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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!

Blue Chief: Man of the black cap what do you say
As your proud ship cleaves the brine?
Skipper: My speedy ship takes the shortest way
And I’ll follow you line by line
Blue Chief: My men are eager, my men are ready
To drag you below the waves
Skipper: My ship is speedy, my ship is steady
If it sank, it would wreck your caves.

Legend of the Blue Men of the Minch

I took a while to go over, my mind full of past memories and future plans. We had discussed plans for when we finally retire, some involved travels  on water of course and some involving our recent purchase of a truck top tent. It was fun to think what the possibilities were. I also woke early, a commotion at the bow, most likely an otter or seal grabbing a catch and using the mooring buoy to dispatch its kill, not my usual morning wake up call of woodland birds at the feeder outside the bedroom window!

We had an early breakfast of sourdough toast with smashed avocado and egg, no short measures on this trip! There was no wind and the cloud hung low over the distant hills. The skipper had computer work to do so I took the long watch. It was a monochrome sea, smooth surface but no wildlife to see. The occasional pair of guillemots, fathers with their chicks, he takes over chick rearing once they have fledged so that the mother can return to sea to feed and regain her strength after egg laying and brooding. If it was a pair it was nearly always guillemot, a small raft of black and white birds were usually puffins, just hanging about, being puffins.

We passed Reiff and the cliffs were almost discernible, I remembered visiting there many years ago after another memorable adventure. We had made a canoe trip along with our middle son, his pal and then girlfriend to paddle the five lochs including Fionn Loch, Loch Sionasgaig  and Loch Veyatie. This involved leaving a car at each end and a shuttle, paddling the lochs then portaging (dragging) the canoes and gear across the moor to get to the next one. It was late autumn and a particularly cold spell but we were undeterred. I think our son wanted to impress this lass who was not really outdoorsy but was game to have a go. She was a very slender girl and no matter how many layers we put on her, she was freezing. Paddling and hiking were the only way to keep warm so we kept going as much as we could. At the start we had a rare feast of fresh prawns that we got from a local fisherman in Ullapool on the way through, he refused to take any payment and simply said to buy him a pint if we were ever in the pub. We  cooked them on a camping stove and sat by the loch peeling and stuffing our faces with them. The canoe trip was good and at the end we had visited Reiff to see the sea cliffs, famous for climbing. The skipper and boys did a bit of scrambling about while we women folk looked on encouragingly. The relationship with the girl did not last, they had different paths to follow but the friendship with his pal still lasts and it is a pleasure to see them both now, married and fathers to two children each.

A solitary seal bobbed up to add some excitement and a distant splash and fins of a couple of dolphins but too far away to warrant letting the skipper know. I watched the MV Seaforth head out of Loch Broom on its way to Stornoway and a few fishing vessels motored by slowly.

The compass was firmly pointing north and it was a bit monotonous motoring along for hours but it was getting us where we wanted to go. We finally rounded the headland and into Loch Inver and took a space on the visitor pontoons. We settled and changed clothing to go for a wander in the community woodlands. I noticed a boat landing crates of something on the pier so we popped along with a bag and cash and got two large cock crabs for tea. The skipper took them back to the boat, holding them by their two rear legs to avoid being nipped. He returned proudly stating  he had cut their front claw tendons and put them in the sink for cooking later. I was not that confident they would still be there after having seen them climbing out the crates. I had visions of them scuttling around the boat and finding one at the bottom of my bunk!


The woodlands were lovely, mossy, green and carpeted in sorrel. There were many tree species including oak, birch, beech, hazel, sycamore and straggly ash trees, badly savaged by ash die back disease though the ivys were quick to take advantage of their weakened state and climbed up their trunks. The smell of damp mosses and woodland plants was lovely though the drizzle that had started was now strengthening to rain so we cut it short a bit and made back for the boat. We passed a beautiful loch covered in water lillies and then the cutest little primary school built on a promintary in the loch, what a place to be educated!

By the time we got to the harbour it was  pouring and we were soaked. I gingerly came aboard ready to strip my sodden clothes off but was curious to see where these crabs were – they were safely still in the sink thankfully. We searched about to find a pot big enough to cook them and dispatched them quickly, cooked them and settled down to enjoy this fresh sea harvest though in a damp fuggy salon, not quite out in the cockpit, sun streaming down and chilled glass of vino!

Give me a rod of the split bamboo

A rainy day and a fly or two

A mountain stream where the eddies play

And mists hang low o’er the winding way

Eunice Lamberton

It had been a wet night, the weather really had not been great especially as it was late June but then down south they were experiencing terrible heat waves, closing schools and transport affected. The climate was changing, no doubt about that. We had slept late which was a luxury, we had a day to spend onshore so were not really in a hurry. The rain drizzled on, not a breath of wind as we breakfasted and used the time to make plans for later in the summer. Our middle son, his wife and two daughters were coming over, as they say, for their annual pilgrimage to the home land and that was what we had to get back in time for. I was then returning to Catalonia to help look after the wee girls during the summer holidays. I had spent five glorious summers spending time with our elder grand daughter and was so looking forward to replicating this special time with her adorable wee sister. She was as cute as a button, strong willed and comical, not talking yet but certainly made herself understood! Her elder sister adored her and was so patient when her newly created craft work was accidently toppled over and lay on the floor in pieces. The 5 yr old’s passions had turned slightly from unicorns and mermaids to KPop Demon Hunters and karaoke which was fun to see and I loved watching her grow and be part of her wee life.

We booked flights and sorted logistics which always seem so complicated in our lives, then dinghied ashore to check our bikes had not been “borrowed” by the Bad Boys of Badachro. All good, they were still nestled in the undergrowth at the top of the pier.  I pushed mine to the top of the wee road that leads down to the harbour before mounting and setting off. No wobbles so far! It had been six weeks to the day all this nervous system chaos had erupted and it felt so good to be nearly normal again. Usually I cycle at least twice a week, to and from my Pilates and yoga classes and had missed it so much. I knew my fitness level had dropped but was just glad to be active again. These periods of ill health/incapacity really bring home how things can change in an instant. I thought of friends who were going through serious health issues and impairments to their lives and resolved to make the most of what I have while I can. Sometimes though that decision is taken from you and I really felt for my friends and family who were affected.

It was delightful cycling along the twisty single track road past waterlily strewn lochans, deep dark brown rivers swollen with recent heavy rain, lush green sweet smelling woodlands and banks of bog myrtle and dwarf willows. The verges were stuffed full of meadowsweet, dog roses, rush and buttercups and I inhaled deeply, their scent so intoxicating. I felt a rush of endorphins and smiled up at the sky with gratitude to just being here. We passed Sheildaig Lodge where I had visited a few years back when I had a student  on his work placement there, then into Gairloch harbour to check out the visitor pontoons. Climbing up the steep hills, I really felt my lack of fitness and tender backside! It rained fairly constantly but it was a warm drizzle and made the decision of water proof jacket on or off a constant dilemma. We turned into the newly built museum and café building that also housed a learning centre part of my organisation NWH UHI. I knew the centre manager there so felt it only polite to call in to say hello. She had left for the day unfortunately but we decided to enjoy the café on the upper floor . It was bustling with damp warm tourists all sampling the homemade cakes and soup. We chose our cakes, Victoria Sponge for the captain and Pistachio and White Chocolate for me and used the WIFI to finish our arrangements. We made a draft passage plan to make sure we did not venture too far north so allowing plenty time for the return. It had only been five days and we had come far but it was also sobering to know that at the end of the week we really should turn south again to allow for explorations and holing up in case of bad weather.

We cycled back still in drizzle, bellies full of cake and a tuft of bog myrtle sticking out the captain’s back pack. This humble shrub holds so much emotion for us. It was in my parent’s wedding bouquet and also ours. A pressed dried piece sits above our bed at home and when crushed the small evokes such strong memories of time spent in the highlands. Smell is a strong sense for me, it transports me to the place or person it reminds me of, sometimes good, sometimes bad!


Rounding a corner the lochan came in to view again, a small island near the shore with a tall Scots pine and rowan decorating it, protected to a point from the grazing deer and sheep. Reeds swayed in the shallows in the little bays and a small wooden jetty protruded out to the waters, a little rowing boat tied to it. It was as if I could see him there, standing on a distant bank, kilt, woollen shirt, bonnet and plume of pipe smoke rising gently into the still air. A flick of the rod and a gentle lay on the surface, the fly just laid down right where he intended and that familiar draw of the line through his fingers. My father. Gone almost 30 years ago but so present in these beautiful special places. This landscape was compromised without his boots treading the stony, peaty paths that lead to hidden glens, peaks of stone, rivers of soft waters, lochs of rising trout and moors of purple heather.

I gathered myself and cycled on, captain watching me with care and I think he knew the poignant thoughts I was having.

We returned to the pretty wee harbour and dismantled the bikes and packed them into the bike bags then into the dingy and petered over to Stravaigin waiting for us, swaying gently in the tidal eddy.

Glaciers, grinding West, gouged out
these valleys, rasping the brown sandstone,
and left, on the hard rock below –
the ruffled foreland –
this frieze of mountains, filed
on the blue air –
Stac Polly,
Cul Beag, Cul Mor, Suilven,
Canisp –
a frieze and
a litany.

Who owns this landscape?
Has owning anything to do with love?
For it and I have a love-affair, so nearly human..

Norman MacCaig

A Man in Assynt (excerpt)

Day 4
Today was the first morning I woke up and managed to turn over without invoking dizziness in nearly 6 weeks so I took that as a good sign.
We motored out the bay and pointed the bow towards the Skye Bridge. As we passed the ruins of a castle on a promintary at Kyleakin, I recalled visiting there three years ago with the Catalans and our dear wee grand daughter.
We’d mused about princesses and unicorns and the captain helped her climb up the walls to peep out the window. Time had flown so fast and now she was a big sister to another joy for us.
We carried on under the bridge, always a moment of breath holding as you slide through and safely out the other side, although there is plenty room and we turned to starboard and along the shoreline past Badicaul and the entrance to Loch Carron. It was windy though the low cloud hung over the Misty Isle and seemed settled there for a while. We chatted as we continued past Raasay then Rona and the visibility cleared enough to see over to Trotternish then Staffin. I contacted our youngest to see if he was guiding on Skye just to know if he were clambering along the dark brooding ridgeline of the Black Cuillin we could see way in the distance, but he was working further south on the Ben.

An interesting conversation was taking place over the VHF between a naval training base and other craft in the area. They were requesting a wide berth from their training ground. The captain had noticed earlier the depth suddenly shot up  and deduced we might have sailed over a submarine!

The wind direction and strength made our decision to keep going north while we could, so we sailed past Applecross, Sheildaig and made for Badachro. I recognised little settlements as we passed, Opinan, Port Henderson then Big Sands, places from childhood and fond memories of family holidays in these enchanting places. Gairloch came into view, a place known from teenage past when I stayed with a family as an au pair to two delightful little kids while their parents did their best to renovate the old house a family member had left them. I remembered loading up the wee ones in the pram and stuffing as many bags as possible of nappies, food, toys, blankets and towels then heading to the beach to make camp for the day, only returning when I thought the DIY work was done for the day. More recent times  involved the learning centre our college has there and collaboration with colleagues.

We turned deeper into the bay just as a “tender” to an enormous super yacht made it’s way past us, a deck on the back that slides further back to allow their helicopter to land then be lowered into the “garage” then roof slid back over!
Well I was content with my super yacht and felt more virtuous with our wind power driving us and solar and wind heating our water and cooking our dinners.
Stravaigin gently nosed her way into the pretty little bay that lay almost in a circular cove, houses and inns looking down on the boats all shapes and sizes swaying about on the rising tide.
I picked up a visitor mooring and we went through the usual end of passage routine of declothing, snacks, drinks and lying back admiring where we were.
I was pleasantly surprised at how far we’d come already in 4 days, it didn’t seem quite real.
We decided to load the bike bits into the dinghy and go ashore to rebuild them and suss the place out for an exploration tomorrow.
I wasn’t sure how the riding would go but will see.

A cool drink on the deck of the Badachro Inn and another horse box trailer selling woodside pizzas! We weren’t tempted though having the ultimate pizzas on demand from our youngest’s fiancé and could not be surpassed!

Back onboard we decided on venison burgers for tea and make a plan for a day onshore tomorrow as there was no wind forecast and a day exploring would be fun.

The Legend of Saucy Mary

Legend claims that ‘Saucy’ Mary, a Norwegian Princess who married the Chief of Clan Mackinnon, collected this toll herself. A large portion of the clans’ income came through imposing a toll on passing ships. To avoid paying it would mean sailing around the far more treacherous Minch, known for its ferocious storms. The Clan Chief and his wife are said to have hung a chain across the straits from their home, Caisteal Maol in Kyleakin, to the mainland and demanded a hefty toll to be allowed through. Mary took it upon herself to collect the toll.  She would show gratitude for those who paid by flashing her bare chest as they sailed past, so the name ‘Saucy’ Mary came to be.

Day 3
A quick breakfast of homemade yogurt, berries and lovely sourdough toast that I’d picked up the weekend before from a fabulous honesty box on Mull, then outer clothing and boots on to lift the hook and head back out the bay to continue our northerly odyssey.
The wind was still in our favour so we decided to keep going up the coast and should make it up to the Kyles in good time to flow through with the tides.

We sailed past beautiful bays and inlets recalling times spent in each over the years. Passing Mallaig and Loch Nevis we  laughed as we remembered a canoe trip we’d made as teenagers in our aluminium canoe. We’d paddle Loch Morar and set out to portage over to Loch Nevis. This involved a very steep climb up and over a bealach carrying the canoe and all our camping kit plus our family collie trailing along too! I recall it being a real slog and probably a crazy idea but we were determined and made it, still talking to each other! We paddled up the loch to Camusrory to stay at Sourlies Bothy. The next day we had to do the same return journey but this time the wind was against us but as luck would have it, the local supply boat Spanish John was heading that way and offered us a lift. We gladly accepted and got a tow back up to Tarbet to make the same carrying back up and over. Well our adventures started young and we never really learned but I think these mad cap trips helped forge our relationship and instilled a real love of these wild places.

Knoydart passed by our starboard, the large humps of Ladhar Bheinn, Luinne Bheinn and sharper peak of Sgurr na Ciche recognisable on the skyline. I had such a fondness for this wild place, I’d climbed through its rough bounds with my late father, we’d made up stories about Loony Benny a character I’d created who lived on Luinne Bheinn. The captain had requested my hand in marriage from my father on a trip there and I’d stayed a whole summer there as a student, writing my dissertation on the concept of wilderness. That was a fabulous summer, I was adopted by the community and stayed firstly in the postman’s shed as he would not hear of me camping, then I was passed to a local family as their daughter was at the high school hostel in Mallaig so they had a spare room. He was a prawn fisherman and a delightful character, every night was a ceilidh and I helped care for their rosy cheeked baby when I wasn’t writing or tramping the hills. It was also then I fell in love with large hounds, they had a deer hound who was the most beautiful dog I’d ever seen, her name was Jade due to her green eyes, gentle and graceful but on the hill she could run like the wind!

Memories are precious and I loved bringing them back to mind as I sat in the cockpit, it felt a privilege to have the time to recollect and reminisce.

We reached Glenelg in good time and raced along, the wind behind us and tide with us. It narrows here and the tide brings up the nutrients and sealife as it pours through, we watched a huge flock of gulls feeding and seals darting about hunting for prey. Rounding the point and into Loch Alsh the tide released us and we could see the Skye Bridge ahead. We decided we’d had enough for one day and would anchor south of the bridge for the night in Loch na Beiste.

We sailed confidently into the bay, narrowing as it ended at a green wooded shore, a sheer waterfall emptying into the sea on our starboard.
I felt tired again after the disturbed night but revived after a cup of tea and ginger biscuit. It felt good to be north of the Argyll coastline, we were just round the corner from the Skye Bridge which acts as the gateway to the north coast and true western isles.
I sat, feet up in the cockpit reading and  writing until a figure caught my eye standing on the shore.  It seemed such a remote place to get to and I couldn’t see any tracks marked on the map but guessed he might be a local and knew the paths down to this wee bay, maybe like me, he feels the need to wander down from his house and just be there. He stayed a while just looking and wandering along the shore then slowly retreated back into the woods.
The air grew chillier and I went down below to put dinner together. The skipper had pre-prepared most of our meals so dinner was easy, reheat and pimp up.  We found some TV to watch before bedtime and although it was wet outside, it was a gentle rain so quieter and I hoped I was in for a more peaceful night.

Where the rocks of Ardnamurchan meet the rolling Gaelic Sea,

Where the reef-jawed whirlpools gnash their teeth and roar,

There’s a lass whose gaze is seaward, standing in the menhir’s lee

On fair Alba’s ever-westward-facing shore.

Marie Marshall

Day 2
We had invited our friends who live in Lochaline to join us for breakfast so while I took advantage of the little harbour’s large showers and hair dryers, the skipper volunteered to cook up bacon rolls and pots of good coffee.
A lovely catch up with our friends sharing stories of our growing families,  graduations, house disasters, travels, and future plans then we bid farewell and headed out from the sheltered loch to vere north again and up the sound, navigating other sailing boats and ferries.
I mused as we passed Tobermory then Glengorm, how different this aspect was from the previous weekend when I’d spent an enjoyable weekend on Mull with a friend. We had stood on the raised shoreline looking over the Sound and north toward the Small Isles, watching the tiny white oragami like sail boats flitting around and she had said “That’ll be you next week!”
Indeed it was and I felt very lucky indeed.

The Sound ends and opens out like the estuary of a large river, options for vessels to flow out in any direction. We were heading north and pointed the bow towards Ardnamurchan Point.
We had the winds behind us, which is a fairly rare occurrence so enjoyed a strong sail all the way on our route and into Loch Ceann Traigh and our first anchorage off Singing Sands. Once the hook was dropped, waterproofs discarded and boat shoes on, we sat back enjoying the view and enjoying some snacks and drinks.  It lasted a while before the showers came in. It was wet, very wet, so we hunkered down below and made dinner. The wind was blowing strong and steady and once in bed it was not such a peaceful night. The anchor alarm went off in the middle of the night, which is what its meant to do but getting back to sleep was problematic with the captain deep in snoring slumber beside me and the wind howling overhead. I retreated to the makeshift bunk in the saloon but the wind generator whirled constantly and Stornoway coastguard piped up frequently then the throaty engines of another vessel chugged nearby  so it was a challenge! However I woke early the next morning so realised I had fallen asleep and made bed tea for us, allowing us to come to gently.