Cruising on the west coast of Scotland in a Shetland Family Four, summer 2008

Part 1 – The Sound of Sleat and Loch Hourn

After a lot of family discussion in February, we finally settled on the area around Plockton as our base for our summer holidays this year. We had heard rave reports about it from friends and colleagues, and, although we had passed it by three years ago on our way to Skye, we had never actually visited the place. To hedge our bets with the weather, we decided to spend the first week living in the boat, and the second week renting a cottage in Plockton to enjoy our creature comforts after a week of ‘roughing it’. The cottage was duly found over the internet and booked, and planning began in earnest for the boating part of the holiday. Charts and OS maps for the area were purchased over the internet, and many a winter evening was spent poring over them, the Reeds Almanac, and other sources of information identifying potential places to launch, interesting places to visit, safe anchorages, fuelling points, and the like. Realising that our exact routes would be at the mercy of the weather, we thought that it would be best to have a number of options of places we would like to see, and then decide at the time what we could do. The coordinates of each harbour and way point were entered into the GPS, courses were plotted on the charts, tide tables obtained, and notes made of any navigational hazards. At the same time, work started on the boat to get it ready – the windows were replaced with new seals after we discovered on our Caledonian Canal trip last year that they leaked like sieves, the engines were checked over, a new steering cable was fitted, as was a new canopy, and we even installed a porta-potti!

The great day dawned, and with everything packed and the boat and trailer securely hitched on the back, we pulled out of the driveway to start the long haul to the west coast. Disaster struck almost immediately! It took us only a couple of miles to realise that things weren’t quite right back on the trailer somewhere. The car was making heavy going of it up hills and the fuel consumption gauge was way down from normal. We stopped as soon as we could and checked everything out, and couldn’t believe it when we found that one of the trailer hubs was almost red-hot. The brakes had locked! The trailer was only new last year, and it is one with a built-in hose to flush out the brake drums. It had only been in sea-water four times in its life, and each time we had religiously flushed out the drums for about 15 minutes each. So much for these new-fangled inventions! Being a Saturday, finding a garage that was able to help proved almost impossible, so we sadly decided to limp home to lick our wounds, and review the situation from there. After searching the yellow pages and a lot of phoning around with no luck, we had almost given up and resigned ourselves to waiting until Monday to do anything, when we came across one garage who said that he could do it. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he had the hubs off, was freeing and greasing the brake expanders, putting the wheels back on, and sending us off on our way, all with a cheery grin and running commentary on what to do next time it happened. It reaffirmed my faith in human nature no end!

We eventually made it to the west coast with no further mishaps, and launched “Swannanoa” on the old ferry slipway at Kyle of Lochalsh, and spent the first night at the pontoon there (Figure 1). During the night the wind turned southerly, and started the waves battering the pontoons and the boats. A sleepless night for all as we listened to the creaking of the pontoons going up and down with the waves and the constant slapping against the hull, and hoping that our moorings wouldn’t give way. The next couple of days we had to batten down the hatches and stay put over at the more sheltered Kyleakin as the wind blustered and the rain fell. At least it was a good test of my resealing of the windows, and I was relieved to find that they were perfectly watertight! We spent the evenings on the boat, eating, reading and playing cards – despite being a little cramped, the three of us managed it remarkably well and even enjoyed it.

Figure 1: “Swannanoa” moored at the pontoon at Kyle of Lochalsh where we eventually launched. Skye Bridge in the background. We slept the first night here, but a southerly in the middle of the night made things pretty rough.

During the daytime we explored Kyle of Lochalsh, Balmacara, the famous Eilean Donan castle (apparently the most photographed castle in Scotland – I always wonder how they work these things out!), and the Skye Serpentarium at Broadford, where they have a fascinating collection of snakes from all over the world – well worth a visit if you have kids. We also did a really nice walk from the Aird of Sleat to the lighthouse at the Point of Sleat with spectacular views over to Eigg, Rhum and Canna.

Eventually, however, the news came that a ridge of high pressure was on its way, and that the next couple of days would be fine. Sure enough, the next day the seas were flat and calm and the wind was no more than a breeze, so we set off early heading up Loch Alsh through Kyle Rhea and into Glenelg Bay (Glenelg is apparently the only ‘palindromic’ town in the UK, being spelt the same backwards as forwards). There was still a lot of thick mist in Kyle Rhea and Glenelg Bay, which only added to its mystique, as we drifted southwards with the 5 knot tidal current with the engine only ticking over. We cruised on down the Sound of Sleat where the fog and mist gradually cleared, leaving a beautifully warm summer day with only the hint of a breeze, arriving eventually at the Sandaig Islands, the site of Camusfeàrna, the place where Gavin Maxwell, the author of ‘Ring of Bright Water’, lived. The actual house that he lived in is long gone, having been burnt down, yet it wasn’t difficult to recognise many of the other features that he describes in his books on his life with otters. As we lazed on the beach, we tried to imagine the roaring of the stags across the Sound of Sleat on Skye during the rutting season.

From Sandaig, we headed eastwards into the majestic Loch Hourn, flanked by the scree-covered slopes of Beinn Sgritheall on the north and Beinn na Caillach to the south. Making sure that we steered well clear of the reef in the entrance to the loch, luckily marked by a pole, we aimed for Sgurr Mor, still invisible underneath its covering of thick cloud and mist, with the tiny houses of Arnisdale and Corran just visible at the coastline. Eventually, we rounded Eilean Tioram, the ‘Dry Island’, and anchored in Arnisdale harbour, where we had a very pleasant lunch of hot soup and bread, basking in the warm sunshine, and allowing ourselves to be suitably impressed by the fantastic views across Loch Hourn to Barrisdale Bay and Stob a Chiore Odhair on the Knoydart Peninsula to the south.

Figure 2: Looking back from the Sound of Sleat up Loch Hourn with Beinn Sgritheall and Beinn Bhuidhe on the left.

All good things come to an end, and eventually a cool breeze sprang up, and we were surprised at how quickly it was able to whip up the surface of the loch into choppy waves. We decided that it was probably time to leave this stunning place, so after a wide sweep round the tiny village of Corran to the southeast of Arnisdale, we headed back out Loch Hourn in the general direction of Isleornsay, its lighthouse just visible through the binoculars across the Sound of Sleat. At this point, almost as if it was tempting us to stay longer, the cloud and mist disappeared from Sgurr Mor, allowing us to see it in its entirety for the first time. There was quite a chop in the loch by this time, with waves about a metre high, so we decided it was best to keep on going, and we headed straight into it. Cathedral hulls are not the best for these conditions, but “Swannanoa” bravely rode each wave as it came, before slamming down into the troughs again, causing quite a bit of noise inside the cabin. Luckily, as we came out of Loch Hourn, the reef pole to the north, and into the Sound of Sleat proper, the wind dropped off again, and the waves became much less choppy. We guessed that the mild southwesterly breeze coming up the Sound of Sleat was being funnelled into Loch Hourn and whipping up the surface.

By this time we could see the Isleornsay lighthouse unaided, and the Cuillins of Skye in the distance (Figure 3). We followed the Knoydart coast around to the shingle beaches of Rubha Ard Slisneach, passing the isolated crofts of Cnoc Gorm and Croulin, accessible only by sea and coastal footpath. ‘Surely they weren’t still inhabited?’, we thought, but we actually met a fisherman in Isleornsay later who lived in one of them. We then headed straight across the Sound of Sleat for Isleornsay, passing the occasional yacht as it tried to catch the winds to carry it up towards Glenelg Bay. We even saw two submarines on the surface in the distance cruising in the direction of Eigg, making us wonder if anything else was lurking below us without our knowledge!

Figure 3: Halfway across the Sound of Sleat heading for Isleornsay. The cloud has lifted, and the Cuillins of Skye are clearly visible.

Eventually, we rounded the rocks to the north of the lighthouse at Isleornsay, also owned by Gavin Maxwell for a time after Camusfearna burnt down. It was beautifully warm and sunny, and we found a visitors mooring in the harbour to tie “Swannanoa” up to (Figure 4). Then out with the foot-pump to blow up the little inflatable, which had up until then been stored neatly under the skipper’s seat, on with the auxiliary engine, then off to the jetty to get something to eat and explore the village (Figure 5). For the first of these, we were lucky to find the Hotel Eilean Iarmain just near the jetty offering great food and drinks which we enjoyed at a table outside overlooking the lighthouse, the Sound of Sleat and the Knoydart Peninsula in the background (Figure 6). There can’t be many more spectacular places to enjoy a meal! We even had the added bonus of an art exhibition just next door in the Gallery An Talla Dearg, featuring paintings of scenes from all over Skye. Exploring the village was also an experience not to be missed – every so often the little road to Camus Croise to the south gave spectacular glimpses of the Knoydart Peninsula across serene little bays. We even came across another Shetland Family Four moored in one of them! As we reached the jetty to return to the boat, we saw a fisherman unloading his catch of Dublin Bay prawns destined for the restaurants of the Costa Brava or somewhere else in Spain. He was the one who lived in the croft we had seen earlier across the Sound of Sleat on Knoydart.

Figure 4: "Swannanoa" moored in Isleornsay harbour with the Knoydart mountains in the background. We stayed here one night.

	Figure 5: Returning from Isleornsay village to “Swannanoa”.
	Figure 6: Having dinner outside in a beautiful warm evening at Isleornsay with the Sound of Sleat and the Knoydart Peninsula in the background.

The next morning, we awoke in the boat to pouring rain and mist and fog, hardly believing that it was only the evening before that it had been so warm and sunny. The forecast on the VHF from the Stornaway Coastguard was for strong winds and gales that evening and for the next few days, so we thought that we had better make our way back to Kyleakin. So after a quick breakfast of our favourite ‘bacon butties’, we untied from our mooring, and bid farewell to Isleornsay – not that we could even see it at this stage due to the mist! We set a course on the GPS from the charts, and gingerly headed out of the harbour northwards up the Sound of Sleat. The fog was so thick that we couldn’t see more than about 50 metres in any direction, and could only catch glimpses of the Skye coast every so often. Luckily the rain suddenly stopped, so that we could at least take the canopy down, which was a lot better than peering through the tiny windscreen trying to see if anything was in front of us. It wasn’t long until we got used to keeping “Swannanoa” on the GPS course set, and keeping an eye directly in front of us to make sure we weren’t going to hit anything. Our greatest worry was a boat coming in the other direction. At one stage the fog thinned slightly for us to see the lighthouse at Sandaig shining through the gloom, but it wasn’t long before it closed in again. It was all rather surreal, the sea and sky merged into one, no horizon, and only the water immediately around the boat being visible. At least the sea was flat calm. A little bit reminiscent of those days ridge walking in the Welsh and Scottish hills in thick fog.

We eventually made it back to Glenelg Bay without mishap, when the fog started to lift. We knew that the tidal current through Kyle Rhea would be coming southwards against us at that time, but “Swannanoa” didn’t bat an eyelid as she got up on the plane and zoomed through the narrow channel at 21 knots, past the Glenelg ferry and a yacht coming the other way, and back into Loch Alsh, with the white hotel in Balmacara clearly visible across on the north side. Throttling off, we cruised quietly at 4 knots back to Kyleakin enjoying a relaxing hot coffee on the way.

Part 2 of our cruising adventures in Loch Carron and the Inner Sound will follow. The full set of our holiday pictures are at http://www.flickr.com/photos/rbmatthews/sets/72157606515646326/ for anyone that is interested.