Sea Journeys

Tobermoray to Mallaig

We reluctantly set sail from Tobermory having only stayed there for 6 hours… a six hours however very well spent.. Carol and Clive researched a further entry into their new publication “Boozing by Boat: Bars of the Western Isles” (or according to Clive: “Bristols by Boat: Barmaids of the Western Isles”) by visiting the MishNish Inn and sitting in front of a log fire with papers and pints in hand, whilst Dave did some parallel research in a building with “bar” written on its roof, which he swears was to look at its historical past. Jane continued to single-handedly occupy the whole orange mobile phone network (and who does she phone at 3.00am we all ask?) for several hours.

Paul got very frustrated with no-one to put up the mast, so decided to spring a surprise on the intrepid crew and start a regime of skippered passages. I drew the short straw and guided Frangi up to Mallaig,feeling slightly shell shocked. For once, a nice beam reach all the way from the end of the sound of Mull to the outskirts of Mallaig and DURING THE DAY! Not quite such a salubrious port of stay as we had to raft up next to another yacht outside two fishing boats. We were completely knackered after the previous two days and for once decided to forgo the pleasures of Mallaig in favour of a good nights rest.

Port Ellen to Tobermoray (Mull)

Phil The Bill finally mended Frangi, and we got off at 3pm to sail up to Tobermoray on Mull. Breathing a huge sigh of relief that we were underway again we set off around the south coast of Islay and up the Islay sound- fantastic views over to Jura although the "paps" were covered in cloud.

We moored for six hours at Post Askaig, watching the tidal race zoom by us in the wrong direction, before setting off with the tide up towards Mull on an overnight passage. This proved an exercise in night sailing with no landmarks or lights or indeed any other sign of life at all, as the weather closed in. Dave perfected his submarine avoidance manoeuvres and I am reported to have started to have a  glazed expression and mumbling about skiing in a white-out.

As dawn broke the weather improved to give glorious views of shafts of light wreathed in mist on the coast of Mull. Later, we arrived in Tobermoray to one of the nicest places and one of the worst breakfasts on this trip so far. More later- internet connection about to go!

Still in Port (Ellen)

… because our engine isn’t working. “Phil the Bill”, the marine diesel mechanic, confirmed Paul’s diagnosis: the fuel lift pump had died. The good news was that he found a replacement pump; the bad news was that the replacement pump required new fittings which were not available. The pigeon post to Islay will deliver the new parts on Thursday. Seven go mad on Islay.

Paul clearly doesn’t like sitting around doing nothing, so decided to do further work on Frangi. Not content with sending Jane up the mast once, he sent her up again and left her there for an hour, investigating the recurring problem with the tricolour and anchor lights. Jane did a sterling job undoing the wiring – not an easy job whilst trussed up in harness 70 ft above deck – and discovered that the wrong bulbs had been fitted and something looked suspect with the wiring. Bob and Clive – our budding electrical engineers – after much discussion decided that one of them had to go up the mast to sort it out. Now that he realised that climbing the mast didn’t involve shimmying up like a monkey, Clive volunteered to go up, and soon had the wiring back in order. But… ooopps.. he forgot to check the orientation of the lights before descending. Later that evening we discovered the port light was shining astern. Mast climbing seems to be theme of this trip!

Bob, Clive,  Dave, David and I went off on Tuesday afternoon to explore footpaths round the bay to the lighthouse and onwards round the coast. A glorious walk with old woodland, white beaches, wild goats, blue seas and spectacular views over to the Mull of Kintyre and to northern Ireland. I was grateful for my past life as a goat when the promised footpath disappeared, and I led the team up faint goat tracks, up gulleys through head-high bracken, and through the occasional bog. Not sure the rest of the team appreciated this diversion.

Tuesday evening saw us in the pub (where else?) along with the crew of the large Swedish yacht which had arrived that afternoon. Jane decided they were an aging rock band staging a revival, and they duly obliged by playing air guitar for us. Later that evening,  our intrepid crew blagged their way onto the Swedish yacht (an Eagle 64)with the excuse of seeing pictures of the Lofoten Islands. How the other half live - a galley fit for GordonRamsey, leather bucket seats, plush cabins and a circular dining table with bottles of aged malt… If Frangi’s replacement parts don’t arrive soon, we are planning a bank robbery to pay for the charter costs to continue the round Britain trip in a style to which we could become accustomed.

Wednesday saw us swelling the tourist coffers by hiring a fishing boat (Clive, Carol and Dave) and bicycles (Bob and David). The fishermen came back with supper of mackerel and Pollock, and the cyclists with tales of nice lunches in the Ardbeg distillery. Jane, much to her amazement, discovered that the owner of the local B&B where we had showers is an old college friend, and Carol continued her perusal of boats beginning with R by chatting up the owner of the (Hallberg) Rassy 36 .

After a few glasses of wine the crew all decided it would be a really good idea to visit the pub again and drink as much 70 shilling as they could possibly muster. The even wiser members decided they could also do with a whiskey or two, just to make sure that grape and grain were well and truly mixed! It does not take a chemist to figure out the effects!

This morning was a late rise but we were up in time to watch the plane fly overhead with the post and our much needed fuel uplift pump to ensure the engine could suck squeeze bang and blow!! Most of the male crew members seem to like this way of describing the four stroke cycle! What it must be to be ruled by testosterone! Paul decided that the best hangover cure was for me to be hoisted up the mast to rotate the tricolour lens so that we would not have to sail backwards the whole way!!

As this is written soup and a roll are being consumed by all before Phil the Bill (local boat engineer) comes to fit us up so we can move out off up the Sound of Islay to ‘womble town’ as Tobermory has come to be known. Despite the good times we have had it is definitely time to go before our livers are pickled beyond belief.

Port Ellen

After a lazy day of Islay beauty accompanied by a whiskey tour at the Lagavulin Distillary we discovered the island cyber cafe and quickly posted the last blog.

Slightly sozzled from our free dram we made our way back to the boat to sober up for passage planning and our intended departure at about 10pm for Tobermory.The quote of the day 'who names a town after a bloody womble?' shall remain unatributed, but I'm sure those in the know could guess pretty quickly the reliable cynic who offered it up!!

Using the time to good advantage Paul (who I might add had not touched a drop of the filthy stuff!) did some navigation tuition and then set about trying to drain an air bubble from the engine. Needing some diesel after the shops had shut meant Jane had to yet again put on the high heels and wander the pontoons in search of a favour! The things a girl has to do!

Successfully returning with her prize Paul sorted the problem out and Frangi fired up like a dream. Having eaten and sorted our night shifts the majority of the crew retired for some shut eye whilst David, Clive and Paul set up and let Frangi loose for a long night ahead. All seemed well until about half an hour into the journey when the engine stopped.

Unsuccessful attempts to restart the engine were followed by everyone rising from their bunks to discover a cool as a cucumber Paul surrounded by 6 anxious faces. Skillfully using the light wind Paul made the genius decision to sail back to the tight and tricky marina at Port Ellen and to come alongside unaided by any motor power at all!

Having briefed all on board we waited with baited breath as Frangi slowly slipped quietly and perfectly into where she had been but an hour before. The bemused neighbours responded with a mixture of inane comments 'why did ye no have the engine on Pal?!!' and an impromptu applause from the totally inebriated Swiss boat 3 fingers along.

With the adrenaline surging through our veins there was really only one thing to do to calm us down - drink as many cans of beer as we could whilst everyone recounted their close shave stories.

Clive it has to be said won hands down by revealing that he is in fact an ex competitive sky diver who has completed over 1400 jumps with a few tales to tell along the way. Needless to say he confirmed his status as a true adrenaline junkie when he disclosed that he eventually gave up because he got bored with waiting around to do the jumps!!

Suitably inebriated we all bedded down for a few hours kip to await the judgement of the local boat engineer in the morning. A final note to give tribute to Paul's unflinching cool through the whole engine (or rather lack of engine!) crisis! We are certainly learning from the Jedi school of sailing, although thankfully Paul makes a much more attractive Yoda!

Largs to Port Ellen

Frangi, now resplendent with her new crew for leg 2 (Bob, Carol, Clive, Dave, David, Jane, Paul the skipper - oh and our new boat mascot "Voodoo Rab", a doll of uncertain sexual orientation wearing Scottish dress - kindly provided by Jane), set off from Largs at lunchtime on Sunday for leg 2 of our " Around Britain with the wind on the nose" adventure tour.

Slightly bleary from an evening in the bar in the Largs yacht club (crew bonding, or that was our excuse) & singing along (well some of us!) to the local band, we had a good sail down to Pladda off the south of Arran with the new crew getting to know the boat. We spotted a basking shark- the first we've seen since Cornwall and Dave and I got out the "Coastal Birds of Britain" book... but still haven't fathomed out why a woodpecker features in a book on seabirds.

We had decided to eschew the Crinan canal in favour of the more westerly route round the Mull of Kintyre and up to Islay (or was it the call of the eight distilleries in Port Ellen)? As we were early for our tidal gate round the Mull of Kintyre, we anchored at Pladda for an early supper. By the time we set sail again, of course the wind was dropping, and.. yes, you guessed.. on the nose. Volvo Penta assisted for the rest of the trip up to Islay and Paul inserted the first pin into Voodoo Rab. We anchored at 4am off Port Ellen, moving Frangi to a tiny harbour in Port Ellen after a snooze. We were welcomed by the most enormous seal floating on his back - guess he wondered if we were a fishing boat.

Time to go and explore the eight distilleries! More later.

Holy Island to Largs

We woke to a calm day off Holy Island -clearly the nearby Buddhist retreat was having positive karma. The karma was broken somewhat by a screaming Claudia up the mast - well someone had to make up for the absence of local roosters. After the early panic of realising we were rather low on food and drink (and of far more importance to Willik, cigarettes), we set sail for a brief circuit of Holy Island.

Early progress was stunning; Frangi responding well on a fetch with most of the crew trying to out-do the camera skills of the others (I think it is fair to say Claudia is the David Bailey of the boat - in the sense that she is a cross between David Beckham and Bill Bailey). About two-thirds of the way round the wind deserted us and the motor was called into action to get Willik his cigarettes before a major international crisis developed.

Progress was delayed though due to a fisherman calling in a Mayday -announcing he had no idea where he was, no VHF, no GPS, no first aid and rather low in the grey cells department. Skipper Paul calmed us all down and ensured a sympathetic approach was taken.

Once most of the local boats had entered the search and rescue mission, with extensive opportunity to try out Skip and David's bino purchases, we decided we couldn't be of immediate assistance, so set off back to Largs. Willik's nicotene hunt gained speed as we entered the harbour at Largs for the second and final time, finishing the first two week leg our trip around Britain. Impressive shore speed was achieved by Willik who had got through the best part of a packet of fags before we had even refuelled.

After a brief beverage on shore, followed by tarting ourselves up, Frangi's Skipper and crew hit the wild life that Largs had to offer. Incredibly managing to walk past a number of "Chup" shops, Jane led us to a local hostelry, The Townhouse. After assessing the talent of a wedding party at his local hotel, Willik joined us for dinner and we had our Last Supper.

Tired and emotional we had to purchase more drink for the boat before retiring for the evening.

Great Cumbrae to Holy Island (Arran)

As I write this, we are sitting on a mooring just off the shore of Holy Island, a small island on the east coast of the Isle of Arran. The sun is just dropping below the Island's hills, which are capped in white clouds, and the sea is turning glassy and silver, disturbed only by gannets plummeting into the water fishing for their supper, and the occasional appearance of a seal's head bobbing contentedly above the surface. We've just eaten fresh lobster and crab, purchased off a passing fishing boat two hours ago and skilfully cooked by Willik, with freshly made mayonnaise. A perfect way to finish off a pretty good day!

It was quite strange last night to go to sleep and know we would not have to stumble up after 2 hours for a night watch. We can`t remember when we did this before - was it in a previous life? As a consequence we all slept for around 12 hours ("not so much a sleep as a short course in death" - one of the more repeatable quotes from Paul) and had a very slow start, leaving our mooring around lunchtime and heading down towards Arran in a freshening wind.

For once the wind was NOT on the nose - BLISS - and the sun was out, and consequently we had a glorious sail down to Arran. We even managed to get Frangi's newly repaired mainsail to set much better, and she was steaming along at 7 knots in 15 knots of wind. Although we didn't need to, we had some tacking practice: Honest yer `onour, we didn't notice that Claudia was in the heads. The creative water fighting continued, as Richard worked out that the hatch from the cockpit into the aft heads was immediately over the heads itself - as Jane subsequently found out!

As we approached Arran and got into the lee of the island, we tried out the fishing gear for the first time - good news that we caught a fish almost immediately; bad news that it was too heavy for the puny line and all the kit disappeared along with the fish. Back to the drawing board on that one - must get this right for our journey northwards.

We found a good mooring in the lee of Holy Island around mid-afternoon, and have been sitting here in the peace and beauty of these stunning surroundings, intermittently admiring the view, trying out David`s new binoculars, watching the Waverley (the last of the Clyde paddle steamers, we are told) come into the bay, reading ,sleeping and, of course, in the case of Claudia, who had more energy than usual (yikes), playing..

After she`d disappeared head first into the fridge (yes, we have the pictures to prove it), Paul decided to calm her down by indulging her wish to climb the 70ft mast (or Claudia indulged Paul´s fantasies about tying up women - not sure which way round this was!) and hoisted her up to the top where she showed us her gymnastic skills as well as checking out the mast head equipment and taking some fabulous photos of Frangi from above.

Richard nearly prompted us to try out our VHF skills and call out the rescue services, as we stumbled coughing from noxious fumes emitting from the heads - I think he was trying to get revenge on Willik for an obscenely lucky backgammon performance.

Time to sign off as Head Chef Paul is about to serve up another fine mess. Hasta manana.

Largs to Great Cumbrae

Most of today was taken up by sitting in a semi-knackered state on the boat (or in the bar, but that goes without saying!) waiting for the mainsail to be repaired and for the B&G man to come and look at Frangi´s strange autopilot which finally gave up the ghost last night - after read-outs showing reciprocal bearings earlier in the week, it started sending us round in circles (or was that the influence of a submarine? We will never know).

But - miracle of miracles - it was HOT.. shorts, or even less clothing needed. Jane & Claudia continued their water fight campaign, with Jane winning the wet t-shirt competition and Willik showing a surprising knowledge of the correct denier of shirt material for such ventures (is there no end to his talents?).

Playtime over, we had a quick motor down the coast and over to Great Cumbrae to moor off Millport. It was still gloriously warm, so Jane and Claudia decided to brave the water and go for a swim. I cannot repeat on here the words uttered on surfacing from their dives, but suffice it to say that they probably broke the world 49 feet speed record from Frangi`s bow to the stern ladder. The rest of us decided to stay on deck.

After a great supper and only one beer (?!!!) (thanks again Paul) we all retired early for once.

Bangor to Largs

Following our arrival at Bangor, a group consensus was reached that instead of showers, we should go for one quick drink followed by dinner. After the fifth drink a new consensus was reached that we should investigate the "chups" option. Reconnaissance work from Jane and Claudia discovered that the "chups" shop was open until 2, so normal service was quickly resumed. Following a brief dance with Willik, Claudia and Richard attempted "the helicopter" while Willik met some locals. A few seconds passed until Health and Safety intervened (coincidentally at the same time as Willik was forced to abort his public relations exercise). Chups, pizza and a couple of beers later and bed beckoned following a brief oggling of Gypsy Moth IV.

Tuesday's sunrise was another stunner - so Jane says having spent many of her sleeping hours on deck. The rest of us took her word for it.

After gathering our senses we gravitated towards the facilities discovering to our delight and amazement that Bangor Marina not only had plush and luxurious showers but also provided a five star bath. While the multitaskers relaxed and soaked, Richard had a quick shower mistaking the men's bath area for a 'male baby changing area'. Meanwhile, WilliK naive to the political history of Northern Ireland was disappointed not to find a rifle range at the local funfair.

On their return to the boat, Jane and Claudia decided that they weren't sufficiently clean so an impromptu watering session with the hoses. A sizeable audience was most impressed by their cleanliness, though a little disappointed at the lack of an encore so attention had to turn to the "heavy petting" on the harbour wall.

Invigorated from our baths and refueling on ginger chicken we set off for the motherland, Scotland. At this point Jane's accent began to disturbingly change into broad Scots and after a few hours of Rab C Nesbitt impersonations Paul was only able to grunt commands from the bridge. He was thankfully brought back to reality by a psycho drama exercise in which Paul and Claudia re-enacted the 'King of the World' scene from Titanic. Paul grabbed the Kate Winslet part leaving Claudia with a frankly breathtaking De Caprioesque interpretation. All agreed it was not up to the amateur dramatic standard of Richard and Paul's Titanic scene.

Frangi managed a couple of hours sailing close hauled (no surprise there!) which was brought to a swift conclusion by damage to the mainsail. Motoring through into the dark hours, Campbeltown finally came into view. After some expert navigation into the harbour (missing buoys by metres, inability to see signals and steady constructive advice from the tired crew) we were able to demonstrate our expert ability at laying anchor for the first time. After mending the anchor mechanism - thanks go to the previous occupants for their careful stowage of the anchor chain.

After a closely fought race to descend into the cabin and crack open the beers in celebration of another through-the-night slog (narrowly won by Willik as usual), our Skipper felt it time to spread the good news. He wasn't tired yet so we had to keep going. (He gave some excuse about having to get the sail mended and heading for Largs straight away being the only option). We instantly had our next six hours split into watches (with Skipper Paul signing up for all of it) while David undid all our fine work with the anchor.

Much as we were waning, the scenery in the early hours was incredible - many (more) stunning sun rise photos and smooth glassy waters. The route to Largs was mostly one of calm and serenity, punctuated by an unexpected "breakdown" of the compass. The needle decided to veer off magnetic north as we rounded a headland. Later investigations suggested this to be as a result of being above 2000 tonnes of submarine (hopefully one of ours!).

With dawn well and truly broken, we motored into Largs about 8.45 am - after fifteen hours cruising, to enjoy a blue-skied stunner of a day (beautiful shorts and t-shirts weather for the first time).

Ardglass to Bangor (Belfast loch)

Our initial plans to go over to the Isle of Man were scuppered yet again by the wind (not Paul's!!!). Paul adopted his now customary position in Frangi`s armchair muttering incantations and the odd grunt and sigh, scribbling notes and making offerings to the Gods, but all to no avail other than seemingly to upset the forecasters. Paul decided that as the Met office had not been very reliable so far (well that`s a polite version of what he said) we´d follow the Irish forecast and trust that rising wind would only come in after we arrived at our next destination- now Bangor in Belfast Loch.

We set off under motor planning to get part of the way quickly before changing to sail. Clearly Paul had really upset the forecasters by choosing to beleive the Irish, as we were soon motoring almost head on into a F6 wind. We could hear the Bods in Bracknell having a laugh. We had, of course (sods law in action) chosen to run with the strong tidal flow up to Belfast - which of course meant wind one way, tide the other. Result: choppy, bouncy seas which got increasingly bouncier as we progressed northwards and the wind gusted up to 30 knots. Even sedate and heavy Frangi was rearing and crashing down into the troughs of the waves, at times grinding us to a halt and showering the cockpit with spray.

Jane stood behind the wheel with a glazed look on her face, dripping with water and muttering something repetitively.. strangely it sounded like "Contessa 32, Contessa 32". Claudia as usual was very excited capturing photo shots of waves, planning to lash herself to the mast and having the occasional involuntary exfoliation from a passing wave.

Willik slept on...

We arrived in Bangor at 10pm. After contemplating a meal and shower for all of three minutes we decided instead to go to "The Dark Boats" for several beers, a takeaway and a little boogie (cut short by some slightly concerned locals)..