MORE AMBLINGS OF AVOCET part II

Wednesday 10^th August, Isle of Whithorn.

Once again the swell crept into the anchorage over high water, and a couple of trawlers passed us in the early hours to rock us a little more. We were up at seven and, with a forecast of NW3, set off promptly to make the most of the remaining ebb towards the Mull of Galloway. (Low water was around 0930).

Well! Firstly we couldn’t see the Mull due to poor visibility, and secondly the wind piped up from the north-west and we couldn’t make the Mull even when we could see it. Result - thrashing into a head sea yet again.

We tacked inshore where the sea was nice and quiet, and spotted St Ninian’s Cave, which we had visited by land two years before. Then we made another tack out into Luce Bay before tacking inshore again on the last of the ebb, and anchoring up to sit out the flood, tucking in south of a headland on the east side of Luce Bay. We were well sheltered from the wind, but not the swell… We had our sea-legs by now, but it was still tiring. More north-westerlies were forecast – a bit depressing. Then the cutlery drawer lost it’s bottom again and I swore a word I don’t usually swear. Brian had a look in the bilges, and was puzzled about the dark brown nature of the water, until I reminded him about the coffee.

Just before high water we set off again and had a rapid sail across Luce Bay, still close-hauled. Intending to anchor inside the Mull, we headed well into the bay to avoid getting caught in the tide-rip which sweeps round the tip of the Mull. We still misjudged it and had to motor flat-out in the opposite direction to get out of the tide. Lining up transits to gauge our progress, we inched our way into the quiet waters behind the curving tip of the Mull, and anchored with some relief in Tarbert Bay. Once again we were out of the wind but could not escape the swell, so brilliant Brian did his trick of tying a line from stern to anchor rope to hold the boat head on to the waves.

23 miles and tacks, 6 hours 50 mins.

Thursday 11^th August

The sea calmed right down in the night, so it was comfortable, but high water slack, the best time for us to round the Mull, was at 0330 hours. I peeped out and decided it was very dark, and went back to bed! We had a leisurely start the next day, and as the weather was so quiet decided to take the low water slack round the Mull, and once round, anchor up at Port Logan to await the ebb up to Portpatrick. We timed our departure by the book, but the flood had already started, and we had to plug the tide a bit. The water was flat but swirly, and the cliffs as stunning as ever.

Three hours later we dropped the anchor in the sandy bay of Port Logan.

After a sandwich on board we took the dinghy ashore for a look round the tiny harbour and a coffee in the pub. The village had been used in a TV drama called One Thousand Miles of Sky (or was it Skye?). Portpatrick had been a mainland port and Port Logan a Hebridean island.

I sent my brother David a text message from here to see if he was also at sea. He was – tacking off Worthing!

Back on the boat we waited for the ebb, and I watched fascinated as a huge shoal of small fish played round the boat. Approaching slack water we set off north again, motoring through calm seas, enjoying the scenery and the seals hauled out on the rocks, with local fishermen buzzing from pot to pot in their speedy little boats. Compared with last year’s slog up to Portpatrick, late at night and against the tide, we got there really quickly, and there was plenty of room in the harbour. We were in time for the superloo showers and the shops, then repaired to the Devonshire Arms for some well-earned grub.

19 miles, 4 hours 30 mins.

Friday 12^th August

Although we had decided to have a rest day we still dithered about whether we should have gone! It was sunny and breezy, around force 4, with force 6 forecast for a time – and north-westerly. Nor could we decide where to go next. We went for a long circular walk, and it was hot, thirsty work. We also did some boat-keeping and shopping, and stocked up on diesel. Brian glued the cutlery drawer and I washed coffee out of the towel and tea-towel that were on duty at the time of the coffee debacle.

Saturday 13^th August

The next day it was still windy and still north-westerly, and had been wet and blustery in the night, with a lot of straining at mooring ropes. The sun came out by lunchtime and we went for another walk through the local glens. Approaching the coast we spotted a small gaffer coming across from Ireland, hard-pressed and speedy, and disappearing into the troughs of waves. Later we chatted to the skipper from Bangor, and he said it had been a pretty rough trip, especially approaching the Scottish coast.

Sunday 14^th August

After another windy night we listened to the 0530 forecast, but at the mention of force 6 we sunk back under the covers. A later inspection of the sea showed many white horses. The skipper from Bangor assured us it would flatten when the tide turned, and that if we headed for Ireland the first hour would be the worst. We decided to go for it. First we visited a table-top sale on the harbour-side in aid of the lifeboat, and bought a home-made fruitcake, then prepared for take-off. We saw the gaffer set off, bound for Larne Lough. He got his sails up in the harbour, presumably having a shrewd idea what foredeck work would be like outside!

We set off shortly after 1100, motoring out of the harbour into the switchback ride beyond. Brian got the sails up, braving the bucking foredeck, and, well reefed, we set off for Ireland, close-hauled on the starboard tack. The waves were big and there was a lot of up and down, but it wasn’t rough in terms of coffee jars and cutlery drawers jumping about the ship. I was on the helm and felt OK, but Brian wasn’t so lucky, and we both swallowed a pill to ward off green face syndrome. Brian’s pill kicked in just in time to save him and he snoozed for a while across the bridge-deck, while I just made what we could upwind and kept an eye on the high speed ferries.

After a couple of hours the size of the seas lessened, although even as we approached the Irish coast we didn’t get much lea, as the wind came more northerly. When Brian regained verticality he took some GPS fixes and found us to be on course for Belfast Lough, so Bangor Marina on the south shore of the Lough seemed the obvious place to make landfall. As we closed the shore we were able to bear away and roll down to Bangor at top speed, admiring the pastel coloured houses along the shore as we went. We arrived just before1700 and were made welcome in the smart marina.

We went ashore for a stroll and a pizza, then made the most of the excellent facilities with a well-earned shower. 23 miles plus waves, 5hours 45mins

Monday, 15^th August

The alarm went off at 0630 but we didn’t actually get away until 0900 – we were well into holiday mode by now. What a relief to be on a weather shore; the wind was westerly and the sea-state smooth! We crossed Belfast Lough and sailed on northward up the coast. The weather was overcast and occasionally drizzly, but the sailing was good, with gusts off the cliffs and big black clouds to send us scurrying along over the flat sea. We kept a keen eye out for the fast ferries coming out of Larne Lough, and wondered at the old and new lighthouses on the desolate off-lying Maiden rocks.

We decided to berth in Glenarm Marina, on the south side of ? Bay. We had no sailing directions but watched another yacht making her approach, and copied! We had previously visited Carnlough harbour on the north side of the bay, and found sectarianism and a hatred of the Union Jack, causing us to hide our red ensign. Glenarm was quite different. The old stone harbour had been renovated and pontoons installed to make a delightful yacht haven. The village was quaint and friendly, with walks up the nearby glen, one of the Great Glens of Antrim.

Also moored in the harbour we found the Golden Hind Henry Rose, who we had met up with last year in Portpatrick. After a lovely walk up through the forested Glen, and a Guinness in the Schooner Inn, we joined Henry and Rose (aka) for a drink. 23 miles, 6hours 15mins.

Wednesday 17^th August

It was a quiet, fine morning, a day to be savoured. Once at sea, heading north with a light south-westerly, it seemed like time to try out our recently acquired (but definitely not new) cruising chute. Red, white and blue billowed out ahead, pulling Avocet along at six knots. The G-force was noticeable! After a while the wind began to fluctuate and some large black clouds rolled seaward, predicting gusts, so we took it in again; the wind died! The headlands and the Glens of the Antrim coast were magnificent, and some porpoises swam close to the boat.

We motored the last few miles north, to Rathlin Island, sitting just to the north east of the mainland, and surrounded by notorious tide races and whirlpools – although not much in evidence at the moment!

There was windy weather forecast, and although I had misgivings about choosing such an isolated landfall, I was also curious about the island. We had passed it before and were both keen to have a look.

Shaped a bit like a boomerang and about six miles from tip to tip, the island has a lot of history, the most recent being that Richard Branson came ashore there when his balloon ditched nearby as he tried to complete his Atlantic crossing. The tiny stone harbour, on the inside of the boomerang bend, has been augmented by a breakwater with a single long pontoon behind it, mainly to accommodate the jet-propelled tripper boats which cross the Sound from the mainland in fine weather. There is plenty of room for yachts, but no facilities, although some are being built nearby.

Before the potato famine the island was home to three thousand, but starvation drove them to emigrate, and now there are around a hundred islanders eking out a living by smallholding or tourism, or by commuting to the mainland. All across the island are the ruins of former habitation – mostly just the gable ends and walls remaining of the tiny crofts.

The few more recent buildings are utilitarian and functional – there is nothing quaint about the place. It has more a feel of a continuing struggle to survive than a pretty tourist destination. Away from habitation the island is ruggedly beautiful with dramatic cliffs around it’s north and east coasts.

There was only one other yacht using the pontoon – a steel Spray, complete with windowed poop deck and figurehead! It looked quite incongruous in this wild setting.

25 miles, 5hours.

Wednesday 17^th August

With gale warnings for the Hebrides and SW 6-7 in Malin, we decided to stay put, as the next bit of the trip would be exposed to the Atlantic. As it turned out, the wind was dampened by pouring rain, and we could easily have made the trip north to Islay. Instead, we got out the bikes and cycled over rugged terrain to the West Light, one of three lighthouses round the island. It was a demanding eight mile round trip with some very steep bits, and it rained continuously! There was an RSPB lookout by the lighthouse and we stayed for a while, chatting to the volunteers, sheltering in their tiny shed, and looking at some fulmar chicks nesting on the cliffs below through telescopes. Wet through, we returned to the harbour and dripped into the warm café for lunch, before returning to the boat for a complete change of clothes.

The rain eased up after supper and we strolled towards the southern point of the island. Brian liberated a moth that he had rescued at sea and had been keeping with his sail ties under a ventilator cover. Assuming it was a Lancashire moth, I wonder what it made of Rathlin Island! To be continued.