Cruising log
Readers’ experiences in St Kilda, Turkey and Poole Harbour
Planning a cruise around wildlife provides sailing pleasure for Dan Renton.
For me, sailing is not so much about speed and perfectly trimmed sails, but the chance to cruise gently and appreciate wildlife. I like a good sea-safari and our log books sailing around the west coast of Scotland are peppered with observations and exclamation marks – ‘Bottle-nosed dolphins off the port bow!’ – ‘Killer whale breaching!’ –‘A sunfish!’ – and nowadays we will deliberately sail to places where we hope to see a wildlife drama.
Not all sailors are interested in marine life, but as I get older I feel that part of the privilege of being an ocean wanderer is the obligation to be the protective eyes and ears for the sea.
My own attitude has changed radically. Back in the 1970s, I admit that when we went sailing we blithely dropped wrappers and cans over the side. That would be criminal now. The Ellen MacArthur Foundation reports that if nothing changes, there could be more plastic than fish in the ocean by 2050, so I am keen to do all I can. One way is to report sightings of key species to the organisations that inform policy on marine conservation.
So, when my brother, the co-owner of Kenbane, our Ohlson 38, rang to say there was good chance of seeing Humpback whales feeding in the nutrient-rich waters west of St. Kilda, we knew where we were going next. He’d got the tip from a marine biologist who works for the Hebridean Whale and Dolphin Trust, based in Tobermory. On the charts you can see the notch in the contour line where the continental shelf becomes the trench that runs up to Rockall. That's where he suggested we go, where the topography interrupts the flow, stirring up the current, making it a rich place to feed.
Six of us set off from Oban on 21 June, in glorious weather. By the time we had rounded the Ross of Mull, ghosted through the Sound of Iona and were half way to Tiree, the log book was already brimming with observations. We’d seen harbour porpoises, puffins and razorbills, several empty plastic bottles and a 30ft monster of a basking shark hoovering krill through a mouth like an open pillow case.
None of this was surprising. The waters of the Hebrides are one of the most important marine habitats in Europe, home to nearly 70 per cent of its whale, dolphin and porpoise species, along with basking sharks and seals.
Later, at anchor off a golden beach on Gunna, we drank whisky at midnight while the sun set in a feathery swirl of oranges, pinks and greens. All that changed the next day, and by the time we reached the sound of Harris it was blowing a hoolie from the north west and gusting gale force. We could have anchored up, but time was tight and we decided to press on. Fully reefed, we pounded through heavy seas towards the far-off cliffs of St Kilda, which, at nearly 200 metres, are the tallest in Britain.
Some of us were sick, most
slept. One, taking inspiration from the painter JMW Turner who strapped himself to the mast to experience the ferocity of nature, insisted on helming throughout the night. When we arrived at dawn in Village Bay, the anchorage on the east side of Hirta, his hands were blistered but he was thrilled. It was, he said, one of the best nights of his life.
The wind had dropped to a gentle easterly and after 24 hours exploring Hirta we set off again, sailing under the cliffs, dive-bombed by screaming gannets, guillemots, puffins and great skuas. Soon the wind vanished altogether and it became eerily quiet and misty as we motored over the slate grey sea towards where the coastal shelf drops away to 2,000 metres, 53 miles southwest of St. Kilda and 80 miles west of Barra. Hours later, the GPS bleeped to mark our arrival at the waypoint.
We killed the engine and scanned the horizon. Nothing. Scum floated on the surface. Two Risso's dolphins rolled. A dead puffin bobbed past. We watched and waited, eyes peeled, one hour, two hours, but no Leviathans. It was frustrating. The crew had trains and planes to catch, but just as it was becoming a dreadful anticlimax – Sploosh! A massive humpback whale surfaced, 100 yards off our port bow. ‘There she blows!’ we yelled, and then another appeared off our starboard side, spouting like a pressure hose. For the next half hour we saw three whales breaching, tail-flipping and blowing. It was an incredible display.
We reported our sightings of whales and dolphins to The Hebridean Whale and Dolphin Trust and our sightings of basking sharks to the Marine Conservation Society. While we know these species inhabit our waters, we know little about their distribution, abundance, habitats or the threats that face them. Reporting sightings of key species helps create the data that guides conservation.
As a sailor, sailing in a plastic boat, I wish I could do more to help protect the marine environment I love. As the oceans fill with garbage and are denuded of fish, I feel a sense of powerlessness.
The only answer I can find is to engage with marine conservation, report sightings and get involved. We did just that, and in July we set sail again to spot basking sharks off Coll and Tiree.