If that doesn’t fit! “Far ‘How far I have travelled and how much I have seen, dark, distant mountains with green valleys, past colourful deserts, the sunset ablaze, as he carries me home to the Mull of Kintyre.’ Paul McCartney’s world-famous song, set to the sound of bagpipes, springs to mind quite involuntarily as the Irish tricolour is hoisted and, shortly afterwards, the Scottish Saltire – the white St Andrew’s Cross on a blue background – flutters beneath the spreader. Together with Frank, a friend, I’m on my way from Glenarm, a village north of Belfast, 37 nautical miles across the Irish Sea to Kintyre. Like a bulwark, the long, narrow peninsula shields the Firth of Clyde from the open Atlantic.
First stop in Scotland: Campbeltown
Our first destination in Scotland is Campbeltown. The sailing conditions on the way there could hardly be better – or more atypical for the region. The sun is shining, and the wind is blowing from the south-east at 4 Beaufort. That’s not much, but it’s enough to send my nine-metre long-keel yacht ‘Oblomow’ – on which I’m undertaking a long summer cruise round Great Britain with a changing crew – into a thrilling run on a half-wind on this day in late July. A glorious 20 miles. South of Sanda Island, we can even bear away a few degrees further.
On arrival, the harbour master greets us on the jetty, points towards the building opposite and says: “You can pee over there.” Frank is confused. He hadn’t even asked about the toilets. After asking several times, we realise what the man means: we can pay over there – ‘you can pay over there’. Welcome to Scotland; we’ll have to get used to the dialect first.
Low pressure over the Highlands
By the evening, there’s no trace left of the fine weather. Heavy rain sets in. And it carries on. In the morning, there’s fog, and the rain turns to drizzle. A low-pressure system over the Highlands. It’s not until midday that there are signs of a slight improvement. The wind has shifted to the west; the blister sail is hoisted and stands against a grey sky that is gradually turning blue. We set course for Lamlash Bay between Arran and Holy Island. When we arrive, all the visitor buoys are taken. Fortunately, the wind has largely died down, so we have no trouble finding a safe anchorage. Northern gannets are circling above the bay. All around us, the large birds plunge headfirst into the water with their wings tucked in. We watch the spectacle spellbound from on board.
As darkness falls, we watch as the lights come on ashore and the high mountains in the centre of the island turn into silhouettes against an inky blue sky. Silence descends as the gannets gradually cease their hunt for fish. Sitting in the cockpit by the light of the paraffin lamp, we savour this special moment.
Right opposite lies the tiny Holy Island. In 1991, this islet – which was uninhabited at the time – was sold to a Tibetan centre. Today, around 30 Buddhists live there in a monastery. And this, right here in Scotland! Our fellow sailor Frank turns out to be a big fan of Asia, and my interest has been piqued too. We’d been told that visitors are welcome at the monastery. As the ferry isn’t running the next day, we move the ‘Oblomow’ to an anchorage off Holy Island and take the dinghy across to the stony beach.
Exploration tour on land
Feeling a little uneasy, as there’s not a soul in sight, we set off to explore. In front of the main building, the Centre for World Peace and Health, a few ponies are grazing peacefully. Prayer flags flutter lazily in the gentle breeze; otherwise, all is quiet. A path leads to the lighthouse in the south of the island. At the side of the path, amidst the heathland, we come across colourfully painted rocks: Buddhist deities. White Tara, Green Tara – Frank knows them all by name.
Unfortunately, we miss the turn-off that would have taken us back across the island at the top. By the time we realise our mistake, it’s already too late to turn back, and we have to go all the way round the outside. Dripping wet meadows, jagged boulders, stony riverbanks – it seems never-ending. It’s also quite strenuous, and more than once we find ourselves slipping dangerously. But finally we’ve made it, round the last rocky outcrop, and are back at the starting point. The prayer flags now glow in bright colours in the sunshine.
This evening, the German women’s football team are playing England in the European Championship final. A second yacht, the ‘Kailena’, has now also dropped anchor here. We first met Bill and Anna, the skipper couple, in Portaferry, Ireland, and have bumped into them a few times since then. Most recently in Bangor, Belfast’s marina. Although the two of them are just as uninterested in football as we are, we sit down together in front of the telly in the lobby of the ‘Glenisle Hotel’. As a true-blue Scot, Bill is naturally rooting for Germany – albeit in vain in the end!
Boat hunting with the dinghy
As we step outside again, we’re in for a nasty surprise. ‘Kailena’ has broken free! We spot it drifting quite a long way away across the bay. At any moment, the yacht is in danger of getting caught up in one of the fish farms out there. Bill and I chase after it in the dinghy and reach it just in time.
Once again, the forecast for the following day is typical Scottish weather, so we scrap our plan to go on a shore excursion to Arran. Instead, we make sure we reach Ardrossan, 13 nautical miles away. A good decision! In the evening, rain sets in and strong gusts howl through the rigging. Fortunately, we’re already sitting in the restaurant at the harbour, trying haggis for the first time. Alongside fish and chips, this is Scotland’s other national dish, consisting of a sheep’s stomach stuffed with heart, liver, lungs, kidney fat, onions and oat flour, and seasoned with plenty of pepper. Not bad, we reckon. You just mustn’t let the ingredients put you off.
A trip to Glasgow
We make the most of this extra day by taking a train trip to Glasgow. The journey takes just 40 minutes, and shortly afterwards we’re at the Gallery of Modern Art, looking at the paintings. However, we reckon the most eye-catching piece of art is actually outside the building. There sits the Duke of Wellington on his high horse – and perched askew on his head, as cheeky as Johannes Heesters’ top hat, is a traffic cone. Sometime in the 1980s, a couple of pranksters had the daft idea of putting the little cone on the Duke’s head – certainly not a risk-free climb. Naturally, the police were quickly on the scene to remove the thing. But the traffic cone was back on top in no time, and a lively game of cat and mouse ensued. As this soon became rather expensive – because the city had to call in a cherry picker every time, which is said to have cost around 10,000 pounds a year – they eventually decided to have the plinth raised to make it impossible to climb. But the city councillors hadn’t reckoned with their residents. A storm of protest broke out. And because even the city’s marketing department had by then discovered the sheltered Duke as a promotional figure, the cone ultimately remained perched on his head.
Frank’s watch ends with this trip; the next crew change is due. In the morning, Jörg gets off the night train from London. A hearty breakfast is enough for him; we set sail at midday. Back over to Arran, but this time to Loch Ranza, the anchorage in the north of the island. The wind is coming from ahead, so we have to tack – Jörg enjoys this. He’s a tireless helmsman. What started as an 18-mile direct course ends up being a good 32 miles. As if as a reward, the evening sun is shining beautifully, casting a purple glow over the heathland on the surrounding mountains.
After the rain comes the sun
After a heavy downpour, and having spent a good while admiring the brilliant rainbow that the morning sun is conjuring diagonally across the water in front of us, it’s time for a shore excursion. We head straight down the road for a few kilometres, and soon we’re standing in front of the Lochranza Distillery. It’s still too early for a whisky tasting, but we can pick up a bottle or two from the shelves to top up the ship’s bar. They’ve got a café here too, where we’re served a cappuccino – non-alcoholic.
As essential as it was in the south of England or over in Ireland to plan journeys around the tides, it is of no consequence here. In the Firth of Clyde – the English term ‘firth’ is roughly equivalent to ‘fjord’ or ‘fjord’ – water levels do rise and fall by an average of around three metres. But this does not generate any significant surface currents. The same applies to the branching inlets such as Lower Loch Fyne or East Loch Tarbert, with its fishing harbour of the same name.
“The setting is incredibly picturesque, with the village encircling the naturally formed harbour,” I read on the website visitmyharbour.com, who reliably provided me with all the necessary information throughout the trip – topped off with a dash of English humour. You couldn’t put it any better.
We cruise the measly 14 nautical miles to Tarbert, hugging the coast closely. The sun is shining, our trousers are rolled up, and the wind is blowing at a brisk force 3. If only it weren’t for those nasty little downbursts that keep sweeping down on us from the mountains.
Back on the Atlantic
We then continue northwards. We reach the Crinan Canal. Seven swing bridges and 15 locks, most of which have to be operated by hand, requiring considerable physical effort. All this over a distance of just nine nautical miles. This short waterway separates the Kintyre Peninsula from the rest of Scotland and takes us back to the Atlantic. This saves us the long detour back and round the base of the Mull of Kintyre.
You can easily complete the Crinan Canal in a single day, but why would you? Up to four nights’ accommodation are included in the price of the transit. We don’t want to take quite that long, but I’ve allowed two days. I’ve been looking forward to the canal ever since I saw a TV feature about it back home. The only thing that worries me is the fact mentioned in the programme that you have to expect massive swarms of midges – tiny but very bloodthirsty flies that breed in vast numbers in the canal’s fresh water. In the film, the lock keepers wore hats with a fine-mesh veil for protection. We don’t have anything like that on board, so we’ll have to improvise.
The fun begins in Ardrishaig. Jörg is standing on the foredeck, and I’m in the cockpit. The mooring lines have to be flung four metres up onto the wall. The sea lock lifts us to the correct level. We pay the transit fee, receive instructions from Tiegan, the cheerful lock keeper, and a key for all the toilet facilities along the way. The next two locks follow shortly afterwards. Tiegan walks alongside us on the bank until we reach them, then she heads back. We’re on our own from there.
“Liquid Sunshine” in Scotland
At times the journey takes us through dense woodland, at others alongside metre-high walls of rhododendrons, and at other times our gaze sweeps across vast meadows to the hills on the horizon – Scotland straight out of a promotional film. Only now and then do we come across another boat heading in the opposite direction. On the first day, we cover half the route and spend the night at the jetty in Cairnbaan. For the second half of the journey to Crinan, we’re once again treated to typical Scottish weather: low-hanging clouds and high humidity. ‘Liquid sunshine’, as the Scots say. At least it’s clearly not flying weather for insects. The dreaded attack by the bloodsuckers fails to materialise.
As the Crinan lock releases us back into the salt water, we’re met by thick fog. We’re flying by instruments. But as the cloud cover breaks, the sea begins to glisten. We’re sailing as if on crumpled aluminium foil. The high peaks of the Jura are still shrouded in mist, but the meadows below glow a rich green as soon as the sun sends a ray through a break in the clouds. These are moments full of magic! That alone makes the journey worthwhile.
In the bay off the little village of Craighouse, overlooking the Jura Distillery and the hotel, we find a free mooring buoy. We’d booked a table at the restaurant by phone, and when we enter the bar, we’re greeted with a handshake by Gordon, the bar manager: “Mr Christian, I presume.” Dinner is absolutely delicious. Fish features prominently on the menu.
After dessert, we engage Gordon in a technical discussion. He is, of course, an expert on this fine spirit, which is produced right next door. On Jura, as on the neighbouring island of Islay, particularly smoky whisky is distilled. It’s a potent drink, unmistakable, but not to everyone’s taste. The island peat they use here to kiln-dry the malt is dark and damp, and contains a high proportion of seaweed, algae and seawater. That’s what gives it its characteristic aroma.
More whisky casks than people on an island in Scotland?
Whilst there are still nine distilleries in operation on Islay, there has always been, and still is, just one here. Nevertheless, there are people who claim that Jura is probably the only island in the world where there are more whisky casks than people.
Next, we let the current carry us northwards through the Sound of Islay. Here, the tides come into play once again. Despite only a light breeze, we’re travelling at five knots over ground. When a slight surge comes through, ‘Oblomow’ even picks up speed to nine knots. At the pier at Scalasaig on Colonsay, we manage to snag the only free berth. Extra-long mooring lines are essential, as the boat rises and falls with the tides like an elevator.
The next morning, we set off on a walk to explore the Colonsay Estate, the house and gardens of the 5th Baron Strathcona and Mount Royal. Yes, titles and traditions still count for something here! Baron Alex lives on the estate with his family; he lets out his cottages to paying guests, and for us wind-tossed sailing nomads, he has a slice of cake and a coffee to spare.
As we return, the ‘Lake Isle of Innisfree’ is just weighing anchor – having been waiting for us in the bay – and comes alongside. Eight people and two dogs want to join us on our boat. Oh dear. We’d rather swap places. Especially as we want to set off early the next day. Later, they even thank us in the hotel bar: Sláinte, cheers, you’re welcome!
Is Scottish shortbread addictive?
The next day, we can only sail for two hours before we have to switch to the engine. By now, we’ve almost come to take the dolphins ahead of and alongside us for granted. The monotonous chugging of the engine gives us some rather odd thoughts. We find ourselves discussing questions such as: Is shortbread addictive? This buttery, soft, sweet biscuit from Scotland, which we grab several packets of whenever we go shopping, because we’re certain that withdrawal symptoms would set in immediately if our supplies were suddenly to run out.
An enchanting breeze from astern interrupts our deep-seated discussions. It fills the spinnaker and pushes ‘Oblomow’ right up to the North Pier pontoons. This is Oban’s still relatively new marina. This is where Jörg’s journey ends; Sanne will take his place. We’ll be continuing on with her through the Caledonian Canal with its spectacular locks. And, of course, with the trip across the legendary Loch Ness. Let’s hope the monster leaves us in peace.
Tips for your sailing trip
Wind & Weather
The west of Scotland benefits from the Gulf Stream; the climate here tends to be milder than on the North Sea coast. Best time to visit: May to September. During the summer months, there are on average six hours of sunshine a day, but you should still be prepared for changeable weather with rain, drizzle and fog – it’s not uncommon to experience all of these in a single day. Contrary to popular belief that the Scottish coasts are usually battered by storms, it is often rather calm in summer. It is therefore highly recommended that you bring light-wind sails.
Navigation & Seamanship
With no significant tidal currents, navigation in the Firth of Clyde does not present a major challenge. However, the varying water depths should be taken into account. In contrast, in the Inner Hebrides – specifically on the cruise described here around Jura, Islay and Colonsay – particular attention must be paid to the direction of the current, especially in the sounds. Tides and tidal currents are displayed, for example, by the Navionics Boating app. All fairways and harbour approaches are well marked with buoys and lighthouses.
Ports & Anchorages
It is usually compulsory to report to the harbour master via VHF. During the high season, you should book a berth by telephone one or two days in advance. On visitmyharbour.com In addition to the VHF channels and the harbour masters’ telephone numbers, you’ll also find photos and recommendations for anchorages.
Literature & Nautical Charts
- Area Guide: ‘Reeds Nautical Almanac’. For navigation: British Admiralty Chart 2724 and the Imray Charts C 63, C 64 and C 65. For reading on the journey: ‘The Celtic Ring’ by Björn Larsson.
About the author, Christian Irrgang
For five months, our author was on a summer sailing trip around England and Scotland with his boat and a succession of fellow sailors. He has written a book about his experiences (144 pages with 90 photos; 29.90 euros), DELIUS-KLASING.DE