I feel absolutely ready to turn my back on emails, word documents, phone messages, solid floors and a jungle garden.
In some ways sailing is the epitome of making the ordinary extraordinary – living in a world dependant on weather forecasts, tidal streams, two other people I might not see from week to week, let alone minute to minute, ropes, knots, canvas and in-your-face-physics highlights everything we take for granted (or at least I take for granted) in ordinary life. It’s a magnification of what we live amongst without noticing.
And that’s when it’s going smoothly. We took the boat up to The Clyde at the beginning of July and met with a series of quite extraordinary events, more extraordinar than you'd expect for a 24 hour passage:
- The road bridge at Glasson broke (despite having three mechanisms for opening) so we were unable to to lock out of the dock until 12 hours later (the dock only opens at high water). This was 1am on the Saturday.
- At this point the Met Office was forecasting an occasional 6 (as it had been for the last 12 hours), 21-30 knots of wind. By 5pm Saturday afternoon, with Whitehaven on the Cumbrian Coast behind us, the Isle of Man clearly ahead and The Mull of Galloway - Scotland!! - to our right, this forecast had bumped up to steady 6 with occasional 9 (47-54 knots). Although they were saying it would be brief, over within six hours. Those are still pretty strong winds.
- This was followed quickly by news - securite - securite - of an abandoned mast with rigging and sail last seen in the southern area of the
North Channel. Great. The tide would be taking it in the direction we were heading.
- We made the decision to divert to Belfast Lough, to give our relatively inexperienced crew a full night sleep post storm. This was the safest spot to head for - a marina rather than an anchorage (on which me and Anni, another owner would spend the night tossing with the boat, angsting anout anchor drag). At that point Belfast Lough was as close as
. It would just mean a longer sail the following leg. But that would be after the storm, after sleep. Scotland
- As we entered the Lough the wind was gusting 9 from behind, the sea was rolling and twisting us, and we could smell burning. Our engine was fine. Then we noticed a fire, two fires, tens of fires scattered on the hills around the lough. Even in the gale winds and siling rain huge pyres lit the sky. It was the 11th July.
- Because of the unexpected diversion, we were working off a large scale chart. And this is when we made the classic mistake of enforcing our desire upon the landscape: we wanted to be in shelter so we decided the lights we could see were the lights of our marina. We made three attempts to enter a harbour, radioing the harbourmaster to ask why we couldn't see the red wall light. "Are you’re sure you’re here?" He asked.
- The Coastguard put out a call to us, after overhearing this radio conversation, to say a member of the public had seen a boat try to get into Groomsport three times. Was that us? Groomsport was not even marked on our chart. Rain lashing us. The boat (even in the calmer waters of the lough) was bouncing about like a child’s toy. And then pulling away from land for the third time we sawthe red light we’ve been looking for – probably another half miles down the lough. The marina. Our marina. Half an hour later we were tea and toasting it in the comfort of a marina.
- Marching bands played to our departure the following day.
So, naturally I’m hoping the more leisurely return trip (north from the Clyde to Oban before south to Mull, Colonsay,