Duncan and I were doing a
delivery job from Kip to Oban.
The boat was a 24ft Gypsy. .A
sturdy, well built boat and a
wee brother to the Falmouth
Pilot design.
Duncan’s uncle was
part owner of the boat and we
had crewed on the boat
frequently. We had been asked
to take the boat up to Oban so
that the owners could start
their summer cruise well up the
West Coast of Scotland. It was
June and we had ten days for the
trip.
A Friday night start.
The slack water before the ebb
was around 2200, so we had a
decent meal ashore before
starting off. Duncan was the
skipper and decided on two-hour
watches. The wind was
southwesterly 3-4, the weather
fine and there was no real
darkness to the late June
night. As soon as we were clear
of Kip I went below and turned
in.
Duncan gave me a shout
just after midnight and I made
some tea and joined him on
deck. We were off the Cumbraes,
the streamed log was almost
vertical in flat water and
Duncan told me that we had been
making five knots up until
fifteen minutes before. The
only thing of note for the
hand-over was that a submarine
had been using us for exercise
for the past hour. The black
outline sat about a mile away
and as we tacked so he followed,
maintaining his distance and
bearing from us.
Not doing us any harm,- but
disconcerting. I settled down
to enjoy two hours of the Clyde
on a beautiful night with the
Cumbrae light slowly moving
astern. After an hour the
submarine picked up speed and
headed down the estuary.
Our first stop was to
be Campbeltown but with the
light variable winds it was
after midnight on the Saturday
before we had passed Otterard
Rock and shortly afterwards
learned a lesson on pilotage –
the hard way.
We were both in the
cockpit ready for our first
entry into Campbeltown. We had
looked at the chart, the
Admiralty Pilot and a commercial
pilot book on the approaches to
the Campbeltown Loch. Davarr
Light was flashing brightly on
our port bow as we watched for
the buoys and the leading
lights. We were motoring by
this time, both peering over the
port bow. Duncan turned to say
something to me and instead said
‘Christ!’. I followed his
startled gaze- and there – very
close to starboard was a line of
jagged rocks. Like warriors
with spears, the tops of them
just at eye level. Davarr Light
flashed and showed up only too
clearly our proximity to
danger. We stopped the engine
then went astern slowly on the
reciprocal course until we were
sure we were in safe water.
Just on 0200 we tied
up alongside the Royal Navy
Nicholson yacht Dasher. Over a
coffee and a couple of large
drams we checked over the chart
and Pilots to see where we had
gone wrong.
We found that we had looked at
the chart but we hadn’t studied
it, - and had come in on the
wrong approach course from
Otterard. Our attention to chart
and Pilot information increased
markedly from that incident.
When we awoke that
morning the Dasher had gone.
The Navy boys had slipped out
quietly and professionally and
left us snug alongside a large
motor-cruiser from Red Bay.
We spent the rest of
the day in Campbeltown. Of
particular interest was a visit
to the distillery. Not only did
we find the visit worthwhile and
the sample drams very acceptable
but we were introduced to the
Distillery’s special liqueur
whisky, Scotia. Now,-there’s a
lovely warm and mellow
experience which I can
recommend.
With our next stop
being the island of Gigha in the
Sound of Jura we left
Campbeltown in time to catch the
fair tide round the Mull of
Kintyre. Our calculations on
the tide were all right but
surprise, surprise, we had the
wind right on the nose. It was
a fine day with blue skies and
few small summer clouds The
wind was mainly
southsouthwesterly around force
4-5. We had hoped to sail
through the Sound of Sanda but
the wind kept heading us and it
looked as if we would have to
use the ‘donker’.
Our luck changed. We
were on a tack that had Ailsa
Craig just over the bow when the
wind started to shift round to
the south with a touch of east
in it.
We gave a cheer and put the
helm over, freed the sheets and
sat there on a tremendous reach,
scudding through the white
horses. We had a great romp
through the Sound of Sanda and
round the Mull. Then we got the
lee from Kintyre and our
progress became more modest but
no less enjoyable..
Normally we kept a dry
ship when sailing but to
celebrate our rounding of the
Mull we had a ‘wee sensation.’
It was our first time round the
Mull and we felt as if we had
rounded the Horn. And in such
style too!
The wind became variable and
light and it was about 1800 when
we slowly sailed into an almost
calm Ardminish Bay. In the
clear water I watched a perfect
illustration of how a CQR anchor
functions. It hit the bottom
and little puffs of white sand
rose like smoke. Then the
flukes started to dig in, the
stock swivelled, the flukes
sharply disappeared and the
chain straightened and strained,
then went slack as we were
pulled forward. We were
anchored and a couple of crabs
that had been watching the
action resumed their biased walk
over the flat sand.
The following day –
after a sociable evening at the
hotel – feeling relaxed,
actually to be truthful-
comatose, we donned masks and
fins and worked our way from
stem to stern, port and
starboard, scraping and cleaning
the hull to a satisfying
smoothness.
Feeling almost saintly after our
good work, we went ashore and
hired a couple of bikes from
MacSporran the Postmaster. This
Postmaster had multiple hats
hanging on the clothes-rack in
the hall. Postman, Auxiliary
Coastguard, Special Constable,
Undertaker, etc. The total and
diverse responsibility of this
man was impressive.
On the bikes we
pedalled south and across to
Cara Island at low tide, then
north to Port Mor. We left our
bikes up against a hedge and
went exploring.
After walking over a
lot of rough ground, we saw
something that reminded us that
while you enjoyed nature – you
had to be prepared for its
harshness. We watched an Eider
duck family paddling past. Mum
in front and the four kids,
follow-me-Mum, behind. A
seagull swooped down on the last
wee duck in the family
swim-about. Daddy Eider came
hurtling from somewhere to
defend his family. He tackled
the seagull with surprising
viciousness. Mother Eider
called for her offspring to
paddle like hell away from
danger. No use. While Dad was
tackling the first seagull – two
more gulls swooped down on the
two rearmost wee ones. Sadly we
saw the Eider family quickly and
efficiently reduced to Mum, two
panicky babies and a
dishevelled, battle-torn Father.
They reached good cover before
they could be attacked again.