May 29, 2019
We woke up early in Tarbert and decided to stretch our wobbly sea legs on land with a run around the town. South Harris is apparently known for its stunning beaches on its western shores, so we thought trying to reach those on foot might be a worthy mission. We were thwarted in that shortly after departing, we re-checked google maps to discover the closest beach was about 8km away. No thanks. Plus the sole road along which to run was a busy one with no shoulder, so we found ourselves squeezing to the side and saying a small prayer every time a car came careening by. We cut the run short - I'd rather be out of shape than road kill. We did a quick provisioning in town and were back onboard around 1 PM ready to move to our next destination, a little loch about 30 miles south. To redeem myself from yesterday's stressful park, I asked to take the helm again in hope of a smoother result. This time, I thankfully executed a clean exit off the pontoon, correctly setting my angle of departure and backing out smoothly before turning to starboard, then engaging ahead to swing out. Phew!
We had a lovely sail on a beam to Loch Maddy, which was a really pretty little loch with absolutely nothing in it save a small pontoon that proved to be a perfect spot for some stern-to parking practice. A stern-to park is a coordinated effort of backing onto a pontoon while dropping the anchor at precisely the right moment so it will stop the boat a few meters from the dock, at which point you play on reverse revs and the anchor windlass until the stern of the boat just about kisses the pontoon. At that point you can lasso a line around a cleat to securely tie off. This technique apparently comes in handy often in the Med, where inevitably crowded marinas in high season necessitate squeezing more boats along the pontoon stern-to in order to maximise space. The lesson was made more challenging by a pretty fierce crosswind blowing through the anchorage, so we had to start the approach and begin letting the anchor out a good way to windward of our intended landing spot. Stephen and I each had a couple of gos, both more or less getting it right the second time. After a healthy dinner of garlic and mushroom chicken with mashed potatoes, we retreated to the bow of our boat to watch what was perhaps the most glorious sunset we've seen yet on this adventure. We listened to Scottish Highland folktunes as we watched the sky turn all manner of colours over the course of the next 3 hours, again in an anchorage all to ourselves. Sometimes magic just strikes. This was one of those evenings, and after the storm and the cold weather of the past few days, we really let the moment sink in. Tomorrow will bring more stern-to parking practice before a long sail down to Barra - a small island on the southern tip of the Outer Hebdrides. We are officially heading south! Though I think it will be some time yet before we are breaking out the tank tops and bikinis... Let the adventures continue!
We woke up to a peaceful and deserted anchorage and didn’t waste time weighing anchor to embark on what would be a fairly long sail down to the island of Barra. We sailed down the coast of most of the Outer Hebrides, which continued to be wild, mostly deserted, and stunning. We saw a bunch of basking sharks on our passage, which was really something - they were enormous and would swim right under the bow of the boat. They are the world's largest fish other than the whale shark and are apparently abundant in this area of Scotland in spring. As we approached Barra, we started blaring the Highland folktunes through the speakers, getting pumped for our arrival. We finally made it to Castle Bay in Barra after a 9-hour sail, which was a cool little bay with a medieval castle plonked right in the middle of it, completely surrounded by water at high tide. We anchored up, hoovered some of Tesco's Finest frozen lasagna (about the extent of my culinary capabilities after a long sail), and zipped into the little town to see if we could catch the Vatersay Boys playing at their local pub. The Vatersay Boys are local royalty - a bunch of drunk fisherman who live on the island next door and who according to Hozza often pop into the pub on an evening and jam for hours for the locals, taking payment only in beers. This I needed to see! We sprinted through the rain to make it to the pub, but alas, while their accordions were there stuffed in a corner, the Vatersay Boys themselves were not. According to the bartender, they had a late night session the night before and were probably sleeping it off. No matter - it was still nice to kick back and have a couple pops in the warm and dry. I discovered that evening that my husband is a bit of a sleeper pool hustler! Hozza had challenged him to a round on a few occasions, and when Stephen finally acquiesced that night, he was lights out - he pocketed 8 balls in a row and left Hozza with his cue limp in his hand and his jaw hanging open. I had no idea Stephen was so good, to which he responded he had spent enough time in bars in his 39 years to know his way around a pool table. Fair enough! I, however, declined to challenge the victor, as my signature shot is a scratch so decided to spare the room that viewing experience.
The next morning, Stephen and I went to the well-stocked co-op on the island to re-provision the boat for our next leg. What started as a smooth morning took a wrong turn when I forgot to push the choke back in when re-starting the dinghy outboard, and the engine quickly flooded and wouldn’t start. We had foolishly already both gotten in and slipped the painter line, and, finding ourselves in what proved to be a strong current, were getting quickly swept onto some jagged rocks along the shore. Not good. Not only was it total amateur hour on my part and embarrassing, it was potentially quite dangerous, as we had no control of the dinghy. We fumbled with the plastic emergency oars, but they proved to be no match for the current. Rather than letting us get swept onto the rocks, Stephen decided to jump out into waist deep freezing water to try to hold the dinghy in place, which bought us a couple minutes to think before we hit the rocks. Thankfully, Hozza came above deck at that moment and saw us on the other side of the bay fumbling around hopelessly. We yell back and forth but can’t hear him over the wind. Pantomime time. We can distinguish him making an unscrewing motion, so we try unscrewing the fuel tank nozzle from the engine. Stephen hops back in and pulls the start chord again, and thank god this time she starts. Once we had burnt off the excess fuel that had flooded the engine, the engine stopped again half way back to the boat, at which point it seemed intuitive to screw the fuel nozzle back in, and thankfully she started again. And that’s how you ruin an otherwise pleasant and productive morning by being stupid. Although, just another example of mistakes being your best learning tool. That was the last time either of us would forget about the bloody choke!
We then took off on long sail back to the Inner Hebrides. It was wet and cold and long, but we did get some good sailing in, with a good breeze on our port quarter pushing us along. At one point about 1/2 way to our destination, a heavy fog crept in, completely enveloping the boat and her surroundings. It was so thick, we could barely see the front of our boat. This necessitated navigating by radar, which we hadn’t been 100% reliant on before. It was eerie and a bit unnerving, but also proved an ideal time for a real-time in-depth radar lesson, including the different resolutions available, how to filter out rain, waves and other potential distractions, how to target track on potentially problematic vessels and how to set up radar guards to notify you when a target has entered your vicinity. That afternoon taught us the absolute necessity of radar when you can't rely on your sight. There will always be vessels (particularly fishing vessels, smaller pleasure craft, and the occasional boat doing dodgy things that won’t have AIS (Automated Identification System - a system that allows you to electronically track other vessels in your vicinity) or will have their AIS switched, off, so when navigating at night even on a clear night, radar becomes quite important. We decided to take a little detour to a small island called Scarra - aptly named, as she appeared all of a sudden out of the mist only a few hundred feet in front of us, like a spooky scene from Pirates of the Caribbean. The island was essentially a sheer rock cliff that fell down into the ocean and was really quite dramatic, made more so by the weather.
We finally arrive in our anchorage later than expected that evening, as a cardinal rule when navigating in fog is to slow down. As the fog was still quite heavy (hence lack of phots in this post - couldn't see anything to take a photo of!), it was hard to get a sense of the anchorage, but it looked well-protected and uncrowded, so we were happy to drop a hook and call it a night. The following day would mark our departure from Scotland and our passage back down to Dublin, so the cold and weary crew hunkered down for their last night in the Hebrides.
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