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.

A yachtie's dream location

Note:  photos have been added to the last three posts now.

Sirena IV on the right, bow towards Tobermory

Tobermory waterfront

Here we are in charming Tobermory, with its colourful houses and great restaurants. We had a day of laundry, food shopping and passage planning, interrupted by a fabulous lunch at the gastronome's delight, Cafe Fish (UK's best fish restaurant 2012).  We even fitted in a visit to the one charity shop in the village and a quick look around the Island of Mull Museum, to discover that the area where our boat was moored had been used for training ship's crews during WWII.

The number of yachtie comings and goings was hugely enjoyable. We loved watching other boats coming in to the pontoons either too fast or completely out of control...schadenfreude rules. 

Proper sailing

As I write this we are sailing north-east between Mull and Coll & Tiree - yes, 
actually sailing, both sails up, no engine!  Wind N F4/5, steep little waves coming 
from NE i.e. dead ahead (why don't they come with the wind as they should?!). 
Mainsail with 1 reef, genoa with 2 reefs (ish), for ease of handling. On the other 
tack with waves on the beam we were doing 5Kn or more, on this tack it's 4kn or less. 

Still the sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky, and for once we don't have a 
particular tide gate to meet for arrival in Tobermory.  So we're enjoying the sail.
Earlier we left Bull Hole at 0745 and were out of the N end of Iona Sound by 0815, 
comfortably ahead of the change in tidal stream.  

Staffa - Fingal's Cave on the right

We went and had a close look at 
Staffa a few miles to the north, the same basalt columns we saw in NI at the Giant's 
Causeway, and Fingal's Cave - nowhere to land from a yacht so we approached with a 
cable (175 yards) and took lots of photos and duly marvelled at nature's grandeur 
(whilst keeping an eagle eye on the chart plotter for our position relative to 
various rocks).

We then went NW, into the wind, motor-sailing as usual to maintain the necessary 
course, to see the Treshnish Islands - supposedly good for seeing wildlife.  I say 
supposedly because they are bleak, rugged rocks with nowhere to land from a yacht in 
these strong winds ... and we didn't see a damn thing!  No puffins, no dolphins, no 
whales, no sea eagles.

Lesley, who's just come off the helm, writes: it is a beautiful day but as always, 
bitterly cold. The whole of this month has been painfully cold. My usual garb for 
sailing is 2 sets of thermal tops, plus one silk jumper and one old cashmere, plus 
two  fleeces and finally the sailing jacket. Oh and my salopettes and beloved Dubarry 
sailing boots. Moving about in rough weather is slow and careful because of all the 
added bulk.

Looking at our sunny photos, you may think we've been in balmy Mediterranean 
conditions - if only. 

But the joy of sailing Sirena makes you forget the cold - and I mean beating through 
big seas as we have today, when she shows her paces as a thoroughbred.

On a buoy near Iona Sound

anchor choked with weed

We had no problems sleeping soundly at anchor lying off the island of Luing (pronounced Ling). Up at five to see the sun rise, with the pale moon still hanging 
high, reflected in the calm loch. We swallowed cereal and coffee and then broke the peace with engine noise as the anchor came up, swaddled in noxious patches of green weed which Nic removed with a boathook. We motored off to the nearby Sound of Cuan, a narrow opening where spring tides race at 7 knots. Lesley helmed the boat past whirlpools and standing waves, steaming along on a rollercoaster ride at 10 knots. 

Once expelled out the other end of the Sound, we set course westwards to Iona, with the dark rugged coast of Mull on our starboard side. We sailed on the foresail alone in cloudless blue skies, waves glittering in sunlight,  until the easterly winds failed entirely and regretfully we turned the 
engine on. Later the winds rose to become force 5 to 6, gusting 7, right on our nose. 
Navigation took some concentration on the journey, with many rocks to avoid on this 
treacherous coast plus tides and the strong winds to take into account.

Iona cathedral

Eight and a half hours into the journey we arrived at the Sound of Iona. As with all 
narrow channels, this is not a place you can push against the tide. We'd been 
dawdling to make it just as the tide turned in our favour. We could see the cluster of small houses and the grey bulk of the Cathedral on our left as we dodged the Caledonian McBrae ferry which plies across the Sound. 

On buoy in Bull Hole, looking north

Cautiously the boat tracked into a small inlet on the Mull side of the Sound called Bull Hole, which they say is crowded in the summer season. Two surprises greeted us. One, there wasn't a single yacht in sight. Two, it was shockingly shallow. We were arriving at low water but the chart said 4 metres even at the very lowest of low tides. It was mostly 2 metres or less, and we ended up picking up a buoy in just 0.7 metres under our keel. That's just two feet between the bottom of our 7 ton boat and the sand. There seemed to be nowhere near to safely land a dinghy so we stayed on board, close to Iona but not close enough to visit (much too dangerous to dinghy across the Sound and too rough to moor on the Iona side).

After a giant vegetable stew, there was time to read a book and plan the next leg to 
Tobermory on Mull.     

Perfect peace

At last ... at anchor at the end of a tiny loch, having threaded our way cautiously past hidden rocks. Only sheep, canada geese and a heron for company. A dinner of stir-fry tuna, veg & noodles went down rather well. Let out too much anchor chain at first, and when recovered found it caked in green weed. Tomorrow's problem - there's always something.

Northward ho

We've come to the pretty marina of Craobh on the Scottish mainland, south of Oban after a long motor/sail trip yesterday. For once, they have a decent wireless connection, hence the update. 

Let's rewind a little to Port Ellen on Islay. Staying there was lovely, and it was a triumph to have made it to Scotland after such bad weather. We had one day there to plan the next leg with charts and pilotbooks, but took out a couple of hours to walk over to the nearest distillery, Laphroaig where we learned about how peat affects the taste. In fact neither of us could drink any more than a thimbleful, Nic for medical reasons and Lesley because she can't take strong drink. 

It was tempting to stay longer but we have lost so much time through poor weather that we plugged on, leaving Port Ellen yesterday lunchtime to race up the Sound of Jura with almost no wind and smooth seas. This meant when we got level with the infamous Corryvreckan whirlpool, there was nothing to be seen. All was placid. What a let-down. Saw a fantastic rainbow after a shower of rain from one of many dark fronts of cloud. We arrived here at 2030 and had a rather expensive dinner in the plush pub which is attached to the marina. 

Today we've been wrestling with the route to Iona, planned for tomorrow, which includes some navigational challenges. Hope the weather holds, though often we seem to end up motoring because the winds don't suit.

Testing blog by email

In Inner Hebrides we are going to get no mobile broadband, but email seems to work, so trying blog by email. Will be short text and no photos. Low mist/cloud alternating with sunshine, gale expected tomorrow. Long story, decided to stay here 2 days so then we can stick to plan of visiting Iona and Mull.

Scotland at last

Arrived Port Ellen 1800 Sat. Lots of wind and lumpy sea as usual. Jammed foresail meant trips to the bow, lifelines attached. Dinner at the Islay Hotel plus a whiskey to celebrate.

Onwards

Today the graceful tall ship Johanna Lucretia sailed into our small marina at Glenarm and moored  at the end of our pontoon like a giant sister to Sirena IV. 

We have re-done the planning and the tidal vectors for crossing the North Channel. And for once the weather looks kinder. The gale has blown by and tomorrow morning, Saturday, we hope to set off for Port Ellen in Islay. There is a certain amount of trepidation, not so much about the sailing, but about the internet access in the Scottish Isles. 

Thank you for reading our blog, and don't worry if we go dark for a few days - keep the comments coming.

Riding out the gale

Had a great meal after John & Margie had stormed in on Tuesday - they'd had a cracking down-wind sail from Port Ellen in F5/6 - comfort food, stew, followed by rice pudding, with sensible amounts of whiskey, G&T and Campari (and non-alc ginger wine for Nic - 'sob').  Then they took us to the pub, which seems to close when the last customers leave ... 2330 in our case.  John & Margie were off south again at 0530 the 
next morning, racing to get home before the next gale arrives - sleep is for wimps when tide and wind dictates.  We didn't get up to see them off!

So yesterday (Wed) we switched to tourist mode, and took a very luxurious bus for almost 2 hours round the coast to the Giant's Causeway.  Lesley had been once, 25 years ago, and Nic had never been.  It was as good as all the photos - really spectacular - with the wind enough to blow you over on the cliff-top walk.  It's National Trust so we got into the heritage centre free, which always feels good (and saved £17!) - the displays were excellent, although they didn't answer 2 key questions: why are the basalt columns hexagonal, and does the basalt really extend all the way under the sea to Fingal's Cave in Scotland?  On the bus we had a great view of the turbulent waters between the mainland and Rathlin Island half a mile off - not going there unless we have to, it looks nasty.  Dinner was pasta/sauce/tuna followed by prunes & apricots with yoghurt - minimum cooking, maximum enjoyment - we were tired after all that unaccustomed walking.

Today is sitting tight and riding out the gale, tied firmly with double ropes to the pontoon in Glenarm Marina - trouble is, the gale is blowing straight into the harbour entrance so we are rocking and rolling even here with the warps constantly squeaking and groaning.  There's still jobs on the list, and we have to go food shopping inbetween the rain storms, however we actually have time to read our books for a while - such fun.

The best-hatched plans...

Tuesday morning dawned grey and threatening. All night the boat had bucked and rolled 
in her berth with warps squeaking in the strong winds. We knew the trip up the North 
Channel from Glenarm in Northern Ireland to Port Ellen in Islay would be tough with 
force 5 or 6 northwest winds, most of it motor-sailing north in tricky wind-against- 
tide conditions.

We set off in good heart knowing the boat was totally capable of coping. But two 
hours in, the seas built as the tide turned to be with us, but against the north west 
winds which by now were blowing force 6 and often 7. With a double reef in the main, 
Sirena IV was plunging up to her nose in the green waves. Both of us had our safety 
lines clipped on at all times. 

The huge  amount of spray was having an unexpected effect.When it was Lesley's turn 
to go below for a rest, she discovered that a shower of seawater drops was falling in 
the main cabin, dripping from the old metal-framed hatch above the table. The water 
ran down the headlining and fell on the bunk cushions and the beautiful teak wood of 
the table and the cabin cupboards. She tried putting gaffer tape around the inside of the hatch but the flow continued. 

It wasn't too easy moving around the cabin in the extremely bumpy conditions. We held 
a hurried conference and decided that there were 3 or 4 hours at least of these conditions 
still to go and it was possible they would get worse. The ingress of water would harm 
our main cabin fittings and could prove very expensive. 

Reluctantly, after only 2 and a half hours, we decided to turn back to Glenarm. Once 
we'd turned around, we were steaming along with the wind on our quarter, surfing over 
huge white tipped waves. It was disappointing to chug back into Glenarm Marina but    
Billy the manager was waiting to take our lines and had already called around to find 
someone who could fix our hatch or replace it. How long that would take was anyone's guess. 

Then came the good news, badly needed. Our friends John and Margie, who had been cruising in  Scotland, were now on their way back to Northern Ireland and were heading for Glenarm. We laid plans to cook a big stew in time for their arrival.      

Glenarm notes

Here we are, still in Glenarm, where the O2 mobile broadband is slower than a sloth, 
so no pictures today. We didn't set off this morning because the Met Office forecast 
fog, and we had quite enough with the fog y'day ... and that was creeping along the 
coast whereas the next step is across the North Channel from Ireland to Scotland.  
The North Channel has a reputation, and it isn't a good one. 'Lumpy' is the local 
word, which in our terms means short, steep seas that are very uncomfortable with 
lots of spray and putting strain on the boat's gear ... and it's occupants.  In fact 
the boat is the stronger - it's the crew that need to be looked after and avoid 
injury.

Today's high point was lunch at Glenarm's only cafe.  Somehow the rest of the day 
disappeared in passage planning for the North Channel crossing (to be attempted with 
various fall-back plans tomorrow, because we'll be close-hauled into a F5 with wind 
over a 2-3 knot tide ... the yachties reading this will know that's a recipe for 
'lumpy'), and jobs including battening down (modern equivalent = gaffer tape) the 
hatches.

Billy the Harbour Master here has been really helpful, and we fuelled up using his 20 
litre containers and 'dibbler' - a pipe with a one-way valve that let's you siphon 
from container to fuel tank without spilling a drop (must get one of those!).

Right now at 1830 it is grey and threatening with the wind moaning in the rigging ... 
so we'll see what it's like at 0630 tomorrow.  Our friends John and Margie, with whom 
we hoped to sail in company, were a week ahead of us (due to us being stuck in Fleetwood) and are now heading south from Iona, so we may yet meet in Islay.  On the other hand, there's more terrible weather heading towards us (and them) so we may only wave as they surf past us.

Someone asked for a map showing our track ... sorry we're not that sophisticated yet, you'll have to refer to your own atlas.  Maybe if we ever get decent mobile broadband again we'll look into it.  But do keep up the Comments, we love reading them.

Rain and fog

Saturday was supposed to be a day off in Bangor but was in fact filled with Asda shopping, clothes washing and planning the next phase of the trip. All this while rain drummed down without pause. 

We decided not to push for the long leg all the way to Scotland because we risked ending up with a head wind and tide against us in a gruellimg 14 hour trip. So the alarms were set for 0530 for a trip farther north up the Irish coast. However Lesley's night's sleep was destroyed by the motor cruiser next door playing high energy dance music from 3am. She got dressed and stormed out to knock on the window. A blonde 19 year old poked her head out of the cruiser companionway and sniggered at the complaints.

As we left Bangor, we tried to make as much noise as possible, using the bowthruster engine to cut through the drunken sleep of our neighbours. Once out in Belfast Lough where the giant tankers and cruiseliners go, It occurred to us that it was a bit misty. The fog gradually thickened and soon we were hemmed in. We decided to keep going using our chart plotter and the AIS function which shows big ships, their direction, names and speed. It was eerie and cold and calm, with no wind and no swell. We had no sail up. We took it in turns to helm; both of us stayed  on deck watching, listening and sounding our foghorn every 2 minutes. 

Every now and then it seemed it would lift and then,  the damned fog closed in again. Only flights of guillemots broke the whiteness and gave some context to the scene. Four and a half hours after leaving Bangor we saw high hills looming which confirmed we were just outside our destination, Glenarm, a tiny village with a marina attached.  Time to rest and relax, and vow not to go out sailing if poor visibility was forecast. 
       



Later we walked out to the Glenarm Castle Walled garden, which was rich in amazing tulips and a marked change from the yachting life. 

Rock and roll to N Ireland

Friday morning came and we had a late start - leaving Port St Mary at 9.30am. The plan was to go to Peel and wait for decent weather for the sail to Northern Ireland, a relatively short trip. But things went better than we could possibly have hoped. 

We had banked on making a large detour around the southern bit of the island, to avoid the notorious waters between the main island and the Calf of Man. But when we arrived at the scary bit, it was calm and we couldn't see any white water. So Lesley helmed slowly past the lighthouse that marks the channel, through strange eddies and turbulence. Once out the other side we were jubilant - we had saved 2 hours. That could make the difference between just tootling into the marina at Peel or stretching ourselves to do the whole leg to Bangor near Belfast, in the one day. 

We decided to risk it for a biscuit. Waved goodbye to the Isle of Man  (and the ludicrously expensive Manx Telecom charges for phone and internet use.) Nic enjoyed the new seat he had made from a plank of iroko which sits across the top of the cockpit coaming to allow a better view for the helm. 

The wind was northerly 3 to 4, which meant we had to motor sail again, all day. The sea state was slight to moderate but we knew bigger winds and rougher seas were forecast for later when we were closer to Bangor around the difficult-to-navigate bits.

11 hours into the trip and we reached the nasty bit. By now it was blowing F5 to 6 -  we should haven't strayed off our planned track but we ended up in the 'Ram Rac'e off Mew Island just before the start of Belfast Lough. It was rather like being in a washing machine, with the boat plunging and ducking and both of us attaching safety lines to our lifejackets. Earlier we had managed to put a double reef in the main sail from the cockpit, thank heaven, but it was very unpleasant indeed and a great relief when we finally turned into the Lough and towards calmer waters. By 10pm we were safe in the swanky territory of Bangor Marina. Starving hungry by now, we were desperate enough to visit a dodgy kebab shop 5 minutes from the boat to celebrate our triumph.
  
     

Lines slipped at last

Finally on Thursday the moment came. We blearily got up at 2am and cast off from Fleetwood at 3.30, intending to head for Douglas on the Isle of Man, as a stepping stone to Ireland and then Scotland.

It was dark and chilly as Sirena IV glided out of the lock for a final time. There was no wind at all but we put our mainsail up anyway. We steered carefully through the giant wind farm that lay in our path, and took it in turns to helm through the day, one hour one and one hour off. 

Later in the day the wind became F1 to 2 southwesterly.It was unbelievably cold - both of us piled on every stitch of clothing until we looked like Michelin men.  Nic played at setting up the 'new' autohelm which entailed Lesley motoring very slowly in circles in 130 metres of Irish Sea. Any passing plane would have wondered what on earth we were doing. The setup worked brilliantly and we handed over to the autohelm for the first time. Then Nic had a brainwave. We would change our plan, and wouldn't stop at Douglas on the east side of the island, to go north from there round the infamous Point of Ayre, because northerly winds were forecast and that would be pretty nasty. Instead we would keep going down to the south of the island to the village of Port St Mary and pick up a buoy, then go to Peel on the west side as a jumping off point for Northern Ireland.

        

We arrived at Port St Mary in bright warm sunshine, 13 hours after leaving Fleetwod  and spent a happy evening planning the next leg.