The Crinan Canal

** Caution, Long Post Warning **
[Kyle]Having looked at the currents for the Sound of Jura, I determined that we wanted to be through the 9 mile long Crinan Canal by early afternoon. This meant we needed to get an early start in order to make it there right when the office opened at 8:30. The forecast was for fine weather until the evening and indeed we got it. The skies were clear and sunny. The wind was light. It was perfect for going through the canal.

When we came around the corner for the first sea lock, the lock tender was already standing on the wall waving us in. We locked up and then paid for our passage through. While locking up, the rush of all the fresh water into the sea made so much foam that by the top, Footprint was sitting in 2 feet of suds. It looked like we were in a giant washing machine waiting for the rinse & spin. A kindly old gentleman came by and asked us if we planned to go all the way through in one day. When we answered yes, he asked if we wouldn’t mind a little company. He had a catamaran just around the corner. “A catamaran,” I exclaimed, “don’t those things just flip over?” He actually got my joke and I was rewarded with hearty laughter instead of the usual blank stare. I liked him already. He was with his wife and a man named Tom, who was some sort of nephew or grand nephew – their relationship got kind of lost in all of the other things we talked about.


Foam in First Lock and general canal scenes
The Crinan Canal, separating the northern Clyde from the Sound of Jura, is billed as Scotland’s prettiest shortcut. I’m sure the other canals hate this and refuse to talk to the Crinan Canal at the Christmas party. Maryanne and I have seen the Caledonian Canal by road and it looked pretty nice, too. Probably, a more accurate description would be to say that it is Scotland’s most expensive shortcut, at least when the £100 fee is divided by its modest length.

After the sea lock, it was necessary to hover in the tiny basin at the top. It was maybe three times the size of a lock. The wind and the water flow kept pushing us sideways. I was turning in all kinds if circles in order to keep the engine thrust opposing them. Occasionally, it was necessary for me or Maryanne to reach out and shove off of one of the boats lining the basin. The woman on the other (two engine) catamaran looked at us like we didn’t know what we were doing. We were relieved when we were waved in by the kindly old man.

Maryanne and I have been through many locks with only the two of us as crew and we have never had a problem. Sure, it would have been nice to have somebody to handle the stern line so the helmsperson doesn’t have to get up, but with careful handling, it’s doable. So far, the locks we have been through have a long vertical rails or a series of posts embedded into the wall to which the lines are attached. Really posh locks have a floating bollard that goes up and down with the boats. Crinan’s locks have a selection of hooks and posts mounted on top of the wall. When we pulled in, since we were locking up, we couldn’t even see where to attach the lines. The only way to secure the lines would have been to throw a loop over the wall and hope to catch on something. What really would have happened is that I would have had to drop Maryanne off at the ladder just inside the lock. She would take her line up and secure it while I hovered with the engine. Then I would toss up the stern line and she would secure it. Fortunately, none of this was necessary as Tom, now Tom the Hero, was there to take our lines and secure them for us and the other boat, Snowgoose of Clyde. That’s not all. He also operated the lock.

All of Crinan’s locks except the first and the last two (out of fifteen), are manually operated. The sluice gates that let water in or out are cranked up and down by hand via worm screw. The four gates are connected to long arms at the pivot and pushed open and closed. The locks are bunched into groups of four or five. Every time, we would finish at one lock, Tom would run to the next one and ready it for our arrival, all the while being an extremely good sport about it.

Tom and another Crew open the lock gate at lock 11
At lock five, we were told that the water levels above were too high due to the recent rains and that we would have to wait for a couple of hours as they drained it off. I kept thinking about how the tide waits for no one, but what could we do. We made the best of the delay by having nice, long, hot showers and topping up our water tanks, which had been running low since both of our manual pumps kicked the bucket on the same day, forcing us to use the more wasteful pressure system. Snowgoose picked up two more family members – the Julies, and went to lunch.



Scenes on the Canal

Bridge Opening
Once the locks were open, we were told there would be more delays as we waited for people going the other way. We passed the time by chatting to other boaters from nearby locks and the tourists who come to see boats locking through.

When it was finally our time, we entered the lock and locked up aided now by both Tom the Hero and the Julies. The turbulence within the lock at the front, where we always were, had a tendency to swing our stern toward the other side of the lock, particularly when going up. I spent most of my time in the process pulling like hell trying to shorten the line to keep us snug to the wall so we wouldn’t slam into the other side. Once we got to the top, Tom the Hero and one Julie opened one gate while the other Julie got the second. I was just making headway pulling Footprint in towards the wall when the woman, who was five feet or so away on the bow of her boat, looked at me sternly and said, “You go help her with that door!” I looked at the seven foot gap between me and the wall and, straining, let out a smile through gritted teeth. I thought she was kidding. She then gave me an I’m-not-kidding-around-here-Mister look and repeated, “Go..help..her..with..that..door!” With the doors most of the way open, the waters calmed. I closed the gap far enough to get off and ‘helped’. I was there for about the last 1/10th of the operation. This got me another dirty look. Uh-oh, Grumpy Granny doesn’t like me, and I had to face her for the rest of the day.

Once we started locking back down, we were able to be more helpful and earn more of our keep. The tie-down points started at ground level now. We were able to pull in, tie off and go back to take their lines. I helped Julie close one of the doors behind us while Tom and the other Julie got the opposite door. Holy Crap! Those doors are heavy! Each is maybe 10 feet by 20 feet of ½ inch steel plus support beams. The wooden push bar alone probably weighs 1000 pounds. Getting one moving feels like trying to push a van down the road. I can’t believe Tom the Hero did the first three locks all by himself.

We got along very well with everyone else, who were all as sweet as can be, but I just could not get on Grumpy Granny’s good side. Almost everything I did inadvertently made me come off badly. This made me nervous and self-conscious, which made me clumsy, which reinforced her belief that I was an Idiot. We didn’t really speak to each other or swap stories like with the others. Mostly, she just glared at me and would occasionally tell me that I was doing something wrong. Her parting shot to me was, “If you’re going through the Caledonian Canal, you’re going to need a lot longer lines than that.” I said that we did have a set of really long lines. We just weren’t using them because we weren’t in the Caledonian Canal and didn’t need them. This was met with a snort of what I’m sure was disbelief.

We thanked Tom the Hero and the Julies profusely and gave them a bag with enough wine, beer and chocolate for everybody. Tom the Hero gave Maryanne a big hug and me a hearty handshake. He gave us his contact details and said that when we went through the Caledonian Canal, to call him, he’d be glad to come up and help.

Snowgoose of Clyde decided to stay put for the night after the last manual lock. We waved goodbye and they waved back, plus a sneer. Maryanne and I wasted no time in getting to the sea locks. A bridge tender on the way told us we might as well slow down, the lock keepers would be taking their dinner break when we arrived. Just above the lock, we rafted up to some very nice gentlemen just long enough to be told that, if we wanted to, we could wait in the lock. Once in the lock, we tied up and had a stroll around the picturesque little town of Crinan. There were lots of tourists there waiting for the big moment. Several people noticed our flag and came up to talk about our travels and offer praise and congratulations. It helped make up for my day of being in perpetual trouble.

Footprint in Last Lock before sea lock
We exited the canal at Crinan and shot out into the Sound of Jura on the last of the flood that I had planned for. Man, is it pretty around here! The Clyde was beautiful, but this was something else entirely. The hills were more jagged and bigger. There were many places that had no signs of human habitation – ever. It looked (and felt, by the way) like the last ice age had just ended. A herd of mammoths grazing on a hillside would not have looked out of place at all. I could see why they filmed ‘Quest for Fire’ here. It looks like 15,000 B.C.

Exit Canal into Loch Crinan off the sound of Jura
We turned north, just ahead of the predicted storm and virtually stopped. The tide was now ebbing against us. We were barely making three knots against the turbulent, whirlpool infested seas, even with an increasing tailwind. The forecast had called for winds into the 30s with gusts into the 40s. We were trying to get to a well protected anchorage in the sound between the island of Seil, population 500, and the island of Luing, population 100, pronounced ‘Ling’. We entered the sound, Cuan Sound, as the ebb was reaching its strongest. Huge amounts of water were rushing through this whole part of Scotland, squeezing through tiny gaps to fill giant basins, turning the water almost everywhere into standing waves, whirlpools and eddies.

Cuan Sound was no exception. After we made the turn in, the current against us increased and increased. Our progress got slower and slower. Our slow speed coming out of the canal meant that it was getting dark. As we got further into the sound, we got to a point where we had to squeeze through a narrow gap between some rocks on one side and a couple of little islands on the other. We stopped. The current was going as fast as we were. Then it increased and we started going slowly backwards. Maryanne pointed at the water rushing between the islands. The water on the other side was four inches higher than the water on our side. Holy Crap! We were being swept back out into the open Sound. Wincing at having to do so, I pushed the throttle all the way to the stop, something I only ever did briefly while breaking in the engine. Our speed over the ground increased to forward at 0.3 knots. That’s 30 feet per minute, almost the length of Footprint. The engine was screaming like mad as I very gently played back and forth looking for any little lull or back eddy that I could find to get us through while avoiding the rocks on each side. In the middle, we could see the fast current streaming down one side of the little islands, curve around the bottom and then break off. This made it easier to see the slow spots and we were finally able to make it through. That seemed like a long time to spend with our hearts in our throats.

It started raining as we wound our way through a myriad of little islands to the protected part of the anchorage. It was getting pretty dark by then. There were almost no lights on shore and no stars above. I was relying pretty heavily on the radar to find anything I couldn’t see in the dim light. I remembered the very first time we ever anchored Footprint. On the way home from the factory, in Chesapeake Bay, we anchored in a pitch black anchorage by weaving our way through the boats and finding our spot, all under sail. That was a nail biter. I figured if we could do that, we could do this. The difference was that we knew the Chesapeake Bay anchorage really well. This one, we didn’t, but we were under power, so our maneuverability was better.

We found a spot in water that was a little too deep for our liking. This meant we had to put out a lot of anchor chain and rode to compensate, then we put out some more, just in case. Knowing we had a big storm coming and being afraid of dragging into those huge currents, I made sure the anchor was well set. I figured I had already used full power once today, might as well do it again. We pulled as hard as we could with the boat and the wind pulling like crazy in the same direction. The rode became bar tight. We checked for movement against several nearby objects. We didn’t budge an inch. I knew we were probably overdoing it but, hey, better safe than sorry. We’ll deal with having to get the thing unstuck when we leave. The only thing that bothered me was that we had put out so much scope that we were riding only about two or three boat lengths ahead of a giant steel fishing boat on the largest mooring ball I have ever seen. The boat was big enough and we were close enough that it kind of loomed over us. It was all you could see looking out the back. I reassured myself that if the wind shifted and we both swung, the fishing boat would swing on the mooring and essentially stay put, while we would swing on our anchor and all that rode and end up 1/8th of a mile away. Satisfied, we secured the boat, dove inside out of the rain and went to bed.


The biggest mooring ball EVER! - with the main boat, and later with the tender
I got up the next morning to pee just after sunrise and was surprised to see that the fishing boat had gone. I must’ve been pretty tired for something that size to leave without waking up. All that was left was the big mooring ball. Well, come to think of it, it was not that big. That mooring ball was big, but I distinctly remembering it being the biggest mooring ball I had ever seen, like the box a Toyota Prius would come in. I suppose in the dark of the previous night, I might have mistaken something else for an outsized mooring ball. Still, it was weird. Most of the windows were covered with condensation so I went outside in the drizzle for a look around. Maybe we swung a little and the big mooring ball was off to the side. Nope. Huh?

I went back to bed but it was still bugging me. I got up and went back outside. That mooring ball looked closer. I looked around. Nothing looked like the mental picture I had formed of the area the night before. The landmarks we had used to check that we weren’t dragging were nowhere to be found. Then I saw it. The giant fishing boat was about ½ mile ahead of us. That’s a strange way to leave, I thought. Nothing that big could get out of the harbor by going that way. Then I saw the biggest mooring ball I have ever seen, right in front of the fishing boat. The mooring ball that was behind us was now passing on the port side. We were dragging. I got Maryanne up. We both put on full foul weather gear and went outside into the storm. I looked where we used to be. The wind was blowing in exactly the same direction. We must have dragged right past the big steel fishing boat. I have no idea how we didn’t hit or how our rigs didn’t tangle. We also managed to closely avoid a couple other moored boats and a handful of fishing floats along the way. We got the anchor up until it was directly below but, with all of our strength, we could not get it up. We keep a trip line on a float for the anchor. If the anchor snags something, we can grab the float, pull on the line and the anchor unhooks itself. It’s also a good way to see where the anchor is relative to the boat. I pulled as hard as I could and nuttin’. I was just starting to think we would either have to let it go or get our resident scuba diver (Maryanne) to suit up and go see what the problem is. Then it occurred to me that if we pulled on the anchor as hard as we could, the hook would be pointing up. If I let the chain out and cleated the trip line, the weight of the chain would point the hook down. It worked. Duh.

I can only come up with one possible explanation for our dragging. Since our anchor was well set and since the direction of pull remained the same, there’s no chance that it would have pulled out and failed to reset, as it could have if the pull had reversed with certain bottoms. The harbor where we were anchored had a lot of fishing boats and a lot of fishing floats. Our trip line float looks kind of like a fishing float, particularly if it’s early and your vision is not so good. I suspect that, early in the morning, some local fisherman, suspecting he’d found an unauthorized interloper, loaded up our float and its line on his pot puller, only to find our anchor. He threw it back over thinking (hoping) it would reset. It should have, but for some reason it didn’t. It could have landed upside down on a hard, slippery stone bottom.

With two more tries, we found another spot that had the side benefit of being prettier. We got the anchor to hold to both our satisfaction. Doing all that left us both soaking and tired. The boat was cold but the bed was warm so that was an easy decision. A few hours later, I woke up and was pleased to find us in the same spot. I was debating whether to get up for good or not. Maryanne asked what was wrong. I yawned and pointed at my face, indicating I was still a bit groggy. “You still tired?” she asked.

“Yeah, a little”, I yawned.

“Then why don’t you take a nap?”

Oh, you’ve just got to love Maryanne. She is the only person in western society who doesn’t know that a cup of coffee is the solution to being a little sleepy. Still, her all natural, homeopathic solution to the problem had a certain logic to it. There was no way we were going ashore today in those winds and currents and in that rain. The homeopathic solution won.

We got up for good this time at 2:30 p.m. Actually, Maryanne stalled until 3:00. We still hadn’t dragged.



Wild Scotland - Just some of the stunning scenery after exiting the Canal
[Maryanne]This last two days have left us feeling like novice sailors, and terribly embarrassed with ourselves. We arrived at the Canal totally unprepared (undermanned), and though we would have managed, we were saved by the kindness and helpfulness of Tom. Next time we will be much better crewed for the work involved in British locks (volunteers look out). Due to delays and temporary closures in the canal we exited much later than we were led to expect, and found ourselves in adverse currents due to that delay. As we approached our anchorage the water (tide rips, and races) practically boiled in places, it was most unnerving, the confused currents buffeted the boat off course and it was quite a struggle continue to our destination. The waters of Scotland make the infamous New York’s Hell Gate look like a gentle trickle. It was such a relief to be safely anchored just before dark. Then of course we dragged anchor while asleep – our first time in 100’s of anchorings; it was quite amazing that we didn’t find ourselves bashing against the rocks nor hitting into another boat. Now we are holed up from the predicted rough winds, we find ourselves stuck aboard (the rain and conditions ensuring that we don’t want to leave our cozy cocoon). Let’s hope that our future returns us to salty sailor status.