A LAST HURRAH
Gordon Baird enjoys the perfect cruise with old friends before putting his high performance trimaran up for sale
A bittersweet Scottish adventure with old friends
We created a perfectly balanced crew: a glass-half-empty pessimist, a glasshalf-full optimist and an opportunist enjoying the contents; hybrid and happy. I had been sailing Scotland’s west coast regularly with Eric, since 1978, and with Rod since the 1980s.
Two years ago, to suit our remaining health and fitness, I bought a Dragonfly 32 trimaran. A good size, exciting performance and comfortable accommodation for three or four; it was a superb compromise.
It was time for a late September cruise before Tri Mhor (pronounced tree-vore – translated Big Three) reluctantly went on the market.
My son Iain drove me to Oban, and we spent a night in the special Kerrera marina where facilities have been tastefully upgraded with respect to the beautifully remote location. Nearly 50 years ago when
I first sailed to Oban with Iain’s grandfather, the anchorage was foul, surroundings were derelict, ruined by the detritus of war.
Now a well-managed restaurant complements a fully-serviced yard. Nowhere else combines unadulterated remoteness with rapid access to shops, restaurants and pubs courtesy of a 10-minute ferry.
We set off for Puilladobhrain. A gentle beam reach with flat water at 12 to 14 knots, enjoying a cup of tea, sailing south to Easdale then circumnavigating Insh (Sheep) Island before beating back.
Puilladobhran remains unspoilt. We ate aboard in the company of buzzards and seals, watching the early sunset.
We avoided the trip over the hill to the famous pub Tigh na Truish, translated as ‘the house of the trousers’, a remnant of an English inclination to oppress the rebellious Scots. The risk nowadays is not being hanged for sedition but injury on a dark return over a rough path!
A sedate six-knot motorsail brought us to Oban’s short-stay facility where, joined by Rod and Eric, we enjoyed a fine seafood meal on the North pier.
A very unsettled week’s forecast suggested Tobermory as a safe haven. Unexpected light winds made Loch na Droma Buidhe more appealing; at the last minute we diverted north of Oronsay to anchor alone in a perfect spot only 60m
across, serenaded by seals, without VHF or phone signal, in perfect shelter and good holding – for a memorable sundowner.
Loch Sunart was almost deserted and it was no hardship to take this short gap in the weather to motor the few miles to Tobermory. While the availability of moorings and pontoons has transformed Tobermory from the 80s, the Mishnish bar – where we watched the Rugby World Cup – remains delightfully unchanged.
The next day Coll became visible through a gap in the weather. The sky was blessed with a reddish disc and a fair breeze. Our first visit in 1978 in a Rival 34 was a lengthy, bumpy windward adventure. This time, like a ferret down a rabbit hole, we sped across to Arinagour to pick up a mooring, another innovation. The £10 fee, modest today, would have bought 50 pints on our first visit!
In the 1970s Coll had a pretty basic public bar. Now the hotel has been renovated and diners overlook the anchorage. Where else in the UK can you watch a sea eagle while dining on fresh halibut and sipping Sancerre? A gale was forecast so we departed early. Breakfast on the go with a gentle six-knot sail was interrupted by a report of porpoises. Rod, a Hebridean Whale and Dolphin Trust volunteer, excitedly used a Whale Track App – 4G reception in the Minch! Sadly, no dolphins but a Minke whale surfaced close to us thanks to Rod’s knowledge of good practice (www. wisescheme.org/).
Tobermory is the traditional bolthole in a gale but we had heard there were pontoons at Salen in Loch Sunart. So off we went.
Before electronic charts, Broad Rock opposite the isle of Carna was a common unplanned stopover for yachts. Strong tide creates a hazard for the imprudent, but with GPS we safely arrived at Salen’s well-maintained pontoons following a welcoming phone call.
The gale arrived and we enjoyed a coffee at the well-stocked shop, before going to the pub. What a pub! One word: langoustines!
Apart from early morning salmon farming activity, we had a quiet night. Eric had to return for an appointment so we sailed to Oban via the narrow passage between Riska and Ardnamurchan to drop him off and collect Rod’s sister, Rona. We left Oban early to hit both tidal gates to Crinan, Fladda, the north entrance to the Sound of Luing and then the even brisker Dorus Mhor, or as we call it, Big Doris.
Unfortunately, having missed the tide by half an hour we got Doris in a grumpy mood. An eddy on the south corner of Craignish point allows an inshore, if slightly nerve-wracking, passage. Struggling with six knots on the log, a motor sailer abeam in more tide mid-channel arrived in Crinan an hour after us. We must have learned something in 40 years.
We folded in our two outrigger hulls in a few minutes, locked in and completed formalities. We pushed on to Cairnbaan. The need to work the locks ourselves meant slow progress, but an evening in the Cairnbaan Hotel was no hardship and Iain, fresh from work, joined us for breakfast.
Leaving the sea-lock, the old adage that the definition of a race is when there is another sail in sight was fulfilled. Unfolding our hulls became our ‘handicap’ – this only took a few minutes and we soon caught up. The thought of bragging rights encouraged spinnakers but with our screecher bringing the wind forward and hitting eight to 10 knots in a light breeze we pulled ahead.
Staying overnight at Lochranza moorings we decanted at Troon on the Sunday.
All in all it had been a magnificent week of sailing and in several senses, the last of the 2019 summer wine.