At about 2pm, we were abreast of a particularly isolated part of Morvern, where in amongst the thickly wooded slopes which plunge down into the sea we caught sight of a perfect looking beach. There were no roads for miles around, and with the terrain being so steep, rocky and wooded, we saw this as our opportunity to steal a short trip ashore to our very own 'desert island'. Tying up to what we thought was perhaps a fishing boat temporary mooring, the crew despatched ashore, with Seaman Farago and Finnigan, and a delighted Ola all running off into the undergrowth to find a waterfall. The Skipper joined them as far as the pristine rock pools, then decided that the afternoon might be better spent on the beach sun-bathing with Lizzy.
An hour or two passed, and the Skipper drifted in and out of doziness, whilst the sun continued to beat down. He turned over, and opened one eye, expecting to see the Good Ship riding proudly to her mooring at the near end of the beach...but where was she???!!! He awoke with a start, and realized in horror that she was now off the opposite end of the beach, and dragging fast towards the rocks!!!
With the other crew all away in the forest, the Skipper and Lizzy sprinted for the dinghy, frantically paddling after the Good Ship before she foundered. they reached the boat just in time, the engine firing at first try and pulling her away from certain disaster.
The crew had appeared on the beach by now, and it was apparent that the Skipper would need to leave Lizzy in charge of the vessel in order to go and pick them up. So it was, with instructions to continue to circle slowly just off the beach, that the Skipper handed over control of the ship to 'greenhorn' of but 18 hours experience of the boat...as he rowed back to the beach Lizzy certainly looked small against the backdrop of the Good Ship. On reaching shore, the others quickly hopped aboard the dinghy, and we started to make our way out to the boat. But wait...the boat was coming in towards us?!!! Lizzy had the helm hard over, but a sudden gust of wind was preventing the boat from turning at this slow speed, and she was heading straight fro the shore! The skipper frantically rowed towards the bow of the boat, and was just a few yards away when the Good Ship gracefully nodded her bow down, indicating a gentle grounding, and stooped dead, before slewing away from the wind. The skipper hopped aboard, and throwing the engine into hard reverse ("give 'er all she's got MacPhail!") she gently slid out backwards, the disaster having been averted. Later reflection suggested that the mooring was probably not a bone fide mooring but rather a lobster pot...the confusion had been caused by the presence of a mooring style pick-up buoy being attached. Damn fishermen!
The same breeze that had caught Lizzy unawares was now building, and we set full sail for Craignure, the boat creaming along in flat water, fully powered up and going like a steam train.
This was truly champagne sailing conditions, and it was not long before the Good Ship was poking her nose into the shallows of Craignure, whereupon we dropped anchor and set ashore in the dinghy to drop the girls off to get the ferry. Craignure was a strange sort of a place, with a few cafes and inns to catch the tourists coming off the ferry, but not much else. The sun was beginning to drop from the sky as we said our farewells to the girls, and headed back to the boat under the last of the petrol in the Seagull's tank.
Back aboard, we made our departure into a gentle evening breeze, motoring at first out into the Sound of Mull. The original plan was to make for Tobermory, some 16 miles away, but the fast fading light meant that we opted instead for the little bay north of Salen, tight in under the haunting ruin of Aros Castle. The castle certainly had an air of spookiness about it as we arrived in the calm of last of the twilight. The crew settled down for an early night, the Good Ship swaying gently to her anchor in solitude.
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