A cautionary tale set in Wester Ross, June 1997

The good weather was still holding as I picked up Dave Chatterley for an eleven hour drive to Loch Carron. Strome ferry had ceased to operate, when a new road opened around the head of Loch Carron around 1970. Subsequently ‘Ross Sailing’ operated a charter business from the North Strome slipway, before they eventually went bust. I’d long thought of the ferry slips as a good starting point for a cruise, but on our arrival at South Strome where a long closed hotel is now a burnt out shell, we found the NE wind blowing straight onto the slip. We pressed on.

Next morning at the north slip the boat plunged up and down, its fenders abrading against the barnacles as we loaded it to capacity. My anxieties increased on seeing that the rear road trailer roller had lost its split pin and dropped by an inch, so I had visions of a hole in the fully laden boat. However once under way in the sparkling clear light, heading past Plockton with a soldier’s wind, I managed to ignore Dave’s gloomy observation that we seemed to be making a lot of water. It was the normal rate.

It was wonderful to sail past the lighthouse, now unlit as is the rest of the loch, in view of the magnificent hills of Applecross. Then we passed into the outer loch with the Cuillin as clear as a bell ahead of us. Unfortunately I’d left things too late and we were soon fighting the incoming tide and wind as we tried to round Rubha na h-Uamha (Cave Point). A yacht sailing in the opposite direction seemed to be making great speed, if not actually running for cover, so I took the hint and we headed back to Plockton. Here we dried out on a sandy and level area personally recommended by the friendly boatman who ran trips to the ‘Sea Islands’ and who helped us get ashore.

Plockton is a lovely spot and you shouldn’t be alarmed by the frequent appearance of the local police cars. Since ‘Hamish Macbeth’ it’s become a cool spot for policemen to hang out!

Next day, Wednesday, we caught the ebb, cut the corner by going inside Eilean a Chait and soon turned right at Uags, a ruined bothy where several people were camping. We had a good sail across Cadas Mor, stopping at the uninhabited Crowlin Islands for lunch, a place I hadn’t visited since July 1983. A fair breeze took us north to Poll Creadha (Craggy Pool), the most sheltered spot on Applecross and well-used by friendly fishermen. The entrance from the south is very foul and it is great fun spotting and then identifying the many perches which mark the numerous reefs. Perches have replaced the five lights which were there in the 60s and 70s.

There are several, continuous rope moorings stretching from trees on the southwest bank and we accepted a fisherman’s invitation to use one. This enabled us to go ashore and we enjoyed an evening stroll to the road junction, where my old map showed a long disappeared phone box. Dave went off to visit Poll Doin while I returned to Restless and prepared for a good long sleep, free of such vicissitudes as the Plockton boatman leaving his VHF on all night! Dave duly returned to find his bed made and we quickly settled down. I briefly read my library book, then put it above me on the gunwale and fell into untroubled sleep. About two hours later I was rudely awakened by the book sliding off and falling on me. It was apparent from the list to starboard that we’d dried out on a rock. As we struggled to find head torches and clothes, Dave discovered a design fault in his inflatable pillow. The dimple in its centre caught and held some of the water from my falling beaker! Into our undies and wellies — yes we both take our wellies off in bed — we eventually climbed out across the foredeck and onto the seaweed encrusted rock, which sloped down towards a small pool on the nearby landward side. Given that we’d been drying out for ages while we tried to a) get our brains in gear, b) deal with consequent mishaps e.g. Dave’s wet pillow and c) dress — I was amazed when our attempts to move the heavily laden boat succeeded and she floated in the small pool.

We unfastened the painter from the rope mooring and substituted the anchor warp. I then tried to pole her backwards out of the pool into open water. This failed but when I reversed the oar and used it as a paddle the stern turned seaward and we were free of the rocks. Thank God there was no onshore wind! Call me soft-hearted, but I then returned for Dave and this time I personally supervised the process of hauling on the mooring till we were a good safe distance offshore. So much for my fantasy of an untroubled sleep. I felt so guilty about Dave’s pillow!

Thursday began in a gently damp and dull sort of way as nearby fishermen set off for their morning’s work. We headed south under motor, but soon found a southerly breeze and beat down inside the Crowlins. Here we faced a choice between going through Kyle Akin and into Loch Alsh or heading back to Plockton. The shipping and weather forecasts heralded wet weather and stiff north/easterlies, so we headed for lunch to Plockton on a vacant mooring by the old stone jetty at the northern end of the town. It was idyllic — hot, clear, beautiful; away from the road traffic — but it was too good to last and I had a short term job awaiting me in Sale. So we pushed on with the flood to North Strome for what should have been an easy uneventful haul out. This time conditions at the slip were ideal. There was only one problem: I’d lost my car keys! I’d searched every possible place at least twice, before giving up in despair and taking the floorboards out of the boat. Only then did I find them — in my right-hand jacket pocket, obscured by a bag of toffee peanuts which had split open and prevented my feeling them during my previous searches. After that, with help from a couple of local boys, who’d been scuba diving for scallops, we had no more trouble. We spent Thursday night in the Sherpa in a lay-by opposite the school on the northern outskirts of Loch Carron overlooking the loch. The bad weather duly arrived overnight so the views were not so great as we headed home through Lochalsh — where we checked the slipway at Dornie, then Kintail, Laggan and the A9 at Dalwhinnie.

The two eleven hour drives were long and tiring and there was much stress and worry in between, but it’s hardly dented my enthusiasm and love for the west of Scotland.

Next time I’ll avoid three things:

i) unsheltered slipways however well built ii) jobs that begin in early June back home iii) buying too many varieties of ‘no frills’ products from KwikSave, as this prompts some folk to dream up unwelcome nicknames!