skin went over a period of days, after we had painted it with “Valspar”. I made the sails out of rayon, a bad choice as it allowed too much air to pass through and it held creases. All fixings were chrome-plated brass. All metal fittings were varnished brass plate or alloy. The spars were of Ramin — spruce or hemlock would have been better. The leeboards were fashioned out of Parana pine and worked perfectly. The outrigger float was constructed on the same principle as the canoe hull, using a lighter weight of canvas. The outrigger beams were of 2” x 1½” varnished Parana, secured to the cockpit coaming using 3/8” steel hookbolts and brass wing nuts, as was the leeboard beam, so that the whole lot could be unshipped and ditched in an emergency. Slung between the outrigger beams we fixed a leatherette pannier, laced up to keep out the spray, in which we carried our water containers, pots, pans, cooker paraffin, ropes and tent. The combined weight of the outrigger float and pannier was about 40 lbs. The float could support about 250 lbs. I am glad to say we never had any failure with gear or canoe.

Thursday 17 July. Loch Laich — southern tip of Morvern. Distance 24 miles. Sunny, wind southwest force 2.

We rose early, packed up and walked Calypso through the shallows to the castle, where we found sufficient depth of water to board and paddle out into Loch Linnhe. We did not attempt to hoist the sails and beat against the breeze as we knew that Calypso did not sail close to the wind. We paddled into Port Appin on the last of the ebb, shopped, ate and set off on a broad reach for the northern tip of Lismore at slack water. We rounded the islands and skirted the rocks to the north of Port Ramsay.

On the crossing to Morvern we saw a school of porpoises following one another in short curving leaps; they never came closer than about fifty yards, pity. As we came closer to the shore we found ourselves in the middle of a flock of dive bombing gannets, hitting the water with great force but without catching any fish.

We landed on a deserted beach and set off on foot to explore. We found an abandoned farmhouse by a stream in a small glen close to the sea, with crops in a little field gone to seed. The buildings were in perfect condition — very sad.

We took our time as we paddled south close inshore, passing by some of the most beautiful coast on the trip. Wooded shores with mountains behind. Streams rushing over pebble beaches, cliffs and coves. We landed near Rubha An Ridire where a waterfall bounced through a tiny glen, and pitched our tent in a clearing in the pines.

Friday 18th July. Southern tip of Morvern — Salen, Isle of Mull. Distance 12 miles. Sunny, wind south force 1.

We started the day with a plunge and scrub in the pool beneath the waterfall. After breakfast, we launched Calypso down the steep pebble beach and paddled the short distance to Rubha An Ridire. As soon as we rounded the headland we hoisted sail and had a most relaxed cruise on the flood, up the Sound of Mull. As we sailed through the calm waters, Dave dropped a long line over the side of the boat, baited with silver paper. He did not catch any fish, but we were amazed to see just how clear the sea was. Looking down through the pale green water, we could see the silver paper clear down to the end of the weighted fifty foot line.

In the afternoon we landed next to a ruined jetty on a low lying stretch of heather east of Salen. This was a perfect camping spot — close cropped turf on flat springy ground twixt sea and town. Watched by small boys and large rabbits, we soon had camp set up, and went for a stroll after a tea of toast and beans.

On our return Dave leant against the stone wall of a croft and chatted to some of the soft-spoken locals who were most interested in the ‘wee boat’. It was then that I decided to catch one of the many rabbits that lived on the heath. With my superior speed and cunning, it should not have been a difficult task. Running flat out this way and that, back and forth across the heath, I fell exhausted by the tent. When I regained my normal breathing, I remarked that I had not realised that rabbits were good at sports and games. Before we turned in, Dave informed me that “if rabbits could not outwit people, there would be no rabbits”.

Saturday 19th July. Salen — Tobermory. Distance 9 miles. Sunny, wind southwest force 2-3.

Once clear of Salen Bay, we picked up a respectable speed and reached up the sound in fine style. There were the usual sea birds, seals, etc. to keep us amused. There was a bit of a chop on the water, but Calypso cut through it without much fuss. A large cutter of about ten tons, sailing down the sound, came over to have a look at us. They gave us a cheer and a wave as they sped past. Apart from fishing vessels and ferry boats, the cutter was the only boat we saw under way during the whole trip.

At about noon, we were sailing slowly through the channel between the main island and Calve Island when we came to a stop. We were aground some distance from the shore so we took the opportunity to step out and stretch our limbs. Thus relieved of much weight and therefore of greatly reduced displacement, Calypso set off on her own, heading for deep water with me in pursuit. I managed to stop her by diving full length and holding on to the rudder. Be warned, friend: never step out of a light craft in shallows, with sails set, in anything of a breeze. Unless you can maintain a speed of at least four knots, running in knee-deep water, barefoot, over a mixed bottom of soft sand, rocks and weed. When I regained my composure, we continued to Tobermory.

We landed on the mud and shingle beach just on the south side of the stone jetty and set off to explore the town for a place to pitch our tent. We found nothing to the south of the harbour, so we set off along the narrow path that wandered through the trees close to the shore to the north of the town. After a hundred yards or so we found a flattish area just big enough to take our little tent, between the footpath and high tide rocks. It was a devil of a job heaving Calypso up the slippery weed covered rocks that made up the foreshore, onto our precarious pitch.

We did not sleep soundly that night, for one had visions of us being swept off our perch by one of the waves that every now and then I could hear rushing up the beach toward us. Calypso was all right: she was tied to a tree.

Sunday 20th July. Tobermory — Camas Fearna. Distance 6 miles. Sunny, wind west force 2.

Morning came with the rising sun streaming into the tent. I popped my head out and looked down at a friendly sea, that, judging by the high tide mark, had not come within twenty foot of us during the night.

After breakfast we walked along the path toward the lighthouse north of the town to get a better view of the seaward end of Loch Sunnart. When planning the trip, Dave and I decided that at this point, facing a wide stretch of water that would be open to the Atlantic, we would take care not to set off in conditions too severe for us.

There were a small number of white clouds in an otherwise blue sky. The breeze was steady from the west, sea conditions were moderate, there was a chop on the water but no waves except out by Auliston Point, two miles along our chosen track. We both agreed that it was on.

Eager to get underway whilst conditions were good, we struck camp in record time, sledged the boat over the weeds and into the sea, hoisted sail and sped off on a run across the sound. At Auliston Point the moderate wave formation was breaking, no doubt due to the swell moving in from the Atlantic as we had cleared the shelter of Mull. Now and then the boat would surf forward; each time the prow of the hull and float would dip slightly under, but this was not a problem.

As we entered the shallow bay of Camas Fearna, we looked over the side at the sandy bottom and saw that it was alive with Hermit crabs. We came to rest on the gently sloping shingle beach after a most enjoyable sail. We were very pleased with ourselves. We pitched the tent on a level grassy area by the road that skirted the beach, had a snack and went to climb Beinn Bhuidhe.

A couple of hours saw us at the top of the mountain, 900 ft above sea level. To the east of us there was a herd of deer, with a great stag watching over it, head held high. He must have caught our scent, because he suddenly ran off with the herd in pursuit. We sat on the mountain for a while taking in the magnificent view. It is difficult to describe in just a few words. There was an enormous sky, a darker tone of blue overhead to a paler blue at the horizon. I have never seen so much of our planet before. The Atlantic was to the west; to the east, Morven and the mountains of Appin. To the South was the whole of the Isle of Mull, with Ben More sticking up in the centre. We could see for thirty miles in any direction.

It was late afternoon when we arrived back at the tent and would have been time for tea if we had any food, but the shops had been closed in Tobermory. By an amazing stroke of good fortune, and as a demonstration of the generous nature of the folk in the Western Isles, a small van drew up by the tent just as the sun was setting in a fiery sky. The driver came over and chatted to us about our canoe and our journey. When he learnt that we had no food and could not even offer him a mug of tea, he said that he would “nip” home to fetch us a bite to eat and that it would be no trouble at all. We were just about to turn in, when the little van returned. The chap came over and gave us half a pound of butter, a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk, a pot of jam and some tea. We had a job persuading him to take any payment and he had just driven to Salen and back for our supper, a round trip of about fifteen miles....!

Monday 21st July. Camas Fearma — Salen. Distance 8 miles. Sunny, wind southwest force 2-3.

After breakfast of tea, bread and jam, we packed up and sailed out on a broad reach across the bay and into Loch Sunnart proper. This is as beautiful a sea loch as you will find. Perfect for the light sailing craft. As with nearly all lochs, the south facing shore is the most pleasant with greater flora. The seaward end of the loch is full of islands of various shapes and sizes that cuts down its navigable width — from a mile and a half, to about four hundred yards.

It was still early in the morning and there was weak ebb flowing in the channel between the Isle of Carna and the northern shore of the loch. Calypso almost sailed herself up the loch toward Salen, only the lightest pressure was required now and then on the windward steering rod. We sailed close to the northern shore of the loch. I have not been back since, but this I remember: we were the only vessel of any description that we could see on our trip up the loch that day!

Shortly after midday, as we turned north into Salen Bay, the wind dropped, so we stowed the sails and paddled up to the town, clustered round the head of a stony creek. We could not find a beach and took our time choosing a spot to land. No sooner had we stepped onto the road that hugged the creek than an elderly gent with a beaming face, came over to us from a nearby cottage and in no time at all Dave and I were sat round his kitchen table, drinking tea that was strong enough to raise the dead. Angus, our host, was a retired postman, and insisted that we pitch our tent on his lawn. Angus had put his great black kettle on the stove as soon as he saw “the wee yacht” enter the bay.

Later that evening, as Dave and I sat in the public bar of the local hotel, I asked one of the locals at what time the bar shut. He lent forward, screwed up one eye, then tapping on the side of his nose informed me that “there was no need to worry at all, as the local police force is sitting by the door and he likes a drink as well as the next man”.

We found out, after the copper in plain clothes had left the bar, that he was following the shifty-eyed owners of a large red American Ford Galaxy parked in front of the hotel, that were thought to be out for a spot of informal salmon fishing by moonlight.

Tuesday 22nd July. Salen — Ceanna Garbh, Loch Shiel. Distance 8 miles. Dull, wind north force 2-3.

We rose early and ate a breakfast of bacon and a mug of strong tea prepared by Angus, after which he showed us how to find and cook mussels. We took our leave of Salen, mid-morning. Angus wished us “fair weather and good fortune” for the rest of our trip — he was a gentleman.

With Calypso strapped onto her trolley, we set off up the road to Ardshealach and Loch Shiel. The portage was one of about two miles, climbing about 100 feet. The trolley was a simple affair, with pram wheels, as big as we could fit without them rubbing the canvas hull. We soon got into a routine of one pulling, whilst the other, using a short stern rope, kept the boat parallel with the tarmac and watched the trolley.

We found a good footpath just outside Ardshealach that took us to the loch side. We had an excellent lunch, having bought great quantities of food in Salen, launched the boat and set off on a reach up the loch.

The area reminded us of the Lake District, with pasture by the loch side and rounded green hills all around. After an hour or so the fields had given way to pine-clad rugged hills. We came upon a magical spot, where the loch narrowed to the proportions of a river and the island of Eilean Fhianain seemed to block our progress. We sailed slowly past and into a wide section of the loch, picking up a good breeze and sailing on a close reach to a fern-covered headland called Ceanna Garbh. With sails stowed, we paddled close to the south shore of the loch until we reached a stream and a nice level grassy area for the tent. We went to sleep by the dying embers of a pine log fire.

Wednesday 23rd July. Ceanna Garbh — Scamodale, Loch Shiel. Distance 5 miles. Sunny, wind north force 2.

We rose late, spent a long time over breakfast and inspected the boat. No damage, but we did find that the trolley wheels had in fact rubbed through the paint on both bilges, exposing raw canvas; due, we assumed, to the boat moving about on the trolley. We launched the boat in the late morning and with the help of the paddle now and then managed to sail close hauled up the loch. Loch Shiel put us in mind of Lake Windermere, being of similar shape, size and setting. The big difference being the almost complete lack of human habitation, save for a couple of bikers that gave us a wave near the Isle of Eilean Fhainain. We never saw another soul for the three days on the loch, until we reached the northern end. We covered about five miles, when we saw a cottage near the loch shore at Scamodale. We landed on a good shingle beach and walked through a small field to the cottage. The front door opened when we lifted the latch. Inside was bare save for a table and two chairs. From old newspapers found in a cupboard, we estimated that the previous occupancy had ended about seven months earlier. We made ourselves at home. Others had been there before us, hikers glad of shelter. We added our thanks in a note and placed it with others that had been left on the mantle. We lit a fire in the grate and were pleased to find that we soon had hot water in which to shave.

Thursday 24th July. Scamodale — North end Loch Shiel. Distance 7 miles. Sunny, showers, wind north force 2.

After breakfast, we explored the overgrown garden, orchard and outbuildings; then packed up and set sail on a track north toward the Prince Charles Monument. The cottage was opposite Glen Aladale, the steep sides of which were in the order of 1500 ft high. Before we had a chance to settle down, a great blast of air came down the glen, across the loch, churning up the water as it rushed toward us. We just had time to show the wind our stern as it hit us. Calypso set off at a sharp pace, with the mast bending and the shrouds singing. But before we had a chance to worry, all was calm again. On the trip north this sudden blast of wind hit us several times. Never lasting for more than a few seconds. On reaching the top of the loch, we turned by Charlie’s monument and sailed into the Callop river. After a pleasant sail between the reed lined shores we landed on a bank of fine shingle where the river meets the road to Loch Eil. The river here was only about twenty feet wide. For the rest of the day we explored the area then turned in.

Friday 25th July. North Loch Shiel — Fort William. Distance 13 miles. Sunny, wind east force 2.

Early morning found us heaving Calypso up the five foot high river bank onto the road. We soon had everything lashed onto the trolley and were on our way. The portage to Loch Eil was about three miles on a fairly level road and was an easy walk. We gained access to the loch by taking a right hand fork, passing under a railway bridge and launching off the south bank of the loch after lunch. We were dead into wind, so we paddled the whole distance to Fort William, taking turns of about fifteen minutes each.

Our cruise ended, where it had started. The smell of fish and chips wafted down from the town, so we hurried off to treat ourselves. On our return, we found that we had been robbed: the paddles had gone. Yes, we had returned to normal.

I never sailed Calypso again. I suppose the trip had supplied enough to last me a long time. She was stored in dad’s garage until I sold her later to help Connie and I set up home.

After all these years I can look back at those halcyon times and take a dispassionate view of Calypso’s qualities. On the plus side, she was cheap, light, stable, fun and of such modest draft that where a duck could swim she could sail. On the debit side she was awkward to paddle, did not sail close to the wind and was rather cramped. I don’t know if she could ever have been developed into a distinct ‘type’; probably not.