SAILING SOLO IN SCOTLAND
After nine Arctic seasons, Brian Black took a year off to restore a Seastream 34 and sail her at his own pace along the west coast of Scotland
When he found himself without crew, Brian Black sailed solo from Strangford to Skye at his own pace
Isn’t it great when a plan comes together? I
Well, maybe the sea gods have a sense of humour because time after time my best laid plots and schemes turn pearshaped and flexible thinking becomes the order of the day.
When my wife Les and I bought our Seastream 34, Pavane, as a project boat in 2017, it was no exception. We anticipated, correctly as it turned out, that we were in for at least a long, hard year of replacement and refurbishment, the anticipated features being the engine, gearbox, stern gear and new wiring throughout. However, as the work progressed a new list presented itself daily in the form of dribbling window seals, insufficient lockers and stowage, tired galley fittings and so on.
The reward for all the effort, of course, was that Pavane was soon showing her true potential as a comfortable and powerful deck saloon, ideal for the uncertainties of Scottish weather, and so we planned our first season together, revisiting the beautiful places we’d enjoyed much earlier in our sailing careers.
It was then that the gods threw the first spanner in the works. For various reasons
Les was unable to join me for the voyage, and my friends were all away sailing. I now had to do an entire rethink, based on sailing, single-handed.
I found that I rather looked forward to the new challenge, congratulating myself on having, at long last, become familiar with modern technology; the handy chartplotter, navigation and weather apps jostling on the ipad, the ever-present mobile phone and, essential for any gunkholing in Scottish waters, a download of Antares charts expertly compiled by Bob Bradfield. Light of heart, I cast off from my home port of Strangford, County Down, and headed for the misty hills of Scotland. It was looking good. I would be on my own, with no deadlines, no time pressures. What could possibly go wrong?
First it was the fog. With the newly installed engine ticking along nicely in a flat calm, I motored into a soggy, meteorological blanket. Time to try the radar. It was dead. I could hear the Belfast to Cairnryan ferries as they crossed my track, but pinpointing their exact position had become a major problem. I then remembered the AIS app on my iphone, and it worked a treat. With renewed confidence, Pavane, the chartplotter and I made our tentative way up the Irish coast and into the charming little marina at Glenarm, still without seeing anything, not even the harbour walls as we entered.
The strain of the passage had me early to bed but inspired by my new venture, I was up with the dawn and had the radar sorted before breakfast when I discovered and fixed a loose wire. With a sense of renewed optimism I made ready to head off into the North Channel, just ahead of the ebbing tide, for a sweep round the Mull of Kintyre and into Scottish waters.
The lovely, low-lying island of Gigha was a smudge on the skyline, 25 miles off. The popular stopover is in Ardminish Bay, but for me the prime anchorage is just around the top of the island on either side of Eilean Garbh. Anchoring in sand to the north of the spit gives shelter from southerlies while the other side provides protection from winds to the north. By this stage I was
I soaked in my good fortune, sailing a fine boat along the most beautiful coastline in the world
gaining confidence in Pavane, most things were working, I was starting to feel relaxed, and an idea was beginning to form.
In previous years, my sailing seasons had all been centred on passage making, notching up the sea miles, and mainly heading for the high North. But here I was, on my own, with no schedules to meet. Why not take the time and simply enjoy the delights of going where I wanted, as and when it suited me?
The Sound of Jura is the seaway that opens up the west coast and with Gigha astern a magical vista unfolds. To the west are the Paps of Jura, far ahead mighty mountains rise along the horizon, to the east the Mull of Kintyre gives way to the Scottish mainland and just at the mouth of Loch Sween lie the tiny Maccormaig Isles. In favourable conditions there is a narrow gut on Eilean Mor where it’s possible to anchor.
dramatic anchorage
I took the next tide up as far as the Gulf of Corryvreckan, heading for the anchorage at Bagh Gleann nam Muc. In previous years I had gone through with the flood under me, giving a whiteknuckle ride with the tide reaching 8.5 knots towards the overfalls where the Gulf meets the open sea. Splitsecond timing had been required for the turn into the bay to avoid hitting the rock off Eilean Beag. But now, age and caution suggested slack water would be best for the short passage into the calm waters of the bay where I anchored in sand.
This is possibly the most awe-inspiring anchorage on the entire west coast. a yacht can lie there swinging gently to its anchor while rushing water swirls through the gulf to pour off an undersea shelf then rise again in angry roaring overfalls just a short distance away.
Leaving Corryvreckan heading west then north with the new flood puts the boat in line for the lovely anchorage between Eilean Dubh Beag and Eilean Dubh Mor, also known as the Black Isles. There are numerous rocks around the islets, but a careful watch of the tablet mounted on the steering pedestal and loaded with Navionics charts made the approach easy.
Or rather, it would have done if the computer had not chosen this particular moment to crash. Until then the tablet had been a wonderful bonus to singlehanded navigation, but a small crack on the screen had expanded to make the instrument inoperative. Then came the next surprise. My laptop loaded with the Antares charts stopped talking to its GPS, which meant that, although I had the images on screen, there was no boat position. Of course, I still had the main chartplotter, which, unfortunately, had been built into the instrument panel by the inside wheel and was therefore invisible when conning the boat from the cockpit. My smug reliance on modern technology had come unstuck, a salutary lesson for any tech-savvy navigator. So it was back to basic navigation and using skills almost forgotten, to check the depth against soundings on paper charts.
Except for seals, otters and hares the shoreline was deserted
BASKING IN BALMY CONDITIONS
My next stop was at Loch Don on the south-east corner of Mull where there is a sheltered anchorage on the south side as you enter. The real challenge, however, is further in, finding a narrow channel that links the outer bay to an inner pool and then another channel, even narrower, that leads you into an even smaller spot. I might not have dared this had it not been for my daughter and her husband who had sailed south to meet me and who knew the way in. With the anchors down it was time to take in the scenery. Ben Mor, Mull’s main peak, loomed nearby. The shoreline was deserted and we had the place to ourselves, except for a curious otter, seals and some wild hares that had come to graze on seaweed.
Lismore Island in the Lynn of Lorn lies to the east of the Sound of Mull. A short diversion to tuck in behind the nearby rocky islets of Eilean na Clioch makes for a pleasant lunchtime anchorage while waiting for the tide to bring you past Lady’s Rock and into the sound itself. By now, I had forgotten about time and the only thoughts concerned where to go next. Through May and early June the weather was wonderful, a previously unknown feature of the Scottish climate, not at all what I had expected. In fact, at one stage I had to rig a Bimini to keep
white flesh turning pink in the pitiless sun.
The short nights reminded me of my time in the Arctic where the midnight sun seemed to fend off tiredness. In the vastness of Scotland’s west coast it encouraged many a sip of island malts as I soaked in my good fortune, sailing a fine boat along what to me is the most beautiful coastline in the world.
Next it was into Tobermory for supplies and then on into Loch Sunart where I found a nice little hole in the rocks on the north side of Oronsay. The bottom was rock and kelp but I felt secure in the calm conditions, with the boat relying more on the weight of chain than the anchor. I was now into my third week of the cruise and starting to get the hang of raising the anchor only to let it go again a few miles further on, sometimes two or three times a day.
It was misty with a breeze when I rounded Ardnamurchan, which meant that the sandy bay of Sanna was wide open to the Atlantic swell so I pressed on into the Sound of Arisaig in search of somewhere to anchor.
Several bays had potential but they looked too exposed to any weather from an incoming frontal system. Eventually I tucked in behind the Borrodale Islands in perfect peace and solitude to watch the stars with the only sounds coming from a group of grunting seals hauled out nearby.
By the end of July I had ticked off many of the places I had sailed past in previous years and then it was into the lovely yacht centre at Loch na Ceall beside the village of Arisaig to meet two pals from home who would sail with me for a week or so.
As luck would have it, the weather started to break and after a couple of stopovers we took a visitor’s mooring at Portree on Skye to let a blow go through. Despite a return to typical Scottish conditions, I was determined to make it into the secluded anchorage on Acairseid Mhor at the northern end of Rona ahead of the next blow. The island is privately owned but yachts are welcome, providing the beauty and isolation of the place is respected.
I had to be back by mid-august so once my crew had left, I set off for home. The route took me past some of the anchorages I had stopped at on the way north – Loch Scresort on Rùm, Totaig in Loch Duich opposite the magnificent must-see castle of Eilean Donan where a yacht can anchor in perfect peace. Then there’s Caol Carna in Loch Sunart, Mingary Bay on the shores of Ben Hiant, Duart Bay below the spectacular castle at the south-east corner of Mull, Rubha Seanach at the south end of Kerrera – it’s a long list and looking back on it over the winter will trigger thoughts of something similar next season. Going short distances slowly is definitely a good idea.