After a 3 week gap I'm back on the west coast of Scotland about to complete the last stint of this summer's sailing. And I've realised I never finished writing up the blog from last month's episode. So here's a quick catch-up.
There are so many islands, lochs and inlets on the west coast of Scotland that you could spend weeks here and still only scratch the surface. We'd done a good job of sampling Lewis and Harris, including some inland exploring, but we now had less than a week to get the boat to Mallaig for the next crew-change, so it was time to move on.
It seemed a shame to cruise this area without at least paying our respects to the Isle of Skye, so from Tarbert we crossed back over the Minch to Loch Dunvegan (Monday 26th July) , an uneventful 6-hour passage in light winds. As we were in no particular hurry, we sailed as much as we could, even though the speed was not particularly impressive: we managed a bit less than three hours under sail.
Loch Dunvegan is a large V-shaped inlet, at the end of which is a village, a bit of beach and some caravans, and also an old castle. There are some mooring buoys there; we picked the one nearest the shore, and Adam rowed over in the dinghy to have a look round, while the rest of us stayed on board to rest our still-weary legs. It was a shame not to have set foot on the Isle of Skye, but the previous day had been very tiring, and it was still good to sit on the boat and take in the view. The sad truth is, we don’t have time to explore properly every port we visit, and this was really just a staging post on our way south.
The next day was grey and drizzly, and once again more or less windless. We motored out of the loch in deteriorating visibility. As we passed inshore of the Traffic Separation Scheme off Neist Point, it was raining and we could not see very far. Our equipment will pick up AIS signals from other vessels, giving us information about their course and speed, so we stood a good chance of ‘seeing’ other shipping even before they are in view – a useful safety tool. But not all boats transmit AIS information (only commercial vessels are obliged to); and the visibility got poor enough for me to turn on the radar, which did alert me to the presence of another yacht that we didn’t see till it was much closer.
The poor visibility did not last beyond the morning, although the day never achieved the clear sunny weather that we had grown used to over the last few days. There was no wind all morning, and the sea was completely, unrealistically flat. But around midday a breeze picked up and we turned the engine off. Very quickly, the gentle breeze turned to a fresh breeze, and with it the flat sea was replaced by quite an uncomfortable motion on the quarter. We reduced sail, and eventually had only a part-reefed headsail, which with the wind abaft the beam works well on Goldfinch. By now the drizzle of the morning had turned into substantial rain. Crew on deck were in full foul-weather gear, with the boat’s spray-hood up. It was getting difficult to steer, as the waves from behind were pushing the stern round and knocking us off course.
I considered diverting to Lochboisdale. Barra, our intended destination, was still a good four hours away, while we could get to Lochboisdale in two. We weren’t in danger, but another four hours of this would be tiresome to say the least. The crew said they were OK to continue, but also someone said we couldn’t be sure we’d feel the same way a couple of hours later. We had about an hour in which to choose to continue or divert. In that time the tide turned, so it was now flowing in the same direction as we were heading. This had two effects. Firstly, it meant
that we could add the speed of the tide to our own speed through the water, which gave us a boost. Secondly, with the tide going the same way as the wind, the sea flattened out and became more comfortable. Before long, the prospect of carrying on to Barra seemed more appealing.
And it turned into a cracking sail. We saw speeds of over 7 knots over the ground, with one of those knots being supplied by the tide. To starboard, the islands were getting closer: South Uist, Eriskay, Barra – green but a little rockier than Lewis and Harris. To enter Castle Bay on Barra, we had to turn more westerly, so that the wind was further forward. At some point I knew that we would have to put the engine back on, but helped by Adam’s skilful helming we managed to sail almost all the way, with only the last half an hour under motor. As we came into the bay, the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry steamed up behind us, so we loitered out of her way till she was alongside, and then we went into the small marina. I had not been able to reach the marina staff on the VHF but one of them was on the pontoon, and by a combination of pointing and shouting we worked out which berth he was recommending for us. It was a tight spot, with quite a brisk breeze blowing Goldfinch’s bow around, but with the aid of our bow-thrusters we managed to park safely.
Mike, Chris and I went ashore to check out the lie of the land, and to see if there was anywhere we could eat. Jo was going to be arriving on the ferry the next evening, and we wanted to find somewhere to have a meal out together before our ways parted again. From her previous visit she recommended Café Kisimul, run by an Italian and an Indian and offering great curry that has been recognised 'officially' by being voted best Scottish curry (and 4th best in the UK) in a competition run by the Houses of Parliament. Unfortunately they could only offer us an outside table, but we booked it, on the off-chance that it would not be raining or blowing a cold wind.
Castle Bay is picturesque. The castle which gives it its name sits dramatically on a rocky islet in the bay. The hills rise up steeply behind the town; while we were there they were more or less permanently festooned with clouds that tended to drift downhill towards street level. The town has a great feel of community, with shops stocking local produce. In the post office there is a cafe where I had a very good cappuccino and a massive scone while I posted a few blog entries using their wifi: one disadvantage of Barra was that mobile phone reception was hard to come by, and only Chris, on the Kevin Bacon network, could get a signal. The marina theoretically had wifi, but it was out of order; and anyway my almost universal experience with marina wifi is that they don't work very well.
On 28th July Jo arrived and checked into the hotel. It hadn't been part of the original plan to meet up in Barra, but the opportunity presented itself and we'd seized it. The weather was still blowy and wet, so the outside table at Kisimul was looking less and less attractive. We cancelled the booking, but asked about takeaways; they told us we would have to wait till late in the evening. So we cooked on board, and picked up the takeaway to keep for the following evening.
The next day Jo left early on the ferry. We were headed for the isle of Canna, our last stop before Mallaig, where we were to leave the boat. Well, that was the plan, anyway. By the time we left Castle Bay later that morning, the wind had moderated, so our exit was easier than our entrance; however, it promised to be a fine sailing day. While we were still in the bay we unfurled the mainsail, and since that felt good we unrolled the headsail too, which promptly fell into the sea. The halliard had chafed right through at the top of the mast.
The crew gathered up the sail and we went back to the marina to assess the damage. We had been having occasional problems furling and unfurling the sail, and it looked as if the halliard had been rubbing somewhere it shouldn't. We tried re-hoisting the sail on the spinnaker halliard, but its lead was all wrong and it just twisted at the top, making it impossible to furl the sail. This was something to be sorted out at a boatyard: the proper halliard had only lost about a foot, but one end was now somewhere inside the mast.
Someone from a neighbouring boat suggested that we should go to Arisaig, a few miles down the coast from Mallaig. Arisaig doesn't have a marina, but there are buoys there, and the harbour is generally better equipped to deal with yachts.
So, a couple of hours later than our planned departure, we set out for Arisaig. The sailing breeze that had seemed to be on offer in the morning had died, and anyway we only had one usable sail, so we had to motor. It was a long slog in quite grey conditions, and we didn't get to Arisaig till after 9pm; but en route we were entertained by dolphins sporting in the bow-wave, and we had spectacular views of Rum and Eigg, and in the distance the Point of Ardnamurchan. And we dined splendidly on passage on the curry from Kisimul.
The entrance to Arisaig is a narrow, winding channel strewn with rocks. We arrived close to the time of high water, which was handy since parts of the entrance would otherwise have been too shallow. Once through the channel you arrive in the bay, with dozens of buoys laid out for yachts, most of them occupied. I had phoned ahead and we had been allocated a buoy, so we tied up, had a nightcap and went to bed on a peaceful night.
In the morning we motored over to a stone jetty that can only be accessed at high water. There a couple of men from the boatyard were waiting to help us. One of them was hoisted to the top of the mast, dangling from a crane. He dropped a small weight down the inside of the mast, tied to the end of a piece of fishing line. At the bottom of the mast, Mike managed to hook out the line and tie it to the end of the damaged halliard. The man at the top of the mast pulled it through and passed it back down to the deck. We could then hoist the sail, roll it away and return to our buoy. Goldfinch was once again a fully-functioning sailing boat.
That evening we found somewhere to have a meal ashore, for the first time in what seemed ages, to celebrate the end of this leg of the circumnavigation. Next day it took a few trips in the dinghy to get all the crew and luggage ashore, though we made it slightly easier by temporarily tying Goldfinch up to a buoy that was nearer the land. We left the outboard and life-jackets in a locker and the dinghy on a rack ready for the next crew. Then we walked to the station to begin our journeys home.
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