It all started a good number of years ago close to the summit ridge of Ben Mor Coigach, one of the more prominent peaks that rise in splendid isolation along the northwest coast of Scotland. With a lull in the wind, a shred of cloud broke loose in the west to reveal a fleeting vision of a dozen green isles bespangled in a pool of sunshine in a blue sea, like a glimpse of summer. But soon the light would fade, for it was Hallowe'en, and we would feel our way around the rims of precipices and through a drudgery of failed torch batteries and knee-deep peat-bog before finally pitching camp at 11pm in the drizzle. I knew little about sailing then, but a seed of longing had been planted. I'd had my first glimpse of the Summer Isles, and the name alone was enticement enough, and I knew that I would return.

Return I did last August with my family and Lark (13ft 6") in tow, having convinced them that two weeks on a remote rocky coast, where the choice of things to do would be sailing, walking or more sailing, was exactly the kind of holiday they wanted – I wonder how often I'll continue to get away with this. What follows then are some notes gleaned from a few days' sailing in the area from a base on the mainland - not comprehensive local knowledge, but possibly of some use were you proposing a similar visit.

The Allure of Far-Flung Places

So, apart from being inspired by a vision from a mountain top one bleak autumn afternoon, why visit the Summer Isles? It is a long drive, after all, to Wester Ross - a thousand mile round trip from my home on the Wirral – and there are plenty of superb sailing areas farther south. But that is just it: they are remote. There is a definite appeal to going that little bit farther to be slightly less accessible and leave the rest of the folk behind. You have to imagine the long previous day's journey and an improvised roadside camp, sleep dispelled by the freshness of a clean summer dawn, the sun dispersing wisps of mist in the glens, every twist in the road revealing a splendid new vista of sparkling lochans and distant mountain massifs, and not another vehicle in sight.

North of Ullapool the rocky thumb of the Coigach peninsula stretches out into The Minch forming the northern shore of outer Loch Broom, and it is off this shore that the Summer Isles lie. It is a fantastic country of strange formed hills, each a solitary entity adrift on the undulating moor. It is the world of the Torridonian sandstone, the oldest and hardest sandstone in Britain. The bulk of the landscape including the cliffs around the Coigach shore and the Isles themselves are composed of it, and it is unique for sedimentary rock so old in that it is aligned in near horizontal strata, thus giving rise often to level platforms and large overhanging blocks. Driving the last sixteen miles on single-track road the temptation is to stop in every passing place to photograph and admire the unfolding scenery, but nothing is quite as arresting as, rounding the corner over the brow of the last hill, the sea; suddenly before you, speckled with so many islets and, far off, Lewis and Harris.

A "Spatter" of Isles

What collective noun should we use for a close group of small isles such as these? Hamish Haswell-Smith raises this question in his excellent book Scottish Islands (1996), and I think it needs to be addressed. There is the word "archipelago" of course, (originally derived from Italian referring to the Aegean Sea,) but this seems too grand a term for a typical assortment of rain-sogged Scottish crags. The mountaineer W. H. Murray uses "spatter" in his superb Companion Guide to the Western Highlands of Scotland (1968), and our own president Roger Barnes has described the Sound of Jura as being "bespattered" with isles (Bulletin 135, p13, 1992), and I like the perfectly descriptive impression that this gives, so I suggest that we establish this precedent and use the word "spatter".

The Summer Isles, then, – so named because they provided summer grazing for livestock from the mainland – are a spatter of more than a dozen isles and assorted stacs and skerries spread across an area of sea roughly six miles in diameter - a perfect scale for exploration in a small boat, either for whole day excursions or simply a morning or afternoon's potter. Furthermore, there are no worrisome tidal streams; in fact the tidal flow within the group seems to be completely insignificant. The largest isle is Tanera Mor (800 acres), and in its lee, facing Achiltibuie on the mainland, is one of the best sheltered anchorages of the northwest coast, simply called 'The Anchorage'; this haven was used by Vikings, and a small passenger ferry now plies the mile between here and the jetty at Polbain across Badentarbat Bay. There are a few cottages on Tanera Mor, some of which are let to summer visitors, and a post office, which is even authorised to issue its own stamps. The island rises to a height of over 400ft, and it is well worth the climb for the panoramic view from the summit.

Loch Broom used to be renowned for the huge numbers of herring that entered during the summer months and the local people had long greeted the shoals with their nets from every manner of seaworthy craft. In the 1780s, the companies that formed the British Fisheries Society, with investment from London, stepped in to reap the huge profits of this bounty by setting up stations on some of the isles, and then founding Ullapool in 1788, and exporting the preserved catch to Ireland and the West Indies. The boom lasted fifty years before the stocks were depleted and the company went bust, but whereas Ullapool survived as a town, the island stations died. Some remains of the old fishery can still be seen, notably the stone buildings and jetty at the head of The Anchorage (now used as storage for the modern salmon-farm).

Iron-bound Shores, Armada Gold and Silver Beaches

Of the other isles, Horse Island is reputed to hide treasure from a Spanish Armada ship of 1588. The story is that a nineteenth century shepherd found a doubloon lodged in his boot after stumbling in a clump of heather, however nothing further was found after summoning his friends to search for more. Priest Island is a bird reserve owned by the RSPB and requires prior permission for landing, but is difficult to land on anyway. Tanera Beag, lying to the west of Tanera Mor, has a good anchorage on its northern side, sheltered by several smaller islets. In its western-most corner is a spectacular sea-cave with a hole in the roof - large enough to sail into if you have the nerve - and tourist excursions come to see it in big inflatable boats. There are also several large caves either side of the sound between Isle Ristol and Eilean Mullagrach; this passage feels narrower than it actually is, hemmed in between vertical walls for the whole of its length and the cliffs at the northern corner of Isle Ristol rising to over 200ft.

By and large throughout the group, the rocks lie steep to and there are few beaches where a boat can be drawn up, so in many ways the area is well suited to larger craft that can anchor off, but still there are many places where a dinghy has the advantage and a larger vessel would not dare to explore. Landing on many of the Isles, however, is not easy and requires settled weather and a crew with an attentive eye for submerged rocks. The north side of Isle Ristol, facing Altandhu, is an exception with the nicest beach of pure white sand you could want, - the shelving sandy bottom showing green through the clear water looking positively Caribbean. This is the only sandy beach amongst the isles, although there is another delightful one in a cove on the mainland shore farther up the coast, accessible by land on foot only, about a mile north of Reiff.

Harbour and Freak Gusts

The place to launch and sail from if you are mainland-based is the harbour at Old Dornie. There is a split level concrete slipway/jetty, which would accommodate most DCA boats, the lower steeper part extends nearly to the low water level. The harbour is fairly crowded with small craft moorings but you would find space to leave a dinghy at anchor. We left the Lark on her launching trolley at the high water mark, being light enough and the harbour-bed being firm enough to wheel her to and from the water at any state of the tide. Ferocious gusts coming over the hill can bear down on the harbour: the Lark was blown over off her trolley one night, and we noticed one moored dinghy with stabilising buckets slung over both gunwales. The harbour largely dries, but a navigable channel of about two feet depth usually remains in the middle and sailing in and out at low water is possible. The main channel entrance to the harbour is from the south, but it is possible to cross the drying shoal to the north, which extends across to Isle Ristol, at about half tide from the direction of Altandhu.

For a mainland shore-base, it is nice to be as close to your boat in the harbour as possible, and there is a splendid spot for three or four tents just above the shingle beach on the neck of the little peninsula below Old Dornie house (OS grid ref. NB984116) but you have to carry in all your fresh water (we find that five litres per day for four suffices.) Alternatively, the house itself is let to visitors, has a commanding view over the harbour and would make a superb base for a DCA party (tel. 01463 230277).

Kippers and Bagpipes

When the enthusiasm for self-catering starts to lose its sparkle, the fare at Am Fuaran Bar in Altandhu and the Achiltibuie Hotel is excellent and makes the most of local produce, particularly of the Smokehouse in Altandhu and the Achiltibuie Hydroponicum, both worth a visit in themselves on inclement, non-sailing days. The latter specialises in cultivating an impressive variety of fruit and vegetables in state-of-the-art greenhouses by aquaculture (without soil). In the evenings the Coigach Community Hall seems to have a full and lively programme of folk music and ceilidhs throughout the summer; and on those grim days, when in sheer desperation you absolutely have to escape the midges, there is a local bagpiping school!

In retrospect, for me as the fulfilment of a long-standing dream and as a family holiday, the Summer Isles were a great success. My ten year-old son told me, "Dad, that was my second best holiday, ever!" (the best, ... well that's another story), which says something about the excellence of the sailing which formed such a large part of it. So, perhaps I'll get away with a few more holidays like it yet! JH