SAILING AROUND MULL AND JURA

It happened in the Outer Hebrides. On the east beach of the Island of Berneray to be precise. Hector, my dug, required capturing and in a moment of complete madness I attempted to rugby tackle him. Afterwards, I remained curled up in a foetal position moaning softly to myself while the dug licked my face and the LHG called me an old fool.

Anyway some 5 days later and despite still being in pain, I was back on the mainland  where I caught the steamer from Oban to Craignure on the Island of Mull so as to join Ian and Laurie who were bobbing on the pontoons at Tobermory. They had just come over from Aros Bay where they had anchored the previous night. We had lunch and set off in the direction of Ardnamurchan with the possibility of sailing over to Muck. However the wind was F4 WNW and we eventually decided to sail for Coll and by 1800 we were anchored safely at Arinagour.

The following day we had a gentle day's sailing past the Treshnish Islands and Staffa, (where Ian did the usual and played Mendelssohn's overture Fingals Cave to the empty sea), before anchoring for the night at Bunessan. The tide was right first thing the following morning for passage through the Sound of Iona, and through we went. Once again, we were spared by the mad ferryman who hates yachts and we lived to tell the tale, so once through the Sound we steered for the north end of Colonsay.

Off the port side I spotted one of those silver helium baloons in the water. You know, the ones that say Happy Birthday or Happy 21st, or some such fatuous greeting. Over the next hour we spotted another three of them. Once they deflate fully I have no doubt that some poor creature will mistake the flashing silver plastic for a meal and it will scoff its last supper. If you must buy these things, try not to let them escape.

We continued on and entered West Loch Tarbert on Jura before coming to anchor in front of Glenbattrick Hunting Lodge. This is where the Prime Minister and his wife have a quiet break from matters of state and when he doesn't go deerstalking. Of course, I had a good swatch through the binoculars, but the lights were off. So I was able to look at the numerous raised beaches instead. A geological paradise!

The following morning we were off down the Sound of Islay and sailed over to Gigha in a F5/6 ENE. The forecast was for worse overnight and for the next day so we anchored in the southerly of the tombolo bays joining Eilean Garbh to the rest of Gigha. I have been anchored in the north beach before but had not been in this one. It was F7, perhaps F8, overnight and we were joined by another yacht at 0530. I guessed they they would have had an uncomfortable night somewhere and had come in for some respite. We tried to sail off the following day, but it was too rough for comfort and the boat was under strain, so we turned back, re-anchored and spent the day and night stormbound.

On our last day, we raised anchor at 0830 and enjoyed a sparkling and swift sail over the 35 miles to Ardfern. The wind was F5/6, E or SE, the sky was blue. All was right with the World!

The pain was unbearable and the Doc said I had broken one, possibly more, ribs. She asked me what painkillers I had been taking. I declined to mention the Talisker, Whyte and McKay, Jura and Highland Park. She prescribed me pills and told me to behave myself in future.

That wee ginger ninja will be the death of me some day.