Stroke play on the River Spey
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Active Outdoors correspondent Jenny Gillies has a rapid learning curve as she takes to the water in an open canoe on one of Scotland’s most popluar rivers
As the River Spey makes its mighty journey of 105 miles from the central Highlands to the Moray Firth it shapes the areas it passes through.
Speyside distilleries use the water to produce more spirit than any other whisky region in Scotland; it is a magnet for outdoor enthusiasts and tourists, and anglers pay princely sums to fish for salmon.
Seen beyond the tree-lined banks, the river is calm and mysterious in deep pools but active and alive in steeper fast-flowing sections.
Having run alongside the Spey many times and watched both wildlife and people on the river, I wanted to experience the view from the water myself.
I joined Dave Craig of paddling operator Spirit of the Spey for a day’s canoeing. Dave makes regular full descents of the river as a guide, infecting his clients with his enthusiasm for the river.
His other passion is whisky and we were introduced to history of the Speyside “water of life” at first hand as we journeyed down the river, passing distilleries and indulging in the odd dram at pertinent stops.
Our starting point for the day was Knockando, a tiny hamlet home to no fewer than three distilleries and, here on the riverbank, we were introduced to our craft for the day – three green, sleek Canadian canoes.
We began with some ground school and Dave introduced us to our “toolbox” of strokes. Supplies were then stowed, canoes pushed out onto the water and we used the eddies on either side of the river to practise what we’d just learned.
With two people to a canoe you work together; the person in the rear is responsible for steering and the person at the front is power and lookout – and tends to get soaked in rapids.
Judged suitably competent in the basics we set off down the river, our guide leading the way and the rest of the group’s canoes following like ducklings that had sampled the angels’ share. We soon encountered our first rapid, bracing and steering as best we could as the canoe bucked through the waves. You can’t afford to lose concentration as rocks are hard to spot and, once the current has taken you broadside to an obstacle, the “black hand of Lady Spey” reaches up to introduce you personally to the peaty water.
Communication is the key in the canoe, and this is certainly an extreme form of relationship counselling. Any disagreements are more than made up for by the joint feeling of exhilaration as you pop out the other side of a rapid and recover behind one of the many croys, Victorian platforms built as an aid to fishing.
As we paddled on, fishermen were ever present, casting hopefully into the dark pools in hope of catching the king of fish, a salmon. The is river so iconic in the fishing world it even has its own casting method – the Spey Cast is one that was developed to allow the angler to cast without the risk of the line being caught in the overhanging trees that lined the river banks.
The pagoda roofs of distilleries peeked up above verdant trees and we quietly cruised down the river watching as herons gracefully lifted off and then resettled to watch for prey in the water.
After a morning’s paddling we stopped at an idyllic stony beach just below the Carron distillery and bridge. We pulled the boats up onto the beach and enjoyed tea, coffee and cake in sunshine while listening to the rush of the rapid we’d just negotiated – who says the outdoor life has to be hard?
Back on the river, refreshed, we soon passed under the Victoria suspension bridge which marked our arrival in Aberlour. The river here is wide and easy to paddle and as we cruised gracefully downstream we listened to tales of historic ferry disasters and noted the amazing height the river reached during the Muckle Spate of the 19th century.
The next corner of the river brought us to one of the most famous landmarks on the river, the Telford bridge. Having seen the bridge from the road and rested on it after a run, I was really excited to be paddling beneath it, looking up at the revolutionary engineering ironwork above.
The excitement of the bridge must have got the better of us as, shortly after passing through Craigellachie, we had the first capsize of the trip. One upside was that the group had the chance to demonstrate we had remembered our capsize drills and, all righted and refloated, we set off again down the river.
But not for long. A sneaky rock crept up on my partner and me and duly flipped us into the water. Recovering all items – bar a water bottle with a wish to see the sea – and with all parties but Dave the expert now drenched, we paddled hard downstream to keep warm.
The stretch of the river between Craigellachie and Rothes offers some of the most prolific fishing, and ghillies upstream had talked in mildly envious tones about the quality of the beats in this section.
It was great to paddle close to Rothes and get an entirely different view of the industrious village, but we had one final obstacle – large rocks in a fast-flowing bend known as Otter Hole.
I was now so paranoid about hitting a rock that I didn’t help matters by beaching us on the opposite side of the river in an effort to avoid the hazards!
Boat o’ Brig soon appeared and marked the end point on our adventure. As he stowed the canoes Dave left us with a fantastic last treat and apt warmer to take the chill off his tired but exhilarated party – a wee nip of Balvenie.
