It’s not (just) a tomato

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.