STORMBOUND!

Stormbound. Funny expression. It suggests that you are going there. You know, saying I'm Caribbean bound or I'm Baltic bound. But - as we all know, stormbound really means confined, detained, isolated, cut-off. Vom Sturm aufgehalten. Now, I've been stormbound a fair few times in diverse places from Croatia to Iceland and I know that there is a big difference between hiding from storm conditions as a matter of survival and hiding merely from wind and rain because its uncomfortable.

Last week I was sailing in Lochaber with Marion, and Tim made up the third member of the charter. We had taken a boat from Ballachulish and we tacked down Loch Linnhe on a blustery day before finishing at Oban. The forecast was not for great weather, so I delayed the following morning to see how things developed and we went for a walk on Kerrera instead. By mid-afternoon things looked better so I headed over to the sound of Mull and onto the new pontoons at Loch Aline. A very sheltered and sleepy location, sitting there in the late afternoon sunshine with a can of Guinness.

There were about six boats in all and we all got talking to each other, as you do, managing to pump each other up about the dire forecast for the following day. Morning dawned with an ominous howling and swooping noise in the rigging. We gazed out to the Sound and could see rows of white horses surging southwards. One boat slipped his lines and we watched him raise reefed sails and go out of the Loch. We could see him as he came out of the shelter of the land and bang, the wind hit him! He was well heeled and bouncing around like anything. He was followed out by a training boat which had been at anchor. The same thing happened to him: toe rail under water and smashing up and down with spray flying back to drench the crew and the helm. He would have hours and hours of this to look forward to before reaching Tobermory.

Not us though. The rest of us boats sat drinking our coffee in the morning sunshine and came up with various arguments to convince ourselves that we were stormbound. Together with the skipper and crew of another boat we sauntered into the village and round to the old jetty where we could look directly NW up the sound. It was blowing strongly in our faces. Certainly a Force 7 and perhaps a Force 8. Dark blue sea, peppered with white horses. Dark scudding clouds. Not warm.

Back at the pontoons it was sunny and sheltered and it was difficult to think of ourselves as stormbound. We were sheltered because we had quite rightly chosen a sheltered place to be. We were under no compulsion to move so we stayed put to avoid the discomfort and, yes, of course there would have been an element of risk to the gear and the crew to sail out and tack into that wind. You don't set out into a gale!

The following day the wind had abated and we had a sparkling sail in a F4/5 up to Tobermory and onto the pontoons there. A couple of the boats from Loch Aline had got there before us but once again the forecast for tomorrow was dire.

The following morning broke to persistent rain, poor visibility and strong winds in the Sound. I stood around in the saloon, racked by indecision, looking out of steamed up windows, and going over options endlessly and coming up with the same conclusions. "There passed a weary time". Every weather forecast on the radio was eagerly anticipated, carefully noted down and caused a new round of discussions. The rain beat down persistently and even nipping up to the Co-op for a newspaper meant a soaking and the problem of how to manage wet gear being brought back into the boat.

BOREDOM!

Eventually, in the  gloom of the afternoon I gave into the inevitable and said that we were staying put. There was distinct relief that the decision had been finally made. The poor visibility, strong winds and persistent rain continued. By 2100 hrs we went to the pub with one of the other crews and we returned by 2300 hrs and got into our bunks to listen to the rain lashing the boat and the fenders groaning and squeaking.

There were a lot of boats that had ended up here stormbound, but we were the first away in the early morning. A lovely quiet still soft morning. We motored down the Sound and put sails up at the SE end before enjoying a long gentle sail back to Loch Leven. The tide was just right for the bridge as I arrived and we swept under it and through before motoring into our berth two miles further east.

SICILY TO SPAIN ON A CATAMARAN

So.  It was early in May and the Kangaroo asked me if I was up for sailing a catamaran on a delivery from Sicily to the Solent. I told him that I could only take a maximum of three weeks leave from work. He said that was OK and he would drop me off somewhere along the way. Gibraltar he said, or Lisbon maybe. The other crew member would be a guy called Tam the Cat who was apparently a great expert on sailing these things. So the Kangaroo assured me that we'd all be fine. The whole proposal sounded a bit dodgy and there were many unanswered questions so naturally I said I was up for it. Only then did he tell me that the boat was only thirty feet long and although it had no engine it did have an outboard..................

TRAVELLING TO THE BOAT

I met the guys at Manchester Airport and then we had an interesting series of debates with the airport staff which started "Is that a gas bottle in your luggage Sir?" and finished with my jar of Wensleydale Rhubarb and Ginger Jam being confiscated by a clinically obese and depressed looking man who wouldn't accept it from me as a present but insisted that it would be taken away and crushed. It was then revealed that Tam the Cat had a worryingly large stock of analgesics in his hand luggage and the airport staff wanted to know why he was carrying this much. They wanted to know why? - I wanted to know why! The Kangaroo gazed intently into the middle distance and said nothing.

Nonetheless, the flight went smoothly and I sat beside Tam and we talked. Well, mainly Tam talked. About multihulls and apparent wind, and screechers and barber haulers and drifters and some more about apparent wind and then some more about apparent wind angles. I ended up quite dazed by all this and I wondered about asking him for an analgesic. Maybe he carries them because he finds there is a demand?

It was beautifully clear coming down from the Alps. I could see the Gulf of Genova, Elba, Capri. As we moved into evening everything blurred into a rose and grey haze. The sea was flat with ships crawling on it leaving snail trails behind them. Suddenly we were banking and coming over the Island of Ustica. It was getting dark quickly now and we landed on Sicily in the last of the glowing dusk on a narrow piece of land between rocky mountains and the sea.

When we stopped, a great cheer and clapping of hands erupted from the passengers. The pilot responded by playing bugle calls over his tannoy. They all seemed so happy and delighted to have arrived that |I wondered if they had not expected to land properly.

Heat and humidity hit us immediately. The Kangaroo negotiated a taxi and we were soon speeding down the Autostrada. Despite the dark, the driver was wearing mirrored shades, and kept muttering and making hand gestures at other drivers as he slewed around the dirty closed-up urban sprawl of Palermo. Scary. Rubbish was abundant everywhere and there was a sinister lack of people.

We pulled up at a steel lifting barrier stretching across the rough concrete slope going down into the Marina Villa Igea. We dropped out bags among the scrubby weeds beside the road. The Kangaroo paid the taxi driver. A sullen and stupid looking night watchman was demanding to know our business. The Kangaroo fancied that he could speak italian because of his experience ordering in the Leeds branch of  La Strada. We were getting nowhere so I interrupted Luigi in clear loud English and when I mentioned the name of the boat the watchman became very animated indeeed because it appeared that a considerable heap of spondooliks was owed in berthing fees. We made it plain that we were not sailing that night and the owner would be here tomorrow to foot the bill. Thus aussaged, he waved his arms to tell us where the boat was and scuttled off to telephone his mafia superiors.

She was lying bow-to in a canyon formed by an enormous catamaran on one side and a huge monohull on the other. first impressions were tht whe was quite sleek looking and not as old and knackered as I had dreaded.

The Kangaroo as skipper and Tam the Cat as mate exercised their prerogatives as my Masters Under God and claimed the only two bunks. As I was Rodger the Cabin Boy I knew my place and lowered the saloon table before spreading my sleeping bag on top. Both companionways and all hatches were left open due to the suffocating heat. Even so, it was late, it had been a long day and I was out like a light.




CLEANING AND REPAIRING

Wonderful morning; already hot with promise of a scorcher to come. We had coffee and set to work sorting out the boat and checking the inventory. We put up sails and took them down, climbed up the mast and down it again, fetched, carried and laboured away until we could not see for sweat in our eyes.

The owner appeared at noon and immediately the marina manager popped up from nowhere. These two had a wee altercation which finished by the extortion of  1000 Euros from the owner. Or else..........

I reconnoitred the facilities in this expensive marina. The showers were unbelievable. Filthy and loathsome beyond imagining. You breathed through a handkerchief just looking. And then the toilets. No doors, streaked with shit and alive with flies. Missing bricks, plaster and stagnant puddles. In the blinding sun outside, a feral pack of mongrel dogs were running around the anaemic vegatation and dirt, barking at everything for no reason at all. At the foot of the crane girders, and old woman was fishing and a stray cat was sitting behind her waiting on the result. In a patch of shade I sat on the ground to watch the kids diving into the marina and swimming among the boats. Dark bodies shining with water and leaving wet footprints along the pontoons.

My experience of Italian marinas is that they contain a large number of shining polished boats which are owned by seriously wealthy people and crewed by full time flunkies. You know - 60 foot stinkpots, mirrored windows, white leather furniture, carpets, showers (plural) and freshwater flushing toilets. So no marina facilities for someone who understands sailing as a mooring up the Gareloch with the smell of the seaweed and the cawing of the gulls.  

Its an Italian racket. One day it will all fall down.

MORE PREPARATIONS FOR SEA - DAY TWO

Up early and put on the same clothes I had worn since I left Manchester and got to work before it got too hot. Tam and me hauled the Kangaroo up the mast to replace the navigation lights and fit a radar reflector. Then me and Tam hired a car and went to vittle the boat. There seems to be no rules for driving in Palermo other than to shout at everyone else in the hot mad traffic . We found a large hypermarket called Auchan situated on the edge of the city and bought everything we needed.

The boat continued to have serious faults and some items which needed to be updated. at 30 feet it is on the small side for a 2500 mile passgae and the accommodation is limited. The sails were heavily damaged by UV and the engine is only a small outboard with limited spare petrol capacity. The weather forecasts were poor and with these issues in the background it was easy to justify any delay in setting off. However, we also needed to get away from this run down marina with the insufferable heat, dust and general squalor. The Kangaroo puts on his Conrad expression and says in his comical accent that  its not the sea that destroys men but its ships and harbours that rots them.

The owner put off onto the pontoon and headed away for his flight home. We were all tired and slightly disillusioned about the boat and the weather. We needed to get going.

The marina manager was passing in his car and he called me over. He made a lot of threatening noises. The 100 Euro fee for tonight has not been paid. I told him we were not staying overnight but were going as soon as it got dark. He roared off making aggressive gestures. His flunkey arrived and shouted at us. We ignored him. I slept badly. The packs of wild dogs which live on the marina waste ground were barking and the guys on a South African boat were having a loud booze session. Everything stagnating in heat and dust.

FIRST DAY AT SEA

We rose at 0445, swiftly converted the warps into slips and dropped the slime line. Gone by 0600 leaving nothing but a 100 euro space on the pontoon. We motored over to the next marina in the Golfo Di Palermo to check it out as this was to be our bad weather bolthole. We had pretty much burned our bridges at Villa Igea.

I came on watch at 0800 just after we had put up the main. We fired up Eric the tiller pilot and set him onto 287 true while we washed the dust off the boat. There were dolphins off Capo Gallo and we had to negotiate the tuna nets extending far out to sea. The mountains of Baia di Carini some ten miles away were hazy blue and hurt the eyes.

By 1600 there was a long flat gelatinous swell and a threatening dark haze to the north. We watched tuna boats laying out long lines of buoys, regularly rolling off the stern like depth charges in some old movie. In the distance I could see the Egadi Islands dropping away. Off Capo Vito we were joined by a pod of six dolphins. The Kangaroo and me lay on the trampoline to watch them racing away below us and between the bows. They went as the sun went down and whe I looked astern there was just one left leaping in valediction and suddenly he went and the dark came down.

This was our first night and we still had no real idea of the boat or of moving around her in the dark, so rather  than power her up we had put a reef into the main as a first night security measure on our solo watches. Being on watch alone on a catamaran really freaked me out. I had no experience of them and was anxious about stability and the need to understand the amount of sail carried in a more precise and critical way than you need on a monohull. I was full of preconception and misinformation and expected the thing to flip up at any moment and invert itself. After all it was just as stable either way. I had asked about the hatches on the cabin floors and Tam had explained that they were escape hatches and advised me to carry my knife at all times. Thanks Tam, I felt better for that.

The boat became wet with condensation and we motorsailed on into the black night. there was no moon, but Venus and the stars were loud and clear. There was some traffic and I kept a careful eye on it, until the Kangaroo came up at midnight and refilled the outboard tank by siphoning petrol from a gerry can. Since he did this by sucking on a rubber tube he took several mouthfuls of petrol. Given his constant habit of smoking roll ups I was a little concerned by this. Despite these ruminations, I slept like a log until 0630.

SECOND DAY AT SEA

On watch 0800 until 1200. We have 17 knots of apparent wind at 10 degrees off the starboard bow. Deep blue sea all around under a deep blue sky. We are now 100 miles from the nearest land.

Put the screecher up but the wind always seems to head us, so we took it down again and continued under main and outboard. We are making much slower progress than we anticipated and we are at that interesting point where there is not enough fuel to reach Sardinia or to get back to Sicily. So basically we are stuffed and need to do some sailing however slow and frustrating. It is very hot, we are off the shipping lanes and there is an edge to our mood as a result of the slow progress.

Suddenly a bird landed on the edge of the cockpit. It looked tired and disinterested. We tried to give it crumbs and water but it would not take them, instead moving to grip onto the wooden slats of the cockpit seat. Perhaps it derived some comfort from feeling wood under its claws. The bird - a turtle dove I think -  went just as quickly as it came. I wished it well and hoped it got to land and survived the Italian 'hunting' massacre.

The seas got bigger and we were going down into the holes and seas were coming over the bows. The sun is falling down in a clear sky as we steer for Cape Carbonara. The boat is banging, creaking and groaning and the engine is surging as the waves pass up and below it. Venus rose soft and high in the west and the Milky Way dominated the sky as I stood on watch in the condensation and damp of the cockpit. I stared until I started to confuse sea and sky in the misty blur of the darkness. I began to see the loom of a lighthouse and woke the Kangaroo as he had slept in for his own watch. We stood and spoke together quietly until 0130 before I went down to sleep.

CAGLIARI - SARDINIA

I came up into the warm sunshine. Dolphins were leaping off to port and Cagliari was dead ahead. We had been at sea now for over 50 hours and I was keen to get a shower and a beer. We came round the breakwater and tied up onto the pontoon of the marina just after 0900 hrs. Cagliari rose above us, clustered on its hill and I was excited to explore. DH Lawrence had been here and described it as strange and rather wonderful - not a bit like Italy.

The Kangaroo had gone off to an internet cafe and returned with a weather forecast. It wasn't good so he decided to stay here until tomorrow, and let the Mistrali blow over. The other two had been up most of the night so wanted to catch up on sleep. I had a shower and went off to look at Cagliari. It's a warren of silent hot alleyways, built on a hillside and at the top of the hill there are open spaces with palm trees and people sitting underneath eating ice cream, drinking coffee, and beer in long stemmed glasses. Very little road traffic and the sounds of quiet conversation and birds singing are what I remember.

Back in the marina there were a lot of live-aboards swept here from the various corners of Europe, but mostly English. Their boats were covered in all sorts of junk and paraphanalia. I get the sense that many of them have not been to sea in a long time and were a bit hard up. They were meeting up in the afternoon for a beer in a building we christened the Pagoda and I met my first ever Rasta sailor, complete with dreadlocks. He lived with a spaced out Essex Girl on a cement boat which was up on the hard. The Kangaroo was basking in  being called Il Capitano, whereas me and Tam were termed merely "I due yotii" Just as evening fell, flights of flamingoes came in low overhead. There are lots of them living here and many mosquitoes in the surrounding marshes.

STORMBOUND - MONDAY

The weather forecast was still for a mistral and we were certainly feeling a stiff breeze in the shelter of the marina. We spent our day wandering around the town in boredom and getting pissed in the Pagoda.

STILL STORMBOUND - TUESDAY

Forecast was still poor. I was forming the impression that the local wind may be topographical and coming through the gap in the hills giving the impression of stronger winds than there really was. I wondered if we moved out and round the SW tip of Sardinia if it may not be as bad as we thought? Tam and me caught a bus and went on a bit of a mental trip to a place called Pula away round the Bay.,The bus was full of local colour and we passed many of the salt marshes (each called a "Stagno") which were full of flamingoes. Quite exotic. We visited the site of an ancient Phoenecian town and returned to the boat in the evening. I told the Kangaroo that I was bored and had been thinking of catching a flight home so he agreed to visit the internet cafe tomorrow and get a detailed forecast. Crew were about to jump ship!

MORE DELAY - WEDNESDAY

We got up and went to the cafe and had breakfast and although the forecast was still poor we thought we would give it a go in the morning. Stange how sometimes there is this reluctance to leave. To put it off at all costs. Hence the sad live-aboards stuck here. Just like it was in Palermo, we need to go. Now!

ANCHORED IN PULA

We slipped the lines at 0600 and sailed south in increasingly boisterous conditions.We were clsoing Cape Spartivento and were getting knocked about a bit and it was getting wet. The true wind was up to 35 knots and a fishing vessel running in from the open sea closed with us. Their guestures to us did not need an understanding of Italian. We took in another reef and with careful timing in the waves, gingerly turned the boat and ran back the way we had come. Two days ago me and Tam had done a recce of the bay at Pula and we decided to go there for anchorage. I lay face down on the trampoline to pilot us over the rocks in the sand and the Kangaroo helmed us in to anchor in 3 metres.

We had a long slow moody afternoon as we had now tried for 40 miles and failed to get around the headland. We would try again tomorrow. If this failed, we would return to Cagliari and fly home. Smoke rose from bonfires ashore and we caught the melancholy smell of woodsmoke.

CARLOFORTE - SARDINIA

All seemed calm at 0600 so we raised the anchor and were off. Although there was a big swell from yesterday, the sailing was sparkling. By 0830 we were off Cape Spartivento, and went on to pass Cape Teuleda which was big, barren and reminded me of Gibraltar. As we crossed the Golfo di Palmas we were heading into 17 knots apparent and wondered where was the forecast NW 7.

The Isola del Toro appeared away to port like an Italian version of Ailsa Craig and I had a sudden spurt of homesickness for my own sailing waters in Scotland. At the same time, the Isola la Vacca was on the starboard. We were fairly close to this island and could clearly see the spray splashing up on the cliff face and the way in which the prevailing weather had undercut the cliff leaving the other side of the island as a rounded lump.

We thought we would run up to Carloforte and check out the weather and top up the petrol cans. So we turned north round Capo Sperone and up past the Isola di Sant'Antocio. This all reminded me very much of Scotland with green hills sweeping down to the sea. Then in mid-afternoon we arrived at the island of San Pietro and turned into the harbour of Carloforte before tying up at a spare pontoon making the anglers move with much evil looks and muttering. It had been a good 54 mile sail since Pula.

Carloforte is a lovely calm town which is extended along the stone harbour frontage. The houses and shops stand behind the road which runs the length of the seafront add between sea and the road the promenade of palm trees and quaint street lights. Road traffic is minimal and pedestrians stroll everywhere. Cafes, restauruants and bars under canvas awnings are ubiquitous. There is the pleasant sound of quiet conversation and laughter and the smell of coffee, cigars and beer.  Small ferries come and go with their bow ramps clanking and banging as the unload their few cars and passengers. There are some pontoons with crews sitting in the cockpits of their bobbing yachts, cooling themselves in the evening breeze.

It was hot hot hot and the Kangeroo and me wandered along the seafront with an empty 20 litre Jerrycan. The town was busy and preparing for their annual Tuna Festival that evening. We found a filling station pump and filled the Jerrycan. I found a supermarket and got some provisions then we tried the harbourmaster's office for a forecast. They wanted us to return later as they were clearly absorbed in preparing to be important at the festival and were strutting around with their full dress uniforms with white topped caps and the mandatory mirrored shades. We returned to the boat, taking turns at carrying the full jerrycan and as I had felt so filthy, sweaty, sunburnt and ragged when I was in town I had a wash and change.

Then we wandered out to join the festival. First though, we got the weather forecast and although it was not particularly good, we thought the worst of it would be well to the north of our intended track so we decided to go now. Of couirse we were reluctant to leave because the festival was just taking off with Brazilian lady dancers and other delights. This was all very civilized and wholesome with hundreds of people wandering around. No drunken antics: just laughter and simple wholesome things. We bought some little home made cakes and sat down at a cafe table.We each had a cold Stella Artois and enjoyed the passing carnival before returning slowly to the boat and casting off quietly just after 2100.

SAILING WEST

I rose at 0600 after a poor sleep and went into the sunny morning in the cockpit to join Tam who was midway thorugh his watch. We were using a large scale chart of the Western Med and our plots showed a frustratingly small snail trail. The course was simple: follow the 39th parallel of latitude. No wind. Motoring across the abyssal plain in baking heat and long swell. The chart says the depth is 2800 metres. We set up and tried the Screecher several times as there is not enough fuel to motor the entire passage. Find us wind!

SUNDAY - WIND BUILDING

Watched the sun coming up at 0600. The seas were building and we were now in a fully developed F6. Eric the autohelm was groaning as we put three reefs in the main, eventually dumping it altogether at 1215. Flying along under jib alone under a blue sky and white streaked water. Good sailing this.

Just after I came on watch the seas became bigger and we were surfing at 12 knots. The Kangaroo was trying to slow the boat down and we eventually reduced sail and all we had up was the headsail with three reefs in it and we were still making 8 knots! Before nightfall, we prepared a couple of long warps to go over the stern if we needed them. It grew very dark and we were taking the odd wave in the cockpit.

There were now flashes of lightning to the south and all of a sudden within three minutes the fully developed F7 sea just abated. The wind completely disappeared and we were left bobbing around. The wind then boxed the compass and we were bemused and did not know what to do. The lightning and thunder grew nearer and we put our handheld radio, mobile phones and GPS into the oven, as a Faraday Cage in case we were struck. Big flashes zzzzzzinged and ripped left to right across the sky. I started the engine due to the lack of wind and although I came off my solo watch at midnight, I stayed talking to the Kangaroo until 0130 then sacked it.

HEAVY WEATHER - ALICANTE, SPAIN

When I went up at 0600 and saw that Tam and the boat were covered in wet red sand which had dumped on us during the night and had only become obvious with the light. It must have come from Africa some two hundred miles to the south of us. We filled the day in a variety of sailing tasks.

In the evening I went on watch. I had an anxious time trying to interpret the non-standard flashing lights on a fishing vessel and avoiding it. The wind increased and backed. I put out the foresail.. The wind increased some more and continued to back. We were now reaching in 20 knots true and I called The Kangaroo up to help me put a reef in. The wind increased and we took the main down. I went below to sleep at midnight but I was being bounced around and sleep was completely out of the question. Tam got up and then I got up. The wind was building into something and we all got our oilies and boots on. We filled the lower hatches into the companionways and got our lifelines sorted.

The only sail we had up was a scrap of foresail and the whole of the furled sail and forestay was rattling and shaking in a rhythm which was causing the entire boat to shake. A bit concerning. The waves were now as large as open Atlantic rollers according to the Kangaroo. The wind was now 40 knots and gusting higher. The depth was shelving from 2500 metres to 1000 metres: hence the seas. It was as black as hell and we were all three of us tethered on in the cockpit.

We were now bertween north and south TZ zones and we could see the lights of a continuous chain of ships going north. I was looking though the bins and Tam was sighting with the hand bearing compass. As we timed our crossing of the line some of the ships broke off and came behind us. One of them passed so close to us that I was able to dive below and plot a plot on the chart by using the ships lights as illumination. Not good. Too close.

The weather became even worse and the seas were massive. At around 0430 we approached the line of ships going south. We passed through with no problems, but the last of these ships was a passenger ship which took definite action to come round our stern. As we continued to watch warily it suddenly changed course and headed directly for us. We could see green and red lights at once! Tam had the tiller and turned us 90 degrees and we flashed our lights up and down the jib until he turned away and we could only see his port light. We were quite stressed by this incident and it had been quite scary.

The seas moderated a little as we came under the lee of the cape to the north and  dawn broke which made us all feel better. I made us all hot chocolate which was a great boost to the morale of three very tired blokes. Alicante came into view from about 12 miles offshore and we approached it gradually spotting where the marina was and we closed the land after this 440 mile passage from Carloforte.

The marina itself was one of these horrible places with huge stinkpots and poseurs with mirrored shades and straight mouths, busily polishing thier boats. There was a large number of toytown architecture shops, restaurants and other businesses whose aim is to extract money from you as efficiently as possible, while looking down their noses at you .

The thing was that it was a beautiful calm morning and people were staring at us wondering at the soaking wet state of us. We hung our oilie jackets over the boom to dry. The other two went below to sleep and I sat in the cockpit where in the heat of the marina, sleep overcame me sitting upright while still wearing my oilskin trousers and boots. I had been up now for 28 hours and was now dead to the world.

The following morning I said farewell to the Kangeroo and Tam and flew back to Newcastle where my wife collected me and drove me home. The other two took the boat down towards Gibraltar and then left the boat due to various equipment failures. I heard later that the boat was finally brought back to the south coast of England, but later on had an explosion and burnt down to the water line. A shame. It was a good sea boat. she looked after me and I was sorry to hear that. Even the Kangaroo was subdued after this trip. Bit of an adventure!

CAN YOU TIE A BOW? - AS WELL AS YOU CAN!

The fastest bloke I ever knew to tie a bowline was a fermer's loon I first met when we climbed Stuc a Chroin together one wet December afternoon. Chalky White, for such was his name, would fold his leg back so that the calf touched the back of his thigh, throw a line around the limb thus doubled, flick his wrist and a perfectly formed bowline would slide off his knee in three seconds flat. Every time. The only problem was that every bowline was the same size. It met his needs perfectly (this was something abtruse to do with baling hay) but it was no use at all for climbing or sailing. Believe me, you don't want to tie your doubled up leg to the clew of a foresail in a rising gale.

So he could do it with binder twine, but away from his farm it was completely useless.

In North Wales there is a type of traditional sailing craft with the rather unfortunate name of a Nobby. I once sailed out of Conwy on one of these Nobbies, and the owner of the boat was bemused at the slow and meticulous way I tied my knots. He too had a fast method of making a bowline with some rapid flicks of his wrist, but at least he did not need the assistance of his right leg. He showed me how to do this but I've long since forgotten and have reverted to incantations of up the rabbit hole, round the tree and back down the hole again. He did show me a fast way of making a figure of eight knot and this is still how I do it now.

There seems to be a never ending line of people prepared to scoff at the time I take to tie knots and they are always keen to show me a more rapid method. Not that I'm any slouch at this you understand. Everything is relative. But there always seems to be a relatively faster way.

Even the standard old sailing knots themselves come in for criticism. My son, who is a climbing instructor, constantly regards my hoary old knots with wry amusement. He taught me how to tie the Australian Bugaboo knot, but I'm almost ashamed to admit that I have forgotten it. Never let him onto your boat or he will re-rig it in a trice, so as to make it "safe". When I finally get round to buying my own boat, he will be useful for climbing the mast.

You get these skippers who become obssesive about their way being the right way. "On my boat you should never tie on the fenders with a round turn and two half hitches - always use a clove hitch". Then the next boat you go on, this becomes "Never use a clove hitch to tie on a fender - that's how they get lost"

When you place a warp round a pontoon cleat someone will yell "Always, ALWAYS put a final locking turn before you walk away!" The next skipper shouts "Never, never, NEVER put a locking turn on a cleat!"

You will not win.

On reflection I think this is insecurity. Skippers who are secure in themselves don't really care about this stuff. "Just tie it on so it won't fall off". All of the worst skippers I've encountered have an exact precise sort of knot to deploy for every permutation of circumstance and there are no alternative options which will be countenanced. What marks them out is not so much that they have a mental list of knots matched to tasks but it is rather the insistence that only their way is the correct way. Knots are thus a performance indicator of an inflexible skipper.

I hear you ask - "What do you do when you are skippering?" Well.......I let you tie your own knots "so long as it's tied on and won't fall off". Then, later, when you are not looking, I re-tie it properly.

My way.

FATA MORGANA

I was sailing in Greenland. We were in Scoresby Sund and had spent the last three days circumnavigating Milne Land, threading our way through thousands of icebergs. We had lifted the anchor at Denmark Island and were now on our way to the native Greenlander settlement of Ittoqqortoormiit. Some mouthful! We called it ITQ.

It had been a hot day and we were looking forward to a run ashore so spirits were high. As we approached the land we picked up a radio call but did not understand the language. It put us on alert though because out here there is no shipping traffic, so what was it and where was it?

Somebody was using their brains and they checked the radar. There was a small ship passing directly ahead
of us from port to starboard. But where was it? All we could see was ice which looked like the business end of a glacier. Then someone on board who was experienced in Arctic sailing said the ice was a type of mirage called a Fata Morgana and that the ship was behind it.

This is the first (and so far the only) time I had seen this phenomenon. I took a series of photographs and this amazed me because I had thought it would be a trick of the eyes and brain. I had not realised that I could actually photograph something which wasn't there!

We sailed closer and as we did so the Fata Morgana disappeared. We sailed on and anchored just off ITQ and that's another story for another post. When I got back to the UK I researched the subject of Fata Morgana and rather than go into detail here I'll refer you to the excellent and comprehensive article on Wikipedia. It's interesting and although you will see it mainly in Polar areas, you can see it elsewhere: indeed it is particularly associated with Sicily, (although I have never seen it there). Perhaps you have seen it and didn't know? You certainly wouldn't be alone. For example, Sir John Ross saw it and mistook it for land. So did Peary who saw it and actually named the "land" he had discovered. Sometimes it can cause you to see a ship that isn't there. I'll leave you with a couple of my photographs.

THE AEOLIAN ISLANDS OF SICILY

OUT TO SICILY

I had chartered a brand new Bavaria 40 Cruiser and flew out to Sicily with Marion, Tim, Mike, Kate and Stuart. We experienced the usual shock from the blast of heat when we walked over the runway from the plane into the terminal. Caught a train into Palermo, then after a frustrating time with ticket machines we caught the mainline train for Sant Agata di Militello. On arrival, we did all the usual admin and shopping for vittles, before settling onto the boat. Dinner was at a local restaurant in town and we finished a long day by sitting in the cockpit in the warm night drinking wine. The boats next to us had charterers who were all Russians and were not particularly friendly to our gentle approaches.

BEARDY SAILOR AND CREW

The Aeolian Islands are a volcanic arc of 140 kms off the north east of Sicily. There are 8 islands plus Ustica plus 6 submarine volcanoes. Two of the islands are live volcanoes - Vulcano, which gave its name to all volcanoes throughout the world, and Stromboli which has given its name to all sorts of things. My plan was to visit both of these islands.

SANT AGATA DI MILITELO

SUNDAY 7 SEPTEMBER- OFF TO VULCANO

A leisurely start and I took us carefully off the pontoon at 1000 hrs before motoring out of Sant Agata and setting course for Vulcano some 28 miles away. This coast is quite confusing in its appearance from sea - unbroken blue mountains mainly- so I adopted one of my coarse navigation techniques and used the digital camera to photograph back where I had come from. I'm sure the RYA would get sniffy about this, but it gives me instant pilotage pictures which I may be very glad to have in a weeks time! I do sometimes use a camera for navigation and as an aide memoire but I've never heard of anyone else doing this. My view is that all means at your disposal are legitimate tools.

We put the sails up but the wind speed was only 3 to 4  knots and the sea was flat calm. Considering this area is named after the ancient god of wind, Aeolus, this is not what I had expected. The temperature was climbing and at 1130 hrs had reached 34 celsius and 55% humidity. We were still acclimatised to England in September and were therefore drinking huge volumes of water and sweating it out almost immediately. We soon discovered that the log was inoperative and I tried but could could not fix it.

I was concerned because of the very slow progress and I knew how far we still had to go and how suddenly night falls in this part of the world, so despite objections from Tim who is a dyed in the wool sailing at all costs sort of  guy, I fired up the donk at 1425 hrs and we motored on at 6 knots, course 042 with the Island of Salina shaped like two huge breasts, off to our port side and coloured deep blue in the haze.

Eventually we closed in on Vulcano and drew nearer to its green flanks. There were some small boats buzzing around inshore and this was clearly a lovely and popular spot. I came round the point called Capo Grosso and turned into Porto di Ponente, which was guarded by a number of rocks and crumbly looking stacks. The pilot said the holding was poor, but there were a fair number of boats already at anchor, pointing into the land in the gathering evening sea breeze. I moved into position near the outside of everyone and laid the anchor. It was soon apparent that it had not taken and we were moving backwards. So I lifted it again and took the boat round for another go. This time the windlass seemed to stick and before I could stop him, Tim, who was up at the bow, took the yard long steel tube used for tensioning the lugs and raised it above his head - "No!" I screamed uselessly - before he melted the windlass one with a big ringing clang. I mean, this was only the first time this windlass had been used! One of the lugs snapped off and came flying aft like a fucking bullet before disappearing into the sea with a plop. A second's silence while we glared at each other and then the whole chain decided to roar out like the sound of a ship being launched on the Clyde. I immediately put the throttle into astern gear and drove back quite angrily until the boat brought up sharply and the bow rose up. We were there! Anchored. Not safely anchored, but anchored.  

Everyone, led by Marion, suddenly went mad changing into their cossies and throwing themselves off the stern and splashed around in the sea whooping with delight and pleasure. I went forward to look at the windlass and muttering to myself, gently caressed the remaining two lugs. I hope this was not a bad omen.

Tim offered to cook, and made an excellent dinner. Mike, being an electrical engineer, rigged up an overhead cockpit light from the 12 volt socket, and we all sat there surrounded by dark humid night and ate Tim's pasta, washed down with an unhealthy quantity of vino. There was the sound of eating and drinking and civilised laughter from the other anchored boats, and we participated with our laughter too.

It was a quiet night for the crew but not for me. The wind strengthened and I could not settle. Throughout the night I  kept sticking my head out of my cabin hatch to check my transits. The boat anchored between our port quarter and the reef did actually drag in the night and from the hatch I watched them re-lay their anchor. When dawn broke, the wind died and I fell asleep at last.

A SHORT DAY FOLLOWED BY A NIGHT IN LIPARI

A beautiful morning and a nice slow breakfast. Above us we could see the steaming flanks of the volcano and there was a strong smell of rotten eggs and sulpher. Marion and Tim had another swim off the back of the boat and reported that they could feel hot spots in the water. After they climbed back onboard I tried, and failed, to lift the bathing platform. It was operated electrically and extended on hydraulic pistons. However it was apparent that the design was stupid and the mechanics meant that when someone pulled onboard, the system would break. I tried many things to resolve it (except hitting it with a steel tube!) but the weather was calm, distances short, and I decided to leave it until later.

Everyone wanted to go around to Porto di Levante so that they could go and sit in the hot mud pools. God alone knows why. The true wind was only 6 knots so we motored round. When we got into the approach, there was a lot of traffic and a large cargo ship which was manoeuvering to come in. We could see that all the available moorings were taken and anchorages very crowded, so we turned around and motored over to the neighbouring island of Lipari. The Aeolian Islands are also known as the Lipari Islands, and Lipari seems to be the main town of the group. It was a beautiful approach and we hugged the coast to get the best views. Eventually, at 1200 hrs, we tied alongside a pontoon inside a hammerhead at Pontile Portosalvo. It was very secure because although we were alongside we also took two tailed moorings. Daylight robbery at 50 euros though.

We were highly entertained for the afternoon because every other space was taken by the Royal Thames Yacht Club who were operating a Sicilian Flotilla. On our other side we had a catamaran crewed by eight young unsmiling and uncommunicative Russian men who walked about their boat quite openly while completely starkers. The clues they gave off made us think they were military personnel. Anyway the Royal Thames Yacht Club provided us with enough eccentric 'englishman abroad'  behaviour to keep us, (and the Italians), quite distracted with their antics. God knows what makes the Russians smile!

We spent the evening wandering around the old town of Lipari, eventually finding quite a posh restaurant at the top of the hill just under the castle. Some Irish Yotters were at the next table and we struck up a conversation. It was a splendid meal under the stars and we wandered back to the boat down through the busy alleys of the old town feeling very happy and relaxed.

LIPARI

STROMBOLI

At  0900 hrs it was already 31 degrees and 67% humidity. Visibility was good and an excellent day was in prospect. We had got up early and re-stocked on fresh vittles and fluids, slipping the pontoon at 0915. We raised plain sail in F3/4 and headed on course 030 for Stromboli, which was the great mountainous cone filling our forward view. It was nice to feel the boat come alive at last and we had a slight heel to starboard.We passed the gorgeous looking islands of Panarea and Isola Lisca Bianco to our port, followed by Isolo Basiluzzo.

As we approached Stromboli we could see the katabatic winds funnelling down from the slopes as a line of white horses off to our port. I wanted to keep outside this as we were comfortable in the F3/4 conditions which we had. We sailed NE up the eastern side of the island. This is a very steep-to island and even half a cable from the shore it was between 50 and 100 metres deep. I could see a yacht anchored further up and went over to have a look there. I tried anchoring, but it was useless. Too deep and too steep a bottom on loose black sand. I continued up the coast to the community of San Vicenzo where the pilot recommended as the only place to go and it said there were moorings.

Indeed there was, and most were already taken. There was a good breeze blowing round this corner of the island and  I took the helm and came in to a buoy. Tim had the boathook and he did not manage to pick it up. I took another turn around and came back to the buoy - upwind of it. Tim and Mike caught the pickup but were so long in getting a line down to it the boat drifted away. They did not release the boathook, hoping to pull the boat back. Naturally, the head snapped off. I came round again. and handed the helm over to Stuart while I prepared a lassoo line. I tied both ends on to cleats, put the line outside the guardrail and through the fairleads. I signalled to Stuart who brought me up to the buoy and I threw the rope, successfully capturing the buoy. I tightened the loop and tried to bring the pick-up on board but the riser was too tight and I needed help. When two young guys came out in their dinghy to extract 35 Euros for using their buoy, they pointed out that there was no pick-up buoy. The small plastic buoy I had on board my foredeck was the mooring buoy! I was mortified - of course it was and I could see it now. We sorted it.


The beach was very close and comprised black sand. The volcano rose steeply above us and we could see puffs of smoke from near the top. However it was too far to climb up, it was too late, and it was too windy (F4) to be bothered with the dinghy. We stayed where we were and enjoyed the view over dinner and drinks.



STROMBOLI TO SALINA

We wanted to see the volcano in the dark so rose early, got the nav lights on and slipped away through the other moored boats at 1535 hrs. It was already hot - 25 celcius - or perhaps it never got lower than this. We motored round inside the lighthouse island of Strombolicchio which was flashing away. As we came round I kept well out to see because there was constant debris hurtling down the slopes and splashing into the sea. What appeared to be small rocks were actually the size of motor cars and I didn't want one of them bouncing onto us. The cone is about 920 metres above sea level and we could see smoke drifting out of it and we thought we could see the red glow of lava. However, we had left it too late to be really in darkness. The nav lights were out by 0600 and it was 0700 by now. We did however witness a magnificent dawn with Stromolecchio outlined against the sun.

We came close into Panarea to see what gives. I understand that of all the islands, this one attracts the rich and famous. There were no berths at the pier and all the moorings were taken. Anchoring could only be achieved very far out and there was a lot of traffic. All in all we decided to head for the island of Salina. By noon, the slight wind became no wind and we motored round to a place on the west of Salina called Rinella. I anchored off there in 14 metres. It was flat calm and we did not dig in the anchor. Indeed I could see it below us and we were lying to the caternary. The crew went for a lengthy swim off the stern and I sat with a cold beer and watched a water tanker offloading through a series of pipes. Water is so short on these islands that they need to freight it in.

At 1445, we had had enough swimming, enough sunning ourselves and enough lunch, so I picked up the anchor and we motored round in flat calm to the marina at Santa Marina on Salina. We were one of the first in that day and came in astern to the stone wall and picked up a slime line. This is a very interesting berth. It looks like an old military complex and I would be interested to know the history of it. The marina was run by a geezer in a large building at the end and I negotiated our charge down from his initial demand of 80 euros to 50 Euros. We had showers and sat back with Camparis watching the antics of the strutting little italian marina boys totally absorbed in their appearance and their own importance as marina staff.

SALINA

We found a shop and asked for the herb basil. She said she had some in the garden and sent out a boy who returned with an enormous bunch wrapped up in newspaper, for which she charged a single euro. Fantastic. One of the things I love about sailing is that no matter where you are you always end up in the local shops and not the tourist shops. I do believe that sailing lets you see more of what a country is really like, than you perhaps see as a conventional tourist.

We found a nice restaurant and had dinner there, sampling some of the rare wine unique to this island. The other thing the island is famous for is capers and we enjoyed some of these in the dishes we were served. A really good meal and happy experience.

RETURN TO VULCANO

Well, on the long way back now. No wind again and we motored down the west side of Lipari and past a couple of interesting sea stacks. We found a really good anchorage on the SW tip called Spiaggia di Vinci. I anchored here and we spent a lazy day in the sun. Excellent lunch and there was much swimming and lazing around. The cliffs formed an arc here with a beach and I believe that the only approach to that beach could be from sea. Some enterprising guy had set up a stall on the beach and Marion and Tim swam ashore for a while. Near us was a cat with loads of small Italian children making a huge happy noise. On the other side was a yacht with three couples of stark naked Russians. Why so many of them here?

A splendid place. I considered anchoring here for the night, but I needed to fuel up before returning to Sant Agata, so needed to move. We motored round to Lipari and went into the AGIP fuel berth which is the only place in these islands you can get fuel. I bought 90 litres for the main tank and the gerry cans. Then we went ashore to buy fresh provisions. Marion and me bought a thick slice from a swordfish being sold by a young man on a market stall.

We returned to our first night anchorage at Porto di Ponente on Vulcano and anchored in the same position. Took two attempts to get the anchor to hold, but had a quiet night and an excellent dinner of fresh swordfish.

BACK TO MAINLAND SICILY

Flat calm again and no wind. We set off at 0950 and motored down the East side of Vulcano for a look at the facinating landscape, fresh from lava flows not that long ago in historical time. The gullies and slopes were very green. There was a surprising little bay opening out at the south of the island with an interesting and secluded black sand beach which I wish I'd known about earlier. We passed close to the old lighthouse at the south of  Vulcano and set course for Sant Agata. By lunchtime we were off Capo Orlando and by 1500 hrs I motored in to Sant Agata and placed her astern on the pontoon.

I explained about the boathook, the bathing platform (since recognised as a design fault by Bavaria) and finally the windlass lug which I said just came off in our hands. Poor casting I said. There were other faults, but these were to do with the boat itself.

We went to the restaurant we went to on the first night and had a truly excellent meal. All happy. An excellent week, although the sailing could have been better. The following morning we had trouble with the Sicilian railway system, but eventually we got to Palermo and had a good afternoon seeing some of the sights before heading for the Aeroporto and home to a Yorkshire Autumn!

TO BARRA AND BACK IN APRIL 2012

KISHMUL CASTLE, CASTLEBAY, BARRA

THE SOUND OF MULL - Monday 16th April 2012

Departure from Ardfern was delayed by 20 minutes I was standing on the side deck and Ian was removing the bow spring when I felt a wet splash on the top of my head. I saw Ian flick the end of the warp and so I assumed that it had fallen in the marina and he had flicked seawater onto me as he coiled the warp. I looked down on the deck and saw a mass of bright green bird shit. I pointed it out to Ian and then we noticed that it was all over the cockpit and the sprayhood. He said that he had just seen two swans flying over the boat at masthead height. I had a feeling of dread and felt my head and touched my hand Yes, I was covered in glutinous luminous green: the same shade as infected catarrh. We hosed the boat down and then my head and jacket. Finally left the pontoon at 1025 hrs. Ian made a log entry - "Bombed by swans. David splattered with green shite" A charming log entry. For the rest of the day he kept bursting into spontaneous laughter and going on and on about green shite.

We had the tide and took the usual route. Down Loch Craignish, through the Dorus Mor, up the Sound of Luing, inside Insch Island and over to Duart Point. All good sailing with one reef in the main and 60% genoa in a F4 SSE initially but increasing F5 SE with gusts of up to F7 wind force. The weather forecast was for an imminent Gale 8 or 9 from the SE so we did not wish to linger. We briefly considered anchoring in Loch Aline, but as we passed we changed our minds and committed to Tobermory as it was better placed for the aspiration to get out to Canna.

Although we were running with a F6 we were not actually going that fast. Because of our apparent wind, the Genoa was flapping behind the main and we couldn't get it to set. As the following sea was corkscrewing us around, it wouldn't goosewing out the other side without a pole - which we could not be arsed with. And - it would have been a real pain to be caught with a pole out if we broached. With the sail sawing off the rigging, Ian was quite rightly worried about his sail wearing out, and the sky in the SE was looking grim and bruised. So at 1800 hrs, with only 5 miles to go, we whipped the sails down, got the engine on and hunkered down with a mug of tea and a Jacobs Club biscuit. We continued to corkscrew up the Sound of Mull, but at least we were now getting respectable speed over the ground. The only other boat we could see was in the distance and hard over under reefed sail coming out of Loch Sunart direction and also charging towards Tobermory for shelter from the gathering storm.

As we came round the top of Calve Island and into the bay, there was sudden relief. We motored down to the south and anchored in Aros Bay. I had not been in this corner before although it is a favourite of Ian's. There is not a lot of room, and because of the way the bottom shelves steeply you need to set your anchor close in and fall back. At 7 metres depth, we put out 60 metres of chain and fell back to sit in 20 metres of waer. It was wooded all around us and there was a mussel farm bobbing away in lines of black buoys behind us, a loud waterfall near the end of the burn, a wee cliff and an ancient stone jetty. A nice spot to sit in. It was peaceful after our 39 mile passage just to relax over steaks and a bottle of merlot and catch up on repeating the same old yarns to each other. Although Ian did somehow manage to keep returning to the topic of green shite.

Overnight was wild and I woke a few times as hailstones lashed the deck above me. I could hear the wind howling high overhead, but we were snug and had no worries where we were, with a heavily wooded steep hill between us and the wind. At least the rain would wash the decks of any remaining green stuff.

THE SOUND OF MULL NEAR TOBERMORY

AROUND TOBERMORY - Monday 17 April 2012

Finally raised the anchor at 1040 hrs, dodging the rain and waited till the hailstones stopped.Thick clay on the chain and anchor, needing a few washdowns as the ground tackle was stowed. Then we just motored over to the pontoons. The boat we saw yesterday coming over from Loch Sunart was berthing and unberthing and despite the cold and wet, had lots of excited grinning toothy faces standing around in the cockpit wearing bright coloured oilies. You can always spot a training boat on a course. The skipper called over to ask us where we had come from. It's always too complicated to answer this with a one-liner so we shouted back "over there" and pointed at the general direction of Aros Bay. He called back to ask us how we found it last night. We replied to the effect that we had experienced a lovely quiet night - had there been a problem? We surmised, that knowing of no alternative, he had bounced his crew around all night on the pontoon. He looked crestfallen, said no more and sailed away with his jolly crew towards the Sound of Mull.

We tied up and I went for a long hot shower in the new Tigh Soluis block. Ian said I needed it as there was something green splattered all over the back of my head. He went off to find his Daily Telegraph crossword fix. Then at 1225 hrs we cast off and went to have a look at the sea state beyond Ardnamurchan. Even though it had blown all night it looked OK to me, but it was Ian's call and he was more cautious and decided that we would hang about here until tomorrow, then we would go for the point.

Around 1330, we turned and sailed over in the general direction for Loch Drumbuie. Then after we had a conversation about not being able to get phone and internet signals in that location, we turned the boat around again and sailed back to Aros Bay. At 1445 hrs we anchored again in the same spot as we had left eight miles ago. It was not exactly warm, but the sun had come out and I jammed myself under the sprayhood with a couple of cans of Guinness and a copy of the Times. I dozed off to the sound of trhe waterfall.

TO CANNA  - Wenesday 18th April 2012

ARDNAMURCHAN POINT

Same process as yesterday. Same thick clay on the chain and anchor. We were motorsailing out to Ardnamurchan Point before 1000 hrs. weathr looked fine, some blue sky and F3 from the NE. We settled down to a steady sail with 1 reef and 100% genoa. Passed to the west of Muck and started up the west side of Rum.

Since somtime before the island of Muck, we had been accompanied at a distance by another yacht. You just don't get other boats out here at this time of the year and as we commenced a series of long tacks, we were crossing each others tracks and we speculated that they too may be heading for Canna. Rum was bathed in lovely afternoon light and at 1445 hrs we were suddenly surrounded by a pod of common dolphins. They appear suddenly like this and when they decide to go it is just as sudden and just as collective. There were at least 50 of them all around us, leaping and diving alongside and under the boat. They are small anyway but there was a fair number of wee calves about the size of a terrier dog. They really seem to enjoy leaping and jumping alongside a yacht, and when you blink, they are gone. What a day! O what a day! Sparkling F4 sailing in a white flecked blue sea, a mile off the steep sunny green slopes of Rum with white spume breaking on the shore and surrounded by leaping dolphins! No other indication of mankind  except for the distant white point of the sail on the other boat heeled over on the opposite tack to us. All in a bright blue northern light and a milky horizon.

We came through the Sound of Canna well over to the shores of Rum, and spotted the other yacht well into the shadow of Sanday and moving towards the wee lighthouse there. We were busy judging when it would be right for us to turn on our final tack to take us straight into the harbour when the radio came to life with a ladies voice calling us.She had the name of our boat slightly wrong but it was clearly meant for us. Ian returned the call and it was indeed the other boat we had been sailing with, In this remote place who else could it be but them? (For the blog I'll call them 'Solstice' - not their real name). Their engine had overheated and they were asking for a tow.

CANNA HARBOUR

It was now 1700 hrs. We took our sails down and started the engine. As we were doing this, me and Ian had a wee chat over the issues of proceeding. I then helmed her over while Ian went onto his radio to tell them what he wanted and to get ready for us. We closed their starboard quarter with all their fenders out on that side. I had already put all of ours out on our port. We came closer together but had to have care for the masts and rigging clashing as in the swell we were both rolling like pigs. We took their bow and stern lines, but the key element was the taking and fixing of springs. Once we had this squared away Ian asked them to fix their rudder amidships and he drove us slowly ahead while I had an interesting conversation with them about many matters.

When we got into Canna harbour we took Solstice to the transit line between the two churches and asked her to drop her anchor. Then we drove back until it was set and she was safely anchored. It was now 1815 hrs and the two conjoined boats were then swinging to the Solstice anchor (which was only a CQR). I climbed on board her and went below. There was just two of them: the skipper and her son. They were wrestling with the engine problems. I tried to help by going through the basic checks and processes. We finally left them at 1940 hrs with some suggestions and options to try. They tied their dinghy alongside in case they needed it quick in the night if their anchor dragged.. We cast off from them and anchored our own boat. A thirty mile day with an exciting finish and we were late to make dinner and glad to get fed and watered. So to our bunks.

CROSSING THE SEA OF THE HEBRIDES - Thursday 19 April 2012

We had our breakfast while squinting through the hatch at Solstice. There was movement and we wondered how they were. We had discussed options yesterday and I had recommended to them to sail for Mallaig. Ian had reassured them and said we would not depart until they had weighed anchor and were underway to wherever they had decided on as a destination. At 0945 they appeared in their dinghy off our transom. We had a chat and they told us they had got their engine working fitfully and it would be OK for short emergency bursts. They were going to sail home to their mooring up Loch Lhinnie way. They gave us a bottle of Argentinian Malbec by way of thanks and we wished them luck. We waited until they weighed anchor and then raised our own anchor and at 1015 hrs we were underway for Wizard Pool in Loch Skiport.

Wind was east F3 and we started to sail west around the top of Canna as we watched Solstice in the wind shadow of Rum very slowly making her way south and we hope they would be Ok. (They were and made it home via an overnight stop at Tobermory). The wind died for a while and then filled in at  F3/4 northerly. The wind angle became too difficult for Loch Skiport so we thought we would make Loch Eynort instead. Eventually this also become too difficult and we figured that we could only make an angle for Lochboisdale. We took the sails in at 1750 hrs and motored into the loch eventually anchoring in 9 metres with 40 metres of chain. We had sailed 27 miles from Canna.

BUSY EVENING IN LOCHBOISDALE

My god, what a bleak place! Can you imagine being a teenager in such a place? We watched the village turn out in excitement to watch a buch of workies raising a new wind turbine. The further excitenent as the ferry 'Lord of the Isles' came in. (This ferry is know as LOTI to the ferrymen). Must have been quite a night in Lochboisdale! It was gstting cold and dark now on top of the general feeling of godforsakeness, so we went below and ate Ian's homemade Shepherds Pie together with the Argentianian Malbec and drank a toast to Yacht Solstice.

PAKORA IN BARRA - Friday 20 April 2012

Ian heaved the last of the anchor cahin onboard at 1025 hrs after some 20 minutes of me filling the bucket to wash the chain off every metre or so. Such glutinous black mud! At least it was a change from green! We motored out of the Locch and got the sails up by 1100 hrs and turned south, keeping well offshore from this rock strewn coast.

To our right was the land upon which it was raining heavily. To our left was open sea upon which there was blue skies and unbroken sunshine. Overhead there was the line dividing teh thick black cloud from the clear blue sky, and we were being rained upon. Such rain! WE took turns at getting soakedand cursing our luck to always be right on theedge of the rain as we sailed slowly south past Eriskay in a F2 northerly. It was cold too and teh arthritic fingers on my hadns were looking quite gruesome.

At 1425 we were approaching the south cardinal buoy at Bo Vich Chuan and dropped the sails, motoring into Castlebay in Barra. A 17 mile run today. We anchored in 10 metres depth between the visitors buoys and the steamer terminal. We prepared the dinghy and went ashore. There were two young men stripped off and washing in the doorway of the public toilet at the top of the slip. I went off to the sports centre to have a shower and Ian went off to the Co-op for some fresh vittles. I had the place to myself and was glad of it. The showers consisted of a small communal room with bare concrete walls and five shower heads where the only way of keeping your shower going was to stand with your back on the button keeping it pressed in. Maybe its a way of keeping you facing forward to the other guys? When I had finished and departed I bumped into a strange middle aged ameerican woman from Philadelphia who wanted to come on the yacht. After I escaped away from her I was photographing the yacht agaisnt the view of Kishmul Castle when a local came out of his house and crossed the road towards me. "Yaff that Yatt"? I answered in the affirmative and he went on to advise me that we were the first yacht that had made it over to Castlebay that year.

THE INDIAN RESTAURANT IN CASTLEBAY

Then I met up with Ian and we decided to try the Indian Restaurant (yes there is one here). They told us to come back in an hour as they were in the middle of their own family dinner. So we went up to the Hotel and had a pint of Guinness while the locals sat quietly on bar stools, drinking quietly to themselves. When we did sit down to eat we had the scallops pakora for starters (well, wouldn't you?). I asked foolishly if they were local scallops and the owner went wordlessly to the kitchen and brought back an enormous aluminium container full of shelled but quivering scallops which he flourished under my nose without saying anything. "Ah, I see. Thankyou very much" I said. For main course I had chicken jalfraizi. I did not ask if the chickens were local. Ian had lamb. The menu said it was local lamb and we left it at that. An interesting menu with many Indian, Italian and traditional British dishes. You have to go!

During our absence from the boat a large Dutch schooner called Wylde Swan had tied up at the quay, giving Ian an opportunity to introduce wylde swan shite into the conversation.

WYLDE SWAN

A LONG DAY - Saturday 21 April 2012

Now we have a long exposed stretch across the Sea of the Hebrides to get back to the Inner Hebrides. Once back in among these islands we will be able to return to Ardfern as there are so many shelter alternatives if the weather turns foul. So a long committing 40 or 50 mile stretch today. We raised the anchor at 0730 and were on our way while the early risers onboard Wylde Swan were standing around lazily enjoying their morning coffee.

We retraced our line out of Castlebay until just beyond the cardinal buoy we raised all plain sail at 0825 and steered easterly in a benign F3 NE. We were steering directly into the rosy fingered dawn and had the most wonderful view of Rum far away to the east. The light had a real northern feel and chill about it.

ISLAND OF RUM FROM THE WEST

Then the wind slowly died away. We were down most of the time to under a knot. I was for putting the engine on and maintaining a minimum speed so as to get the bulk of the passage in the bag and then see how the sailing is towards the end. Ian's strategy is to sail, only firing up the donk towards the end of the passage. Horses for courses. He's the skipper, his boat, he pays the fuel, so we sailed.

As it says in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner "There passed a weary time". Almost fell asleep at the helm with the regular creaking of the rigging and the sun blazing down on my head. Then the wind picked up a tad. You could hear a rickle of water at the bow and we began to move. The Sgurr of Eigg loomed through the haze far ahead of us. Wylde Swan appeared far astern. "At first it seemed a little speck, and then it seemed a mist" to quote Coleridge again. From the way she was coming nearer it was not just down to her bigger sail area and as she passed off to our port I could see the tell tale surge and splash of water from her exhaust. I would guess she was heading for the Sound of Mull to let her paying passengers loose on the fleshpots of Tobermory, (well the chip van at least).

Eventually the wind picked up to F4 northerly and we started to move. We gave the splendidly named Cairns of Coll a very wide berth and turned south, starting the engine at 1740 hrs. There were large amounts of Manx Shearwaters zooming over the waves making their way home to Rum after spending the day feeding far out to sea. After an age, we turned into Loch Eatharna and anchored off Arinagour in Coll just to the east of the visitors moorings. Too tired to go ashore. 46 miles. A long day.

DOWN TO BUNESSAN - Sunday 22 April 2012

ARINAGOUR ON COLL

Lovely light this morning making all the rocks glow red. Sitting having my coffee in the cockpit and watching a sheep 50 metres away looking for her missing lamb and bellowing for it before climbing a small knoll and standing on top looking all directions, but to no avail. Raised anchor at 1050 hrs. Clean sand. Engine off and plain sail up in easterly wind, F 3-4. Tacked over to Mull enjoying the sailing and then turned south.

Approaching Staffa there were a couple of sea kayaks in the water. Amazing how their voices travel. Dropped the sails at 1535 and motored into Loch na Laitaich keeping to the west shore. We anchored at Bunessan behind Eilean Ban at 1625 hrs. Sat in the cockpit for a long while watching the sun go down behind Iona in a great blaze of red while we savoured a few drams of 18 year old Glenlivet. It's tough, this sailing!

YOU HAVE TO IMAGINE THE 18 YEAR OLD MALT!

I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING - Monday 23 April 2012

Anchor up and away by 1000 hrs, motorsailing with just the main up. North up the Loch, inside passage of the lighthouse and west along the Ross of Mull until the Sound of Iona opened out. We motored south taking care to get the line just right. There is always an anxious moment going over the shallow patch just before the Cathedral.

Once through the sound we swept around as if going into Tinkers Hole, but Ian had a surprise in store. He piloted (me at the helm) into the very narrow inlet giving access to David Balfour's Bay as I had not been in there before. What an astonishing and very beautiful place! White sands, turquoise water. I'll be back here. I'm not going to give the proper name of this place as shown on the chart because its a secret!

DAVID BALFOUR'S BAY

Out we came at the back of noon and started sailing properly to the east - but there was no wind. We put the engine on to motorsail as this is a very rocky coast and the Torran Rocks on the other side, so not a place to lose steerage. Once we were past the north cardinal at Bogha Nan Ramfhear we turned off the engine, put a preventer on the main and slowly sailed east with difficulty.

CARSAIG

At 1600 hrs although the wind was F4 it was coming from all over the place and in fact it boxed the compass a couple of times. We took in the foresail and centred the main, turned on the engine and motored into the coast so as to have a close look a the Carsaig Arches under the huge cliffs. After that we motored along to Carsaig itself and anchored in the middle of the bay in 10 metres. We had veered 50 metres of chain due to the stiff downdraught coming down the Glen. It really was marvellous to be here and recognise the scenery of one of my favourite movies "I know where I'm going" which was shot mainly around here. Fabulous open views to Colonsay and Jura to the south. I love open anchorages like this. 26 miles today.

I KNOW WHERE I'M GOING

HOMEWARD BOUND - Tuesday 24th April 2012

The general intent was to sail south, possibly through the Sound of Islay and make our way back up north via the Sound of Jura. However the weather forecast indicated that low pressure systems were marching in from the Atlantic and I suggested to Ian that we cut it short and go home now. He looked relieved as this is what he was working round to talking about, but he had let me draw my own conclusions, So homeward bound it is.

Anchor up at 0730 and engine on initially as it was only a F1 northerly. Bit more of a breeze as we passed the entrance to Loch Spelve, but that was to be expected. We settled down at 0935 in a F3 northerly to sailing 100%. As we got nearer to Lorne, Ian went below to work out a course to steer as we are getting back into strong tides again.

SWIRLING TIDE EVERYWHERE!

I steered us on this course and we went through the narrow gap between the islands of Belnahua and Ormsa. the water was boiling around us and as we were under saill alone, needed to concentrate. The tide was 7 knots and was with us. As we were running and the apparent wind had dropped, my concern was to keep water flowing over the rudder or we could whirl round and be carried like a cork to where we most don't want to go!

We came through this and sailed through the Dorus Mor. Close hauled up Loch Craignish until just past the lagoon and we put the engine on, sails down, fenders and warps fixed, and berthed back in our pontoon in Ardfern at 1220 hrs. Then the heavens opened. Good timing it seemed. It got sunnier during the afternoon and we had many chores to do - mainly Ian. I packed and showered ready to get away tomorrow morning. Total distance for this trip was 232 miles. We ate in the Galley of Lorne that evening and the gale increased overnight to a full F8 by the morning. I had my coffee, said my farewells to Ian and his boat, and caught the 0800 bus to Lochgilphead and so homewards from there.