After the storm

Dunvegan Castle, Skye
[Kyle]The day after the storm, it calmed down enough for Maryanne and I to decide to go ashore for our morning run. There was reputed to be a “coral” (actually light colored shells {Maryanne: actually, the beach was remnants of ancient coralline Algae, but it was well padded with shells, so Kyle is mostly right}) beach nearby that was worth seeing. Our lonely planet guide said the beach was 1 mile from the castle. We were anchored right next to the castle so we decided it would be a good focal point for the run.

We ran and ran and were sure we had gone well over a mile. The weather was actually pretty nice and the scenery was incredible, so we didn’t mind much. We kept figuring that it must be just over the next hill. By the time we would get to the peak of that next hill, we had even more invested in the expedition so we weren’t about to give up.

Once the run was well over and we had walked a long while to boot, we finally spotted half the cars we have seen on Skye, all parked in the same place. When we reached them, we found the sign for the beach. It said 1 mile. Well, it was a nice day and we really didn’t mind. The beach was pretty and the white bottom did make it look tropical. We had to remind ourselves that the water was far too cold for swimming. A young couple was taking photos of their baby. The poor thing looked like a five-pointed down star (down as in feathers - this kid was totally wrapped up against the weather). I guess that was a good reminder for us.


Dunvegan Coraline Beach - Small, looks good, but definitely NOT tropical
Back at Footprint, we undid all of the storm preparations of a couple of days before in order to allow ourselves to make a quick getaway on the early morning tide the next day.


Scenes from our walk/run - you should be able to spot Footprint in 2 of these pictures

Storm

[Kyle]From Footprint we listened to the forecast and it was worse than before. I decided, while I still could, to row out another anchor and double up our bridle lines. I didn’t want to drag even a little as we were surrounded by rocks. The wind started to build and the rain came hard. We tried to have dinner and a normal night but we were both distracted by the sound of the building wind and waves. When you’re alone in the dark and a storm is approaching, you hear everything.

We went to bed. Sometime in the middle of the night, the anchor alarm went off. Maryanne was having a dream about a tumble dryer going off. When she woke up and told me, waking me up, she did not even get through her sentence before I was out of bed and moving aft – fast. I went from completely asleep to full alert in two seconds. It turned out we hadn’t dragged but had swung sideways around our anchors due to the shifting wind. I reset the alarm and went back to sleep.

We got up in the morning and listened to the forecast. It was terrifying. It was made even more terrifying by the measured calm with which it was delivered. It seems that a scary forecast should be read in a Mwoo, hah hah hah! kind of voice, like the villain in a melodrama. Instead, we get the even creepier total calm of one of the little girls from “The Shining”, only with a Scottish accent:

Wind…..Southeast…..Force 6 or 7…..Veering South……Imminent Gale Force 8 …..to Severe Gale 9……….Veering Southwest…..and increasing …..to Storm 10 ……then Violent Storm 11…..Soon.



Violent Storm 11…..Soon. Eeek! ‘Violent Storm 11 – Soon’ means that within the next 6 to 12 hours, winds are expected to be between 55 and 63 knots (63 to 72mph). The next force up –force 12 – is Hurricane.

We had anchored in the lee of a little island which was in the lee of a bigger island. I would have preferred being in the lee of one of the many 300m cliffs around but the seabed drops off just as precipitously behind them making then way too deep to anchor so that was a no go.

As the wind increased, it got to where we had to shout to be heard inside the cabin. The seas in our little harbor rose to 4 or 5 feet. We had taken up all of it with our rode and were lying just ahead of the only other boat in the harbor, a little gaff rigged sloop. At the height of the storm, we saw a maximum wind of 53 knots (just as I happened to be outside), so we had a little protection.

The other boat was both a horrible and a mesmerizing thing to watch. Her bowsprit plunged into the water and scooped waves over the deck. She rolled and yawed and jerked wildly at her mooring. She looked to me exactly like an animal, wild-eyed and insane with terror, using every last ounce of strength to try to break free of a tether that she was sure meant certain death, like a horse in a burning barn.

Footprint fared a little better. Our bar tight bridles kept us pointed directly into the wind and we rode through with only a little pounding. We decided to use the time and the power from the wind generator (Which was putting out more power than the engine driven alternator and so was essentially more than we could even use) to repair our enclosure. Lockers were emptied to get to the various supplies. The boat was a total disaster area. Maryanne had me cutting cloth with our butane hot knife while she did all the repairs with the sewing machine. It is a truly impressive thing to watch Maryanne sew. In our tiny space, she is able to manhandle (Maryannehandle) big, stiff, thick pieces of canvas work into bunches and feed them through the machine as if she had hundreds of square feet of floor area and a recessed, floor level machine. She does all this while occasionally being electrocuted – not oh-I-touched-a-9-volt-battery electrocuted but sticking-your-finger-into-a-light-socket electrocuted. I’ve felt it. It’s bad. It’s intermittent and we’ve never been able to find the cause, so she just lives with it. Occasionally, with perfect British calm, she’ll say, “Would you mind turning off the inverter? I’m being electrocuted.”

So…we got that done. The boat is now a complete mess. We’re going to wait out the weather one more day so we can tidy up tomorrow.

The wind has died down quite a bit now – into the 20s. The other boat has calmed down as well and now just looks like she doesn’t like being tied up. Our batteries are nice and full. It seems like a nice night to pop in a movie.

Another long day

[Kyle]We had wanted to spend an extra day on Muck (pop. 38) and explore the trails but the winds conspired against us. The wind was forecast to swing to the southeast at about 25 knots. This would have made Port Mor very uncomfortable. We also had a long way to go to the northwest, so that would be just perfect for that.




More stunning Scottish coastlines
We left Muck and headed north for the gap between the islands of Eigg and Rhum before turning northwest toward Neist Point, on the western side of Skye. The sailing was downwind but rough, making us wonder again just what exactly we were doing out here. I noted a blue spot just above us. It began at 10:06 and was gone for good by 10:12. That was the extent of our good weather. Once in the lee of Skye, we got a bit of a reprieve and had a nice sail under huge green and gray cliffs. We came around Dunvegan Head and immediately were hit with 30 knot winds racing down Dunvegan Loch. We turned into the wind and fought our way to the head of the loch. It had been forecast to blow a severe gale the next day so we found a spot offering us protection and once again put out our whole rode.

As we put out our anchor, we were met by Allen, a local boatman who braved the slashing rain to come out and offer advice. He knew the cove we were in well because he runs daily seal tours, mostly within it. We found out later that the Sunday Times had once voted seal tours from Dunvegan as the ‘#1 British Day Out’. Our harbour was lousy with seals doing all manner of cute seal stuff. All day long, we saw people stopping their cars and lining the shore with cameras and binoculars trying to get a look at them. We were anchored right in the middle of the whole spectacle. What happy luck.

We listened to the forecast and found that the rest of the afternoon was supposed to be good so we rowed ashore and had a quick walk into Dunvegan town to have a look around. We finished off a couple of errands and even managed to squeeze in a quick trail. I especially was getting worried about the approaching weather and was eager to get back to Footprint. I was worried that soon I would not be able to row to the dinghy against the wind and we would end up trapped ashore.

Some more time in Scotland

[Kyle]Since I’d exhausted myself by working that one day, Maryanne and I decided to take a little (actually not so little) sailing tour of the area. Our first order of business was to top up with much needed fuel. Dunstaffnage once again disappointed us. They had managed to rent out all of the docks from which they dispense fuel, so we had no way to get any (It was not even possible to raft up given the boats they had on the fuel docks!). We had planned to tie up, fuel and then go in to settle our bill. Instead, we headed back to our old dock in rising winds and difficult handling conditions and grumpily settled up. In the week before, we discovered that their travel lift had been twisted by lifting a boat that was too heavy. They had twisted and welded the thing back together but it was not in the best of shape. Maryanne and I took measurements and found the width in spots to be 1½ feet narrower than advertised and too narrow for Footprint. The staff thought it was worth trying anyway. Uh, no thanks, we’ll take a pass on that.

Since we still needed fuel and since I was mad at them for not being the least bit helpful in that respect either, we headed over to Oban Marina. We got fuel there by rafting up to this behemoth of a sail training boat that must have been 80 feet overall. We had a look at Oban’s nice, big Travel Lift. It was not bent or patched together in any way and should be able to lift little ol’ Footprint with its pinky finger. Footprint will be spending the winter there now. The only downside is that Oban Marina is on the island Of Kerrera, requiring a ferry ride to the mainland. The ferries don’t run very early so now I’ll have to leave for work two days early and get a hotel in order to get there on time.

After fueling, we left Oban and headed into increasing headwinds to Loch Aline via the Sound of Mull. We needed to get through the Sound of Mull in order to reach the islands beyond. With the strong headwinds, it seemed prudent to break it into two parts with a quick overnight stop in Loch Aline. We found or old anchoring spot but, try as we might, we could not get the anchor to set. We’d try again and again. Every time, we’d drag. We’d pull everything up and find a ball of slippery seaweed with an anchor buried somewhere in the middle. Of course, since it was Scotland, it was also raining buckets and we were both completely drenched. Eventually, we decided the hell with it and anchored in the middle of the loch where it was too deep for any weed (seaweed needs light). This meant we had to have tons of anchor rode out but we were all by ourselves out there anyway.


This whole trip was in drenching rain, so no point in taking pictures, but I did find this hardy crew out fishing - 10 points for effort eh?
After a short, rough night, we returned to the Sound of Mull. When we came out of the protection of the loch and turned the corner into the Sound, it was even worse than the day before. Oh, this was good Scottish sailing all right. We were pounding into 30 knot headwinds. A couple of other boats passed us going the opposite direction, headed for the safety of the loch. One of them was the behemoth we tied up next to the day before, flying just a scrap of storm jib. I was getting pretty nervous and was seriously considering throwing in the towel myself. A look at the chart showed that the sound took a bend to the north in about four miles. This would offer us some protection from the wind and waves. We just had to get there. After that, we had about six miles of open sea to cross before we could make a nice, downwind turn to the northeast. Things would get better then.

Those six miles were pretty bad. Since we had been slowed down by winds and chop in the Sound of Mull, we were a little behind schedule. The tide was now running against the wind and the waves were short and scary steep. We were counting down every foot to the turn.

We made the downwind turn past the Ardnamurchan peninsula and into the Sea of the Hebrides. Even though the wind and seas increased slightly, it felt a lot better on that point of sail. Our destination for the day was Port Mor on the little island of Muck. Sunset was fast approaching. We knew if we could not make it there in daylight, we would have no choice but to stand out to sea for the night – something neither of us was in the mood for. We made it just in time.

The small harbor at Port Mor faces southeast and offers only marginal protection from strong southwest winds. The entrance is the eye of a needle between two sets of rocks. When we arrived, the waves were running about 12 – 15 feet, creating huge rollers that crashed against the rocks on either side of us. We had to get way too close to them to get in. I steered between the waves while Maryanne kept her eyes on the radar, chart plotter and fish finder (for depth trace) and called out the turns.

Once inside, the surf decreased to a mild swell. All the good spots were taken by the three fishing boats in the harbor. We anchored in deep water by the entrance and, again, put out all (250’/75m) of our primary rode.

Work!

[Kyle]The time finally came for me to go back to work. I had spent the week desperately going from chemist to chemist looking for strychnine tablets. Unfortunately, every one of them said they’ve been fresh out since last year’s financial collapse.

It didn’t actually turn out to be that bad, especially since I hardly did anything. Since it’s been so long since I have flown, in order to qualify to command an airplane with passengers, I had to do a simulator ride. I hadn’t been gone long enough, however, to require recurrent training before the sim ride, so it was right back into the fire for me. Like the sim ride that captains do twice a year, this is basically a repeat of the big exam we do to get qualified in the airplane initially. It starts with 1 ½ hours of questioning about airplane systems, company procedures and FAA regulations. Since I’ve done so many of these, a lot of this stuff has become second nature to me so that part of it was not a real problem. The scary part for me was that there had been a lot of revisions to our procedures while I was gone. I stopped in Newark to pick them up on the way to Houston. I only had a few hours to study everything and then get the revisions inserted into the manuals. They check our manual status before the ride and an out of date manual is cause for suspension without pay.

Our biggest revisions are to the various navigational charts we keep in binders totaling about 9 inches thick. These come out every two weeks and generally take between 40 minutes and an hour and a half to complete each one. I had missed seven while I was gone. Luckily for me, while I was gone, the union negotiated a deal with the company that said anybody coming back from leave that was more than six revisions out would be entitled to all new books of charts at no charge. I talked to the woman in charge of manuals at the training center. She said I could get all new content. All I had to do was come in a little early for the ride. I got there with an hour and a half to spare but I couldn’t get a hold of her and get the charts until 20 minutes to go. They were current until the last two revisions – a medium one and a BIG one. I was in the lunchroom in a fury of flying paper when the Check Airman arrived. Crap! This did not make me look responsible. Once I explained the situation, he seemed pretty understanding. He couldn’t cut me any slack on having the manuals up to date but he did take what seemed to me like an unusually long time to go get a cup of pre exam coffee, so I just made it.

The actual ride in the simulator was kind of fun, at least as far as a jeopardy event with your career on the line can be. It was good to get back into the old seat and get my hands dirty with the usual string of emergency procedures. Everything came back to me pretty quickly. There were only a couple of times early on when I actually had to think about where a particular switch was instead of having my hand instinctively fall on it.

After that, it was back to the hotel for a few hours sleep and then the long trip back to Scotland. In spite of the stress of the exam, it really made for a pretty easy work ‘week’ and a nice transition back in.

[Maryanne]While Kyle was off at work, I had a host of tasks to try and complete on the boat... Well I managed about a 1/4 of them, and saved the rest for Kyle's return (oops).

I was planning to be waiting at the airport for Kyle's arrival, but the plane landed early - still we had a wonderful drive back to Oban via some fantastic Scottish scenery - and as a nice welcome back the sun even shone for Kyle.


Scenes from the roadside on Kyle's return home

Hiking/running in Argyll

Beautiful Forest trails, wonderfully mapped, marked and managed (in this case) by the Forestry service
[Kyle]Since Maryanne and I are based somewhere for a little while and since we have a dock, so that getting ashore in bad weather is a bit easier, and since we have hot powerful showers to hand (courtesy of the marina), we have resumed our routine of running every day. {Maryanne: well we've done it a few times and hope to re-establish it as a routine..}. Scotland is a bit like Oregon to me in that, even if the weather’s bad (as it is 45 minutes of every hour), it seems a shame not to get out and enjoy it. The trails are really well done out here, with good maintenance and markings. Most of the places that we’ve been running have alternated between lush paths through thick, moss covered trees, usually alongside a river with its attendant waterfalls, and long, sweeping views of rugged mountains. We took a wrong turn on one path and ended up back at the parking lot when we were about half done. Still eager to see our original planned trail, we went up again and ended up doing more than a double run.

The day after that we attempted to run up what Maryanne calls the M.C. Escher staircase trail. The trail was so steep that eventually we gave up even trying to run. We figured we were getting enough exercise hauling ourselves up. We climbed for two hours and broke out into the parking lot and our car. Well, okay, not really, but for the first part of the climb we would have sworn that’s where it was going. We’d keep seeing no more signs of possible up and then we’d come around the corner and there was not only more up, but it was even steeper. We were sure that space was somehow folding back on itself. We were feeling pretty chuffed with ourselves for being so outdoorsy and athletic when a woman went chugging by, clearly not straining and going faster than we would match. She said something about lovely day for a walk, which we didn’t understand fully because of the marked Doppler shift. That was humiliating enough, but get this, she also had on one of those backpacks that a toddler goes in – with a toddler in. We kept thinking that we’d go into a shop for a snack after the hike and we would find her behind the counter, already showered and changed and fluffed up.

After a couple hours of climbing, we reached the end of the official trail. Just on the other side of the fence was a sign saying ‘Ben Lora Viewpoint – 900 metres’. Maryanne says I’m like a dog with a wagging tail every time I see a new trail or even a hint of a trail. She doesn’t mean it as a compliment but it’s absolutely true. I can’t resist the urge to have a peek around the next corner or over the next ridge. She looked at the sizable climb ahead, which may have only been 900m but it was steep, and knew she was done for.

The non-trail was no so well kept. It had rained a lot lately (since the last ice age) and it was a bit boggy. I can only imagine that the Scots must have 50 words for wet ground: squelchy, squishy, squippy, slippy, drippy, na’shoe… We definitely found them all.

The occasional bog to cross - my new shoes keep me dry and fearless

We got to the top of the mountain. I took a few photos. When I was done, I looked up and found the very wife who was complaining about my wanderlust marching smartly toward the next peak. She’s all talk. I knew there was a reason I picked this one. At the end of the day, her curiosity and wonder is too strong to resist as well.

Finding nowhere else that was sensible to go, we headed back down the way we came. Just past a squippy place, the trail transitioned to slippy – wet grass over mud. I wasn’t prepared. My feet went out from under me and I went sliding down the mountainside on my back water park style. The ground, with its under-layer of moss, was really soft. As soon as I fell, I knew that I was so hopelessly muddy that there was no point in getting mad about it so I just enjoyed the ride. The really cool thing was that my legs were out in front of me in a slight vee, which, like a big squeegee, squeezed all of the moisture out of the grass ahead of me. As the, um, apex of the vee approached, a geyser of mud, water and grass clippings shot ahead of me like I was plowing snow off of a road. It was really cool. Had I been a little kid, I would have totally gone back and done it fifteen more times. As an infinitesimally wiser adult, I realized that there may be a stray rock under that there moss and decided against it. It sure was fun, though.

Because there was so much water on the ground, the mud wasn’t bad. It was mostly water with a few bits of dead grass and bark in it. On the way back, it rained enough to effectively rinse me off. Once it stopped, since I was wearing light weight running clothes, It dries quickly and was only slightly damp by the time Maryanne and I got back to the car.

We love the trees
On return to the Marina, Maryanne was especially glad to find not only hot showers but a "family bathroom" with a bath tub to soak in - perfect!

Dunstaffnage - a temporary base to explore and chore

[Kyle]From our Eriska anchorage, once I'd had my coffee, we called Dunstaffnage Marina and told them we were coming. They said to call them on the radio when we arrived. When we got there, we got no answer on it or the telephone, making for a few aggravating minutes of hovering in tight quarters in the strong wind. Eventually, someone came out in a tender and directed us in. It turns out we arrived at a rare simultaneous radio/phone failure. They were embarrassed but very friendly.

We were getting a little stressed because we had booked a car for the week and the end of the day was fast approaching. We had just missed the bus so we walked the 5 miles into town as fast as we could go and arrived with 20 minutes to spare. Once we had the car, we let out big sighs and headed to the store for a big load of heavy groceries. It’s nice to have a car.

The next morning (Saturday), for the first time since the BVI, we got up and went for a run. We were both pleased to find we weren’t in as poor shape as we feared. I suppose all of the recent hiking with heavy packs had something to do with it.


Scenic (bicycle) Trails make good running trails too
After our run we set to on following up on one of John’s (CatFlap) tips and driving up to Barcaldine to see one of the marinas about winter storage. We found a place that we really liked but the guy said he’s full for the winter. Oh, well. Back to plan A.


Ben Nevis distillery
Since we were partway there already, we decided to drive up to Fort William to see the Ben Nevis distillery. It wasn’t really anything special but the drive up there was amazing. Maryanne and I spent the whole day going down Memory Lane, including a replay of the drive past Castle Stalker. This part of Scotland is just incredible. We must have pulled over 100 times to look at the view. I’d turn to get back into the car and realize that I had missed equal beauty behind me. It was painful. I didn’t know where to look. I wanted to climb every hill and taste every waterfall.

[Maryanne]Kyle and I have now been to quite a selection of whisky distilleries, and we both agree that the Ben Nevis one is the worst.. It is an ill informed tour through a dirty/decaying factory and with lackluster presentation at that! The whisky was unimpressive too; we suspect that nearly all this whisky goes to making blends. Hmmmm.. at least the tour was inexpensive.

Fort William is a backpacking/hiking capital in Scotland and there are plenty of ways to part with your money. I insisted it was time for me to purchase some decent walking shoes/boots (mine have long since disintegrated). Kyle was none to impressed once he started to notice the price tags. Most were so expensive that the £95 I eventually spent seemed cheap. I'm now the proud new owner of some fancy black gortex trainers - initially designed for hill running (I know boots are better but boots just don't work for me, although I keep trying). Several days later Kyle is still recovering from the cost (he keeps converting to US$ too, just to make it worse).

Maryanne enjoys a girly shoe purchase session.. for walking shoes
[Kyle]A little about the Ka

The car we rented in Oban for the week is a Ford Ka (which, of course is how the English say car, which makes it even more hilarious). The thing that gets me about this is that it’s made by Ford. In the U.S., Ford has been doing all of this hand wringing about potential fuel economy regulations by saying they would have to retool everything they have, etc. at huge cost.

Bollocks! I’m sure this Ka is actually put together somewhere over here in Europe, but seriously, it’s a Ford. It’s small, comfortable, safe (well, probably not against a Chevy Suburban, but that’s another rant) and it gets a posted 67 miles per gallon. {Maryanne - we are getting 55mpg easily}. They already build loads of these cars. I bet it’s cheap, too. Although, over here everything is relative.


Our wheels for the week - the Ford Ka

Loch Aline to Eriska

[Kyle]For all you Monty Python fans: Remember "our quest is at an end!"?


Yep, you’re seeing it right, that’s it!

The Castle Aaagghhh from the movie is actually the real life Castle Stalker. It lies just north of the village of Port Appin, which is just one loch north of our planed overwintering spot in Dunstaffnage. Dunstaffnage is the first place since we left Portsmouth, Virginia where we will haul out and actually leave the boat for a while, ending 18 months and 9,317 miles of continuous cruising (and still not hauled out yet). This is why the quote from the clip is so apt.


Clip from the Holy Grail, including the "our quest is at an end" scene

We’re not quite finished yet, though, so stay tuned.

Castle Stalker is special to me for another reason. When Maryanne and I first met, she was just finishing up her degree at the University of St. Andrews. Then as I do now, I would work for a few days and then fly out to Scotland to see her on my days off. Maryanne would usually plan some sort of mini tour of a different part of the country so that I could see more than just St. Andrews. On one of these trips, we drove out to Glen Coe and then to Oban. I usually did the driving (I like driving over here). On the day we went to Oban, she really, really wanted to drive, but I talked her out of it. On the road there, we came around a corner and there it was, the instantly recognizable Castle Aaahhh. Being on the right side of the car, I instinctively started yelling, “Pull over! Pull over!” She looked at me and responded, “You’re driving!” Right! Now I understand why she wanted to drive. She had planned the surprise all along.

Anyway, well before that, we left Kinlochaline. The forecast had been for 15 knot winds out of the southeast but when we left there was nuttin’. The loch was a big upside down sky ringed by upside down trees. We were just about at the narrow entrance when I noticed another Gemini. We headed over to see the name. Maryanne put a card saying hello in a baggie and prepared to leave it on deck. As we approached, an Englishman came out and introduced himself as John. He and his wife, Victoria were from Nottingham but kept their boat, Catflap, in Oban. He was very friendly and offered us lots of advice on the Oban area.

We continued on. As it was still a nice day, we decided to take the long way and sail around the south side of Kerrera, up the beautiful Sound of Kerrera and past Oban on the way to our next anchorage. What a moment that was for me. Oban is the first place we have sailed on this side of the Atlantic where I have been before, on the aforementioned trip. It is a trick of memory that it is possible to go directly back to a particular memory and skip all of the intervening moments. It was easy to remember looking at the harbor so many years ago and thinking how pretty it was. Now, here we were, coming up the channel and passing by the city in the boat we sailed here ourselves. In fact, between Footprint and our previous boat, Prydwen, we have managed to cover the entire distance between Cleveland, Ohio and Oban on the water. It was from Cleveland that I first flew to meet Maryanne. Eventually, she moved there with me to live on yet another boat. A circle had been completed.
View of Oban town with the Folly atop the hill

This seaplane flies between Oban and Glasgow over some stunning scenery - what a way to go!

I have to go to stinkin’ work soon. I actually managed to wheedle one more day out of them so we decided not to head to Dunstaffnage just yet. It was forecast to be very stormy overnight so we found a protected spot behind Eriska Island in nearby Loch Creran. Once we were up there, it was only another mile or so to Castle Stalker. Even though we will see it next year on the way to the Caledonian Canal, I couldn’t resist, particularly with ‘our quest being at an end’ and all. (I mean, of course, just this particular run of cruising. We intend to keep seeing this world in this wonderful way as long as we are able.)

Once we got to our anchorage, we found it fairly full of moorings. There was a very small patch that had the right depth and was close enough to the island to offer protection. Our first attempt was completely unsuccessful. Just the backward pressure of the building wind with the engine out of gear had us moving at a good clip. It was as if we had just thrown out the chain with no anchor on the end. Our second attempt was better. I ran the engine up to 2800rpm and we held fast. I was a little nervous about the bottom from the previous attempt so I ran it up to 3000rpm and we started skipping backwards. Damn! It started raining really awful, heavy, cold rain. We were desperately impatient to get the anchoring over with and get into the warm. The third attempt was like the second. We briefly considered picking up somebody’s mooring but I didn’t like the idea of having someone come back and shoo us off in the middle of the storm. The radio was starting to bristle with Coast Guard warnings of ‘Imminent Gale, Force 8”. Yeesh! Also, you never know what the quality of the underwater part of a mooring is or what sort of boat it is intended to hold. We made a miserable fourth try and finally held with full reverse. As the storm built through the night, I kept worrying about the holding and popping out to see that we hadn’t moved. I didn’t get much sleep.

Loch Aline & Catching up with friends

Waterfalls on the trail from our anchored boat to the town

[Kyle]We took the lakeshore (lochshore?) path into town. Our main purpose for visiting Lochaline was to visit Maryanne’ s University and diving friends Annabel and Mark.

[Maryanne]Lochaline is a beautiful part of Scotland and I’d visited several times before as a diver; there are some fantastic dive sites whatever your tastes (Wrecks, archeology, marine life, and dinner!). If you are not a diver, it is still a very special place to visit (at least when the sun shines), and it has easy access to the Isle of Mull to boot. I had extra reason to visit now Mark and Annabel live there.

With moving to the USA (so far from my family and friends) and now cruising, I understand that we lead a very special and amazing life. One of the downsides, the sacrifices of the lifestyle, is that we don't get to visit with either family or friends nearly as much as we would otherwise have done, and certainly not as much as we would like. So I was especially excited that I'd be able to see my old University friends.

We were anchored quite far into the loch, about 1.5 miles from the town, but close to a place we could bring the dinghy ashore. Along the loch there is a trail into town; a beautiful, tree lined path, and dotted with waterfalls – not a bad way to arrive.

Since I left Scotland, Annabel and Mark have added two more girls to the family, purchased a beautiful home in the country, and are successfully managing 2 businesses. With 3 girls and all the business work to manage, the general activity was a huge shock to Kyle and I who lead a much less intense life. Amazingly Mark and Annabel found some quiet time to share a meal (just the 4 adults) and it was great to catch up. We are so grateful for their time, but we left feeling exhausted just contemplating the life of my friends. They have 3 beautiful and happy girls, so nice that Kyle (the great child avoider) even said he liked being around them. I too loved my dose of kiddy time, at least for the day we spent hanging out with the family. They older girls had us dancing around the living room with them!

Living such a nomadic life, and mostly on the anchor, it is difficult to find showers and laundry facilities in most places – Annabel offered us both (and as a mail drop for some replacement boat parts) while we visited, and these were added treats from the visit.

We neglected to take any photos of our friends, but we took plenty of the loch, so you’ll have to make do with these – beautiful eh?


Lochaline entrance and the house of the Ardtornish estate house at the head of the loch

Lovely Sailing

[Kyle]The weather in Cuan Sound had been far too rough to go out in the dinghy. A couple of other boats came in to hunker down for the storm. None of them left their boats either.

The morning we left, the day dawned bright and beautiful, as if the previous two days had never happened. The other boats in the anchorage, presumably going south, left with the Sun, leaving it all to Maryanne and me. We took our time getting up and ready. We left just before slack tide at 3:00 p.m. The wind was in just the right direction to allow us to sail off the anchor, which I love.

With a reef in the main, we slowly sailed through the mooring field we had dragged through the day before. The giant boat was off its mooring and it was replaced with a tender that was smaller than the ball. As we entered the narrow part of the channel, the current accelerated us out of the sound past hills, picturesque houses with fishing boats moored out front and, most impressively, the village of Easdale, tucked underneath a huge cliff face.


Easdale town and one of the many lighthouses on route
We turned North with just the remnants of a current against us. A 41 foot monohull came chugging up from behind flying full sail and a Dutch flag. I thought briefly about tripling our sail area by putting out full sail and making a proper race out of it. In those conditions, I'm sure we could have had a knot or two on him. In the end, I decided to let him have his day. It was such a rare lovely sailing day that I actually didn't care if we were going half as fast as we could have been. We had 360 degree views of the most stunning scenery. Why rush it?

A few hour later, the sky darkened, as it tends to do here. It looked like a front was moving in from the southwest and it would be raining the rest of the day afterward. Also on the far horizon was the mast of a tall ship flying sail on the bottom three of five yards. I could imagine how a few centuries ago, such a sight would cause smugglers and pirates to throw up all available sail to escape. Chases happened at such slow speed then, with the participants spending maybe half a day between sighting and capture. We managed to round the corner into the Sound of Mull before she got to us. Just before we did so, we were joined by a small pod of our old friends the dolphins.


Duart Castle and Ardtornish Castle ruins
The rain arrived. We were pleased when it only dumped for 15 minutes and then blew off, leaving us with our previous sunny day. We turned into Loch Aline to anchor. Our original plan had been to anchor across from the town. Once we got a good look at the current flowing through the narrow entrance, we knew we would never be able to row across except at slack water. instead, we anchored a mile away on the other end of the loch by the ruin of an abandoned pier. We had a little light left so we decided to row in and hike into town to see how long it took. Everything was shut by then so we just turned around and went back. It's not a bad commute. The path is dirt and runs along the edge of the loch. Every few hundred meters, there is another waterfall crashing out of the green.

When nightfall came, we were enveloped by that deep dark that comes from being out in the middle of nowhere. The lights of the town (really, about three buildings) were way off in the distance. It was very relaxing.

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.

Exploring Otter Ferry

Otter Ferry Scenes
[Kyle]First of all, I'd like to thank the Oyster Catcher Pub and Restaurant for providing free moorings and especially their free wifi out to the moorings; a much welcome gift.

The main reason we stopped at Otter Ferry was due to it's proximity to the Crinan Canal (just 4 miles down the loch), the mooring and wifi were huge additional pluses. There is nothing touristy to do around here per-se, but being Scotland, and on the shore of Loch Fyne, it is still beautiful.

We decided to just head out walking and see what we would find. We started off heading North along the shore road, heading towards a cluster of moorings thinking some settlement might be there. The walk was pretty, lined with stone walls and many times tunneled through trees. It turned out the moorings were clustered around a holiday chalet village. Here we went into the office to ask about touristy stuff, but they seemed disappointed that we were not there to enquire about a cottage, but they did tell us the best view could be seen by returning the way we'd come and heading inland instead of North... So we turned around and tried again.

This time heading inland we apparently missed our turn to the great scenic spot. We did find some nice views over rolling heather covered hills, but it was nice to be out for a walk in the flower and peat scented air. The forecast had been for rain showers in the morning, and heavier showers in the afternoon. By mid-afternoon we were still experiencing unexpected blue skies. We walked until we were pretty sure nothing spectacular would be missed by going further and were satisfied that we'd had a respectable amount of exercise, and returned to Otter Ferry.

We had then intended to go into the pub by the dock for an appetizer and a drink, before dinner on the boat, but changed our mind and decided to have a walk along the beach (this time heading South) first. Once we'd made it to the far end of the beach, and we were able to see beyond we discovered a private estate road running along the shore line - we followed that to the next bend, and then another bend, and then another.... walking for at least an hour in that direction. We finally gave up as the trail petered out at the ruins of an old boat house from which we could see all the way down to the entrance of Loch Fyne (Scotland's longest sea loch). There was lots of green and rocks and surf, and wading birds to see along the way. One surprising moment for me was when we walked into a clearing and up the hill saw an enormous mansion (stately home) - the main house of the Ballimore Estate.


Ballimore Estate - Main House
We arrived back at the pub a bit later but feeling like we earned our crisps and beer. Our time in the pub allowed us to dodge a minor shower before rowing back to Footprint for the night.