May 24, 2019
I felt a million miles better the following morning after a deep and, more importantly, stationary sleep. The crew were up super early to embark on our next passage. No time to wash the face, brush the teeth, or have coffee - we just sprung out of bed, did the necessary safety checks, prepared the boat for departure and weighed anchor, heading for the Islay Sound, which would take us up past the Isle of Jura and to our next destination on the Morvern Peninsula. The early departure was necessitated by the strong tidal stream that runs through the narrow sound, and if we timed our passage wrong, the current would be too strong and in the wrong direction to allow for a safe passage. Royal Yachting Association theory coming into practice!
We couldn’t get our chart plotter and GPS to work upon departure for some unknown reason, so we navigated our exit from the harbour and our initial progress towards the sound using old school navigation - by chart, sight, and compass bearings. It was a bit hectic, as we were tired and not caffeinated, rushing about the boat taking 3-point fixes and doing back bearings to clear headlands, etc., but we managed to get ourselves sorted and were safely on our way. Going through the sound was lovely, as Jura Isle on our starboard side proved to be a gorgeous and intensely green island, very sparsely populated, with rolling hills and raised beaches. The weather was perfect, if a bit chilly, and I can say I was thoroughly enjoying Scotland at this point - just some of the most beautiful and sparsely touched scenery I've ever seen. Once in the middle of the sound, we used the strong current to practice a technique called ferry gliding: using the current to control the motion and position of the boat and making very small adjustments to direction and engine revs to place the boat exactly where you want it. Stephen was a bit better at it than I was - I didn’t intuitively grasp the concept of rudder against current plus steering plus forward revs to keep the boat stationary in the water. Oh well.- got there on my second try (sort of). It was a long sail up the east coast of the Isle of Mull, then around the northern side and back up towards the mainland. We made it to our destination, a loch on the mainland called Lochaline, around 7 PM, and my god was it gorgeous - so peaceful and picturesque, with glassy calm water and a shoreline dotted with little white houses. The perfect place to stick the hook for a worry-free night.
Stephen and I had a very quick turnaround before heading out on a date night ashore - our first date night since starting this crazy journey! Hozza, being Scottish and very familiar with this part of the world, had the inside track on an amazing and Michelin-starred restaurant called the Whitehouse which was just a short walk from our anchorage. Who knew?? At first glance, the anchorage didn't appear to have anything in it, let alone an internationally acclaimed restaurant. We were keen to explore. A 5-minute walk along the shore and up a small hill brought us to the Whitehouse, which was, you guessed it, a small white house looking over the loch. Inside, the place was cosy and minimalistic, with only about 7 tables.
The restaurant uses exclusively local ingredients it has sourced from within an 8-mile radius, with an all natural and biodynamic wine list, which was music to my wannabe oenophile ears. With a small menu and candlelit wooden tables, it felt like eating in a friend's cozy living room. The food was lovely, the setting intimate, and it was importantly some much needed alone time for me and Stephen, where we could open up about how we were each feeling on the trip so far. Away from the excitements and stresses of managing the boat and high-intensity training we were undergoing each day, it felt really nice to be able to reconnect as husband and wife, partners and as two people who for the most part over the past several days had been feeling stressed and a bit out of their depth! We set the world to rights over some local seafood, lamb and a lovely bottle of local, organic red, and returned to the boat for a peaceful night's sleep - excited to see what tomorrow and our sail to the Isle of Mull would bring.
The next morning, we were up early and off on our 12nm sail to the Isle of Mull with plans to anchor off a place called Duart Castle. It was a brisk sail to the anchorage, as the winds were fairly strong. Once in the bay, winds had not quieted down much, and Florence was on a lee shore and uncomfortably close to some rocks jutting out from the shoreline. Not the best anchorage to be sure, but we'd struggle to do any better here given the wind strength and direction. Hozza really wanted to give us the chance to go ashore and explore this historic castle, so he offered to stay aboard on anchor watch, should we start to drag towards the rocks, while Stephen and I dinghied ashore to check it out. We're glad we did! Duart Castle was built in the 13th century and has been the seat of the Mclean Clan in Scotland since the 14th century. It was given in 1350 to the 5th Mclean Clan Chief, who married the daughter of John of Islay, Lord of the Isles, as part of her dowry. Stunning as the castle and its environs were, I was feeling glad my poor dad didn't have to promise Stephen a whole castle just to entice him to marry me, or I fear we would not be here... At any rate, Duart Castle remains the seat of the Mcclean Clan today, nearly 700 years later, and is in fact still inhabited by them, with members of the clan living on the upper floors of the castle. Wild. We had a tour of the castle and saw its dungeons, great halls, scullery, bedrooms (not the ones in use), and balconies, from which we were able to snap some prime photos of Florence.
Then we moved on to the tea room for some restorative caffeine. UK tea rooms are a funny thing, patronised exclusively by old British couples, who all sort of look the same, and who move very slowly, puttering about with their cream cakes and teas and not saying much at all save an occasional comment on the weather. It’s like stepping back in time a bit. These little seaside town tea rooms are invariably the same. A town around here may have no grocery store, gas station, or convenient store, but they will without doubt have at least 4 tea rooms, a post office, and a pub. Ahhhh the UK :)
After returning to thankfully find Florence still anchored to the seabed, we weighed anchor and had our first test of Florence to see how she handles to windward (that’s wailing into the wind). Turns out, she loves that too! Good old Flo, just loves to go. We began tacking upwind towards our next destination further along the Isle of Mull and got into a bit of a 3-way race with 2 other sailing vessels who seemed to be headed in our same direction. One boat in particular, whom we dubbed the Dirty Yellow Frenchman given his boat was this strange dirty mustard colour, and bien sur, he was French, was particularly fast, clearly built for efficient upwind sailing. Even though Florence was moving really quickly for a boat her size and could sail remarkably close to the wind, our only hope at beating the Frenchman was to outstrategise him. Classic and I took turns on the helm trying to perfect the efficiency of our tacks so as to lose minimum speed, while Hozza acted as tactician, trying to call the correct angles around headlands to get us ahead. It was an exhilarating race that saw multiple changes of frontrunner. Towards the end, we thought we had him, yet alas, we ended up losing right at the last second, as the Dirty Yellow Frenchman pulled off one last remarkably tight tack around the final headland and into the harbour, almost scraping our bow in doing so. Well played, monsieur. All we could do was tip our cap to him. Disappointing finish, but a fight well fought and certainly an interesting introduction to Florence's windward capabilities!
We picked up a mooring buoy in the harbour overlooking the village, which was absolutely lovely - marked by small, colourful houses and looked a bit like a tiny, grubby Copenhagen. On a high from the exhilarating race, Florence's crew jumped in the dinghy, not bothering to change or shower, and went to the village in search of one of Hozza's favourite local spots called the Mishnish, an old-school boozer laden with centuries of mostly nautical bric-a-brac, for some celebratory beers and pool. It's great finding these local spots, not a tourist in sight (apart from us!), where you can take a load off and just absorb the surroundings, appreciating being a world away from London.
We were back on the boat in time to watch a stunning sunset from the bow of our boat over the little village. After some homemade turkey burgers with tzaziki and salad, the crew were ready for some shuteye, curious what tomorrow will bring!
Comments