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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.

Nothing can be hidden from Lochaline Stores,
Supposing the Grocer’s has eyes and ears:
Not an addiction to scratch cards or whisky,
Not a partiality to a bottle of Chianti.
Not a dickey heart, not an icky stomach,
Not a forty-a-day habit, not a weakness for crumpets,
Not a feverish love of the Guardian newspaper,
Not you dashing in for Alka-Seltzer.
Not the book of first class stamps for your love letters
Not you turning back from margarine to butter
Not a stain on your laundry–coffee, wine?–
Not your shaky I’m fine to the daily how are you?

Jackie Kay

Day 1

Departing the day after our 41st wedding anniversary, boat fully stocked with all our favourite goodies and my luggage taking up two cabins, I’m sure the captain detected this was already going to be a very different trip to his usual guest sailing trips! We left in warm summer sunshine, sailed past our little home in the woods, by the shore at the foot of the hills and as each nautical mile flowed behind us, so too did the stresses and preoccupations of landlife. It’s never about running away but more about really taking a break. I had just finished my academic year which always entails a fair share of high pressure and now the only high pressure would be a welcome weather system offering blue skies and sunny days! The captain is full on when at work and although loves his work, a break from routine is always welcomed.

Snaking out through the narrows at the entrance to our sheltered sea loch and heading south to the end of Lismore before turning the helm north and up the Sound of Mull, each exhale seemed to empty the mind and our bodies relaxed. The familiar skylines, features and shorelines flowed past, reassuringly constant and identifiable. Lismore Light, The Seven Maids of Morvern, Duart Castle and eventually the hidden entrance to Lochaline where we headed in and tied up on the pontoons next to a large recognisable motorboat. I’d rowed past her over the winter when out with my crew mates in our cute wee Skiff and we chatted to the pleasant owners, sharing stories and experiences about being grand parents and the joys of teaching our wee ones childhood songs like Ally Bally and Three Craws!

Once settled and calm I promptly fell asleep! Unheard of to have an afternoon nap but I realised my brain was working overtime to recover from the balance issue and being at sea for hours had probably tested it further  so I gave into it and felt much the better for it an hour later. 

We’d booked a table at The Whitehouse restaurant to celebrate our anniversary so, when it was time, we strolled along, me in my dress complete with trainers and cagoul and the captain in his smart shirt!

We’d wanted to experience this place for years but never really had the time nor justification for the expensive set menu so were excited for it. It did not disappoint. The ingredients were local, sustainably produced and cooked, combined, paired and served to perfection. We managed a dry amble back to the boat and I was delighted to climb up into our bunk and nestle down into the comfy quilt, the waters lapping the hull and my captain beside me. 

“She set out across the sea,

When her ancestors whispered “come home.”

She thought “something’s waiting for me,”

And could feel it in her bones.”

Lily: ‘Find her in the Highlands’

I had a yearning to go north. Just head north with no real destination or timescale. A true stravaig. I loved the islands, I knew them like friends, we’d shared happy and sad times, I knew their secrets, their soft spots and charms. But the north, the far north felt like an old friend, childhood memories, places whose names read like poetry and each mention of them had allure and a beguiling call. I felt it was time I made my acquaintance again.

We were lucky to have an extended period of time off together, I had a long academic break and the captain had taken the boat off charter so we could spend some summer time together, a rare occurrence since starting the business. We discussed what we might do and using the boat ourselves was an option but I questioned was that not like a bus man’s holiday or indeed a captain’s holiday? He refuted this immediately and explained how much he’d love sharing his sea life with me, showing me the delights of our coastal home waters and even cook for me. It was a deal!

We calculated over two weeks to spend away, allowing time to get back and prepare for the little Catalan stravaigers to arrive for their annual journey back to their Celtic homeland, so we packed, planned and prepared.

The morning of departure I ferried the numerous bags down the slipway ready to load on to the boat once she was brought alongside. The food bags were many and heavy and I did wonder if we ate all this would we return carrying all this extra weight inside!! I also wondered as I handed the bags containing our bikes which had been dismantled and packed over the guard rails, if I would be more successful than my previous attempts to cycle.

I had recently been out of action with a very frustrating and debilitating condition affecting balance and although was well on the way to recovery, we decided just to set off and see how things go. I wasn’t sure how I’d be onboard never mind cycling but what’s the worse that could happen!

Long time he lay upon the sunny hill,
To his father’s house below securely bound.
Far off the silent, changing sound was still,
With the black islands lying thick around.

He saw each separate height, each vaguer hue,
Where the massed islands rolled in mist away,
And though all ran together in his view
He knew that unseen straits between them lay.

Often he wondered what new shores were there.
In thought he saw the still light on the sand,
The shallow water clear in tranquil air;
And walked through it in joy from strand to strand.

Over the sound a ship so slow would pass
That in the black hill’s gloom it seemed to lie
The evening sound was smooth like sunken glass,
And time seemed finished ere the ship passed by.

Grey tiny rocks slept round him where he lay,
Moveless as they, more still as evening came,
The grasses threw straight shadows far away,
And from the house his mother called his name

Childhood   Edwin Muir

The little arrow on the screen remained still, just off Ponta Delgada, pointing north east. I checked it every day and it still remained. I was home and dealing with the after math of Mum’s passing, lawyers, utilities, telephone, return of NHS aids, writing letters, cutting grass and patiently waiting for news. A little text appeared via satellite, “Stravaigin on passage. All well” Relief. I was not worried about the boat or crew, three yacht masters, a good strong boat and fair weather.  However they were way out in the Atlantic. They were having a ball. Poor Jan had left the boat in the Azores returning back to Slovakia for military duty, so just the three had made the second passage from Azores to Dublin but it was going well.

I booked a flight to Dublin, the final one, to meet up with them for the final sail home. The little twin propeller airplane trundled noisily off the runway and made the short flight from Glasgow to Dublin, landing after we had all had a cup of tea and lovely Sean, J’s old school friend was there to meet me. As the boat was not due in until that evening he insisted on taking me home to meet the family and wine and chat flowed as we caught up on our adventures since we last saw them, right at the start and met their lovely daughters Rosie and Kiera, and the dog who lay his head on my lap and gazed up at me hanging on every word. Suddenly Sean leapt up, having checked his Vessel Finder App and announced we had to go as the “boat was coming in!”

We bundled into his car, dropping the dog off at granny’s and we headed to Dún Laoghaire, kids and all. A quick pizza and then a march down to the marina just as I received a text announcing the arrival of Stravaigin, landfall after eight days at sea.

A beaming and slightly hairy, captain stood on the deck as we arrived, delighted at the crowd welcoming them to Ireland and without further ado, headed to the pub for a well-earned Guinness.

It was hoatching, Saturday night in Dún Laoghaire and everyone seemed to have fled Dublin and headed to the coast so after a quick drink, the crew were done and we wandered back to the boat so the captain could finally sleep in his bunk, stationary and with no watch to worry about. And his first mate beside him.

We spent a nice day the next day, after saying goodbye to Michael who was heading home which was only a couple of hours by train away, then cleaning up the boat a bit, refuelling, rewatering, restocking before treating ourselves to a fabulous brunch. We then headed out for a quieter drink in a local pub that evening rather than the huge franchise we had found the previous night. I did notice the rainbow flag in the window and the pink flamingo and unicorn ornaments adorning the bar, but the lads were oblivious, heads in phones catching up on news from home, sipping their manly pints. Time to go as the skies grew dark and as we left the heavens opened in a biblical torrent of torrential rain and we were socked to the skin within seconds. Nothing for it we waded home and literally stripped in the cockpit before dashing down below to dry off. I smiled to myself at dear Stuart, non plussed about decorum as he sat in his thermal underpants, sipping a hot coffee, steaming from head to toe.

Hunger nudged me awake and I smiled as I opened my eyes, quietly. No persistent alarm demanding me on deck to layer up and don red light torches along with life jacket, thermal hat and leather boots to protect my sleepy body from a chill I had not expected in the Mediterranean nights, I was relieved of watch duties as we had three aboard and I would gladly get up to feed us all at breakfast time. At first light we slipped out of the marina and headed north up the coast, a two day, one overnight passage to get to Islay or Jura depending on the weather and tides. It was strange having to factor in the tides again after a year almost of no tidal range but now they had quite an effect and we were keen to get beyond the NW corner of Ireland while the tide was with us.

It was a nice sail, a bit of motoring too but as we headed north the noticeable thing was the amount of marine life everywhere. The sea birds were constant as were dolphin, seals and porpoise. And jelly fish in their thousands, mostly the clear moon with their four purple rings but the occasional orangey brown, lion mane, some the size of dustbin lids, floated by. As the little white capped waves shooed us from behind like children’s’ hands shooing their chooks back to the barn, I could see the distinct dark silhouette of Jura ahead. We were goosewinged out, I’d like to say, gracefully like the Greylag honing in to its nesting site but we were more like Jemima Puddle Duck flouncing her wings occasionally as the wrong wind direction caught the edges of the sail, flapping noisily and regularly.

It was decided we would call in at Craighouse on Jura for the night and it was simply glorious as we sailed up past the Kintyre peninsula, Gigha and Islay, all silhouettes we knew well and a feeling of great pride and nostalgia came over us. It was beautiful. The sun was shining, the seas were blue and there were gannets, puffin, guillemot, terns, seals, gulls everywhere, little colourful fishing boats petered by and gave a friendly wave and the iconic black and red of the Cal-Mac ferries plying back and forth to the western islands made us right at home.

We took a mooring at Craighouse, a small fee if you eat at the hotel and we had been anticipating a feast of seafood at the restaurant as we dinghied ashore, rowing as the outboard had sprung a fuel leak. It was our 34^th wedding anniversary so I had contacted the restaurant to book a table and arrange a bottle of fizz to celebrate, along with Stuart it was a double celebration marking our arrival back in Scotland. The meal turned out to be a disappointment as the food was pretty poor however the view made up for it and we wandered along the shore after eating, soaking in the stunning sunset across the water, other yachts mirrored on the still waters, the cry of the oyster catcher making the perfect back tune to the scene. I felt so glad to be back in home waters, though it did not feel real. Stravaigin looked so comfortable sitting in the bay surrounded by mountains and green hillsides, I tried to imagine her against the pink rock of the Mediterranean and it seemed like a distant memory already.

Deciding to draw the inevitable end out a little, we anchored the final night in our local anchorage in Loch Spelve on Mull, literally chucking Stuart off the boat in the dinghy, as we flew by the mussel farm, to collect a bag from the honesty box and he re-joined us with his successful net bag bulging as we anchored at the far end of the bay, a place we had been regularly over the years. We indulged in moules mariniere, the best of the year so far, and watched a flock of geese both Canada and Greylag with little fuzzy goslings following along as they glided along the shore. It was significant how much wildlife there was since returning to Scottish waters and the lushness of the hillsides, resplendent in greens of bracken and ferns, low growing willows and birches, the purple of the early heathers and foxgloves and the yellow of iris and tormentil, painting a Monet type scene at every bay.

The final morning we weighed the anchor and headed over Oban Bay, not a ripple on the water surface nor a cloud in the sky, I stood on the deck at the bow and watched the blue water slip by, jelly fish appearing ghostly as we sailed past them and the sun’s rays piercing down a fair way before being swallowed up by the deep. Past Kerrera, past Lismore Light and Oban, the colourful buildings circling the bay and the ferries bustling in and out and we rounded the point at Ganavan into Dunstaffnage.

There and back again. Eleven months later and we were tied against the quay awaiting a berth as J’s mum and sister welcomed us back with bubbly and balloons much to the skipper’s embarrassment and joy. We were home.

Home is where the heart is and mine had sailed over the ocean and discovered new lands, new people, new experiences and cultures.  We returned to our wooden house in the forest by the sea loch and sitting in the lounge that evening looking out at the sea stretching out calmly from the bottom of the garden, I felt I had never really left home at all, I had been home all along.

Long Journey,

yet it was never too late

to crest the memories of yesterdays.

A voyage that was finished before

and here I am gazing beyond

through oriel windows once more.

An ocean wide stretched from afar

with a quill and vellum on my hand

I wrote these words and understand

life was never easy reaching its core

self must refine from silver to gold

dreams red as velvet, white as snow.

Pure as the heart of every little boy

moulded from a mother’s fervent love

brave, a father’s heritage in honour of.

Blessed by the gift from Nature

toiling day and night from my storm.

She never left me lonely, till all is won

I gazed back to the oceans and saw,

Someone familiar…

Could it be…

Land A Home,

it was a moment of spring.

I step the shore, my heart felt its beat

And Lo, my guardians caress on thee

for there is no sweeter victory

than the ones who truly loved me

From: Oceans Beyond Oriels    Nico Julleza

Push the boat out, compañeros,
push the boat out, whatever the sea.
Who says we cannot guide ourselves
through the boiling reefs, black as they are,
the enemy of us all makes sure of it!
Mariners, keep good watch always
for that last passage of blue water
we have heard of and long to reach
(no matter if we cannot, no matter!)
in our eighty-year-old timbers
leaky and patched as they are but sweet
well seasoned with the scent of woods
long perished, serviceable still
in unarrested pungency
of salt and blistering sunlight. Out,
push it all out into the unknown!
Unknown is best, it beckons best,
like distant ships in mist, or bells
clanging ruthless from stormy buoys

At Eighty Edwin Morgan

And so I found myself in the Azores, a place I never really thought about and certainly did not think I would ever go. I cheated a little and flew there after some time at home, the intention being to meet up with the boat and crew, spend a little time with the skipper before they would set off again and I would have some downtime to relax and heal a little.
I had overnighted in Lisbon on the way out, really convenient flights from Edinburgh and had booked a guesthouse within walking distance of the airport. I trundled my gold coloured trolley down the pavement, dressed smartly in my white linens and lime green jacket. I had decided to dress up for this wee trip, staying in an Airbnb near Ponta Delgada the main town on San Miguel the largest of the Azorean islands. I had also hired a car for the 5 days I would be there so the captain and I could explore a little. I felt quite pleased with myself and arrived at the guest house, big grin on my face and produced my booking document with a flair. The thin, grey coloured man stretched his neck like a tortoise from his extensive collar and peered at me from over his thin glasses.
“No check in until 2pm”
It was 11am.
“Ah, ok, well can I leave my bag and I’ll go for some lunch and return later? Is there somewhere nearby to eat?”
“Yes, leave bag”. He indicated a space behind the desk, without looking up. “Shops a long walk into town”
Ah well, ok, I wheeled the trolley in place and left, not relishing a “long walk into town”. Standing on the pavement of a busy main road and looked up and down the road with no sign of anything other than medical clinics. I wandered off downhill, a little hopelessly but soon found a pretty city park with mummies pushing prams and teenagers walking along with earphones in, screening out the sound of birds chattering in the trees and leaves rustling on their branches.
And there right inside the entrance to the park was a delightful bijou outdoor café, little mushroom stools and wooden tables, cool jazz music playing round the patio and a pretty Portuguese girl with long black dreadlocks and silver clips decorating her braids, wearing patchwork dungarees, smiling behind the counter.
I ordered a goat cheese salad and her own fresh lemonade and settled back to enjoy the next hour or two until I was allowed to check in.
It was like a scene from Fawlty Towers when I returned to the guest house. The same grey man looked up as soon as I arrived in the foyer, glanced at the clock which read 1400 on the dot and beamed at me:
“Ah Good afternoon Madam, would you like to check in now. I hope you found somewhere for lunch and you can sit in our garden if you like or use the pool. I will show you your room which I hope will be satisfactory?”
I looked at him not believing it was the same turtle man, I looked at the garden which bordered on to the duel carriageway and sported metal chairs and tables that were mostly rust, the pool that looked like a homemade job, raised on a platform and with most of the garden floating on top of it and politely declined the offer but yes I would like to see my room.
All was fine though it looked like a mansion from the days of the Czar, velvet brocade wallpaper, stair hand rails of ornate metal, silk flowers in large china vases and a chandelier that once had been clear glass but now yellow and dusty. My room was a box, decorated similarly but it had a terrace, overlooking the garden, great. It was fine for a quick overnight as my flight to the Azores was the next morning. I was a bit paranoid about getting up in time and although I set my phone alarm, I accepted the offer for a wake- up call too.
I was excited about flying to the Azores, over the Atlantic, the same ocean Stravaigin was sailing over, vast and blue. My phone alarm went off fine and I waited for the phone call alarm then there was banging on my door, I was a bit alarmed thinking there was some kind of problem until I heard the tortoise man, shouting,
“Time to get up!” Ah the alarm call, fair enough.
The flight out was fine and I even managed to grab a coffee and Pastel de Nata, my beloved custard tart, for the journey.
I sat looking out the window and reflected on the last week at home. Time spent sorting out some of Mum’s affairs, emptying her fridge, watering her house plants, cutting her grass with the same unreal feeling , like she was away on holiday, distant but not gone. Time spent with family, my youngest at home from University working at the local seafood shack to accrue, hopefully, some cash for the next academic year. A visit to the GP as I felt so run down and a virus was most likely the diagnosis. A visit to my work town to meet up with friends and colleagues and catch up on the college news, no different really to when I left but did leave me with a positive thought about my return and re-joining the bustle of education and learning. Time spent with the newly weds who came down to stay over and we visited the grave, it still did not feel like it was happening to me. And finally time spent with the skipper’s cousin and her family, a real tonic, much gossiping, catching up, Prosecco and warmth, before snuggling down in one of the wee girl’s relinquished beds amongst pink teddies, unicorns and paintings of ponies on the wall.
I realised we should be landing soon as we started our decent and the surface of the ocean got nearer, I still couldn’t see any land although I presumed there must be some down there! The sea got closer and closer and I actually sat up straight as it felt like the surface was a couple of feet below us when suddenly the ground appeared at the edge of a small cliff and our wheels touched it, screeched to a sideways halt like a hand brake turn and we were down! Think I prefer a boat.
And there he was, a tanned, lean captain sporting his shorts and suncap, beaming from ear to ear.
“Hello gorgeous!” he greeted me, nice to be back together again.
I collected our car and chauffeured him around this time, checking in at our little flat in a small coastal village, overlooking the sea, with a café underneath. Perfect.
We caught up with the news having been out of contact during his crossing, save the satellite texts once a day to check in on progress. It had been a great sail for them, strong winds, steady direction , good crew and banter. I was still glad I didnt go and so was J. It had allowed him to focus on the voyage and not worry about me and I really was not in strong form. The Slovakian Major had departed in the Azores, dubious as to whether it was a call of duty or the sea sickness he was unfortunately afflicted with. They had also rescued a French “Amel” stricken off the coast of San Miguel by a broken rudder and spent the last day towing the stressed couple back to port for repairs.
We headed out for dinner to a beach side bar and enjoyed the best fillet mignon I had had in a long time cooked on a hot stone slab, the Azores are famous for their cattle, both beef and diary, all cattle were grass fed and seemed to live an idyllic life. I felt ok about eating them.
It was a pretty idyllic place, a cross between Brazil and Cornwall, exotic and jungly along with neat hedges and green pasture. We enjoyed a breakfast of sweet golden pineapple, milky scones with creamy butter, Guava jam and Azorean tea grown in the many plantations here, then we headed off for a visit to the volcanic crater lakes and national parks. It was a lovely drive and we marvelled at the scenery, it really is a much overlooked place and so lush. The wanders round the bubbling pools of boiling mud remined us of Iceland earlier this year, the same geological origins but a lot warmer surroundings here! A visit also to the thermal pools in the river, very touristy though with dams creating artificial pools that groups of folks steeped in, parboiling themselves. We joined them for a while until we turned a sulphur yellow then headed for the village for the traditional meal of stew cooked in the fumaroles, followed by pineapple cream. It was a wonderful day and restful for J before heading out to sea the following day.
We used the car to stock up on fresh food for them then they sorted out a chaffed halyard, it seemed the spring installation of the radar was at fault, perhaps large bolts drilled in too far in the mast had caused it and was well spotted by Mike before the main sail would have collapsed down, not ideal when in the middle of the Atlantic! Stocked up, clean, fuelled up and down to three, they motored out the port and headed round the end of the island before pointing north for Ireland, where I hoped to meet up with them for the final voyage home. I watched them go, getting smaller as they edged towards the horizon, not sad or worried about them, but very proud.
Returning to my solo pad, I changed for the beach and took a picnic with me to a little sheltered cove to enjoy an afternoon of relaxing and sunbathing. I lay listening to the waves break on the shore sending occasional Valellas high and dry up on onto the beach accompanied this time by Portuguese Man-O-War. The children seemed to be well used to these stingers and relished finding sticks to pop their inflated bodies with, then twineing the blue tentacles round the stick and chasing each other with them. The more diligent parents scooped them up and put them in the bin so no one would get stung as the toxin is still live after the creature is dead. They were a beautiful colour, translucent pink and turquoise. A crowd of young teenagers appeared along from me, loud, full of energy and hormones. Shrieking girls in bikinis, boys relentlessly kicking a football, girls “accidentally” getting in the way and having to be removed by carrying them off, with more shrieks.
A group of young Azoreans spread their rush mats on the other side, deep tanned bodies decorated with picturesque tattoos and piercings, young women with long hair, one was sand coloured with dreadlocks, a sliver clip adorning each fuzzy strand, one with a headband holding her mane high on her head and the other raven black, long damp tendrils licking her shoulders and deep brown back. The aroma of cannabis floated over me and the musical lilt of their voices added their own playlist to the bohemian scene as they nestled into their respective men, muscled bodies toned by years of playing in the sea. Young lovers, what a place to be young and in love, what a place to be 56 and in love! The ocean stretched wide in front of me, green, pale green then grey then green, the skies darkened and the wind picked up, sending the tops of the breakers white and foamy, time to go before the weather changed too much. Folks picked up mats and towels shaking off the black volcanic sand and washed it off their feet at the beach showers before slipping on shoes and disappearing off the beach. There was a storm due, the reason Stravaigin had headed off to get ahead of it and use the edges to push her north. As I walked up the beach a kite surfer walked down, setting up his rig for an exhilarating ride on the waves, living the good life. It is always good weather for someone.
The next day was windy and cool so I explored the local area finding the Tea House along the road from my flat and went in the saloon type swing doors. It was a bit dark inside with a few elderly men at tables playing cards that looked up when I entered. A friendly faced woman behind the bar greeted me and promptly took me upstairs by means of a wooden ladder type starircase to a roof top garden, a beautiful little oasis with wooden gazebos and bursts of vibrant coloured beds of head high flowers and bushes.
She gave me a tea menu that was 6 pages long so I asked for a recommendation which she gave and then told me to stay up here to take my tea as it was nicer than down below and really women were not allowed in the male part. She told me the men talk about things women should not hear and sometime say bad words that would offend ladies.
I enjoyed my gentile, feminine time in the tea garden with Azorian tea and little bits of toast with pineapple jam while I wrote and browsed on my phone, wondering how the crew were fairing as I looked out at the large waves pounding on the rocks. All the energy built up travelling over the Atlantic and these lumps of volcanic rock the first thing to impeded their relentless march over the ocean.
I had never holidayed alone before, well not since a student and a week spent in Orkney (another healing time), so it felt odd but was quite therapeutic. Family called which was lovely to catch up on goings on at home and made me feel closer to home. It was strange being away still, still on our adventure but not on the boat. I suppose I was trying to grasp the dying vestiges of the trip, delaying coming back to reality but at the same tine keen to get back to family and a routine.
The evening was festive again with fireworks banging off constantly and the seemingly daily evening ritual of parading along the road with farm animals in carts or led by ropes, families hanging out the back of trucks singing and drinking, dancers with hoops of flags, music and a brass band. I watched them out my bedroom window but could not really work out what was happening, other than a celebration of Azorian life.
The following day was pleasant but my emotions were all over the place, I went from feeling strong and confident and making all sorts of mental plans, to feeling weak, tearful and vulnerable. I was ready to fly home and the next night found me back in my own bed, having done the whole journey from San Roque, Azores all the way to Argyll in a day. Stravaigin was surging her way northeast and it would take her 8 days to make landfall again. I wanted to be there to greet her.