One of the Cornish Shrimpers in blasts of spray, ‘full of wild glee’- Mull of
Kintyre
Loch
RiddonISLE OF
ARRANBUTELamlash•Tarbert•Tighnabruaich•
Rothesay•- Campbeltown
- Greenock
- Kip Marina
GREAT CUMBRAELITTLE CUMBRAEFIRTH OF
CLYDEMillportArdlamont
PointLargs Yacht HavenClaughlands Point
HOLY ISLANDAILSA CRAIGThe Firth of Clyde
0 12 24
NM➜
We picked up moorings in the
Deuchlands, a tree-lined annex to the
harbour. The sun went down pale and wan.
In the night the breeze started shrieking,
and machine-gun bursts of rain rattled on
the coachroof. Next morning the fl otilla
moved from the anchorage into the marina,
and went walking up the hill above the fi sh
quay, entering thick cloud at about 80ft. By
evening we were bored and wet, but the
glass was rising. Next morning, the
grim-faced conference decided, we
would get out, weather or no weather.
The rain had stopped, and as we
motored out of the marina the approach
channel was calmish. Out at sea, though,
white horses were jumping. We pulled
down two reefs each. The fi rst puff hit
with a bang, and Surprise heeled steeply as
she smacked the fi rst of the seas galloping
up the long fetch between the island of
Arran and the Mull of Kintyre. The breeze
was about a point free, and we sailed
full-and-by for Ardlamont Point,
rockinghorsing wildly in blasts of spray,
full of wild glee. (A yacht we met later
later told us that the gusts were 30
knots, Force 7).
At the point we bore away, shook out
the reefs and roared up the West Kyle on
a dead run, mast clanging as the squalls
thumped in. In Loch Riddon the breeze
went fl at, lost in a complication of hills.
As we ghosted over smooth water under
the windows of a junior Balmoral, a little
arrowhead snaked across the surface.
Suddenly the world was roaring, and
the deck had changed from horizontal
to vertical, and I was standing on the
downhill side of the cockpit, water
pouring over the lee coaming, thinking,
well, at least it’s not going into the cabin.
Then the puff was gone, and the cockpit
was draining, and I was taking off sail as
fast as I could go.
The sun came out. The eider ducks came
back on song. The fl otilla had a party,
then sailed back to Kip, hauled out their
boats and departed south. The weatherhad gone
lightish and
northerly, so
it seemed a
pity to stop
sailing. So I
bought a new
anchor (a Kobra,
highly effective
so far) and headed
south too, broad-reaching under a hail
of gannets to Great Cumbrae.
The islands of the Clyde seem to have a
talent for collecting religious enthusiasts.
The tiny but perfectly formed cathedral
on Great Cumbrae is Church of Scotland,
built by a 19th-century Earl of Glasgow
keen to keep the Episcopalian end up in
the face of Presbyterian competition. Its
123ft spire rises from the woods behind
the solemn grey town of Millport, whose
horseshoe-shaped anchorage, with plenty
of visitors’ moorings, provides excellentSurprise approaching Lamlash
Running to Tighnabruaich