Coracle Bushcraft

Wilderness survival or bushcraft to give it its more recent trendy name has become more popular than it was when I became seriously involved in the early 1980s. In recent years there has been a plethora of TV programs on survival, some better than others, and many involving such an array of modern equipment and corporate support that, in my opinion, they are poles apart from the solo unsupported bushcraft that I do.

Pictured right: Witham coracle loaded up with limited survival equipment. Note basket of yellow chanterelle mushrooms.

Also whilst the wisdom of indigenous skills has much to teach a modern world over reliant on technology, the amount of air travel involved and possibly encouraged by some of these programs at a time of growing environmental concern leaves me wondering that far from being part of any solution, they are in danger of becoming part of the problem. They are also serve to remind me that travel and adventure is the traditional preserve of the well off or well connected. Indeed most of our well known and celebrated adventurers and explorers, whilst acknowledging their achievements, have come from privileged backgrounds. The working class has always been too busy trying to earn a living. My own experiences in bushcraft and outdoor adventure, whilst modest in comparison, represent what is possible for someone of modest means and no support to achieve through their own gumption and determination.

Such reflections were pondered by me whilst floating in my own reflection on a Scottish sea loch during a two week solo island hopping coracle expedition. I had intended to go to Alaska but was yet again unable to overcome my concern over air travel, or as a family man. justify the time and expense. I had returned to my beloved Scotland arguably one of the most beautiful places on Earth anyway.

Picture right: Looking seawards to the islands. The Witham Coracle is a stable coracle that is traditionally crafted from cleft laths and woven withies.

An August of torrential rain, which a bladesmith friend of mine on Skye had described as "grim", had given way to calmer and clearer conditions by early September when I once again found myself in the company of seals, bottlenose dolphins and otters as I paddled between islands on my latest vision quest. The previous day had been less kind and had seen me being blown around in the rain on a loch in the Borders during the course of being photgraphed in a Witham coracle for a book on rural craftspeople. I had also gathered the first of many chanterelle mushrooms picked from various locations over the next two weeks, even off small tree covered islands.

On the sea lochs, seals followed me everywhere, something probably encouraged by the smell of the pollack and wrasse I was catching. A few of the smaller fish not used as bait for my prawn and whelk pots were thrown the seals way which would result in a large splash as the seals dived. In those areas where I bivvied out it became possible to paddle the coracle quite close to them as they became more used to my presence. The otters however were considerably harder to approach in the coracle, especially to within practicable range of my basic camera. Dawn and dusk were especially good for spotting otters, usually whilst I was fishing or setting pots.
Compared to the canoe and kayak, both of which I have used extensively, the coracle might seem an odd choice of craft to some in the bushcraft community. Canoes and kayaks are certainly more efficient on the water when travelling any distance due to their ability to track or cut through the water in a straight line. They do however pose problems with storage in limited space and in transportation and portage. Also modern plastic and fibreglass canoes dont float my boat so to speak though I would love to build a canvas canoe and especially a birch bark canoe should circumstances and materials permit.

Pictured right: Bemused seals would often let the coracle approach quite closely.

There is no doubt that coracles take considerably more skill and physical grit to paddle than a canoe, especially over the distances and environments I do, something I wouldnt recommend generally. The coracle is however far more manoeuvrable than a canoe and in my experience far superior for fishing too when properly built being very much designed for the purpose. A coracle can also more readily form an integral part of various bivvies and shelters if required.

Picture left: The coracle made an excellent alternative door for the lodge.

In my experience a canvas skinned coracle provides the optimum blend of lightness and toughness whilst being virtually maintenance free. I have never holed one yet despite bouncing off all sorts of coracle unfriendly things during my more extreme paddles. A hide coracle is a good second but is very heavy and can pose problems with preparation and storage if mineral tanned. Very light fabrics and plastic sheeting are best avoided.

The coracle also has its roots in a proud working rural tradition, something else I was reflecting on as I was watching a golden eagle from the coracle one evening. However the coracle fishing tradition has for years been under threat in Wales as is often the case when such traditions find themselves at odds with money and influence or the harsh economics of the modern world. The beauty of the coracle is also its simplicity as it is little more than a basket covered in a waterproof skin. It may not be a million pound yacht capable of circumnavigating the globe and may even be scoffed at by some but to me it is something more genuine, personal and attainable which makes it priceless.

Pictured right: Witham coracle outside earthlodge. The plastic milk bottles by the entrance served as marker buoys for whelk traps and bouyancy for equipment when at sea.

After a few days of island hopping and fishing I decided to check into a hotel for a few nights, though not the kind of hotel associated with recent media allegations surrounding a privately educated survival TV personality, but rather one of the self built kind. Situated in a quiet sea loch, my accommodation was spacious, circular and centrally heated, (a fire in the middle!). Blueberry pancakes were sadly not on the menu but I knew that it served excellent seafood. As it had been built some 18 months previously during a wilderness survival course I had run I was unsure if it would still exist as I knew that the Norway Spruce plantation that was its location was due to be clear felled which is why we had left the lodge standing.

Pictured right: Wickiup and Coracle by sea loch. The area was a haven of peace and tranquility. Seals, otters and eagles were constant companions.

When I was young and daft in the 1980s a whole chain of my wickiups and earthlodges existed in plantations, (never anywhere ecologically sensitive), from the Midlands to Northern Scotland. I must have been the bane of the Forestry Commission as some were massive with walls nearly three foot thick with many standing for years in the more remote locations. This led to me being known in some circles as Trust House Forte after a chain of hotels at the time. Despite my spiritual convictions surrounding circular lodges the joke was never lost on me.
Paddling into the small loch it was immediately apparent that the whole area where the lodge was standing had been clear felled and it took several minutes to spot the lodge with my binoculars such was the degree that the wickiup blended with its surroundings despite its size and its now open exposure. Surrounding it was the familiar scene of utter devastation that is the hallmark of modern forestry under pressure to be commercially viable. Surprisingly my survival shelter had been skillfully left intact by the contractors. Even the door was still in place. Moreover once my coracle had reached the shore it was apparent from the brash and ungraded timber surrounding the lodge that felling had taken place not long after we had paddled out of the area two springs ago. Despite weathering the full fury of a Scottish Winter, the lodge was structurally sound though a tad damp in places due to a few holes in the thatch.

One of my first jobs was to replace the thatch and dump the old bedding on the roof and replace all of this with bracken cut with my Gerber BMF survival knife, the trusty tool I have owned for over 20 years and which on this occasion I had carried strapped across my chest under my bouyancy aid, both for use at sea in the coracle or in the unlikely event of being separated from both the coracle and what little kit I had and finding myself marooned on one of the islands. With a knife someone with my depth of knowledge can secure the priorities of survival with relative ease. A cord loop fitted to the handle and the position of the sheath on my chest makes accessing the knife safe and simple with no fear of dropping the blade through the bottom of the coracle or in the sea itself resulting in a bad day out! Such small details can make a big difference.

Pictured right: A 1980s take on the bowie knife, the Gerber BMF and a classical hammer tomahawk. Blades often get a bad press in the media yet in the wilderness they are the tools of the free spirit.

Despite carrying a survival knife, I had allowed myself the luxury of a tomahawk both for my recreational throwing practice and as an additional chopping tool, the hawk being more efficient for this task than the knife. It was whilst chopping firewood over a cup of freshly picked bog myrtle tea one morning that I became aware that I was being watched by a boat full of wildlife spotters out on the loch. My activities on shore amongst the clear fell had switched their attention from the nearby seals to the wild man chopping firewood in front of a previously overlooked mound that now had smoke emerging from its top and a coracle and paddle leant against its side. I gave my bemused onlookers a wave and continued chopping wood with the hawk. It had been a good morning as earlier I had been sat outside the lodge watching a couple of otters whilst eating a breakfast of bannock, pollack and whelks.

Pictured right: Caught whelks and other sea life in the coracle. Fresh seafood was a welcome addition to my wilderness diet.

My activity at the lodge was also spotted on a separate occasion by a pair of canoeists who stopped to chat briefly. They had paddled past the lodge previously and not spotted it as I wasnt about and there was no open door, fire or coracle to give the game away. Indeed I wouldnt have been spotted six seasons ago when trees not only hid three people, the lodge and its fire but a 17 foot bright red canoe also.

Pictured right: Photo of me taken from the only inhabited island I visited where

Life at the lodge was the usual steady rhythm of providing for my needs. Firewood needed to be collected, fish and other food caught or foraged for, and water filtered and purified from the little stream a short distance from the lodge. I was always aware of how much more time is involved in the basic tasks of living when providing from ones surroundings.

Whilst the supermarket may be easier, its surroundings are sterile and its produce far removed from its origins. By contrast natures supermarket was vibrant and alive, its produce fresh. I was living by the Power Of The Circle, taking my place with all of creation in the Great Web Of Life. This is always a profound experience for me, even when simply picking mushrooms, coracle fishing or catching game at home in the Lincolnshire countryside. To call it a hobby doesnt do it justice. It is my life. Being close to the natural world permeates everything I do. It has many benefits too. Despite being the wrong side of 40, I am fitter than many people half my age and dont do stress either. The proof in is the eating of the pudding and I have eaten many an unusual pudding in my time too.

After nearly a week at the lodge it was time to paddle out. I didnt want to push my luck with the weather as high winds would effectively maroon me there or present me with a very dangerous sea crossing. Because a coracle sits on top of the water, drawing only a few inches even when fully laden, even a slight breeze can become significant, especially on open water. Paddling between islands can involve quite a degree of slugging it out with the paddle if the wind is against the coracle as was the case during the paddle out.

Pictured right: Coracle and shore scene on one of the numerous uninhabited islands I visited.

The most memorable aspect of the paddle out was the minke whale that surfaced some 100 yards ahead of me which made me feel quite vulnerable as I was midway between three islands some half a mile from the nearest land. Some time later I became aware of a light aircraft overhead which circled for a closer look at the nutter afloat in a basket below. Normally I would give a cheerful wave but in view of the circumstances I pretended to take photographs instead, as you do half a mile out to sea in a coracle, and the plane flew off.

After a brew stop from a spring on a small island I made a final crossing to the mainland in the evening sunshine accompanied by the usual curious grey seals along with several cetaceans, mainly dolphins, that would break the water, sometimes quite spectacularly. I felt privileged to be in their company and it was a further reminder of why, rather than flying halfway round the world, I had returned to Scotland to enjoy its wildlife on it own terms. I had become a part of their world and they a part of mine. Ahead lay a visit to Skye and further foraging and coracling but thats another story.

Coracle afloat on sea loch. Picture courtesy of passing canoeists



Witham coracle on rocky island shore