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The sun’ll come out
Tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar
That tomorrow
There’ll be sun!

C. Strouse/M. Charnin

The wind blew up overnight but we were fine and didn’t bump into our disgruntled neighbour. We left the pretty anchorage on Eigg under the Sgurr which was still shrouded in mist like a primeval lost world. It was dull and overcast but dry at least.

We took advantage of the strong winds and in our direction, to raise both sails and surged south, little groups of Manx Shearwaters rising from the choppy waves like bees shaken from a bush.

It felt familiar in these waters, the skylines of Rum, low lying Coll, the layers of Ardnamurchan and then the north end of Mull.

There were more boats around in general so we kept a close watch and once round Ardnamurchan point and at the north end of the Sound of Mull, yachts seemed to be pouring out.

It was a perfect sailing day, dry, warm and windy so I suspect all that had the opportunity had stocked up and caste off to take advantage. The clouds broke up and the sun finally appeared causing me to remove my sailing sallopettes for the first time this trip!

The round the world Clipper yacht race had just arrived in Oban so there probably were attractions for anyone interested in the sea. My friends husband had also taken to sea with his pal who had a boat and were headed to Tobermory for a lad’s night away and to watch the World Cup football match.

We passed them in the sound according to my friend who was watching us both on AIS but we didn’t actually see each other, we were probably too busy navigating our way south past literally hundreds of yachts, I’ve never seen so many at once.

We neared Lochaline where we intended anchoring for the night but it was only lunchtime and with all these vessels around we thought it might get really busy in the known anchorages so the skipper suggested keeping going and we’d make it home for dinner time.

I was up for that. It would mean a long day but the thought of a long hot shower, hair wash and dry and our own, stationary, bed was too much to resist.

As we motor sailed down past Fishnish then Craignure we took turns on watch and packing up down below.

We turned the helm north again just past Lismore Light and lost the wind so motored up the Sound of Lismore dodging pot buoys but no other yachts in these quieter waters. It was even warmer here and I finally took my jacket off for the first time since the day we left over two weeks ago.

Snaking through the narrows and into L Creran, it felt quite surreal to be surrounded by our home area, we’d awoken on Eigg and now here we were motoring past our wee homestead in the woods.

We tied up temporarily on the pontoon and disgorged all the bikes, bags, laundry, food and rubbish before putting Stravaigin back on her mooring and loading it all into the pickup and driving five minutes  up the shoreline to home.

The weather was balmy, dry and still and the forecast was for days of sunshine and warm temperatures, ideal for the laundry and grass cutting!

I felt glad to be home and excited for the family arriving soon but also felt very privileged to have experienced such an amazing stravaig up the north coast.

Our country is truly beautiful, the landscape, wildlife and people are unique and precious. Visiting the places we did by sea, gave us a slower, more immersive experience and it definitely felt more about the journey than the destination.

The skipper went to bed early that evening, wiped out and relishing having a full undisturbed night of sleep.  I put away my bits and pieces, loaded the washing machine and sat with a mug of tea looking out the window at the calm waters of our sealoch and mused on where next my yearning might take us…

It was down by the farm of Scottas
Lord Brocket walked one day
When he saw a sight that troubled him
Far more than he could say
For the seven men of Knoydart
Were doing what they’d planned
They’d staked their claims and were digging their drains
On Brocket’s Private Land

Hamish Imlach

I was up early, before 6am and as the skipper was still asleep, I made a cuppa and took it out on deck in my pjs so not to disturb him.

It was so tranquil watching the little township gently awakening. Walkers appeared from hostels, stretching in the morning mist. A Landie trundled by, then a tractor hazards flashing to warn who?

The blackbirds and sparrows played their chirpy tunes and some ducks paddled by. I took a deep breath in trying to soak it all in and commit it to memory.

Knoydart was such a special place for me. My late father’s favourite stomping ground. I’d been brought here as a child and knew the continously boggy grounds, rough rivers  and peaks that give unsurpassed views, from a young age. I’d slept in the remote bothies, wrapped in down sleeping bags that were always damp, cooked on a temperamental Primus stove, gathered water from the burn and fell asleep to the low drum of deep male voices getting the craic at the smouldering fire. The smell of wet wool, dubbined leather boots, tobacco and maybe a wee dram painted those special evenings.

Returning in teenage years with the skipper, camping and climbing the iconic mountains then my summer as a temporary resident while I did my research. It was during that time too that I met an elderly Sir George Band, at just 23 years old, he was the youngest member of the legendary British Mt Everest Expedition in 1953. He helped clear a safe path through the notorious Khumhu Icefall so Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay could make their famous first ascent. I was handing out questionnaires on top of the highest peak to any climber that appeared and he was quite taken aback at what I was doing and why. We chatted and he gave me his card which read Alpine Club, London and he said he’d be in touch.

He did indeed write to me some time later and offered me a job in the Himalayas surveying part of  the region. I graciously turned him down as I was about to be married and had my heart set on becoming a mum, rather than pursuing a career just yet

I still have the letter though.

Adult visits were sometimes with work on expeditions with students, guiding work with clients then social visits with friends.

One particularly memorable trip was with dear friends and their family to stay in the bunkhouse for a long weekend. The lads were to walk overland with our deerhound/lurcher and I was to meet up with my pretty Irish friend at Mallaig to get the boat in. I was running late at work and left college in a hurry to get up there in time. I had a very sassy silver wee sports car at the time and arrived in Mallaig in a bit of a panic. I called my pal to find out where to park the car and she said just to come to the pier as the boat was leaving soon. I drove on to the pier and screeched to a halt as the HiVis harbour man slowly raised his hand infront of me.

“Ok Penelope,” he smiled “”Just give me your keys and I’ll park her and just you get on the ferry”

I jumped out to get my bags out of the boot which I then lay down on the peir and told him I would just turn her round then give him the keys.

I reversed over my bags.

He shook his head as I handed him the keys. Hanging my head in deep embarrassment, I picked up the bags now decorated with a black tyre mark and slightly squishy with the exploded bottle of shampoo inside!

Anyway I made it to the ferry and over to the peninsula and we had a great weekend of walking, eating and the occasional tipple.

The skipper surfaced and we had a quick breakfast then took the bikes ashore for assembly and cycled off round the coast to  Sandaig where we’d been told there was a self service cafe.

I could tell the skipper was not on full form. He was tired, it was two weeks today since we left and its pretty full on. Although I assist, he does all the navigating and sailing and the disturbed nights were catching up on him. However he got on with it and we tied the dinghy on the pier with enough tide rise for a couple hour’s cycle.

The road round and over the hills inland was delightful. Newly tarred and winding through mixed woodland, over stone bridges, across myrtle moors and past little water  lily strewn lochans. The must hung low so the views were more occluded but it gave it such a romantic atmosphere.

We took the rough track off the road that went down to Sandaig Bay and passed a group of cheery girls cutting bracken.

The bed and breakfast building was a complete surprise. An old chapel that was never used as was built just at the time of the Clearances. Burned down then rebuilt in the 1980s a delightful Swiss couple own and run it now. It was a fascinating place, every corner and room filled with curiosities, paintings and trinkets.  An honesty system for a cup of tea and homemade lemon cake and I bought a couple of beautiful felted scarfs made by the lady of the house. We had a nice chat with the owner then started our way back, grinding up the steep uphill and loving the welcome downhills.

The amount of bracken clearance was evident and new planting of native trees covered the lower hillsides. This was very hard but important work. The verges were peppered with butterworts and orchids and I was delighted to find a very rare, endangered Lesser Butterfly Orchid.

The hedges were abundant with meadow sweet, iris and flowering Valerian and the distinctive calls of moorland Stonechats and meadow pipits were replaced by the cheeps of sparrows as we cycled through the tiny village.

We’d been longer than intended and the dinghy was now floating at the foot of the stone pier. Nothing for it but the skipper, soaked once again from a wet ride, waded to retrieve it.  We dismantled the bikes for the last time this trip and loaded them back on to the dinghy then down into the cabin once back inboard.

I stripped off entirely as everything was sodden.  A quick wash then dry clothes on and we set off out Loch Nevis to push further south.

It was raining again and the soft cloud hung round the peaks and blanketed the glens as I looked back at the wilder loch end at Kylesknoydart  with a smile and acknowledgement of another special time spent there.

We negotiated the busy waters off Mallaig and motor sailed across the grey expanse of water between the mainland and the Small Isles.

The captain decided to have a shower as we motored along taking advantage of hot water and me on watch.

I watched but there wasn’t much to note until the striking cliffs of Eigg came in to view and we rounded her western shores to drop the hook in the sheltered waters of Kildonnan Bay. Seals were hauled out and oyster catchers shrieked around, annoyed at our arrival. It seemed a neighbouring boat was also annoyed at our arrival as greeted us with a call that we were anchoring too close.

The captain refuted this statement and I was glad he had dressed after his shower as the sight of his earlier scuddiness on deck might have given him more cause to request we move on!

Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing.

Onward, the sailors cry!

Carry the lad that’s born to be King

Over the sea to Skye.

Harold Boulton

It was gone too soon.  We departed Culduie without the sun but it was windy and dry so far, so made the most of it by raising the sails. This was going to be a long day at sea as we wanted to get down to the Knoydart Peninsula so we could take a mooring at Inverie and get ashore.

It was important to plan trips ashore as it’s too easy to remain on-board but that means you miss really connecting with the places you visit and a bit of activity is healthy.

It was windy enough to sail, almost too windy and we were constantly trimming the sails.

We reached the Skye bridge and I was slightly anxious when the skipper stated his intention was to sail under it! However I trust him and indeed we did which actually felt pretty cool.

The land blanked the wind once through so we motored on a bit before anchoring just round from Kyleakin to have lunch and wait for the tide to turn to carry us through the Kyles.

Two hours later it was time and we sped through the narrows, a wee work boat on our port side accompanying us. The tide spat us out at the other side and now there was no wind but thick fog had set in. It was quite eerie motoring along with such low visibility and we had to remain on the lookout for pot buoys ( they have ropes attached leading down to the creels that if we went over, could cause the rope to be entangled in our propeller and stop the engine or worse). Other boats seemed to suddenly appear out the gloom too so it was quite tiring keeping a close watch.

We finally reached the Knoydart Peninsula, the constant mist had soaked us, again,  and when we hooked a mooring buoy in Inverie Bay the skipper asked if I fancied a pub tea at The Old Forge. Hell yeah!

You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You’ll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don’t take
My sunshine away

Jimmie Davis

A warm, bright light fingered its way under my eye mask and I scrunched my eyes up as I flipped the mask over my head to see what this was. Sunlight flooding through the hatch! At last!

I got up and made us both a cup of tea and for the first time in days  didn’t feel the need to pull on a jumper while I made breakfast.

I quickly gathered all the sodden slightly whiffy clothing that had been hung around in a fruitless attempt to dry out. The cycle clothes were wringing, literally and I had to pour water out my trainers. It all went out on the bright, warm, breezy deck, pegged and tied tightly. The boat looked like a carboot sale, all colours and shapes, clothes, shoes, towels and bags everywhere.

The boat had a diesel heater and plenty water storage but we are always sparing with both though I treated myself to a warm hair wash as I knew the warm breeze would dry it over the day. No chance of styling but those luxuries were long gone at sea. Comfort was the priority and vanity well down the list. I was really glad that an upside down head position under the shower spray was ok and I felt no spinning or nausea so that was good. The mornings felt better too. It was only a quick look up and then straight down that seemed to trigger it so that was manageable. I was longing for it to be gone completely though. I wanted to get back to my yoga and Pilates classes which I’d been absent from for nearly two months and that was unheard of in recent years. Also wanted to play around with my grand daughters uninhibited when they come to stay and always involved contortions. My slow mornings allow me to come to gently and allows my brain to calibrate movement. However one of my favourite but slightly alarming events, was when my elder grand daughter bursts into my bedroom at dawn and yanks off my eye mask so she is eyeball to eyeball with me then yells ” Hello, its me, wake up!”

It’s effective though and the heart pounding moment is worth that adorable round face with rosy cheeks and green eyes beaming at you. I wanted to be ready for this!

It was delightful setting off in the sunshine, blue skies and any clouds around were high and white, not the low grey we’d been used to recently. The wind was strong though and unfortunately against us so it was a rough ride, well healed over at times and despite the captain’s insistence we leave the laundry out I was not convinced as it was blowing wild and tugging around. I took in what I could and flung it down below to avoid it being lost to sea. We knew it’d be a longish passage down towards the Applecross peninsula but were happy about our course and stuck to it. It would mean we could have a night there then get through the Kyles between Kylerea and Glenelg the following day and achieve our plan of being home by Sunday.

I was able to sail in only two layers and no outer wet gear for once and it felt good.

We were visited frequently by skuas checking us out and the ubiquitous gullimot and some puffins seemed to be enjoying drying out too. Everywhere the land seemed to be expunging itself of the water that been pouring down on it for days.

It was a long day at sea but it felt different in dry sunny weather but we were glad to nose our way into the pretty bay at Culduie and drop anchor just off skerries acting as haul outs for fat seals who eyed us suspiciously and a sea eagle was bring harried by some gulls overhead.

I rehung the damp clothes out now it was calm and still some drying in the air then finally was able to bring some piccies and drinks up on deck.

You know you’re in Ullapool
when the little town is a sea town,
lorries roll from the docks,
a gaggle of girls buy ice-cream,
the dogs hang round gossiping
the road goes nowhere
and two old people hold hands

Sally Evans

I had to retreat to the aft cabin where the mattress was firmer and my back could recover.

The rain was still pouring down, everything was wet. It was getting a bit tedious but I consoled myself there was good weather on the way.

We took the boat into the harbour, literally dodging the cruise ship tenders that waited for no one on their way in and out, to collect the bikes. Bikes packed up again and stowed away, we departed as the cruise passengers stood in groups along the seafront awaiting their coach to take them to some highlight of the Highlands. There has been a lot of controversy whether this form of marine tourism brings much economic benefit to the areas they visit. The cruise company is owned by a foreign company, the crew were mostly Philippine, the supplies ready stocked and trips ashore contracted out to large coach companies. However I am sure the passengers spend in the local cafes, gift shops, galleries and distilleries. The ship would have to pay dues for berthing and there would be  associated onshore jobs at the port. The huge emissions were the main issue.

In our little boat we were not pure, no wind means deisel engine on. We have wind and solar power which gives us all the power we need so we don’t need gas to cook on. Our dinghy is powered by an electric outboard charged by the renewable energy we generate. We do our best to leave mimimal impact and contribute what we can to the coastal communities we visit. Luckily that means buying homemade cakes, seafood, gifts and crafts!

Sailing out Loch Broom was like a slalom course through the creel pot buoys but in some ways we don’t mind as support this sustainable way of fishing unlike the bottom trawlers and dredgers. Now we were told there is a new form of fishing which not only trawl on the seabed but the seabed is electrified to catch the razor clams that jump out, unfortunately lots of other bottom dwellers are shocked and get caught as by catch. I did wonder what the long term thinking in these practises was.

It was so dull, grey, cold and wet, the seascape was monotonous and uninviting. I had four layers on, thermal hat and sailing boots and still felt chilly. We knew it was going to be a long day so settled in to it. There wasn’t much chat. The land was saturated and every river and burn seemed to be pumping the water off the hand into the sea. I did feel for the visitors as this was an exceptionally wet and cold spell.

Nearly eight hours later we dropped the sails and gladly motored back into pretty Badachro bay and took a mooring just for ease.

We had an amazing dinner of hand dived scallops the size of the Skipper’s palm, Stornoway black pudding drenched in garlic butter then the left overs of last nights roast lamb, creamy mash tatties and veg. That lifted our spirits and warmed us up.

I checked the forecast and it still promised sun and clear skies tomorrow.

Here’s hoping.

The bonniest lad that e’er I saw,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,
Wore a plaid, and was fu’ braw,
Bonnie Highland laddie.
On his head a bonnet blue,
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie;
His royal heart was firm and true,
Bonnie Highland laddie.

Robert Burns

It was a wild and wet night. Stravaigin tugged at her mooring chain all night and swung about like a tied up wild horse, just straining to be free. I was glad she was held tight though and put in ear plugs to drown out her moaning.

I was glad to waken up with no wobbles but an aching lower back had taken over. The soft mattress on our bunk was comfy to sink into but I was missing my extra firm one at home.

My thoughts had returned more to home in general, I was conscious we needed time back home to prepare for our middle and his family’s arrival, grass would need cut, hot tub repaired cleaned and filled for the little ones, beds made and shopping done. The captain could also do with some decent shore time before his trips started again so we rethought our plans and plotted a more direct route south and home. Still allowing plenty time though to amble down, stops for cycles and walks ashore and as the forecast was improving after tomorrow, maybe some time sitting out on deck admiring the view.

The weather really was atrocious, such a contrast to the heatwave south of the border. Our united kingdom really was split in half, north of the Central belt we were more latitudenally  aligned with the Baltic states  while south of Carlisle twinned more with continenal Europe and warmer, drier climate.

However we decided we needed to get off the boat and get a bit of exercise plus see the surrounding area. We’d dropped the bikes off yesterday so took towels, toiletries and shopping bags ashore in the dinghy for showering and restocking later and were already wet by the time we reached the pontoons. We met the harbour master, paid our dues and he kindly said we could leave our bikes in the harbour store for the night. He also gave us a suggested bike trail route that would be slightly more sheltered, inland and interesting than the coastal route we’d planned.

We climbed the brae out of the town then turned off right towards a quarry, the steep track following the River Ullapool which was hidden to our left in a steep gorge. The track then levelled off and ran through pretty birch woods and then opened out to a beautiful hill loch. Loch Achall was full, the river it feeds was in spate, its deep brown waters churning over rocks and flooding the sides, isolating trees and swallowing banks of myrtle.

We saw a fly fisherman trying his luck on the bank further up and despite the grey cloud and misty tops, we were loving  being on solid, albeit sodden, ground and enjoying being immersed in this highland landscape. We came to a section in the road that was completely flooded but decided to give it a go. I sent the captain ahead and when he emerged safe on the other side, I followed. All good.

This was part of the Rhidorroch Estate and was well looked after, good road, solid bridges and impressive estate lodges. We passed a mature pine woodland with a couple of happy pigs furrowing away and further up the track the fisherman and his pal stopped their 4×4 to enquire if I was enjoying myself! I laughed and replied indeed I was.

I suppose we did look a bit odd being so wet, heading along a remote glen track and far away from the main hub. I enquired if he’d had any luck but no. The river was too high so another 24 hrs once it dropped would be better he said. They told us the track led all the way to Oykell Bridge but there were bridges on the way that they thought might be flooded over and would cut off the estate lodges further along the glen.

We weren’t intending going much further and left the bikes by the track to walk up to the impressive waterfall raging down the cleft in the cliff from Loch Na Eala (Loch of the swan). We followed a wee sheep track up the burn side and I loved seeing all the tiny moorland  flowers carpeting the banks, the bright yellow of tormentil, cream of heath bedstraw, yellow and red of bird’s foot trefoil, purple of mountain thyme and delicate white of eyebright.

As we turned to cycle back the rain came in again with a vengeance. The wind was now directly towards us and the rain stung our faces as we, head down, pushed hard against it. The loch had risen even more at the place we’d forded it and I thought the fisherman was probably right that the lodges further east would be cut off. I’m sure they had plenty salmon, venison and lamb to keep them going for a day or two until it subsides. I read about the family who own the estate, the Scobie family and it was now in the care of the younger generation who seemed to be making a good job of it. The lodges were rennovated but off grid, a working sheep farm and stalking estate, fishing and self catering cottages provided nice options for those that were looking for a more relaxed immersive highland experience.

We reached the birch woods again and slight shelter, I noticed the boggy verges decorated with butterworts like stranded yellow starfish strewn around, pale lilac orchids and a couple deep purple ones too. There is always something to see and take notice of and despite the drenching we got, we were glad we had made the effort. A good couple of hours activity and now we enjoyed the downhill back to Ullapool to visit the supermarket for fresh supplies and a hot shower.

Back on the boat we stripped off the sodden clothes, again, had a welcome mug of tea then I set to making dinner of Argyll lamb we’d brought with us and roast veg. We had been tempted by, what I’m sure would be amazing local fish and chips but couldn’t face getting soaked yet again in the dinghy.

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

The roar of an outboard woke us from a good sleep and the rib’s wake jostled us up. We made ready to depart on the still waters and as we turned out our anchorage, a pair of white tailed eagles stood guardian, perched on the rounded rock above the bay. They were huge raptors, majestic and toned. Always on the look out and ready to soar whenever the fancy took them. One of them must had caused all the trouble yesterday.

It was flat calm so we had no choice but to motor down Loch Broom, passing the high hulks of Ben Mor Coigach and his sister peak Sgùrr an Fhìdhleir, their summits shrouded in thick low cloud.

A distant splash and flash of dark dorsal caught my eye and realised it was quite a large group of dolphins feeding. There was a large tour motor boat following behind us and I was surprised to see him turn directly towards them and headed straight in the middle of the pod. I could see some of the dolphins leap clear of the water and it looked like they were alarmed. This was not responsible behavior from a wildlife tour operator and it seemed their priority was for their customers to get a good view and pictures. However this tour operator is out every day, twice a day all season so maybe the wildlife is used to this disturbance and habituated.

We passed the Calmac ferry steaming her way up the loch and were greeted near the harbour by a large cruise ship anchored out. We called in to the marina to drop off the bikes then took a mooring south of this noisy, busy and slightly smelly harbour.

It was a real marine hub, ferries coming and going, wildlife watching tour boats, fishing boats, cruise ship tenders in and out like water taxis, pleasure boats, sailing dinghies and even a racing trimaran.

Another of our learning centres is based here, under the sweet smelling candle shop but was closed when I popped up.

I took some pictures of the dull, wet and windy harbour to send to my rowing friends and hoped the weather would improve for the following weekend when they were racing our Skiff in the annual regatta. These cute little rowing boats were a great way to bring communities together, be active, social, get out on the water and spread contacts throughout the coastal rowing network. I’d been part of our local club for a few years now and had met people in my local area that I’m sure I wouldn’t have met otherwise, got fitter, socialised and undertaken some endurance rowing events like rowing Loch Ness and up the River Clyde.

It was nice to hang on a mooring and we were looking forward to getting ashore in the morning.

Ally bally, ally bally bee,

Sittin’ on yer mammy’s knee,

Greetin’ for a wee bawbee,

Tae buy some Coulter’s candy.

Robert Coltart

The grey sea stretched out behind, reaching to the far north but we’d dropped our hook at the furthest point north on this voyage. It was time to swing the bow round and head south.
It had been a disturbed night. The creak and twang of the snubber on the anchor chain went through a sequence when the gusts pushed Stravaigin away from her seabed fixing, that built to a crescendo before subsiding, only to be repeated in a few moments.
The Swiss Family Robinsons departed in the early hours, hopefully planning a few stops before the Azores! We headed out across the bay under full sail, the corrugated grey skylines lying in layers on the coast. It was certainly a grey day, mist hanging low over the iconic mounts and low cloud ahead like a canopy for us to sail under. I had four layers on under my sailing outers and borrowed a thermal hat from the skipper as I hadn’t thought to bring my own given it was July!

A few seabirds coasted by, the huge sleek gannets seemingly on stealth mode glided past casting us an almost distainful eye. Shags or cormorants, I can never tell which, panicked slightly as this huge white hulk cut the waves on their waters, before upturning and disappearing, their little webbed feet the last view as they dived under. Small flocks of gullimot shot past flapping furiously like they were on a mission, things to do, people/birds to see, places to go!

Time takes on a different measure when you’re underway at sea. We’d calculated around five hours passage to get to The Summer Isles so I’d made up a small picnic for the voyage and settled myself, warmly clad, in the cockpit.
I try not to go down below underway for fear of invoking seasickness which I have been prone to. However I hadn’t succumbed at all so far on this trip which was great as can really ruin a day. I wondered if my nervous system,  still recovering from vertigo, had given up now that I was permanently moving about even while asleep!
Going to the loo though has to be done and involves stripping off what you can in the cockpit before climbing down the companionway to position yourself in the head while bracing yourself against the walls!
You get used to it.
Other than enjoying a mug of warm tea, having a snack, the hours are spent just looking,  which suits me. It feels such a privilege to have this time simply to watch over the sea, visit my thoughts and process.
If we had said, we’re off in the car for five hours south, we’d reach Newcastle and this would be a big deal but surging along the choppy seas, sails drawing didn’t feel like that amount of time actually passing before we started the engine, turned her to the wind to drop the sails before gently nosing into the narrow channel that winds its way through the enchanting Summer Isles, where we were to spend the night.
We chose a quiet little bay, dropped the anchor and went through our stopped sailing routine.
I made a tasty chicken curry and we shared the last of the pies from Lochinver, this time a sweet rhubarb and strawberry one with cream. We were just finishing it off out in the cockpit when there was a commotion overhead, crows and gulls were mobbing a sea eagle as it flew up the side of the small island infront of us followed by a noisy kestrel. We watched the drama unfold then settle and peace returned to this quiet at archipelago.

This was a poignant return. We had made a sea kayak trip out here 13 years ago. I’d always wanted to visit this group of islands after passing them by so often from the ferry out to the Hebrides as they guard the entrance into Loch Broom.  I wasn’t a particularly expert kayaker but had enough skill and confidence to make the camp trip out from Bardentarbet to the islands. We camped in a hummocky little bay, amazed at where we were and soaking up the early spring sunshine. It was idyllic. We had planned to paddle back the next day and had booked a dinner bed and breakfast at the Summer Isles hotel as a birthday treat for the captain.
We set off the next morning and I marvelled at the beautiful mountains rising from sea level, some I had climbed already, others waiting for me.
We reached the shore and carried the kayaks up to the carpark ready to load them on the car roof when my phone, now in reception, pinged and buzzed furiously. So many missed calls and messages from our youngest who was at home looking after the animals and house.
I called him.
He had to deliver the tragic news to me of my brother’s passing in the night.
I held it together for him as he was only a young teenager and I knew this was a tough call to make. The home my brother had lived in with his carers, had called him in the early hours as couldn’t get hold of me and sensitively didn’t want to contact my mum until someone was with her, as they knew she lived on her own. So our boy had dealt with all this on his own and kept it to himself until he could reach me.
Once reassured that we were heading straight back I let him go, no doubt releived he was now not the only custodian of this sad news, then I fell apart.
My little brother, my gentle, innocent wee lad was gone. I was torn apart inside. I felt guilt I wasn’t with him when he passed. Guilt I hadn’t visited more often, guilt the plans and promises had not all been realised. And just raw grief. I don’t think I have ever cried so much, so hard, for so long ever. Four and a half hours to home, the skipper driving in silence, his hand on my knee. There was nothing to say.
He was a beautiful soul my brother, a little boy that wasn’t expected to live an hour past his birth but had made it to his 46th birthday the very night he’d passed.  He was born with Prader-Willi syndrome, a fairly rare genetic condition that cruelly came with a set of disabilities, one of the hardest to cope with was that they have no appetite control. It was a missing regulator in their systems and meant they feel extreme hunger all the time, day and night. This can lead to terrible issues like obesity if not externally controlled and associated behaviour issues. Our lives as a family were dominated by his condition which at times were intolerable, at times funny but always in a loving accepting way. Everyone loved my brother. He had charm, warmth and innocence, he loved people, food of course, model railways and Calmac ferries, to name a few of his obsessions. He adored me and was such a proud uncle to his three nephews.
A big presence was gone from the world and on such a stunning blue sky May day.
On arriving home, I had to deliver the news to my mum. The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, to tell a mother her child has gone.

Stravaigin swayed gently in the shelter of the little bay. I sat looking over these islands and remembered him. He’d been with us on all those highland holidays, fished the lochs with his beloved Dad, played houses with me in the bothy ruins and enjoyed every morsel of the delicious meals the grannies cooked. My little brother, a sweet soul.

The tempest roared,

the vessel groaned,

Upon a jagged reef it moaned.

The cowardly crew had fled the night,

And left the family to their plight.

But Father, Mother, and four boys brave,

Put all their hope upon the wave.

Adapted from Johann David Wyss

The wind was blowing strongly  and the skipper made preparations to depart after visting the harbour office to pay our dues. He came back with the news that it was basically, buy one, get one free. Two nights in any Highland Council harbour for the price of one and didn’t even need to be consecutive. That was a good deal and hopefully would encourage boats to visit these struggling coastal communities. The NC500 did bring tourists but fleetingly and was a victim of its own success, a very popular tourist road trip that took drivers to fabulous locations but also brought with it issues of conflict between some locals and campervan drivers. We had watched a documentary recently on the issues on Skye of irresponsible toileting, parking and littering which was of course awful but seemed was restricted to the minority which you get in any group of activity. It been the same with walkers, campers and fishermen, a few bad apples. The solution seemed to lie in more facilities being provided to reduce this negative impact on these landscapes. We were one of these users too, loving our wee forays in the truck tent. with its high bunk on top, cooking on the tailgate and sitting watching sunsets while wrapped in rugs and cradling a wee dram. We could only go off in the winter season so had the luxury of parking in remote spots, well out the way of anyone but knew if we were to take a trip in the season it would mean designated campsites which was fine. We also had planned a big trip out to the Catalonian Pyrenees next year in the truck tent but knew that would mean designated campsites which the Europeans are well set up for. I really hoped this situation would resolve soon as there was a growing feeling of toxicity towards this group of travellers, that was unwarranted.

I was making ready to go too when overheard the neighbouring boat fellows enquire of the captain where we were heading. They were quite startled when he told them our destination and said it looked very rough out there and they were sitting this out, I felt a sudden pang of unease! However the skipper dismissed this as being fine and off we went out the sheltered harbour and on to the rough seas. It was pretty wild, big swells and strong winds but dry at least. The sea state and direction was a bit unpleasant but it was manageable for a fairly short passage. I felt a little off but luckily it didn’t build to anything.
We sailed past the distinctive Clachtoll (cleft in the rock) and at least I saw the white sandy beaches from the sea. I had distant memories of being there as a child with my family, grand parents and all. It was our usual symmer holiday to take a house and many family and friends joined us to enjoy various activities: Dad would fish or climb a mountain: Mum would knit, read or sit on the beach sunning her legs: grandmothers would play cards, drink sherry and cook: grandpa would find the local inn while I  puddled about in rock pools, built play houses or shops in ruined byres, searched for fairies in the woods and generally amused myself until I was called in for the dinner the grannies had cooked.

Soon the Old Man of Stoer came in to view and I marvelled at how folks climb that pinnacle of a sea stack  including our youngest and also my rowing friend with her husband recently. That had never been my game, well not since a young teenager when I realised I could make my own choices and didn’t have to accompany my adventurous father on his eccentric excursions.
We followed the coastline and I watched the little white blocks trundle along the narrow coastal  roads and hoped they were good campervanners, then passed Drumbeg, the location of another holiday with friends and our direction now meant for a much more pleasant sail.

We turned into Loch Nedd and were sheltered from the strong winds. Large gannets cruised by, cormorants flapped out the way  and the ubiquitous gullimot bobbed under as we passed by. I made ready with the anchor but before we could set it down, we were hailed by a couple in a small tender and asked not to anchor there as they had 70m chain out. This Swiss couple were on  high latitude boat and had set out a very long chain as were concerned about the previous night’s high winds. We set our anchor further away so as not to snag theirs but the skipper explained to me it wasn’t necessary to have such excessive scope out and not really the done thing as took up too much space in a small bay. We chatted with them a bit and when we made the usual enquiry of where they were headed the next day, they replied the Azores then Antartica! We had meant their next port but anyway a lot was lost in translation!
Their boat was all logo’ed up so I researched them and discovered they were on a lifetime voyage researching climate change. They’d lived aboard for 20 years and during that time produced five children who we heard playing ashore in the woods. They had left Norway eight days ago and had sailed here via Shetland.  Maybe they were used to long anchor chains.

Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do!

I’m half crazy, all for the love of you!

It won’t be a stylish marriage,

I can’t afford a carriage,

But you’ll look sweet upon the seat

Of a bicycle built for two!

We will go tandem as man and wife

Daisy Daisy

Peddaling away down the road of life

I and my Daisy Bell

Harry Dacre

We were tied up snug to sit out strong winds blowing through overnight and tomorrow. The warps tugged and creaked all night right above our cabin but I couldn’t be bothered moving cabin and anyway I could hear the water sloshing against the pontoon at the stern so didn’t think it’d be much better. However, I must of slept as woke to the skipper bringing me a mug of tea.

We had a slow morning catching up with admin and wee jobs while it was pouring outside. The captain was sorting out business things and I footered about.

It dried up just as we finished our jobs, so we took the bikes out the aft cabin, assembled them and set off for an afternoon’s cycle to Clachtoll via the famous pie shop. We had just reached the pie café when the sky opened again so thought it better to grab a coffee and sit this heavy shower out. I was getting tired of being soaked and my hair was beyond hope, though I’d recently had it shortened, not just for the trip but to smarten it up from the straggly bleached mop it had become, it was full of seaspray and salt. Fine under my cycle helmet though. We got coffee and two pies to takeaway – one savoury to share on the beach for a picnic lunch and the other sweet one for a dessert another day. Just as we left the café I literally bumped into a colleague and pal who was guiding a cycle trip round the NC500. We had a wee chat, swapped tales of our guiding days for the same company then made our way out the village and were loving cycling along the single track road, past lochans and undulating knolls of heather and myrtle. We were 3 miles short of Clachtoll which I was keen to visit as it had been maybe 25 years since last there camping with our wee brood of tously haired tangle of gorgeous boys and I was looking forward to sitting on the beach munching our pies in the sun.

“You have a rear flat tyre” I announced to the skipper. It was pretty flat but we tried pumping it up in case it was a slow leak. Nope, it was flat again in minutes. He tried taking the tube off to see if there was anything to be done but the valve had been sheared off. We had a spare for my tyres but not the smaller wheels he was riding. Oh well. Wait a minute, do we happen to know any bike guides in the area who have a support vehicle full of spares! I gave him a call and we were in luck. He had a suitable spare tube and was still in Lochinver while his clients were having lunch. Talk about serendipity! The cycle/walk back was interesting as the skipper developed an interesting technique of leaning over his handle bars taking the weight off the back for slow downhills then pushing uphill. I did giggle as we were just as bad as my students who this guide coached in mountain bike leadership and would groan when they had a technical issue and then they would announce they had left their spares back at college. We were those useless students! However, he made no comment as we did the walk of shame towards him and he helped change the inner using an interesting technique to fit a larger tube to a smaller tyre. You learn something every day – just like the students!

Much gratitude and promise of coffee and scones from our college cafe once we were back at work and we came up with a Plan B as cycling all the way back towards Clachtoll was now too far. We decided on the lovely local woods again and to go to the secluded shore to picnic and enjoy the sun which was actually shining! That pie was so big, resembling Suilven itself so humped full of meat it was, we cut it in two and lay on the shingly shore soaking up the rare warmth and sun light.

A wee cycle round the rear of the woodlands then back to the village to stock up with  a few bits. These wee village stores invariably stock such interesting sweets that you don’t see anywhere else. I had to buy the bag of plain chocolate covered ginger creams and rhubarb and custard boilings. I was sure I would return from this trip resembling a Lochinver pie as was indulging in too much good grub and treats!

The skipper was in great shape, he has the most annoying ability, after a winter of over indulging and pretty sedentary lifestyle when he lays down his winter covering, within a couple of weeks of starting the season he is lean and fit again! It seems to take me months of strict control, hours of cycling, rowing and swimming to shift the pounds but only a few days of relaxation for it to appear back again! They don’t call the menopause the change for no reason!

This business of ageing was a challenge. Things were wobbling, wrinkling, falling off, out, aching and wearing out! It does seem to creep up on you, the 50s were fine but 60s seem to mark a turning point. It seemed a fairly constant effort to push back from entire degeneration but on the whole we were doing pretty well and it was a privilege to go through it together. We knew everything about each other and could empathise when yet another ailment or issue appeared. We just laughed it off when it seemed every time you went to get something checked out, the GP would diagnose “oh its just your age”!

Back to the boat then a shower and welcome hair wash for me at the leisure centre. I wasn’t feeling that good, a bit unsteady and nauseous and felt a bit disappointed the vertigo was not fully away. Maybe all the different motions and exertions had stirred it up again. Well at least I was able to come on the trip which I was loving in every way so took that as a win. The doc had said it could take weeks even months so I just had to be patient.

The skipper disassembled the bikes and packed them away – including another spare inner tube we had managed to buy at the hardware store – while I brought out the second dinner’s worth of crab. We ate our full again and still had a pile of meat leftover so decided that would do in a roll for lunch tomorrow.  We certainly felt we had got our money’s worth from our impromptu pier purchase. We sat back in the cockpit  and watched the huge refrigerated lorry slowly revv up and turn out the harbour laden with fresh seafood bound for Spain– minus two crab!