Author: Mate

Monday 24 July

In urgent need of fresh water to refill my tanks, Mate once again deployed her nerves of steel to navigate me back through the shallow narrows and out into the Sound of Jura to ease onto a close reach for Colonsay. Uncooperative winds necessitated Trevver joining us to make landfall alongside a much smaller boat on the inland end of a high pier used by the Calmac ferries…when the wind allows, apparently. At least approaching at low water meant my crew could see just how shallow it was.
They went ashore to explore the main settlement of Scalasaig, finding a well-stocked general store, a tempting craft shop and an intriguing bookshop. On their return the tide had risen enough to make watering easier, and by now two more yachts were trying to join the party. We managed to disentangle ourselves, and headed around the corner to an anchorage on Oronsay, the next island South. By local standards, it was fairly crowded, but we found a spot, albeit not particularly sheltered, and settled down under a pretty sunset.

Sunday 23 July

A forecast of strong winds deterred my crew from setting back out to sea, and instead they opted to motor l’arrêt further up the loch to find its uppermost reaches. Although my little sister struggled against the opposing current in the narrow entrance above my anchorage, the channel is theoretically navigable by larger vessels, as evidenced by several pairs of leading marks installed by no less a sailor than the great ‘Blondie’ Hasler. She was humbled to follow in the wake of a man famous for a (mythical) bet on a race across the Atlantic against Sir Francis Chichester.

Once into the ‘inner sanctum’ the current lessened, and an interesting potter took them up to a wide shallow pool with a number of moorings. However, it was near low water and there didn’t seem to be anywhere to land to explore further ashore, so Mate clung to a moored rowing boat while Skipper topped up the fuel tank, and then they paddled some of the way back to enjoy the silence.

Saturday 22 July

The day began with a sense of déjà vu, except the wind was tricksy and Mate ran me gently aground while Skipper was retrieving the anchor. Thank goodness for a lifting centreboard – as it was winched up, I managed to wiggle myself free and we headed back down the loch, past the seal colony near the entrance, and collecting another wave from the bridge of another large CalMac ferry, the Hebridean Isles.

We had a lovely broad reach across the top of the Sound of Gigha, listening in to a rescue incident somewhere South of our position, and keeping clear as the Islay lifeboat sped out of the Sound to attend the shout.

The wind veered and was heading us too far North, so we gybed to surf down some biggish rollers to pick up the North-flowing tide through the Sound of Islay. The crew spotted no sign of water at Port Askaig, so we flew on, touching 10 knots just before we popped out of the North end of the Sound into lumpy seas and nasty gusts. Skipper fought to bring my large mainsail down to third reef, which slowed me down dramatically but made helming more manageable. The blue cargo ship, Isis, registered in Douglas and familiar from Wicklow, passed on her way down the Sound.

Once inside Jura’s Loch Tarbert we were glad of the detail shown on the chart plotter, as we wove through rocks and islets, past a busy anchoring pool deep into the head of the main navigable water. We found an empty bay in front of an uninhabited bothy, and tucked in close with a small seal colony outside of us, at first evidenced by their sounds alone – an eerie, mournful call.

Happy hour revealed an additional jib sheet dangling over the bow with a ragged end: it had dropped off the guard rail and caught in the propeller blades, where the cutter had once again done sterling work…oops.

Peace descended as the song of larks climbed into the blue sky of a true wilderness anchorage.

Friday 21 July

An 0600 alarm call ensured my reluctant crew were ready for a passage West for Islay and Jura, but they’d been unable to find a weather forecast and set off ‘blind’. Running under staysail alone we were most of the way back down the loch when they picked up “gale warning, Malin” from the radio, and even in this sheltered water the wind was already feeling unpleasant, so we turned around sharply, furled the sail, messily as it was flapping wildly, and slogged back through heavy rain to where we started.

To the relief of both, the anchor set first time, wet foul weather gear was soon stripped off and coffee and toast was served below. The wind soon dropped away, but it rained steadily all day.

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.