​​After leaving Peel we sailed back over the Irish Sea and tied up Bangor, Northern Island. What a surprise – the weather was simply atrocious for most of the journey and at one time Simon (who was skippering) had to find the buoys we were looking for by interrogating the chart plotter – but hey – there they were, exactly where he said they would be and we emerged from the gloom to see a lovely looking harbour town on the coast of Northern Ireland. After a good run up the coast we entered Belfast Loch and located Bangor Marina. Interestingly – it was a splendid Marina, very well run and surely paid for by European Money (or would that be something in the Republic – probably). We tied up in driving rain – went to Asda in driving rain – went out to dinner in driving rain and came home to bed in driving rain (the bed wasn’t in driving red – just the normal dampness of Tonic – much the same really!). Just the friendliest of people run the Marina in Bangor – and in the pub we went to, but I can’t help thinking that the Peace Process hadn’t reached that particular bar where I would have surely received a free pint if I’d Identified myself as British, but I’d have beentaken out the back for a good seeing to if I’d suggested the Pope was pretty upset about the Brexit vote (may be a little paranoia here). 

After what seemed like an endless debate – we reaffirmed our destination as Campbeltown on the Mull of Kintyre and headed out. I was a little anti – because the weather as forecasted would have meant a dreadful sail and a late arrival and a wet time. However – as it happened, the sail was lovely and quite challenging and we arrived in glorious sunshine and at a time that meant we could walk the town and have a “bevy” or two. Before leaaving Banmgor – there was a team effort to make a Mushroom Pie to Alex, our Training Skipper’s secret recipes (which we now all have) and this became a team sport and involved a lot of interesting ingredients, not least of which were the 2 mugs (not cups) of Kraft Cooking oil that went into the pastry. It did come out of the oven about 3 hours later and it was delicious – but you could feed a family of 4 for a week on it.

Before we finished sailing for the day, we were entertained by Alex again – who stopped us putting sail away when the wind freshened to Force 7 (stupid term really – freshened – suggests a briskness, but instead it’s more a fanaticism) – he stood on the seat behind the wheel, wearing shorts and sailing boots (really not a good look and it was really cold) when he then pointed the boat as close to wind as was humanly possible and dipped not just the toe rail, but much of the stanchions (metal posts holding the guard rail) and the a good bit of the side walk into the water as we heeled over at an angle that meant we could stand up on the the inside/vertical piece of the cockpit seats – and he was shouting “bring it to Daddy”. Not sure what he wanted to be brought or what he’d fathered, but it was exhilarating sailing and a great way to demonstrate the robustness of our boat (which then yielded many buckets of water for his trouble). Now – would I do this myself – apparently yes because I went on to take the helm and couldn’t help myself – get this thing over! Awesome – but I don’t think I’ll be doing it on my own anytime soon when cruising in the BVI or San Fran – probably not without crew members leaving left, right and center. Actually I did do something similar in San Fran once – Bernadette ended up sitting with her feet pushing against the Cockpit Table to stop herself from being catapulted over and off the opposite side of the boat – she thought that Rod and I were just being tinkers, not realizing that we were terrified, but had no choice because a bloody big cargo ship was barreling towards us – and there was no alternative. Needs must and all that.
Around dawn the next morning, the weather changed, the rain started and the Met Office issued a Gale warning for sea area Malin (where we were). As the skipper for the day – I decided to run out of Campbeltown before the storm and see if we could beat it into Port Erin in Islay. And here we are sitting in Port Ellen after a good passage (Motor Sail – the wind was either on our nose or on our tail) Listening to the rain knock (not tap) against the roof of the boat – but knowing that we made it without incident (unless you call hosing and scrubbing the pontoon we’re on to get rid of of the slimy bird shit and moss that made it like an Ice Rink sprayed with decaying fish guts. However, before I leave you there is yet another Radio Story to tell you – yes another.

So on Tuesday morning I called the Marina in Campbel Town to request a birth for the evening – calling from the boat before I lost signal off the Irish Coast. After several attempts a very nice man answered and told me “Neh botha – just cum en in and will sort yus oot”. (Not a problem old man – just get in here and I will find you a wonderful birth on my Marina here). 

“Just Gie us a shout when yuzis passen the XXXXXXX (sorry no idea what that was we needed to pass before we should Gie I’m a shout)”. But – it sounded simple enough, friendly and welcoming and so it was. However, we tried to raise him using the stated radio channel (12 if you’re still interested) as we entered the harbor passing an island with a lighthouse on it called XXXXXXX), but we failed to raise him. I know what you’re thinking – not line of sight. MIt was – I promise! So – I resorted to the phone. Bingo – he answered and then I found myself almost repeating the Peel incident, but his time he came clean and said “I dinnay have a raddyo he’s to be the Phun”. Interesting – so don’t suggest in the Almanac – that people call you up on the God Dam Raddyo! So today we didn’t bother calling Port Ellen Marina on a Raddyo – we just went straight to the phone. First time we got the Coast Guard in Belfast – they weren’t much help figuring out a birth in Port Ellen in Scotland – no service ethic. Next time we got some guy who was actually in Port Ellen who asked what I meant by the Marina. A bit obvious, but OK – where they tie boats up to – “don’t think there is one here”. But he did think the building he was in used to many be it. Seriously? We made it here, got a birth and if the rain stops I’ll go and enquirer if there’s a building around that used to be associated with the Marina and now houses the village idiot.

Promise this is the last radio/Marina story – for now!

Pip pip,

N

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