I am looking forward to this issue of the bulletin, and to the correspondence I rather expect David Sumner's article about his expedition to the Isle of Wight will provoke. I was intrigued by the incident with the line squall in particular. It reminded me of an encounter with a similar but differently generated phenomenon in Scotland in 1997. I was sailing my 16' Cornish Coble in company with 3 other boats: a Drascombe lugger, coaster and a Peter boat, which is similar to the coaster.

Our intention had been to sail out to lona for the 1400th. anniversary of the death of St. Columba. However a SW 6 had militated against us and we had gone "widdershins" round Mull on the basis that we would take a favourable wind up the Sound of Mull, in the hope that as the depression went through the wind would go round to the W or NW to bring us down the outside of the island. It worked to a greater or lesser extent, and by the end of the week we found ourselves camped behind Erraid ready for the homeward run.

The 0550 forecast for Friday 13th (!) June indicated N 5/6. More than enough wind, but we reasoned with a weather shore provided by the S coast Mull it would be manageable. Our intended destination was Carsaig, about half way along the S coast. We missed the 1305 forecast because we were busy breaking camp and packing the boats, but by an extraordinary coincidence it was published in the Times a few days later, as part of an article in celebration of the shipping forecast at the time the reports from coastal stations were discontinued. I have it before me as I write: "Malin Hebrides: N backing NW 5 or 6 occ 7 at first..."

We set out shortly after 1400. The wind was very much forecast strength. We settled to a sail combination of small jib (which tacks to the bow rather than the bowsprit) and the jib set as a trisail. Under that combination we were comfortable as we sailed under the Ross of Mull towards Malcolms Point. If there was any doubt about the strength of the wind the log shows that over a distance of 8 miles we averaged a record breaking speed of 5.1 knots, even under our reduced rig! At this point the cliffs rise abruptly to just under 1000'. I anticipated there might be a problem in the offing, and so kept out from the land by about a half mile or so, but I was taken completely by surprise by what quickly transpired.

As we came under the lee of the cliffs we ran out of wind. For a short while we lay becalmed, sails slatting. Then we were hit quite suddenly by an explosion of wind. In retrospect it was clear the wind was dropping down the very steep cliff side, almost vertically, and then hitting the water in a bomb blast, from which it radiated outwards. It was impossible to predict from which direction the next attack was going to come. Between gusts the boat lay still in the water. On each occasion we suffered another hit it took us a little time to work out what point of sailing we ought to be on: sometimes we were taken aback. It was both frightening and frustrating.

However if we thought we had problems it was nothing to those being suffered by the lugger closer inshore. They were no more than a cable or two out from the coast. In there the blasts of wind were reacting differently. Instead radiating outwards in 360 degrees, they were curling back and then climbing up the cliffs, and as they did so they stripped the surface off the sea and carried it up to a height of perhaps 50 to 100 feet, in a white water column. At the top as the gust lost strength, gravity took over, so that the spout curled back in spent spray: it gave a good impression of a monstrous sea serpent. They were intermittent, but on occasions there were two or maybe three about at the same time.

As we watched we saw a new one develop a hundred yards or so astern of the lugger and begin to stalk it. It rapidly caught up, its threatening head curving over the stern. The strike when it came was dramatic: the over used analogy of a terrier shaking a rat is apt. The crew, seeing what was about to happen, let fly the jib and mizzen sheets, so that suddenly the sails began to flog uncontrollably, and with such force, we later learnt, the jib began to split along the luff The boat was partially hidden in the curtain of spray, and then as soon as it had struck it had passed on, decaying and fading as it did so.

The crew are very experienced. Over the years they have competed together in the Three Peaks Race on several occasions and completed two Two Man Round Britain Races: their opinion as to wind strengths has to be respected. I asked them afterwards to assess the wind in that gust, and they were of the conservative view it had reached 45 knots.

From Malcolms Point to Carsaig is about 2.5 miles. The incident did not last that long, although it seemed an age at the time. We soon left Malcolm’s dragons behind us, but as the height of the cliffs dropped our problem changed: the wind now began to funnel down the glen behind Carsaig. To make our intended destination we faced a dead beat into a force 6, against a vicious cold and wet chop. Under our present rig we were unable to make much if any ground to windward, and so we replaced the trysail with the double reefed mainsail, but held onto the small jib. We now began to claw our way back to the shore, but it was laborious and uncomfortable work.

The reach across to Malcolms Point may have taken under 3 hours, but the subsequent beat from there to Carsaig, a distance of 2.5 miles took about the same time: an average speed of under 1 knot. We were wet cold and just about all in by the time we ran up the beach. However it was soon put right by a roaring drift wood fire, and a wee drammie.

Both the Admiralty Pilot and Martin Lawrence's guide speak about some high sided lochs being subject to severe down draughts in some directions of wind. We can vouch for the fact that it is not just lochs which are prone to this risk, but sailing under steep sided cliffs in strong offshore winds carries its own hazards too.