Author: Mate

Saturday 24 June

Having had a wander around town yesterday, and discovered the local version of the tourist information office in the Town House opposite the harbour, Mate organised them both to follow the Laggan Loch Walk up onto the moor behind the town. It was a pleasantly challenging five miles with good views and local hill cattle and sheep to entertain them on the way to the wind farm at the top. The weather stayed dry but cool in the wind. Skipper was drawn back to the kiosk at the South end of the beach for bacon rolls for lunch – their roaring trade indicated a good local recommendation. The wind remained through the night, preventing a restful sleep.

Friday 23 June

My crew eventually tracked down the unwilling relief harbourmaster, who was unable to take any payment. The marina is a council-run facility, but there’s been nobody in post so far this Summer, and when there is don’t expect them to work beyond standard civil service office hours. The laundry was cheap and efficient, and the showers and toilets clean and modern…if you can remember the system for accessing them. There was a large deposit of free power on the marina, but no wifi: we were told there was a problem across the whole area at the time.

Thursday 22 June

After a disturbed night, thanks to other boats’ engines running at all sorts of silly o’clocks, we left Portpatrick on the second half of the flood tide, which runs North, and found ourselves in a lumpy sea, so Skipper left Mate at the helm and went forward to retrieve lines and fenders. They decided to set the second reef in the mainsail with the staysail, but I was under-canvassed as most of the motion was ‘wind over tide’ – as usual, the wind was in the wrong direction. We made a long tack half way across the North Channel towards Belfast Lough in Northern Ireland, until eventually the wind began to back as forecast, and we tacked onto a direct course for Girvan.

The wind gradually decreased during the day, but after a brief nap, Mate awoke in need of Jimmy, presumably due to the bumpy start and lack of sleep. Skipper allowed her a second snooze to recover, and she woke for her watch feeling hungry and thirsty again – a good sign. Spells of warm sunshine were enjoyed as we diverted briefly for the Stranraer-Belfast ferry, and my crew watched the isolated granite mound of Ailsa Craig gradually enlarging as they approached the entrance to the Firth of Clyde, the island of Arran lying in the distance. The scenery was beginning to look picture-postcard Scottish, the rolling green hills marred only by ugly marks of human habitation – colours and lines that do nothing to blend into their much more attractive background.

There is a new-ish marina in Girvan, entered via a fairly narrow channel into the old fishing port: beware the sand bar at the entrance, and contrary currents. No welcome, warm or otherwise, here, but a helpful local watched us tie up alongside a sufficient length of pontoon and told my people the security code for the gate, so they were able to dash up to the harbour road for fish and chips before closing time. I got my happy hour eventually, and settled for the night in a tidy and shipshape fashion.

Wednesday 21 June

Hmm, grey, cool and cloudy, but the sun came out later, and Mate deemed it warm enough to don sandals (bare legs!) for a stroll around town and a drink at the Harbour Hotel, sitting outside in the sunshine. I was joined by two boats I’d met elsewhere on my travels.

Tuesday 20 June

Keen to be away North, Skipper made a temporary repair to the ‘Up’ button on the windlass, seemingly involving copious quantities of most unflattering black gaffer tape all over my lovely white bow deck. The crew observed the gradual change in the cliff faces from granite to sandstone, and Point of Ayr lighthouse was soon off our port beam. The contrary wind meant a fair time motorsailing to help me punch through the line of breaking waves and keep as close to our preferred course as possible. In the end we made good time to arrive in Portpatrick on the Southern tip of Western Scotland, to be welcomed by Robert, ex-lifeboat coxswain and friendly volunteer harbourmaster. Space was limited along the harbour wall, so he helped us raft to a lovely old wooden ex-lifeboat, but my crew still had to negotiate a tricky scramble up the ladder to the quayside. When we were able to take a space alongside the wall later, it was in the rather too close company of nesting pigeons and starlings, to which my decks only too soon testified.

Monday 19 June

Mate’s friend arrived at the appointed time, but my crew were a bit laid back this morning and were glad of extra hands to prepare me for sea. It was another hot and windless day, so we employed Trevver to run us across a glassy calm Northwards for Ramsey Bay. We briefly spotted a pair of dolphins, and Mate produced a hearty salad from the galley by way of lunch en route.

Just as they were discussing which mooring buoy they were going to pick up, the wind suddenly developed, so we turned back out to sea and allowed the new crew member a taste of sailing a kite; that is to say Skipper unfurled my beautiful big red gennaker, and Mate gave advice in steering to keep her filled. Typically the wind continued to build and was soon 18 knots, so the sail was furled away as quickly as possible and we headed back into the mooring field alongside the old pier.

For some reason I couldn’t quite follow, mooring here involved a new technique of lifting my 35kg Spade anchor up onto the foredeck, apparently so it didn’t chafe, or even cut through, the lines attaching me to the mooring buoy. Murphy was obviously having a fine old time of it that afternoon, as that was the moment the ‘up’ button on the windlass decided it wasn’t going to work, and my (regular) crew had to haul the anchor manually.

Next it was time to wiggle the tender out of the sail locker onto the foredeck (avoiding the anchor), pump her up and fit the outboard engine, so our guest could be returned to land to make his way home. Everybody donned wet weather gear and clambered inelegantly into a bucking, bouncing dinghy for a wet and bumpy half hour ride deep into Ramsey harbour. Right by the bridge they tied up to a ladder rising straight up the stone quay wall, and clambered cumbersomely up to street level. Skipper, as ever, aware of the tide times for heading back out of the harbour, decreed there was not time for a last meal together, so final goodbyes were said and my crew made their way back. Inevitably conditions were by now much calmer, but we still endured a rolly night.

Sunday 18 June

The warm sunshine continued, and my crew enjoyed a quiet morning and a leisurely Sunday stroll around the harbour to a delicious al fresco lunch at the Little Fish Café. They both tucked in happily to house fries accompanying a local speciality, queenie po’boys: brioche sub rolls filled with avocado, salad and little queen scallops (without corals) lightly fried in a tempura-style batter – mmmm. These were washed down with excellent homemade lemonade, one with crushed raspberries and one with charcoal, sweetened with a little dark muscovado sugar.

Later in the afternoon Mate’s friend returned, with a couple she’s met before, who are narrowboaters and were keen to check out a proper boat (!) Unfortunately something got lost in translation, as Mate had made the invite for afternoon tea, which ‘down South’ means a cup of, with maybe a cake or cookies, and ‘up North’ tea is apparently the evening meal, because ‘dinner’ is ‘lunch’…if you’re still with me? Anyway, she was so embarrassed when she eventually realised why the extra guests had arrived with two bottles of wine, that an urgent Interflora delivery was organised the following morning, by way of an apology.

Saturday 17 June

Lovely Second Mate woke us all up with a telephone call at the ridiculously early hour of 0800 this morning – as if she’s ever usually surfaced by such a silly o’clock. Mate was happy to arrange a lift to the supermarket with her friend who lives on the Island – the main reason for coming here is for him to meet and admire me – of course. Meanwhile, Skipper took advantage of the peace and quiet to catch up on some of last night’s missed sleep, except he was constantly thwarted in this quest by interruptions from other boats around us.
Mate and her friend disappeared again after a late lunch, for a brief tour of the island and to recce somewhere suitable for a celebratory supper. Seemed a bit rude, to go out without me, when it was I that got them here in the first place…

Friday 16 June

After a better night’s sleep and with an obvious reduction in wind speed, we made a smooth departure at around 0930 and were soon tackling the navigation around the huge expanse of wind farms between us and the Isle of Man. Ben my Chree, the Manx ferry, passed us three times in the course of our passage, and must have wondered if we were ever going to arrive at the Island. Having eventually cleared the turbines, we found ourselves approaching gas platforms, and a guard vessel shadowed me for ages before finally calling my crew on the radio to check our intentions (!)
We finally arrived into Douglas Bay a little after midnight, where the friendly Harbour Control greeted us with a cheerful “Good Morning” and cleared us into Battery Pier. Unfortunately it’s not very long, and was already in use, so I had to be rafted. They were just putting me to bed when a local racing fleet began to arrive, and they were busy and noisy until around 0300, waiting for enough rise of tide to be able to go into Douglas Harbour. After a late supper, or was it early breakfast? my tired crew eventually fell into bed around dawn.

Thursday 15 June

The wind had blown up again during the night, so nobody slept much and we made a very early start. Unfortunately it was very lumpy with wind over tide, and progress was painfully slow. The crew tried hoisting the mainsail before setting off, but the gusts made control very difficult, and it was a battle to release the mooring lines. Mate decided she was not going to survive a long passage in these conditions, and we aborted and returned to the relative sanctuary of Piel Island.