Day 5 - Crinan to Puilladobhrain - The treacherous seas around the Dorus Mor - anchoring woes - perfect evening

Wednesday began with an early start to catch the tide through the Dorus Mor, a tight channel between the island of Garbh Reisa and Craignish Point. The pilot book notes that it is known "...not only for the strength of its tidal streams, but also for their complex and fascinating nature. Small whirlpools, patches of deceptive calm, swirls and overfalls are all present". The Dorus is the first of many tidal 'gates'up the West coast which must be met at the correct state of the tide (usually slack water, as the tide turns). It's nearby neighbour Corryvreckan can be heard booming from many miles away on Mull, and correct timing is paramount. The skipper had calculated that by leaving Crinan at 11.30am we would pass through the Dorus at slack water and carry fair tide (up to 6 knots) all the way up the Sound of Luing. But first we had to negotiate the final sea-lock at Crinan.

Overnight, a gentle breeze had sprung up, and having left the boat facing back along the path of the canal, the skipper now found himsself at the mercy of the Good Ship's inability to manouver under power in tight spaces, with the windage of the furled sails up front preventing him from making a 3 point turn in the tight confines of the basin. A line was lead ashore on which to pivot the bow around, although this was released just a moment too soon and the bow was blown off again. A great deal of frantic forward and reverse turning ensued, and finally the bow came round to the right direction, the bowsprit sporting some heather picked up from the opposite bank. The next boat in the lock, a smart 27 footer, had the same problem, so it was a lock full of relieved sailors that finally locked out of the sea lock and into the waters of Loch Crinan under a greay and menacing sky. But our woes were far from over...

We motored out into Loch Crinan over a grey sea beneath a menacing sky. The locking debarcle had made us nearly 2 hours late, and with the trusty 34HP Yanmar thrumming steadily away we pounded into the building wind and seas, spray flying off the bows with every dip. Brian and Melanie (friends from the boatyard) waved a 'hello' as they passed us going in the opposite direction onboard 'Alope', huddled together in the cockpit after their transit of the channel. We could see up ahead that the Dorus was in no mood to give us an easy passage through, and as we hit the tidal race the boat bucked violently in the confused, turbulent seas. The periods of 'deceptive calm' usually had the Dorus spinning the Good Ship in whichever direction she felt fit, whilst the short chop of the tidal overfall threatened to board the ship and take her to the bottom of the sea. The 27 footer that had accompanied us through the final lock ran for cover behind the island of Luing, whilst the boat ahead was suddenly doing 6 knots sideways as she hit the conveyor belt of tide heading North through the Sound. A number of dangerous rocks also had to be negotiated, a difficult task when the Durus seemed determined to sweep us onto them. We finally scraped through unscathed, the Dorus cackling evilly behind us as she spat us out into the Sound of Luing. moments later, we were doing 10 knots over the gound on the GPS as we heard Corryvreckan booming mercilessly in the distance.

Forgoing the sheltered pleasures of Cullipool, a labyrinth of sheltered backwaters behind the slate clad islets around Luing, we headed North past Pladda lighthouse, a lonely sentinel among the dark rocks and the grey seas. Soon the islands of Seil and Easdale were abeam. Easdale was formerly a slate-quarrying island, with a small population of miners living in small but sturdy houses which still exist today, along with a museum. The island also hosts the world skipping stone championships every year, the small shards of slate providing perfect stones for skipping on the calm waters of the Cuan Sound.

Passing the grassy hump of Insh Island, we turned in towards the top end of Seil, negotiating the slightly tortuous channel through the rocks and islets at the North end of the island which lead to the secluded anchorage of Puilldobhrain (Otter Pool), a favourite amongs visiting yachts for it's shelter and beauty. The anchorage was, as is often the case mid-summer, pretty busy, and it took a number of attempts to set the hook before we felt sure that we would not foul another boat if the Good Ship were to swing in the night. Seaman Farago wasted no time in setting off for the shore to take some stunning photographs, whilst the skipper and Seaman Finnegan lit the oil lamps and prepared supper. The scene was a stunning sight as the sun dipped beneath the distant mountains of Mull, reds, purples and yellows dancing off the ripples on the water. A lone otter popped his head above the surface, sniffing the evening air expectantly, before turning tail and swimming off beneath the clear waters. Outside the breeze moaned and the seas crashed mercilessly on the slate-rocks on the other side of the island, but we were snug in the anchorage for the night and glad to be there.