The plan was to sail across to the nearest part of Scotland and drop in on
the Ridgeways in Loch Laxford. Honest. But over lunch in the bar of the
'Caley' in Stornaway we had realised that this was likely to mean arriving
in the middle of the night - especially if we had another round - so we
thought it would be rather nifty to sail on till dawn, round Cape Wrath and
put into the first port on Scotland's Northern coast, Loch Eriboll.
So that
was what we were thinking of when we set off in the late afternoon sun and
tacked along the south coast of the Eye Peninsula to Abba's tune of 'So long, see you honey'
played for us by Isles Radio. Some of the tacking was necessary in order to
avoid the fishing vessels who were plying their trade there, and some
occurred because Frank and Voltair couldn't agree which way to go. Frank
knew where he wanted to go, but somehow Voltair was just not getting the
message. Eventually however, we settled down into a steady five knot
close-hauled course more or less due East, which was not exactly the
direction that we wanted, but Robin said that maybe the wind would shift
during the night - and the others muttered that that was not what was
forecast.
In the early hours of the morning as we approached mainland
Scotland, some miles south of Loch Laxford, the wind dropped to 10 knots
and we furled the genoa and set course directly up wind with Perkins and
George doing their best for us.
Thus it was that Robin came on watch at 7 in the morning to the magnificent
sight of the cliffs of Cape Wrath towering over little Voltair as John took us
through the in-shore passage. He pointed out the only hazard, the Duslic
Rock over four cables away to port and started to take photographs of the
Cape. After a while Robin peered out of the windscreen, thinking to look
back on the Duslic safely past, only to find the rock a few yards away and
closing on us sideways, and fast. A ninety degree change of course and a
previously unheard of bust of speed from Perkins, put us quickly out of
harm's way but woke the rest of the crew - and prompted the dyslexic essay
question.. "Tidal sets around headlands can have strong impacts on the
course of vessels. Duslic".
With the tide now decidedly helpful rather than harmful, we zipped along
the North coast and thought. "Why stop at Loch Eribol, why not the Kyle of
Tongue for breakfast?"
And so it proved. We rounded up between the two Rabbit Islands and anchored
off a small sandy beach, disturbing the morning siesta of the pair of
basking seals, who rolled down the beach and swam out to have a look at us.
The menu for 'Breakfast' took the somewhat unconventional form of roast
chicken, but it was being enjoyed at the somewaht unconventional hour of 12
noon. This meal was under way when the ever-watchful crew observed that the
depth reading was now zero and the boat was facing the opposite way to how it was when we anchored. The wind
had shifted to the SE and we now hanging onto our anchor altogether too
close to the shore.
Now, on the other side of the Kyle, there was a tiny harbout offering ideal protection
from winds of this direction, so we motored across
to find it. The only problem was that, while the pilot book said the entrance was
difficult to find and helpfully provided a sketch plan, the combined
pickled brains of the entire crew could not match the plan with any visible part of
the coast line. In the end we chose the least improbable gap between the
rocks and gingerly sneaked into a pleasant tiny harbour with just enough
room to swing a cat. But Voltair is not a cat. So we took the opportunity
to practise our new found skills in double anchoring - this time without
the use of a dinghy. Thus snugged down, lunch was finished, but we clearly
could not stay the night, so plan 3(b) option 21 was activated and we set
off for Scrabster, the nasty-sounding port universally used as the point of
departure for crossing the Pentland Firth.
As we sailed along, we amused ourselves by reading up on the myriad dangers
of this interesting bit of sea. The Merry Men of Mey were to be avoided at
all times, the inner race was only passable between 09:15 and 09:30 the
following day. There were tidal sets set up to send yachts onto each of a
dozen rocks at the drop of a hat. We were all looking forward to the
challenge when a new forecast came through - NE force 7. Well, that meant
riding out the half gale in Scrabster ....or going on to the West Coast of
Orkney that very afternoon. No sooner considered than done. A new course
was set - a nice reach just right for the spinnaker, which was unearthed from Robin's bunk and heaved on deck. This immediately caused a 40 degree change of wind direction so that we couldn't use it!
The spinnaker was tied up again in its bag, the vessel set on a close reach and
the new target destination of Stromness dialled into the GPS. The sail
across was brisk. The strenghthening wind giving us over 6 knots most of
the time - and the tide doing ... well now that was an intersesting
question.
We were equipped with various charts, almanacs and pilots. These provided
useful information on tidal streams in some places in our general
vicinity, some with times relative to HW Ullapool, others relative to Aberdeen, or Dover, or
Wick, or Inverness. Soon our log book was festooned with calculations and
the charts with roughly pencilled arrows. All that seemed to emerge from
this was that the tides were very important, and that we hadn't got a clue
as to which way they were going to be flowing by the time we got to any
particular place that we might get to if the tides permitted. Now this was
relevant because the tide in the sound of Hoy, part of the current route,
moves eastwards at 8.5 knots at Springs (it's Springs) and it would be being opposed
by a 20 to 25 knot wind, so if we hit it at full bore it could be very
disturbed. So timing was all, and that depended on knowing how much help or
hindrance the tides would give us on our approach. As it turned out, the
tides left us pretty much to our own devices and so we attempted the sound
just after half tide on the flood, when it should be running at its fastest. All crew donned their extreme weather gear,
safetly harnesses were dug out of cupboards and checked over, lifejackets
were issued all round, and the portable VHF was brought up on deck just in
case.
And then we sailed down the sound with it scarcely even rippling! It added
at most a couple of knots to our speed as we swung a left out of the stream
into Stromness harbour. We felt as if we had dressed for dinner only to be
served a dripping sandwich.
"Ah, you just made it in time", said the pair of old sea dogs off Nasseem
II who took our lines as we came alongside the outermost finger of the new
Marina at around 11 pm . We thought they were referring to the
deteriorating weather, but it turned out later they meant the folk
festival.
After the mandatory whisky and late supper - a delicious dish of lightly
fried prawns in an entrancing sauce - we went to bed some hundred miles
from the destination we had planned before entering the bar in Stornoway..
Ah well, that's sailing.