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.