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.
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| 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.
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