Sailing around Oban and the Inner Hebrides

Friday 4^th.

This journey starts in Euston station, then diverts to the East End and Soho before resuming on it's proper course to Argyll in Scotland and beyond.

Tom had invited us to join him again, sailing this time from Oban. Due to difficulties getting flights and rail connections, we thought we would try the rail sleeper service, but more about that later.

Louise and I met up in Euston after work and deposited our bags there, before heading off to Café Spice in Brick Lane. They do some great Bangladeshi cuisine, including our favourite, Tandoori Roopchandra. Roopchandra is a fish also known as Pomfret in English. This is one restaurant where you can bring your own wine and there is no corkage charge. Three off licence shops nearby make life easy for you.

After dinner, we went to Soho for coffee. The place was alive, like a head full of coloured lice, with numerous trishaws winding through the crowds standing outside the pubs and cafes and spilling onto the road. All manner of creature emerge to exhibit themselves before the gaze of indifferent spectators. If you are baffled, just go see for yourself.

We got back to Euston and boarded 5 minutes before the train left. You can usually board the sleepers at least 1 hour early.

The sleepers evoke images of bygone Edwardian times, when sportsmen travelled up to the North for the grouse shooting or salmon fishing. Somehow, I think those were grander times. Today's quarters are tiny and stuffy. The beds are OK, but the journey is far from smooth. We didn't sleep much.

Saturday

We were woken with a tray of coffee and croissants. I'm sure those Edwardians were stuffed with a full English breakfast, but we won't hold that against them.

We next had to get from Glasgow Central station to Glasgow Queens Street Station. The facilities are better in Central Station so we had more coffee and breakfast there before catching a shuttle bus to Queen St. The shuttle comes every 10 minutes and is free if you have a rail ticket to travel onwards.

The rail journey from Glasgow to Oban was spectacular, even for someone who dislikes trains as much as I do. First it follows the banks of the Clyde until it reaches Helensburgh, then turns inland along a succession of lochs, Loch Long, Gareloch, Awe and Etive. Rivers and streams trace their presence over the moors and hill sides everywhere.

Even that was as nothing compared to the other views on the way. I had innocently gone to the toilet, which opens with a button. I walked in and was surprised to find a cute young blond on the throne with her knickers around her ankles. She apologised and then started to explain that she thought she had closed the door. Rather ungallantly, I declined the opportunity to show her how to close and lock the door. Nor was I gallant enough to make myself scarce once outside, there was a queue waiting.

After a 20 minute stop at Crianlarich to let the opposing train pass before the single track, we arrived in Oban just before 12pm. It had taken us nearly 12 hours to get here.

Tom met us at Oban and we immediately rowed out to the yacht to deposit out gear before heading back to replenish the stores. There is a good Tescos supermarket in Oban, plus other good local shops, including outdoors stores like Nancy Black's and Outside Edge.

Oban waterfront

We set sail at 4.30pm for Loch Aline. There was a bit of mist at first, which cleared. There was insufficient wind to sail all the way, so we used the engine at the end. At the entrance of Loch Aline there is a silica quarry, which was loading up a Norwegian cargo boat.

Once we dropped anchor, the rain set in. This is a pretty anchorage with a castle at the closed end of the loch. For some days, the light on a navigation buoy at the entrance of the loch had been extinguished. Waiting for someone to change a bulb, I expect.

There is a shop on shore, but we weren't tempted.

Schooner in Loch Aline.

Sunday.

Woke to sunshine. Tom caught a mackerel and a gurnard. The gurnard was too small to eat, so it was returned. We had breakfast of toast, including some wonderful bread baked with three types of seed throughout. They came from a bakery run by Karen Brown from Struan, on the Island of Luing (pronounced Ling).

We fished on after breakfast, but caught nothing more, so we had the mackerel with olives, tomatoes and shallots for lunch.

At 3pm, we set off for Tobermory on the Isle of Mull, tacking across the Sound of Mull, as the wind was directly against us. We made good speed as it was a steady blow.

A porpoise made a brief appearance as we see-sawed along the Sound. Presently, we saw the coast of Morvern and the bulk of Ardnamurchan looming over the sea. This peninsula is reckoned to be one of the most unspoilt areas of Europe and partly created from a destroyed volcano.

Across the Sound to Morvern

Opposite was Calve Island, which guards the entrances to Tobermory. The southern entrance is navigable with the greatest of care at high tide, but the northern entrance is an easy prospect.

Calve Island.

We soon moored up and went ashore for a look about and to shop for food. We were too late for the shops, so we stopped at the Mishnish Hotel for a drink and to look at the menu. The food in the Tobermory pubs and restaurants is not great. The beer in the hotel is excellent though, especially the McEwans 80/-. We sat in the snug called Harvest Home, in the good company of a Beckstein piano, spinning jenny, ancient cooking range, wooden pew and grandfather clock.

  Tobermory Bay.

We might have gone for the fresh mussels in the Mishnish, but they had run out of them. Fortunately, we had some dry cured bacon and new potatoes on board and made a hearty meal of them, accompanied by a bottle of "Huge Juicy Red," a Spanish wine concocted by a Kiwi vintner.

It wasn't difficult to sleep after that.

Until 3am, that is. I heard voices and anchor chains being lowered and raised several times over a half hour period. Eventually, a mast light shone into the cabin. I got up and saw a strange vessel, like a cross between a yacht and a dutch barge just behind us. It soon reversed and anchored up 100 metres away. It wasn't picking up lobster pots, so I have no idea what they were doing. It was gone in the morning. You might be tempted to think it was a ghost ship full of the spirits of drowned sailors. At the time, it was full of sailors I was tempted to drown.

Monday.

We had the last of Karen Brown's 3 seed bread for breakfast, then Tom rowed us into town for more supplies. The local store had some acceptable vegetables and very good potatoes. Further along, the island bakery had a few bunches of baby carrots and young fennel. I could see they were both dug the same morning.

The bakery gets daily supplies of whatever vegetables are ready from the Glengorm estate and they are very good. They also do excellent bread and cakes.

A few doors along, the butcher's get their supplies of meat from the Glengorm estate, including beef from their herd of Highland cattle. We ordered a joint of sirloin, which they cut into three thick steaks and kept for us. We wanted to go for a short walk along one of the wooded paths around the coastline.

We passed the ferry terminal and joined a path uphill. This skirts a hill following the shoreline passing an oyster fishery en route. We didn't know it then, but it takes you to a lighthouse. There are some great views over towards Morvern, but much of the walk is enclosed by trees. I got bored after a while of the sameness and we turned back. A small terrier had attached itself to us on the outward leg and now it came back with us. I suspect it lives nearby.

Near the start of the path, it is possible to go further up the hill. We did this and came upon the town's war memorial, a curious looking monument. The views from there are majestic and lend the impression of a god surveying his creation. We watched as a yacht inched towards the difficult southern approach and turn away near the entrance to an anchorage on Calve Island.

Views from the Tobermory war memorial.

Back at the harbour, we saw a woman and a boy sorting out velvet swimmer crabs, removing the soft shelled crabs. These were going into boxes marked "mariscos vivero" (live shellfish). I asked if they were going to the Spanish market and the woman agreed. "Lucky Spaniards," I replied. Another woman swivelled round and fixed me with a hostile glare. She was Scandinavian, so I'm not sure what bothered her, unless it translates into something offensive in Swedish. Anyway, you are unlikely to get any of these crabs in the UK, except perhaps, in expensive fish restaurants.

We picked up the shopping and met Tom in the Mishnish for another pint of McEwan's 80/-, before heading back to the boat. Tom roasted the steaks, while I tried spinning with a small Dexter pirk for some mackerel. Tom caught one while we were out, and I caught another of a decent size. Then it went quiet; not surprisingly, as a seal suddenly surfaced by the boat as I lifted out the pirk. We exchanged looks, before it swam along the surface to the next boat and then dived 40 metres away.

The meal was superb. The meat was tender and left a lingering desire for more. Intensely reared beef has a denseness, which seems to admit little flavour. This was open textured and delicately flavoured.

The carrots and roasted fennel were the perfect accompaniment.

That night Tom persuaded me to read one of the Para Handy tales in as local a dialect as I could muster. This tale tells of a dead beached whale on Calve Island, which Para Handy exhibited to the townsfolk, running trips on his boat to the island. Tom kept encouraging me on, telling me I was doing a fine job with the reading. I'm beginning to suspect Louise put him up to it, as she was giggling surreptitiously the whole time. The fine meal and many glasses of wine left me entranced by my own sorry patois. In the words of an old song, "I saw the danger befalling me and yet I walked along the enchanted way."

If you want to know the rest of the whale story, you will have to buy the book, I'm definitely not reading it to you, but I'm not going teetotal either.

Evening calm, Tobermory Bay.

Tuesday.

I slept until 6am this morning until woken by some noises aft. I thought Tom was fishing for breakfast as I could hear fish bouncing about on the deck. It later became obvious it was a gull fishing in the bucket. It had picked out the mackerel I caught last night and scoffed the lot, just leaving some stains on deck.

After breakfast, Louise and I went along to the Mishnish Hotel for a shower. The Mishnish is one of three connected landmark buildings on Tobermory. They are painted salmon, yellow and blue and appear on many postcards. The Mishnish hotel is yellow and the pub is the blue building. The 3 showers are up a flight of stairs and are open to the public, especially useful for yachties.

The Mishnish Hotel and pub.

We were just beaten to them by another couple and the third shower was out of order, so we waited around the corner. After a while, we heard a door open and the lady's voice announce to her husband that she was getting a towel to stand on and that she was wet all over. The mind boggled, what was she doing wandering down a hotel corridor, frightening the natives? Of course she wasn't young and beautiful. When she emerged later on fully clothed, I was not ungrateful; it would have been a sight best forgotten.

After showering, we picked up a gigot of lamb from the butcher's shop and some more fennel from the bakery. I also got a bottle of Edradour malt whisky from the Ironmonger's store. They do a great selection of malts, as well as fishing gear and things to mend a shed with. The assistants are not drinkers themselves, but they have a useful book of whiskies, which they study. They were quite helpful and couldn't be accused of being clueless and gormless.

The Edradour is fine and delicate with a strong hint of toffee and sugared almonds, rather like a sweet shop in fact. It comes from the smallest distillery in Scotland, which has always been worked by three men, but not always the same three chaps who started it in 1825.

I also tried the Tobermory malt at the distillery shop. It is a light, slightly honeyed liquor, perhaps a bit too light. The distillery was restored after lying derelict for some time.

We lunched off mackerel, cheese, quiche, and salad and headed back to Loch Aline at 3pm. We were going to spend a night in Loch Sunart, but the wind had swung against us again and Tom felt we should press on to be sure of making it back to Oban without a long sail.

Mist over Mull.

En route, we saw more seals and I fished hard, but we were making too much speed tacking across the Sound of Mull. As we approached a headland I noticed some broken water and seabirds in large numbers. There were some guillemots and gannets among them, but none diving. Tom turned the boat in a tight circle as I dropped a set of three Hokkai lures. We had slowed to around 1.5 knots and within seconds, I got a fierce tug on the line. After a good fight, I pulled up two good-sized mackerel.

We passed the pier at Loch Aline, from which incidentally, a 7lb 4oz spurdog was caught recently. We stopped at the same anchorage in the loch and noticing it was low tide, I rowed the dinghy to a line of rocks recommended by Tom for holding big mussels. He wasn't wrong, I picked a large bucketful in half an hour. Unknown to me, Tom was filming and the commentary ran along the lines of "Young Lochinvar makes his return." Like Lochinvar, I returned just in time too, for dinner.

The bucket of mussels. 

It was a great dinner too. The lamb fennel and new potatoes were perfect. The evening became still and almost sultry. We sat out on deck watching the night fall, talking softly as a few isolated lights on the shore blinked at us.

Wednesday.

I woke early in the dark, disturbed by a howling wind and lashing rain. The boat was being rocked and swung around on her anchor. There being no reason to get up, we lay in until just before 10am, watching the rain driving up the loch in vertical waves. Over the cliff opposite, a fine waterfall cascaded like a fluttering ribbon in the wind and nearby, the small burn was roaring into the bay.

We read yesterday's papers and lunched off the two mackerel. By 2.30pm the rain began to clear and we sailed out of Aline at 3.30pm.

A fine mist hung in patches, the wind largely abated and the sea calm.

Between Aline and Ardtornish Point, we witnessed a series of spectacular waterfalls tumbling over the cliffs and passed a lovely ruined fortification.

Ruins and waterfalls

We passed the islet of Glas Eileanan, with it's light and a ruined brick structure. Half a dozen seals dozed on the rocks. At the south eastern end of Mull, Duart Castle looms large and imposing. A tall fortified ediface hovering above the sea some 200 metres away is supposed to be it's lavatory. So Tom says. I suppose it is a good place to have a dunny; no need for a cesspit or worse. But, at 2am, in winter, in a rain-lashed gale? You might as well wet your bed.

Duart Castle.

It felt mild in the misty conditions and I spent most of the afternoon at the stern, looking out for seals, dolphins or whales. There were lots of seals, but no whales or dolphins.

After a few hours, I felt a little uncomfortable and looking down, discovered my trousers were soaking wet.

We stopped for just 5 minutes to fish off Dubh Sguirr (Black Rock) before heading for Seil Island. The mist was getting thicker and there are rocky islets in abundance. A little after, we were joined by a pod of porpoises, which came within 35 metres at high speed before diving out of sight. About this time my hands and feet suddenly felt frozen. By the time we reached the anchorage of Puldoran at 7.30pm, I felt slightly hypothermic. I know how insidious it can be, but did not suspect it would catch me out in such mild weather.

We wasted little time getting to the Tigh an Truish, the only pub on the island. The way took us over a pretty boggy vale. The pub gets it's name (The House of the Trousers) from a tradition dating back to when the wearing of the kilt was banned. When the men wanted to go to the mainland, they changed from their kilts into trousers in the pub. Just outside the pub is the "Bridge over the Atlantic." This stone arched bridge spans a small tidal river, which separates Seil from the mainland.

Bridge over the Atlantic

The meal was welcome, although not a patch on Tom's cooking. The pub does a good McEwans 80/- and Theakstons too. There is a curious corner bench seat enclosed in a frame, which goes up to the ceiling, made of well-worn and stout timber.

Puldoran (Puilladobhrain) is a lovely anchorage, but can be a bit windy. By the time we got back to the boat, I was dry, warm and ready to dream of catching a 10lb sea-trout.

Pulldoran anchorage.  Looking from the islet across Pulldoran to Seil Island.

Thursday.

The next morning was still grey, but brightening. We noticed there were frequently seals hunting in the anchorage. It doesn't help us catch fish, but at least the fish must be there.

After breakfast, Tom rowed us over to the islet, which made up one arm of the anchorage. It is a wild looking place with orchids, heather, tiny slate beaches and a rocky shoreline. Near the centre, it has an inlet with a solid bed of sand and mud composed of disintegrated slate. It is possible to pick up cockles and the odd clam here. A wooden rake would do the job well. On the rocks there are plenty of winkles and whelks.

The central inlet.

Opposite there are other rocky outcrops about 50 metres away, which serve as a handy hotel for over 40 dozing seals.

Rocky islets and seals everywhere.

Back on the boat, I got to work with a potato peeler and scraped clean a good number of mussels.

I added a few whelks and winkles and we feasted off them for lunch. There wasn't any real grit in the mussels, but they were full of pearls up to 3cm (1/8") across. I expect we washed down quite a few with the Jacob's Creek Chardonnay.

At 4pm, we set sail for Oban, hoving to close to Kerrera Island to fish for mackerel. There were a few seals about. After 20 minutes we caught nothing and resumed our course along the Sound of Kerrera. The sun went in and out, but we sailed gently along passing the tiny ferry, which plies between Oban and Kerrera. Skirting the hidden Ferry Rock marked by green buoys, we were able to find a guest mooring around 6.15pm, opposite Boro Boats.

There was time to get to Tescos for some lamb and other vittles, passing the Hebridean Princess with it's new intake of passengers being piped on board. They will be bound for a tour of the Hebrides or the fjords of Norway.

Back on board, I fished hard for nearly an hour, but only got a missed take. Tom joined me and caught a mackerel on his second cast. You know, sometimes friendship is stretched just a bit too far. It's not the first time he has pushed his luck. A few minutes later he had another. He is a smart cookie though and withdrew tactfully below deck pretty sharpish after that. I had a cast to where he had been fishing and caught a good mackerel first cast. He was forgiven.

I had one more cast and it flew further than expected, dropping a couple of feet behind a neighbouring boat. The owner sat bolt upright, not knowing what was happening. There are times when a hasty retreat makes good sense as well as good manners.

The meal was great and we settled down for the night in a steady wind and choppy sea.

Clouds over Oban.

Friday.

Woke to a dead calm. We had run out of water, so pulled into Boro Boats to fill up. The owner hires out boats for sailing and fishing. He also runs charters himself. He told the tale of the French anglers who hired his boat and caught 100 mackerel. They tried to sell them in the campsites and pubs, but everyone had become sick of mackerel and many of them were dumped. A few days later he found some which had slipped into the bilges of his boat. He didn't need a bloodhound to find them either.

We all went into Oban after that. Louise and I to shop, and Tom to swim at the local baths. We were able to get a decent coffee in the Kitchen Garden health shop and café and bought the last of the 3-seeded bread from Luing Island bakery. The shop also sells other breads from that and other island bakeries. Their selection of cheeses are excellent too, including the unpasturised Lanark Blue and Mull cheeses.

The Moby Dick, a whale shaped boat was in harbour, having returned from a fund-raising trip to the USA. I last saw it in London's St.Katherine docks last year. As we sat on deck dining off a late lunch of mackerel, salad, wine and strawberries in hot sunshine, we spied her slipping out of port on her latest eccentric wanderings.

The Moby Dick moored up in Oban harbour.

By 6pm, it was time to say farewell to Tom and Oban and climb aboard the train. Just before we did, a local fisherman got aboard and ate a reeking fish supper at one of the tables. It stank the carriage out and we noticed he was quick to move to another carriage once he had finished.

The journey back was extraordinarily beautiful. We passed a string of lochs lit by the lowering sun. Hillsides rose high above the line and rivers ran beside it reflecting their grandeur. It was one of those experiences you don't wish to pass.

Back in Glasgow we found we could deposit our bags in the compartment at 10pm and then went in search of Saturday night. A train guard recommended a local Indian restaurant. He ate there most days. That was enough to make us cautious. Looking in through the window and seeing only two tables occupied, we knew we should be looking elsewhere. When we saw they were all eating curry and chips we were already hurrying away.

There was a good atmosphere in the streets, but restaurants were not plentiful around the station. We did however, find a good Chinese restaurant close by. It looked boarded up, but was fine once inside.

The waiters were untypical Chinese. They enjoyed a banter with the customers and helped pass the evening until the dreaded night sleeper beckoned again. I was glad to get off it next morning.