When you’re a tired sailor, even the sound of the prawn boats heading off in the early hours doesn’t spoil your sleep. I eventually woke to a bustling fishing scene with people sorting last night’s catch and seagulls circling around in a kind of fish-scrap frenzy, letting rip with their poo without a concern in the world who it landed on! I decided to go and use the shower in the Fishermen’s Mission, although a flashback of standing on discarded fish scales in the one in Newlyn did present a psychological barrier at first. I could not have been more wrong – the Mission provides immaculate facilities for the Fraserburgh fishermen. Not only is it clean, but you also get two for the price of one. Neither the Fishermen’s Mission lady nor anyone else apparently knows why there are two showers in the same cubicle – answers on a postcard please…. (keep it clean!).

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Having avoided going drinking in The Royal and seen some of the catch, I felt my time in the ‘Broch’ coming to an end. I saw the fishermen from the night before, and once again they were very helpful, pointing out the best place for a good breakfast, giving me a few words of advice on Rattray Head and waved me off as I left. The icing on the cake happened on my departure from the harbour; as I customarily glanced around for obstacles, a very human-like face popped up out of the water and stared right at me. It took me a few shocked seconds to work out what it was I was seeing – a seal! I didn’t catch a photo but this is what it looked like…

Saving the diesel, sailing again…

As the general advice is to give Rattray Head a wide berth, especially as I would face choppier ‘wind over tide’ conditions going south into a Southerly wind, I headed out of Fraserburgh in a south easterly direction, a route that would take me off shore by about 4NM. I was soon whizzing along with both sails up at 7 knots. It was fantastic to be sailing again, heeled over and without the incessant sound of the Yanmar 1GM10 chugging away.

Many sailors will understand when I say that deciding the right time to tack is sometimes a challenge. I find angles particularly difficult to get my head around – I blame Mr Edwards my maths teacher at school, who found intense sarcasm the best medium through which to instruct fifth formers in preparation for their Maths O’Level (Grade C). So I picked a point on the chart plotter that seemed to look favourable having just passed to the south east of Rattray Head. Imagine my delight (and slight surprise) to find that after tacking I was perfectly lined up for Peterhead. It was a sweet moment.

Rest and Recuperation

After two months of non-stop travelling and some long train journeys for whistle stop family occasions, I realised that I was pretty tired and my sister Penny’s offer of a bit of R&R near Aberdeen was an offer that I couldn’t refuse. So Vela is tucked up in Peterhead for a few days and I am sitting on a very comfortable sofa, having had a hot bath and a G&T with ice and the prospect of a lovely non-damp bed tonight. More importantly, I get to wash my sleeping bag which has taken on its own rather musty odour. Sorry TMI – but these are the hard facts of life aboard!

After yesterday’s exhausting fight to get anything greater than 3 knots out of the engine with the wind and waves against us, I was anticipating another difficult day with a longer passage to make, 44 miles to Fraserburgh. However the day dawned still and sunny. Having not eaten much the day before, I treated myself to a ‘Scottish Breakfast’ at the Harbour Lights Café in Lossiemouth which consisted largely of meat products – sausages, bacon, Lorne Sausage, Haggis and Black Pudding. I was quickly defeated by the surfeit of protein but took the two sausages in a doggy bag which turned into a pasta dish for tonight’s dinner.

After whining about the lack of RAF activity yesterday, I was treated to a fantastic display of cool flying as I motored out into Spey Bay, six Typhoons left the base with a roar of thunder, flew out over Vela and arced round towards the west, sun glinting off their wings. With the sea like glass and the sun out, I handed over steering to Audrey and put my shorts on for a wee sunbathe. The forty odd miles to Fraserburgh were pretty uneventful and I read a bit and managed two 10 minute naps. It was even calm enough for me to repair of a torn baton pocket in the mainsail and make the pasta sauce for dinner later.

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By 8pm, I was within sight of Fraserburgh and had been warned by Craig of Sulair who had been in contact, to bolt everything down as Fraserburgh was a rough town! I’d booked a place on the pontoons they have for a few visiting yachts as it is most definitely a fishing port, not a leisure facility – much like Newlyn in that respect. I called up the Harbour on VHF Ch 12 and sought clearance to enter, listened to the impenetrable Scottish accent and hoped that I had understood where to go. The Harbour is a total maze of multiple basins which steadily fill up with fishing boats through the day and night. I obediently followed the instructions and eventually found myself in the South Harbour where the pontoons were situated. The Watchman had told me to go ‘on the end’ – at least I think that’s what he said.

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As I entered the South Harbour, I couldn’t see any space resembling his instructions. There was a large fishing boat – Minerva parked at the pontoon hammer head and so I made for an empty finger pontoon and started to manoeuvre into the slot. Someone started shouting at me from the quayside – a man with a walky-talky who couldn’t provide any useful information, getting frustrated I shouted – “Where do you want me to go?” aware as I did this that I was sounding posher and more English by the second (not necessarily a great thing in Fraserburgh!). I put the boat in reverse and backed out of the free berth to an audience of about 6 guffawing fishermen. I could vaguely hear a frantic discussion going on between the bloke on the quay and the watch tower.

I gave up and went into the larger basin where I proceeded to do circuits while waiting for someone to take charge and give me a clue where to go. On the VHF there were some frantic calls for ‘Jimmy – come and move your boat!”. The Watchman leaned out of his tower and apologised profusely explaining that Minerva was in the wrong place and it would all be sorted in 5 minutes. Three circuits of the basin later, I berthed behind the naughty Minerva and the same chuckling fishermen caught my lines and made sure that I was securely berthed. They were delighted, they had ridiculed the ineffectual idiot with the walky-talky, bantered Jimmy for parking in the wrong place and seen a bit of tense boat handling from this strange English woman on the only yacht in the harbour! So Vela is spending the night with the rough kids tonight, I wonder what time the fishing fleet leave in the morning?

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The tide in Inverness Firth can be pretty strong which made for a leisurely start at Seaport Marina, there was no point in leaving too early and fighting to get into Inverness Marina which was only about 2 NM up to the east. This gave us a bit of time to do some boat ‘admin’ – Penny rearranged my food cupboard which had been annoying her for the past few days. I set about trying to work out how to use the ‘Top Climber’, an expensive but clever ascender device which uses a fixed line and the movement of your arms and legs to get you to the top of the mast. The reason – a wonky wind vane. When I was fighting my way up to Ardrishaig to get into the Crinan Canal a few weeks ago, I was mystified why I couldn’t sail closer to the wind on a starboard tack; I was using the wind arrow and vane as my usual checking tool. I then realised that the crane lift in Douglas had obviously twisted the vane around to the left which wasn’t very helpful.

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Having worked out the mechanism and set it up, I decided that I would feel much better if I had someone working a safety line in case the ascender went horribly wrong. I trust my big sister with most things, but there were some moments in the past when I know she could have cheerfully murdered me; so I decided that someone more ‘neutral’ on the line might be preferable. Penny was given the job of chief photographer and I recruited Craig, the master of Sulair to do the job.

Sulair

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A quick bit about Sulair – a fantastic blue yacht (I wish I could remember the make!) about the same size as Vela, built in the mid 60’s with rather ‘tired’ decor but full of heart, and a much beefier engine than ours – had been our lock buddy on day one of the Caledonian. Craig and a very glamorous young blonde lady worked the locks and lines like a well oiled machine and occasionally canoodled if there was a pause on lock up or lock down. We found the vision of young lovers in yellow foulies and vintage sailing boat very charming. Imagine our surprise on day two when Sulair overtook us on Loch Lochy with Craig at the helm and a young Swiss guy on board. What had Craig done with the blonde? It turned out the Swiss dude was a hitchhiker found in a pub and the lady friend had had to catch a train home. On day three, there was no sign of the hitchhiker but a silver fox called Tam had materialised in his place. Craig obviously is a complete beast of a skipper if he can’t keep his crew for longer than a day!

Anyway Craig provided some excellent muscle and my ascent and descent of the mast was accomplished with very little in the way of ‘oh shit!’ moments, I felt secure and managed to move the vane back to where it should be (sort of).

“You aren’t very girly girls are you?”

Craig

Old Comrades

Once Penny had gone, I managed to do a double load of washing, get fuel, water and camping gas and watch most of the men’s Wimbledon final (gutted for Federer). As luck would have it, Inverness is about an hour from another WRAC 863 pal – Janet (Née Bridle), known in the old days as “Idle Bridle’, in homage to her almost horizontal approach to rigorous military training! She and her husband Graham are now anything but idle, they own a smallholding and are forever chopping wood, rearing pigs and sheep and building fences. They came and picked me up and took me to dinner in Inverness which was so kind and very much appreciated before I launch myself at the East coast. Janet left me a Red Cross parcel with a teatowel after one of mine mysteriously vanished over the side, some eggs from her hens which are delicious as I had them for lunch today and a knitted ear warmer, made by Janet who has added some serious craft skills to her repertoire, which used to consist mainly of being able to drink us under the table (she can probably still do it too).

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In the Moray Firth

Leaving Inverness was pretty spectacular, you turn right out of the marina and are faced immediately with the mighty road bridge that spans the firth. I was so mesmerised by this sight that I nearly jumped out of my skin when a large ship just behind my left shoulder gave me a warning toot on his horn before it went past! Any attempt to resemble a professional yachtswoman was scuppered by the fact that I’d forgotten to take in my fenders and I had hung some newly washed ‘smalls’ on the guardrail to dry.

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I was however, treated to the transfer of the Harbour Pilot back onto his pilot boat, As odd/geeky as it may seem, I’m riveted by the idea that harbour pilots who are nearly all ‘men of a certain age’ (such is the level of qualifications and experience required for the role), go out in their boats, transfer across to large ships by climbing up a precarious ladder many metres high, take the responsibility for getting the ships in and out of harbour and then transfer back again and vice verse. This happens in all weathers and must rely on the skill of the pilot boat skipper to keep close to the ship’s hull and the sure footedness of the middle-aged harbour pilot.

As you leave Inverness Firth, you go past two headlands which form a dog’s leg, Chanonry Point which is well known for its dolphins – sadly a ‘no show’ from Flipper and his friends today, and Fort George which is the last of the three forts across the Great Glen built to subdue the Highlanders (the others being Fort William and Fort Augustus).

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The Long Drag to Lossiemouth

I have written much of this blog on my way to Lossiemouth which took ages!  Into wind all afternoon and a choppy sea meant the average speed was about 2.5 knots – I finally made it into the marina at 10.45pm. 

As RAF Lossiemouth is home to three Typhoon Squadrons, I was hoping to see some fast jets or at least meet some louche pilots called Jonny or Ginger in the pub (there’s never a problem identifying a pilot, they normally tell you themselves within a few seconds). But when I popped into the Steamboat Inn for the marina showers key and a pint of bitter shandy (my recovery drink), there were only a couple of grumpy old men, one of whom managed to be sexist, racist and obnoxious in the same sentence. And no jets spotted either, although I briefly got excited by a speeding shape in the sky but it was a gannet – you can see how easy it is to mix them up can’t you?

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At N 57°43.568’ Lossiemouth represents the most northern point of my tour, until I get to Selsey Bill, I will be trending south!

Thomas Telford, the amazing Scottish engineering genius, built the Caledonian Canal which made use of the geographical fault line of the Great Glen that scythes through the Highlands. It links Loch Lochy, Loch Oich, Loch Ness and Loch Dochfour with 22 miles of manmade canals and 29 locks; and was conceived originally as a way of transporting ships of the Royal Navy to avoid the more dangerous route via Cape Wrath and Pentland Firth (which is also my reasoning for taking it). By the time it was finished, Napoleon had been defeated at Waterloo and the canal risked becoming a white elephant. Queen Victoria used the Canal in 1873 and it started to attract tourists, which is its prime use today.

Corpach to Gairlochy

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I’m ashamed to say that Penny’s arrival at Corpach initiated a bit of a trot through the booze cabinet; bottle of Prosecco, wine with dinner (Thai chicken curry) and then some rum with coffee. This meant a rather slovenly start the next morning – the very patient lock-keeper had to bang on the door of the shower to ask whether we wanted to ‘lock up’ at 08.30 am or risk delaying the whole day. Wiping soap out of my eyes, I tore back to the boat and fired up the engine, just making it in to the lock as the doors were closing. We did the two locks and were mostly cack-handed, with a lot of self-conscious guffawing. Finally we had a bit of respite and got some porridge and coffee on board which calmed everything down. Lucky that we did so, because our next challenge was Neptune’s Staircase, a run of eight locks. By the time we had got to the end of that we felt like old lock hands. It’s obviously a massive tourist attraction because we appeared in countless Japanese photographs as we went up.

In one of those surreal moments, I had a chat with another member of the Sadler Owner’s Facebook group Donald Bisset – they get everywhere. As we pulled into one of the many canal side pontoons for lunch and a nap, the sun came out and suddenly the world was transformed into the beautiful, dramatic landscape that it really is.  Feeling refreshed we decided to push on to Gairlochy where we had an emotional couple of attempts to moor on the pontoon in a stiff breeze which was blowing us off the only space left.  Creating sport for the French crew spectating from a nearby boat was unintentional – I gave them a very hard stare and muttered ‘Waterloo’ under my breathe.

At the end of day one in the Canal we had accomplished a whole 7 nautical miles!! But Gairlochy was so beautiful, charming white ducks with cute quacks, wagtails bobbing their tails happily and the glassy calm water reflecting Vela’s sleek lines as the sun finally set.

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Gairlochy to Fort Augustus

Although we aimed to make an earlier start than on day one, it was still rather leisurely and we got motoring into Loch Lochy at around 09.00 am. The weather had at last started to improve to the extent that shorts and teeshirts were worn briefly! There were far fewer locks in this stretch and so we could afford a longish lunch break at Invergary Castle, a dramatic ruin on the north bank of Loch Oich. A little wine, a little lunch and a little nap in beautiful surroundings necessitated a walk to the castle to shake ourselves back into an alert state ready for the last few miles to Fort Augustus.

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As luck would have it, another WRAC 863 pal, Laura McPhee, had texted saying she was walking around Ben Nevis the next day and could pop down to Fort Augustus that evening – was there room on the boat?! My eyes swivelled around the cluttered cabin in a slightly panic-stricken way as I texted back “Of course! The more the merrier!” Whilst Sadler 25’s purport to have 5 berths (for midgets), two is a comfortable number and three is ‘cosy’. As Laura is nearly 6ft and Penny is my senior sister (and guest crew), there was only one person who was going to go into the forepeak and that was me! We had a very enjoyable night at the Lock Inn; at bedtime once I had moved the charts, pilot books, spare ropes, clothes storage and random boat parts, I found that I had a very nice nest and we all had a pretty good night’s sleep. Laura left at some hideous hour of the morning but at least that meant we hit the lock flight in Fort Augustus as soon as it opened at 08.30am.

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Fort Augustus to Inverness (almost)

The intention today was to get to Inverness Marina, do some washing, plug into main’s power and paint the town of Inverness red. As I have said before, where boating is concerned, plans don’t always happen as you hope. Despite getting the first lock down at Fort Augustus and crossing Loch Ness without a break, we did not make it out of the Sea Lock at Clachnaharry in time. The lock-keepers, as lovely and helpful as they are, work regular hours and by 5.30 pm, they are on their way home for their tea. We used every trick in the book to induce more speed out of the engine and sails – even though the Genoa was up and down like a bride’s nightie, such was the inconsistency of the wind across Loch Ness. We were lucky to get through two swing bridges and the flight of 5 locks in Muirtown but the final hurdle of the Sea Lock was closed by the time we got there.

Crossing Loch Ness was an amazing experience, with towering mountains and hills on either side and the knowledge that below in a mind-blowing 230+metres of water, there may be a prehistoric reptile lurking about, gives it that extra ‘something’. One of the more famous images of Loch Ness is Urquhart Castle built in 13th Century, home to Clan Grant but was attacked many times by the warring MacDonalds and abandoned to ruination in the 17th Century.

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So here we now are in Sea Port Marina, a few miles from Inverness where tomorrow I will pay off my wonderful crew member. Penny has thrown ropes, climbed up precarious wall ladders, jumped onto pontoons and suffered some occasional ‘shoutiness’ from the Skipper with grace and good humour; she also flirted shamelessly with all the lock-keepers and I’m sure that Richard may wish to have a few words when she gets home. Having not spent this much time in each other’s sole company for decades, it was very special indeed to have shared the magic of the Caledonian Canal with her.

I wish I could say that I saw a lot of beautiful views today, but that would be lying. I actually spent virtually the whole day seeing nothing at all. Armed with the chart plotter and a fog horn, I navigated through the white landscape from Oban to Corran Narrows without mishap – unless you count the time when a French yacht overhauled me, (the shame, the shame!). However it did rain slightly less than yesterday, which is a bonus!

The vista fortunately opened out when I approached the Corran Narrows, where Loch Linnhe reduces to a gap of only 100m wide. It’s quite exciting going through – not least because the current accelerates you through and there is a ferry which goes from one side to another at a rapid rate of knots and provides a decent game of chicken!

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I arrived at Corpach Lock at 3pm which was enough time for me to prepare the boat for my big sister Penny who was arriving on the train from Glasgow. The station is literally 100m from the canal basin where I was moored and so meeting the train was no problem.

A Ben Nevis Moment

Before I left Portsmouth in May, my friends Sam and Mags gave me a bottle of bubbly with the instructions not to open it until I was in the Caledonian Canal and within sight of Ben Nevis. I fished it out of the wine cellar and cooled it in the canal ready to toast my sister on arrival. I didn’t feel that Sam and Mags required me to actually see Ben Nevis as it’s impossible to see the mountain through the mist – but I know it’s there!

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More Pipes!

Either a high point or a low point, very much dependant on the time of day is the fact that the Master of Yacht Lolita, which is two boats up from me on the wall, also owns and plays a set of bagpipes. He was playing some plaintive Scottish melodies in the afternoon drizzle which was very atmospheric, but I did mention to the Canal staff that I hoped he wasn’t an early riser (Greig); they obliged by handing me a set of ear plugs for the duration of the transit!

Cake addendum

Penny has kindly brought some parcels with her, one of which was another fruit cake from Katherine Hutchinson, the last one having run out in Crinan.

Very impressed by Cake #2 – I detected considerably more rum in this one – or maybe I’m becoming more sensitive to rum after two months at sea. Thanks Katherine and thanks DPD!

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Having fulfilled my maternal duty and celebrated my lovely son Hugh’s 21st at a London restaurant where they served ‘Highland’ food (the irony wasn’t lost on me); I returned to Scotland by way of Glasgow. I stayed with an old university pal in Glasgow and she suggested that I stay another night so that I could go out on the town with some other mates from work. With my sailor’s gaze firmly on my mission and the far horizon, I turned down the offer and decided to return to Oban so that I could head westwards on Monday afternoon and see Tobermory on the Isle of Mull. As it turned out – this was a bad decision!

The sail into the Sound of Mull started very pleasantly with some vestiges of sunshine, the wind wasn’t strong so I motor sailed most of the way to ensure that I got to Tobermory in time for a drink and a wander round. I was just going around a bend in the Sound when my eye was caught by a distinctly manmade shape just to the left of a headland, a long dark shape with what looked like a conning tower in the middle. I knew that the lochs are routinely used by the Royal Navy for their submarine manoeuvres, they are incredible deep and while we bob on the surface, who knows what stealthy movements are carrying on beneath…

No room at the Inn

As I got closer the submarine disappeared which was strange, but I assumed that the it had dived and was now below me. Chuffed to have seen this, I didn’t even bother too much when the weather closed in. I reached the outskirts of Tobermory Harbour at around 8pm and called in to request a berth at the little marina. The harbour staff didn’t waste time in telling me they were full, and nearly all the mooring buoys were also taken. They didn’t get any brownie points for helpfulness and by this time it was chucking it down and my fantasy about a warm pub with open fire and whisky started to recede. As I started to search the harbour for somewhere to moor, they called me back on VHF and directed me to a visitor buoy as far as you could get from the town, in Aros Bay. Fortunately there were two free buoys and one other yacht in the bay. I picked up the buoy and was grateful to get myself inside the cabin as the rain got heavier. The thought of inflating Vicky and rowing the 3/4 of a mile to the town just did not appeal; I cooked myself dinner, drank some wine and got cosy. Anyway, here is my view of Tobermory compared to what it’s supposed to look like…..

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Tobermory will therefore remain for me, first and foremost a Womble! But it is also the most westerly point on my circumnavigation.

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The Mystery is Solved

When I woke up there was a decision to be made – go on to Ballahulish which would leave me a short run on Wednesday to get to Corpach Sea Lock or go back to Oban with all the joys of electricity, internet, shopping and fuel? Taking a look at the low grey sky, the weather looked all set for a drenching and so Oban seemed like the best option. As I retraced my steps for the first time in this trip, I reached the headland where I had seen the submarine yesterday. I noticed a fish farm and a strange vessel which obviously had a specific function on the farm, it was very much like a large block and when silhouetted against the net frames for the farm, looked remarkably like a conning tower. So no submarine badge for me – the hunt for Red October continues…

On reaching Oban, the marina was incredibly welcoming and I had time to nip across on the Kerrera- Oban Ferry to stock up on wine, tonic and chocolate – all staples for my sister Penny’s visit tomorrow. One of the notable things on Oban’s skyline is McCaig’s Tower which was built by a local banker as a lasting monument to his family. Unfortunately McCaig died of a heart attack in 1902 before the whole complex with its planned statues of the family and museum was completed. A fan of roman architecture, McCaig designed his tower to look like the Colosseum in Rome which makes it completely incongruous on the hill overlooking this Scottish harbour town.

A short blog today – I have very few photos because it has been a grey overcast sky that turns every photo monochrome – not a problem with a white lighthouse! I woke surprisingly chipper today after my whisky tasting experience last night and was presented with a bacon and egg roll still warm from the pan cooked by the crew of Five K who have been most kind. As usual timing is everything and there was no point in getting to Dorus Mor, my first tidal gate much before 11.45am which made for a relaxed morning. As the three boats in our little packet were still technically in the canal, we had to go through the last lock, number 14 and then out of the sea lock into the harbour, which took about twenty minutes. By this time we were a well oiled machine and knew our places.

Once through Dorus Mor which takes you between a rock, Garbh Reisa and a hard place, Craignish Point, the next hurdle was the Sound of Luing which has some pretty funky currents and speeds. As always the trick is getting the right compromise between battling a strong adverse tide or being shot through the sound like a canon ball. I arrived just after slack water and literally watched my speed increase as I sailed through. At one point my speed over ground was 8.7 knots, this was with 2 knots of tide pushing me along. The water around the boat was very weird with eddies and swirling whirlpools which meant you had to keep your wits about you and a hand on the tiller. However at no point did I feel at any risk from being swallowed whole by the dreaded current that feeds the Corryvreckan, despite the many horror stories, fortunately my route bypassed that monster!

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It was a cracking sail, I made excellent time and by 4pm was just outside Oban Marina which is on the Island of Kerrera and provides a free ferry to get across to Oban. Off to Glasgow and London tomorrow for Hugh’s 21st Birthday dinner, unbelievably the journey time from Glasgow to London will be an hour shorter than the train ride from Penzance. I’ll be back in Scotland on Monday for the next instalment and I hope to bring back some warmer weather with me!

Talk about two days of polar opposites! I left Campbeltown, though the loch of whisky and had a fabulous sail up Kilbrannan Sound with the wind just forward of the beam. It was gusty but I had put in a reef to ensure that Vela stayed balanced and we flew along at 6 knots. I had intended to have lunch in Tarbert but that was dependent on time. My destination was Ardrishaig, the start of the Crinan Canal and I wanted to get through the sea lock into the basin by the time the lock-keepers went home at 5.30pm. Having arrived at Skipness Point at 12.30pm I thought that all was well but how wrong I could be!

Sadly my plan didn’t survive contact with events (many do not) when I turned the ‘corner’ at Skipness Point, 20 degrees to the left meant that the wind, now gusting 25 knots was on the nose. With four and a half hours to travel 12 miles, I thought I had a good chance of making it, but it was a gruesome afternoon. Spray continually soaking the deck and my face, violent gusts shaking Vela, and a couple of hours of soul destroying tacking where you literally went backwards for each starboard tack. I very quickly decided, a. I hated sailing, and b. There was no hope in hell of making the sea lock! Still, the afternoon was very physical which justified the calories consumed subsequently. Reefs were put in and then taken out and then put in again, such was the inconsistency of the wind; the continual tacking required endless pulling on ropes – my hands are looking more like a Newlyn fisherman’s than a pen-pushing staff officer; my hair stiffened with salt and spray and my face like a Belisha beacon!

It was with a huge sigh of relief that Ardrishaig harbour was finally gained at 5.15pm – 15 mins after the staff had gone home! I moored up against the sea lock wall, which meant that the roar of the sluice gates was my lullaby through the night – a bit like sleeping next to Niagra Falls! Still, I was so tired by my day’s sailing that I had a very good night’s sleep and looked forward to a relatively gentle day through the locks.

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For those of you who have never heard of it, the Crinan Canal is a very picturesque short cut through the Kintyre Peninsula into the Sound of Jura. It’s 9 miles long and has 15 locks, which raise boats 64 ft above sea level at its highest point. Doing the canal singlehanded is really not possible, you would have to simultaneously steer the boat and be on the lock wall catching lines and then opening and closing lock gates. The Crinan has a solution – they advertise a list of ‘private pilots’ who you can pay to do the hard graft for you. I engaged a chap from Waterford called Andy Grant. At £95 for the canal licence and £65 for Andy’s pilot fee it wasn’t a cheap day but my goodness it was worth every penny. For a start, he knew the canal inside out, he also managed to corral both the canal staff and the two other boats who were in my lock ‘packet’ into order which made our passage quicker than if we had been left to our own chaos.

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I shared my journey with another Sadler – a ’34’ which was owned by Chivas Regal Whisky and sailed by some past employees and friends of – definitely a boat to keep ‘in’ with; and also a large Sirius. The crew of the Sadler were all smokers and at every lock they lit up which was hilarious in the stretches where there were 4 locks in close proximity!

The crew of the Sirius were also highly amusing. The owner and his wife were in their 70’s and both incredibly deaf and proceeded to shout loudly to each other from stern to bow. The shouting was at times translated by their long suffering 20-something son who looked like he really should have left home, taken some hard drugs and had sex with women of questionable morals by now. Sadly he was still holidaying with his sweet but annoying parents, and wearing the clothes of a 50 year old man – I guess the luxury yacht was a big draw. They were accompanied by their friends who were younger and fitter and as a result did a lot of the heavy rope work and running up the canal tow path to the next lock in readiness for the lift or descent. It was all very entertaining stuff.

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We finally emerged from Lock 13 into the last bit of fresh water and canal’s end, a little piece of heaven with views over towards the dreaded Gulf of Corryvreckan and Dorus Mohr and yachts all nestled up for the night in cosy harmony. A very decent crab risotto and Chenin Blanc at the Seafood Bar at the Crinan Hotel completed the transit. All good practice for the Caledonian Canal in the next week.

An episode of Celtic Friends – the one where Jill works up to a great hangover

As a solo traveller, you do a lot of people watching which can be very entertaining. Sometimes the tables are turned and just as I was getting increasingly frustrated with my inability to get online, I was asked to join a group of fellow sailors for a whisky on the top floor of the Crinan Hotel which gives you spectacular views over the bay and islands. Having already had a couple of humdinger gin and tonics on the Sadler 34 with Eddy and his crew, I felt that it was only fair to try the local whisky and so accepted with alacrity.

Bruce, David, John and Blaithin were having a two week holiday on David and John’s Westerly Fulmar and had obviously tired of each others’ company and needed fresh social meat – that was me! As a couple of drams were consumed, it transpired that one of the key aims of the trip was to support John whose wife had disappeared with a Helicopter Pilot. The support given was bracing, occasionally tactless but heartfelt, slagging off pilots of all varieties is always immense fun. We repaired back to their boat ‘Five K’ and a bottle of Lagavulin appeared. Blaithin fired questions at me about my life, lovelife, solo sailing etc and tongue loosened by the whisky I probably talked way too much, but it was a really fun evening. By midnight I decided that it was time to go; I didn’t want to stumble into one of those Jeffrey Dahmer situations where you open a locker and find the dismembered human remains of the last solo female sailor invited to take a wee dram! Thanks guys for the hospitality!

Tune in tomorrow to see whether or not I have survived the Sounds of Luing and haven’t been pulled off my course into the dreaded whirlpool of Corryvreckan – my next challenge!

After a long two days, I had a brilliant night’s sleep in the marina and went out searching for breakfast at a leisurely 09.30am. I had an appointment to keep at 11.00am. I didn’t know what the appointment was about – it was a mysterious request from my friends Sam and Mags who are currently sailing in their beautiful Rustler 42 in the Baltic, “Will you be up and dressed at 11?’. As Mags had grown up in Campbeltown, I assumed that a distant relative of hers might turn up with some local tourist tips. I wasn’t prepared however when a Scotsman in kilt, glengarry and sporan carrying a large hard case turned up at the boat. At this point the lovely John McGeachy took some pipes out of the case and played a few tunes from the deck of Vela, including ‘Campbeltown Loch’ a song that roundly slags off the English! I felt just like Lord Lovat. For those fans of bagpipes here is an excerpt..

To recover from the thrill of this lovely surprise, I decided to go and explore Davaar Island, the huge lump of rock that indicates the southern edge of the bay. It was the obstacle from hell on my arrival the previous night and today with the wind blowing strongly it was still pretty impressive. Davaar lies at the end of a spit which makes it accessible for three hours either side of low tide. It’s also famous for a cave painting of the crucifixion which was painted by a local artist Archibold McKinnon in 1887 who apparently was under orders from God to do it. It’s been a controversial painting which has been vandalised several times by locals who are a bit resentful that it was painted by man and not God himself, most recently with a black and red painting of Che Guevara!

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A most satisfactory day in Campbeltown, which I will never forget. An early start tomorrow so I can fit in lunch in Tarbert on route to Ardrishaig, the start of the Crinan Canal. The next instalment will include everything I will learn about locks!

When someone you thought was a friend places a repetitive, anodyne song in your head and you sing or hum it for the rest of the day, you do really have to review the friendship. So the chorus to ‘Mull of Kintyre’ went round and round my brain all day – it was a flashback to when it was number one in 1977 for an interminable period of time. Anyway, I’ve actually now seen the said Mull and very lovely it is too – even when you have to watch it all day getting imperceptibly closer.

A flying visit to the Emerald Isle

It was an early start in Bangor, any time would have been early after my 02.00 am bedtime. I wanted to use the very strong tide that runs through the North Channel – the piece of water between Northern Ireland and Scotland. By leaving 2 hours before high water Dover (10.00am) I would have the tide pushing me all the way to the Kintyre Peninsula, so I heaved myself out of my sleeping bag, showered and got the boat ready to go. I filled the fuel tank and spare cans to the top with diesel but ironically didn’t need it hardly at all today. As I left Bangor, and Northern Ireland, I felt a deep sadness – I never got to have an Ulster Fry! My breakfast consisted of two scotch eggs from Tescos – not refrigerated for the past two days so if the blog just stops……. assume E Coli.

Strong winds were forecast for the day ahead and so I reefed both sails, and then reefed again as gusts started shaking the boat. It was an exhilarating ride. When the wind comes from behind your shoulder, the boat doesn’t heel over, it rolls and surfs the waves, sometimes you get the sensation of being accelerated forward by an unseen hand. It does take some concentration on the tiller however to counteract the wave action and balance out the boat. When conditions are flat I can leave Vela in the safe hands of Audrey the Auto-tiller, but today that would have consumed too much power out of the battery (you see there is always something you have to worry about on a boat). The result of this was short commons for the whole 10 hour sailing day – after the uninspiring scotch eggs, lunch consisted of a chicken noodle cupasoup and some crackers!

Doing an average speed of 6 knots over the 50 mile passage looked like I would be in Campbeltown in time for tea and cake. My assessment is nearly always overly optimistic and so I finally got into the small but friendly marina at 6.30pm. Typically, the last hour was an absolute grizz; the wind strengthened and was on the nose, the weather started closing in, and my speed reduced to 3-4 knots. Finally I got in, with Callum the very helpful marina man there to catch my mid-ships line and haul me in – its not easy to park a boat with a stiff breeze blowing you off the pontoon (Greig that’s for you). Welcome to Bonny Scotland!

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When in Scotland…..

I was shocked to find myself parked next to a Moody 36 – name of Vela! And I thought ours was the only one. Once everything was stowed and connected – my next thought was real food. My friend Mags, who comes from Campbeltown (2 guesses what her surname is) recommended the Ardshiel Hotel for dinner and it’s a walk from the marina, but very well worth seeking out. I asked what whisky I should have as a ‘stranger in town’ and was given a wee dram of their recommendation. Delicious – but with a kick like a mule – particularly for someone who has had 4 hours sleep in the last 48 hours and an excess of fresh air! Thanks Mags, it was a great shout, really friendly and a fantastic meal; great way to celebrate 127 NM in the last two days.

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Nature watch so far…

I’ve been looking out for nature as I have travelled round. Today was a very exciting day – I saw my first seals! Just past Sanda Island, there are some low lying rocks clearly indicated to unsuspecting sea farers with a red marker buoy, I looked at two particularly shiny smooth rocks and noticed that they were moving, making noises and they stank of fish! If you look very carefully, in fact if you get a magnifying glass out; you might just make out some shiny, bulky, blurry things in the photo – trust me, they are seals.

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Here are a few more species that I have seen lots on my trip. I’m increasingly amazed at how hard it is to be an animal or bird. Basically your whole life is: look for food, eat, look for a mate, have rather perfunctory sex, look for more food, eat, die; a bit like us before we discovered the harpsichord or internet!

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