More precisely, this was Dorset and Hampshire to Mallaig, and then Tobermory. Having spent a fortnight in the bosom of our families, we were heading back to Heydays for the final cruise of the season. Leaving her in Mallaig had seemed a good idea at the time, but “well connected” is not really a phrase that applies to Mallaig, despite its having a railway. The drive home had taken around thirteen hours; the journey back saw us arrive nearly seventeen hours after boarding the first train, which rather puts the thirteen into perspective.

At half past eleven we finally got ourselves togged up for a rubber dinghy trip out to the old girl, moored in the harbour. Paddling a spongy rubber tub is not among life’s more satisfying exercises, but by half past twelve we were back on board, beds made, and a rum poured. Life, on reflection, is not really so bad.

The debate on the way up had been about weather windows for the cruise back to Coleraine, and where and when to go. Family reasons are keeping Chris at home, and Yee Tak will join us in a couple of days in Oban, assuming we can get round Ardnamurchan Point before the next low pressure sweeps through. Before we left, the harbourmaster, with whom we had shared our broad plans, offered a dire warning about the Point and the equinoctial gales that keep boats laid up in harbour for weeks on end. “Don’t leave it too late,” he warned darkly. Ideally we would have left around six, but a gruelling day on the trains, a late night, and the need to fit a new gas hose to the cooker, without which there is neither hot drink nor lunch, meant we settled for a potentially bumpy crossing to Tobermory later in the day instead.

With the cooker functional and the boat newly victualled, we surprised ourselves by being ready to cast off just after ten. We slid out of Mallaig behind the lifeboat and pushed out towards the point in very light and variable winds, Eigg and Muck slipping astern as we tried various sail arrangements, motor running, to get the old girl into Tobermory before the promised stronger winds arrived.

It is a fine thing to be back on board, and while the wind, such as it was, remained fresh, the sun sparkled across the water and raised spirits considerably.

Those spirits rose further still as several pods of dolphins made their way north, one or two coming alongside to ride the bow wave.

The point itself was soon abeam, Mull opening out behind it…

The wind held in the south-southwest, and as we bore away down the Sound of Mull we had a glorious beam reach for the last couple of hours, the tide by then rather less obliging than the wind.

Tobermory felt entirely familiar, and we were soon tucked up with our choice of berths, most sensible sailors having already decided that the coming gales were something to be avoided.

The sail across, in the event, was utterly delightful. The promised headwind never really materialised, and while statistics and speed are not the essence of life aboard Heydays, it was satisfying to note we had covered the thirty-five miles in a touch over five hours, not bad going for the old girl, and enough to leave us reasonably well placed to meet Yee Tak off the train in Oban tomorrow evening.

A footnote to the sailing: there were a couple of square riggers moored in the harbour, one Dutch, one Spanish, beautiful to look at, though we remain grateful we are not the ones required to go shinning up the ratlines to manage their sails.

Dinner was mussels, followed by fish and chips from the brilliant caravan parked on the fish quay… taken in the cockpit in the last of the evening sun.