|
knocking them about savagely and creating great walls of spray.
We, that is BernardO and I, had spent the previous day sailing northwards from Cashel. It had been a day of mixed fortunes, from flat calm to force four, from no progress to bowling along nicely. At half past six in the evening we had camped below Stob an Fhàinne to enjoy a glorious sunset as we sat on the shore, well pleased with our lot and sharing a dram or two before bed. Penny and PeterO arrived just before dark; we had seen them a number of times in the distance during the day, sailing and paddling towards the same goal as ourselves, Ardlui. Now they were on their return trip, which goes a long way to demonstrating how productive sailing/paddling is as a means of cruising.
Bang! Bang! The wind slams into the sail so hard that I begin to fear for its survival. The nearer we get to Rubha Ban the worse it gets. It is becoming impossible to hold the boat on a steady course, so violent is the wind and its wild gyrations of direction. Pinching up into the wind during the gusts eases the strain on the boat and makes ground. Another twenty minutes of this convinces me that we need to find shelter; we are beginning to ask more of the structure of our outrigger canoes than they were designed to withstand. The shelter behind Ardvorlich was very welcome. We land, stuffing down a Mars Bar in lieu of breakfast, Bernard changes into dry clothes, ruffled feathers are smoothed and our courage returns. By eight o'clock the wind seems to have moderated a little, again we set off, sailing well out into the windiest part of the loch in order to be able to tack through the passage of Rubha Ban. The wind is right on the nose; to port is a low sandy spit with a buoy at its end, to starboard is a steep mountainside; the passage is about four hundred yards wide. Tack and tack and tack. Slowly, as we make progress through the pass, the head wind begins to lessen, the tacks become easier. As the tension falls I becomes aware that I am very cold. I want my breakfast.
Another forty minutes of patient tacking sees us off the beach at Ardlui, nine o'clock, not a very appealing prospect from the water. At last we can turn away and run with the wind; it suddenly becomes pleasantly warm and the sun breaking through completes the illusion. We had breakfast on a little beach below Doune, it was a kind of celebratory occasion - we had done what we had set
|
|