I read once that many men of around forty take up an activity which they practised in their youth, so for a few years I did a lot of mumbling about buying a dinghy, until my wife, Heather, got fed up and told me to shut up and buy one. So two years ago I advertised in the local press for a seaworthy dinghy, and got a reply from a man with a Drascombe Dabber to sell. After taking references from two DCA members, and mumbling some more about it being bigger than I had envisaged us having, I bought it.

So there we were, and now it was Heather’s turn to do the mumbling about being a boat widow, more due to repairs and improvements than to sailing. We used the boat for day sailing in the Lakes, the Fal, North Wales and Western Scotland for two seasons, suffering various minor disasters which necessitated the above mentioned repairs, and then an opportunity for a cruise came up. Number One Daughter, who would make the Princess with the Pea seem like a Royal Marine on manoeuvres, would be on a school trip for Whit week, so Heather and ten-year-old Hazel suggested a cruise on Loch Linnhe.

Saturday 24th May saw us launching at Linnhe Marine, just north of Portnacroish on the A828. I immediately caused one of those minor disasters by breaking the shear pin on the outboard. This is hardly more than a short piece of fence wire, but it drives the propeller round. Without it the motor can make all the noise you want but is rather lacking in propulsive force. At this point my mother, who had come to see our triumphant departure, beat a retreat. She has a deep loathing of outboard motors, believing them to be unreliable things that can only be trusted to spoil a good day, while someone vainly sweats and curses over the starter cord. This springs from life experience with a motor just like that, which was the one we had when I was a child. Of course it was my father who did most of the sweating, while my mother did most of the cursing. More modern motors, however, come with spare shear pins fixed inside them, and it was the work of fifteen minutes to make the repair. The ever-helpful Paul Zvegintzof (pronounced just as written) of Linnhe Marine even provided a makeshift spare to take with us, just in case I was fool enough to break another one.

Away about 1100, we sailed southwest into a head wind, but with the last three hours of tide to help us. Our basic plan was to circumnavigate Lismore, finding camping spots on the way. We were carrying enough food and water to be self sufficient for three nights and four days. We were soon sailing past the incredibly photogenic Castle Stalker, sitting on its rock in Loch Laich. It looks as though it could have been built for a film set, but is a genuine old castle, now used as a holiday home. Some members of the Stuart clan resented the sale of the castle out of the family to a southern stockbroker, but I am glad that it went to someone with enough money to put a roof on it and restore it. If that had not happened it would have become more dramatic for a while, as parts of the walls fell down, before finally becoming a pile of stone on an island. A dinghy can sail around the castle quite easily at high tide, but as the tide was falling we just enjoyed the sight and sailed on.

One thing we found about cruising is that feasts are distinctly moveable. We stopped for lunch on the north end of Eilean Dubh at about 3pm and ate our sandwiches within site of the remains of Tirefour Castle on Lismore. This castle, a broch, is from a much earlier, and less well understood, time than Stalker. The brochs are round towers, with small door openings and no apparent windows. They are scattered across much of Scotland, and there is even a substantial one in the eastern border country.

Eilean Dubh is unsuitable for camping as it is mainly steeply sloped, and the rest is covered in brambles and seagulls, so we sailed on southwest to a group of small islands near the southern end of Lismore. This includes another Eilean Dubh (dark island) which is joined by a stony beach causeway to Eilean na Cloiche. This pair of islands is a gem for a dinghy cruiser. There is a patch of grass at the southern end of the causeway just big enough for a small tent, and almost every aspect of the night there was a delight. Eilean na Cloiche has a small cave on it which is marked on the OS map, and this combined with abundant bluebells, yellow flags and various birds made for a joyous evening of exploration. The sun shone for us, our barbecued food was good, and life could hardly have been better. The place is home to around twenty seals who bobbed around in the bays all the time we were there. They came to gawk at us, popped shoulder high out of the water, and rolled around flapping their flippers in the air. We heard them at their antics as we went to sleep.

There are nests of eider ducks and gulls all over at that time of year, and it takes some care not to step on their exposed but camouflaged eggs at times. It seems impossible to move around without disturbing the parents as they sometimes explode off a nest which had been unseen until then. As we ate our meal we watched what we think were purple sandpipers feeding along the shoreline just six feet from us. They are among the smaller of the shore birds, and are described in the books as often tame. These seemed oblivious to our presence.

At 0400 Heather and I were awakened by more wildlife — a cuckoo. Though nice to hear as a portent of spring, they are astoundingly boring and annoying in the small hours. We made shooting gestures, and I rolled over and stuffed my ears. I found out at a more civilised time that Heather had eventually got up, crossed the causeway, and shooed the pest away onto the mainland of Lismore before crawling back into her sleeping bag for a few hours more sleep.

The tides were well behaved for our cruise, being high in the evening and low through the night. This allowed us to beach the boat at dinner time and let it dry out completely. We could then sleep knowing that it would be afloat again at breakfast and was not going to be banging on the shore overnight. Neither would we have to rig a mooring. Sleeping aboard is not an option for us, as we would normally be four, but also does not particularly attract. We like to wander around, have a bonfire, and skim stones on the water before turning in to our tent. We also take as much care of our comforts as possible, and for this trip took cheap lilos with us. These were the beach sort: thin PVC and £3 each that roll up into next to nothing.

On Sunday morning we sailed south-west again with the sky overcast to sail around the south-western end of Lismore. There is a gap on the chart between the main island and Eilean Musdile and I had intended to go through it, but under sail and on a falling tide I chickened out and went around the lighthouse. Tidal races are marked on the chart, but at not far off full ebb they would not have worried any moderate sized dinghy. Sailing north-west now, with a following wind, the distance flew by. The fragments of walls left standing make Achadun Castle look more like a henge than a fortress when seen from the south. Its wild location, guarding nothing very obvious, made me wonder at the need for so many defences in this area. Even the smaller island of Shuna to the northeast of Lismore has its own castle.

We sailed outside of Bernera Island into Achadun Bay where we camped for our second night. No cuckoos here, but wind and rain disturbed our sleep as much, and left us feeling soggy in the morning.

We set off up the coast of Lismore under cloud, but then the wonders of variable weather came into play. The cloud broke up into cotton balls, the sun shone and made the water as bright and as blue as can be, and the wind blew a steady force 4 from the northwest. In choosing a heavy dinghy I had consciously gone for stability over speed, and it takes a force 3 to really make the Dabber shift, but this day was glory. Heather made comments about my mental state, relating it to pigs and their normal environment.

Towards the north end of the island we sailed into Port na Moralachd for lunch. There are some large mooring buoys in there, but wanting a walk we ignored them and put in to the second bay going clockwise from the sea. This has several large concrete blocks in it at different heights which are ugly, but useful for tying on to. I rigged a temporary haul-off as the tide was falling, and we walked around the hillock of Glas Dhruim. If anyone has a simple and effective method of making a temporary mooring, I would be glad to know of it, as it takes me half an hour at least to rig mine. Off the water the air was hot, and we had the problem of stripping off layers of waterproofs and thermals to walk in our vests. Once round to the sandy beach on the northern side the heat got to us, and it was not long before we were all paddling, and Hazel was right into the water.

The attraction of dinghy cruising to me is as much the time spent out of the boat as in it. The dinghy allows access to places that even backpackers cannot reach. The exploration of woods, streams, hills and valleys where few people tread is a true joy.

Out of the bay again, and further up the loch to Eilean Balnagowan. The wind finally failed us about a mile short, so we motored the last part round to the east facing bay. In all this glorious day, when the wind blew across the loch, making great sailing in either direction, we did not see another sail until 8pm when a lone sailor in a small sloop dropped anchor in our bay for his dinner, and then left again afterwards.

I had camped on Balnagowan once before. I was about fourteen, with my elder sister and two slightly older family friends. They later turned out to be Heather’s cousins, but I didn’t know that at the time. Among all the exciting memories of that short trip there was one experience which stands apart from the others. In the evening, it being mid August and already getting dark at nights, someone idly tossed a stone into the water, and shrieked. Everywhere the water was disturbed blue-green sparks flashed. We threw stones in as if to fill the loch, and our excitement never dimmed. When we pushed the boat out and climbed aboard we must have been close to bursting. We dropped flat stones overboard that made zigzag paths of light to the bottom, and when we pulled on the oars we sent whirlpools of light spinning down into the depths from the tips of the blades. I hope to see that again sometime, but is was not to be on this trip. It was hardly dark enough anyway, being just four weeks before midsummer.

The western bay is the finest water garden you could see. In the still evening high tide the soft turf was under the water, the thrift flowered from every crevice in the rocks, and strangest of all was looking down through six inches of salt water to see their little lilac flowers staring back. Why are these flowers fully open under the water? Are they pollinated by shrimps? Their Latin name is armeria maritima, giving evidence of their salty home. There are extensive clumps of the now uncommon ragged robin, and two different types of marsh orchid.

Each of our campsites had its own special disturbance. On Balnagowan it was Canada geese. Wonderful birds, but inconsiderate neighbours, making a cacophony in the early morning before flying off to feed.

Tuesday was to be our last day of sailing. We headed across the loch, using the motor in the flat calm, and stopped to talk to a prawn fisherman friend in the middle. ‘The skerries’, Sgeirean nan Torran, are a group of rocks with a colony of thirty or so seals on them. We never tire of seeing seals, and they seem to find visitors interesting, so we observed each other for a while before we put in to shore for lunch and a walk. This time we found a deep cleft in the rocks, so rather than moor off we put ropes to both sides of the cleft and left the boat tied in the middle while we walked up the river to Lochan na Criche.

For our sail back to base the forecast north-east had turned into a south-west, so we had to tack our way back around the south end of Shuna. The sea was true blue again, and the sun on the ripples sparkled like jewels. We saw our first other sail of the day as we approached Shuna to pull out.

So how was it? Hazel found the whole trip wonderful, and Heather with great grace declared that she had enjoyed it considerably, and would like to do it again. As for me, pigs got mentioned again. Watch this space.

References

Charts/maps: Admiralty 2378, 2379. OS 1:50 000 sheet 49

Linnhe Marine: Position OS ref 924483. Day 0421 503981, evening 01631 730 401, Launching £5, most states of tide on good slipway.