When we left Gigha only a few
wisps of cotton made widely
spaced dots against the blue
summer sky. If there was any
wind we couldn’t feel it and
neither could the flat calm
sea. The sails remained all sad
and droopy. Nevertheless, we
decided to be purists and,
regardless of time, would sail
to Craighouse on Jura using our
light weather skills and not
tempted to use the demon
diesel. We heeled the boat over
as far as we could to try and
throw some shape into the
sails. We even cheated now and
again by skulling the rudder.
We didn’t even waft
past the small islands at the
north end of Gigha. We only
managed to insinuate movement so
slow that we got to know
individual seals basking on the
hot rocks. In fact, we were in
their company so long that we
felt we were among friends and
offered them a coffee. We drew
the line at a dram : there were
too many of them.
After about four hours
the tide turned and as so often
happens, a bit of wind stirred –
not much – more of a wheeze than
a breeze but enough to rack the
log up to two knots including
help from the tide. We arrived
off Craighouse in the late
afternoon and prepared to anchor
not too far from the pier. With
the heavy fields of kelp about
we played safe and bent on the
fishermans anchor as main
holding and used the CQR with a
warp down from the forefoot as
secondary holding.
A curry was prepared and having
it nearly ready, left it to
mature and rowed ashore to have
a libation at the hotel.
Arriving there we were
disappointed to find the big
door firmly shut. As it was
about 1730 we thought they were
a bit late in opening. By 1745
and then 1800 and several
attacks on the door, still no
sign of life.
A big red BMW showing
Belgium plates, had been sitting
outside almost as long as we
had. A young couple left the
car and came over and asked us
if it was normal for the bar to
take so long to open. They were
as thirsty and disappointed as
we were. Must have been about
1815 when, after a heavy
concerted ScotBelg assault on
the door and its hinges, it was
thrown open with a thud to
display a very fierce and
aggravated looking hotelier.
When the slightly chastened
ScotBelg raiders said “Good
evening” He did not answer and
snorted away back inside the
hotel.
The four of
us were at the bar and had
ordered drinks from a nice
looking girl who didn’t look
happy either. Mine host hove-to
alongside her, with his big back
to us and in a loud Highland
lilt said “ Haff you noticed
Flora- that some people make an
awful fuss if you are a wee bit
late in opening- but they neffer
complain when you don’t
call -“ TIME!” till well into
the next day?”
We had to stand and
wait for a considerable time
before the two behind the bar
asked us what we wanted to
drink. By prior agreement with
the Belgiums I ordered up four
Glen Morangies.
Our choice didn’t seem to please
the big man behind the bar
–“Have you tried the ’Chura
‘malt?” he asked. I said “No
–we might try it later.” As I
picked up the tray with our
drinks I could hear heavy
breathing behind me as I walked
over to our table. I felt heat
on the back of my neck as well.
After enjoying our
Glen Morangies we all agreed to
try the Jura malt. It was the
Belgium’s call and we noticed
that when he asked for Jura malt
the big man positively beamed at
him and it was also noticed that
the Jura drams were larger than
the Glen Morangies.-.
The four of us chatted
for a while. They were on their
honeymoon and were enjoying
their holiday and seemed to be
interested in what we were
doing. As we had the curry to
finalise and an early start to
catch the tide through the Sound
of Islay, Duncan and I decided
one more and then back to the
boat.
Duncan went up to get
the round. The now smiling big
man asked him if we had enjoyed
the Jura malt. Duncan also
smiled “Yes it was quite
pleasant –but we will have four
Glen Morangies to finish off.
Please.” No more words were
spoken but the face behind the
bar became more of a puce colour
and a deep breath was taken.
Oh!- and the drams were back to
the smaller version.
‘He’ had been speaking
to some local customers as we
left and said “Thank you – good
night.” The silence was so
acute you would have thought
there wasn’t anyone near the
bar.
But as we closed the door behind
us there was a positive rumble
of loud voices with one much
louder than the others. We had
no doubt that the Four Glen
Morangies were the topic of
conversation.
We left the Belgiums
and rowed the dinghy back to the
boat, had our curry in which I
had used some of those wee
sweet, spring turnips
–delicious, especially with a
glass each of banana wine.
Well! We were on holiday weren’t
we?
Getting up at 0300 had
compensations. The moon was a
silvery three-quarters in an
almost cloud free, blue-black
sky, making the shore buildings,
the pier, the trees—everything –
sharply outlined silhouettes.
The wind was from the southwest
and hardly a force 3 so we
motored out of the Small Isles
and down well past Brosdale
Island and over towards
McArthurs Head before turning
with safety up into the Sound of
Islay. It was coming out of
neaps so we had a fair bit of
tide running with us and within
the hour Port Ascaig was on the
port quarter and the Sound was
starting to open out again.
Another hour and we
were clear of Rubha a Mhail.
Got the sails up, choked the
engine and set course for
Skalasaig on Colonsay. But it
was not to be. The wind
steadily swung round until it
was almost due east , making
Skalasaig a no-go area and
giving Duncan and I thoughts
about the weather pattern.
We decided to head
northwards up to Loch Spelve in
Mull. The sun started to dodge
behind the clouds giving long
shadows across the sea.
After a while I turned to Duncan
– “Those clouds seem to be
getting quite dark – I wonder if
there is something coming up
weather wise that isn’t on the
forecast, and tied up with that
swing in the wind direction?.”
Duncan looked up at the sky –
then at me and didn’t say
anything.
We were well up the
coast of Mull as sunset
approached and I again mentioned
to Duncan that the sky was
looking quite dark and the
clouds a little ominous. My
friend looked at me quizzically,
as if he thought I was kidding
him – then “Bill –if you would
take those bloody sunglasses off
everything would look a lot
brighter.” The man was right.
I had had my shades on since
early morning and had forgotten
about them.
As we closed Loch
Spelve and sailed into the lee
of the land we started up the
diesel to motor in. After
fifteen minutes the reliable
SAAB stopped. Checks showed
that there was a lack of diesel
in the tank. With using the
engine as little as possible, we
had not bothered to count up the
actual hours that had been run.
Ah well – plenty of spare fuel.
The big Jerry can was lifted
onto the side deck and poured
through two filters into the
tank.
The engine refused to
run. Air-locked. Out with the
manual and prepared to follow
the instructions to clear
fault. Duncan stayed on the
tiller as I was reckoned to be
more mechanically minded. I
looked for screwdriver, pliers
etc. I found two screwdrivers
with chewed bits and a pair of
pliers that were well past their
sell-by date.
When sailing on the boat,
normally the skipper carried out
any repairs and had just
appeared with the necessary
tools in his hand,
Duncan called down to
me in the cabin “Going to bring
her round with the last of this
breeze and head for Oban.” My
reply was interspaced with four
letter words describing the
medical condition of the tools
that I was trying to work with.
I kept on looking for other
tools that I was sure I had seen
on board. I got really annoyed,
trying to unscrew screws on the
fuel line without damaging the
heads. At last I was so mad I
started chucking the really bad
tools out of the cabin with
Duncan ducking his head to one
side as something went flying
past his ear into the sea.
Then, tucked away in a
corner, I found a slightly
better screwdriver. Very
carefully I worked away and at
last had the relief of seeing
bubbles turn into flowing diesel
– twice. I called to Duncan to
turn the engine – and away she
went. We brought the head round
and headed back for Loch Spelve.
With the higher latitude we were
getting the benefit of the
longer twilight so we could see
to dodge the spit and make sure
we were clear of the drying reef
off the north shore and then
into the widening loch.
We anchored in the
northwest corner at 2300. There
were no fish farms then. We
reckoned we deserved a couple of
drams while the Hungarian
Goulash was simmering to
readiness and the Basmati rice
was sitting waiting to be popped
into boiling water when the last
25 minutes had arrived.
In anticipation of the meal we
opened a nice bottle of
Elderberry wine that my next
door neighbour had donated.
It had been a long old
day and we were very tired when
we had our last wee nip. From
the depths of his bunk I vaguely
remember Duncan muttering
something about not realising
that I had such a temper and
that my aim was dangerous.
The following morning
we inflated the dinghy and rowed
across to a little corner where
we knew that there was a small
waterfall. It came pouring down
from about ten feet and if you
could stand the temperature, let
you experience the greatest
wake-up, invigorating shower.
Back at the boat we
changed into our walking boots.
Before rowing ashore again, we
dug out a bottle of white wine
and put it into a bucket that
was lowered over the side and
into the water. Ashore again at
the top end of the loch we
started the stiff walk up one of
the high hills that almost
surround Loch Spelve.
An hour and a half later we
thankfully reached the top,
pulled our shirts off and lay
down on the springy grass and
let the hot sun dry the sweat
off our wet bodies.
We dozed for a while, then I
heard Duncan say “ There’s
another yacht coming in.” I
looked down at the loch and saw
a red hulled yacht getting ready
to anchor, perhaps 300 yards
from our boat. After anchoring
we watched the two dots that
were the crew, get their dinghy
off the fore deck, inflate it
and get it over the side.
With the dinghy in the water
they climbed in and started
rowing towards our boat. When
they arrived alongside we saw
one of them lean over towards
our bucket. Duncan and I stood
up and started yelling at the
top of our voices, telling those
two guys to leave our goddamn
etc wine alone! However- after
they had removed the bottle of
wine from the bucket it was held
aloft and waved about over their
heads and then returned to the
bucket. Duncan and I scuttled
down the heather slopes, into
the dinghy and back to our boat
as quickly as we could – just in
case they changed their mind.
That night we had
quite a convivial get-together
with the other crew...
We left Loch Spelve
and sailed over to Oban as we
wanted to get the boat all
shipshape for the owner’s
arrival the following day .We
went alongside a 40ft fishing
boat with a big open deck aft
Duncan, in bare feet, stepped
onto the gunwale of the fishing
boat and jumped down onto the
deck with a mooring warp. As
his feet hit the deck he
collapsed with a yell of pain.
Turned out that the skipper had
an artificial leg and the deck
had been treated with a very
rough and sharp surface to give
him a good grip on the deck.
For Duncan it had been like
jumping onto a bed of nails.
The following day the
owners arrived. After the usual
friendly greetings and the two
of us being complimented on the
condition of the boat – Duncan
told the story about the
air-locked engine and
exaggerated my actions – ducking
and weaving about as he told
them about tools whizzing past
his head while my language was
told to be incredible.
Having laughed for a
while, the two owners looked at
each other and one said –“ But
what about the bagpipe box?”
Duncan and I looked at them as
if they were speaking
Andromadean and asked “What do
you mean – the bagpipe box?”
“For God’s sake -
surely you both knew about the
bagpipe box?”
Both owners went into
the cabin and called for us to
follow. They lifted the cushion
off the pilot berth and said
“Look.” I looked and saw what I
had seen before when I had been
trying to find decent tools, the
black top of one of the water
tanks.
With indecent slowness, a hand
was laid on top of the black
surface and lo and behold the
lid of a bagpipe box was opened
to display a shining set of
practically any tool you might
need..
I am not a tall person but after
that I felt positively minute.