A 4.30 alarm is a decidedly unpleasant thing and it takes an enormous amount of will power to crawl out from under our warm duvets.  But we are greeted by  a lovely dawn and the thoughts that our crew are not too far away. Few words spoken so early, but almost like a well-oiled machine Heydays is soon making a fine bow wave out of Loch Gairloch and turning south once more for Kyle.

Rona and Raasay come in to meet us from the west and it begins to feel like we are in a rather hilly solent. With the islands providing shelter from both wind and waves we start to turn past the Crowlin Islands and make out the Skye Bridge. The wind veers a little and we shake out the sails for the first time since Cape Wrath. Out at sea we have more phone signal than on land and it turns out that Alan and his friend George in Malli are also closing in on Kyle having come round from Inverness via the canal. The bridge to Skye beckons and soon we are sailing under its sweeping arch and preparing Heydays for another landfall.

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In the event they beat us in by about half an hour and we have several helping hands on the jetty ready with ropes…what could be easier. It is good to see Alan and George again and we have a chance to swap some stories before we set about making Heydays (and ourselves) a bit more fragrant.

We wander round to the railway jetty in time to meet the train from Inverness and Heydays becomes rather more gender balanced than before. The line from Inverness to Kyle is one of the most beautiful, certainly in this country and Chris from Canada thinks it is the best she has been on.

Kyle is trying to redefine itself now that it is no longer required as a ferry to Skye and the pontoons are now owned by the community instead of the council. Sadly the charges are a bit steep considering the facilities and there is no electricity on the pontoons and the showers are also the most expensive we have met so far. With some careful planning, two very close friends can just about shower including shampoo (but no time for conditioner) before the hot water runs out. We wish them well but they have some incredibly stiff competition from Plockton just round the corner in Loch Carron, which is where we sail with Alan and his family once we are all sorted. We have an exhilarating sail with them in the last of the bright May sun…

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…back out under the bridge and touching the southern edge of the sound against a stunning backdrop of mountains and sea.

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But as the evening draws on, it turns out that the pub and hotel are both fully booked for dinner, however there is a brilliant fish and chip van parked by the harbour.  Not many vans we have come across that sell haddock breaded in panco or steaming mugs of Cullen skink or marinated salmon steaks or…..

We finish off in the pub listening to a jam session of traditional Scottish folk music, which is getting a very enthusiastic reception from the several American tourists who are in town.

After another day waiting for some winds not gusting up to gale force we finally leave Lochinver after lunch on Wednesday, with the promise of lightening winds as the day wears on. The forecast is for F5 or F6 from the south or south-west and  it promises to be a slog into a headwind all the way. Not normally something we look forward to, but our wives are on their way to Kyle…

As it turns out the wind rarely goes below 6 and is often up to near gale. We register some gusts across the deck of 34kts …that’s definitely a gale. The seas are short and steep as we suspected after a few days of SW winds and the headlands prove to be a little unpleasant. Heydays handles the confusion brilliantly with only a few waves bringing us almost to a standstill. We are hunkered down inside the sprayhood and keep warm and toasty while watching for the inevitable pot-buoys.

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The only other boat we see is a Cal Mac Ferry out of Ullapool, heading we presume for the so far invisible outer Hebrides.

Before we round Rubha Reidh headland we get some respite from the waves and make some soup and sandwiches for lunch. Even out here we mange some olive-oil drizzling!! With food comes a bit of sun and our first sighting of Skye in the distant gloom. As we turn due south the wind has eased and Heydays begins eating into the miles.

All of a sudden there is a splash beside us and soon a school of dolphins is accompanying Heydays south. They are playing in and out of our bow wave, sometimes diving beneath the boat and at others just leaping as if for the pure pleasure of a fast ride. So much has been written by sailors about dolphins and so many clichés pressed into action, but everyone of them is true. They truly are magnificent and lift our spirits for the rest of the day.

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In a while they tire of playing with us and head off, presumably in search of either faster boats or more fish or both. With the seas and wind easing steadily we take the inner route to Loch Gairloch past Longa Island and on to Badachro in the last of the evening light.

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We pick up a mooring buoy, still buzzing from our encounter with the dolphins, but decide on an early start and so sadly don’t go ashore this time, but as the sun sets and the long northern twilight takes over, we can’t help but be spell bound by the beauty of the Loch and the long dark shadows creeping over from the craggy mountains. We have a smidgeon of phone signal and a brief chat with Yee Tak and Chris who are getting slowly pickled in the bar of the Euston to Inverness sleeper as they speed North to Kyle…

With the promise of a hard slog south into an increasing wind, we decide for the easy option of drying Heydays out and paying attention to her bottom. The harbour master Mark, (who together with his mate Joseph and us as James and John make a remarkably holy bunch appropriate for a Sunday) directs us to the old slip at the far end of the harbour. With Heydays drying out in the sun we attract an unusual amount of attention from folk passing by until they realise we are there on purpose. Heydays’ bottom is still clean from her pressure wash in March and after quick scrub we are soon happily lying on our backs in weed painting her in two fetching shades of blue (left over tins of antifoul and a bargain lot from Essex).

The only option is then to have a walk round the loch and through the village…

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…and then return to the (happily more gender balanced) bar for early dinner while the tides rises again. As we are leaving a tightish spot, my (completely useless but expensive) Sealskinz glove is flicked into the water to be rescued by Tommy and Barbro (correct spelling…they are Swedish) who are passing. Once we are moored again they wander down and we end up sharing some wine and scotch for the rest of the evening. It turns out that they own a 47’ Malo (rather nice Swedish yacht) called Altaire and effectively live aboard for 8 months of the year. Originally from Sweden, they have retired to Italy for winter skiing and over-wintered their boat in Lochinver. They have cruised extensively around Norway, Shetland, Orkney and Scotland for many years but are now making their way home to Italy over the next few years.

Monday’s weather is no more favourable and we sit out a near gale in our snug berth while continuing to marvel at the stunning scenery…

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By evening though, things have calmed a little and Mount Suilivan is majestic behind the village…

Our non-sailing friends can skip the next bit, as the afternoon found us attending to a niggling electrical problem which has resulted in us running out of battery power too soon when we are sailing. We are running an Adverc battery management system and have been concerned for some time that it is not delivering sufficient charge to the domestic batteries. With the prospect of more anchoring we are also reluctant to have to keep running the engine. We completely re-map and check the electrical charging circuits and voltages which involves of course, delving into the very bowels of the boat lockers and engine room. We come up with a range of bothering voltages across the various terminals and….a wire in the wrong place. After much checking and rechecking we move the wire to where we think it should have been (somewhat defensively we know this pre-dates our ownership!). We get a much better set of voltages but a very hot charging diode. A call to Adverc and they ask us to send the data and promise to get back in the morning. By 9.30 they are talking us through the issues and giving us reassurance that although the alternator has been upgraded to much higher than the diode, we have no cause for concern. A final test of the circuits with every piece of gear switched on confirms that we have solved the problem… The final point to note is that Adverc were brilliant in terms of advice and guidance and said that they were here to help for as long as we have the equipment on board…(and I won’t end on a grump about my utterly useless Sealskinz!!!)

Having secured Heydays and given her a metaphorical pat on the back, we pop into the closest bar which turns out to be attached to the unfortunately named Culag Hotel…the photos don’t help. We notice the exclusively male clientele and then duck as a fight ensues. It is more like handbags at dawn but they send our plates flying before the bar-lady pulls them both apart. The young lad is sent away, the old drunk returns to his corner and told to be on his best behaviour. This does not apparently exclude loud and frequent profanities along the lines of “look at the **** state of that” in response to various acts appearing on Eurovision which is being played loud and avidly watched.

After a break to attend to matters domestic, John and James make journey once more to Orkney, via Caledonian sleeper, beautiful train ride to Thurso from Inverness and then ferry to Stromness. Great night in the bar on the sleeper chatting to an Aussie who tries to convince us that the wildlife there doesn’t always see you as dinner. For the first and only time we out-drink an Aussie….but probably due to the fact that he is still jet lagged.

The photo of the Old Man of Hoy is a cheat as it is taken from the ferry…more of that later, but the winds and down draft off the high mountains of Hoy give both of us serious pause for thought, as we are due to sail out past here tomorrow.

We both spend a slightly restless night trying to think through the passage from Stromness to the Western Isles round Cape Wrath in forecast strong winds. Wind in the rigging always sounds grim and at 4 in the morning, the howling and whistling does nothing to reassure. We meet up with Alan and his old fishing skipper colleague who are of the opinion that a Friday lunchtime depart would not be for them. That settles it! If old fishermen aren’t going for it, then neither will we. The forecast for a Friday night departure looks better(ish) with Windy (our favourite weather app) suggesting 5 and 6. But…our own instruments are showing steady winds of F6 with gusts up to 7. We have an afternoon snooze anyway as prep for a night sail. Again, sleep is fitful and finally we have a brain wave…what about a Saturday am departure? The winds should be lighter and although we will have foul tide for a while, it means we can do the whole trip in daylight. It helps to see the waves coming (sometimes)!

We sleep that evening much more soundly but 4am comes indecently rapidly. However, the northern morning sky is already light and we busy ourselves with the usual pre-passage prep. Getting off the berth is tricky, but we are almost like a well oiled machine and soon we are punching out into Hoy sound, sad to be leaving Stromness, but great to be on the move again.

The GPS and our nav instruments tell us that Hoy is there, but we see almost nothing of it as we are spat out with the last of the ebb tide through Hoy Mouth.  Completely surrounded by around two shades of grey it feels like we are living in a Rothko. We hope the similarity ends there, as his grey and black paintings were about death (after suffering an embolism), although some describe their desolate landscape-like qualities as an arctic wasteland…

Occasional patches of blue appear…”enough to make a sailor a pair of trousers” as my old grandma used to say, but we see nothing of the north coast of Scotland as we sail with a fresh breeze over the quarter towards Cape Wrath. We have had some conflicting advice about the cape. Some have suggested keeping close inside Duslic Rock, with others saying 3 miles off is the minimum. As it happens, the wind makes the decision for us by veering to a more southerly direction and it makes sense to plan the course for 3 miles off.

The cloud lifts after lunch and Cape Wrath appears faintly off the port bow. Its full majesty isn’t really apparent at first, but as we close the headland we start to get glimpses of the towering hills of the North West Highlands.

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As the visibility improved so the wind died and we turned properly south, motoring into an ever more calm sea. By 3pm our first decision…do we head for Kinlochbervie or make some further southing to Lochinver. The weather for the following few days is not brilliant for passages south and we have a date with our wives in Kyle of Lochalsh on Thursday…it would be nice to meet them. We press on in the knowledge that we have a couple of hours fair tide left in our favour and daylight until at least 10pm for the final approach. We settle in for another few hours and the hazy coastline slides past.

We approach the Point of Stoer with a foul current, rain squalls and increasing murk when a school of at least 7 dolphins pass close by making their way north with the tide.

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We can finally confirm that David Attenborough has not been guilty of ‘fake dolphins’ and it lifts our spirits as we start to make out Soyea Island and the entrance to Loch Inver. The beauty of this part of Scotland becomes truly apparent in a weak evening sun and we are moored by 9.30 as the only visiting yacht. It’s is not about the numbers, but we covered a distance of 98.3 NM in 16 hours and 45 minutes with an average speed of 5.9knots and a maximum of 10.9 knots…

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It’s such a remote and beautiful place…. the wild and windy weather makes this big expanse of land both bleak and majestic, but it is also hauntingly beautiful, especially at some of the more remote headlands and shorelines. When there is no one else in sight, just the sky, sea and you, it is truly awesome. Anything that manages to grow here must be tough enough to withstand the strong winds…including the people! Despite this, we have been greeted by the welcoming sight of thousands of wild daffodils along so many of the roadside verges, reminding us that spring is indeed here even this far north.

It appears to outsiders like us that life is somehow simple and gentle here. Watching little school-children cycling home by themselves (a small lad even manages to perfect his uni-cycle skills) one can’t help but wonder that it must be wonderful for those kids growing up so close to nature, without the distractions of the materialistic possessions which so many kids elsewhere seem to yearn for.

Everyone we meet is so friendly and trusting. We’re given free crabs, the loan and use of a car and even strangers on buses help with directions, timetables and advice. Maybe because it is so remote here, everyone has a strong community spirit and they look out for each other. In many ways, it must be tough to make a living in these harsh surroundings and yet the people we have met seem so gentle and kind.

This is the furthest north I have come in the UK, and when we left to make our way back south, I felt an odd sense of sadness knowing that it is unlikely that I will come here again. I don’t know why this seems to affect me more than other places I have left. Is it because of the remoteness of the place? The lack of crowds? One getting older and aware of one’s own mortality?

As our ferry docked in Aberdeen and we make our way to the train station, we have to wait nearly 5 minutes before we could cross…the traffic was constant. I had not seen so many cars for a while and this was a stark reminder that we are indeed heading south and in the land of big cities again.

With John and Chris gone the boat is oddly quiet. Having dropped Chris at the airport we make use of Alan’s kind offer to borrow his car for the rest of the day. Just east of the airport is Deerness and we have a bracing (isn’t it always?) walk along the cliffs to The Gloup.

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Yee Tak’s mind is on other things and we end up at Jolly’s Fish back in Kirkwall. As luck would have it, the weather has been too rough for most of the local boats and so we have to satisfy ourselves with just squid (which Chris would not miss) and salmon (which she would). We have been ever so slightly ashamed that Heydays has just sat in the marina for the last 2 weeks, with not a sail raised in earnest….good to know that even the locals thought better of going out.

We take the ‘scenic’ route back to Stromness and find ourselves in Tingwall. This is a small fishing harbour and also the ferry jetty for services to Rousay, Egilsay and Wyre.

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Oddly enough, Yee Tak wanders over to a fishing boat which is unloading crabs and whelks. A casual enquiry to James, the skipper of ‘Enterprise A’, about a crab results in him promising to ‘sort her out’ with something. I stay close by! We finally stagger away with 3 large brown crabs, two velvet crabs and over a dozen huge whelks. James refuses to take anything for them, telling us to accept them as a present from Orkney. Yet another example of the kindness and generosity of people on these islands.

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Even Yee Tak has not come across velvet crabs before…apparently they are not regarded in UK so they all get shipped to Spain.

One the way back to Heydays, we drive past Eynhallow Sound which is another route into and out of the islands from the west. The pictures tell a story of dangerous roosts and local fishermen tutting and sucking their teeth when one talks about sailing through.

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Back on the boat we know that Chris would not be enthusiastic, but we miss John who would have loved this feast. We dine simply that evening on a brown crab and the two velvet crabs (very sweet meat), with simnel cake to follow. Lunch the following day on the two remaining brown crabs and then dinner of pilau rice with the boiled and garlic sautéed whelks…and the odd bottle of wine. We toast James from the Enterprise A…cheers James.

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The three of us are leaving Heydays for a while and are sad to be leaving both her and Orkney. There is no doubt that these islands are something very special and we are all grateful to the people we met along the way who suggested that we make the voyage north. Special mention to Pam and Dave on their Westerly Seahawk who we met in Arbroath on their way round clockwise, who first put the idea of going right round the top in our minds. A magical experience we are glad not to have missed.

James and John will be back in May (elderly parents permitting) with Yee Tak and Chris coming later after family commitments, to continue our voyage anti-clockwise.

We have been checking and re-checking weather forecasts (WindyTV is brilliant – thanks Brian and Anne) in preparation for the exit from Scapa Flow out of Hoy Mouth (‘area to be avoided’ says the chart, somewhat botheringly). However John has had a call to say that his Dad (Roy) in Plymouth is really poorly and that he ought to get back. Alan has left his unlocked car at the ferry terminal complete with the keys (the islands are incredibly safe) and it gets John to the airport within the hour and the start of a rapid journey south.

With Chris also gone, we revise our plans. Heydays will stay in Stromness until John and James hopefully return on 10^th May to continue the journey to the Western Isles. We know that friends want to join us along the way and we will keep this blog updated re our whereabouts. Thanks again to all the new friends we have made and their generosity for the help we have had so far and we know the boat will yet again be looked after in our absence.

Weather remains too rough for pleasurable sailing round Scapa Flow and so we opt for a ferry ride out to Hoy and back. We pass some famous seaweed eating sheep…but they are not on North Ronaldsay!

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As it turns out, driving rain keeps us in the 40’s themed café in the museum at Lyness on Hoy. An old radio with printed stations such as Hilversum and Light Programme on its dial (but with modern innards), is playing war-time tunes. We think about an impromptu tea-dance but would look odd in boots and oilies… The whole area is derelict WW2 oil tanks, gun batteries and other war detritus. The museum however, is strangely compelling, with stories of the activities of both British and German navies in both world wars.

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A constant theme of our trip from the south up the East Coast has been the increasing levels of friendliness and warmth from almost everyone we meet. We sailed over from Wick in the company of Alan and his long-suffering crew Ian on Cordula and were invited for a glorious lunch with Ian and Annette at their house on the beach on South Ronaldsay. They are not the first people we have met either, who have left Cornwall to get away from it all in Orkney.

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The boat has had a changing complement over just a few days…Paul, our faithful crew, herring gutter admirer and curry cooker has left for Majorca, John’s wife Chris has arrived and now James’ wife Yee Tak and nephew Byron have joined. A hired car for the day gets us around the main tourist sites and provides refuge from the constant wind (and occasional rain). We have seen Neil Oliver’s TV programmes about the Neolithic settlements here, but the reality is awe-inspiring. The Scara Brae village, the Maes Howe burial mound and the Ring of Brodgar seem to touch us down the generations even more than more recent relics and monuments. In reality of course, they are the relics of ordinary people like us, not just the grandiose buildings of kings, queens or bishops. We spend time just standing next to their 5000 year old village on a windswept rocky beach, gazing out to the same horizon as they did…and wondering what on earth would induce any lunatic to set out to sea!

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In a similar sort of vein, the Italian Chapel is also oddly compelling. Built by Italian prisoners of war out of two old Nissan huts, it is a small piece of beautifully decorated Italy next to their old POW camp. Once again it speaks of just ordinary men and now stands testament to an enduring friendship with the islanders.

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Driving to South Ronaldsay is now possible because of firstly the sunk block-ships and then the Churchill Barriers, erected to close off the Eastern entrances to Scapa Flow….after a U-Boat sent over 800 men and boys to a watery death on HMS Royal Oak at the start of the war. Churchill apparently convinced the Italian POW builders that it was a community project to link the islands and not a war project…!

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Unsurprisingly the weather dictates a fair chunk of life up here and since this blog is not intended to be a (very) rough guide, what follows is just a random collection of thoughts and impressions in no particular order…

So what have we learned?…that modern scotch whisky could not exist without bourbon or maybe sherry and that prior to someone buying a load of old casks to keep their raw whisky in, it was just that…raw and tasteless. Except that the tiny Scapa Distillery let us taste some of their raw spirit from the heart of the distillation and uniquely they had managed to keep the malted barley flavour. It was very different from what we now know as scotch…and very nice…and unobtainable. Scotch whisky can only be called scotch if it has been matured for at least 3 years…and nicked flavours from the Spanish or Americans! The other slightly disappointing fact…the barley for many distilleries (in this part of Scotland at least) is all malted in Berwick on Tweed (in England!) and then brought up in lorries….disappointing fact number 2 is that the raw spirit is then tankered back down south to be put into casks…and then brought back up for ageing here. Not quite as romantic as we thought. However, the tastes are still great and we’ll keep on drinking the stuff.

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A windy walk out round the headland opposite Hoy did little to reassure us for the passage out of Scapa Flow when we finally depart for the Western Isles. More strong currents with ‘roosts’ (local word for rough water and overfalls) means careful planning about both tide and wind strengths and directions. Local sailors are, as always, incredibly helpful and reassuring, but also warn about getting it wrong!

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The residents of the graveyard have a wild and windy view over to Hoy which, whatever the weather, seems to have a cloud topping giving it an odd volcanic appearance.

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Our trip to Inverness noted a surfeit of barbers (Orcadians are much less well coiffed) and queues for the ice-cream parlours…this bit also seems to be an Orcadian predilection. In the middle of nowhere for us (but centre of the world for the many Neolithic Orcadians at Maeshowe) there is a bungalow selling ice-creams. It turns out not only to be open, but in the 35 minutes we sit there waiting for the bus, there is a continual stream of people coming in…some to sit like us, others just to get take away…they are also locals. Perhaps they are closer to their Neolithic roots than we think.

We have been hoping to find local music on our trip. Half expecting fiddlers or pipers to be sat in cosy pubs by the peat fire. This was in part rectified by an outfit called Rack and Ruin at the Royal Hotel in Stromness. They are from Cullivoe on Yell in Shetland…and they play mostly blue-grassy covers mixed with some Scottish, Shetland and Irish folk. The usual chaos of pub bands, involving cables worthy of the Stones and enough duct tape to stretch across the Pentland Firth, eventually comes together around 10 and the place starts jumping. A slick ‘sting’ operation by (Wives? Mothers?) the merchandising crew involves one flirting shamelessly with drunk men (and women) while the other sizes them up and throws a perfectly fitting T Shirt across the room.

A deft move and the mark is left wearing the shirt and fishing for yet another tenner…she helps!

At 1.30 they are either out of T shirts  or songs or both. The whole pub sings a Shetlandish song and then spills out into the street. Drunk, rowdy but never lairy and a great evening even for this folk-sceptic.