Scotland is a magical land of mist & castles. We spent most of the summer of 2000 exploring these enchanted isles (this information is from that time). In late May we made a fast passage from the BVI to Kinsale Ireland, with a two day stop in Porto Das Lajes, Flores (Azores). The breakwall in Lajes, built in 1994, creates a protected harbor in all winds except NE. Occasionally a swell will work its way around the breakwall, so it's best to arrange to have your bow facing out the harbor, either with a stern anchor or a stern line to the quay. Two different officials (Coast Guard and Customs) found us as we were walking to town and we filled out various forms over a cup of coffee. They gave us our clearance papers when we checked in. This was a quiet and relaxed landfall, quite in contrast to the hustle and bustle of Horta. Plans are underway to build a real marina here to take some of the pressure off Horta which had a reported 1,200 yachts call this year.
Kinsale
Kinsale is likewise a very relaxed landfall. The outside pontoon of the yacht club is reserved for visitors ($24/night for 47 feet in 2000). If you want to anchor, the best place is about 1/3 mile up the river just before the bridge. A Customs official wandered by the second day, stopped at each vessel flying a Q flag and noted down a few pieces of information. There are good pub meals at the Yacht Club and a convenient laundry in town.
From Kinsale we headed east and then up the Irish Sea. The Irish west coast is prettier, but the east coast has smooth, fast & protected sailing and is the way to go if the mission is to quickly get to Scotland. Strangford Lough is the one ‘must see’ stop on the east coast. This large, inland lake has got several castles and large estates you can visit, several cute little towns, about a half dozen very active little yacht clubs, and several quiet ‘hurricane holes’ in which to sit out gales. The lough is entered through Strangford Narrows with currents which run up to 8 knots and a serious tidal race when ebbing, so be sure to follow the advice of the sailing guides to time your arrival and departure. Audley Roads is the easiest first anchorage at the top of the Narrows and has a large estate and castle open to the public ashore. From there you can work your way into the upper lough. Killyleagh is probably the easiest place to provision, and Quoile the snuggest anchorage. For both Ireland and Scotland the Imray charts, combined with either the Irish Cruising Club Sailing Directions (for Ireland) and the Clyde Cruising Club or Imray Guides (for Scotland), are the most efficient way to cover the area. However, for Strangford Lough you really need British Chart 2156 to safely cruise past Audley Roads. From Strangford we did a day sail to Brown’s Bay just outside Larne Lough and then crossed into Scottish waters to Gigha Island.
Scottish West Coast: Towns & Marinas
Scottish Castle
The Inner and Outer Hebrides along the west coast of Scotland form a mostly sheltered, scenic and compact cruising ground with dozens of wonderful anchorages. In addition to remote, rugged areas, the west coast of Scotland offers visible and accessible history in the form of castles, Celtic crosses, 12-14th century Christian chapels, standing stones and other sights of archaeological and architectural interest. The dozens of single malt distilleries provide a summer’s worth of exploration for those interested. The beautiful, whitewashed stone buildings of the distilleries offer a lovely counterpoint to the lush green and gold of the islands themselves. For those of Scottish extraction, chasing down clan information and discovering your tartan will add another dimension to your visit. All in all, this area has a wealth of activities that can be easily pursued during a relaxed summer’s cruise.
Most of the small villages accessible from these anchorages will have a convenience store with little more than the basics, a post office (sometimes in someone’s dining room, more often as part of the convenience store), a phone box and one or two pubs. Large supermarkets and banks are few and far between (even more so north of the isle of Mull), as are places to buy diesel fuel, gasoline or water. Phone cards, especially international phone cards, are not available, but phone calls can be made at most phone boxes by calling the International Operator and using a credit card or calling card. The few banks to be found generally have an ATM (known locally as a “hole in the wall”) which was how we got local money throughout the summer.
Oban
Oban is the biggest town. It has a rail station right on the waterfront with access to Glasgow and Edinburgh. The Tesco's supermarket here is the best place to provision in the entire west coast Scottish cruising ground. There is a Laundromat, which allows you to either do your own or have them do it. There is a small but relatively complete chandlery with a full supply of charts and guides. Kerrera harbor just across the bay is the best place to park the boat. There is a small boat yard/marina here with dock space (19 pounds/night for 47’) and mooring balls (10 pounds/night). We anchored in the small cove at the North end of Kerrera harbor. The marina runs a free ferry across to Oban every two hours. This is more convenient than taking the dinghy across as there is really no safe/secure place in Oban to leave a dinghy. You can get both diesel fuel and water at the marina.
Tobermory on the north end of the Sound of Mull is a delightful and picturesque town. It has both a mid-sized supermarket and a (non-self service) laundry – if you drop off in the morning, they can generally have it for you by mid-afternoon. There is a new floating pier and dinghy dock tucked into the western corner of the anchorage which makes getting ashore much easier than it used to be as the harbor front dries for half a mile at low tide. The visitor moorings cost 10 pounds/night, but in mid-summer they will all likely be taken. There is a small area designated for anchoring in the west corner inside of the mooring buoys in water of reasonable depth just off the dinghy dock, but room enough for only a few boats. The rest of the anchorage is very deep (60-80’) so just inshore of the mooring field, south of the designated anchorage, we dropped a bow anchor and tied a stern line to a tree. An alternative is to anchor for the day in Tobermory and then move over to Loch Drumbuie (five miles across the Sound of Mull) for a snug night anchorage. You can get diesel fuel and water from the fishing dock, gasoline from the gas station right near the floating dinghy dock and showers at the Mishnish Hotel.
Tobermory Distillery
Loch Dunvegan on Skye has a store & restaurants, but is most noteworthy for Castle Dunvegan. This is the 700 year old home of the clan McCleod. There are tours through the castle but the really special thing to do is attend one of the mid-summer chamber music sessions. The McCleods invite world class musicians and their families to summer at the castle, and in return they play chamber music. These performances take place in a small elegant room, in front of an audience of only about 20 people, with 18th century paintings and the clan’s 7th century battle flag hanging on the walls. It’s much prettier to anchor right off the castle than to go further up the loch to the town anchorage. Also, the castle has a floating dinghy dock, whereas there is no really great place to land dinghies off the town. Ask permission of the person handling the seal tours in a small concession stand just off the dock if you want to leave your dinghy there for any length of time.
There are two major marinas/boatyards – Craobh Haven and Ardfern, both a day sail south of Oban. These are the easiest places to get fuel and water. Ardfern is more pleasant, with a small town just off the dock as opposed to the obviously newly created community of brightly painted row houses at Craobh Haven. David, the manager of Ardfern, went well out of his way for us and several other American boats by special ordering and delivering boat bits, arranging transportation, etc.
Gigha Island Peacock
Ardminish Bay, Gigha Island is a convenient stop on the way north from Ireland. There are free visitor’s moorings here and the harbor is quite protected except from the east. Ashore there is a small store, post office, pub and the marvelous Archamore Gardens to see. Loch Tayvallich, just North of Gigha is another convenient stop, with a ‘hurricane hole’ anchorage, and a small store and post office. This is a tight little harbor, mostly filled by private moorings. It’s possible to find room to wedge in and anchor, but for a 5 pound ‘voluntary contribution’ to the harbor fund (payable at the store just off the dinghy dock) they are happy to let visitors use any vacant moorings.
Stornaway, at the North end of the Outer Hebrides, is the most convenient provisioning stop North of Skye. Remote Anchorages
We spent 2 months cruising the Scottish waters and probably did not see more than 10% of the possible anchorages. Our short list of must see remote anchorages are: (1) Loch Scavaig on Skye – a dramatic anchorage bordered by steep cliffs and waterfalls, (2) Loch Moidart on the mainland just north of the Ardnamurchan peninsula – a quiet snug anchorage with a picturesque castle ruin, (3) Loch Tarbert on Jura – an isolated and remote anchorage with leading marks which were installed by Blondie Hassler around the many rocks and ledges, (4) Wizard's Pool in Loch Skipport on S. Uist – another dramatic and isolated anchorage in the outer Hebrides with both hill and bog walks ashore.
Little Kettle Pool, South Uist, Outer Hebrides
St. Kilda, a remote Island about 40 miles West of the Outer Hebrides, seemed to be the Scottish cruising Holy Grail. The anchorage is virtually an open roadstead and not very comfortable in southerly winds and dangerous in easterly winds. The local charter skippers told us the best plan is to anchor in Barra at the south end of the Outer Hebrides and wait for a light westerly wind forecast. Then it’s a close reach out to St. Kilda and the harbor will be relatively comfortable.
Weather
In May and early June there was a steady pattern of lows about every 5 days tracking over Scotland from the Atlantic. Each low brought first SW winds, then rain and a switch to the NW winds. About ever other low brought gale force winds. The water and air temperatures were about 50 degrees. From mid-June to mid-August, the weather was dominated by a series of highs, with light easterly winds and lots of sun. While this is apparently the weather pattern for good summer weather, it doesn’t usually last more than a few days to a week before a low comes through in normal years. This year, we did not have any low pressure systems or rain for about 6 weeks, one of the driest summers on record. The water heated up to 60-65 degrees and during the day the temperature ashore was 60-70 degrees. Then in Mid-August, fall weather started up and the lows started tracking over again. Overall, we had an unusually good summer with much better weather and lighter winds than we expected. The Coast Guard stations (Clyde, Oban, Stornoway) provide VHF weather broadcasts. Though these are supposed to be issued to a schedule, they came at random times throughout the day and were announced on channel 16 with a channel to switch to for the broadcast. Gale warnings will be announced when issued and every hour or so for a few hours after. We left 16 on whenever we were sailing and in port when we needed to know the weather – there’s not much normal traffic so we didn’t find that intrusive. The BBC also does sea area forecasts on Radio 4 on a frequency of 198 AM, 92.4/94.6 FM at 0048, 0535, 1201 and 1754 local time. The 0535 broadcast on Sunday includes a seven-day forecast that is rarely accurate for more than three or four days but offers early warning of potential gales. The Northwood “General Met” weather faxes are also very useful (4305.1 or 6450.6 khz at 0650, 0950, 1210, 1500, 1800, & 2120 UTC). MacMillan Reeds Small Craft Almanac has further fax and radio schedules and is essential for tidal information as well. Navigation
The tide tables determine the day’s sailing schedule in Scotland. 2-3 knot currents flow along almost every channel, with 4-7 knots in some narrows and around some headlands. So, the program is to up anchor in time to catch 6 hours of fair current and arrive at an anchorage just as it turns against you. The Macmillan Guide is the indispensable source of tide tables and current charts. In strong wind against current situations really formidable wave rips are created, which could easily capsize a cruising boat, and they have to be treated with the greatest respect. The most noteworthy rips are indicated on the charts. It’s also true that the Scottish harbors are strewn with more rocks and ledges than any other cruising ground we have been in. These hazards are very clearly laid out in sketch charts in the Clyde Cruising Club and Imray guides (these contain essentially identical information so only one or the other is needed). It does help to arrive at particularly tricky anchorages near low tide so the hazards are more visible, and so if you make a mistake and go aground you will shortly be floated off by the rising tide. One big decision when going north and south is whether to use the Crinan canal or the Sound of Jura. Going north from Ireland to Scotland, the Sound of Jura is clearly the way to go – being much more direct with lots of nice anchorages, but that means missing the Clyde cruising ground. Coming South, assuming you did Jura on the way north, it’s a bit of a toss-up. The canal goes through some pretty country, but most of the locks are user-operated and quite a bit of work for a double handed-boat. It’s also a bit expensive, about $250 for 47 feet. But it is a worthwhile shortcut if you want to go into one of the big Clyde marinas and perhaps tour the Glasgow area. Communication
The cell phone network in both Scotland and Ireland is very complete. We only found two anchorages where we did not have a phone signal, and we could always get a signal when sailing. We did e-mail through the cell phone and usually got about 600 characters/second transmission speed – fine for e-mails but too slow for pictures or other large attached files. There is supposed to be a three-year residency requirement before you are able to get a cell phone, but if you find an eager salesman and setup the account to be direct charged to a credit card you can work around this regulation. You can also “pay as you go,” purchasing prepaid cards that activate the phone. The GSM phones work throughout Europe, though as you change countries you have to buy new SIM cards which means a new phone number each time you cross a border. Rather than go through that hassle, as we were using the phone only a few minutes every few days for e-mail, we bought the cell phone in Ireland (where we intend to winter) and roamed internationally in Scotland. The downside was the cost, though we never spent more than a couple of pounds a day. The upside was that the phone would pick the strongest signal among the various networks while friends with Scottish phones were stuck with one network and therefore had more places without coverage.
May 24, 2000
51 degrees 42 minutes north; 8 degrees 30 minutes west
Kinsale Yacht Club, Kinsale, Ireland
We have crossed the Atlantic for the fourth time.
We made landfall on Fastnet Rock about 9:30 AM local time on Sunday, May 21st. A cold misty drizzle fell, the white clouds touched the wave tops a few miles from the boat, the silver and gray water flashed green where it turned to the wind. Out of the waves rose a jagged, black molar crowned on one side with a high white lighthouse, stark, remote and foreboding. Exactly the Irish landfall we had both pictured - a heart stopping, awe-inspiring moment we will remember for the rest of our lives.
Four hours later, we were running parallel to the coast under the full main and poled out jib in 18 knots apparent with a pastel blue sky and a few fluffy clouds playing tag over the mast. To port, the green and gold fields of Ireland rolled away from dark cliffs that plummeted straight to the sea. Ruined castles, towers and keeps graced every headland. Still two miles offshore and we were overwhelmed by the smell of the flowers, a heavy scent which I could almost feel as it invaded the boat overpowering the musky odor of three weeks close confinement. This is surely one of the most lovely coasts we've ever sailed along. Not the harsh, rugged, untamed beauty of Newfoundland, but a comfortable, civilized, cultivated beauty made more compelling by the steep cliffs and crashing waves.
The 3200 mile passage took 21 days plus a 48-hour stop in Flores, the westernmost of the Azores islands. We had intended to sail the normal "North to 40 and then East" route. However, neither the Bermuda nor the Azores highs were in place, and lows were tracking across the Atlantic at 33-35 degrees north instead of 38-40 as would be normal in this season. So we ended up sailing the rhumb line to the Azores through the normally calm center of the Atlantic, and spent most of our time close-reaching in 20-30 knots. We spent several days trying to slow the boat down to avoid a large low pressure system converging on us as we approached the Azores. Under staysail alone, *Hawk* was doing 7-8 knots in ~30 knots 60 degrees off the wind. When the staysail shackle blew up and the halyard went up the mast 60 miles off Flores, we decided we'd rather retrieve it at anchor than in the 10 foot seas then running.
So we pulled into Flores, a jewel of an island, over 100 miles west of Faial and the rest of the Azores group. A new breakwall at Lajes on the southeastern corner offered excellent protection from the strong NW winds and allowed us two nights of deep and dreamless sleep. Besides retrieving the halyard (to find the shackle broken in half from crevice corrosion), we tended to a half dozen other small fixes from repairing the webbing chafe-protection on one batten to caulking one of our fixed ports which was leaking. By the time we left on the leading edge of a developing high pressure system, we were rested and ready for the next leg.
The high filled more quickly than expected, so we had two days of light air. But on the third day the wind filled in again, and we found ourselves close-reaching once more making 8-9 knots under the double-reefed main and staysail with the wind just forward of the beam. We spent the entire passage expecting SW winds, and saw all of three hours of wind from that direction. So much for pilot charts and prevailing winds!
Kinsale is picture postcard perfect. We're on the visitor's dock at the Yacht Club, and enjoying all manner of luxuries from fresh local cheeses to gourmet meats to organic fruits and vegetables.
51 degrees 42 minutes north; 8 degrees 30 minutes west
Kinsale Yacht Club, Kinsale, Ireland
June 1, 2000
We've been trying to arrange a European mobile phone which has kept us here in Kinsale a bit longer than expected. We'll be starting north on Saturday or Sunday, and we'll move as quickly as we can to Scotland so we can enjoy the Scottish islands for a month or so before the CCC/CCA cruise begins. As we expect to winter here in Kinsale, we'll have time to see more of Ireland then, though it's hard to pull ourselves away from such a delightful spot.
Today we're in the midst of what we thought would be standard Irish weather, a Force 8 gale yesterday and fog, wind and rain. The temperature's in the high fifties and outside the day has a raw, damp edge to it, but here on the boat the diesel heater's hard at work and we're enjoying a relaxing day reading, writing e-mails and listening to the rain on the coach roof. We've been in Ireland for ten days, and except for some quick showers that turn to sunshine in fifteen minutes, this is the first cold, rainy weather we've had.
It's a pleasure to be in a place where the economy is so incredibly robust. The Emerald Tiger, as they call the Irish economy, grew an astonishing 11+% last year. Job postings are everywhere, and they're actively recruiting workers from places like Newfoundland and India. Cork, about twenty miles from where we are in Kinsale, has become a leading producer of software, and we've been told repeatedly that Ireland is now the second largest exporter of software in the world. Cork's economy used to be agricultural, largely dairy oriented, but now pharmaceuticals have become a major sector in addition to high tech.
Kinsale is considered the gourmet capital of Ireland. Its dozens of restaurants include fine French, German, Chinese, American (The Shack - fantastic hamburgers!) and lots of great seafood places. We had lunch at a gourmet fish shop the day before yesterday - seafood chowder that's almost a bisque and a short list of the day's entrees all based around simple preparations of the still flopping catch of fish and seafood. I had the best Mussels Meuniere we've had since Hout Bay in South Africa.
In the pubs, the local Cork stout, Murphy's, is served in addition to Guinness and everyone asks how we like it compared to the rival stout. I find it strong and dark, without the heavy bitterness of Guinness, and both of us prefer it. But all the locals seem to be drinking Heineken. When I asked one florid Irishman about his he said, "We're EU now, remember." Another said, "Murphy's in the winter, Heineken in the summer."
Everyone insists on the medicinal benefits of stout. "Lots of iron!" "Doctors here prescribe a pint a day for pregnant women." "If the mother's milk's off, a pint of Guinness will put it right within a half an hour." We're still not sure how much to believe these local myths - the Blarney Stone is located only about twenty miles away from here at Blarney Castle. If one kisses the stone (upside down while leaning backwards holding steel rails), one gets the gift of "blarney" for seven years. Blarney is defined as pleasant talk meant to gently mislead... We can only assume that most of the locals have kissed the stone sometime in the last decade or so.
Evans went racing with the local Yacht Club last Sunday and a week ago Wednesday. They have an amazing community of racers - on Wednesday nights they get thirty boats out on the course, all crewed by not less than four people and the boat Evans is on using 12-14 crew members. They didn't get back until 9:00, and race results weren't read in the Yacht Club bar until after midnight. But we're having a hard time adjusting to local hours. The sun doesn't set until after 9, and the twilight lingers until 10:30 or 11. We've been going to bed much later than usual for us - in the Tropics we went to bed and got up with the sun. If we did that here, we'd only be getting about four hours sleep right now, and we're still several weeks away from mid-summer's eve.
Kinsale is located about three miles up the Bander River. About halfway between the town and the sea lies Fort Charles. This "five point bastion fort" consists of an incredible series of walls, ramparts and battlements rising up from the river. It was built in 1680 to protect the town from attack by the French and a major battle was fought here when the Spanish Armada came to help the Irish break away from the British. The weight of history hangs on the hills here in crumbling and unnamed round towers and ring forts whose stories have been lost for centuries.
The town itself consists of a half-dozen narrow streets bracketed by the two long roads that line either side of the harbor. Where they almost meet at the harbor's head, they create a wedge which the rest of the streets of Kinsale connect in a sort of fan. Many of the streets are cobble-stoned, and most of the buildings are painted in beautiful but surprising colors - rich rose, pastel peach, delicate pink. Window boxes filled with late spring flowers adorn many of the houses; tiny gardens just large enough for a bench can be found tucked behind many buildings. In the late afternoon sun, everywhere you look could be a postcard.
June 12, 2000
Ardminish Bay, Gigha Island, Scotland
55 degrees 40.4 minutes North, 5 degrees 43.9 minutes West
We're in Scotland! For some reason, ever since we entered Scottish waters on Saturday it has seemed positively miraculous to me that we're here. How to explain it? Six weeks ago, we were over 3,500 nautical miles from here, and we said, "We're going to sail to Scotland." And we did. It's so unlike flying somewhere. I remember all the details of getting here, the gale and the shackle breaking, the apprehension around leaving, the wonder of our Fastnet landfall, the challenge of light air up the Irish sea. Doing what we set out to do has taken most of the last two months, not the day it would have taken if we'd flown. We did it. We sailed Hawk here. It isn't passive. It's the most decisive, active, self-determined thing you can do. We controlled every controllable aspect of the voyage. We willed ourselves to Scotland. We covered every single mile. We lived every single mile.
We left Kinsale on the south coast of Ireland two weeks ago, determined to reach Scotland as quickly as possible. We pushed hard in light winds to get up the Irish Sea with currents and tides dictate our entire sailing day. Tidal ranges vary from 6 feet to 20, which means vast amounts of water have to move through the constricted channels between islands and up and down the shallow basin of the Irish Sea. Strong currents result, with max flows of three or four knots being average and six to eight knots not uncommon. Going with the currents means a fast ride at 9 or 10 knots for up to six hours, time enough to make many miles during a day sail. Opposing the currents not only means a slow ride but often a bumpy one while the shore crawls by at a snail's pace and you learn every crevice and boulder on a particular headland. Evans finishes each day calculating the currents between the next day's departure and arrival points and determining the best time to set sail. For some reason that always happens to be 4 or 5 o'clock in the morning, but at least it's light.
We had the most magnificent day Saturday when we entered Scottish waters - one of those once in a season days that we'll remember whenever we think of this summer and our Scotland trip. Hawk spread her wings wide and we flew from Ireland to Scotland. We had 20 knots of true wind dead over the stern, the main on one side and the jib on the other, and we were making ten knots with the current so we only had ten knots over the deck. After having been hidden by heavy cloud for the last week, the sun fairly blazed in the porcelain blue sky painting the water blue-black except under the turning white caps where it glowed a dark green. As we closed with the Mull of Kintyre, the misty headland resolved itself into high hills, then into a landscape of convoluted folds and tucks, a wrinkled and unkempt topography, so twisted it seemed impossible to follow the line of one valley or ridge. A rich green covered the whole, though whether composed of field or forest I couldn't quite decide without the scale offered by buildings or roads.
For the first time since leaving Kinsale, we both shed our outermost layer as the sun's warm rays lured us out from under the hard dodger. Evans calculated the tides perfectly once again, and we had the benefit of three knots free while we raced around the famous headland marking the entry into the Highlands and Islands - the wilds of Scotland. We raised anchor at Brown's Bay off Larne Lough at 5:30 and dropped anchor here at Ardminish at 11:30 - over 50 miles in six hours. Lovely, lovely, lovely!
Gigha is covered with fertile soil which is in turn covered with lovely rolling fields dotted with sheep and cattle, but at the interface with the water the true structure of the island can be seen. There rounded and scoured glacial scrubbed boulders are covered with a mixture of kelp, lichen and wildflowers. These brown, gray and black boulders create tidal pools around the harbor where we are anchored. The jetty where we went ashore is surrounded by these rocks, and the bottom around them consists of a fine, white sand with large patches of kelp caught on the occasional rock or the legs of the pier.
Ashore on Gigha we wandered through the sub-tropical Achamore Gardens, home to Rhododendrons, Azaleas, eucalyptus and a variety of other exotic plants all kept alive in the winter by the tail end of the Gulf Stream. We explored the tumbled sandstone remains of a 13th century chapel, now filled with gravestones dating from the 18th century. We chatted with the proprietress of the local general store which also serves as post office and bank for the island's hundred or so inhabitants . Even the overcast weather and another gale warning can't dampen our enthusiasm for these lovely islands.
June 22, 2000
Kettle Pool, Loch Skipport, South Uist
Outer Hebrides, Scotland
57 degrees 20 minutes North, 7 degrees 14 minutes West
We're currently anchored in Little Kettle Pool, a small completely enclosed anchorage about 1/2 a mile across, just a mile or so from the entrance to Loch Skipport, a large fijord on the NE shore of South Uist in the Outer Hebrides. CCA members Pam & Bill Kellett sent us an e-mail saying they were in Kettle Pool and invited us for dinner. So, we made a quick change of plans and had a smashing 70 mile daysail across from Tobermory, Isle of Mull. We're now protected through 360 degrees by islands to the west, north and east and by Hecla, a 2,000-foot high peak, and its associated ridges to the south. However, katabatic winds whistle down Hecla's slopes when the wind is blowing a gale from the South as we discovered when we arrived here two days ago.
Low green vegetation, nothing more than knee high, covers the 200-300 foot high islands around us and the ridges and mountain to our south. Gray rocks and boulders lie scattered across the vegetation, glacial erratics dumped by a retreating wall of ice; rock outcroppings cap each point and headland, scoured clean by the same glacier 10,000 years ago. The sea meets the shore in a band of dark kelp-covered rock - just a line at high water but a slippery slope some dozen feet high at low. The landscape feels over-large, constructed for giants. Nothing ashore offers scale to the eye - no roads, no buildings, no trails, no animals, no fences. It's hilly enough to provide a strong sense of depth which gives the impression of distance, but it's not so high as to limit the horizon as in the Alps or Rockies. The sky feels grand and wide, and the land below feels boundless - the ragged end of a continent trailing off into a thousand miles of open ocean.
Yesterday we took the dinghy and ventured ashore, a daunting task where no pier or landing stage exists and the water level will change by six or eight feet if we're exploring for even a couple of hours. We landed in a small inlet after passing through a channel only a bit wider than the dinghy which we deemed to have adequate water that it wouldn't dry at low tide. Ashore, the vegetation consisted of coarse grass, thick, spongy moss and a low conifer-like bush (heather or gorse, perhaps) which came up to our knees. The exact combination varied depending on how wet the ground was, which itself went from bog to marsh to squishy and only reached damp to almost dry at the top of the rocky ridges. Marsh grass and wild flowers predominated where we were slogging through bog up to our ankles; moss and grass turned to moss and bushes where the ground went from wet to squishy; and on the sides of the hills where there was some sort of drainage the bushes predominated. Both the moss and the bushes created a deep, soft mattress over the muddy ground but offered uncertain footing. I now understand why the book we bought on Scottish Islands regularly assumes an hour per mile of walking and refers to these hikes as "scrambles."
We moved from shoulder to ridge to shoulder wherever possible to avoid the knee deep bog of the lower ground. We passed a couple of ancient fences made from turf, now covered with their own layer of grass and bushes. We also skirted a rock walled enclosure divided into two rooms, about forty feet long and fifteen feet wide. From any distance this looked like just another random pile of gray rocks tumbled across the bog. Within ten or fifteen minutes we had climbed to about 500 feet and could see more water ahead, which Evans suggested was the continuation of Loch Skipport beyond our anchorage. But we quickly realized this water was about a hundred feet above sea level, and as we approached we could see Hawk's mast through a notch in the ridges which now separated us from the anchorage - and the water level of this lake was above our mast! When we finally stood above it, it made quite a sight. The inland loch was a mile or so long and maybe a quarter mile wide, contained by rocky shores and rugged ridges. It ended at a ridge beyond which we could see the top of Hawk's mast, and beyond that the islands, skerries and channels of Loch Skipport. Beyond that, a large headland jutted out into the ocean, and a white sail moved slowly across the expanse of the Sea of the Hebrides. The colors were all muted, the gray of the rocks, the dusty green of the foliage, the silver-blue of the water, even the soft blue of the sky, yet the air was so clear it felt as if I could close my hand over the tiny sail and pluck it from the water.
We walked further inland coming to a second inland loch, then followed a jeep track along a much higher ridge to where it ended at the edge of a cliff probably 800-1,000 feet above the valley below with a 360 degree view of the island. In the low land below us to the west, we could see another large inland loch with a small village on the far side, and then the deep blue of the open Atlantic where the island ended. To the south lay Hecla, the rugged slopes covered with scrub vegetation and round boulders fully visible despite its name (Hecla means 'shrouded in mist' - there seems to be at least one on each of these islands). To the north lay the ridges beyond Loch Skipport, then the lower land of North Uist and the open sea to the east. Both islands sagged beneath the weight of rock and ridge, and the ocean intruded deeply into the lochs on their western shores. The sun reflected off the inland lochs and the boggy ground, shimmering from a thousand pools and marshes. I understood then why these southern islands of the Outer Hebrides are referred to as "drowned islands" - the rocky ridges seemed just to be resisting sinking forever into the sea.
We returned to find the dinghy high and dry on a bed of rocks and sea grape which we skidded over to reach it. We managed to slide it the ten feet or so to water and push ourselves off before using the oars to cross the couple of hundred feet to the narrow channel now completely choked with kelp. Two hours later, the channel we'd passed through lay four feet above the level of the water in our anchorage. So much for our judgement of water depth! If we had returned a couple of hours later we would have been stranded for four hours or so...
57 degrees, 10.5 minutes North; 6 degrees, 10 minutes West
Loch Scavaig, Isle of Skye
July 3, 2000
We have had the most extraordinary contrast in the last week, ranging from a world class chamber concert in a castle hosted by the "Lord of the Isles" to a perfect anchorage surrounded by high peaks with nothing ashore except a backpackers' hut. The first occurred in Loch Dunvegan on the northwest corner of the Isle of Skye, the second in Loch Scavaig on the southwest corner, where we are now. This anchorage lies in a basin encircled on three sides by the Black Cullins, jagged, black peaks from 2,500 to 3,000 feet high. We are nestled behind a large island connected to land by a drying patch at low tide - the entrance to this snug little anchorage between the west end of the island and a drying rock might be 50 feet wide. Behind us, the walls are almost sheer consisting of dark gray to black rock jutting up at an oblique angle and separated by green flows of coarse grass and heather. As I write this, I can hear the cascade which tumbles down a narrow ravine behind us, twisting and turning in a gulch carved over eons, sometimes almost doubling back on itself. Above the ridge from which the waterfall tumbles, the highest peaks of the Cullins can be seen when the clouds recede. These are jagged, black pinnacles which stand stark against the blue sky, their peaks seeming to grow out of ancient falls of scree.
A path from the small, grassy meadow at the head of the harbor leads over a shoulder of black boulders and flat slabs of rock along a wide, shallow stream which twists and tumbles for a half mile where it exits from a long valley. In this lies an inland loch only ten feet above sea level completely encircled by peaks and ridges and surrounded by heather, grass and wildflowers in an alpine-like meadow. Almost two miles away, at the head of the valley, the mighty Black Cullins rise sheer from the valley floor in a wide curve which forms a stunning backdrop to this isolated loch. Here we are enjoying the grandeur and awesome beauty of wilderness despite the popularity of the anchorage - we have to share it with two other boats this evening!
Our experience in Loch Dunvegan on Saturday night lay in the cultural, rather than the natural, sphere. We attended a chamber concert in the Castle Dunvegan, the longest continually occupied castle in Scotland, being inhabited by the Clan MacLeod for seven hundred years. The current Clan Chief, John MacLeod, is the 29th in his line. He has kept his ancestral home at least in part by bowing to necessity and opening the castle to tourism. Outside the castle grounds lie three gift shops and a restaurant. But in giving up some of his culture, he has not become uncultured. He hosts the summer series of chamber music mostly for the benefit of himself and his family, with internationally renowned artists who (so we surmise) spend part of their summer at the castle as a sort of working holiday. A few tickets are sold to these performances, and those who attend are treated as the personal guests of the Clan Chief for the evening.
When we passed through the massive front doors into the medieval entrance hall, John MacLeod himself stood on the bottom step of the wide, red-carpeted ceremonial staircase to greet us. Our host wore a white dress shirt, cummerbund and black tuxedo trousers. His most distinguishing feature was a magnificent mane of predominantly white hair though a few black hairs still lingered. He welcomed us to his home and directed us to the drawing room. This turned out to be an intimate rectangular room about the size of a large living room with fifteen-foot high white ceilings, salmon colored walls and hardwood floors with red runner rugs along the traffic areas. The walls were decorated with a variety of oil paintings of various sizes, clan members from different centuries. Four crystal chandeliers hung from bas relief friezes worked into the otherwise smooth plaster of the ceiling.
A Steinway Grand piano sat to the left as we entered, the cover propped open with books with carved leather bindings. Beyond that, chairs were lined up in neat rows in two sections with a red-carpeted aisle down the middle. The front row consisted of a mismatched assortment of plump armchairs, mostly in shades of pink. Straight-backed chairs with cushioned seats made up the rest of the rows, with seating for perhaps 25 or 30 people. As the audience filed in, we became aware that many were regulars who greeted one another warmly and commented on the weather, their health or their particular attire for the evening. Six of us had come ashore from boats anchored off the castle. Another half dozen seemed to be tourists who'd seen the advertising that day. The rest were MacLeods or family of the musicians, including several children, who claimed the comfortable armchairs in the front row.
The performance was fantastic. The first half consisted of a song set sung by the Chief's son, Stephan MacLeod, and accompanied on the piano by Kathryn Goodson. The songs were French and German by DuParc, Wolfe and Fouré, all romantic songs of unrequited love and endless suffering including, among others Claire de Lune. I had half expected a venue for a good but not superbly talented son to make use of for the summer months. But the minute the pianist started to play, I knew how wrong I was. And when Stephan MacLeod's whole body crumbled as if wounded and his face became a mask of pain before the first words even left his lips, I knew we were in for an exquisite performance.
And so it was. Stephan MacLeod has a rich baritone voice with enough power to command the piano even at its most energetic. He sang with an absolute passion, his face and body and gestures communicating the very essence of the words and music, the soul of it. The second half of the program was Frank's piano quintet, the piano and the string quartet, called the Turner Quartet after the painter. With Stephan MacLeod turning the pages for Kathryn Goodson, six nationalities were represented - the two violinists were Columbian and Sardinian, the violist French, the cellist Dutch, Kathryn Goodson American (originally trained at Oberlin Conservatory) and Stephan MacLeod, of course, Scottish. All of the performers, including the MacLeod son, are internationally renowned, having trained in Paris and Cologne and Amsterdam. They all have busy performance and recording schedules, and have played with symphony orchestras of most major cities in Europe. To be privileged to see such fabulous performers in a salon setting where we could experience every expression and watch every gesture can hardly be described.
The most extraordinary thing, as Stephan MacLeod sang, was the uncanny resemblance between him and the portrait on the wall just behind him. The man in the portrait had the same long, thin nose, the same well-formed ear, the same black hair and dark eyes, the same full cheeks and thin mouth. He even had his head cocked at a slight angle and was looking slightly down his nose in a pose Stephan quite naturally assumed time and time again as he sang. The portrait could literally have been painted the day before using this 30th generation MacLeod as a model. Yet the man in the portrait was dressed in Napoleon Bonaparte's clothing, and even had one hand suspiciously close to the buttons of his tunic. At the interval (where we were served coffee and biscuits in the formal dining room) I had a look at the plaque on the painting. He turned out to be the 23rd Clan Chief, from sometime in the mid-1800s.
What a magical evening! We'd been made to feel as if we'd been handed down from a Coach and Four to attend an artistic soiree as the personal guests of the Clan Chief of the Castle Dunvegan. After the performance ended, I half expected them to roll back the carpets and start the waltz and minuet. Our host again saw us out personally, where the setting sun had turned the islands and the skerries in the loch a deep blue while sending sheets of flame across the calm waters where Hawk sat at anchor.
Rarely have we so appreciated our great good fortune...
July 25, 2000
56 degrees 36 minutes North; 6 degrees 3 minutes West
Tobermory, Isle of Mull, Scotland
For the last week or so, we've been very busy socializing after joining some 200 boats for the Millennium Malts Cruise. Sponsored by three single malt whisky distilleries, we've been on what could be called a distillery crawl from island to island in the Hebrides. The event has given us the opportunity to get to know a large and friendly group of Scottish sailors. Bagpipes, single malt whisky, barbecues and dancing have all figured prominently in the festivities. The whole thing has been incredibly well organized, with several days between events when we've been able to get off by ourselves or with a few new friends for some quiet time. Throughout this period, we have had perfect weather - sunny, warm with unlimited visibility. Right after being introduced, every Scot we meet says, "Now don't be thinking this is our normal weather!" We've begun to think horrible weather is a myth dreamed up by the Scots to keep the tourists away.
The event opened at Craobh (pronounced cruve) Haven Marina, located on the west coast near the top of the Mull of Kintyre about twenty miles south of Oban, the largest town in this area. We filled our water tanks and cleaned the boat inside and out at this, the first full-service marina we've seen since entering Scottish waters six weeks ago. As one of a half dozen American boats that sailed across on their own bottoms this year for the cruise, Hawk garnered her share of attention. As the boats arrived and the slips filled, a carnival atmosphere developed. Bagpipes would start to play on one boat or another, people would clap in rhythm with the music, then cheer when the piper ended his song. Everyone wandered the docks greeting old friends and making new ones. Colours were piped in the morning and evening, and the yachts were dressed as they arrived until a cloud of waving flags hung over the marina. CCA vessel "Nefertari" lay just behind Hawk on the dock.
After the opening muster, we had three days before the second major event. This took us back to the Isle of Skye where the fleet anchored off the Talisker distillery in Loch Harport for what turned out to be two days of almost nonstop events. This included a sunflower raft - where all the boats rafted together in a circle. The organizers were hoping to beat the world record of 197 boats set in 1985 by the Clyde Cruising Club in these very waters. They started at noon with the cardinal boats, four boats anchored securely at what would be the quarter points of the circle, then tied stern to one another by 800-foot long lines. They didn't close the circle until 6:00. Then boat horns blew, cannons went off, people cheered, and a helicopter flew overhead filming it all. The raft fronted the dozen or so white-washed stone buildings of the town of Carbost surrounded by the low, grassy hills at the head of the loch. Behind these rose the Cuillins, Skye's jagged mountains, black and austere against the perfect, cloudless blue sky. Though we ended up with something like 167 boats and didn't break the record, it was incredibly impressive. CCA boat Twilight was right next to us in the raft, and Palawan's tall mast with CCA burgee proudly flying was clearly seen a quarter circle away. After the sunflower broke up we formed a mini-CCA raft with "Islay" on one side of Hawk, and "Rolling Stone" on the other.
That night, everyone went ashore for a ceilidh (pronounced cay-lee). The word means "visit" in Gaelic, but the event resembled an old-fashioned barn dance. The band consisted of fiddles, a tin whistle (which looked more like a flute) and drums, and they played spirited reels and jigs. Each dance was different, but the basics were much the same as in a square dance with people linking arms and swinging each other around, or swinging from one person to another right down the entire dance hall. No one called the dances, however, which left those new to Highland dancing being passed from hand to hand, or spun around and faced in the right direction when they got it backwards. But everyone from six to sixty participated, with much laughter and clapping and good will. I have heard the Scots described as dour, but we've yet to meet even one who lacked an easy smile and an infectious laugh.
We had to do the distillery tour which proved very interesting. Some facts for those interested - whisky should never be drunk "neat" as the essential oils and flavors are released by adding a bit of water. The age of the whisky does not necessarily indicate its quality - as whisky ages the cask it is in breathes, losing about 2% a year and replacing it with air. This imparts distinctive flavor (in the case of Talisker - peat, iodine and pepper), but if left too long and too much oxygen enters the whisky can oxidize which ruins it. When I tasted the Talisker, I could actually feel the warm peat smoke coiling in the back of my throat...
Now we're back in Tobermory on the Isle of Mull for a CCA reception this evening. Tomorrow we'll sail to Oban where we meet my parents on Thursday. There is so much to do and see here, I'm already regretting how short their visit will be. I know dad's just looking forward to doing some sailing - he's boatless for the first time in 20 years this summer.
August 10, 2000
56 degrees 1 minute North, 5 degrees 37 minutes West
Tayvallich, Loch Sween, Scotland
Our Scottish summer has come to an end, both in terms of the weather and our own itinerary. The day Beth's parents left, the perfect summer weather disappeared as well, and we've had rain for at least part of each day since, breaking the worst drought in twenty years on some of the Hebridean isles. We're experiencing some of the first westerly winds of the entire summer season as the normal pattern of lows and fronts re-establishes itself over Scotland, moving back north from a prolonged visit to England where it created one of the wettest summers on record. As the weather changed, we changed direction, and we're now moving south towards Ireland. We plan to winter in Kinsale, near Cork, on the south coast of Ireland. From there, we should be able to do some winter sailing in between boat projects (for Evans) and writing projects (for Beth). Next summer, we'll head north as soon as the weather breaks, to cruise the parts of Ireland and Scotland we missed this summer. Then we intend to visit the Orkneys, Faroes and Iceland. After Iceland we hope to head toward Patagonia, though exactly how we'll get from one to the other remains to be seen.
Scotland has been a delight. The Inner and Outer Hebrides form a compact cruising ground of surprisingly protected waters which can be traversed in two days but contains so many anchorages that people who have cruised here for twenty years discover new ones each season. As in Newfoundland, for every anchorage where we dropped our hook, there were another dozen we might have visited but didn't. The islands combine natural beauty with abundant wildlife and visible history. In a day's sail, we would see a castle or two (some derelict and others still inhabited), the remains of crofters cottages or a Celtic cross, seals and dolphins along with the occasional whale, puffins and guillemots and a dozen other types of birds. At night, which still doesn't come until after 9:00 PM, we might be anchored up a seven-mile long loch under low, rolling hills with sheep grazing on them or off a brightly painted town of two-storey buildings or under the mighty cliffs of a black mountain range. We were rarely alone in an anchorage, but we were rarely with more than three or four other boats. Most nights we were invited aboard a Scottish boat and sampled a wee dram of yet another single malt while discussing local history and politics. Those with a passion for pubs or woolens or whisky or ancient civilizations or early Christianity (or sheep) will find much to occupy them while cruising here.