Distractions

The hot weather continues, apparently. Just not here on the west side of Scotland. Over and over again we have to listen to the same thing, to hear the BBC weather man banging on about how hot it is going to get in the next few days. It is tiresome. It is sheer rudeness, deliberate perhaps, since as a UK weather man he must know full well that there are people out there who will not be experiencing the heatwave he is so confidently predicting. That's his job, after all.

Then finally it does get warmer but somehow at the same time there is a day of constant drizzle, a fine spray of water that wets everything yet the sun penetrates through this at the same time tempting us outside. Warm rain is an improvement on cold and wet, but only for a limited period; until it penetrates everything and drips off the end of your nose. We need a distraction, and the first one arrives in the form of two small children who we were allowed to take care of for a few days to help out their mum. And wow, it's a distraction! Outdoors is wet so we must find indoor distractions and the telly goes on (these are modern kids so it's endless Minecraft movies) then finally they are bored enough to venture out in the damp so it is football in the park (not really part of my skill set) so I am greatly relieved when two other football playing children appear and are happy to share the experience, for a while.

Fortunately, to follow this we have arranged another appointment, with horses. An opportunity has arisen for a trial ride on a horse, for Annalese, who is 11, and has never ridden before. We arrive at the field where three large beasts await us and they come over to meet us. They belong to Tabitha who has agreed to give tuition, which she proceeds to do, very gently and with immense patience.

It turns out Annalese is a natural and even Max, aged 6 is completely comfortable patting and stroking them, although he will not ride.

Annalese tries riding both with and without a saddle, the latter being a strange experience as the horse's muscular back moving beneath the bottom is an unnerving sensation. Such an opportunity as this coming without any strings attached or expectations is as valuable as it gets. We are so grateful to Tabs for this opportunity.

Our next distraction comes straight after the smallies are delivered back to their mum but it involves a long drive across country into a different world, one where the sun shines all day and the mercury has zoomed up inside the thermometer. The east side of Scotland always surprises us for it is so different from the west. There are less hills, just smooth rounded bumps divided into fields of sheep or growing corn. The roads tend to be straighter, although sudden changes of direction do jump out at you from time to time, and the unfamiliarity of the place names brings an unexpected level of entertainment.  Longformacus is one, Papple is another and we feel sorry for those living in Clappers or at Purves Hall.

Arriving in Berwick brings back fond memories of us sailing into the harbour in our first boat, Noggin the Nog, and hearing our two year old son Ben's voice as he repeated the depth sounder readings Kate was calling out to me as I steered across the shallow harbour bar. Some thirty five years later it is Ben who has prompted us back, this time to hear his band, Blackbeard's Tea Party play some loud music at a festival in nearby Horncliffe. Now there's a distraction!

The music is supremely danceable so once they begin to play the band are hidden behind a forest of gyrating bodies but we sit there entranced, proud parents who will leave late that night with ears ringing but no regrets. All this from a simple harbour entrance. Who'd have thought it.

Bobbing about

Eun na Mara is not a large sailing vessel. Ocean crossings in her would be difficult, not because the boat couldn't survive (she's a toughy with no qualms about going out in a good blast) but simply because the humans on board would need food and water and to carry enough of this would be difficult. Her little cupboards and lockers will only take so much and too much extra weight would make her low in the water and slow her down. So she takes us on short trips, and since she has a summer berth in Tarbert then this is the area where we sail, Loch Fyne and around the islands of the Clyde.

She will sail downwind happily, quite fast for one so small. Upwind she will go too but being so small, if this involves crashing into choppy seas then upwind sailing is hard work. The trick is to keep her moving quickly so her momentum pushes through the waves instead of bouncing off them but this is a mental challenge for the skipper who wants to gain ground to windward and tries to point the bow where he wants to go. Loch Fyne is particularly difficult because the wind tends to follow the loch, funnelled between the high ground on both sides. Exiting Tarbert harbour the choices are invariably upwind or downwind, no in between bits where the ideal sailing conditions lie. For a day sail I might choose upwind first to get the hard work out of the way early. If an overnight anchorage is planned, however, then the next day's forecast is equally important. A change in direction from one day to the next could be a real winner, played right.

On arrival at the marina I start with the plan I've had in my head for a day or so, sails up, turn right, head up the Kyles of Bute for one night, potter about, then return home. It's a scenery loaded couple of days, perfect. But as soon as we're clear of the harbour we are beating into a short choppy sea, spray flinging off the bow, strong gusts forcing me to clamber about putting a reef in the mainsail to prevent the boat leaning over too far. It is cool, the sun has barely made an appearance, and with this and the slowness of our progress upwind in mind after 30 minutes or so I review the plan. In between watching my belongings inside the cabin being tossed from one side to the other and hauling on the tiller to try to keep a good course I remember tomorrow's forecast. Today's south westerlies funnelling up the loch will become tomorrow's north westerlies, a crucial shift which, if I changed the plan, might just give me two consecutive days of downwind sailing, an unheard of event! Surely this can't happen.

I make a decision, pull the tiller towards me and ease the sheets, then we're off. Suddenly there is white foam beside me from the bow wave as we surf down the first of thousands of waves. I haven't time to check our speed but experience tells me it's over 6 knots, compared with a reluctant 3 going to windward. The boat stays dry and the gurgling noise from behind means we are flying. There are no other sailing boats in sight, just miles of sea then somewhere, up ahead of me a green concrete post marks the end of a spit of gravel and rocks. Behind this lies Otter Ferry, an anchorage where the lumpy seas can't go. All I have to do is keep steering downwind, eat the sandwiches I thoughtfully prepared earlier and keep my excitement in check till I can round up and drift into my safe haven for the night.

All goes well and once we are secured to the bottom, on a mooring, I can take stock and check the forecast again.

It's not perfect, rain is coming in overnight but it is quite warm and almost still. I erect our small homemade canopy over the cockpit, cook a meal then gaze around me. As I passed the end of the spit a trio of wetsuited swimmers was wading into the water and now I watch them arrive safely back at the shore having swum from where I had just gracefully sailed. Each to his own, I guess.

The rain arrived as predicted overnight, which was encouraging, and the morning came with a damp drizzle. Our little cockpit cover did its job well, keeping us dry. If the forecasters had got it right then around midday the sun would come out and the wind direction would change, a north westerly breeze being perfect for my return leg. The tide would also then begin to ebb, a happy coincidence (or else my perfect planning). All I had to do was wait, watch the gulls and drink tea.

Then suddenly it happened! The rays from our closest star found a gap in the clouds and flooded the world with light and warmth.  Welcome to a new world. Time check, yes the tide should now be on the turn and there are faint ripples on the water too, from a new direction. Mainsail up, cast off the mooring (thank you Otter Ferry), steer towards the end of the spit (which is now under water). Jib is unrolled and we're moving, slowly, barely a sound but there's a wake left behind us. The faint wind is flukey, turning slightly in our favour as we approach the concrete post again. One tack and we're drifting past it, bearing away and picking up speed. The hills are sheltering us no more and there's a fresh little breeze but this time the sea is flat and we accelerate smoothly away. Tarbert lies 10 miles away, still under a heavy cloud but we have blue sky above us, all is well in the world.

The passage home is quick, reaching along at 5 knots, admiring the hills, the absence of other sailing boats, and the warm breeze. 

The colour of the sea reflects the sky and reminds me why we live here. As I approach the harbour a large motor yacht emerges on a converging course which he holds for a while so I can pass ahead of him, then suddenly he veers to cross my bow, dangerously close. Priority to sail is obviously not in his vocabulary so he gets a raised finger before I'm tossed about by his massive wake. But it is just a minor event in an otherwise faultless day.

In no time the sails are lowered and we motor back to our berth, the first use of the engine since we left port the day before. I am still smiling from the two days of fast downwind sailing.

Sailing with Shrimpers part 2

'That's a pretty boat' is the most common comment we hear from anyone passing our boat. So what would they make of 30 of them, all at once?

Having arrived in Largs ahead of most of the fleet we get to welcome them as the skippers and crew arrive, tired after their long drive from their homes in England, and we can't help but notice their summer clothing, shorts and t-shirts, from starting their journey in the middle of the heatwave that has been affecting the south of England in recent days. Largs is at least 10 degrees cooler and the cool westerly wind saps away even more heat. Time for extra layers of clothing.

But when all are assembled and a fleet of 30 boats put to sea for an introductory sail around the Isle of Cumbrae the wind deserts us and these little boats can't even make ground against the weak tidal flow. Could this be a flavour of what is to come?

The real test comes a couple of days later as we move location to Tarbert, a passage of over twenty miles around the Kyles of Bute. We stop for lunch by the Buttock of Bute (seriously), eleven boats anchoring rafted up in An Caladh, a tiny sheltered harbour tucked away behind Eilean Dubh (Black Island), then we all continue beating to windward all down the West Kyle... but soon the fickle wind deserts us and it's engines on again. The Shrimper fleet slowly creeps into Tarbert, unaware that the event is secretly being captured on video - we are being filmed from above.

Click to watch the video

From this point on there is a planned itinerary of sailing and social entertainment for the days ahead, all predicated on ideal weather conditions - calm seas, sunshine and gentle winds. A glance at the forecast, however, reveals a different storyline and swift changes are made to the programme which involves tough decisions by individual boat skippers that evening before the barbecues are lit. Only a handful of boats decide to remain in Tarbert for a second day as planned so most of the fleet has to endure another tough day, sailing the twenty or so miles back to Largs the following day to avoiding the oncoming storm. Then after arriving they spend the next two days in land-based activities whilst the wind and rain blasts in, many making visits to local landmarks or National Trust properties. A lucky few catch a trip on the last surviving seagoing paddle steamer, the Waverley, and others take ferries across to Arran for the day. Not for the first time the Shrimper event has fallen foul of our unpredictable climate.

For us and Eun na Mara, Tarbert is our home port and having already made the passage to Largs and back once, the thought of repeating this in rather indifferent weather does not have much appeal. We decide to leave the boat for a while and move on board our campervan, Martin, and why not assist in shepherding a small handful of Shrimpers whose owners have decided to passage through the Crinan Canal, a relatively sheltered hiding place for small boats. Indeed without our presence a wayward inflatable dinghy would not have been prevented from making a passage through the canal on its own, propelled by the fresh wind.

The Shrimpers stop for the night at Cairnbaan, canal Lock #5, leaving us to retreat to Martin for a quiet night on our own. We head off for Knapdale and the beaver lake which lies to the south of the canal, a sheltered spot in the woods we have used before for overnight stays, but as soon as we stop we notice a plague of black flies settling all over the van - Ugh! Before even opening the doors we decide to drive away again to escape the horror. Perhaps these creatures have themselves eaten all the midges - we didn't stop to find out.

As it happens the forecast turns out to be pretty accurate. We awake to Martin being buffeted about by the wind and sit for a while watching the horizontal rain blasting sideways along the canal beside which we ended up being parked. Two days of this wind are forecast. Shrimper sailing is off the agenda but the socialising and holidaying continue for many. For us though, home is beckoning.

Despite wind being fearsome and the sea white with foam there's a bright sunny day waiting for us when we do finally arrive home, although even around our sheltered house the trees are bent over at alarming angles. We do regret having parted company with the Shrimper fleet - these sailors are good company both on the water and off - but local sightseeing on land we can do any time, should we care to do so and squeezing ourselves inside Eun na Mara whilst watching the rain come down has little appeal. We can see what is coming, thanks to good weather forecasting, enough to know that this particular spell of weather is going to be followed by another blast of wind and rain coming up from the south in the days to come. It is June and the sun, when it shines, brings heat with it. Without it, however, it is hard to imagine we are in summer at all. The wind whips away our remaining body heat and if there is rain as well we are not ashamed to become stay-indoors softies.

The urge to sail still exists, however, and several days later, whilst the Shrimper fleet are still living it up in Largs, Eun na Mara puts to sea again for a short passage to Otter Ferry, a sheltered anchorage on Loch Fyne. The return passage the following day will not be mentioned as the cold and rain returned in spades but the highlight of the trip does deserve mention, a beautiful sunset appearing just around bed time, a sight not to be forgotten for a long time.