May 27, 2019
The following morning, we slipped the lines early, headed to the Sound of Sleat to sail around the east coast of the Isle of Skye. Conditions were rainy and with generally light winds, so we did a good deal of motoring and a great deal of getting thoroughly damp and cold on our passage. It still managed to be fun and challenging, as we had to time our passage so as to arrive at Kyle Rhea, a narrow channel with very swift tides of up to 8 knots (!), at the correct time so that the tides would push us through rather than halt our progress. We got the timing correct, and it was wild to see Florence scream through the sound at 11+ knots, despite having negligible wind and no engine to assist. After exiting the sound safely, Florence encountered her first bridge, with a clearing height of 25 meters. As Florence has a 23 meter air draft and we were going through at mid-tide, we knew we had enough room to clear it safely, but MAN did it look too close for comfort on approach, as if we would surely be de-masted as we passed underneath. I was at the helm and was cringing the entire time!
We made it up the coast of Skye and to an area on the mainland called Wester Ross (yes, you should be thinking Game of Thrones, that's where the name comes from). Despite the rain, we still had a bit of daylight left, so we did some Man Over Board exercises in the sound. These exercises are a play-by-play for what to do in the event that a crew member falls overboard at sea. In the unhappy event of a MOB, the crew member still on board must take immediate and precise action to maximise the possibility of recovering the MOB before cold shock sets in and he drowns or you lose sight of him. Understandably, these exercises always put me on edge, as just the thought of Stephen falling overboard while I'm alone on the boat, fighting the odds to dump the sails and steer the boat back to him and to somehow attempt to get him back onboard in high seas and high wind….. just terrifying. And we'd heard throughout our instruction that the chances of getting an MOB back on board in anything other than placid conditions are slim to none, and that by far the best MOB technique is just to stay the hell ONBOARD. These drills involve a lot of shouting, crash-tacking the boat, throwing the relevant rescue items overboard, and doing a series of manoeuvres that differ depending on whether the MOB is upwind or downwind of the vessel in an attempt to get the boat back to him without driving over him, and then struggling to somehow jimmy him back on board (it's worth noting we practiced these drills with fenders rather than tossing real crew members overboard into the freezing sea). So yeah, those drills sucked, but I understand they are a necessity. After a couple hours of that, I was so cold and wet after being out in the rain helming for the better part of 9 hours that day, I was teetering on the edge of having a mini-meltdown (which trust me, is in no one's interest). I think Hozza recognised this, so with darkness encroaching, we called it a day and entered Loch Torridon to find our anchorage for the night. Loch Torridon is supposedly a stunning anchorage, surrounded by steep, rolling hills, but in the rain and fog, it was barely visible, and we relied heavily on our chart plotter to navigate our entry into the loch.
BTW, how hot am I right now in my wet weather gear? #runwayready
Once inside what seemed to be a secluded inlet, we pulled off a pretty tricky anchorage on a steeply shelving coast line with some questionable rocks on our beam, but what a pretty anchorage it was - a tiny bay with just a couple incredibly cozy looking houses on the shoreline, one of which was our destination for dinner that evening.
The restaurant was a tiny white house with just 4 tables inside, serving all local fish, shellfish and meat. We had the most lovely, minimalist table by the window with a view of Florence. Dry and warm for the first time all day, we happily sat drinking local beer and some not too shabby wine while eating the cleanest, sweetest langoustines and scallops I’d ever tasted, plucked straight from the cold waters lapping at the doorstep. The chef/proprietor told us that only in the past couple years have local establishments such as theirs had access to the local shellfish, as they have historically been carted away in their entirety to the fanciest restaurants in Paris / London, etc., for a very high price, leaving none for Scotland. That seemed a real travesty, and I'm glad that regulations have shifted in a way to allow Scotland the right to enjoy the fruits of its own shores. As a seafood lover, the evening was heavenly - eating sweet langoustines, sipping cold white wine over candlelight, and having engaging conversation about all manner of disparate subjects with my two Steves, while watching our lovely boat floating just outside the window in the calm bay.
Perhaps it was just too sweet to last. That night, at around 2:30 AM, the winds shifted and picked up violently, and while I was in a deep slumber, our anchor started to drag - not a good situation, as if it goes unnoticed and un-rectified, you will soon be blown onto rocks or out into the ocean. Not good. Thank goodness Hozza and Stephen felt a strange motion of the boat and woke up to discover the drag before we were swept onto the rocks. It was again pouring with rain at this point, and quite windy and cold. We threw on our wet weather gear and headed out to rectify the issue, which involved pulling up the anchor (no small feat, as it had wound itself around various rocks, and we struggled to see anything in the pitch dark), then headed back out to sea in the driving rain, trying to find another place to anchor for the night. With the 2 Steves on deck, I parked myself at the nav station to help them navigate around rocks and shoals. About 2 hours later, we were deep enough into the loch to hopefully be out of harm's way for the night. We thought we had found a patch of mud rather than rock, far preferable for anchoring, and we dropped the hook again, praying we would hold, as we were now running out of options. While she seemed to hold, I don't think any of us slept for the remainder of the night, the near disaster of the last anchorage too fresh in our minds and the wind and rain whipping outside doing nothing to calm our nerves.
The following morning, a groggy crew emerged from their cabins to discover the storm had not let up but intensified. We checked the weather and saw there would be gale force winds whipping through the area of the Outer Hebrides called the Little Minch, where we were meant to sail that day. The Little Minch is apparently a tricky passage even in calm weather, as it has a number of jagged rocks sticking out at various precarious points, on which many a yacht has met her maker. We decided it was perhaps not the best day to cross and instead stayed put in our anchorage that seemed to be secluded from the heaviest of the winds. We spent the day rocking and rolling around on our anchor, monitoring it closely. We could hear the chain scraping uncomfortably over rocks, but there was not much we could do about it as we waited out the storm.
The following morning, after another interrupted night, we awoke to find the storm had passed. We emerged into the cockpit for the first time in a while and were greeted by our majestic neighbour, the Hebdridean Princess, a beautiful old ferry that has been converted into an uber lux small cruise ship. The water was so calm and glassy you could see the reflection of the ship and the surrounding mountains reflected on her surface. It was a welcome sight indeed! Now that the storm had passed, it was time to weigh anchor and set sail for the Shiant Isles, a remote set of small islands in the northern part of the Outer Hebrides that are unpopulated except for a large and varied bird population, including apparently one of the largest colonies of puffins in the North Atlantic. It was a quick and brisk sail there, as the back end of the low pressure system brought with it a decent amount of cold wind. We arrived at the islands, and they were stunning - wild, with jagged, steep cliffs and with hundreds of sea birds flocking around them. Alas, we were disappointed to not see any puffins! I had visions of rocky shores covered with dozens and dozens of the interesting-looking birds with their signature orange beaks. Hozza seemed disturbed by the lack of puffins, as this is normally a fertile breeding ground for them and their absence suggested something might be off with their ecosystem. We ended up seeing a handful of them in the end, but it seems as if they've been forced into a different area to breed.
Getting ashore was tricky, as the sea approaching the island was extremely choppy and covered with sharp rocks. Hozza decided to attempt to drop us off so we could have a walk around, using the momentum of the waves to get the dinghy close to shore while attempting not to hit the rocks. At some point, we just had to make a leap for it. Stephen ended up sticking the landing onshore, while I duffed it and landed straight in the icy cold water. Fail. I scrambled ashore, wet, disgruntled and embarrassed, but shook it off and embarked on our walk around the deserted island in an attempt to warm up. We hiked around the back side of the island and up a steep cliff, discovering the island to be home to a large number of sheep. Once at the top, we had a magnificent view out into the bay and saw Florence bobbing there faithfully, the only boat in sight.
Once back on the boat, it was getting late and time to scurry to our next destination for the evening to make it there before nightfall. We were headed to a small town in the Outer Hebrides called Tarbert in South Harris. We sailed all the way along the coast of North Harris, where it doesn't look like much goes on, if anything at all. Welcome to the Outer Hebrides! It really is wild out here - if you look at a map of Scotland and the Outer Hebridean area, you’ll begin to get the picture. I was ready to get there and to knock the day on the head. While the northerly winds blowing meant less rain, they brought extremely cold air with them down from the artic, and to boot it felt like it was one of those days when I just wasn’t getting things quite right. I managed to birdcage the main sail when I was unfurling it, despite cautious efforts, I kept getting scolded for letting my fingers get too close to the winches, and I had just chuckled myself in the ocean when trying to jump ashore. Not my best showing. Our pilotage into Tarbert marina took the better part of 2 hours, as we had to navigate around numerous cardinal marks ad headlands. When finally arrived at the tiny marina, which was really just one pontoon, it was time to park the boat for the first time since Dun Laoghaire. Here we go! I offered to be at the helm and to drive her in, in an attempt to redeem myself that day. It wasn't a straightforward park, as we were constrained by depth on the left and there was a vessel ahead of us on the pontoon, so we couldn’t run too far forward. My strategy got totally fucked at last minute as I was angling my entry when we realised two of the cleats for tying up the boat on the pontoon were missing. I had to jerk to port at last minute to try to allow Stephen room to hook the only remaining cleat right at the end of the pontoon, so I was essentially driving our 55-foot boat straight into the dock at a perpendicular angle - not good. At the last minute, I had to jerk the wheel violently to starboard and lean on the bow thruster just to get her nose around to avoid t-boning the dock. It was close. We ended up fine and were able to secure the boat to the pontoon, but I did not feel good about it. God I needed a break - a break from the cold, a break from the boat, a break from executing difficult tasks I was not getting quite right. Stephen felt the same after that long and freezing cold day - we needed a date night.
We ventured ashore to check out the small town, which didn't have much in it, but we did manage to find a small establishment called the Harris Hotel a short walk up the hill. We sat in their bar area, which was 100% covered in plaid (classic). 2 glasses of wine went down pretty quickly before we indulged in a healthy meal of deep fried haggis balls - no, I'm not joking. When in Rome! We followed that up with some sticky toffee pudding absolutely drowning in caramel sauce. A run the following day would be necessary. We spent the evening unwinding and having a bit of a bitching session about things that were frustrating us, which helped us to decompress a bit. After setting the world to rights, we felt more ready to tackle whatever challenges lay ahead tomorrow.
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