27 May 2021
We left Arbroath in the morning, as soon as the marina gates opened. In the outer harbour we filled up with diesel. Three other yachts were leaving the harbour at the same time, continuing their round Britain rally. They were moving slowly in the outer harbour as we were filling up, and just as we finished and were casting off our lines from the fuel berth, one of them headed out... only to reverse back in, pursued by a boat entering the harbour. A slow dance of boats ensued as each of us tried not to hit the others in the relatively confined space. But then we had a clear view of the gap between the walls, and left Arbroath, with just enough water under our keel.
There wasn't enough wind to fill the sails, so we were forced to motor. Shortly after lunchtime we spotted a dolphin, possibly more than one, just south of Montrose. There's something special about these creatures which always lifts the spirit; Steve, who is more or less a newcomer to sailing, had never seen them in the wild like this, and this made it extra special for him.
Abut an hour after the dolphins, there was enough wind to sail in, so the engine was cut. As an added bonus, the sun was shining, and we enjoyed some delightful sailing until we reached Stonehaven about six in the evening.
There is no marina at Stonehaven, so we were tied up against the wall, as we were in Dunbar (except that we didn't have to worry about drying out). It is a very pretty harbour, with a curving sandy beach, a convenient pub on the waterfront, and wooded hillsides in the background. While Bryan, Mike and I had a pint outside the pub, Steve volunteered to stay on board and cook a delicious shepherd's pie.
That evening, after supper, while the rest of the crew were putting the world to rights in the cabin, I went on deck to enjoy the sight of Stonehaven at dusk. As so often happens, a friendly local came by to admire the boat and have a chat. She told me that a couple of weeks earlier a pod of orca had been seen off Stonehaven, and raised hopes that we might see some of these creatures as we made our way northwards.
28th May 2021
We left Stonehaven at 6 in the morning, as usual compelled by the tide to leave our beds earlier than we might have wished. When we'd arrived the evening before I had tried to call the harbour master, but to no avail. Now, as we were leaving early in the morning, I'd assumed he wouldn't be around, so I intended to try and call later in the day to ask about payment. But as we were about to throw off our last line, someone walked briskly along the harbour wall and asked us for twenty quid for staying the night. I'm sure he thought we were making a quick getaway to avoid having to stump up.
Once again the winds were too light to sail. About 8 o'clock in the morning the visibility deteriorated and so6on we were motoring through thick fog. This is always an alarming experience, but we have enough instruments on the boat to give us comfort about most of the other traffic that was out there. It's not a madly busy stretch of water, though we did pass fairly close to a strange-looking craft that emerged from the fog, moving very slowly. It looked like something out of Star Trek, with a thin pillar seeming to support some kind of platform at the top. Eventually, as we got closer, we could see that this was an illusion caused by the design painted on the bow. It was one of the ships that service the oil platforms that are scattered off the Aberdeenshire coast.
After about an hour the fog cleared. The sea was flat and the wind feeble. The sky was overcast and it was cold.
About eleven in the morning we were in sight of Peterhead. It is a big commercial port, used by both fishing vessels and oil-rig vessels. The regulations say that any boat wishing to enter must call Peterhead Harbour on the VHF to get permission to come in. As we approached we were monitoring Channel 14, listening to the harbour control talking to other incoming vessels. I have to confess that both sides of these conversations were unintelligible to me, because of their strong accents, and I began to worry that when it was my turn to announce our presence I would not be able to grasp their meaning. Luckily the person who answered my call worked out fairly quickly that I was a mere Englishman, and made allowances for me in the way he spoke.
By noon we were in Peterhead Marina, Goldfinch's home for the next two weeks.
Peterhead proclaims itself to be Europe's biggest fishing port. It is also home to a very high-security prison. To be honest, it wasn't looking its best in the cold and grey weather that enveloped it when we arrived. I had been here once before, when Bryan did his circumnavigation. On that occasion we had asked a local where the best place to eat might be, to which the answer was the Wetherspoons. This year that still seemed to be the case; still, decent beer and a good honest burger and chips is sometimes what hungry sailors need.
When we had left Ipswich two weeks earlier (how long ago that seems now!) we had been given a bottle of Champagne as a parting gift from fellow-sailor Martin. That bottle had made unscathed it all the way up the east coast of England and a fair chunk of the way into Scotland. Now was the moment for it to shine, so we popped the cork and celebrated the successful conclusion to the first leg of the trip.
We had two nights in Peterhead before heading back home. That Wetherspoons did us proud more than once, stepping in to save the day when our attempts to find some more fine dining were foiled.
As we loaded our luggage into the taxi that was to take us to Aberdeen Airport, the grey and cold of Peterhead had expanded to become an all-enveloping fog. On the way to the airport, we emerged from this dismal blanket into bright sunshine, a foretaste of the beautiful early summer weather that our families had been enjoying at home while we were shivering in the dampness of the North.
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