Month: July 2017

Thursday 20 July

The crew decided a good leg stretch was long overdue, and puttered across to the fish quay to scramble up a ladder before following the road for a mile and a half across the isthmus into the attractive town of Tarbert, not to be confused with West Loch Tarbert, or any of the others: this is the one famous for Loch Fyne oysters and fish restaurants at least as far South as Twickenham in SW London. A very good lunch with local beer was enjoyed, with a view over the pretty harbour, at the Islay Frigate Hotel. The waitress had been for a run that morning and photographed a beautiful yacht lying at anchor…me! Provisions were gathered on the way home.

Wednesday 19 July

Unable to obtain a current weather forecast due to poor VHF reception (or a faulty radio – Skipper to determine), we hedged our bets and set off early to follow the Northern edge of Gigha Northeast towards the mainland and the entrance to West Loch Tarbert: straight into the wind. Short tacking through the relatively narrow channel between rocky islets and reefs would have been tedious, so Trevver drove us steadily across the Sound of Gigha under a grey sky threatening rain. Just inside the entrance to the loch we paused to leave sea room for the CalMac (Caledonian MacBrayne) ferry Fionn Lagan on passage to Islay – for which Mate was rewarded with a cheery wave from her bridge.

We investigated two anchorages recommended by Antares Bob, given appropriate wind conditions, but neither looked ideal for us, and we continued up to the top of the navigable water, Skipper glimpsing a pair of fallow deer on the opposite bank. Mate managed to find the only 3-metre pool in which to drop the anchor, and was glad to prepare a very late lunch, after an early start. The rest of the afternoon was spent knitting, while Skipper tinkered with the VHF, with some success as we picked up a weather forecast during the evening which sounded promising. A vegetarian bake was pronounced a tasty, if late, supper.

Tuesday 18 July

All together now: Mull of Kintyre/O mist rolling in from the sea/My desire is always to be here/O Mull of Kintyre

Apparently it’s called an earworm, and there’s a lot of them on the West Coast of Scotland, a land that inspires songwriters, poets and artists in many media.

Anyway, an early start to catch the tide, and a flat sea with the wind behind us from a clear sky – unusually perfect conditions to round the notorious Mull of Kintyre at a fabulous 8+ knots, coming onto a broad reach as we headed North. Of course, it didn’t last, there was a sudden windshift of 90˚ and it was straight on my nose, soon dropping very light and variable.

Mate got frustrated and handed the helm over to Skipper while she had a nap. We motorsailed up to the North end of West Tarbert Bay on the West side of the top of the island of Gigha, our first stop in the Inner Hebrides. It was very pretty and all to ourselves.

A late lunch was delicious hot smoked local salmon with salad, tasting all the better for being eaten in the cockpit in the sunshine, leading to a light siesta before a row ashore to explore. The main settlement lies on the other side of the island around Ardminish Bay, but the wind direction was not conducive to our anchoring there and proved a little too far to walk in what remained of the afternoon.

Staying with the theme – and what was on offer from the fridge – supper was smoked haddock Florentine with sauté potatoes, while enjoying the impromptu cabaret of a pair of seals meandering around the bay in mild curiosity. Maybe they thought supper smelled good, too- fish always raw must get monotonous?

Unfortunately the wind began to blow around midnight, denying a peaceful or restful night.

Monday 17 July

We finally said goodbye to Campbeltown in the late afternoon of a warm, sunny day. A light breeze encouraged us to set the genoa as soon as we were clear of the loch, and we drifted around Island Davaar towards a sheltered anchorage. A minor domestic ensued for no apparent reason, but was soon forgotten when a large yacht motoring fast towards our port side completely flouted the ColRegs, disregarding the fact that we had right of way as we were sailing and the stand-on vessel as he could see our port hand light (like road traffic lights: red Stop, green Go), and continued on a collision course until Mate, on my helm, was left with no choice but to slow down to allow him to pass ahead of us. To add insult to injury, he then turned left into ‘our’ anchorage, but my crew were mollified when he picked up a private mooring buoy, that they’d been told had been labelled ‘unsafe’, and was soon settled for the night.

We had plenty of room to anchor in clear water off Sanda’s North shore. It was only a pity my crew had allowed bad manners to distract them from the usual careful preparations for anchoring, Skipper’s fishing line hadn’t been reeled in before Mate circled me to determine the best position to drop the hook, and the line became wrapped around my propeller shaft – oops. Fortunately the prop cutter did its work and cut the line free in short order, but it wasn’t an auspicious end to a trying afternoon.

Calm was restored except for the calls of seabirds and seals. Supper was a Campbeltown lobster purchased on the quay that afternoon, enjoyed in the cockpit before a beautiful sunset.

Sunday 16 July

A bright, warm, breezy day which Mate took full advantage of, walking several times around the bay, past the unusual and evocative war memorial, to catch up with all the laundry and peg it all out on my smart red line, invoking washing line envy from a lady who’d seen us in her home port of Conwy a few weeks ago.

Skipper’s spent a lot of time while we’ve been here ticking off some of the endless list of maintenance jobs needed to keep me shipshape, especially around my domestic water system of filters and pumps.

Today he fitted a new D-ring into the aft end of the slot at the base of the boom, so the preventer can be tied in properly, instead of through a reefing pennant loop. A preventer is used when I’m sailing a reach, where the wind is coming from my beam or further back, and the sail is let out a long way over my other side. Should a rogue wave cause me to lurch, or the wind suddenly gust from the opposite side, behind the mainsail, the preventer ‘prevents’ (see – clever nomenclature) the boom, the horizontal bar along the bottom of the sail, from crashing across the boat in an accidental gybe, which could cause a lot of damage. A reefing pennant is a rope threaded through the mainsail at the mast and the leech, the diagonal back edge, to pull the lower part of the sail down onto the boom to reduce its area in strong winds. Sailing is a whole different language…

Saturday 15 July

A damp and misty morning, but very little wind. Mate had a better night’s sleep and woke early for a peaceful proper shower and hair wash ashore in very smart facilities. Breakfast was cooked and cleared by 1000 so they set off into town for provisions. En route to the fish and chips mission on Thursday evening, they’d clocked a fruiterer, fishmonger and butcher, but this morning with their doors open and wares on display, sadly none lived up to expectation, similarly Co-op, but around the curve of the bay they found a particularly well-stocked and busy Tesco Metro, resulting in a heavy and well-loaded Bertha.

Back onboard for lunch and a brief siesta, before a stroll around the quay to join in the Lifeboat Open Day – a swap visit, you might say. It proved a fascinating tour with a very friendly crew, who all seemed to be called Dave, and my people left hoping they’ll never see the interior of a lifeboat ‘in anger’. As so often happens, the best of the day came when it was too late to do anything much.

Friday 14 July

It was a good day to go sailing, but my tired crew weren’t in the best shape, so they did some pottering and planning, and helped incoming yachts to berth. Before they had a chance to go shopping, Dave the RNLI Coxswain dropped by for a full tour and a chat about our lifestyle, as he dreams of something similar when he retires in a couple of years’ time. As always, I was happy to meet a new man in uniform, and show off my best bits.

Thursday 13 July

We motorsailed down Kilbrannan Sound against combined wind and tide, enjoying full main and genoa in a fairly steady F4. The crew have struggled to obtain any weather forecasts in this area, which proved unfortunate as a sudden squall blew in after lunch, and within half an hour the day had changed from sunny spells to grey drizzle and wind from six to 26 knots, veering 100˚ and rain blinding Mate and stinging her face as she struggled to steer my course for Campbeltown on the Kintyre peninsula. Fortunately, Skipper had already furled my genoa, and Mate asked for third reef in the main. It wasn’t the tidiest reef ever made, but as the only thing in our favour was that we were near a windward shore, so the waves hadn’t built, she relied on the chart plotter and radar to guide me into the bay, in mist now so dense the land had disappeared completely.

As we followed the channel between the lighthouse and the opposite headland, the gusts were still 25 knots and more, but in between 18 knots of steady breeze felt positively calm, and at least the mist started to disperse, so Mate could pick out the guiding marks. The harbour master responded to Skipper’s radio call, advising us of a berth starboard to, so he took over on the helm while Mate prepared my lines and fenders, clinging to any available handhold while the lifeboat churned out at full throttle, heading for a shout. We managed to make a clean landing, in spite of a still stiff breeze blowing us off, and then my crew helped a Czech-chartered boat into a tight alongside slot behind us, before a cursory ‘happy hour’ tidying my decks. They soon disappeared in search of fish and chips, following a recommendation to the Kilbrannon Bar on Longrow, where the barman held the kitchen open specially to prepare their order, while they were entertained in conversation with said barman, a little lady of 87 (the only other female present), delightfully away with the fairies, and three Geordie builders working at a local school, already closed for summer holidays.

They returned home around 2200 to wash me down, refill my water tanks and wash up, distracted by the lifeboat finally returning from a five-hour shout with a tiny yacht tied alongside. The Coastguard was awaiting their return and had stern words for the miserable crew, as they were ill-prepared without proper charts or safety equipment, and the rescue services had struggled to find them in the conditions described above, which were worse on the opposite side of the peninsula, open and exposed to the full force of the Atlantic Ocean. They were finally discovered ten miles from where they’d thought they were, tangled in lobster pot lines 50 yards off rocks near Macrihanish Bay. Meanwhile the lifeboat crew made short work of thoroughly washing down their vessel, refuelling her and putting covers on, but it was still midnight before they clocked off.

Wednesday 12 July

Another perfect summer’s day!?! The crew were up early to go ashore to catch a bus to the beginning of the popular walk up Goat Fell. The scenery from the bus along the coast road, hedged with wild fuchsia and honeysuckle, was delightful. The first section of the walk, up a shady gorge beside waterfalls and pools, with foxgloves and ferns in dappled sunlight, was beautiful and peaceful. Higher up the path left the woodland for open heath, where fluffy flax danced in the breeze, and lots of walkers rested at a bridge across the stream. The climb was very busy, ‘paved’ in places to mitigate the erosion caused by thousands of bootsteps, elsewhere difficult, steep scrambles.

Once the summit was finally reached, the view from the trig point was incredible, very clear with the Western Isles laid out all around – just like on the chart. A brief lunch stop was sufficient to recharge Mate for the descent, which was actually easier than expected, and she was glad of the encouragement of fellow walkers, with whom they celebrated with a welcome drink at the pub at the foot of the mountain. Goat Fell is not high enough to qualify as a Munro, but very popular as the highest point on Arran.

Tuesday 11 July

With no wind, we motored down the West Kyle and out into Inchmarnock Water. The crew sunbathed in warm sunshine while enjoying several harbour porpoise – you can tell they’re not dolphins, because they are smaller, and they ignore boats. We eventually picked up a visitor’s mooring in Lochranza on Arran, as there are so many there was no room to anchor, and relaxed under a beautiful sunset. Shore crew were roped in to do some Internet research into local transport, as there was phone signal but no wifi.