Baggywrinkle in Scottish Waters

In 1989 an article by Peter Filshie in the indispensable DCA bulletin No. 125 sang the praises of day sailing in the waters around Loch Shuna, south of Oban. This seemed an ideal venue for a two week holiday in late June with our 12ft gunter-lug Tideway Baggywrinkle. Camping aboard is an uncomfortable prospect for two people because our little boat tent is dark, cramped and claustrophobic, and the thought of this as a permanent home for two weeks in the notorious West Highland weather was enough to put anyone off a sailing holiday in Scotland, especially my wife Helen, who dreams of luxuriating in a Cornish Shrimper in the sun. But we were assured that at Arduiane, pronounced `Ar-du-nie', on the shores of Loch Shuna was a little camp-site right at the waters edge, with it appeared, a dreamlike view of a sea loch bespattered with islands, and ideal for pitching our rest-home, a new Vango Force Ten Mk5 tent almost large enough to play badminton in.

Last time Baggy went to Scotland we towed her behind our much-loved Citroen 2CV (one reason we don't own a Shrimper) but this marvellous machine had been written off in an accident in the early spring, so we were slumming it in an Escort. In surprising quietness and at incredible speed this vehicle swept us off on the long drive north from Oxford and up to our destination, where sure enough were to be found the islands and the water lapping dreamily at the edge of the camp-site, just like we had imagined.

Honest clinker-built boats do not take kindly to being pulled in and out of the water. Once Baggywrinkle is in she likes to stay in, so that her seams can take up and the feet of her crew stay dry. This is a problem if the crew want to spend some nights ashore in grace and space. On previous shore-based holidays I have negotiated the loan of an outhaul for her to lie afloat overnight, but this time I came equipped with two heavy anchors, a good big block to shackle to one of them, and an immense coil of rope so that I could rig an outhaul of my own. I do not know if other readers have tried to rig outhauls, but even in an area with a fairly small tidal range like the west of Scotland, it seems to take an incredible quantity of string to ensure that your pride and joy is safely well afloat at low tide, and yet you can still reach the other end of the rope at high water to pull her to the shore. Then on an ideal sailing day, when you are in a hurry to catch the tide, the rope wraps itself round some underwater rocks and the boat refuses to budge.

I would describe the many frustrations and record my hard-earned expertise on the subject of outhauls, like spending a tide moving all the big rocks out of the way of the rope, but all this knowledge is sadly obsolete. Half way through our holiday we drove into Oban and bought a little `Octopus' inflatable dinghy, and now our lives are transformed. Many DCA members have inflatable tenders, but a tender for a twelve foot dinghy seemed rather ridiculous. Yet we are now completely converted to the tender ethos. Deflated, she stows neatly away in the stern locker; at anchor she can be inflated quickly to provide a convenient link with the shore. My tender is the smallest I felt I could get away with, and instead of the rather silly oars that are provided for these craft, I propel her with a single Canadian canoe-style paddle, which has also proved invaluable aboard Baggywrinkle as it saves me having to pull out her oars if I only need to take a few strokes to see us through a calm patch. So we could now lie in our tent with the doors tied back and look out upon the waters of the loch in the evening light, with Baggywrinkle lying peacefully at anchor amongst the playing sea otters, and drink in the view and the scent of mosquito coils.

The waters around Loch Shuna offer a myriad of different day-sails to little villages or quiet islands. Many of these are diligently catalogued by Mr. Filshie, to whom I refer the reader who wishes for detailed navigational information. But let me give you an idea of the character of the area. The nearby waters are small in scale and sheltered; little larger that a Cumbrian lake; and are for lazy days with no worries about tides and heavy seas. If you visit the tiny anchorage of Ardinamar on the other side of the loch you will find a house standing alone just up a track from the shore. Do not be surprised if you see a figure wielding an immense pair of binoculars glaring out at you from a downstairs window. This will be the formidable Irene McLaughlan, who has kept a register of boats visiting her little haven since 1949. She will want to know all about you and what you are doing, and will intersperse her questions with sweeps of the horizon and mutterings about yachtsmen who motor about when there is a good wind. Only those with great strength of character should dare to enter Ardinamar under power rather than sail, and if you go aground on the rocks at the entrance, it may be better not to land at all.... It is possible for a dinghy to navigate the narrow channel full of rocks beyond Ardinamar and get into Cuan Sound by the `back way', but the tide runs very strongly indeed through the gap - we bow-hauled from the bank against the flow.

If you thread your way along one of the bewildering straits that separate Loch Shuna from the Firth of Lorne, wider horizons open up. We negotiated Cuan Sound under sail - despite what they say in the bars around Oban, it's not that bad if you are careful with the tides - and crossed to Mull on a glorious broad reach. We wished to enter the secret fastness of Loch Spelve, a hidden sea loch on the southern coast of Mull which Keith Muscott recommended in another DCA article in 1989. A narrow entrance widens out into a wide loch surrounded by hills, completely hidden from the waters of the Firth outside. It is certainly a dramatic and moody place, straight out of Walter Scott, but perhaps a little bleak and unfriendly for a little cruising dinghy. We huddled up to the northwestern shore and retreated into the boat tent for the night away from the view of the glowering hills.

In the Firth of Lorne the heart beats faster, the waters grow larger and plans more ambitious. Our hearts were set on a sail up the Sound of Mull to Tobermory, but the next day dawned a flat calm in which we alternately dawdled, motored and rowed up the Firth to Oban to buy fuel, and then onward to Loch Creran. We find motoring inexpressibly boring - and noisy: and as the sun grew hotter and the wind more idle, we found ourselves rowing most of the time. Somewhere in the Lynn of Lorne we made an exciting discovery about the lives and preferences of seals. Seals like people who row! Sail or motor and they keep well away, but once you get out the oars and put your back into it, they pop their heads out of the water in all directions and swim after you on your way. Why is this? Is it the noise of the rowlocks? Does a dinghy under oars look like a big seal from under the water? Our research gave us no answers, but I pass this discovery on to seal-watchers everywhere.

I have praised the virtues of plastic inflatable tenders, but there is one additional feature of them that we discovered after our visit to Crinan, which has transformed dinghy cruising for ever. We explored the many passages and channels between the lines of islands that practically divide Loch Craignish into three separate lochs, and then dropped anchor just beyond the marina for the night. A foray ashore revealed a little B and B in an Edwardian house overlooking the shore. We looked at each other. "Why not?" we said. So it was that we spent the night in glorious civilisation, with Baggywrinkle anchored close inshore in the view from our bedroom window, and discussed Clyde puffers and paddle wheelers over breakfast with the elderly woman who owned the house, and used the steamers as a child. Once you can get from an anchored dinghy to the shore, all things are possible....

The big straits and anchorages in the Western Isles are admirably covered in the indispensable publication of the Clyde Cruising Club, but the exciting thing about navigating in these waters in a small boat, especially one with a low rig, is the chance to discover and explore the smaller channels and quiet coves that are inaccessible to cruisers. One strait not described by the CCC is the An Doillin south of the Isle of Eriska at the entrance to Loch Creran. It is like an Oxfordshire river. I kept expecting to see a punt coming the other way! A low iron bridge crosses it at one point (to keep out nasty people with bermudan masts), and this would be an ideal quiet spot to spend a night aground on the sand. Foolishly, desirous of an evening's boozing, we carried on to the pub at the head of Loch Creran, which was a mistake as it is a bit of a dive, and the anchorage off it rather open and uncongenial.

Another strait not given wide coverage in the pilot books is the narrow channel between Seil and the mainland, Clachan Sound, through which we eventually returned home to our shorebase tent. It is a remarkably straight rock cutting, like something on the Shropshire Union Canal - but natural - and crossed by a delightful stone bridge, called extravagantly The Bridge over the Atlantic. We managed to tack all the way down and even under the bridge, which surprised the many photographers, but this may not be possible in a much larger boat. The problem is not the height of the bridge, but a rather dubious and amateur-looking electrical cable slung low across the channel on the south side of the bridge. Incidentally, by the bridge is a useful petrol station and an excellent pub - the decor is perhaps a bit over-tartan, but the beer's good.

That night we arrived home very late in the evening, drenched after a hard beat in the rain, reefed right down, out of the narrows of Siel Sound and round the point into Loch Shuna. We squelched ashore to be met by the camp-site warden, who had been expecting us back that evening and was looking out for us. "Why don't you try the hotel for some hot food?" she suggested. "But it's ten o'clock!" we said. She gave us a knowing Scottish look, and said that if we hurried over to the hotel as soon as we had put the boat to bed she was sure they could do something for us. I have not yet told you about the Loch Melfort Hotel, a pleasant walk across a field away from the Arduiane camp-site, but it is one of the features that make this one of the dream sailing areas on the West Coast. Imagine a hotel that prides itself on good food and a friendly welcome, with a matchless view over the loch, a yachtsman's bar where they don't mind you coming in dripping with spray and sweat, hot showers for non-resident yachtsmen, an imaginative bar menu that changes every night, and indeed, when we got to the bar - at about 10.30pm - we found that the warden had been as good as her word; prepared especially for us was a hot night-time snack, with many apologies that we could not have the full choice on the menu, as the cook had gone home!

To the south of Arduiane are other delightful waters, reachable if you can camp aboard; the lovely lochs Sween and Craignish, and the island of Gigha. We did not have a chance to explore all this area, but rounded the Dorus Mor - another place where you have to be careful with the tide - to call at the lovely little harbour at Crinan, which forms one end of the little ship canal that provides a short cut between the Firth of Lorne and the Clyde. Here, by an incredible coincidence, we met the man from whom I had arranged to borrow a 24 foot yacht that August, and indeed the yacht itself, Nantahala, lying in the canal above one of the locks. (We circumnavigated Mull in her and so you see we did eventually manage to get to Tobermory).