In summary

Over the top

We had decided to go back to the east coast over the top of Scotland. The 115-mile leg between Stornoway and Stromness in Orkney was very unusual in that we had no wind! We had to motor around Cape Wrath across an uncharacteristically glassy sea. A skua kept us company for a while leaving Stornoway and we saw quite a few dolphins, but they were too busy hunting to do any bow riding. These northern dolphins seem to be a bit more business-like than their southern cousins.

Skua over Lewis

We had planned our arrival in Stromness to coincide with the last of the east-going tide in the Sound of Hoy, where tidal streams run up to eight knots. We were right on schedule as we approached the Sound of Hoy at 5 in the morning. However, we'd been able to see a fogbank hovering over Hoy and mainland Orkney from 15 miles off and it didn't budge. We had to make our way into Stromness in thick fog, with both radar and chart plotter keeping us straight.

Stromness

Typical sandstone building in Stromness, with inch-think slates

Stromness is a lovely town. Beautiful architecture and a characterful main street with traditional shops. We arrived during Shopping Week (an old Stromness tradition) with pipe bands playing and each shop having special offers. Jim got rather into the spirit of things and acquired a Fladen system floatation suit. An ideal garment for summer cruising in the north of Scotland!

We were by a fair margin the smallest visiting boat in Stromness Marina. The others were mostly pretty massive - quite a change from the West Coast. Roy on Credeau had overtaken us on the motor to Stromness and later cooked us a lovely dinner.

Unfortunately we couldn't hang around (must cruise Orkney by itself for a few weeks sometime!) as we had an appointment with Hoxa Head the next afternoon. It was a neap tide, an ideal time to cross the infamous Pentland Firth, where tides can run up to 16 knots and there are rips, overfalls and general nasties everywhere. We left Stromness in a Force 6-7, but the wind was behind us and we had a blast sailing through the Scapa Flow. We duly arrived at Hoxa Head at High Water Dover minus 6 and the crossing of the Pentland Firth went very well, with only 1 knot of tide with us most of the time. 

We pulled into Wick at around 1900 and fell in with a fun bunch of RAF chaps who accepted us 'snivelling civilians' into their company for a few pints. The wind continued favourable the next day, so we pressed on for Arbroath, the longest leg of the trip at about 140 miles. Arbroath Marina was lovely if overpriced (a standard charge of £19 regardless of the size of boat!) and the smokies we had for dinner were magnificent.

We still had a couple of days of holiday remaining so decided to stop in the fishing harbour of Pittenweem on the East Neuk of Fife. It's a cute traditional fishing port and we were the only sailboat in there. A little pub crawl in Pittenweem and Anstruther, 1 mile east, rounded off our holiday. All that remained was a hard beat up the Forth to Granton, where we received a warm welcome from some fellow Corinthians who, fortunately, numbered exactly the same as our remaining cans of beer.

Rafted up to a trawler in Pittenweem

Hopping up the Hebrides

Loath as we were to depart Barra, we finally left to make our way north. This was probably the toughest sail of the trip, beating into a Force 6 for 13 hours, bashing through lumpy seas, to make it into Loch Skipport on South Uist, a mere 40 straight-line miles away late in the evening. To top it off, we picked up an old rope around the prop while manoeuvring into the anchorage. This is when I discovered I hadn't packed the wetsuits so Jim heroically jumped into the 12C water with a diving torch (Lidl buy of the year) and a sharp knife to hack off this lump of rope:

Loch Skipport is remote and wild. There's precious little sign of man's existence other than a fish farm at the entrance and a few ruined crofter's cottages dotted about.  We anchored in Caolas Mor, a secluded pool with a fine view of Hecla on a clear day. There was an otter in there when we arrived but due to the rope fiasco we couldn't just sit and watch it.

Caolas Mor, Loch Skipport

After a promising shipping forecast at 0520, we left in glorious sunshine the next morning and had a lovely sail up to Harris with the wind behind us - bliss! It was only sunny on the water, however, and when we closed in on Scalpay, our next destination, visibility was down to about 50ft.

North Harbour, Scalpay, with Islander II and Quaver

The Cretetree, a ferrocement coaster built in 1919, which since 1955 has provided handy shelter and storage space for Scalpay's fishing boats

In Scalpay we were surprised to find two other boats in the anchorage, two Vancouvers. It proved to be a most sociable stop, with Kevin and Sue on Islander II, Willie on Quaver and us taking turns as hosts. All in all, the socialising when you're cruising in Scotland is superb. 

The rainy weather gave Scalpay a rather gloomy aspect, not helped by the fact that this is one few remaining strict Presbyterian places where even the children's playground is locked up on Sundays. The island of Scalpay is now connected to Harris by bridge and the convenience of bus transport to Tarbert has led to all its shops apart from the post office shutting down and the school closing. We ourselves took the bus into town to meet one of Jim's old professors, who is a native of Harris. This was one of the rare occasions where a sea-land rendezvous worked out and we had a nice lunch with her and her family at the Hebrides Hotel.

We left Scalpay on a Sunday (with no ill effect that we've noticed so far) and with a Force 6-7 behind us flew up to Stornoway, where we met up with Paul again and hung out with him a new friend Roy on Credeau. Stornoway had been renamed 'Stormaway' in the days previously, but we were lucky to arrive in brilliant sunshine.

Rafted up to Hyskeir and Credeau in Stornoway

Stranded by the tide: a Stornoway harbour seal spotted early in the morning on one of the beams under the pier. She was a long way up from the waterline by this time and must have been sleeping there while the tide receded.

Oh, the beaches

On Barra we were quite lucky with the weather so we could climb Ben Heaval, the highest peak, paddle our inflatable canoe across the bay to Vatersay and collect whelks and mussels there. We also walked to possibly the most beautiful beach we've ever been to. We then tried our hand at a spot of hitchhiking around the island's 'ring road': the first car stopped. The driver, the coxswain of the Lifeboat, could only take us part of the way as he had to visit his parents so he directed us a pub in North Bay, where he would pick us up later and drive us back to Castlebay, which he duly did. It was a breezy day, but he told us that in the winter there were several days where it blew up to 150-odd miles per hour. Ouch.

Ben Heaval from Vatersay

On top of Ben Heaval

Dunes on the west coast of Barra

Our favourite beach

And the cows like it, too

To the Outer Hebrides

We left Canna in the company of Hyskeir, planning to make for Eriskay. However, the point of sail wasn't ideal so Paul and we said cheerio over the VHF, ourselves heading south to Barra, while he made for Uist. This was after an amazing basking shark bonanza on the north side of Canna. Dozens of the gentle giants were swimming all around us.

We absolutely loved Barra. The scenery is stunning with beautiful white sand beaches next to rugged mountains, the people are extremely friendly and helpful and there was a lot going on in Castlebay. We even went to the cinema there in the Screen Machine, a lorry that converts into an 80-seat cinema.

In Castlebay there are 12 visitors' moorings, which are a very reasonable £8 for up to a week's stay. The ones closest to the pier even have wifi internet access - luxury!

We were pleasantly surprised when another Trintella 29, Barrosa, arrived in Castlebay and enjoyed spending some time with her crew. Very interesting to compare boat notes.

Stunning setting of the visitors' moorings

Kisimul Castle at sunset

The ferry arrived every evening

Canna beat this

Once we got to the beautiful island of Canna, our holiday began in earnest. After arriving in the evening and taking in a nice sticky toffee pudding in the local cafe, we decided to stick around for a few days. As a reward, we had our first day of sunny weather the next day and went for a hike over the island. The visibility was amazing: Rum, the Cuillins on Skye and the Outer Hebrides.

Atop Canna

The Cuillins

Canna Harbour with Rum in the background

The local church where the roving minister came to give a service for the islanders while we were on the island

Friendly harbour seal, hand fed by a fisherman every evening

On our second morning, we woke to howling winds and driving rain - and to the very surprising sight of tiny Hyskeir, our friend Paul's boat, anchored near by. He'd had a horrendous night getting to Canna single-handed. His aim was to nip in before the gale arrived but it didn't quite work out. Luckily, this storm was not long-lasting and by the afternoon we could stroll around the island in the sunshine again and take advantage of the hot shower provided for visiting yachties. 

In the evening we were all invited aboard Piota, owned by the redoubtable Keith and Fiona who used to run the North Scotland Sailing School. They had a lot of entertaining tales to tell while we all watched a charter boat trying to anchor for two hours and gradually ploughing up several tons of kelp off the bottom of the harbour.

Thrice stormbound

Our summer cruise got off to a memorable start with the arrival of a Force 10. We managed to install ourselves nicely in an anchorage opposite the Caledonian Canal entrance on the Friday afternoon and then were stormbound there for two entire days, with no chance of going ashore. Our holiday library took quite a big dent, we got plenty of sleep and a few small jobs (like polishing up the paraffin heater) were attended to.

Our first storm anchorage, before things turned ugly.

Then we had a small window of opportunity and used it for a long, hard beat out of Loch Linnhe and into the Sound of Mull, to tranquil Loch Aline. However, there was to be no let-up and the next day we tucked ourselves away in a corner of Loch Drumbuie in preparation for a Force 9.

Stormbound for the second time, for another two days, in beautiful Loch Drumbuie. At least here we managed to get some nice walks in, between rain showers.

In Loch Drumbuie, we also met up with some fellow Corinthians, on Evening Star, and in the end the weather did turn glorious for a bit.

The next morning we motored out to Ardnamurchan Point in poor visibility, only to be hit by a Force 6 on the nose and had to beat around the point going north. Not fair! We were expecting something unpleasant to turn up we'd already seen the big Dutch boat that left Drumbuie 15 minutes before us heading back after deciding they didn't fancy it. However, by the time we reached the Small Isles all was fair again, some dolphins came out to bow ride and Canna, our destination, was just beautiful. We stayed there for three days, while another gale came through - this time only a Force 8 though!

Gorgeous Canna Harbour, our haven in our third gale in eight days

The crew of Evening Star on Fettler

Canal cruising

The Caledonian Canal was a pleasure again and very sociable. Immediately we met a boat from Shetland that we'd locked through with the last time we'd been in the canal, two years ago. We also bumped into two fellow Corinthian boats, Tico and Belle Ile, going the other way and made friends with the motley crew of the capacious Specsioneer of Whitby, including the perky ship's dog, Munk.

Specsioneer, with Ben Nevis in the background

Munk and the lock swan at Kytra having a standoff

The uphill flights of locks were quite a workout, especially since we were in the front where the maximum turbulence swirled around us. We were glad to have Martin along as third crew member as it is a lot easier to have two people ashore walking the boat from lock to lock and one on the boat. An elderly couple across from us were on their own and she had to handle both lines onshore. In the third lock one line slipped - luckily the man had a bow thruster and knew how to handle it and the lock keepers stopped flooding the lock straightaway. In one of the locks, a swan decided to lock up with us, and in another we were amazed to discover some martens nesting inside the top of the lock gates.

Unfortunately we couldn't sail on Loch Ness this time - headwinds again

The weather was good - no rain until the last day and quite a lot of sunshine. We could see the top of Ben Nevis for two days in a row!

Ben Nevis in all its glory

Loch Lochy

How to combine gardening and boating, as seen on Loch Oich

Heading west

We left Edinburgh a week ago on Wednesday evening, bound for Inverness. We had a lovely sail out of the Forth, with a cool send-off from another club boat who crossed our path an hour or so out to say bon voyage. Wind died out around North Berwick and we motored on up the coast through the night and the next day, which was hot and sunny, almost Mediterranean conditions. After a patch of fog we passed Peterhead about 2100 on Thursday, still motoring, hardly a breath. We had set off early in the hope of avoiding some heavy and unfavourable weather and things were looking good.

We passed out of the heavy shipping area and I went down for some kip as we neared Rattray Head. I woke up again as the vessel began plunging into heavy seas and found a very different scene had developed rapidly, with a stiff and rising northwesterly blowing against the strong tidal current at Rattray Head. The forecast was for worse to come and there are no harbours along that Moray coast that can be safely entered with onshore winds so it only took a few minutes to decide that we had to turn back and run for Peterhead. So we turned the ship around and high-tailed it, now with the 3 knots of current against us. It was 0100 by the time we made our way inside the great breakwaters at Peterhead and by this time the wind was howling there as well. The marina there is a harbour within a harbour and is very well protected. Although the wind whistles right through, no swell finds its way in.

We slept late Friday, then sat it out below decks while the gale howled above. Come Saturday the wind was still roaring and it was cold with it so we opted to hop on a bus back to Edinburgh. On leaving Peterhead, I had on a t-shirt, jumper, fleece and windproof. By the time we got off the bus in Edinburgh, I was down to the t-shirt. Leaving the boat in Peterhead would have given our schedule a severe knock and there would be no guarantee the weather would be any more suitable for Rattray Head the next weekend. The forecast was very good for midweek though, so I decided to take the week off and, solo or with another crew (as Sonja couldn't take the time off), complete the passage to Inverness.

At the harbour on Sunday, we bumped into one of the newer members of the club, a young teacher who happened to be out of a job for the moment - the ideal candidate! He was amenable, so the two of us set off by bus for Peterhead on Monday lunchtime. All was calm on arrival at Peterhead and we set our departure for 0900 Tuesday morning. Imagine my disgust at waking to thick fog! Visibility half a mile or less. I was determined to push on and thanks to GPS + radar the fog could be coped with, even if it doesn't make for pleasant conditions. Another boat, from the Royal Tay Yacht Club, hoping to make the same passage tagged along with us as they didn't have the benefit of a radar set.

Off we went and motored on through the pretty much flat calm and zero visibility. The next four hours motoring through the fog were uneventful. I saw a few ships on the radar but nothing passed us closer than a mile off and of course we saw nothing at all save the Royal Tay boat keeping station with us. Things picked up once we rounded the corner and made our way into the Moray Firth, with a little breeze springing up behind us and the fog finally clearing. The engine was silenced and we managed about 3 hours' sailing before the wind packed in again and we motored the final hour or so into Whitehills. Very nice wee harbour and village, great stop.

Whitehills marina (photo: K Maclachlan)

Whitehills (photo: K Maclachlan)

Fun visit on board from the harbour cat, who made a very thorough inspection of the boat before settling on my lap. The next morning the harbour master said the cat was his intelligence agent, and had been checking us out.

'Intelligence' visit from a Pinkerton doppelgaenger who thoroughly inspected the boat.

Harbour cat enjoying some stroking (photo: K Maclachlan)

That day, Wednesday, dawned fair but unfortunately windless and we motored out of the harbour at 0845 onto a glassy sea where we spotted a couple of dolphins cruising past apparently after their breakfast. It was a leisurely motor as far as Lossiemouth (25 nautical miles, 5 hours), with plenty cups of tea and a nice lunch followed by coffee and a couple squares of chocolate. Keil (my crew) had just finished the washing up after lunch when a lovely sailing breeze of 12 knots filled in - on the nose. Even though the wind was coming from exactly where we wanted to go it was too much to resist after all the motoring so we upped sails and downed engine and sailed on joyfully, just not directly towards our destination.

I already knew at that point that we wouldn't be likely to make the Inverness Firth that day as originally intended, but the question remained how close we could get and where we would end up. There are a couple of points on the approach to Inverness where you have to get the tide right - the Chanonry and Kessock Narrows - and I had already worked out the tide times for the next day and a half but as the wind continued to freshen I took a closer look at the chart for potential bolt holes around the Moray Firth where we could tuck into if things started getting out of hand. The options are limited but sufficient and I had several possibilities in mind as we bashed on through the afternoon and into the evening, slowly ticking off the miles to windward and edging ever closer to Inverness. The skipper of another yacht that we met later in Inverness told me he'd recorded wind speeds up to 43 kts in the Firth that afternoon, but that must have been an exceptional gust. Nevertheless, it was fairly brisk.

The Moray Firth (photo: K Maclachlan)

I settled on the Cromarty Firth as our best bet to get out of the weather, get some sleep and have a good start on our push for Inverness the next morning. We whizzed in between the high headlands bracketing that remote, beautiful, sheltered and strangely industrial spot at about 2200. By 2300 we were anchored comfortably off the village of Cromarty and heating a tin of Irish stew for a late dinner with a couple slices of crisp bread. We turned in at midnight and I slept until 0300 when a shift in the wind and/or tide woke me and I looked up on deck to see all was well. It was already quite light and after looking things over I slid back into my bunk but couldn't really sleep any more for thinking of the forecast which indicated strong westerlies coming in that afternoon. I rested until 0400 and then started preparing to get under way again.

My bustling around the boat woke the crew at about 0430 and a somewhat hollow-eyed (not that I looked any better, I'm sure) Keil joined me in time to get the boat moving again at 0445. We were surrounded by feeding dolphins at the mouth of the Cromarty as we raised the mainsail (purely for stability) and motored on into the 12-16 kt headwind. No beating (tacking to windward) this time. Tide, time and the presence of the hazardous Riff Bank in the increasingly confined waters at the pointy end of the Firth mitigated against it.

We plugged on manfully, caught the tide and finally shot under the Kessock Bridge and up to the entrance of the Caledonian Canal at 0900. As always, there were numerous spots along the way which would have merited further investigation - given the time! It was a pair of tired and happy mariners who tied up at Seaport Marina in Inverness an hour or so later. We stowed ship, went ashore for showers and then off to the Clachnaharry Inn for an excellent lunch washed down with a couple of excellent pints.

Keil caught the bus back to Edinburgh and I tidied, aired the boat and slept while waiting for Sonja and Martin to arrive that evening for the journey through the Caledonian Canal.

Clachnaharry Sea Loch (photo: K Maclachlan)

Inchmickery

Unusually calm conditions on a hot early summer's day encouraged us to anchor at the normally forbidding island of Inchmickery, an island in the Forth that is shaped like a battleship.

Inchmickery from afar, showing the battleship shape with the Forth Bridges in the background.

The first delight was a group of young seals basking under the watchful eye of a large and plump matron. The pups are nearing independence but are still quite small and have much of their golden fuzzy coat, only obvious when they're lying dry in the sun.

The island is a bird sanctuary, with different types of gull, eider and cormorants flying about. There is little evidence of human influence other than the decaying Second World War fortifications.

Fettler and Hannaine at anchor - a fairweather anchorage only.

The Oxcar lighthouse

Downwind to Dunbar (and back)

The season is getting off to a good early start.
Last Saturday was the first club sailing event - a well-attended cruise in company that took us the short hop across to Aberdour. 11 Corinthian boats rafted up in the very picturesque harbour on a gorgeous warm sunny day.

This weekend we elected to head for Dunbar, a pretty fishing port 30 miles out to the east. There was a race there on Saturday but we went on Friday, since the wind was favourable and forecast to switch to the opposite on Saturday.
It was a good choice. Friday afternoon was beautiful, with just enough westerly breeze to waft us along to Dunbar in a respectable 6 hours. Conditions were ideal for finally breaking out our spinnaker.

That's not to say that we hadn't ever encountered similar conditions, but we'd always been either too lazy or not under enough time pressure to do it. This time we had a stark deadline as access to the harbour is strictly tidal and there are no decent anchorages anywhere near by. Thanks to the spinnaker, we made it with about half an hour to spare.
Dunbar can be a bit tricky to get into, with a very narrow entrance and quite a few rocks strewn about it. Conditions were ideal on our approach, all calm and rocks clearly visible with the tide quite low. In strong easterly winds, the entrance is impossible and the harbour itself becomes very dodgy. Boats then have to move into the inner harbour which dries completely but is very secure. Anyway, we managed to nip in and tuck ourselves right under the castle wall.

Another first this weekend was drying out against the harbour wall. It's surprising that it took us this long, as nearly all the harbours in the area are drying, but it worked out without drama. I placed a large bucket on the shoreside deck and filled it with water to encourage her to lean the right way when touching down and looped a line from the mast to a strong railing on the shore for added security.
The vessel rested on the sandy bottom for about 2.5 hours around low water, an hour and a half before and only an hour after, interestingly. It was a fairly large tide at around 5 metres. At high water we could almost step ashore from the coachroof without a long climb up the ladder.

The view out from the inner harbour

The castle wall is home to the country's 'largest seabird colony occupying a man-made structure'. There are a couple of thousand squawking kittywakes that nest here, crying their name for all to hear for about 16 hours of the day. Only during the hours of darkness do they fall silent.

We had a bit of a wander around Dunbar on Saturday morning while the tide was out, particularly enjoying the views around the inner harbour and from the clifftops. It really is a pretty town.

As forecast, the wind came around to the east on Saturday and all the fishing boats shifted into the inner harbour. The friendly harbour master mentioned to me that conditions could be getting unpleasant if the worst forecasts proved correct. In fact things stayed fairly mild, but even so an unpleasant surge was developing in the harbour and we decided to pull out and head back west, rather than remain uneasy about when or if things were going to get worse.

The wind was favourable for our run back, but it was mighty chilly and we were wrapped up in thermals, full oilskins and gloves, which was a contrast to the near t-shirt weather of the day before.