Fairwinds Goes North . . .

Adventures in a small boat on a big sea

Friday 23th July

We woke to a fine sunny morning and I treated myself to a shower before we slipped our lines from Border Rival and left via the less alarming East entrance to Espevaar. After half an hour the wind had picked up enough to make sail, and we enjoyed a broad reach at 3-4 knots all the way into the approach to Haugesund. The fine weather and lighter winds had brought people out in force, with a fleet of yachts coming down Bomlafjord and squadrons of MoBos whizzing in every doirectio0n, into Haugesund or out to the islands of Espevaar and Rovaer.

Once again the directions in the pilot were less than explicit, but we managed to find our way in to the centre of Haugesund and spotted a couple of spaces on the town quay. However, the pilot mentioned a marina just through the North bridge witgh guest sp-aces, so we decided to have a look at it. The bridge was 13m, and I was sure our air draft was less than 12m. We passed through gingerly and as we have found so often in Norway nothing was very obvious. We spotted a British yacht with someone on board, so we drifted by and enquired as to where the guest berths were.

We motored back through the bridge and tied up at the town quay, right in the centre of Haugesund. Number one priority was a weather check, so we went for a wander and found a very nice internet cafe (Moody's) just a block away from the boat. The overall weather picture looked stable for the next five days, with mostly light winds. Some F4 NW tomorrow which could give us a good start, then a lot of lighter stuff in the middle and maybe a bit of beating into W F4 as we closed Peterhead, but nothing horrendous and no sign of a proper soldiers wind for at least five days. We were pretty much out of money, alcohol and time now, all fjorded out and looking forward to a fish supper and a few pints of (affordable) Scottish ale, so the decision was made - our ship would sail in the morning for Peterhead.

Kathy did some shopping and had a shower while I did some more online stuff. A lassie from then harbour authority came by looking for NOK100 for the berth. We only had 50 kroner left, so had to go to the bank. As the minimum we cojuld take out at the ATM was 200 NOK this meant we would have to have a last beer in Norway to get rid of the surplus currency.

After tea on board we went for a stroll round the centre of Haugesund and ended up in The Irish Viking, a very pleasant pub with a mad juggling Spanish barman. We had just enough for two large beers, which we eked out for an hour or so while we listened to a pretty good blues band. It was fun and I was tempted to put the credit card over the bar and malke a night of it, but with two nights at sea ahead of us commn sense prevailed and we were in bed by midnight. Sadly the drunken idiots on the MoBo moored in front of us weren't, and we were woken up at two oo'clock by a cacophony of shouting and ranting in Norwegian that went on for a long time, so it was a bit of a disturbed night.

Saturday 24th July

Slipped our lines at 7am local time and motored out in search of the fuel berth, which we had been told had an automated credit card facility - as most places here seem to. We had some difficulty spotting the berth, but once located we quickly topped off the tank and filled our two cans, which we reckoned would just about give us the range to motor all the way to Peterhead if we absolutely had to.

By eight am we were sailing on a beam reach with the Navik steering, making three to four knots. About five miles out we were clear of the outlying islets, rocks and skerries and set course to pass a couple of miles North of Utsira, an island best known as a sea area on the shipping forecast. Passing Utsira we had a mobile signal, so I phoned and texted a couple of people just to let them know we were on our way, then we settled down to enjoy a very pleasant sail during the morning and through into the afternoon. At afternoon beer time however, after 40 miles, the wind had fallen light and headed us and we were 40 degrees off our track making less than three knots close hauled. Reluctantly we lifted the Navik, furled the genoa away and put the engine on. We could be hard core and sail it no matter what but as Stewart off Border Rival had said, you can't help feeling you are a sitting duck bobbing around offshore waiting for wind, which will probably be far too much and from the wrong direction when it finally arrives. (He also spoke of 'morbid apprehension', a term I immediately understood - that feeling that all may be going smoothly now but it is likely to go pear shaped at any minute . . . I think most skippers have experienced this.)

Sunday 25th July

We motor-sailed until just after the start of Kathy's watch at 03.00, when the wind got up and she killed the engine and unfurled the genoa. Putting the Navik down at night - or any time really - is a bit of a nightmare so rather than disturb me Kathy steered by hand for the rest of her watch. When I came on watch at six o'clock I hove to and lowered the Navik. We were now making 5 knots on a close reach, and the motion was almost comfortable for a while. The wind backed slightly however, and soon we were almost closed hauled, still making our course of 243deg T at five knots, but the lumpy annoying short seas and 20 degree angle of heel made the simplest task such as making a cup of coffee fraught.

We had two noons today, a Norwegian one and a British one. We put the clocks back to BST at eleven, and shortly before noon BST we crossed the border into UK territorial waters after four weeks in Norway, After lunch the wind dropped away to almost nothing, so it was sails down, Navik up, engine on until early evening, when the procedure was reversed - sails up, engine off, Navik down. The boat speed picked up in the freshening breeze and some dolphins came to play. These were the first dolphins we had seen in a month - don'tknow where all the Norwegian ones have gone, maybe they have eaten them.

Monday 26th July

We passed lots of oil installations and their associated standby vessels and supply ships during the night and in to the dawn, all without incident, although I did fire up the AIS once to monitor a supply vessel that was moving mysteriously. It steamed across our bow about a third of a mile in front of us doing two and a half knots. The wind stayed with us until half past eight when, with under 20 miles to run, we dropped the sails and raised the Navik for the last time and put the engine on. At twelve thirty we tied up in Peterhead Marina after 61 hours for a passage of 257 miles, nearly three quarters of it sailed.

To celebrate our arrival we had a dram of Caol Isla, having finished the last Norwegian beer on passage yesterday. I had a shower while Kathy walked up to the garage on the main road into Peterhead for emergency supplies - Pringles and beer. After a beer and a snack I crashed out while Kathy had a shower then a snooze. We woke at half past six to find it had been raining on all the stuff we had put out to dry in the cockpit . . .

We walked into town. Peterhead was just as I remembered it, grey, drab and raining with lots of dangerous looking people out walking their attack dogs. We passed a shop window proudly proclaiming 'Criminal Defence Lawyer'in huge letters. None of the kebab shops or chippies we passed looked wholesome, so we ended up in the Weatherspoons, where we enjoyed a couple of pints of unbelievably cheap Isle of Skye heather ales and a couple of massacred steaks.

Suitably fortified we summoned our courage and entered the West End Bar on the way back to the marina. Highly recommended - a nice traditional pub with a brass rail, a chatty barman and some interesting looking locals. No decent beers, but the draught Guinness was fine. Back at the boat we set the alarm for seven, a dram and a cup of tea and so to bed, much comforted by being back in the land of affordable pubs.

Tuesday 27th July

Woke early and we were leaving Peterhead harbour by seven thirty, thinking we would carry a fair tide at least as far as Kinnaird Head. (We were using the NE Scotland and Orkney CCC pilot and Dover tide times). As far as Rattray Head we had either no tide or a quarter of a knot or so with us, then once past the lighthouse we started to experience a foul tide of up to a knot and a half which stayed with us almost all the way to Whitehills. There was virtually no wind, certainly not the F3-4 SW the inshore forecast had promised, and we motored with the main hanging limply but serving to damp the rolling.

Passing St Combs Kathy put the fishing line out and soon had a fine mackerel on board. Round Kinnaird Head the sea was louping with mackerel, with a boat out longlining. . Kathy hooked another, but before she could land it it was off the hook, then as we passed the longliner I saw him haul up four mackerel, all of which fell off the hooks before he could get them inboard. After that at least half a dozen other mackerel took our line, but we didn't manage to land a single one, something that has never happened before. When we eventually got into Whitehills a local fisherman who was getting ready to go out longlining told Kathy that there was a certain time of year when the mackerel don't 'bite'properly and come off the hook easily.

Before we arrived at Whitehills however there was a small drama. The CG came on CH16 asking for any vessel in then vicinity of M acduff harbour entrance. We were about am ile off, with no other vessels in sight. Apparentlhy there had been a report of something in the water off the mouth of the Deveron, so we motored in to investigate and saw a black object floating in the position described. By the time we had approached to the 5m contour the inshore lifeboat from Banff was there, and it turned out to be a tree stump - no doubt washed down the Deveron in a spate caused by all the recent rain. The CG thanked us for our help and we continued towards Whitehills.

When we eventually arrived the welcome and the facilities at Whitehills were fantastic. Jim from Rowana took our lines and we tucked in behind him on the pontoon in the outer basin and had a beer with him. We were charged a relatively expensive £17 for the night, but the second and subsequent nights would have been cheaper. The toilets, showers and washing and drying facilities are excellent, and there is a 'Crewroom'with microwave, tea and coffee and a comfy couch. The harbour and marina have been developed privately by the village without the benefit of public money, and the locals are very proud of it.

We had the mackerel as goujons for a starter then got a fish supper from the Whitehills chipper. The owner runs his own trawler,so the fish was fresh and plentiful. We repaired to Maitlands Pub aka the Seafield Hotel, where we met some very friendly locals and enjoyed a pleasant two or three pints. Back to pick up the washing and repair to then boat for a dram. It is unlikely that we are going to make best use of then tide tomorrow, as we have been told it would involve leaving at five. If we get away at eight we reckoned should still get three hours of fair tide - assuming that a little local knowledge is not a dangerous thing.

Wednesday 28th July

Left just before eight but still no favourable tide, and a wind with far too much West in it. Like so many days it started well then went downhill. We dropped the Navik and embarked on a long tack heading slightly offshore through a small fleet of busy trawlers. We were only 20 degrees off our track, the speed was reasonable and it looked as if the occasional short tack inshore would see us right. Of course the wind veered until it was almost due West, and the inexplicable but evident foul tide meant we were tacking through 120 degrees. Eventually we admitted defeat, lifted the Navik, furled the genoa and motored. The wind was now bang on the nose with the main flogging, so we dropped that as well. We had now had an adverse tide all the way from Peterhead, and I vowed to always carry a tidal atlas in future and take local advice with a pinch of salt.

It soon became obvious that we were not in the mood for a lot of this, so we decided the day's target was now Lossiemouth. We had originally intended to go to Findhorn and anchor, but we would have been unable to leave at low water tomorrow to catch the flood up to Inverness - a fairly obvious fact the CCC pilot seems to have overlooked when extolling the virtues of Findhorn as a stopover before heading for the canal. We bashed and banged our way across the chop in the bay between Buckie and Lossie and arrived in a tumult of Tornadoes as a squadron came in to land from a sortie.

Lossie is a very civilised wee town with an excellent butchers, fruit and veg shop etc. We bought some nice steak for a casserole, fruit, veg, a bottle of wine and a paper and settled down for a civilised afternoon and evening on board with an early start tomorrow to be in the canal by evening. Our son Jeff is meeting us in Inverness tomorrow and coming through to Corpach with us.

Thursday 29th July

We left Lossiemouth at 07.15, an hour or so before low water, and motored out of the entrance with a metre and a half under the keel. We were greeted by grey skies and a mean, lumpy little chop with a wind that allowed us to make our course uncomfortably close-hauled but with good speed. We soon had a little tide with us as well, so things were looking up - but two or three miles beyond Findhorn the wind died away and we were back to motoring. Kathy had caught three mackerel by this time, and kept the line out in case even though we are usually going too fast when motoring. This time it paid off and a fourth fish was landed. John and Sarah phoned to say they were just approaching Kessock Bridge - it would be good to see them again, it had been over four weeks since we parted company off Cape Wrath.

The wind picked up briefly and we sailed a mile, but then it died in a determined manner and we motored the rest of the way to the canal entrance, where we parted with an eye-watering £134 for our canal license. We tied up in Seaport Marina alongside Fiodhar, and were soon enjoying a beer with John and Sarah and Fred the dog. Jeff arrived at about seven o'clock and later we had dinner in the cockpit - the remade table allowed five people plus dog to sit in the cockpit and eat a meal in comfort, and the weather was uncharacteristically sunny and warm. We had mackerel goujons as a starter then a delicious carbonara type pasta that Sarah made, with lots of wine and comparisons of Shetland and Norway. John and Sarah had had no less than nine gales in the four weeks they had been in Shetland waters, which made our expereinces in Norway seem pretty moderate by comparison.

Friday 30th July

I called Muirtown Locks on CH74 just before 9 to say we were ready to lock up out of the basin, and was told the first locking was 10.30. It ended up being about ten minutes later than that, and was incredibly slow - for some reason the keepers took about twice as longh as usual to fill each lock. When we were in the top lock they came and told us that we were now too late to get through Tomnahurich Bridge until after the lunchtime non-opening period, which meant essentially that it took us over five hours to lock up out of Inverness.

Loch Ness when we finally got there was flat calm. We went in close to Urquhart Castle so Jeff could take lots of photographs, then plugged on towards Fort Augustus. About an hour later a bit of a breeze sprung up - right on the nose of course - and so we hoisted sail and tacked up the loch for a while. It got lighter and lighter and after half an hour we gave up and put the hammer down for Fort Augustus. Needless to say the wind now got up in earnest, and we ended up motoring into the standard Loch Ness short chop.

In Fort Augustus we went for a meal in the Lock Inn, accompanied by a few pints of their real ale brewed on the premises (Jeff's treat). Saturday 31st July

We entered the bottom lock at Fort Augustus at quarter past nine and an hour later we were at the top. The only incident was when the helm came untied and went hard over while we were towing the boat into the next lock and she made a suicidal beeline for the gate. Disaster was narrowly averted though and Jeff proved an able lock hand, although he did complain that the ropes were ruining his city hands.

Loch Oich was grey,wet and windy (on the nose). By the time we got to Laggan we decided we needed cheering up, sop we pulled in and repaired to the Eagle for a lunchtime pint. I nipped across to West Highland Sailing to say hello to Ray, the proprietor, before locking down into the imaginatively named Loch Lochy for another cold wet windy motor. Theoretically we could have raised sail and tacked, but no-one was in the mood and we still had a lock and two bridges to negotiate before six o'clock if we wanted to get to Banavie tonight.

We tied up alongside at Banavie shortly after six. Tea was another one of Kathny's delicious casseroles. Tomorrow we have the descent of Neptune's Staircase (eight locks) then it's just a couple more locks to Corpach and we are back on the West Coast. The locking clock was broken and the staff long gone, so we had no idea when the first locking down would be in the morning.

After another one of Kathy's delicious casseroles we wandered down the locks and across the railway into Caol for a coujple of pints in the local pub there, which seemed a lot more interesting and genuine than the hotel beside the locks.

Sunday 1st August

Walked over to the top lock at ten past eight to find two boats in it and down two feet. I asked the lock-keeper when the next locking was and she said they had a double locking coming up so it would be after lunch, one o'clock. I said that was ridiculous, it meant we would not be able to get the tide through the Corran Narrows and would have wasted a whole day. I asked why she hadn't they checked to see if any other boats were wanting to locvk down and she told me it was not her problem if I was too lazy to get out of bed. Needless to say I got somewhat annoyed with her, and with her spotty mate who came over a bit protectiove and threatening. She said she would be informing her supervisor, and eventually her team leader, a very reasonable bloke called Mark, turned up for a chat. The upshot was that we got locked down at half past twelve and Mrs Stroppy had to take a late lunch. The descent was rapid and we locked out of the sea loch at twenty past two and just made it to the narrows before the tide turned.

Once through the narrows I decided to head for Loch Coire with its mooring buoys and restaurant for an end of holiday treat. The wind had other ideas however - massive squalls coming off the Morvern cliffs and mountains got worse until we were struggling with two reefs in and a small jib. The pilot describes the loch as very squally, so we gave up and headed over towards Lismore to anchor at Port Ramsay. We haven't been in there before though, and by this time it was so rough and blowy that I didn't fancy it. Oban and Dunstaffnage would be full to bursting with West Highland Week, and with the wind forecast to go from NW to SW there were no appealing anchorages en-route so we decided to press on and make for home. The ebb at Cuan would start soon after ten, and it probably wouldn't be too dark - and in any event we have the plotter.

We had a cracking sail from the Lynn of Lorn southwards, making well over six knots for an hour before discretion prevailed and we slipped a couple of reefs in. Anotehr hour and we shook the reefs out again, but by the time we got to the entrance to Easdale Sound the wind was back up to over 20 knots and I didn't fancy running through the sound in the dark dead downwind so we put the engine on and dropped the sail - with a lot of cursing from me as I tried to flake the main and tie it down. By now we had drifted South past the entrance, so we motored round the bottom of Easdale and headed for Cuan. It was much darker than expected - clouds covered the moon, and it was now after eleven - the nights were fair drawing in.

We dropped the sprayhood and Kathy peered into the gloom while I dimmed the plotter. Even dimmed it was too bright and destroyed my night vision, but Kathy claimed she coujd see a bit. Entering Cuan was easy enough, with the lights on the North Cuan slipway to show the way, but once past here and with several knots of tide hustling us along towards the narrow gap between the Cleit and the dreaded unnamed rock to the North of it things got a little hairier. I tried to slow the boat down by reducing the revs, but the tide just swirled us round, so we ended up shooting past the unseen Cleit at eight knots or so. We must have been far too close to the northern side of the channel as the depth dropped below 5m at one point, but Kathy was reading out the depth and I quickly swung us back into mid-channel. A few seconds later we were in clear flat water heading into Seil Sound.

We picked up our mooring at exactly midnight, having been away seven weeks and five days with a total mileage of 1,580nm. We celebrated with the champagne we had taken with us and a feast of crackers and cheese before falling into our nest in the forepeak for one last time.

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