Day 5: Oban to Tobermory

Day 5 dawned a little grey and overcast, but with a building sea breeze to look forwards to. After a sterling breakfast cooked up by Seaman Wagstaff, a quick run ashore was made in the dinghy to collect some supplies. Motoring north out of Oban bay, past Dunollie Castle and Maiden Island, the stiffening breeze spoke of tougher conditions to come. As we set sail off the north end of Kerrera and across the Firth of Lorne, we began a long beat against the wind which was funneling down the Sound of Mull.

Duart Castle, South East corner of Mull

 On a long tack over to Duart Castle, the wind continued to build, and with the boat overpowered the Skipper made the call to drop the main (the reefing lines were incorrectly lead, a silly mistake that should have been checked before we set off..) and we carried on under reefed foresails up into the Sound. After a couple of hours of hard beating, we decided to stop for lunch in the shelter provided by Ardtornish Bay on the Morvern shore. This was a delightful spot, and as we sat in the calm waters, watching the white horses creaming past the point some distance away, the sun came out and summer seemed to return.

Ardtornish Bay

Following a quick slap-up lunch, and with the breeze moderating, the Good Ship pointed her prow back out into the Sound and full sail was set in sparkling sunshine. The remainder of the trip to Tobermory was made in champagne sailing conditions, a good breeze (though still on the nose) and long tacks up the Sound. The 'greenhorn' crew settled into their tasks admirably, learning both to handle the sheets in tacking and also getting a masterclass from the skipper in how to work the boat to windward efficiently. One of the tacks took us into Salen bay, a beautiful place where we had spent an eerie night the following season, but in the bright sunshine the mood was transformed. The shore of Morvern is steep-to for the most part, and many of our tacks took place mere yards from the wooded, rocky shoreline, with a variety of wildlife looking on. The sun was setting in a sea of reds and yellows as we approched Calve Island at the mouth of Tobermory Bay, and it was a serene sail to the pontoons where we were to tie up for the night, aside from some minor tense moments trying to reverse the Good Ship into her berth (long keel boats just don't steer in reverse...). The day finished with a trip to the legendary Mishnish, where the bar-folk spoke fondly of the visit a couple of weeks previously by the HitchHop duo of Brian Ferguson and Jim Campbell, esteemed adventurers and friends of the Good Ship.

Day 9: In and around Mallaig

The day in Mallaig began dull and overcast, not helped by the town's slightly drab demeanour. We had been told by the very friendly harbourmaster that we could 'dry out' against the harbour wall, and as the tide was already on the way out by 8.15am, we gently approached the harbour wall in the centre of town, picking a spot that would allow the boat to be dry in an hour or 2 but with enough window of tide to have options as to when to float off again when the tide returned. We laid the full anchor chain down the sidedeck to help heel the boat towards the wall, and set up a breasting line around the mast and a steel ring on the dockside, to help prevent the boat from falling the wrong way if she dried on an uneven surface. Before long, the boat was gently wallowing as she settled in the mud, before finally coming to rest, all 10 tons of her, against the harbour wall. The look on the tourists faces was priceless - surely those numpties on that blue boat didnt just accidentally run aground in the middle of town?!

The offending bobstay fitting...

Tide going...

Gone!

Crowds of tourists, eating fish suppers on the quay and discussing how they think we've messed up...

As the tide dropped below the level of the bobstay fitting, we undid the bolts and cleaned it off before the Skipper's dad took it over to the local boatyard to see if it could be welded back together again. One of the skilled metalworkers had it back together within the hour, and with the boat now high and dry, we set about bolting it back in place on a bed of polyurethane mastic (sticky black shit to the uninitiated). Rapid painting of the area followed, although this only got as far as the 2nd coat of undercoat before the tide returned, and so we settled down for a night against the wall, preceded by a nice dinner in the local seafood restaurant.

In between all this, there was enough time to  explore Mallaig and get some washing done at the Fisherman's Mission, a jolly sort of place with a cafe, second hand bookshop and showers for visiting boatsmen and the like. The cafe is run by a lady called Johnston, and while the Skipper was a the Mission the Skipper's brother was off getting petrol for the Seagull outboard from Johnston's Garage. A quick visit to Johnston's Chandlers to pick up a few maintenance items led os to believe that perhaps we were meant to be here all along...

Later in the day, Ma and Pa Johnston left for home and Seamen Finnigan and Janus rejoined the boat, and along with the Skipper and brother Neil we set about a mini pub crawl of Mallaig (easily achieved as all the pubs are within the ricochet of a tennis ball's distance of one another). The rain lashed down mercilessly over the grey town, but at least the cruise would now be able to carry on.

Day 8: Loch Ailort to Mallaig - Disaster strikes!

The wind had built overnight, and the next morning the Good Ship was bouncing around on her anchor chain like an unbridled horse. The Skipper took the dinghy ashore to collect seamen Farago, Kniveton and Graham for the trip up to Mallaig, but on the trip back from the beach it became apparnet that not all was right with the rigging. The forestay was slack, as were the runners on the opposite side of the mast. A quick inspection revealed that the bobstay fitting (that pulls down on the bowsprit to balance the rigging loads) had snapped on one side and was hanging on by a thread on the other. The trip to Mallaig would need to be made without the Yankee (the largest sail), although with a following wind this was not too much of a problem. More of an issue was whether or not we could get it fixed in Mallaig. The Skipper called his dad who would rendevous with us in Mallaig to see what could be done.

Heading down Loch Ailort, the wind continued to build, with the South Westerly Force 6-7 forecast building up a lumpy sea from the south and the sky a menacing grey all around. As we headed into the Sound of Sleat, the Good Ship surfed from wave to wave, the stereo blasting out the Beach Boys for effect. It was a sleigh ride, with huge waves and the wind screaming in the rigging. Big grins all round. As we approached Mallaig, we had to turn around into the wind to lower the main, and going from sailing with the wind to sailing against it, the battering we got at this point was pretty much as the Skipper had predicted it to be. Still, Seaman Farago heroically fought the mainsail into submission, and we picked up the leading lights for the entrance to Mallaig with little difficulty.

We picked up a mooring in the Harbour, whilst the rain lashed down unremittingly. Simon and Laura were heading back south, and the Skipper's brother was coming aboard, along with Ma and Pa who had driven up to help with repairs. The broken bobstay fitting weighed heavily on the Skipper's mind, it was below the waterline so any fix would require either lifting the boat out or finding somewhere to 'dry out' (deliberately run aground on a falling tide) in order to remove the fitting. One thing was certain, without a proper repair, the rest of the trip was in jeopardy...

Day 7: In and around Loch Ailort

Roshven bay

Saturday was spent on Loch Ailort, following a great slap-up breakfast at the caravan courtesy of Seaman Pammenter. It was another stunning day, with the waters of the bay crystal clear and the merest of whispers of wind on the still waters of the Loch. After some deliberating, we decided to head over to the Glenuig Inn where we would meet the rest of the crowd for an afternoon beer. On board were the Skipper, Seamen Finnigan, Kniveton and Graham (both greenhorns having never sailed before), Julia and her pal.

 We sailed to and fro across the loch, before attempting to nose the Good Ship into a secluded little cove, although the water was looking mighty thin behind the islet so we backed out again in case we ended up on the putty. Dodging the rocks at the entrance to Glenuig bay, the water was looking very shallow there too, but we sneaked in with less than a foot under the keel, eventually finding a spot to anchor amongst the moorings, safe in the knowledge that the tide was rising for the next 3 hours.

Glenuig Inn has a chequered history of late, to the point that the locals seem to have turned the village hall into a bar so that they don't have to drink there anymore (the reasons for this have something to do with the owner of the Inn coming up from London and obtaining the Crown Commission license for moorings, forcing the locals to pay mooring fees where they didn't before). The Inn itself has been refurbished, and is clean and well situated. They even have a badly painted in blue piano, on which the Skipper bashed out a few bars of Rachmaninov 2 before giving up in disgust. Still, the sun was shining, the beer was good and it's a lovely spot, being at the mouth of the pretty river Uig. After a beer or 2, the Skipper and Seaman Farago jumped into the dinghy to explore the myriad of little creeks and channels at the mouth of the river, sneaking up on sheep and poling the dinghy into the shallows as far as we could go.

Creek-crawling in the dinghy. Baaaa.

Leaving Glenuig bay on the high tide, all the previously visible (but unmarked) rocks were hidden, so it was a slow motor out, then on round the coast back to our anchorage from the previous night. Whilst anchoring, a local fisherman came over and handed us a bucket of fish, and the scene was set for the party on the beach that night.

Jules on the Guitarrrr

That evening we headed down to the beach and lit a fire in the gathering darkness, with Laura K gutting the fish and cooking them over the open fire. Jules got the guitar out and blasted out tune after tune, while much beer was consumed in the light of a roaring open fire. The midgies were out in force, but the singing made up for it, and as the last embers of the fire died down it was been a fitting end to a grand old day.

Day 6: Tobermory to Loch Ailort, round Ardnamurchan

Tobermory Harbour, Mull

The sun was shining and the sea was very, very blue the morning we set off for Ardnamurchan, the westernmost point of the British mainland and a major turning point for anyone leaving the relative comfort and safety of the southern islands. The Clyde Cruising Club pilot book describes the area north of Ardnamurchan thus: "Except for the Sound of Sleat and the Inner Sound and within most lochs, the waters north of Ardmanurchan are very exposed, with strong tides and overfalls off most headlands. Many of the Lochs are subject to severe squalls, and in the narrow passages between Skye and the mainland tidal streams run very strongly...As there is little commercial traffic there are relatively few (navigational) marks, and many dangers are completely unmarked". What it failed to mention was the stunning natural beauty of the area, or that the best way to experience such delights would be from the deck of a classic sailing yacht - but more of this anon.

A stroll through the town was followed by another excellent fried breakfast courtesy of Seaman Wagstaff, and with the Good Ship refuelled we motored out into the mirror-calm waters of the Sound of Mull in the company of a very small fibreglass cruiser.
 

Rubha nan Gall lighthouse

We were soon abeam of the Rubha nan Gall lighthouse, with a family of dolphins for sporadic company. As the wind filled in from the west, the Good Ship was able to lay off from the Mull shore and steer a comfortable course for Ardnamurchan peninsula. In a building breeze and sparkling sunshine, the boat came alive with a 'bone in her teeth' steaming back from the bow. It was one of those halcyon summer days, with the boat going like a train and the islands of the west shrouded in a lazy summer haze.

Ardamurchan Lighthouse, westernmost point of mainland Britain

The stunning but lonely sentinel that is Ardnamurchan lighthouse was soon abeam, and the unforgiving coastline made the Skipper glad that he was experiencing the headland in such benign conditions. The fearsome reputation of the Point is well-deserved, being exposed to the full force of swells making their way in from the Atlantic, and one can imagine the bleakness and austerity of a storm-ridden night for the lighthouse keepers of old tending the light. Passing the sandy expanse of Sanna Bay, the wind began to drop away and before long the sails were hanging limp, slatting back and forth in the leftover swell. The magnificent cliffs and caves in this part of the coast boomed eerily with each breaking swell, and we passed a couple of hamlets on the shore, nestled into whatever shelter the land could provide. Needing to meet a deadline at Loch Ailort, we motored into the Sound of Arisaig and into the mouth of Loch Ailort, the mountains of the west towering over the scene in serene majesty. Our destination was a small bay north of Glenuig, next to the caravan park where Seaman Wagstaff keeps a caravan. The scale of the chart meant that the Good Ship was shepherded gingerly into the bay with lookouts on the bow peering into the clear waters for any submerged rocks, and it was a relief to get safely anchored up in 10 metres of depth, not far from the shore.

At anchor, Loch Ailort

 The crew disembarked and made their way up to the caravan, and before long the 'crowd' who we were meeting arrived and dinner was served with more than a dram or two. The dreaded midge had his claymore out in vengeance as the Skipper rowed back out to the boat for the night (the anchorage was very eposed to the West and so the boat would need supervision in case the wind swung round from its current easterly direction). It had been a long but fruitful day.

Day 4: Back to Oban

After a short break to take care of business matters in the capital, the Skipper boarded a train with 'greenhorn' Seaman Wagstaff and his flatmate, Simon. Our destination was Oban, capital of the Western Highlands, where the Skipper had left the Good Ship bobbing contentedly on a mooring the previous week. The route we took was the West Highland Line, one of the great train journeys of the world (indeed it was voted by Wanderlust Magazine as THE best rail journey in the world, above the Orient Express and the Trans-Siberian Railway). It's easy to see why: the line goes from the industrial heartland of Glasgow, through the seaside town of Helensburgh and the upper reaches for the Firth of Clyde (which were bathed in sunshine as we passed), and from there up the side of Gareloch and over the hill to the east side of fjord-like Loch Long. From the head of the loch, it heads over to meet Loch Lomond at Tarbet, before heading up the west coast of that Loch past Ardlui at the head and on to Crianlarich and Tyndrum. It then passes through dramatic Glen Lochy, past the head of stunning Loch Awe, and on through the Pass of Brander to meet Loch Etive at Taynuilt. The final stretch of the journey took us past the Falls of Lora (under the Connel Bridge, and the world's only salt-water waterfall) and on to our destination of Oban. It was a truly epic, breathtaking journey (and surprisingly cheap at around £20) and it comes highly recommended to anyone. The evening was wrapped up with dinner with Lizzy and Paul at the Cuan Mor restaurant, and a scramble in the dinghy in the pitch black as we embarked on the Good Ship ready for setting off the following day.

Summer 2011, the Concrete Caravan heads Norf - day 1 (22.7.11)

With apologies to Deacon Blue :

"And I'll sail her up the west coast

Through villages and towns
I'll be on my holidays
They'll be doing their rounds
They'll ask me how I got her I'll say "I saved my money"
They'll say isn't she pretty that ship called Maragay"

Sitting on a mirror-like sea

Now if only it was that simple. The 22nd July 2011 dawned bright and sunny over the placid waters of the Firth, and the Skipper was up early and down to the yacht club with the usual piles of cruising crap in tow, plus a slightly bemused crewman in the form of Trevor. The club boatman, 'Phil the Chill' was nowhere in sight, and a quick phonecall revealed that he had indeed chilled out a little too much the night before. An hour or so later, he appeared with his monster beard and the launch was loaded up and we were on our way out to the Good Ship, bobbing happily at her mooring, anticipating the adventures to come. As we set off down the Firth, storm clouds were gathering ominously on the horizon, but the quiet motor to Kip Marina passed quickly and after filling up fuel and water we were off, bound for the entrance to the Crinan Canal at Ardrishaig.

With little wind, we motored past Wemyss Bay and down through the gap between Bute and Cumbrae, before setting sail briefly in a gentle Nor'easter. The stunning rock formations at the south end of Bute slid by, and we were off the top end of Arran when Trevor yelled 'Whale!' . A large Minkie whale surfaced momentarily and then dove under the mirror-like sea, slapping it's tail on the sea as it went. A few minutes later, another Minkie surfaced, blew its spout indignantly and vanished in a similar manner. Pretty awesome start to the wildlife tour...

As the afternoon drew on and the sun came back out, the breeze dropped away completely leaving us to motor all the way up Loch Fyne to Ardrishaig, sometimes in the company of porpoises which were playing in the clear waters and following the boat. We reached Ardrishaig in time to lock into the canal for the night, and were docked in the canal basin by 7pm. Trevor cooked up a storm in the galley whilst we waited for salty Seamen Farago, Finnigan and Janus to arrive. The ever lovely Emma from the canal popped in for a quick drink, and finally the drunken slabbards arrived from Edinburgh at about 11pm, claiming some nonsense about diversions on the roads or something. After some rowdiness, we settled down for the night, Trevor sleeping as far from the madding crew as possible up in the forecabin.

In the Ardrishaig Basin, Crinan Canal

Seaward side of Ardrishaig

Decent weather...

Looking down Loch Fyne

Posh mobo in the basin

Day 2 - Ardrishaig to Oban via the Crinan Canal

Day 2 of the odyssey dawned bright and sunny, and the Good Ship headed off into the first lock in the company of First By Farr (Last by Miles, ahem) who were on their way to race against Griff Rhys Jones, Rory McGrath and Dara O Briain in Tennents West Highland Yacht racing week. The canal, described by many as 'the most beautiful short-cut in the world' cuts across Kintyre peninsula very close to the ancient hill-top fort of Dunadd, capital of the Kingdom of Dalriada, the first Kingdom of Scotland. It was built to allow small ships to avoid the treacherous passage round the Mull of Kintyre, and like the Mull it even has it's own song sung here by some poor fella who ain't no Paul McCartney (although it does sound a bit like Mull of Kintyre...hmmmm) 

 

It was a cracking day and a quick passage through the canal, punctuated by frankly awesome scrambled duck eggs on toast (with eggs provided by Emma MacNair), with Seamen Finnigan and Janus doing sterling work handling the lines whilst the Skipper tried not to skewer people in the locks with the bowsprit. The canal really is one of the most beautiful wonders of Scotland - where else can you motor through a forest, with waterside pubs and wildlife everywhere you look? 

Finnigin sillygrin

First lock

Cairbaan Summit

Stopping the boats from bouncing off each other

Just before the duck eggs arrived...

Crazy Artist's house...he swims in the canal every morning

Crinan basin

Lovely Crinan

Twat with camera

Puffer getting up steam

 Following a quick stop at the Crinan chandlery for supplies, we left Seaman Farago to drive himself up to our rendevous point in Oban. A decent South-westerly breeze had arrived, the sun was shining and the sea was very, very blue as we locked out of the canal and into the waters of Loch Crinan, bound for the dangersous Dorus Mor tidal race at the entrance to the Sound of Luing.

Heading for Dorus Mor

 It was champagne sailing as we shot through the gap, and picked up the tide on the other side for an express ride up the Sound of Luing. Passing Easdale island (home to the world skipping stone championships every year) the breeze freshened and the Good Ship came alive, 10 tons of yacht powering her way through the seas in bright sunshine and clear skies. Soon Kerrera was abeam, and hardening up onto the wind slightly we squeezed the boat up the shore of the island before bearing away towards Oban town. IT wasn't long before we had chosen a mooring right next to the pontoons at Oban Sailing Club, and the Skipper was on the case with the evening's meal.

It was shortly after this that the shananigans started...First came the artsy drunken poses sitting on the boom under a beautiful sunset

 

Then someone started throwing fire around the place...

And then the natical disco, or 'nauti-disco' (I'll get my coat) began...

The high point of the night though was watching the moon rise directly above McCaig's Folly...stunning

At an undisclosed hour the crew finally collapsed, bellies full of rum and the memories of a cracking day of sailing seeping into the Skipper's dreams as the water lapped gently against the side of the the boat, the crew snoring contentedly and the world onboard feeling like a great place to live...