Pirates and lighthouses

on the Foot Ferry, approaching Ha'penny Pier, Harwich 

A day off in Harwich may not sound too appealing. But for us, it was heaven. We got up appallingly late (0830), moseyed over to the small Foot Ferry from Shotley marina which buzzed over to Harwich in just six minutes. The place has a grand seafrontage and many historic buildings, although there are lots of empty shops and closed businesses too. It was a calm sunny day for once, with blue sky and white clouds. 

LV18, later Radio Caroline et al

Our first stop was a trip around LV18,  the last manned lightship run by Trinity House which sits on the quay. Not only was it fascinating as a former light-ship, but it was a solid piece of broadcasting history too. It had been used as a pirate radio ship, by Radio Caroline and then later Radio London and Radio Essex. We saw the comfortable cabins used by Trinity House staff/DJs and the ancient music deck where the likes of Emperor Roskoe and Johnnie Walker had spun the platters. Lesley also spotted a prehistoric UHER reel-to-reel tape recorder on board,  like the ones she used at Radio One in the 1980s.     

Later we chilled out in a fantastic small cafe, read the cafe's own newspapers and reconnected briefly with the world, mainly Wimbledon. We've lived a life without radio, TV or papers for seven weeks now and it has been surprisingly pleasant. (Lesley will have to cram madly about recent events before returning to journalism in July.)

Then came a long wander around the quaint winding streets of Harwich, including the High and Low lighthouses which used to line up as 'Leading Lights' to provide a guide for incoming boats and ships. Unfortunately the shifting sands hereabouts meant that they no longer provided a reliable path and became known as 'Misleading Lights.' 

The afternoon was rounded off sitting on the quayside at another cafe, drinking hot chocolate and watching the constant parade of yachts and pilot boats and container ships plying to and fro across a backdrop of Felixstowe's mammoth cranes.  A magnificent Thames barge came barrelling across, all sail up with two knots of tide pushing her east. It was a strange moment to see a trading vessel from the past silhouetted against the great framework of modern cranes which handle most of our imported household goods.         

Upwind joy

Yesterday in Lowestoft was one of those mythical 'rest days'; true we had a leisurely breakfast with our departing crew member David, and we did spend an hour looking round the town - but after that it was shopping, washing, cleaning, passage planning, oh and blogging.

Up at 0530 this morning, to be off down river at 0630 to catch the bridge-opening slot at 0700 - if you're late they don't wait for you.  Then out of Lowestoft harbour entrance ... a much calmer experience than our entry on Sat.  The forecast was for a decent wind (F4-5) from a decent direction (NW to W) which would give us a good sail south; we therefore decided to skip Southwold, the Deben and the Ore (we'll be back) and do the 40 miles to Harwich.

The forecast was close - we had F5-6 (glad we put one reef in) from WSW, so we were close-hauled.  With an average of 20kn of wind and a fair tide of 2-3 kn we screamed south at btw 8 and 9kn - that's fast for a cruising yacht.  An absolutely splendid sail for almost 5 hours, though often hard work due to the gusts and also the strange rips and bumps around Orford Ness even though we were a mile off.  Sizewell and Aldeburgh came and went, almost in a blur.  No wildlife at all - despite what was said in an earlier blog, we miss the guillemots which have been absent since Flamborough Head presumably because there are no longer cliffs for them to nest.  The leaden skies didn't quite rain on us - in this whole journey we have had remarkably little rain whilst sailing (motoring).

the iconic Felixstowe cranes from Shotley marina

As we approached Felixstowe the wind was finally on the nose and there are specific routes for yachts to follow in order to avoid the big ships.  (Did you know that 80% of the goods imported to the UK come through Felixstowe docks?)  So we motor-sailed and then dropped the sails before entering the confluence of the Rivers Orwell and Stour.  We were feeling pretty tired, and also in need of 95L of diesel, so decided to go into Shotley Marina on the peninsula looking south to Harwich and east to Felixstowe.  

view from Butt & Oyster at low tide

Lesley's family friend, Rosie, lives nearby and came to see the boat.  Rosie also drove us to the famous Butt & Oyster pub at Pin Mill where an excellent meal was dispatched whilst viewing the acres of mud at low tide. 

The long haul

On Friday afternoon we set off on the long-anticipated leg of more than a hundred miles which would take 24 hours non-stop, from the commercial port of Grimsby, crossing over the Wash and across the top of Norfolk, down to Lowestoft. Thank heaven we had Lesley's cousin Dave (experienced sailor) as our capable and phlegmatic crew. We worked 2 hour watches with one person on standby and one asleep or resting.

The weather was kind (F1-2) when we left Grimsby, though as soon as we popped out of the harbour entrance, there was a large tanker looming for us to contend with. And there were lots more large vessels to watch for around the Humber channel. However we spotted cheery seals in the water and the sun came out. The forecast was for SW 5 to 6 which should allow us a decent sail for much of the trip.

Dave is sailing

Guess what? the wind was on the nose, East South East, which meant more motor-sailing. But for a short while we decided to forget our passage timetable and just sail. We tacked back and forth in 15 knots of wind (zig-zagged for the non-sailors among you) wasting time and thoroughly enjoying ourselves; SIRENA came to life as the elegant sailing yacht she really is. Then alas we had to put the engine on again. 


    

Moon and a buoy

Eight hours into the trip, late on Midsummer's Day, the wind started building and after midnight Nic decided to put one reef in the main. By one o clock it was blowing F6.  By three, the sky was already beginning to get light and the wind moderated. At 4.30am  Lesley and Dave saw the sun rise in a blaze of pink glory, and two rainbows shone out of a strange mound of cloud which looked like smoke.

Getting seriously rough

Soon after, off the town of Cromer in Norfolk, the wind had built some more and we took the decision to put a second reef in the main. The Met Office forecast for the sea area Humber suggested winds could reach F8, though we were close in to land so it shouldn't reach that extreme where we were going. However even the inshore waters forecast was expecting F7 and spoke of an 'unusually vigorous' depression swinging in. 


By 0900 it was blowing a 'hooly': we had gusts of 32 knots, the top end of Force Seven. We all wore safety lines and gritted our teeth. We couldn't motor straight into the waves, (too big, too steep and too powerful ) so we had to 'tack' back and forth with the engine on, down the very narrow Caister and Yarmouth roads (channels). A giant windfarm workboat called REM Supplier came up behind us in the narrow bit, and we had to contact him on the radio to tell him not to alter course for us, we would tack around him. 

At 1100 we had a leak from our hatch on to charts below - they got rather damp and salty, due to seas crashing on the coachroof, and on us too! Whoever was on the helm, or sitting outside, was constantly drenched by gusts of spray - the salt water got in your eyes and stung terribly but it happened so often you just forgot about it.  By now the windspeed indicator was reading 34 and 35 knots - which is Force 8, and officially a gale.

We knew the harbour entrance at Lowestoft was narrow and in the words of the pilot book, was 'lively' in anything over a Force 4. What could we do but go on- we couldn't go back 100 miles to Grimsby and there was no good refuge nearby. SIRENA ploughed bravely through the giant seas - her long keel making life easier than it would be in a modern boat, though it still felt like being inside a washing machine for the spin cycle.  

Inside the harbour looking out - aaargh

The last few miles were like pulling teeth - by now the strong tide was also against us and we crept slowly from side to side of the shallow channel leading to Lowestoft, buffeted madly. We were wet to the skin, tired out but driven by shedloads of adrenaline. Finally, with Nic on the helm, we saw the twin lighthouses marking the harbour entrance. No-one said 'can we get in, or will we be smashed on the wall?' We just had to think positively. Nic pointed her nose at the middle of the entrance, which had a maelstrom of huge waves breaking across it, raised the engine revs higher than ever before and drove her forward. 'Watch this for steering' he shouted as he wrestled the wheel from lock to lock. Seconds later, we were through in one piece, with Dave and Lesley cheering and clapping an amazing feat of helmsmanship. The long haul was over - 22 hours and 116 nautical miles.

£4 an hour

Ooh look - the anchor ball

Last night we arrived at Scarborough when there still wasn't enough tide for us to get into the harbour, and took the decision to anchor for an hour or so in the pretty bay. There was no wind but an ugly rolling swell which made it extremely difficult to cook a pan of boiling pasta!  The three of us ate our bowlfuls of food in the cockpit, to the incongruous sounds of church bell practice, which came floating across the water. It was a calm blue evening, and four teams of red-faced rowers passed us, having a close race.

At nine-thirty we set off for the inner harbour, creeping in warily and watching the echo sounder like hawks, under strict instructions from the harbourmaster. Once safely in, we had showers and a brief drink in the welcoming Yacht Club next to the lighthouse, which has a cracking view of the bright lights of Scarborough.

Scarborough Bay

The cost was 28 pounds for our brief berth for the night. We arrived at 10pm and left at 5am. We worked it out that we were paying 4 pounds an hour for the privilege of sleeping in the marina!

0430 in Scarborough Harbour

The early start was designed for us to get into Grimsby Fish Dock, 65 miles away, when the lock was open. It was another 12-hour day of motorsailing, with no wind and virtually nothing to see en route. But there was plenty of fun, with David there to talk to, and a stream of cod Yorkshire accents echoing through the boat.

And briefly, Lesley and David saw a different sort of cetacean from our usual dolphin friends - larger by far, with black backs and a single fin, each animal curving up briefly and dropping back into the sea without any interaction with the boat. We guessed they might be minke whales.


At last we turned the corner at Spurn Head, reached the Humber and encountered only three large ships emerging from the docks there. Lesley helmed the boat across the main channel between the ships, into the Fish Dock and the marina beyond, where John the berthmaster from Humber Cruising Association was amazingly helpful.  He even ran us to the shops in his own car. By then it had started to rain. Cats and dogs, stair-rods, monsoon weather. 

It's still drumming on the coach-roof. But Nic has cooked a curry and we don't set off again until tomorrow afternoon, so who cares?

Three Up

Leaving the Tyne

Another wind-less day (yachties are never satisfied are they - too much, too little, wrong direction) so motor-sailing again.  We took on 132L of diesel at North Shields so with a full tank we could motor 450 miles or so.  

Great having David on board, excellent company and with 3 people we have 2 hours on and 4 hours off.  Once again it's just a question of letting 'autie' the autohelm do the steering while we watch out for pot buoys and other boats.






Early on any possible boredom vanished with the arrival of more dolphins.  They only stayed half an hour this time, there seemed to be a bigger pod perhaps 400 meters away, and a few came to play with us, including 2 baby ones shadowing exactly the movements of their parent - we wondered if we were a learning exercise as in "this is how you surf a boat".

Just under the surface

parent and offspring

The extra 'off' time has been well used to passage plan for tomorrow, wherein we discovered that to get into Grimsby Marina we have to be there no later than 2 hours after High Water ... and that means a 5am start from Scarborough.  As I write this at 1630 we are passing the high cliffs south of Whitby and about 13 miles from Scarborough.  We are going to get there about low tide which should make entering the harbour interesting, according to the harbourmaster there.  As with most harbours, there's a shallow bar just outside which often changes precise position and depth month by month.  Harbourmaster advice is very useful.  We have just had a strategy discussion and decided we'll get on down there, but may then drift about and have our dinner at sea, and go in when there's a bit more water - at least if we touch bottom then we only have to wait 10 mins for the tide to lift us off.

Other than that, an uneventful day so far - to the extent that a silver object in the water caused us to detour to inspect ... could it be a lilo with someone clinging on (4 miles off the coast) ... no, it was a deflated balloon.  Oh and we just saw a seal - however seals hardly even get us on deck these days.

Close encounter

Monday started badly -  with another yacht noisily rafting up against SIRENA at 0430. We were due to get up at 0530 to leave an hour later so Nic warned them of this fact, and they went elsewhere.

Then at 6am, halfway through the usual engine checks, he found a big problem. A copper pipe which carries cooling seawater, had had a hole worn in it by the belt and had spewed seawater all over the engine. Nic removed the pipe. Things looked bad - could we get it replaced? No said the manufacturer. Our tight schedule to get to Newcastle to pick up Lesley's cousin was under threat. See the boatbuilders down the quay, said the Eyemouth harbourmaster. We walked down there with the offending pipe in hand, and 30 minutes later, returned with a welded and repaired pipe, at no charge. Bless the boatbuilders. 

We started off for Newcastle 4 hours late and this was a long twelve hour day. No wind, blue skies, motoring as usual, past Holy Island and the Farne Islands. And then at Alnmouth, the magic began.

We saw two dolphins, and they stayed with us for a total of 5 and half hours, until we finally turned into the River Tyne. When we knelt and looked over the bow, there was one of them, hanging a foot below in crystal clear water, swimming at our pace, with every beautiful inch visible. They would stay there for 10 minutes while we watched avidly, then dive under the bow and leap up in the water, but always come back to the bow again  where one of us was waiting to watch them.

The effect of seeing these wild creatures at such close quarters was electric. We both had massive smiles pasted across our faces with the sheer joy of it.  And it hasn't worn off yet. 

We arrived at North Shields marina at midnight and collapsed into bed. Today Lesley's cousin Dave arrived to crew for us. We're really looking forward to having him with us for some of the long legs south.    

Across the Forth

Bell Rock Lighthouse - 3nm off, calm day

Second time lucky - here's the Log entries:
Away at 0730, calm sea, no wind, clear sky.
Saluted Bell Rock Lighthouse as we passed 3m west of it.
Puffins!  One big black fin sighted, not sure what was attached.
Played with the Radar, got it working well after adjusted various parameters.
Flat calm in middle of Firth of Forth so motored in eight directions around the compass, comparing the Compass, the Autohelm and the Plotter GPS headings - now all we have to do is work out which one we believe, and what the deviation is on the Compass.
1430: F2 from East, motor off, full sails, making 2.5kn with 5kn on the beam.
Tightened mainsail outhaul, and moved genoa car fully aft - gave us another 0.5kn.
1530: slow quiet sailing is pleasant but will get us in too late, so motor on again.
1745: Arrive in Eyemouth, lots of boats including commercial and only one pontoon along the harbourside - after some thought we rafted against a large cruiser, and the Dutch couple on board were very helpful.

Weather or not

We were all set to go this morning at 0730 as soon as the lock gates open.  However on visiting the 'facilities' block which overlooked the harbour entrance, we noticed spray blowing over the harbour wall and a large breaking swell rolling through the entrance - uh oh, the wind has not changed to SW and abated as forecast - quelle surprise.  (Yes, the pictures we took make the sea look flat, so we're not publishing them - you had to be here.)

We consulted the Harbour Master: "it'll blow like this all day".  We sounded opinion of other visiting yachts: "you don't want to be going south in this".  We waited until 0930 (the lock gates shut at 1000), and it was no better, so decided to be prudent and stay another day in Arbroath ... there are worse places to be weather bound.

Bell Rock Signal Station - now a museum

Coffee in the snazzy cafe overlooking the harbour;  a very interesting hour in the Bell Rock museum (Bell Rock was one of the 'Stephenson Lighthouses' for those who may have read the book of the same name); the most delicious smoked salmon from the 'smokie' by the harbour for lunch in the cockpit; a little lite shopping, particularly to replace our broken thermos (the guarantee will be in a file in a box under a decorator's cloth somewhere in a house far away); fixed a broken cockpit locker lid with some ad hoc joinery, and fixed the Navtex so it started receiving navigational information again; family phone calls; decided not to take on 100L of diesel (half our tank) here, because the wall where we would have to moor threatened many oily & rubbery marks on our lovely clean hull.

We invited a German couple who were moored by us to come aboard for drinks and chat -  they are from Bremen, in a Westerly Merlin, and he sailed it from Ijmuiden to Lowestoft single-handed - they are heading for the Caledonian and then the Western Isles, returning in August.  We introduced them to ginger wine, then gave them a shot of Laphroaig as a taste of things to come.

Harbour time

Arbroath Abbey

For once, a day off sailing actually felt like a day off. Yes there was food shopping to do in the small town of Arbroath, plus passage planning for the next leg to Eyemouth, but we also went to see the splendid remains of the Abbey and ate delicious Arbroath smokies for lunch, sitting in a sunny cockpit.

This evening we ventured a mere 75 yards from the boat to the Harbourside Grill for lobster (Lesley) and halibut (Nic). And then we roamed another 10 yards to Marco's Ice Cream Parlour for dessert. It was all about indulgence. 

The pretty inner harbour

Arbroath as a town is making brave efforts to bring in yachts and tourists despite its obvious economic problems. It's not an easy place to get into; there are treacherous rocks as you approach and the inner stone harbour has a very narrow lock entrance. But Ron, the grizzled old seadog at the harbour office was a mine of good advice: after all he recommended the Harbourside Grill. (He's been a lifeboatman hereabouts for 33 years.)  He also suggested we go to the Foundry Arms pub to hear the famous fiddlers band, but sadly we have to go to bed with a sparrowfart start in the morning. As ever.

Footnote:  things are beginning to wear and break: the rope locker lid is hanging on by one hinge out of three; one bow fairlead is getting loose; the spinnaker pole had to be braced up to stop it clonking on every wave; the plotter refused to zoom out and pan now & again yesterday (by far the most serious); the thermos is not thermos-ing any more - cold bovril, anyone? Oh and the pressurised water system may be leaking somewhere in the miles of underfloor and behind-locker piping, because we have to pump out the bilge every day.

Dolphins and Smokies

goodbye Peterhead

Alarm at 0500, to leave at 0600 (need time for porridge before a long day).  Managed to leave Peterhead at 0615 with no wind and a large oily swell.  Put up the mainsail anyway - it's our usual policy to put it up while it's easy, and when motoring in swells it acts as a stabiliser to dampen the rolling.  We'd decided to do a long one, missing out Stonehaven and going straight to Arbroath, 65 miles straight down the coast - no tricky navigation and no nasty tide-race headlands. Put on the auto-pilot and sit back.



Arbroath (of the Smokies - smoked fish - fame) has a locked marina (the outer harbour dries at low tide), so if we didn't get there by 1945 we'd be out all night.  Consequently we did some careful calculations taking into account tide 'with' and 'against' (roughly 6 hours each), to work out where we should be down our long straight line at each hour - that way we could tell if we were falling behind.

he thinks we are a trawler

So the day proceeded, 2 hour watches: the on-watch person looking out for other boats (plenty of those around Aberdeen) and lobster buoys (plenty of those at random), and gazing at the coast (clear for once) and any wildlife (if I never see another guillemot it will be too soon); the off-watch person goes below and eats, sleeps, reads, and makes log entries.  Occasionally seagulls would fly behind us, presumably thinking we were a trawler carrying fish possibilities.

The wind teased us with the occasional F2-3 but it was never sailable (i.e. always on the nose) and it never lasted; we don't have time to be tacking, we have to make the lock deadline.  We only saw one other yacht all day, going the other way with a flappy mainsail (ours was beautifully tight :-).  We purred on, with a calmer sea, keeping a little ahead of schedule.

Then around 1600 it all changed.  Within 15 minutes it changed from SE F1 to W F6 - we briefly saw 32kn of wind across the deck, plus a lot of spray as the seas built up very quickly.  After crashing along for a while, and within a few miles of Arbroath,  we decided it would be prudent to drop the mainsail before the wind and seas built further.  Again, 'hoorah' for the autopilot - it keeps the boat into the wind while both of us drop the sail.  Then on we crashed, rolling more now without our 'stabiliser', cursing our luck that every day seems to end with strenuous effort, risk of injury, and seawater in the face.

Our curses faded when 4 or 5 dolphins suddenly appeared beside the boat, just a few feet away.  They shadowed us, raced away, jumped, came back ... and it's so difficult to photograph them because they are so fast and the boat is rolling.

Eventually we made it through the narrow rocky entrance into the neat little marina at Arbroath, tied up by 1845.  Switched everything off, got the key and code for the facilities, cooked up a stir-fry, and toasted another tiring but successful day, albeit with no proper sailing.  We accept that this part of the journey is a 'delivery' - we just have to get on.

Heaven and hell

Whitehills outer harbour - small

It's amazing how you can be thrown from the height of sailing bliss to sailing angst in just a few minutes flat. There we were scything through the waves, clocking 7 knots of speed in a 20 knot wind, both sails up in a close reach. The skies were full of cotton wool clouds, sea a luscious dark blue, as SIRENA IV sped east towards Rattray Head, the northeast corner of Scotland. We had set off from the charming little harbour of Whitehills where the minimum depth on our echo sounder was just 0.2 metres, that's a scary 7 and a half inches between the keel and the rocky bottom.  

This morning's sailing joy was what it's all about - why we go through the time and expense and hassle of buying and maintaining a boat, and it brought great big smiles to our faces as we each took our turn at the helm.

Then in the space of a few minutes, the white sea fog descended and hemmed us in, and mountainous seas built up around us. The boat was plunging and bucking, and we were in potential danger of collision with any of the big fishing boats that ply this tricky coast. For an hour and a half we sounded the foghorn (a doleful sound) every few minutes, kept our safety lines clipped on and scanned the fog constantly for any sign of a vessel. All this while SIRENA rode the huge waves like a trawler.  

When we could see on the chart-plotter that we were past Rattray Head, we breathed a sigh of relief. The boat had been almost five miles offshore and yet the effects of the headland and its fast tides were unforgettable. At last the fog lifted like a curtain on the land side, and the sea sparkled blue again. But the monster waves kept going all the way to Peterhead, the large fishing port whose marina we finally entered at around 6 pm. The boat and we were crusted with salt spray. In fact, if you lick your hand, it tastes like a chip.   

Long slog

Inverness to Whitehills:  61 miles.

High points: the haar (fog) lifted early; leaving under Kessock Bridge at 10kn with the tide; briefly seeing the famous local bottlenose dolphins; having a gull adopt us for a while (they sometimes think we are a trawler); the autopilot, that steered us all day; friendly reception by Whitehills harbourmaster.

Low points: had to motor all day; flat calm first thing (0530) and very cold; sun came out for a while, with a nice sailing breeze but dead ahead and with 60 miles to do there's no time to be tacking; clouded over, wind built to F6 and still on the nose even when we adjusted course along the coast, creating very lumpy sea.

No pics - only the wildlife would have been interesting, and it was too quick for us.

Time and tide

Monday was the first day in ages we had to do essential tasks - a giant supermarket shop, a laundry wash of almost all our clothes, a long list of repair and maintenance jobs and most important of all, using charts and tide tables to plan tomorrow's journey. It was, ridiculously enough, exhausting and at 10 pm we are still making lunch for tomorrow, with the half the list undone and a wakeup time of 0430, to catch the tide out of Inverness at 0530.

Your sense of time changes on a long trip like this. We've now done 470 miles, with about 550 still to go. It's often hard to remember which day of the week it is, and yet there are small deadlines to be met all the time - such as doing a fix on the paper chart every hour when we're on passage, or getting into or out of port before a particular tide window.  

Maybe that's partly why long-distance sailors do what they do; in order to lose the ordinary land-based sense of time. 

East is best

Our last peaceful night in the Caledonian Canal was spent at Dochgarroch Loch, at the NE end of Loch Ness. For once it was warm enough to eat dinner in the cockpit, while swallows darted around the boat, dipping on and off the water. Next morning we were off at 9am through the lock and on to the last big flight of downward locks, plus a swing bridge and a railway bridge. The crew, Tim and Alison were now old hands at walking the bow and stern ropes forward through a series of locks. When we were motoring through the canal, they took advantage of sitting at the bow for a quiet, contemplative moment. 

The last hurdle in the canal (so to speak) was the Clachnaharry sea-lock, where the tame, domestic canal was suddenly surrounded by the great blue expanse of the Inverness Firth. It felt like dropping off the edge of the world. A cheery goodbye from the lock-keeper and we squirted out, on the other side of Scotland, one big step closer to home.



Only a mile further on, we turned into Inverness Marina. The afternoon was spent sightseeing and charity shopping in Inverness while Tim and Alison sorted out their bus travel back to Oban where they'd left the car. We struggled to get a table at any restaurant because of the Rock Ness festival which had the town packed to the gills with visitors, but ended up at a cracking Tuscan establishment called Riva for a celebratory supper. On Sunday morning there was just time to wish Tim happy birthday before he and Alison departed, with much luggage, in a taxi to the bus station. 

Only two hours later, Nic's mother Ilona and his brother Felix arrived in their motorhome. Between the departure and the arrival was much frantic cleaning and polishing.  Ilona duly inspected Sirena IV and pronounced her 'a beautiful boat'. She had sailed in Sirena I and II, with Nic's dad Ken, when Nic was just a nipper. Lunch and dinner were eaten in their motorhome looking out on the various boats plying up and down a sparkling Inverness Firth.  

Monster Loch

It took the whole morning to leave Fort Augustus, because the swing bridge was still broken.  The lock-keepers were full of confidence, less full of information.  They locked down 6 boats together: us, another yacht, an RNLI lifeboat bound for Dunbar, and 3 slugs (hired motor boats) It was crowded as we all walked forward from lock to lock down the flight.  Then we sat at the bottom while the Scottish Highways engineer (singular) worked on the bridge - and we sat - and we sat - in the blazing sunshine.  Eventually the bridge swung, to a cheer and round of applause, and we were released - the RNLI lifeboat roared away at 30kn leaving the rest of us trailing in his wake.

all queued up behind the non-swinging bridge

Loch Ness stretches on

There was a brisk NE F4 blowing down Loch Ness ... yep, as usual, right on the nose.  At least the sea state was Slight (small waves).  We were determined that Tim & Alison should experience some proper sailing, so having got a few miles up (it is 20 miles long), we put up the sails (with one reef in for ease of handling), and turned off the engine ... bliss.  Tim & Alison then both had turns at helming as we tacked up the Loch, doing 6kn into a 20kn wind.  Short-tacking (i.e. 10 minutes between tacks) is pretty hard work, so after an hour and a half we had a brief run downwind to illustrate how much more pleasant that type of sailing is  ... and T&A discovered it is harder to keep the boat on a steady heading with the waves behind pushing the stern around - even little waves.  Then it was engine-on, stow the sails, and back to motoring.  

perfect pontoon mooring

Loch Ness was a blue inland sea flanked by green & brown mountains, with a blue sky overhead - just exactly like the postcards.  Urquhart Castle looked beautiful in the afternoon sun, with a few tourist ants crawling around it.  There were only a few boats around, and at times we felt that we had the Loch to ourselves.  Finally we tickled our way through the narrow channel at the top of the Loch to Dochgarroch - and  we saw another golden eagle, soaring around the nearby hilltop.  Then we found one of the last pontoon places to moor, right in front of the Lock that we will descend in the morning.

A delicious dinner cooked by T&A was consumed in the cockpit, in the still-warm evening sun ... the first cockpit dinner this year.

Fort Augustus

It was a glorious morning at Laggan Lock, and even early in the day the sun was burning hot. It was hard to believe this was Scotland. One member of the team - no actually two - resorted to shorts. We left at 10.30 from this, the highest point on the Canal, to start our leisurely descent towards the east coast. Going down in the locks was much easier than going up! We passed through two swing bridges, which were opened on demand and went through two locks. One of the lock-keepers was a jolly older woman who awarded the four of us a sticky gold star each, for being 'good boys and girls for wearing our life jackets'. We duly stuck them on our lifejackets until they fell off.

the view from the restaurant

By lunchtime we arrived at Fort Augustus, one of the main touristy hot-spots of the Canal with a beautiful flight of 5 locks and a swing bridge. The plan was to stay on the pontoons just before the locks, and that was just as well, since it turned out the swing bridge was not working. The word was that it would be mended by the morning.

Dinner was at the Boat House, a Scottish/Turkish restaurant with a superb view over the opening into Loch Ness. A perfect warm day.

Conquering Neptune

There's water behind them gates

Today was another early start (groan) in order to get up a decent number of locks. The lock-keeping day starts at 0800, and finishes promptly at 1730. The lock-keepers and bridge-keepers to a man and a woman are very helpful. However things do progress at a leisurely pace. We have made much more progress than we originally intended, because having got into the swing of locking, and the earlier sun having gone in, we decided to "get to the top" i.e. the highest point of the canal. 

Pretty canal

So we are at Laggan, past the inland end of Loch Lochy (do you think they ran out of ideas when they named that one?). From 1100 to 1300 we ascended Neptune's Staircase, the famous (infamous) set of 8 locks all connected.  Going up is much harder than going down, because you enter the first lock at the lowest level and have to hurl your ropes up 15 or 20' ... and when they let the water through the gates, the boat charges about as though trying to throw off its ropes.  Then two crew members (Tim & Alison) go onto the lockside and walk the ropes along as we motor forward into the next lock. Yes, we did remember to let them back on board when we got to the top.

Swing bridge has swung

Next we motored a few miles along the canal at the regulation maximum of 5kn, through 2 swing bridges and one more lock, and into Loch Lochy - where a stiff breeze suddenly blew up ... from ahead, of course.  Tim & Alison between them helmed an admirable straight line up the loch.  The french yacht behind us sailed up, tacking all the way - good for them!  We saw another Nicholson 35 exactly like ours going the other way - we called him up on the VHF and had a chat as we passed - 'Montaraz' that lives in Inverness.  (T&A have just arrived in the cockpit where I was peacefully blogging, and now it's quite difficult to concentrate - they are making me do a quiz.)

We are moored on a pontoon on the canal in the Great Glen with steep wooded flanks either side.  Earlier we saw what we all believe to have been a golden eagle - it was certainly a very large raptor that sailed across from one hill to another.  Now the wind has dropped and all we can hear is the evening birdsong.

Calm Canal

Yesterday's blog wasn't completed until 2330 and we had an early start this morning ... and now it's 2000 already.  Where does all the time go?  So it's short and sweet tonight.

Flat calm - not hot

Today was a 30 mile motor in flat calm up Loch Linnhe, through two narrow, shallow places watching the chart plotter carefully.  We passed Ben Nevis - well, it looms for a long time, and looms still.  We passed Fort William.  We are now in the beginning of the Caledonian Canal - we came through the sea lock into the 'basin', and are moored against the wall using our fender cloth and fender boards to protect our beautiful boat.

Ben Nevis does loom

Tim & Alison are "shaking down" nicely, getting a feel for the boat, having turns on the helm, and even throwing a rope or two at the friendly lock-keepers who help boats through the locks.  It's just a pity there was no wind at all for them to experience how SIRENA IV sails.

There's no self-service on this canal, the gates are all hydraulically operated by the Keepers.  We walked along the towpath this evening to see Neptune's Staircase, a set of 9 consecutive lock gates that take us a hillside tomorrow morning.  A large Norwegian yacht passed us earlier, and a large German yacht has joined in the basin tonight - it's very international.

Animal magic

Sunday was a warm sunny day in the shadow of the green hills overlooking Dunstaffnage marina. We filled up the diesel tank to 180 litres for the journey ahead and diligently cleaned the yacht before the arrival of our good friends Alison and Tim.  Once they'd climbed on board we made a giant Irish stew and gave them the necessary briefings about the heads, the housekeeping and safety, washed down with the Laphroaig whisky we'd bought in Islay for crew's treat. 

Monday began foggy. We were off on an organised boat trip back to Staffa and the Treshnish Isles, both of which we'd passed in SIRENA IV at high speed in big winds and waves. We got on a ferry at Oban to take us to Craignure on Mull and then overland to our boat for the isles.

Getting close!

Fingal's Cave from on land

The boat was a chunky little affair called Island Lass skippered by a smiling chap in yellow wellies. We set off at about 15 knots steaming towards the strange block of basalt called Staffa, home of Fingal's Cave. The skipper took us so close in that we were almost driving into the cave, great glassy green waves curling around us and the Fingal's cave theme by Mendelsohn playing all the while. Next he took us to the tiny landing stage and we climbed along the strange pillars of basalt which echoed what we'd seen at the Giants Causeway in Northern Ireland. The four of us took the well worn path around the side of the cave and inside where we could see the cathedral like interior, made up of pentagonal pillars of shiny dark volcanic rock. 

After an hour it was back to Island Lass and we headed to Lunga, one of the Treshnish isles. If Staffa had been extraordinary, Lunga was awe inspiring. We scrambled up our first cliff walk and were plunged into Puffin World. These cheeky clown-like birds were popping up from their burrows like clockwork toys, only feet away from the humans who were photographing them.  They were charming beyond words, except when they decided to have a projectile poo into the air behind them. There were other birds including skuas and fulmars and shags. The grassy cliffs were dotted with bluebells and primrose and daisy,  and through the mist you could see the surf of neighbouring rocks and hundreds of puffins bobbing on the water. It was a strange and blissful place and the two hours there flew by.

Back on the boat,  the show was not over yet. We saw grey seals basking on a rock, stags outlined against a crag - and most unbelievable of all, a huge white-tailed sea eagle perched on a dead tree. 

It had been a day of completely calm seas, which is the only time you can land on the islands. We all felt so lucky that the weather had made it possible. Maybe someday we will come back on SIRENA IV to anchor off the islands and land there again.

Downwind joy

Downwind under foresail

Sailing down the Sound of Mull: this is what it's all about. Lovely sailing downwind, just the foresail (genoa) giving us 4-5 knots of speed. Around us are lots of yachts and the occasional ferry and commercial vessel and the most fantastic scenery (that the camera simply doesn't capture).  The navigation is easy except when a key mark, Lady Rock, was hidden behind another yacht which caused a frisson of excitement as in "where's the b****y mark, I'm not sure of the bearing... which means the direction to steer for non-yachties.

View from the helm, including "satnav for sea"

This is clearly a wonderful cruising ground with lots of options and places to visit - most of which we have swept by because we have a schedule. Tobermory would make a fantastic base: if the weather's rough you can go inwards to relatively sheltered waters and lochs, and when the weather is settled you could go outside - north to Skye or south to Iona.  We did a bit of the outside in fairly rough weather which was slightly hard work - the boat is considerably stronger than its occupants, and that's undoubtedly the right way round.

Lismore lighthouse

The vast panorama that opens up as you sail down the Sound of Mull is breath-taking. Green hills and darker mountains on all sides and huge expanses of blue water.  Every now and then a line of clouds pass over, dropping some rain and boosting the wind, and then it calms down again and the sun comes out.  For the yachties, we were getting NW F3 increasing to F6 for 10-15 minutes. You could see it coming on the water, and each time SIRENA IV surged forward and the helmsman/woman might let out a cry of "woo hoo".

Now we are moored up in Dunstaffnage, 3 miles north of Oban: it's a very pretty little bay that is stuffed with yachts and motor cruisers.