Welcome to Heydays’ blog which hopefully will take us on adventures as we expand our sailing horizons. We will try to share the highs and lows and hope that friends will share some of them with us.
If you want to read some of the stories from our first year (before the genesis of this blog) we’ll write stuff as it occurs to us in the FIRST YEAR WITH HEYDAYS pages…
We’re booked in to start our transit of the canal for 9am, so a relatively leisurely start, giving time to have a look at a huge cruise boat coming out… she barely fits…
…and then tea, coffee and a shower…not so. At 8.30 the lock master comes along to say that we are expected and can we please join 3 other boats already in the lock. John and Yee Tak almost break into a trot to get back on board, and then a less than leisurely few minutes getting thge right ropes, fenders etc ready for the deep locks ahead.
The first one (the sea lock) is easy…
However, ahead of us is the famous Neptune’s Staircase. A flight of 7 locks…all of them deep. There are 4 boats going through, a couple of very big, but skittish racing yachts which move around a lot in the turbulent waters of the locks when the sluice gates open.
With three of us ashore tending ropes, we look on a bit too smugly at how well Heydays behaves…perhaps we’ll get our come-uppance!
The back drop to the locks and the whole canal is stunning. I know I’ve used that word a lot, but I’m in danger of running out of superlatives…
We’re through and then cruise gently along the canal past a couple of swing bridges, while a train and cars patiently (we assume) wait for our little flotilla to pass.
We pass our final lock for today with the slightly confusing name of Gairlochy Lock. There is a quiet pontoon (with electricity for the fridge) and we’re tied up and hearing nothing but birdsong against the background of snowy mountains…
This is such an amazing place, not a sound save for birds and the occasional chuckle of water round the stern. We decide to stay for the night.
Postscript: One of the boats we have been in company with today is called Andiamo, a Jeanneau 32. They approach to come behind us on the pontoon, and we take their lines and generally help. We introduce ourselves and as always have to spell out Yee Tak’s name. “She’s from Hong Kong” we explain. “Oh” says Maureen (partner Ian) “I was born in Hong Kong and left in 1971 when I was 14”. What a coincidence… One thing leads to another and we invite them round for early evening drinks. Things then get even weirder… It turns out that Maureen and Yee Tak both went to the same school in HK (St Paul’s) and were both in the same year (although different classes). The rest of us watch on as bystanders at a school reunion, as they discuss the various teachers and nuns they had the fortune (or sometimes misfortune) to be taught by. It was lovely watching them reminisce back down to their schoolgirl days…
By the time we made our way back across the water to the boat last night, the weather had already decided to give us a break. The gale that accompanied our arrival had eased considerably, still breezy, still a little lively in the dinghy, but nothing like the conditions of a few hours earlier. We returned aboard well fed, moderately windswept, and largely content…and went to bed without any great delay.
Morning brought a transformation… the loch was completely still, glassy and quiet, with perfect reflections of the mountains, the trees, and the little cottage opposite, in the waters around Heydays.
We had a schedule to keep, however. The narrows at Corran are a tidal pinch point midway up Loch Linnie, and this required us to pass through before the tide turned against us, so by eight o’clock we were underway, coffees in hand, gliding up Loch A Choire in conditions that bore absolutely no resemblance to yesterday’s arrival. We had hoped for a little wind as we turned out into Loch Linnie proper, but the loch had decided otherwise, and we motored on without complaint into what was, in fairness, a genuinely beautiful morning.
The narrows at Corran were quiet, save for a handful of motorcyclists waiting for the cable ferry on the far bank, and not much else. The Corran ferry skipper, we noted, was a more patient individual than his counterpart on the Studland crossing in Poole, where the approach with a yacht has an ambiguous quality…the ferry tending to depart at precisely the moment most inconvenient to all concerned. Here, he waited for us to pass before setting off, and we continued north with goodwill on all sides.
Loch Linnie narrows steadily toward its head, where Fort William sits on one shore, with Ben Nevis looming over…
…and the small town of Corpach on the other. Corpach is, in fact, the southern entrance to the Caledonian Canal, and we tied up at the community-run marina there — one of several such places in these waters, operated by local groups on something closer to goodwill and honesty boxes than the brisk commercial efficiency of larger marinas. Refreshingly so, even if refreshingly is doing some work in that sentence.
Formalities at the canal office were straightforward: forms, insurance details, facility keys, and a nine o’clock lock slot booked for the following morning. A seven-day canal pass, at £277 for the boat, gives ample time for the transit, most crews manage it in three or four days, but we intend to take our time and see something of the country on the way. Conveniently, seven days also brings us neatly to the point at which the four of us are planning to leave Heydays for a fortnight and head home, so the timing works rather well.
There is a small café beside the sea lock. We went in for coffee. This, as so often happens, evolved into fish and chips, loaded fries with haggis, and an excellent bowl of tomato soup, at which point we conceded that this constituted lunch and that, it being Sunday, a proper lunch was entirely in order.
We made our way back to the boat in the early afternoon moving, it must be said, with the slow plod of people who have eaten well. The rain arrived shortly after, and the mist settled low over the surrounding hills. The mountains are not quite the same in cloud as they are in sun, but they remain grand, and impressive, and it remains a privilege to be here, whatever the weather is doing.
Tomorrow: the canal begins.
Following the established morning routine of tea and coffee administered from a horizontal position, we eventually achieved sufficient motivation to prepare the vessel for departure. The plan: retrace our wake down the Sound of Mull, turn to port at the bottom, and proceed up Loch Linnhe, with an overnight stop in Loch a Choire, before continuing to Corpach/Fort William and the entrance to the Caledonian Canal.
A brief foray ashore for last-minute provisions, then into the sailing gear. The day was bright and clear, but the sun and wind seemed not to have agreed on who was coming out on top today.
We slipped the mooring just after 1pm, under a double-reefed main and headed out into what proved to be a near-dead run.
The Sound of Mull funnelled gusts down its steep sides with its customary lack of subtlety, and we maintained a respectful level of concentration to avoid any accidental gybes. A handful of sailing boats were beating up toward Tobermory…
…we kept clear as required and got on with our afternoon.
Soup and sandwiches did their job, but he scenery did considerably more than its job. The sailing was glorious, with little cottages and hidden beaches…
Bearing away into Loch Linnhe, the wind came more firmly onto the quarter, which improved both the boat speed and the general atmosphere on deck. We also noted not for the first time that sailing in enclosed waters has a distinct psychological advantage over open passages: there is always something to aim for. In this case, a succession of large and impressive mountains (although not to Chris, who comes from a land of properly high mountains called the Rockies…), which are considerably more encouraging than a featureless grey sea.
As the afternoon wore on, the wind increased and began to head us, so we dropped to motor-sailing under the main alone. Purists may raise an eyebrow, but it kept us in the sheltered inshore waters, made use of the weaker tidal streams, and, crucially, kept things manageable as the gusts crept above 30 knots approaching Loch a Choir. The reefs earned their keep.
Mainsail furled, we motored the final stretch directly into 30-plus knots, running through the options for anchoring or mooring in what the pilot book diplomatically describes as subject to “often violent squalls in strong winds.” The pilot book, on this occasion, was not exaggerating.
The Old Boat House restaurant at the head of the loch, keeps a few mooring buoys for visiting boats. Only one other vessel was in residence, sensibly so, given the conditions, and we picked up a free buoy with the quiet relief of people who had been giving the anchoring question rather more thought than we would have liked.
A call to the restaurant confirmed we were welcome to use the mooring overnight, whether or not we came ashore to eat. A generous gesture, really kind.
The backdrop was quite beautiful, mountains on all sides, the loch settled despite the wind, the light beginning to shift toward evening. We decided to go ashore for dinner.
The Old Boat House turned out to be exactly right, six tables, run by a couple, unhurried and excellent….
We settled in as the sun dropped behind the mountains and threw long reds and oranges across the water, and agreed that the day had gone rather well.
There is something genuinely stirring about cold northern waters in bright sunshine. The discomfort is real, but so is everything else.
A near-perfect day.
There are moments in cruising when the weather stops being a backdrop and starts being rather awkward. Last night was one of those moments.
The original plan had been a rather civilised tour of the Small Isles, Eigg, Rum, and Canna, before mooching to the Outer Hebrides. Lovely in theory. The snag, as any sailor will recognise, is that theory and the North Atlantic weather don’t always agree.
The forecasts were uninspiring but this alone wouldn’t normally trouble us unduly as we know our limits and Heydays’ capabilities rather well. The more pressing issue is that none of the Small Isles offers shelter from every wind direction, and the winds being forecast were pointing directly at the less comfortable options. Nature, it seems, has opinions.
Two options presented themselves, neither without its complications:
Option A — Sprint through on Friday, grab a cursory stop at Canna, and bolt for Barra and its reliable shelter. Definitely efficient, but visiting the Small Isles at a full gallop rather defeats the purpose of wanting to get to know them. All a bit perverse.
Option B — Sit tight in Tobermory’s excellent shelter for a few days and wait it out. Perfectly sensible, except for the minor matter of needing to be near civilised transport by the 18th. Tobermory is many things; a convenient rail hub it is not.
We pored over charts and interrogated forecasts with the sort of intensity usually reserved for significant life decisions, which, to be fair, this was. Then, in a moment of what we can only describe as nautical enlightenment, we turned to an unlikely source of inspiration… Joshua Slocum.
For those unfamiliar, Slocum was the first person to sail solo around the world, completing the feat in the very early 1900s, without an engine, without GPS, and presumably without the mild comfort of a decent weather app. His guiding philosophy was simple…go where the wind takes you, or sit it out. ..and where does the wind propose to take us? North-east. Straight up the Caledonian Canal.
Now, the original plan had been to go clockwise, up and around the north of Scotland and Orkney, then back down through the canal. A fine route. But what, we asked ourselves, is actually wrong with doing it anti-clockwise? Answers none. Benefits several… not least that it drops us conveniently near Inverness as a jumping-off point for a couple of weeks at home. Dead easy, as these things go. We looked at each other. The decision was made. Plans change. Slocum would have approved.
Mid morning and a boat moored up alongside us, crewed by a couple from Beaminster in Dorset. This is, in itself, unremarkable. What is remarkable is that we’d met them back in Islay, and that Beaminster is practically next door to Maiden Newton, where Yee Tak and James live. The cruising world is, it turns out, a very small pond.
The harbour, meanwhile, was getting busy. The CalMac ferry went about its regular business, a cruise liner had anchored in the bay, presumably so its passengers could photograph us photographing them, and more magnificently a Dutch brigantine had moored alongside.
(OK…we did have to look that one up. Two masts: the one near the pointy end is square-rigged, the mizzen carries fore-and-aft sails.)
Friday itself was given over entirely and without apology to domesticity. Showers. Laundry. Shopping. The unglamorous stuff on which all our adventures depend.
Recharged and reprovisioned, we headed into town and then out along the Aross coast path to what had been reliably described as a lovely waterfall, approximately thirty minutes away. A pair of Dutch girls we passed endorsed this estimate. Half an hour later, a French couple shrugged and suggested a further twenty-five minutes!
The views across the bay in the early evening light were stunning (if we manage to blot out the cruise ship…
The waterfall, when we eventually reached it, was entirely worth the walk. Sailing is a wonderful life, but it can be a bit sedentary. An evening stroll through the Scottish hills is a great antidote.
Back on board, the day concluded in entirely the right way: gin as the sun descended, a Moroccan stew John had prepared earlier (the man has hidden depths), and several hands of canasta.
Joshua Slocum, we feel, would have been perfectly at home.
Pre-departure planning the previous evening presented a bit of a navigational debate. The Admiralty Tidal Atlas and our two trusted apps, Navionics and Savvy Navvy, appeared to have attended entirely different courses on hydrography. The apps suggested a relaxed, “leave whenever you fancy” approach, while the Admiralty, in its authoritative manner, was insisting on considerably stronger tidal streams and a correspondingly later departure.
A night’s sleep resolved nothing, but the forecast offered a helpful nudge… headwinds were due to arrive late afternoon, which concentrated the mind. Departure was set for around noon, a decision that felt decisive.
Easedale came to life in the morning sunshine as we attended to brunch, and set about preparing ourselves and Heydays (The Old Girl), for what promised to be an “exciting” trip in F3 to 5 conditions.
Passing through the narrow entrance, we noted with that we were the last vessel to depart, leaving behind a now-deserted anchorage….
Years of sailing Heydays have taught us that she respoinds reall well to conservative sail management. A reef or two in the main, a few rolls in the genoa, and she is transformed. Speed is maintained, whilst comfort, controllability, and the boat’s general wellbeing improve considerably. This approach was validated repeatedly throughout the morning, as the surrounding hills and mountains generated the occasional sharp squall.
With approximately a knot of tide in opposition, Heydays was still getting a respectable 5 knots over the ground, a performance we attribute with considerable satisfaction to her Coppercoated bottom, which continues to prove its worth.
The scenery was extraordinary. Ben Nevis and the Cairngorms loomed over the horizon with a magnificence which was quite inspiring.
Running downwind with a building sea demanded a lot of concentration at the helm. Occasionally, and with exhilaration,Heydays approached 10 knots, surfing down the faces of waves as we charged up the Firth of Lorne. Crinan and Oban slipped astern, and we looked forward to a late lunch in the relative civility of the Sound of Mull as we passed Blacks Memorial Tower and later, the imposing Dewart Castle…
These waters are altogether much busier than the quieter passages around Jura and Islay. CalMac ferries, coasters, and workboats went purposefully about their business in all directions.
The gusts strengthened as the afternoon progressed, but with the tide now generously in our favour, Heydays was eating up the remaining miles to Tobermory with considerable enthusiasm.
A passing CalMac ferry acquired a Coastguard helicopter, which shadowed it for the better part of half an hour. Clearly a training exercise, the aircraft hovered mere feet above the ferry’s stern, producing a spectacular downdraft.
Tobermory materialised around the headland right on cue, and with gusts still making their presence felt, we dropped the sails and aimed hopefully for a walk-ashore pontoon berth rather than the more athletic alternative of a mooring buoy. Luck was with us and we secured what appeared to be the final available berth. With Heydays safely tucked in and a rain shower providing the atmosphere, gin and tonics were poured, and a brilliant passage was complete.
Postscript: The Admiralty Tidal Atlas, it transpired, had a rather firmer grasp on reality than our apps. Some institutions, it seems, have earned their authority…
Final thought…for those of you kind enoughh to actually read these ramblings, I write most days if there is signal and would love to hear from you if you wish to comment or indeed subscribe.
The tide goes our way from lunchtime, so a lazy lie-in works out a treat, followed by a leisurely breakfast.
A final run ashore for a few essentials….tonic, lemons, chocolate, and then we get Heydays ready for the run up the Jura coast to Easedale.
The wind is dead astern, and we pick our way through the rocky islets, and out into the long open fiord-like Sound of Jura, that separates Mull of Kintyre from Jura and Islay.
The wind is lighter than the forecast, but we want to get to Easedale before dark, so we use the motor as well, to keep our speed over the ground to around 5kts, and for a while we even manage to use the cruising chute…until a shift makes it unhelpful again…
Jura passes by, and we get to see how rugged and sparsely populated it is. There is a lone house at the northern tip, and The Paps make a stunning backdrop…
We count off the buoys marking the various obstacles, and lunch is served with a smile…
We’ve heard all sorts of tales of the whirlpools up here, but with the right conditions it is just odd rather than bothering. As we pass the entrance to Corryvrekan, between Jura itself and a rather forbidding lump called Scaba, we can see these odd patches of calm, surrounded by bubbling waves all around (the camera doesn’tdo it justice though)…steering requires a bit of concentration…
The Sound of Luing seems to have just as many of these strange phenomena as the strong currents and deformed sea bed make the water bubble and churn.
The light on Fladda, must have been a very lonely spot in days gone by…
Our attention is drawn to the approach to Easedale, or more specifically the sound between Easedale Island and Seil, also an island but now with a road bridge to the mainland. The entrance is not at all obvious until we are almost on it…and it is very narrow…
…and then we’re through…
There are some mooring buoys free, for which we are grateful, as a nearby yacht is trying to anchor, but pulling up whole farms of kelp. A quick run ashore to the Seil side and a drink in the heaving Oyster Bar, with Heydays snug on the mooring.
The volunteer who collects mooring fees and generally runs between the islands, is very enthusiastic and we are almost convinced to stay another day. There is some longer range strong winds forecast, so we decide to plug on tomorrow to Tobermory. If we do get blown off the water for a couple of days, Mull has plenty of sightseeing…even if we go to Iona on a bus!
The wind has shifted, and there is a little chop across the bay, and the boat just rocks gently on the mooring in the early morning sun.
The only snag with picking up buoys or anchoring, is that getting ashore can be a bit damp in a small rubber dinghy.
We get togged up and set off across to the little jetty, where we get un-togged, and ready for a day mooching.
Having visited the little community shop, the decent thing to do is to actually go for a walk before being drawn back to the distillery…
The day is glorious and the views across to the mainland are stunning…
It all starts out really well, but then the track peters out…
It’s a good job our navigation at sea seems to be better than on land…
…but it’s all worth it for the views, and Heydays swinging gently out in the bay…
…and then whisky beckons…
The whisky is very different from those on Islay…not peaty for a start, and all of it is used for Jura bottles, unlike Caol Isla for example, where 70% of their output goes to Johnnie Walker.
We have our first Cullen skink of the trip in the hotel, and then head off around the bay to the cemetery with its Campbell mausoleum.
There is a small and very old church, with an upstairs room full of old photos of Jura life. Its a fascinating insight into what was quite a harsh existence, especially for ordinary crofters and fishermen. No wonder that many just upped and left.
The population is stable at the moment at around 250, and there are some incentives for people to re-establish the old croft. Walking back to the boat, past stunning beaches, we wonder about the contradictions of island life…right up to the end of the 20th century, there is no doubt that, despite the beauty and the abundance of space, places like Jura were still quite isolated, with few incentives for young people or families to stay.
But even in towns and cities in 20’s Britain, so many self isolate behind their screens and technology. Could technology and remote working be the eventual saviour of places like this?
Just one final thought though…for us grandparents, the remoteness from the physical presence of our grandchildren would probably be too much, unless they move here as well…
We’re island hopping for the next few days/weeks, and plan to tow the tender behind to make going ashore from anchorages easier. That’s if we can get the anchor to hold…we’ve heard that there is a huge amount of kelp growing round here, which points to clean healthy, nutrient rich water, but is not good for most anchors.
Some last minute shopping and brilliant showers in the little harbour office, and Heydays is ready for the hop round to Jura. We nudge out into a crisp day, with a fresh north westerly, and waste no time in getting the sails up and the motor off. Picking our way through a very rocky coast with lots of submerged rocks is slightly nerve wracking, but we’ve got brilliant visibility …and instruments!
We leave the distilleries behind and Heydays is storming along on a broad reach.
Today’s sail really is the stuff of dreams. Wrapped up warm, a fresh breeze, and the off-shore wind (which means a smoothish sea) ….stunning. Hot soup goes down a treat, and the threatened showers stay away.
These are the moments which keep us coming back to the boat, despite the frustrations of owning an older one, with its seemingly never ending niggles which need a fix (and cash).
Craighouse on Jura is a sheltered bay with a hotel, small community, small jetty….and the distillery. The approach requires threading between rocky reefs, which must have been the stuff of nightmares pre-GPS.
As the bay opens out, we’re happy to see several visitor’s moorings….saves having to grapple with kelp. We make up a small quartet of boats, and it seems that this is still very early in the season for Scottish sailors.
As the sun goes down over The Paps of Jura and the distillery, we settle into some gin in the last of the warmth in the cockpit, before heading below for a warm cabin and one of John’s single pot bean stews.
We had intended to sail to Jura today, but as of 10am, the wind is howling through the rigging, it is bitterly cold and it will be dead on the nose all the way. There is, consequently, very little need for discussion, and despite no buses on a Sunday, we decide to stay another day.
We get on with a few adjustments and minor repairs…after a Sunday lie-in, and then as the rain eases, we think about a walk to Laphroaig…just for a wee dram of course.
On the way out, a fishing boat arrives and begins to unload velvet crabs and lobsters. This is way too much for Yee Tak, who has previous form around fishermen. A short conversation later, and she is walking away with 5 velvet crabs for free and a £10 lobster. Dinner tonight sorted.
With the crabs and lobster safely stowed on board, we trundle off to Laphroaig, which is a pleasant 30 minute stroll from the boat.
This turns out to be in a beautiful setting by a rocky inlet, and with the wind now calm, and the sun out, we sit outside with another couple of flights of fine scotch. We could have gone sailing today after all, but…..
The walk back is burdened by a couple more bottles! Everything is calm across the harbour, but a small coaster is still busy off-loading agggregates. Island life has a pattern entirely governed by tides and the arrivals of the ferries and cargo vessels…
Dinner on board (after cooking the lobster and crabs) is long and drawn out….
A long debate last night about bus times (none at all on Sunday), and optimal routes between distilleries. We settle on a morning bus to Bowmore, with about two hours there to ‘look around’.
Wandering to the bus stop, which is all of 50m from the boat, we are already cheered by a road sign…
The bus to Bowmore takes us over the hills and the peat bogs, which give Islay malts their distinctive smokey flavour.
The small town is at the end of Loch Indall and is really protected from most of the grim weather which blows through here several days a month. It doesn’t feel as touristy as Port Ellen, despite the distillery being right in the centre…
The day kicks off before lunch with a welcome dram and then we chose a couple more to try, before buying our favourite and heading off for some lunch and the next bus. The waitress apologises for the lack of lobster as it is low tide and the boat can’t get in yet. She says it will be on the menu tonight….about 3 hours after landing, just 50m away!
There is a fascinating round church, but more importantly, the bus to Ardbeg beckons…
In Ardbeg we have a flight of 5 to try and even Yee Tak finds the flavours interesting…mostly.
It is only a short 15 minute walk from there to Lagavulin, and another flight….and another favourite for the boat.
We finished in time for the last bus back to Port Ellen. Pretty much a perfect day…
heydays346 