Sunday 9th July was our day to return to Oban. It felt too cold for a sea swim but Ros washed on deck with rainwater collected overnight. We had decided to leave Milo in Oban Marina on the island of Kerrera for the next few weeks, before returning to Scotland in August.

The many shades of grey

We set out at noon on the flood tide knowing the weather would be poor. As we left the shelter of the bay, there was a slight breeze – Force 3-4 at the most, so we set full sail, but kept the motor on at low revs to keep the speed up when the wind dropped. It was overcast, dull, drizzly wet and grey – many shades of grey. Later the wind disappeared completely and the sea became like a mill pond. With the helm set to Autohelm, both Ros and I were reading our novels most of the time, but when the wind dropped, we furled the Jib giving a clear view to the north and as the weather seemed to brighten toward the NW, the result was an amazing multitude of greys which were reflected in the calm sea. By the time we arrived in Oban, the sky was blue in the north west and we were treated to a lovely sunset.

Sunset on the Isle of Kerrera, Oban

We berthed at the Oban Marina on the Isle of Kerrera while Oban bathed in the evening sunlight. We berthed next to a 46 ft Cornish Pilot Cutter. Later talking to the crew we discovered they were between trips and were picking up 6 new guests the next day. Their boat was a reproduction built in 2003 (1 year younger than Milo) of an Isles of a 1841 Scilly Pilot Cutter (1 year after our house in Bristol was built). Both Ros and Ian agreed that they’d like to have a trip on her one day – she’s based in Falmouth (www.classic-sailing.co.uk/agnes-pilot-cutter)

After beginning to get Milo ship-shape we took the ferry over to Oban. Ros spent time in Waterstones choosing some books for our next sailing trip and the journey home. We had both enjoyed Julian Barnes’s The Sense of an Ending and so bought “The Lemon Table”, the latest Margaret Drabble “The Dark Flood Rises” and the latest Ann Cleeves Shetland series. We like to imagine sailing on to the Shetland isles next year, after sailing to the Orkneys. We will both be fully retired and should be able to wait for fair winds.

The reproduction Isles of Scilly 1841 Pilot Cutter built in 2003

 

 

Ros on the ferry from the Marina to Oban Quay, the new short-term stay marina (still under construction) in the town and the CalMac ferry arriving from Mull

That evening we ate dinner at EE-Usk ( phonetic for the gaelic word for fish). Ian chose scallops followed by langoustines and Ros mussels followed by fish and chips. An excellent restaurant, overlooking the new short stay marina.

Ros’s nth fish and chips and Ian’s Langoustines at EE-Usk

While Ros was in Waterstones Ian walked up to McCaigs Tower via Jacob’s Ladder, a steep 144 step staircase.  John Stuart McCaig had initiated the project in 1897 to keep the out-of-work stonemasons in Oban busy.  No-one knew why it was modelled on a Roman amphitheatre, but it makes an impressive sight on the hill as you approach Oban and has magnificent views from its parapet.

Views from Jacob’s Ladder and McCaig’s Tower.  The views on the right show the Oban Marina on Kerrera Island in the foreground with the Munros of Mull in the distance

Tuesday July 11th was our day to return to Bristol. We felt as if we had been away for weeks but it was only 7 days since we had arrived from Edinburgh. We realise how much we enjoy the remote anchorages with the hills rising up in the distance. Ros loves swimming in the sea and after reading about how good cold water is for the immune system she is determined to take the plunge as often as possible. We are already thinking about our return in August and whether we can explore Jura and Islay. Ros wants to sail to Fingal’s cave on Staffa and the Treshnish isles off the West coast of Mull. We sometimes fantasise about a bigger boat. Our aft cabin is very cramped and there is no head room for Ian who sleeps on the right hand-side. He has to climb over Ros to get in and out and surely we are going to become too old and too stiff for all this rigmarole or maybe it keeps us young. Ian had seen a slightly bigger Hunter Legend 326 at the Oban Marina and asked the owner if we could look around her. It was a relief for Ros to discover that an additional 3 feet didn’t offer much advantage to the fore and aft cabins and overall the design, wood quality and ergonomics didn’t seem as good as our Hunter Legend 306. Ian recalled Paul Santry, the original owner of Milo telling him that Milo was the showboat at the 2001 London Boatshow and was therefore built to a very high spec and has all the extras – comparing these too boats – it would appear he was right.

Waiting on deck for the ferry; the ferry arriving and Milo’s mooring for the next month

We took Milo from the pontoon to a mooring where we would leave her for a few weeks and were picked up with our luggage by the ferry that took us to Oban. We had time before the train to try the seafood just near the Caledonian Macbrayne ferry stop – “Welcome to the Oban Seafood Capital”. Ros ate a whole lobster and Ian a crab sandwich, both were delicious.

Ros’s whole Lobster – and that’s only a light lunch

A very friendly 80 year old Scottish lady from St Andrews and her husband were sitting opposite us eating scallops. She chatted away about the golf course in St Andrews, about how Edinburgh is too posh for her (although her granddaughter would like to go to University there), the awfulness of the Grenfell Tower fire and what might happen when the Queen dies. Ros who is sometimes rather anti-social rather enjoyed the conversation. The lady said that she had been married for 61 years and that all the 10 couples who they knew when they were first married are all now dead. Her son had said to her – “We’ll buy you a holiday for your 60th anniversary, where would you like to go?”. “Australia” she said. “You should have seen his face” she said, “before she said “just kidding”!”. Their chosen holiday was the bus trip they were now on to the Western Isles. “We haven’t had an argument in all those 60 years” was their parting comment. Her husband, who rarely spoke, adding: “just a lot of lively discussions!” We liked that. Our 49 years of marriage (on July 13th) is punctuated by ‘lively discussions”.

Always be aware though that there may be something lurking under the surface.  This wreck was revealed at the entrance to Oban Marina at low tide.  At high tide only a thin stake is visible in an otherwise clear approach – so beware.

We both finished our novels (Days Without End by Sebastian Barry and Birdcage Walk by Helen Dunsmore) before bracing ourselves for a swim in the sea.

The Paps of Colonsay and Jura

We tried not to be put off by the sea temperature recorded on the boat as 13.3 C.  We did not leave for Oronsay until after noon when the tides favoured the southerly trip.  We left the shelter of our anchorage with the winds on the nose.  We were not in a hurry and we tacked under full sail towards Islay in the far distance.  The profile of the Paps of Jura – were on our Port bow.  Islay gave us a good heading while tacking as the wind and waves were variable and we were by now feeling the full swell of the Altantic.

Anchor’s away before our tack toward the Paps of Jura – a long tack when Ros managed to finish another book

As we were towing the dinghy (not recommended when sailing) we stayed on the starboard tack further than we needed to.  Perhaps this was as well because when we did eventually tack toward Oronsay we realised that we had both wind and tide pushing us sideways from our intended destination.

After our tack when heading for Oronsay looking back at the Paps of Jura

Having satellite navigation really helps when sailing into these rocky anchorages, but when it re-boots when you start the engine there is a period of panic – are you heading for a submerged rock or not? That minute or so before the screen returns seems endless.  The Oronsay anchorage on its eastern shore is approached between two rocky outreaches –  there are then submerged rocks to be circumnavigated.  Eventually we were able to anchor in 5m of water over sand – just in time for lunch.  Ian had been reading a book on Oronsay and wanted to go ashore – Ros preferred to stay aboard and finish her book “The Sense of an Ending” by Julian Barnes.  Here’s Ian’s account of his trip ashore:

“I headed upwind on the motor of the dinghy and beached on a lovely white sandy beach strewn with razorbill shells. I dragged the dinghy at least 100m up the beach to be safe from the rising tide.

The dinghy dragged 100m up the beach as the tide was rising – Milo in the far distance.

I’d landed not far from what is now called seal cottage, a ruin that used to be the old coal store – apparently small puffer steam ships beached there to unload the coal for the island.

The ruins of the Coal Store now called Seal Cottage

Further on the beach was the boathouse, mentioned in the anchorage book but not in the history of the island.  It had been modernised as a holiday cottage (I presume) as the curved entrance was now a picture window and the decor inside more suited to someone on a writing retreat.  Perhaps in its heyday there was a water channel up to and under the arch, but no longer – it was sand dunes for at least 100m before the sea.

The boat house with its arched window.  The sand in the foreground must have been a water channel once.  The view through the arched window shows the inside – note the old bath on its side in the bedroom beyond.

“I headed inland and as I reached the brow of the hill I could see Oronsay farm and the ruins of the Priory ahead in the distance.  But the track veered to the right – a quick check of the Ordinance Survey showed that this was the right way to avoid marshlands ahead.  Oystercatchers swooped overhead noisily trying to distract me from their nests, but by keeping to the track, I felt sure I would not encroach.  It was a long roundabout walk to the priory but I eventually got there.  I was greeted by wild screeches which quite alarmed me in this isolated place – was someone being murdered? – until I saw two male peacocks with their splendid plumage climbing a fire escape at one of the cottages.

The Abbey had no roof, but all the walls appeared firm, despite the warning notices. There were the remains of a beautiful cloister and the McNeill mortuary chapel.

I only saw one person going from the farm house to one of a group of three or four cottages – we waved but he did not stop to talk – his track suit had something about conservation on the back – so I assume it was the warden’s cottage.  I half expected him to come up and talk to me to tell me I’d left it too late to cross the causeway – but he didn’t.  Oronsay is cut off by the high tide.  At low tide you can cross a long causeway from Colonsay, even by car if you take the right route.  I’d read in “Lonely Colonsay” by Kevin Byrne that if you attempt the crossing by car you must put it in first gear and not stop – never go in reverse and follow the proposed dog-leg route exactly.  If you did get stuck – the advice was, “don’t worry – stand on the roof of your car, the tide only rises – 2-3m at the most so you will not drown”.  The prospect of my car being completely submerged in salt water would worry me even if there weret no risk of drowning.  Rather than go straight back to the boat, I wanted to explore this causeway – it was approaching high tide so I knew I would not see it as a sandy stretch, but I wanted to imagine what it would be like – I crested the hill and there before me was a cacophony of rocks and inlets and it was hard to imagine how it would dry out – fortunately I had the Ordnance Survey and was able to work it out.  Also, in the distance looking NW I could make out Ardskenish House where our friend Daphne said she stayed as a young girl.  I walked right to the end of the track to see it disappear into the water.  It must have then gone through a narrow entrance between two rocks – there was no other way – so I could only imagine small vehicles coming to Oronsay – but I only saw one – a land rover at the cottages.  On returning to Seal Cottage and the Dinghy, I saw a lone Swan or Heron – I think it was a Swan, but I could not understand why it was inland, unless it was attracted by the buckets of food put out by the farmers or the ranger.

View to the North to Colonsay from Oronsay showing the road which at low tide crosses a sandy causeway

Returning to the Dinghy, barely safe as the tide was lapping behind it, I found I’d forgotten to switch off the fuel and I could not start the motor– I rowed half way to Milo before trying again, no choke and full throttle assuming the engine was flooded – this time it worked and I was able to speed my way back to an anxious Rosamund.

An anxious Rosamund waiting to take my painter.

I’d been gone a long time and she’d been wondering what to do if I’d had a heart attack – how do you send out a May Day, how do you even operate the VHF?  After raising the anchor with Ros on the helm – we headed east – there was a cross wind and my favourite Aussie hat blew off.  Man overboard – Ros needed the practice  — this could have been me overboard.  She turned perfectly.  I saw the hat but unfortunately by the time I got the boat hook out it had sunk. That’s the second hat I’ve lost at sea, but now that my hair is growing back I can go bareheaded for a while before I buy another one.

We returned to our safe anchorage at Loch Stoasnaig – there were two French boats at anchor, but they were probably heading south and leaving early on the ebb tide, whereas we had the prospect of a lie-in as the flood tide to take us back up the Firth of Lorn would not start until after noon.

The rise of the full moon in the NE over Jura

We rose at 5.30 to prepare to set sail for Colonsay. Our friend Daphne had spent six weeks every summer there as a young girl and still returns as often as possible. When the old laird Donald Strachcona was dying in 1958 he had given Daphne’s mother the old farmhouse Ardskenish for her lifetime. With four days before we returned to Bristol, sailing to Colonsay was just the challenge we needed.   We set off in a thick mist and soon the promised rains set in.  It was cold and wet.  Ian set a course on the Autohelm and sheltered under the sprayhood while Ros stayed below reading.  When we reached our waypoint in the middle of the Firth of Lorn we put up the sails. NW force 3-4 winds were predicted so we hoisted a full mainsail.  The course to Colonsay put us on a beam reach with the wind blowing from the starboard side at right angles to the hull.  This is the fastest sailing position and we soon had the engine off and were reaching 6.5 knots (albeit with actual winds being higher than predicted at Force 4 gusting 5 to 6), whereas with the engine alone we were barely achieving 4 knots into the wind and waves.

Ros on the helm approaching Colonsay while Ian has 40 winked holding on to his nifty rope method of stopping the boom banging with the Atlantic swell.

But after an hour and a half of fantastic sailing, the wind suddenly disappeared and we had to put the engine on again. Where had it gone?  This was not predicted either.  After half an hour on the engine, the wind returned slowly and we motor sailed for the next two hours.  We were then able to turn the engine off at last and sail again (it’s so peaceful when it is sail-only) but the wind had veered WSW and so we were nearer tacking than reaching.  By the time we reached Colonsay the sun had started to greet us – we hoped this was a good omen as the next day promised to be sunny.

Taking advice from Warlow’s Scottish Anchorages we decided to anchor in Loch Stoasnaig, a sandy bay just South of Scalasaig where the Caledonian MacBride ferry lands. Fortified by a huge fry-up and forty-winks on deck  we decided to take the tender ashore and walk to Scalasaig. We followed the shore line, startling some oyster catchers who circled and shrieked above us. Being careful not to trample the wild flowers underfoot we just about managed to find a sheep’s track to Scalasaig. We had read about the book shop and in the distance seeing “OPEN” on the book shop’s wall, quickened our pace to arrive before 5.30.  We chatted to the bookshop owner and learned that the bookshop is linked to the publishing House of Lochar on the Isle of Colonsay. Ian was delighted to buy the ordnance survey map of Colonsay and Oronsay and a book “Lonely Colonsay” written by Kevin Byrne (who turned out to be the husband of the lady in the bookshop). Ros bought the last novel written by Neil Gunn, “The Other  Landscape”. Both books were published by the House of Lochar.

From the bookshop we strolled across to the Pantry café to study the menu and then decided to walk up the hill to see what the Colonsay Hotel had to offer. We had a drink in the bar where Ian sampled the local beer.

The local beers

We managed to book a table by the window for dinner and enjoyed a magnificent view over the water and watching the 7.00 Caledonian Macbray ferry landing.  Earlier Ian had order Langoustines as a starter, but had to change to herring pate when told they were coming over fresh from Oban on the ferry.  He was very envious of the table next to us when a plateful of delicious looking Langoustines arrived while we were enjoying our desert.  When we’d walked the road to the hotel, we’d met no cars and many walkers, so were amused when we saw the cars leave the ferry turning this isolated and normally deserted road into a slow moving nose-tail traffic jam – the number of cars surprised us but it was Saturday and maybe this was the change over time for holiday cottages.

View from our restaurant window with the ferry approaching.  Later cars filled the empty road seen in the distance.

We walked back to the boat over the top of the hill, following a track from the Ordnance Survey map , but even this petered out and we had to follow sheep tracks for the last bit, but at least we could see the boat  anchored in the bay and faithfully waiting for us.

We were beginning to feel the magic of Colonsay and decided that next day we would sail to Oronsay and explore what Daphne called her favourite strip of water in the world

We had read about the beauty of Loch Etive in “Off in a Boat” by Neil Gunn.

“The head of the loch is a wonderland of mountains. In front of us two Shepherds of Etive lifted their heads into the haze. To our right Ben Straw, with Stob an Duibe Ruaidh before it and many peaks behind.” P 308.

But when we visited Dunstaffnage in September last year we were too fearful of sailing under the Connel Bridge and over the Falls of Lora. This year we were more confident and before we left Milo at Dunstaffnage several weeks ago we had taken a trip up Loch Etive with Chris Jackson in “Etive Explorer”. That day had been grey, cold and misty and we had seen little of the wonders of Loch Etive, but importantly Ian had learned from the skipper Chris how to navigate the falls and the low hanging electricity cables further into the loch past Bonawe.

With the sun breaking through the clouds we set sail on the flood tide just after 2.00 p.m. and comfortably navigated the falls which were churning around us. We were almost alone on the loch apart from a few fishing boats. In the 1930s when Neil Gunn sailed into the loch he wrote about a passenger boat chugging up the loch every day, but in 2017 there were no other tourists to be seen.  Beautiful. We needed this sunny tranquil day with just enough wind to sail slowly up the loch with only the sound of lapping water and the local bird life. We anchored at the head of the loch and ate on deck for the first time this year.

The Head of Loch Etive is a wonderland of mountains – Neil Gunn

Ian expressed a desire to climb the local Munro the next day, but Ros was not keen  for him to do this  because he did not have the right gear.  That night there was torrential rain and we felt cosy in our aft cabin.

The calm after the storm of the night before

We were woken next morning to a new sound; the night of rain had resulted in streams of water cascading down the mountainside. The mist had descended overnight but we were enjoying the stillness and remoteness of the upper reaches of Loch Etive.  We both swam in the loch, very cold but refreshing.

Seal Rock

Later, we motored slowly past seal rock, chuckling as the seals slid off into the sea as we approached. We had read about the village of Taynuilt in “Off in a Boat” and decided to moor there while we waited for the ebb tide that would allow us to pass back through the Falls of Lora.  We took the tender ashore and walked into the sleepy village, passed the station that we had travelled through several times on our journeys from Oban to Glasgow. There was something attractive about a remote anchorage that could be reached by train and foot. By 4.40 the tea rooms were already shut and the butcher had cleared away all of his meat, but the general stores were good for stocking up on milk, water, bread and rice pudding. And surprisingly, the post office still had one Guardian left.

The approach to Connel Bridge on the ebb tide with Milo’s mast just slipping under with less than a metre to spare