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As is often the case, it turned out to be even shittier than I’d feared. But once underway, there’s nothing you can do about it anyway, so you just take what comes. There’s really not much else to say about this 110-nautical-mile trip. It was very rough, wet, and windy, and I’m glad that, apart from a tear in the sprayhood seam caused by waves washing over the bow and a bit of water below deck (also from those waves), nothing else got damaged.
The Mull of Kintyre doesn’t have a very good reputation. There’s even a canal to avoid having to sail along its outer edge. We’d had enough of canals and locks, and since the weather didn’t look like it would cause any serious problems, we set off toward Belfast, sailing right past the Mull.
The plan was to time the tide and our journey so that we’d arrive at slack tide, and then ride with the current south through the North Channel.
We weighed anchor under sail and sped through the southern Sound of Jura toward Islay, carried by the tide and a strong wind. Off Port Ellen, the tide had turned and the wind was coming straight from the front, so we were hardly making any progress over the last few miles to the harbor. As always docking was an adventure in the strong wind, and it didn’t work out until the third try and while backing off another berth—even though we were trying to steer straight astern—Amy decided to make a large circle right onto our assigned finger dock. How nice.
I haven’t written in a long time. We’ve been sailing a lot; I’ve been worrying a lot about the weather and other things, planning our routes based on the weather and tides, and besides, Zissi and I also wanted to spend some time together and go on shore excursions. So the blog had to wait, but here it is:
The next day, cast off with the tide and sailed the 30 nautical miles to Oban. I hadn’t expected it, but we were able to sail the entire way beautifully. The Corran rapids were relatively unspectacular thanks to the wind direction, and we flew through them without the nasty waves. We even passed another sailboat—something that almost never happens. Just before Oban, a small dolphin came for a brief visit, but then changed its mind.
We’re sailing on Loch Ness toward Fort Augustus. The sunshine is beautiful. I just cut my hair on the foredeck, and I still have a little time to write a blog post before we get ready to dock. Yesterday we set out early from Inverness.
The wind just wouldn’t shift, and after a storm in Peterhead—during which one pontoon (of he one where Amy was moored of course) had started to break off and could only be saved with chains, winches, and a combined effort (in the end, even the welders from the big harbor showed up), it was clear to me that if I had to sail, motor, or do whatever to propel ourselves against the wind, I wanted to wait for a period of light winds. It finally arrived on Tuesday evening. Until then, it had basically been raining nonstop. I went into town a few more times, made some errands, and set sail around 8 p.m.—in the rain and, as it turned out, thick fog. Not very pleasant, but what can you do. Overnight, the weather cleared up a bit and it stopped raining.
Since then, I’ve met some nice new people here, removed the window, resealed it, and reinstalled it; dismantled the pulpit and patched up all the holes; and completely caulked the vent so that, while it no longer provides ventilation, at least it doesn’t leave a hole in the deck. Sealing the hatch turned out to be easy. The seal had only slipped out of place, and once I put it back, it was watertight again. Now I’m just waiting for the right weather to continue my journey, so I can hopefully meet Zissi in Inverness soon.
After a few hours of motoring at the start, I hoisted the sails, and Amy managed to make 4 knots even with very little wind. The wind died down even more, so we were moving very slowly. But I didn’t mind, because the area with the shitty weather toward the end of the trip was supposed to be closer to the Scottish coast rather than further east. So I figured: if I arrive later, I might actually be better off. Of course, that turned out not to be true, but at the time it sounded reasonable to me. On the second day, there was so little wind that you could see right through the water—and thus also the dolphins swimming under the boat and playing with Amy. We were still making 1.5–2 knots, after all.
The next morning, I continued on to Mandal. Again, I mostly stayed close to shore under motor power. The scenery along the way was just as beautiful as the day before. Shortly before reaching Mandal, I came across a classic wooden motorboat with a Cuban flag flying at the stern. I would, however, doubt that the man had actually motored all the way from Cuba to here in this vessel.
Surprisingly, there wasn’t a single spot available in Mandal, since the offshore regatta “Race to the Arctic” was set to start the next day and all guest berths were reserved for the racers. Luckily, I did find a spot after all, right alongside the road. It was very bumpy and noisy, but I didn’t care. It was only for one night. Tomorrow I’d be heading off to Scotland anyway.
