Porto Night

From door to door until the light,

players cruise the Porto night.

Endless streams of cat dance haze,

private like their secret stays.

Loose and warm and smooth and sweet,

magic merges into body heat.

Oxana dances on her private stage,

Daniella lures them into her cage.

The Porto river pulls out to sea,

and drains the anger out of me.

The music flows into my ears,

and calms the storm that rages here.

Through these doors I am revealed,

my twisted heart is washed and healed.

James Fredholm

“And would you like fresh bread delivered to your boat in the morning?”

“Erhhm, yes?”

“And we can book you in for a free Port tour and tasting at the best Port producer in Porto, just let us know an hour that suits you and I will arrange”

“Ok?”

“There is a free shuttle bus that will collect you from the Supermarche and bring you back here with your shopping when you like plus a lovely wood fired Pizzeria 5 mins walk from the marina. And we have a gym, showers, laundry and a nice seafront bar all for you!”

“Ok?”

“And the old fishing village of Afurada is 5 mins away along the Douro river side, full of tavernas with fresh seafood BBQ and small cobbled street alleys, the prettiest in Porto. Now how long would you like to stay?”

6 months!!!

“Oh just 2 nights thank you”

Douro Marina was a delight and just the perfect introduction to our couple cruising. We sorted out the boat now we had it all to ourselves, spreading out into the now spare two cabins. I found my “nice” clothes in a locker, it was like catching up with old friends! I also unearthed my shoes, “Imelda Marcos collection” J had labelled them! This all proved to be quite therapeutic as I had experienced a real dose of the blues that morning as we left Bayona and sailed south down the Portuguese coast. It was pretty lumpy and I had a collision of headaches, fatigue, aching back, mosquito bites and homesickness. I retreated to my cabin to give in to it. I was enjoying the trip of course but three words from my Mum in our phone call the night before resonated in my head “I miss you”.

A chat with J later in the afternoon resolved the blues and we decided I would either pop home as soon as feasible or fly her out to join us. I know how important I am, we are, to her as she is on her own having lost Dad over 20 years ago and my brother 6 years ago and part of deciding to go on this adventure, was that we would return frequently to visit so as to make the 11 months away not seem so long. She had urged us to go and follow our desires, she has never stood in my way in any of my ideas, proud of the trips and travels I go, but never stops being a Mum that worries about me. “Keep your wits about you” she advised. Having three adventurous sons, I know where she is coming from. https://www.wildernessscotland.com/blog/wild-child-parenting-adventure-addicted-children/

Cleaned up and dressed in nice clothes – and shoes – we strolled along the Douro river under the huge bridge that is the trademark of Porto and admired the alleyways slipping off up the hill, winding their way to hidden residences of terracotta roofs and creamy walls. We found a workman’s café serving a set lunch of homemade soup, bread, salad, rice and grilled meat or fish plus beer or  wine for 5 Euros! It was nice to get out the baking sun and we sat in the cool cafe, the staff joking with a toothless local while they cooked and we used the WIFI to sort out a rental our youngest son was taking on with his girlfriend back in Glasgow. A new adventure for him as he commences University and she a career in law, exciting times.

“I prefer the Ruby” I decided after hearing all about the Port making and sampling White, Tawny and Vintage as well. I still could only think of this drink at Christmas with Stilton and it seems to linger around for a few weeks while the cheese hardens and is usually the last to go once we decide the eating has to stop and we need to be in bed before 2 am and up before 10am as the routine of work rears its head in early January.

“We’ll take a bottle of White” states the Captain, as we are converted by the smiling tour guide, that it is perfect served cold as an aperitif with some salted almonds. Just need to buy some almonds.

After the softest and best tasting bbq squid, plus falling off the bones sardines, we have ever had at a pavement cafe, we sat out in the cockpit finishing a glass of red when an attractive, tanned couple wandered over.

“Ve are trying to vork out what flag dat is?” The tall gentleman mused.

We had cheekily made our version of the Red Ensign incorporating the St Andrews cross instead of the Union Jack, in the red surrounds.

“Scotland” states the Captain proudly.

This lovely Danish couple came aboard, joining us in the red, they were on a similar trip as us but had 2 years to spend, he was a fine wine importer (hearing this J hurriedly moved the cheap bottle of Chilean red from view!)   and had worked out he could run his business remotely so could take longer away if needed. She was lovely, with a cute upturned nose that wrinkled in disapprovement when she told me of her friends’ plans to join them but had changed their minds as “ Ver too busy!” They gave us some recommendations about Porto as had been there 10 days, the lure of fresh bread deliveries hooked them! They also marvelled at our speed of 20 days from Oban to Porto, they had left Jutland 5 months ago, however they were coastal hopping the whole way down, avoiding long sails as much as possible. They had crossed the Bay of Biscay on a short crossing of 3 days but she sighed ” It vos ‘orrible, big big waves and scary!” I was glad we stuck to our plan of staying out the bay, beyond the Continental shelf to avoid these conditions.

I did envy them a sighting of a blue whale though.

We left Douro, after the morning bread delivery, and made our way ever south to Aviero, accompanied by dolphins leaping inches from my toes as they dangled over the bow. They stayed for ages, their inquisitive eyes meeting mine. I could smell them, an oily fishy but strange pungent odour – unique to them. Their puff out of breath, synchronised with my giggles. What wonderful creatures they are, choosing to come and interact with us. We would often see a small group of them some way off and then realising we were passing they would turn and career headlong towards us like a pack of farm collies seeing a car speeding by their place and run, barking and yelping to chase it along at the tyres side. Game on! Running, swimming, leaping, jumping, splashing.

Evening anchor at Aviero, a small lagoon just off an air force base, my plan to get a swim thwarted by the enormous Lion’s Mane jelly fish, cruising around the boat like intergalactic aliens, trailing their stingy tentacles metres behind them!

The military bugle from the base sounded evening meal time and I served up a risotto of grilled peppers. The area around was a nice mixture of local industry, salt pans and fishing with a large cargo dock, cranes towering over the huge container ships.

It is always a pleasure sitting at anchor in the evening watching the sea birds feeding, delicate terns dipping in the surface and gulls constantly squawking over someone’s catch.

Morning sun beckoned us to get moving and we enjoyed a strong sail along the beach lined coast. I was unaware how much beach there is in Portugal, it is endless and unspoilt looking.

Lying back enjoying the sun, my legs crossed over the sides, I was suddenly splashed by a large tail fluke of a big dolphin as if to say  “Hiya lazy bones, come and play!” This group were much bigger in body size but still the common variety and raced across the bow until they bored of the game and shot off as quickly as they had arrived.

I called home and had an upbeat conversation with Mum and we decided on her coming out to join us in Sicily for her 90^th birthday in November, perfect. A happy chat with my middle son and his fiancé made me feel right at home with tales of a hazy BBQ the night before with the local mountain rescue team and home made decorations for the forth coming wedding in Catalonia coming along nicely. All is well, so am I.

The sun began to fade as mist gathered and I felt a coolness and dampness  necessitating a wee cardi. The mist thickened and the wind died until we were in a thick fog bank. Visibility was down to 10 m and we slowed right down keeping a careful watch as fishing buoys appeared suddenly through the gloom. For an hour or so we crept along, fog horn at the ready until I spied a dark shape on the port side, the break water at last.

We edged in and up the river, small fishing boats looming out the fog every so often, until we saw the entrance to the marina at Foz.

Tied up next to a Netherland boat, heading across the ocean to Suriname ( I smiled as I remembered my youngest son spending new year there while on a year’s charity project ) on our port and an English boat, cruising like us, on our starboard. We breathed a sigh of relief safe in harbour, I was pretty proud of the skipper navigating our way here in such conditions. Time for that chilled glass of White port – still think I’d prefer Ruby.

If I were a ship on its maiden voyage

I would invariably face south, only if you were there

I would float west, whatever climatic weather

I would turn east, forge or even bear North West

I would forsake the compass, and its trusted North

Just…to have your wind in my sails

Silvi Silva

“Its like Millport on a wet Sunday” sighs Paul as we huddle under the parasol, now doing a feeble job as an umbrella, our feet splattered with muddy spray from the raindrops dotting all around us.

“You’re on yer holidays, enjoy it!”

We all laugh and finish up our Estrella Galicias at this campsite bar and decide it’s time to make a dash for the beach and dingy back on board before the lightning and thunder make this foray a little too risky.

Stravaigin is anchored off the beach at the pretty little Cies Isles, a nature reserve visited by hoards of visitors disgorged from relentless passenger boats from early morning and sweep away by evening to leave it peaceful and relatively quiet save the ardent campers at the campsite, the distant funky tunes from speakers and faint whiff of accompanying “herbal” tobacco, drifting over the bay.

We had spent a delightful day or so in Vigo, restocking, washing, eating squid, peppers padron, drinking wines and beers and generally relaxing. The captain haggled with a smiling Senegalese for a wide brimmed sun hat for me and I felt quite chic strolling along the esplanade. “Fancies her barra” my mum would day!

It was sadly time for Stuart to leave and return to his fascinating life between Toulon and Cambridge. I so enjoyed meeting this lovely, calm, appreciative, kind and intelligent gent. I had looked forward to my night watches with him when he would tell me stories of his life. We were fellow Glasgow University graduates and I shared stores of my childhood holidays on Islay where he had lived for a while. He talked into the night, his gentle voice wandering over the silvery waves, of early jobs in Texas as he was in petrochemical engineering, later times in Dubai with his family, the Congo, Muscat, Abudabi – all so exotic and classy sounding but I knew from his basic tastes and unmaterialistic ways, he would be happy with a good cup of coffee and a decent paper to read. We chatted about mutual experiences of the North Sea oil rigs as he had worked out there, just like the Captain who did a spell in the early days. I recalled the shifts patterns, the canteen meals he told me about , the disappointment when his back to back did not appear so he had to stay on, shortening his time ashore with me. Then the hedonistic days when he did come home, a fistful of dollars to spend on me! A man’s world out there, with a girl waiting at home.  Stuart smiled knowinly.

“Good times” he nodded wistfully, his eyes closed.

He clambered ashore and bade us a fond farewell, he stated it was one of the most enjoyable voyages he has taken, with some of the best company and good food he had experienced – pretty good accolade for a mariner with 60,000 miles at sea on his log.

As he went the bonny Aimee arrived. Stewart’s pretty girlfriend joined us having flown from Scotland to meet her boy the day before and had already explored Vigo. A self-assured and brave little lady, although she had recently returned from kayak guiding on the Amazon, she was delightfully unpretentious and had a beguiling innocence about her. It was nice having another girl aboard and I enjoyed seeing nice toiletries and pretty shoes lying around – a change from Lynx and smelly socks!

We left Vigo restocked, explored the greater bay area, the islands and spent the final night in Galicia anchored off a delightful remote beach, so calm and uninhabited. The first BBQ off the stern was a success, had to be meat for the gang and peppers for me as despite the gallant efforts by Paul to catch, trap, barter, buy, cajole local fisherman, no luck.

Next day meant the departure of the rest of the crew as the happy go lucky, always upbeat Paul reluctantly had to return to “real life”. I hugged him goodbye but knew we would meet again back in Alba, future sailing trips surely to come. I felt I knew his sassy American wife and active kids from all his stories. His humour and self deprecating style had been a real tonic and we would miss him. He left a really touching note in the chart table and I felt privileged to have met such a lovely man.

The young lovers took their leave as well, having enjoyed the time onboard but obviously eager to spend time alone, discover, explore and build their own memories as a couple. I smiled as they walked off, heavy bags on shoulders, but the lightness of life buoying their steps.  I envied them in some ways to have their  future lives ahead pf them. They will have such fun, such adventures, already having a home together and planning careers, who knows maybe even children someday – the greatest and most rewarding adventure of all.

I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Then it was just the two of us. We smiled at each other. “Its just you and me now babe” smiled the Captain as we headed south to Bayona.

I called wee Mum once at anchor and she told me all about when she and her dear late friend from Art School had cruised there and how she had bought not one but three pairs of designer sun glasses and a lipstick, of course.

How I adore her, her memories of travel are always highlighted by fashion, shopping and elegance. If I am half the women she is, I’ll be happy.

Morning light brings northerly winds to push us to a new country – Portugal.

We up anchor and set out, just the captain and me.

I must go down to the sea again, to the vagrant

 gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the

 wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing

fellow-rover,

And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long

trick’s over.

John Masefield

The warm, fresh water streamed down my legs and I watched the suds as they trickled down my body and pool around my feet. I stood under the constant spray of fresh water, my eyes closed, the water pouring over my hair and washing the salt clean from it.

Four days, 5 hours and 10 mins since I had stepped off land and now alighted from Stravaigin onto terra firma again. Four and a half days of constant sailing, the northerly winds pushing us further and further south, four and a half days of rationing fresh water, cooking while braced against the galley, of night watches starting at 6pm each night through to 10.30 in the morning, of filling the hot water urn for hot drinks in the night, of topping up the snack bag in the cockpit, of checking the AIS for other shipping, of camaraderie and one of the best experiences of my life.

I needn’t have worried about the infamous Biscay Crossing, it was beautiful, serene yet solemn. We set off in thick fog off the southern Irish coast, calm seas and a steady wind which allowed us a constant reach. The first night on watch was magical as the sun went down and the seas turned a golden sheet all around us. Now that I had made the decision I didn’t worry about heading out and actually was keen to get on with this voyage. As we headed out into the Atlantic, the seas took on a different mood, they somehow seemed thicker, more viscous, more serious, not the playful waves that break gently on our golden Hebridean beaches, not the foamy inlets that gather at the cliff edges on the Argyll coasts. This was an ocean.

We were out of sight of land pretty soon, mostly due to the fog and we became our own little floating island in the ocean. It was mild air and we sat out in the cockpit chatting a lot during the day and eating regularly. The days took on a rhythm and we settled into a regime, the sea was never boring, always changing, 50 shades of blue.

Suddenly a cry went up,

“A whale!”

We all came up on deck and watched an enormous whale rise and glide along the surface showing its smooth black back then a small dorsal fin before submerging gracefully. Time and time again it rose blowing out a tall shower of spray, 100m off our starboard side. We watched mesmerised by this leviathan of the seas. It seemed surreal, I’d seen them on our favourite Blue Planet documentaries but nothing compared to being alongside this fellow rover of the seas. It was at least 30m long on the back that it showed so maybe 60m in full length. A beautiful, gentle wild creature and we were travelling alongside in its habitat. It felt unreal, like I was experiencing this through someone else , I had to make myself believe it was really me.

Days were punctuated by eating and turns on the helm, trimming the sails then on the third day the winds died a little which meant putting the engine on to maintain our speed. We had hit a predicted lull in the winds and the gang decided it would be a great idea to go for a swim mid way across the Bay of Biscay! I was not too happy about this having spent the last 48 hours paranoid about no one falling overboard, now they were diving into the deep blue of the Abyssal Plain! It was fine of course but much as I love to swim in the sea I  was too nervous to join them.

Standing on the helm, rising her over the crests of the wave and laying her down gently on the other side to avoid banging, a small, grey and white creature leapt at my side and looked at me – dolphins! These playful pretty creatures joined us often and stayed sometimes for hours riding the bow wave and diving underneath the hull to reappear on the other side, with a leap and splash.

The stubby, cute faced fulmar glided by regularly, countless shearwaters flying just as they are named and occasional petrels looking so tiny and vulnerable in the vast watery plain.

We had a firm rule of lifejackets at all times when out of the cabin and lifelines on at night and when going on deck, everyone took this seriously. Along with double checking the gas was off after cooking and the waterpump off when finished with water as we couldn’t risk losing water only having a finite amount in our tanks. We were pretty sure we had plenty in our 2 tanks but wanted to err on the side of caution. Food was plentiful and amazing,  chilli con Quorn, pasta bolognaise, roast Argyll leg of lamb with roast potatoes too, spaghetti carbonara and chicken salads! Accompanied  by fine wines of course!

Evening shifts took on a different tempo. Geared up for an outdoor session, seaboots, hats, windproof layers and red-light torches at the ready we had 3 hour watch systems in place. These were magical times, silent but for the hissing and streaming of the waves against the hull, wind in the sails and our tunes playing over the waves. The moon appeared quickly and shone her light over the seas, so full you could make out the seas on her surface. Above the sky sprinkled with stars, below the phosphorescence  echoing the sparkles in the stars.

I glanced up at one point as a jet flew over slowly, heading west to the Americas and I mused about the passengers choosing their films, ordering their snacks and drinks, settling bored children and absently thumbing through the inflight magazines, do they know below them is  a little boat with five people sailing the ocean, passing through the night, filling each hour with conversation and stories. We shared stories of raising children, travels, careers, places we had stayed, places we had visited, places we wanted to visit.

Watch change was always welcome, peeling off the outer wind proof layers and clambering into bunks and the rocking motion of the boat soon meant we were fast asleep for our 4 hour break.

I never tired of watching the waves, the swell not too big at 3m, the foam streaming by as our bow broke the surface. I felt safe and secure and very privileged to be out on these seas, something not many people get the chance to experience.

I awoke on the last morning after my early morning shift and glanced at the chart plotter to sea land marked at the edge of the screen. We are getting near! We finally changed tack and headed east after days of sailing south, the air warmer and the shipping now more regularly which started to get scary. These supertankers are like solid islands surging forwards at speed and we did feel quite vulnerable despite having AIS.

“I’m pretty sure that’s land” stated Stewart with a huge smile on his face.

I peered at the hazy horizon but wasn’t convinced.

However I soon smelled land before I could make it out properly by sight, a herby hay-like smell. By late morning a faint outline of hills make itself apparent and I stared at it, feeling so self-satisfied inside – we’d done it.

The silhouette of the hills and ridges became more and more discernible until I could make out relief and forests. We were sailing down the coast of Galicia, avoiding Cape Finistere and the “death coast” thankfully!

Making that easterly turn into the bay of Vigo, I felt like Columbus on the Pinto returning to port. We still had to keep our wits about us as shipping was everywhere until we got right into the pretty and wide bay of Vigo, pleasure yachts all around, zipping this way and that, motor boats speeding by with tanned locals on deck. Back in civilisation.

We sailed right into Real Club Nautico and tied in at 2.10pm – we,d done it.

16 days since leaving Dunstaffange  we were in Spain. The champagne cork flew over the marina pontoon and we hugged each other closely. Fellow rovers.

This journey had been so special, not only for the physical voyage but also the voyage we had all made with each other as companions, crew, friends. We had all looked after each other, made sure each other was safe, warm ,fed and comfortable. Also we had all learned together, we were a team and we had successfully achieved our goal.

Achieving this goal was not least due to the strong leadership of our captain. I felt a little kist deep  inside of me open up and more love than I knew possible flowed out for this man , who had planned this entire journey and had got us here not only safely but enjoyably.  He is the master of my fate, he is the captain of my soul.

I walked, staggered, up the steps of the quay, wash bag in hand, towel over my shoulder and revelled in the luxurious, abundant water, cleaning off the 4 days , washing it out my hair and into history. This would be an experience never to forget.

I returned to the boat, empty glasses strewn all over the place, dirty clothes abandoned, life jackets draped over seats and the crew gone to the town to enjoy well earned Cava and Calamaris.

I peeped into our cabin to see the captain, fast asleep in our bunk.

Sweet dreams,  the long trick’s over.

Twenty years from now

You will be more disappointed 

By the things you didn’t do 

Than the ones you did do.

So throw off the bow lines.

Sail away from the safe harbour.

Catch the trade winds in your sails .

Explore.

Dream.

Discover.

Mark Twain

Throwing off the bow lines at 0830 tomorrow morning. Next stop Baiona, Galicia. I’m ready.

When I was nine, I was feeling fine.

The day I went to sea

I climbed aboard a pirate ship

And the Captain said to me

“We’re going this way, that way,

Forwards, backwards,

Over the Irish Sea.

A bottle of Rum to fill my tum

A pirate’s life for me!

“Wednesday morning looks like the perfect time to go” states the Skipper. We all agree as we sit round the table, examining the screen that John has put up of the winds over Biscay. Northerlies all the way and all going well the crossing would take 3-4 days, we’d be in Bayona by Saturday/Sunday. It makes sense, the safest and most comfortable situation, something we promised each other we would always make the decision around.

However, the downside means we would have to say goodbye to Karl, he had taken a chance and booked his flight home for Saturday morning in the slim hope we would be crossing straight over after a night in Kinsale – not to be. He is upbeat though and takes away all the positives of what he has experienced, we are all sad though as he is so nice, kind, funny, appreciative and sound.

“Girlfriend is happy I’m coming home early” he states, once he has called home with the news and that’s a good thing. A single Dad having raised his three sons, enriching their lives with day trips to historical sites and camps out in Derbyshire and the Scottish Highlands. His voice danced as he spoke of his boys and I just knew they were proud of their Dad, he’d soon be telling them of his new adventures on the Irish Sea. His sailing experience had been dinghies in Leicestershire lakes and a few forays on the Clyde coast with Paul, so this had been a huge experience for him. We hug goodbye and he heads to the pub with his large rucksack, Ukulele tied on the back.

“Just one for the road “ he smiles.

We are likely to be in Kinsale for a few more days, plenty time to get know to know one another better.

This big girl and I are getting to know each other better too. John has formed a close and loving relationship with her, he knows her capabilities, her nuances, he reads her moods and pushes her only as far as he knows she will go. He has explored every tiny part of her, knows how everything about her works and what she likes and does not cope well with.

She and I glance suspiciously sideways at each other.

“You can’t handle me “ she challenges.

“Well you don’t know me “ I retort.

I’m left alone with her as the lads go to enjoy the Hurling on the big screen in the beer garden with most of southern Ireland.

I potter about sweeping her cockpit, cleaning her galley and tidying her ropes. I’m beginning to see what she needs done, a tighten to that warp, a release there. A pull at that sheet, a freeing of that clutch. Repairing her frayed straps and reinforcing work on her fabric, she seems grateful for looking pretty and I lie back on her in the sun. She’s feeling more like my boat. I’ll look after her and she’ll look after me. I’m slowly falling in love with her too.

“Yes Madame we actually have a cancellation, I can do your colour at 2pm”

There is a God after all, Halleluiah Halleluiah!

“ so are you goin’ anywhere nice for your holiday?” asks the pretty, red haired stylist.

“Ehm, well I am on holiday sort of for a year, here and on my way to the Mediterranean hopefully. I was so busy with all the planning and preparation I forgot my own personal admin and my roots are driving me mad!”

“Oh well no problem at all, I’ll sort it all out for you and you’ll feel grand”

And feel grand I did indeed. I lay back looking at the ceiling, getting my hair washed and listening to the best craic ever between the ladies of Kinsale.

“I was down at the White Lady on Saturday night and saw Sheelagh’s two, they’re not even 18 yet and one of them had a piece of cloth on barely covering her Mary!”

I had spent the morning cleaning the inevitable mildew off our cabin walks, then went for a wee run along to the other fort before a nice shower at the club. This proved to be quite fortuitous now the affluent offspring of the real yachty brigade had departed, the International Optimis series finished and the girl’s changing room had a ‘free to good home box’ of left belongings.

I showered with Clarins body gel, moisturised with L’Occitane lotion and strode out sporting a groovy pair of designer sunglasses. Get me!

Wandering back to the boat I kind of feel I am ready to move on now. Tomorrow is all about shopping, laundry, packing, preparing, stowing away and early night. Then we’ll be ready to leave.

With nice hair.

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea

We lie three in a row, an unoccupied Nauticat on our starboard and a newly arrived steel hulled ketch on our port. She looks well-travelled, lacy curtains drawn over her hatches and the ubiquitous towels pegged out on the guard rails.

“It ez over” sighs the small, bearded guy, tanned, wiry and despondent “She as ‘ad enough, we are going home and I must sell her”

I wasn’t sure if he meant sell his wife or the boat but his saddened mood told me it was the boat.

The small Polish gentleman and his wife had just sailed in from the Azores where they had been for months and then The Canaries for a few years before but she had had “enuf”. Well fair enough I thought, better to know when to call it quits than be forced into a situation that there is no decision making to be made.

I am beginning to settle into this watery world, its feels like a parallel universe. I had spoken to my Mum back in Argyll that morning , hear of how cold it was now, the fire was on and all the gossip about her neighbours and friends. Then there is here, foreign car registrations, strange accents, heat, showering in the yacht club, sewing new webbing on the pram hood. Different world.

There are only 2 eggs left for 6 of us so I decided on pancakes for brunch and the gang are very grateful as plates of sausages, bacon and a stack of warm Scotch pancakes appear from below, mushrooms for me, which I have discovered go well with a drizzle of honey!

I had hoped to lose more weight when away on this trip, I had managed to work off a fair bit of winter gathered layers and get pretty fit but I am sure in the last 3 weeks I have gained it all back! I am on the go the whole time and am told to eat to keep my energy up and sea sickness at bay but at this mid life time of my life it seems to convert to fat very efficiently and attach itself to my hips and tum like wadding. I glance over at the lean, toned and agile live-aboard ladies all around me and sigh. Hey ho, still a while to go so maybe I’ll transform into one of them – I can dream!

I am also finding out that keeping a routine is helping me adjust to this new way of life. Its strange, I am not finding it easy to relax and do nothing. I have lived my life so fully with deadlines, timetables, dates, diary events for so long , a rare day off feels great but with endless days off ahead of me I actually feel a bit lost.

Also I am not a quick reactor. I reflect on the traumas of the stormy, black night and try to rationalise my fears. I decide to write a list of pros and cons, as the spectre of the “crossing” raises his horned head every night as I go to sleep and pricks me every morning I awake and I need to quieten him. I am not really scared, I don’t think I am risking death but I have this unexplainable dread. I realise it is a fear of the unknown. I am not good in a situation I know nothing about, I like to know all the facts, taste the experience then make a decision but have a bail out option. This is different. I do not know how it will feel, I have never experienced a situation like this before, I cannot bail out once we head out. It will be 5-6 days on the open ocean and we will need to be self-sufficient.

I was mindful of feeling like this before, I recalled many years ago visiting Morocco, my first time in an exoctic location and after walking round the souks and visiting Dar El Fina square with all its new  smells, noises, strange foods, colours toothless men and snakes, I totally freaked out when back at our Riad. Ever patient and understanding John cuddled me and told me it was fine, we could fly home the very next day. Morning brought sun, creamy yogurt and pistachios, musical calls to prayer and I was on camel and loving every minute! I just need time to reflect, be in the present and live through things slowly.

I reminded myself of 7 years ago leading an expedition on Mongolia, I did not sleep the night before departure sick with doubt and almost phoned the company to say I’m out. However that month proved to be one of the most rewarding times of my life. I learned more about myself and what I was capable of, by myself than I knew possible. I recalled the dark night not far from the Russian border, days away from any help, deep in the Kentii Mountains, sitting by the campfire , my turn to keep watch over the horses, watching the strikingly beautiful but sinister yellow eyes of the wolves across the river from me as they paced slowly up and down the river bank, the scent of horse sweat drawing them closer. I was responsible for 11 vulnerable young people from Fife and I was damned sure I was going to bring these kids safe and well back to their families. And I did.

I reminded myself of the freezing night lying in my tent on the Himalayan ice, my head pounding, my face almost numb with cold and knowing I had to move down the mountain to recover from the altitude that was affecting my body. And I did.

So I do what I urge my students to do when faced with a dilemma, make a list of pros and cons. John sits with me supporting my thoughts, it is a good idea as I can air all my reservations and be honest with my fears and also my desires.

After a good exploration and chat, the “Ayes” have it! I can do this.

I feel relieved, now the decision is made I can stop worrying and it works.

I go for a run along the coast out to Charles Fort, interrupted by bramble eating – much sweeter than home, I guess it is the warmer temperatures and sunshine. I take off my trainers and feel the warm grass under my feet. Standing by the Fort looking back across the bay at the marina I feel far more at ease. Life is good and I am incredibly lucky to have this opportunity so will make the very best of it.

“I’m not enjoying this!” I cry, clutching a plastic bowl, shaking with fear and fatigue. Time and time again I throw up, my head pounding, my legs weak. The noise surrounds me as I lie curled up in my bunk which has been transformed into a black hole spinning, lurching, thumping, banging. I brace myself as I feel the rise and await the inevitable bang down. Why did I agree to this, I’m scared. I hear the shouts from the cockpit, the urgency, the gravity. It goes on and on, my 3am watch time comes up but gratefully one of the crew is happy to stay on with John and let me stay below. Hours pass, all night I lie, not able to sleep. I can’t do this. I’ll book a flight from Cork to Vigo. I cry softly, what was I thinking, I so want to be strong but I’m not, I’m weak, stupid, a failure. This amazing trip is doomed, my game is over.

The constant noise of the engine gradually sounds louder as it overtakes the howling of the winds and the crashing of the seas, things seem to quieten, the cabin levels off. I hear the rattle of the anchor chain going down, relief washes over me as John’s face peeps into the gloom of the cabin.

“We’re pulling in here to ride out this storm darling”

After making sure everything is secure he climbs in beside me and I snuggle against his strong warm body and feel safe. Within minutes I am deeply asleep fully clothes, seaboots still on, hair damp with sweat and sea salt.

“Good morning!” I’m greeted by one of the crew as I pop my head out the forward hatch into the morning light. Smiling I scan this sheltered bay, rocky shores, sea birds nesting on a cliffy headland, smart houses with the normality of life evident in washing hanging out and newly mowed lawns.

“You alright?” enquires a cheerful Karl.

“I am now” I reply

We tidy the boat, though there is not really anything out of place, a couple of pots that spewed across the galley from the pot cupboard and dishes needing cleaned in the sink from the nights watches of hot chocolate and Ginger Nuts.

I clean myself up, change into fresh clothes and make breakfast for everyone. I clean off the stern, oops.

The stormy afternoon passes as we watch films and I make cream of mushroom and spinach soup with soda bread. The hell of the night long behind me, I set about making a veggie chilli for dinner and the plan is to set off in the evening once we’ve rested and gained our energies back for Kinsale – again.

It’s getting dark as we head out once more and everything is stowed away as we push out the sheltered bay and point south. The seas start rising again, the wind heels Stravaigin and she starts the pounding again. The crew take turns to helm and try to keep her from banging but its difficult. After an hour of making no progress in the dark seas, I question why we are out here now? John agrees and he decides to turn back to the bay, we’re going nowhere fast and wasting fuel plus stressing the boat – and me. I know we have to go through some grief to attain our objective but we are not in a real rush to make Kinsale, yes it will be good to get there and hope the weather is favourable for the big crossing soon but a day doesn’t really matter. We turn around, lay the anchor down again and everyone goes to bed to sleep sound.

Morning brings bright weather, better winds and spirits are high. I chatter away with the guys up on deck, we play who am I and work it out games while we munch on healthy energy bars and sip Cup a Soups. A nice wee group of Common Dolphins join us, dancing in the bow wave as we edge forward, beating in. Everything seems so much better in the day light though it still takes 10 hours to finally reach Kinsale and it is such a welcome sight as we round the headland and calmly motor into the bay. We tie up alongside other boats and decide we have earned dinner out.

Fishy Fish serves us up a lovely meal of chowder and mussels, sitting in the convivial atmosphere of the restaurant, sipping Irish Gin, this sailing lark seems just fine! We stroll back to the boat and settle down to marina life for a few days before contemplating the ocean crossing to Spain .

For whatever we lose

                (like a you or a me).

Its always our self we find

In the sea.

E. E. Cummings

We sail south, moods high, plenty banter, passing well known spots that we have visited over the years. It feels strange moving past Kerrera reminiscing of Duke of Edinburgh practise expedition days, then Gylen Castle visited the previous week with my American clients, I remember standing on the promontory looking out at the sea and a wee white boat scooting by, thinking that’ll be me next week, although I won’t be turning around, I’ll be off.

At anchor near Balvicar the team start the norming/forming process, much chat and drinks with snacks. Music is on and we spot a Minke whale gently cruising around us, she stays overnight, maybe she is listening to our craic? The crew are settled in their cabins and dinner is made, enjoyed then cleared away before we retire to our bunks. I lay awake for a while my mind crammed with silent shouting, what are you doing, this is not for you, you are not a sailor, why are you leaving all that you love behind, you are soft, not like the real people that do these things?

I go up on deck in the moonlight and sit with a cup of tea, my version of a fag to ease the stress. I rationalise with myself and quiet my mind. Jeez woman you are going on holiday, its meant to be happy and fun, something you’ve planned for so long. Get a grip and sort yourself out.

After giving myself  a good talking to I climb into bed and sleep peacefully. However every morning I awake with a pang of fear I can not ignore.

Next day we set off early to catch the tide and have a great sail on down to Islay and take a berth in Port Ellen. We’d been here earlier in the year on our way to Ballycastle and it was nice to feel familiar. Stuart lived at Bruichladdich as a boy and told us tales of his job barrowing the barley from the puffers to the distillery, I smile, my dad would have loved him and I think of my treasured model puffer Vital Spark sitting proudly in my living room. Stuart’s sister pays him a visit, a rare meeting as he cruises the world on deliveries or racing, she brings us homemade flapjacks too!

Off out for dinner to the Islay Hotel for a great meal of soft shelled crab, a first for me and Stewart W and we giggle as it is presented in a burger bun with its wee legs hanging out the side looking a bit like marine road kill- oh well here goes! It was delicious. Wandering back to the boat I pass  our neighbours, a nice young family with two wee kids and a hound dog. Why is it live aboards always look so cool? Even the dog had a “get me” look about him.

Leaving Islay felt serious, next port would be Ireland and my home country would be behind us. I tried not to think about it. “Caledonia” playing over the waves did not help.

The leg from Islay to Dublin was lovely, nice winds, calm seas, good chat, Karl on his Ukulele and much snacking. We settled into our watch routine and our first night sail commenced. It was great, really foggy which made it quite a strain keeping a look out but the seas were so smooth with phosphorescence as our wake broke the surface like a trail of stars behind us, it was mesmerising. We have a good routine of making up food and hot water urn for underway so we could keep our energies and moods up.

John woke me around 8am to say we were coming into port, Dun Laoghaire near Dublin. I was so excited – our first foreign port of call! We raised the courtesy flag and congratulated ourselves. Even Stuart T was excited even though he has seen it all before which was nice to see. I think if you love the sea, it never fails to impress you.

A wee nap to recover from disturbed sleep, a good breakfast then on the train to Dublin’s fair city. We meet up with Sean MacGowan, John’s pal from Grantown school, such a great lad, I remembered him for early days up at Grantown-on-Spey. Always smiling with teasing eyes, happy outlook and warm hearted. Lovely conversations of those early days and the gang, parties, malarkey at school then our narratives of growing up, wives, children, careers. He shows us proudly around his city and told us of Irish politics, then his wife Triona meets us and we enjoy  Korean veggie Bibimbap, well it’s different from Irish stew! Hugs and fare well greetings, we leave and I feel happy to be back on my boat which is fast becoming my world.

Tide

On that sinuous passage from infancy

and youth’s buoyancy through middle

life to advanced years, the one certainty

is a gathering of momentum consistent

with time’s flow- something scarcely

uppermost in my mind as the trout

I’m playing draws me downstream

till rocked by the tidal undertow I fight

to regain my balance: hard to know

Where the river ends and the sea begins.

Stewart Conn

We stood on the pontoon, two teenagers, tanned, bleached hair with a innocent sparkle of limitless opportunity in our eyes, scanning the white yachts that lay side by side moving gently in the French marina like sea birds full of the days catch, digesting and contemplating where next?

“Maybe we’ll find a boat that needs crew, you can help sail and I could cook? We could work our way up and earn some money then buy our own boat?”

“Yeah and we won’t need jobs or a house or a car , we could live onboard and sail the world!”

“And have babies that we can school ourselves, they won’t need clothes as it’ll be warm, a vest and maybe some wellies for getting ashore”

Well no one was looking for crew that day, at least not for two rookie Scots kids, they’d take one as deck crew or one as cook but not both.

“Oh well back to Uni for me and back to work for you, but we’ll do it one day for sure.”

“Yeah, one day”

Friday 10^th August 2018, a house, two cars, various careers and three kids later ( all fully clothed and educated), we stand on the Scottish pontoon gazing at our beautiful boat Stravaigin, a 42i Jeanneau Sun Odyssey.

We eagerly await the arrival of the crew that have volunteered to join us on this trip. I collect Stuart from Oban, a tall, lean, sparkly eyed gentleman, softly spoken and gentle natured. He sailed round the world and I took to him straight away, he has an assurance about him.

Paul and Karl walked purposefully toward us, bags in hand and smiles on faces, I’m greeted by a hug and cheek kiss, lovely lads! Within minutes we all felt at ease, Paul is a fellow “weegie” and we rattled off places we knew, flats on Kersland St and even a mutual friend, small world. Karl is quieter, friendly, warm and sound.

Then there is our wee Stewart, number 4 son, a super lad, always ready to help and upbeat, a new adventure for him never having sailed before, save the 2 nights he went out with John to “test the waters”.

She is all ready to go, stocked up, filled up, fuelled up, all repairs done, all additions added, gear stowed away and 6 excited people climb aboard and we caste off.

We motor out of Dunstaffnage marina in sunshine, moods high with anticipation and adventure.

I raise my eyes to Ben Lora as we pass and thank Dad for making me the person I am, giving me that sense of exploration and love of nature. I gasp as a sea eagle flies directly over us and accompanies us out, I’ve never seen one so close to home! I decide it’s a good omen.

As we sail past the Connel Bridge I smile at the wee estate Mum calls home and thank her for making me the person hope I am –  kind, considerate, sociable and loving.

Then it hits me, is this selfish, unkind, inconsiderate? I have angst over this for a year, torn between the desire to do something for myself, in a way to be selfish and take the time I want before the inevitable happens, body ages, mind not so strong. I want to do it for John, it has been his dream for a long time and I don’t want to humour him by saying soon darling, soon.

I love my job, love being part of a great team that are friends more than colleagues, I love helping young people achieve their goals and make a difference in their lives, I feel somebody when I’m at work , respected, liked, big fish in a little pond but its my pond and I love it.

I love my friends, some are going through tough times just now and guilt pulls at me leaving them though I am always in contact and tell them I can be home in 2 hours on flight from anywhere if I am needed. But they encourage me to go and live my dream.

Toughest one is family, I adore my family they are my reason for living, my three sons such lovely human beings and their respective partners, all beautiful, loving young women. But they are all grown, independent and have their own ladies to care for them. Also I believe they admire us and want us to go on our long planned trip.

Wee mammy is a worry, 90 in three months time, frail in body but strong in mind, she admits she is not looking forward to us going but is also happy for us to have achieved what we have. Arrangements with family mean she is well looked after and although I still feel guilty, I am confident she will be fine.

In-laws have been encouraging and supportive from the start, always interested and keen to hear how we get on but they are also ageing and have health problems, I hope they’ll be ok.

We push further south, blue skies, sunshine, wind in our sails. I do have tears in my eyes, they are a salty mixture of sadness and excitement.

As I leave the hills of Argyll behind me, I fix my eyes and mind on what lies ahead.

I’m finally doing it!

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton