The Sound of Jura

Never mind what it says on the blog posting, think Sunday 19th August. We are in Port Ellen, on the Island of Islay, getting ready to go north into the Highland and Islands of Scotland. The forecast is for wind SE to S, force 3-4, perhaps 5 later.

Several other yachts are also getting ready to depart. On Schiehallion, a forty five footer, the barbecue is being stowed away. They're off to the south. The skipper of Wild Thing is trying to pass on the  fresh scallops they were given by a fisherman before thet "go round the corner" for lunch. Both leave before us and I see them motoring out of the bay.

If we go now, we'll have a weak "foul tide" for an hour or so, but then it will woosh us north, up the Sound of Jura. We're aiming for Carsaig, an anchorage on the east side of the sound, well protected from the East and South.

Distillery in sight

Freddie pushes us out into the bay - there's a light wind from South. The sails are hoisted and we sail out of the bay and tack off eastwards, along the south coast of Islay. Distillery after distillery passes by as we cruise east a couple of miles off the coast in a calm sea. I suppose I should have stayed for a day and had a tour or two - never mind, there are distilleries on Mull and on Skye.

This area is littered with rocky bits and small islands, so I have to keep a sharp look out and eye on the chart plotter to make sure we are not running into danger. The wind dies and the tide starts to push us west again. I pull Freddie into life and we motorsail east again. We pass Tarr Skeir, the southern most of of the rocky islands and turn north east, towards the Ardmore Islands that mark the entrance to the Sound of Jura. Here we turn more to the north.

The Paps stay hidden

There's a yacht coming up behind us. It's sails are full and it's leaning in the wind. Suddenly the water becomes more agitated. Three foot swells roar round the Islands from thewest. The tide has changed and is now coming in from the Atlantic, pushing us northward. The wind arrives too and we are soon scurrying along at 7 knots. The yacht astern passes the islands and turns west to run up the Sound of Islay (that channel between Islay and Jura). We cross the meeting place of the two sounds, pass Gigha aIsland some miles away to our right and follow the coast of Jura, keeping a couple of miles off it. Ith a following sea a routine is rapidly established - stern rises and is pushed to the right as a wave overtakes us. Push tiller right to keep on course. Wave passes underneath us and then pushes the bow up and to the left. Pull tiller to the left to compensate. It's quite hypnotic.  
I'm woken from the trance by the emergency tone shrilling out of the VHF.
A MayDay. Press the button to silence the alarm and turn up the volume to listen to the unforlding story.
 Belfast Coastguard takes control 'Belfast Coastguard calling Station calling MayDay over". There's a bit of silence - I assume the vessel in trouble is replying and we can't "hear" the response. The next I hear is 'Mayday Schiehallion, Schiehallion, Schiehallion, this is Belfast coastguard, please spell the name of your vessel' . Schiehallion! That's the forty plus footer that had left Port Ellen just before us. It appears they are taking in water. One yacht and two commercial craft respond to the call, a lifeboat is on the way and the yacht is soon alongside the casualty. At this point, Clyde coastguard want to give out the new eather forecast, so I give up my voyeurism and listen to the forecast.
The sea pattern changes and becomes confused as the Sound of Jura narrows and I make a mistake. I should have headed closer to one or other coast but stay in mid channel. Soon we are in a very rough sea, being pushed hard by wind and tide. I take in a reef and things calm down. And so we carry on. The Paps are modestly covered by cloud.

The wind dies down but the current is pushing us to port, towards Jura and we want to head towards the mainland. I try to shake out the reef but the main hailiard is caught round something at the top of the mast. We'll have to stay as we are until we can get into calmer water; as it is, the 10 minutes we spent drifting whilst trying to sort things out have pushed us back towards Jura.

I turn Vagabond towards the mainland shore, more concerned with finding some calmer water than with making progress to the north and we close to within a couple of cables* of the mainland shore, where things are calmer and I can sort out the haliard and hoist the full main.

Order and confidence restored, I remember to switch the radio back to channel 16, the emergency channel. The hue and cry over Schiehallion has died down, so I assume all ended happliyd .

The wind gets up a bit and Vagabond surges north east again, as I search the coast for the entrance to Carsaig. A large yacht is motoring towards us and turns in ahead of us. We follow and I can see there were already two other yachts here and the one ahead of us has pinched the most protected of the spaces left. Never mind, we need less water than she does and can get nearer the shore. I also see that some buoys have been positioned in the anchorage. They weren't here last ime; one is free. That will do nicely -  but it is a long way from the beach and the road to the pub.



On the buoy, looking at the way we came in

 Within 20 minutes we're secure to the buoy and the wind has gone completely.
We've done 36 miles today in  7hr 30min (2 hrs were under power).




A large rib rushes around the anchorage and persuades the other yacht to move to another bay.



That's the way we're going tomorrow.

 We're snug where we are, there's three metres of water under the boat so we won't touch the bottom as the tide falls. I can't be bothered to move to the vacant space, nor to inflate the dinghy, row to the beach and walk to the pub (and back - besides which, last time I was here it was shut...)

I stand on the boom to find a mobile signal to report progress to the Owners Agent  and to find out if we're homeless yet (no).

I don't trust myself up here with the Ipad so we'll have to go without a weather forecast until tomorrow. It doesn't look like it will rain overnight so I'll leave the tent down just in case  I have to get on deck in a hurry.

I make a three course meal - soup, ham and avocado salad, followed by biscuits and cheese, accompanied by a glass of Rjoca, followed by coffee and an after dinner chocolate (well actually a mini Twix, if you really must know), wash up and turrn in for an early night.

The tide won't turn north until midday tomorrow; I wonder where it will take us?
Whereever we go, we only have to do another 10 miles or so and we will have clocked up 1000 since we left Burnham on Crouch.

We must be nearly half way.



* A cable - it's a tenth of a sea mile (or about 180 metres or 100 fathoms**). Wonderfully refreshing things, dimensions at sea. A sea mile is defined as one minute of latitude at your location. As the earth is not truly spherical, a sea mile varies depending on where you are........

** six feet*** (British Royal Navy)