And here’s what I found in Oban – miles from anywhere!

Port Ellen is on the Isle of Islay (pronounced I-la) and it’s got a lot of rocks all around it!. Also, there isn’t much tide and the entrance has only about 10 meters of water from the harbor wall that is deep enough to let a keel boat through. So – even with sizable ferries coming in and out – the keel boat getting in to the small Marina is a little tricky. In any event we made it safely in and docked up in the pouring rain on a slimy, guano covered pontoon (which we then spent a short while cleaning so we didn’t drag stuff into the boat, which some might say would be an upgrade To Tonic and overcome the smell that permeates the boat currently).
Port Ellen is the major port of Islay and it’s where most of the traffic, products and everything else arrive (strange really, because it is very small). Of most interest, it is close to a whole number of distilleries. Close in are Laphroaig (to me, like drinking neat TCP, but my family love it), Lagavulin sand Ardbeg. It’s a beautiful place.
The Islay hotel was the closest watering whole to the boat and the obvious destination for both the evening drinks and the connection to the Internet. It seems most of Scotland’s West Coast sufferers under O2 offering only GPRS and not 3G or 4G, which is actually available, because one of my co-conspirators get’s 3 G everywhere we go and he’s with a small provider I’ve never heard of. 
Surprise of surprises, The Islay Hotel, which looked a bit drab and pub-in-a-box from the outside, was in fact a facsimile of a London Gastro-pub inside and very nice – just a little out of place and lacking in any local color. But – it had decent enough beer, a fast and free wifi connection and strangely enough, both the bar and the restaurant had the prettiest girls working there. I mention this not in the creepy old man sort of way, but to provide a more in depth picture of the contrast in this place between biased expectations and the reality of what was found. It may have been MY biased expectation, but I thought we would be holed up in an old dingy bar with a comely lass serving behind the bar. Not one bit of it. These young girls were all quite beautiful, bags of personality and wonderfully softly spoken. Either great recruitment or something nefarious is going on!

Also Of interest – not one local inside – just wealthy visitors, and some of them were American. In fact – I kept my head down and my accent very “from Newcastle” when at the bar – because a rather loud, almost comic book America Lady, resident of the hotel, was explaining why she couldn’t charge anything to her room because she had a room mate and things would get complicated. Things did get complicated when she also said she had no cash on her or pay – so charge it to the room for now, but don’t put it on the bill, just hold it and she’ day tomorrow before checking out. A very patient, softly spoken Scottish Bar Manager tried to explain how she would be able to tell who had, had what the next morning when they came to pay their bill and it could all be settled then. Pity the room-mate! 

Oh dear – how do American’s get their reputation for always wanting their own way and for listening to no-one (well Mr Trump – what have you got to say about that?).

An early morning rise by me on my day I n Port Ellen and a walk to the public showers (very, very damp ones – honesty box in the corner, enough mould to reinvent penicillin, but clean towels laundered by someone locally and provided by the Center for abused Towel Rescue). Refreshed by my shower, I went for a lovely walk around the bay to the Co-op food Store. Now I have to say – everywhere we’ve been we’ve used Co-op Food Stores and they have been clean, well stocked, well staffed, polite and they have everything we needed. Someone is clearly doing a very nice job there. I like to try and buy something locally to support the local economy, other than beer and wine in the pub. So I bought an early breakfast from the Co-op and I sat with a bottle of sparkling water and a cereal bar and looked out over the bay, writing some e mails and contemplating the meaning of life (well the up and coming day and a well earned trip to one or two distilleries). In another “wee” shop a bit further on, I read an ad placed in the middle of the window. On a typed up template from a local undertaker, completed by hand – there was a notice to let people know that “My husband Ernie Clerk” would be cremated the following Saturday in Clydebank Crematorium. I have no idea how old or under what circumstances Ernie Clarke died, or whether he was actually dead – may be it was the prediction of a future event and may be the locals are very good at that, but it was the personal words “my husband” clealry written by his wife and not someone anonymous which made me sad and made me think of a lonely person losing their partner and close friend. So personal, so intimate, so final. Anyway – let’s not get too depressed when a distillery tour was in the off.
While our distillery plans didn’t go quite as we thought they would. Not sure why Carol of Carol’s cabs could have mistaken a pick up at the Islay Hotel at 9.15 for a pick up at the Ferry Terminal at 9.30 – but anyway she did and so our our tour plans changed – and it seems for the better.

We ended up on the 10.00 fully guided tour at Ardbeg and we had a blast (possibly not as good as the partially guided tour which might have room for much more excitement). For 20 pounds – we got a tour lasting over an hour with Ross (‘he’s just back from UNIVERSITY you know”) and he did a fine job of guiding us around the business end of the distillery and educating us as to what went on to get the brown nectar. He excelled at his next job – giving us 5 drams of various whiskies complete with insights into their deepest qualities. Anyway – 5 generous shots of whisky before midday seems to set the day up nicely (not encouraging you to try this – frequently). 

After the short return journey with Carol’s Cabs (who couldn’t remember dropping us FLF there 2 hours before – most bizarre) we lunched, rested and then set sail shortly after 1.30 for Oban. What a delightful sail up through the cut between Islay and Jura – where we ended up with no wind, but traveling at 8.00kts towards our destination – a tide like that can get you around the world. What a beautiful part of the country and a place I absolutely want to revisit. At one point – we passed by a small car ferry plying from one bank to another – in what I thought was quite a romantic setting. The stoic life of using daily ferries across wild waters and living in live weather like this part of the word has. One of the most wonderful aspects of thei apart of the journey was that the light was just wonderful – broody and a but misty, but light enough – as it was through until after 10.00 pm. Of course all good things come to an end and shortly after 7.00 the rain started and then it stayed with us until we got to Oban around midnight. In fact, as we entered the narrow Sound of Kerrera, the heavens opened and we were almost drowned. I was on the helm, Liz (crew) was on watch with me and the other two were down on the Salon supposedly watching the Chart Plotter.

Arriving in Oban we took a little time to spot a suitable Mooring Ball and once we did – landed on it first time, incentivized by the thought of warmth and dryness and may be a whisky, and then we secured the hatches, had the usual night night Whisky and I climbed in to my sleeping bag to get some sleep. 

Before going to sleep, I called Bernadette to see what how things were and got the terrible news of the goings on in Dallas. What can I say. Just shocking. The shooting events earlier in the day elsewhere in the US – absolutely terrible. I have no idea whether there were mitigating circumstances or not, but it does seem to me that Black lives have a lower value placed on them and you can’t win if you’re a Policeman. Not all Policeman are racist and not all Black People want revenge. Where will we find another Martin Luther King or a Nelson Mandela- two of the most sensible, articulate and genuinely accepting and tolerant people of the twentieth century? Who is on the horizon to match them? We really need to find peacemakers who focus on what we have in common and not people who focus on differences. I really can’t understand how the color of anyone’s skin, their sexual persuasion, their gender, their religion or anything else can define someone as a good, bad or a plain indifferent person. There are bad people all around, and what differentiates them from the rest of us is simply this – they are bad people and they happen to be what ever they are. Sorry for the serious ending, but I am quite sanguine about our collective future – between Brexit, the change of UK Prime Minister (Michael Gove – really?) and any prospect of Donald Tramp. Aren’t you depressed!

I’m writing this from Oban and the journey will continue tomorrow – not sure who will be with us – but we hear there will be 6 other folks joking us and a new Training Skipper. This boat is probably comfortable with 5 or 6 people. But – having 9, of which 1, the training skipper, will have to sleep in the Salon – not terribly comfortable. Now if it rains – and it will – we’re in Scotland – putting your wet gear somewhere to dry when you come off watch – there is nowhere now, where will 8 people put their’s? Ridiculous! And – my cabin will now be shared – and so we’ll see how that goes. It’s 10 days and we’ll make it through. Skippering this diverse crew will be interesting!

More to come – no doubt!

Pip pip,

N     

And so here is where we are right now. You can see Northern Ireland, Islay and Campbeltown 

We seem to end every day with a whisky sitting around the table ahead of bed! And now – in Port Ellen – Islay we get to tour and taste at Ardbed . As they say in Elite Sailing – Happy days!

My Father came home from basic training in 1942 to tell my mother where he had been posted to. This is the place – out last the Mull of Kintyre. She cried and cried thinking it was near Japan! Here I was in Campbeltown, just a stone’s throw away! 

​​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

​​

Before I go any further – and knowing this will be posted on the 4th – HAPPY 4TH OF JULY TO EVERYONE BACK HOME IN THE USA

So the day finally arrived – not the 4th, but the Saturday we were going to spend in Dublin. A whole day of indulgence, including a much anticipated visit to the Guinness Storehouse (aka Brewery). I had reached out to my friend Column Butler for help in securing the tickets. A lazy morning doing essential household chores, lunch with my nephew Ian and his wonderful wife and their two “wee” girls and then hit the Guinness. 

STOP – all change. The day before (so Friday) a phone call sent us reeling! The incoming training skipper called to strongly suggest we needed to head out of Dublin late on Saturday evening and get over to The Isle of Man, in order to then get over to Bangor (NI) and then to Campbletown and on to Port Ellen on the Isle of Islay – where there were a whole bunch of Whisky Distilleries waiting for us to tour. So compromise of compromise – the tour of the Guinness Haven became a perfunctory (but interesting) visit with just the One pint of Guinness (which we each pulled ourselves and perfectly and have certificates to prove it – although our coach for the activity was a very – very – very pretty blond Irish lass called Sarah – who looked like she could no more down a pint of Guinness than she could have played mid field for Charlton Athletic. I don’t remember what she actually advised for the “pulling of the pint” – but I know she was rather deft at speaking with her eyes! Greater focus needed here from me.

And so we arrived back at the boat on Saturday evening, ate a quick meal and grabbed an hour of sleep before heading out at midnight for Peel, Isle of Man (meaning Isle of Isles from what I can understand). Leaving Howth at midnight felt like we were running out without telling Dad what was happening and where we were going (never actually did that as a youth, he wasn’t terribly interested in my stupidity). The sail over to the IOM was more of a motor than a sail (we did sail for a couple of hours – but the wind was variable and light and a thorough pain in the a***). So after a bit of sail and a blast of motoring, we entered into the harbor at Peel and docked up in the Marina at 11.30 in time to have a feast of a brunch – Bacon, Eggs, Tomatoes and ……….beans, yes beans (on toast no less). Our sail had been uneventful, but it had to be well planned because you can only enter the Marina in Peel (passing through the old harbor) in a window of 2 hours before or after High Tide ( and because of our size, we really only had a 1 HR window either side – to deep a keel). There is a devise at the Marina entrance called a flapper gate and then a small swing bridge – both of which need to be opened. When closed, the flapper maintains a constant height in the Marina and so you don’t end up with a bunch of boats all stuck on the mud. 

I had tried to call the Harbour Master on his Radio an hour before our arrival (as requested in the Port’s entry in the Sailing Almanac) – but there was no answer – nor from the much bigger Port Officer in Douglas (the main city and port on the other side of the Island). The Almanac clearly states – “Contact Peel Harbour Control on Channel 12 – at least 1 hour before your arrival if no response contact DOuglas Harbor Control also on Channel 12”. So that’s what I did and got nothing back for my trouble. So having already established I had a cell phone signal – I called your man in Peel (cell number provided). 

“Hello there, how are you?” he says very jovially. I explained I had just tried to raise him (and Douglas for that) on the radio as requested, as we were about an hour out. “Oh – that won’t work” says he, “I only have a hand held radio – line of sight only and you aren’t line of sight yet are you?”. Well an hour out – no-one is likely to be. So how exactly are people supposed to comply with this – make contact one hour before from a location that is almost certainly “beyond line of site” and therefore not operative with a hand held radio. 

“Just for sniggers and grins, how hoes this one hour thing work if we’re not line of sight” asks I. 

“Best to come into the Harbour where I can see you and then I can open the bridge for you”. 

“So ignore the entry in the Almanac then?”

“Oh no, you shouldn’t do that – you should try to make the call”

“On your cell phone like it says – got it”

“No no – always try the radio first – I always have that with me”

“The one that’s line of sight and not likely to pick me up an hour before”

“That’s the one”

“Got it”

I am unlikely to ever visit Peel again as a sailor – nothing personal you understand. In fairness, the Harbour Master was there to meet us in person as we came by the Swing Bridge and he sprinted to meet us and we finished docking. When we told him we were only going to stay for about 10 hours – he didn’t ask for any money and he still gave us the magic code we needed so we could use the much needed “facilities”! You can’t ask for more than that (well at least not from an hour away – unless you’re line of sight).

A quick word about the Isle of Man. It seemed a lovely place to visit – rugged scenery and a great coastline. The people all seemed very friendly and there was a genuine sense of welcome. I just wouldn’t go there to do a VHF radio course.

The highlight of my visit to Peel was getting a visit with a couple who I hadn’t seen for almost 40 years. Both had been very close friends when Iwe were all in Sixth Form (so Juniors and Seniors in High School), but funnily enough, they weren’t in the same group of friends as each other – they knew each other, but they moved in different circles and I moved in both of the circles they moved in (neither were the cool kids, except to us). Jacquie and I had Christine Thomas and another Jackie (Pierce) and Jane Sellars (sadly now dead) and Gillian Miller and Fintan Donnelly and Simon Tennant (about name drop – Neil Tennant’s brother – come on – Pet Shop Boys fame). Anthony was with Joe Rawcliffe, David Smyth, John Ross, Paddy Duffy and some twins (two to be precise), very pretty girls, can’t remember their names though. So after we had all broken up and headed away from home to college – Anthony and Jacquie “got it together”. They subsequently married and some years later moved to the IOM and subsequently raised a lovely family there. What a joy it was to catch up and exchange notes of the critical things that had happened over the years. I reached out from Dublin through the magic of Face Book Messenger and we were able to figure out how to connect and have a coffee together should I safely arrive in Peel the next day. And I did and so we did! Coincidently, they had just moved across from the other side of the IOM to Peel. What a joy it was to see them and reconnect and we have committed to seeing each other again sometime in the future and probably not leave it the 40 years. Many thanks Anthony and Jacqueline Robinson, so nice to see you again and to hear about your life and family. Anthony re-trained quite some years a ago and moved from working in big Pharma and went in to teaching. He is now a Head teacher in a Primary School and he still plays his guitar like he did years back. What a great story.

(PS. I once asked Jacqueline out on a date when we were about 17 and she said no, so it might have been a little embarrassing seeing her again, don’t you think? But – after 40 years – there clearly were no hard feelings and I think she was able to confirm she’d made the right decision back then! Seems we both eventually won – even if my heart ached for at least a week after she said no.) 

We’re now actually sailing at sea as I write and  we’re heading to Bangor in Northern Ireland. It’s a stopping off place for us en route the Scottish Islands. The weather is – raining (what – in the Irish Sea, never). The winds are lowish (F3 – 4), may be picking up a little latter and as the Met office like to predict – with visibility good, possibly moderate to occasionally poor at times. How to put yourself out there with a clear opinion! Enjoy this photo of Peel taken this morning when we awoke.

More from Bangor and then the Islands.

Pip pip,

N

So as you know – if you read the previous post – we got over from Milford Haven to Dublin and all was well with the world. In fact – it was an exhilarating sail with speeds over over 11 knots at times (current right behind us). We had pretty good winds and weather all the way over and got here just after sunrise. It was “grand”. Just after 10.30pm past night, Paul and I (my watch help) spotted the outline of the Irish Coast and it stayed with us all night. Of course, when we got here the Marina office wasn’t open (it was advertised to be open and nor was there any answer from the Harbor master on channel 12). But, we tied up on the end of a pontoon inside the Marina, made breakfast and then visited the office later to check in. I had a lovely conversaiton with a French guy in a small vintage boat next to us. On a sample of one, he didn’t care whether the UK was in or out of Europe, but he did care that France thought about its own future carefully (I see more separatism on the horizon).

Snooty Sailing Clubs would ask you yo move from where you sneakily tied up for convenience (on a pontoon end) and they would move you to the back waters, but not this one. This is one of the largest and certainly most competitive sailing clubs in Ireland – and they are massively accommodating. Ah well – why not be accommodating (listen up Jobsworth of Exeter).
A couple of lunch times Guinness’s at the Abbey Tavern (and full marks Gerry Lynch for knowing where we were from just the photo of the glass of Guinness) and a little lunch on the boat and once again all was well with the world.
En route back from bar to the Marina – I visited a very nice, up market – food and Sea food market! Beshoff’s serves Oysters, fine wine and a whole variety of very nice cheeses, fish, bread and the like. Says I, to the pretty, very young, demure red head busily making coffee to order (not your average STARBUCKS here – although that is further along the road and owned by my good friends, the Butler Brothers)- says I “Do you know where I can buy eggs please”? Slightly tilting her eyes down like a shy girl, she says “They’re right over there by the X and the X”. With a little more guidance (for stupid here) I found them. Once again I had to go back to the knowledge well and ask her “I don’t suppose you have bread too, do you”. This time with a sideways flick of the eyes she directed me 1 pace to the right to a very obvious bread display and then with a flick of the eyes up she clearly said “are you a Feckin eegit or wha”. She was, of course right, I am an idiot for not being able to spot this. Of course she went on to talk me through the entire display and made sure I knew who the baker was and what the origin of each loaf on display were. Where else?
There is a real feeling of home to me, whenever I visit Ireland. Not because it’s my home, because it clearly isn’t. BUT – whether it’s through the influence on my own family (some from my grandparents generation and some through my sister and brother-in-law, Gill and Gerry Lynch, 4 kids, all born in Ireland, all with Irish Passports, all with Irishish names and all with a geart heritage) – or whether it’s through Bernadette’s family (Bernadette Kathleen Riley might be a bit of a giveaway), Being in Ireland always feels like coming back to home. There is something completely unique about Irish hospitality and it fits well within our family. Without causing offense or upset, they manage to take the piss and do so respectfully. At its heart, the Irish don’t take themselves too seriously and they certainly don’t take others too seriously, and at the same time they are respectful of the right things, which have changed significantly over the last 20 years. It;s not a perfect society, just better than most. The recent vote for the legalization of some sex marriages underscored the sensitivity and sensibility of modern Irish life, while still blending sufficient heritage to make it count. I would absolutely be at home here. 
Tomorrow I get to meet 2 of my Great Nieces (my nephew Ian’s “wee” girls). I couldn’t be more excited. One of life’s true delights- seeing the next generation grow and take control of life and create yet the next generation!

Then tomorrow night we’re off to the Isle of Man (see map later on) – a place I have never been and most famous for its Motorcycle racing . It wasn’t our original plan to leave tomorrow night – but with a change in training skipper, he thinks we need to do it if we’re to leave sufficient time to visit a distillery further up the coast. You can’ argue with that logic, can you.

So, it not only can, but it did come together last night. We used wind and wind alone to get from South Wales over the Irish Sea to Dublin, sailing right up to the harbour entrance here in Howth. I think that is awesome. Not a drop of fossil fuel was used and the wind and the tide carried us here. When it comes together it really is “grand”!
Pip pip,
N

Feckin awesome!