There are 9” bulwarks round the fore and aft decks, secured to the fined down ends of the main frames with a 2½” teak capping rail. The cockpit is lead lined and self draining, and all the bright work is teak.
Construction is very strong, about 400 per cent in excess of Lloyds A1. But as she was designed to stand drying out in a 4 knot current which frequently sets broadside on to the hull after the keel has grounded, something rather extra in the way of strength was required.
As a matter of fact, frames, floors, planking and bow and stern timbers are all of greater section than a 35 footer building in the next berth.
Dimensions are 22'6” overall, 18'4” on the waterline, 8' in beam, 3'10” in draught. In this hull I have 6' headroom under the coach roof, two 6'6” bunks with deep leeboards and Dunlopillo mattresses. A wardrobe 4'6” high, a coal stove, a Rippingille galley with sink and drainboard and very large food lockers. Two 12 gall tanks interconnect for filling and pumping purposes. This allows one leaking without losing all my water. One large coal locker, one seaboot and oilskin locker draining to the bilge, one Simpson Lawrence w.c, and plenty of space in the sail racks to carry all sails and the half dozen life jackets, B.O.T. Pattern.
Sails comprise gaff mainsail, foresail on boom, two jibs and Genoa used on those rare occasions when the wind comes free as a spinnaker. Total working sail area 317 sq ft for a displacement of 3.33 tons. She is therefore a fully-rigged sailing yacht first and an auxiliary second.
The auxiliary is a 5 h.p Amanco which disgraced itself at the outset of the season, and had been forgotten until she is next laid up when it can go back to the makers.
I have included her first sail in this log because in the course of it many little points will be raised which will help explain the ship and her ways. Besides, it was meant to be a passage, and would have been if not for that misbegotten engine.
A day sail out of Rock Ferry
I had arranged to go and see the Coronation in London but an extracted tooth had revealed and stimulated a hefty young abscess with the result that I got no sleep for a week, and my face assumed a lopsided and even more than usually repellent aspect. Accordingly, my family went and I was left behind.On Tuesday May 11th the abscess burst, relieving the pain but leaving me as week as a kitten. It therefore occurred to me that what I needed was a sea voyage and having a new ship ready to my hand, and feeling miserably lonely in the empty house, I took a train to Rock Ferry and joined the ship at 21.50. The weather was dull and raining with a fresh easterly wind making quite a chop in the Mersey River. As my first sail in my new ship was to commence on a dark moonless night at 02.00 I got everything ready for getting under weigh in the failing light, and, in fact, it was quite dark before I finished and had everything to my satisfaction. I cannot say I slept well. In the first place there was an annoying leak at the forward end of the cabin top, due evidently to a bit of faulty caulking, but my chief anxiety was for the coming trial. True, she had floated on an even keel just a trifle below her marks – she let me walk about on the high cabin top without rolling- but I could not get out of my head the idea that I might have made some appalling miscalculation in the many centres I had struggled with, and that, as a result, she would turn turtle in the small hours in a 4 knot tide and stiff breeze.
Consequently, a great deal of the night was spent in a hectic mental calculation and under the stress of considerable excitement. It is no wonder then that I beat the alarm and was actually under weigh under full main, staysail and no2 job before the raucous notes disturbed the silence of the Liverpool River.
A fine and very cold drizzle was falling, but nothing could have dampened my joy in the new ship as she curtseyed slowly and sedately to the first seas she'd met in her young life.
The huge dark shapes of anchored ships slipped past, and by the time New Brighton pier was abeam the first signs of a grey dawn were in the eastward sky.
So far, the course had been a beat down the channel with a moderate wind, but with the dawn the wind lightened and veered to the eastward. So far she had shown herself remarkably sure in stays, even when I gave her the least possible encouragement and made things as hard for her as I could. I was now to discover a new trait. She positively revelled in sailing herself and obediently set off down the river close hauled, the tiller not even pegged. If she liked to go, who was I to stop her. There was nothing in the way, and it was cold and wet outside so I went below and cooked myself a large breakfast.
It was my intention to make Fleetwood on the evening tide so that she would be some forty miles nearer to Scotland for our proposed Whitsun trip.
After breakfast – the ship still sailing herself- the wind lightened, and it became obvious that if she were to get through Formby channel while there was yet water for her, the engine would have to do its work.
The engine, however, had other thoughts and refused to start. When we got to Formby Light Ship I was fed up with the beastly thing, and turned off the main channel, commenced to beat down the narrow Formby gutter. We were, however, just too late. While the ship sailed herself I stood in the weather rigging industriously leading – 4 cables short of the bar I got down to 4'. I knew it was hopeless and turned back, running off the wind as far as Formby pool, where I anchored close in to the bank.
After a good wash down of the decks and cabin top to remove the last traces of mud, I made some tea and had a good talk to the engine. As a result the engine worked, but this was not, unfortunately, the end of the tale, for the clutch refused to take the drive. As I could discover no means of adjusting this piece of mechanism, I decided to put back to Liverpool and let the engineer do the job properly and give up my attempt on Fleetwood.
The passage home was uneventful except for the fact that just as I was preparing to anchor in the usual little gust of wind that always accompanies this evolution, the peak halliard fall kinked, and the head of the sail jambed. This, as the wind was across the tide, caused a certain hecticness during the ensuing few moments and a most ignominious bumping party was only avoided by the ship allowing herself to be put on the other tack, although she was without headsail and the mainsail was hanging in bags. Certainly an accommodating lady.
Passage from Rock Ferry (Mersey) to Fairlie (Clyde)
The clutch was attended to and a leak at the far end of the cabin top recaulked during the ensuing days, and on Friday, the 14th May, I joined with W. H. Simcoe at 1430. We got the ship ready for sea, and on Dick Taudevin's arrival at 15.30 we were lying to the kedge with everything ready.We weighed at 16.05 to a nice breeze from the N.W., glorious sunshine and, for once, the Mersey River looking blue. Everything seemed set for a good passage to the Clyde. Weather forecast S.E. winds freshening - a strong crew and a good ship.
We had a pleasant beat out of the river with the ebb under us, and had made the 18 miles to Q.2 Black Buoy at 19.45. By this time, however, the wind had fallen very light, but after dinner it was to fall lighter still. Accordingly we started the motor and set off over a glassy sea, russet tinted by the setting sun, on our course N.18W for the Point of Ayr, I.O.M.
Unfortunately after an hour and ten minutes running the clutch was discovered to be getting very hot, and as we were in the act of stopping the engine to see what could be done about it, one of the arms actuating the clutch broke. Evidently the expansion caused by the heat was too much for it. We were therefore reduced – or should I say exalted – to the status of a full sailing yacht, and reset all plain sail to a light N.E. Air, replacing the No. 1 jib with the Genoa almost immediately. As we could not lay our course for the Point of Ayre under sail, I decided to pass south of the Isle of Man – the usual course for a pure sailing yacht on passage to Scotland – and altered course accordingly to N.40W for the Chickens Rock.
The wind gradually freshened until during my favourite middle watch – I always think you get better sailing on an average in the middle than at any other time of the day – we had quite a decent breeze from the eastward. Unhappily, it took off in the morning, and at 04.35 I had the mainsail down to ease the slatting and continued under the Genoa and staysail. As the sun got stronger the wind became lighter and lighter. This, if it did nothing else, let the sea down, and at 09.30 we were able to get the mainsail on her and keep it quiet.
All day we ghosted along, our noon position showing a run of only 35 miles. It was, however, a glorious day. A warm sun shone and the ship miraculously maintained steerage way. Food was good and plentiful, so we were a merry party.
The only fly in the ointment was that the wind backed slowly to N.E., hovered at north, and finally crept round a trifle west of north, so that by 16.00 we were being headed off our course.
Accordingly, Taudevin and the skipper decided to attack the engine, and the skipper having lashed the clutch sole with boat lacing – a tiresome procedure, enlightened by the cry of “Land fine on the starboard bow.” Unfortunately, owing to the haze to the north and west, it was not possible to identify it with any degree of accuracy. I was beginning to wonder just where we were as the accuracy of the sun sight at 16.00 had been so obviously marred by the haze that I gave up any attempt to fix my position with a sun-run-sun. In such cases I would always rather rely on my D.R than start guessing sextant angles.
The engine consented to go and the skipper's lash-up took the strain, so that at 18.45 we were off at a round 4 knots for the island, intending now to pass to the northward as there seemed less chance of meeting steamers than to attempt the overcrowded Chickens Rock area in darkness and with so much indication of fog.
For a time we were confused by a high headland which we erroneously took to be Douglas Head. The skipper was a chastened man, as if it were so then our D.R at 17.00 was some 6 miles out. However, as soon as it became dark enough to pick up the shore lights, we discovered this chunk of land to be North Barrule – the skipper being vindicated as it proved our D.R at 17.00 to have been astonishingly accurate. Our speed during the last twelve hours being entirely guesswork, as it was below that at which the log would function satisfactorily.
At midnight we were abeam of Maughold Head – doing well over a glassy sea amazingly phosphorescent, but at 00.30 the engine stopped again – dirty plug and although provided with a brand-new one to suck at she refused to start when hot. However, the skipper having his usual luck with the middle watch, picked up a nice breeze from the north, and away we went close hauled on the port tack for the Bahama Buoy.
Unfortunately, the breeze held for little longer than the skipper remained on deck, and at 04.00, when abeam of the Point of Ayre Light, the wind died and the fog came down.
Taudevin, who was on watch, started up the engine, which now fired first time and so quiet was be about this job that he woke neither Simcoe nor myself. It also speaks well for the silence of the engine. Fortunately I had left the course from the Point of Ayre to Mull of Galloway written in the rough log, and so Taudevin put her on that course without disturbing my beauty sleep.
He soon picked up a light N.E. Wind, which by breakfast time had reached what we had come to regard as a sailing breeze, force 2. With this and the engine we made good way through the water, and with the strong tide on our weather quarter we were rocketing over the land.
Soon after breakfast at 09.10 we were obviously entering a tide rip which, coupled with the rough bearing of the Mull of Galloway fog syren(sic), gave us a useful and much appreciated check on our position. Visibility was now down to 1 cable and decreasing all the time. The fog was, however, low on the sea and the sun warmed us, apparently enjoying himself in a cloudless sky, while the sea took on that smoke-blue shot-silk appearance which never fails to delight.
After 9 hours of fog with a quartering tide ranging from 3 to 6 knots the skipper brought off one of those flukes of navigation which are so surprising when they occur that they seem incredible at the time. At 09.25 he altered course to north by east, intending to close the coast, which is free from outlying dangers, to visibility range, and then motor up as long as the tide held, anchoring when it turned against us. This seemed to me a less dangerous course than to be floating about in a steamer track in so thick a fog. The number of wailings going on on our port beam being ample proof of the amount of shipping about.
At 10.05 I relieved the forward look-out on the foredeck and blandly remarked that within the next ten minutes we would pick up the land one mile to the west and north of the Mull. Within five minutes we had done so, making out the high cliffs 2 cables distant through a slight clearing of the fog. It shut down again almost immediately, but in another few minutes we could keep them in sight about one cable distant, and course was altered again to keep parallel to the coast. The tide was just about turning, and as it did we were favoured with a partial clearing of the fog, which allowed us to prove ourselves to be off West Tarbet Bay – a small indentation in this cliff bound coast – our D.R position exactly.
We steamed on for some ten minutes, but the tide had obviously commenced to turn, and I was just looking for an anchorage when the engine stopped. Accordingly, we closed the coast as well as we could under sail, and anchored in 10 fathoms with 30 fathoms of rope backed up with 15 fathoms of chain as the tide runs at over 4 knots in this locality. Time of anchoring 10.40. Flat calm.
We set an anchor watch more for formality than anything else as the fog came down thicker than ever, and we lost the land less than a cable distant for the next five hours. Day's run since noon yesterday 64 miles. 111 miles from Rock Ferry.
The engine, on inspection, proves to have run the forward main bearing. Evidently a chocked oil guide as the oil level and oil pump was been working satisfactorily at the half hourly engine inspection less than twenty minutes before it seized. Engine now written off.
We remained at anchor until the tide turned in our favour at 16.05. There was then only the lightest of light airs form the N.W, just enough to give us steerage way.
With the tide under us we beat up the coast, which tends more and more to the north and east as you make your northing. Unfortunately the light draught in which we were trying to sail did the same, and as each headland was passed, and we promised ourself a fairer wing it headed us again.
Fortunately, the visibility improved until by 20.00 it was quite respectable. The sun had remained with us the whole day, and but for the fact that we were far from home or destination with an engineless ship, we had a glorious afternoon. Magnificent cliffs and caves which looked large enough to sail the whole ship into – mast as well.
When the tide turned we were off the Mull of Logan, the northern arm of Port Logan Bay. We crept into a little bay just to the north of this point, and anchored at 21.55 in 9 fathoms sand and shingle, hanging up a riding light – although it remains a mystery why we did so as there was nobody but pixies or fairies for miles around, and no chance of any shipping attempting to get into so small a bay during the night.
At 04.00 on Monday, the day on which we had to be in the Clyde if appointments were to be kept with our several employers on Tuesday morning, we were once more under way to take advantage of the strong ebb.
A light air from the S.E, filled the mainsail and Genoa, driving the fog off the craggy headlands in slowly drifting wraiths and bringing with it the heavenly scent of peat fires burning in some of the remote farms which occasionally we could make out behind some rocky bluff.
By 07.03 we were abeam of Port Patrick and were congratulating ourselves on being sure to make Corsewall Point and catch the flood up the Clyde, but the tidal stream was weakening in strength and the warm sun shining from another cloudless sky dried up our little wind.
We missed Corsewall Point by some 1.7 miles and anchored in 12 fathoms this distance S.W. by W. from the lighthouse at 12.05. Days run noon to noon 26 miles – not too good. 137 miles from Rock Ferry.
The last mile making the shore had been accomplished by towing in the dinghy – an experience of which we were to have ample enjoyment the next day.
The weather had now undergone a slight change and the sky was slightly overcast with haze. The sea oily and flat as a millpond. Accordingly, we all repaired below and after lunch laid down to get what rest we could while we were able.
At 14.50 I was disturbed from my drowsing by the sensation of being carried up and down in a very slow lift. The sun was also shining with great brilliance. Hurriedly putting my head out of the companion, I was astonished to see a huge swell rolling in from the N.W. and bursting into masses of white spray on the nearby rocks. This swell was so large that it had no effect on the ship other than the slow rise and fall. As yet there was little wind. But there seemed just sufficient for sailing over the tide and so, calling the two sleepers, we set about getting the ship under weigh.
The wind quickly freshened to a hard sailing breeze, and after getting under weigh at 15.10 with main and Genoa, we had to shift almost at once to staysail and No. 1 jib, and as soon as that was up it had to be changed for the No.2. This latter proved to be excessively cautious, but at that time it was difficult to ascertain exactly what the wind was going to do.
At 15.28 we had Corsewell Light abeam, but the flood was nearly done and we should now have the Clyde ebb against us until 23.00.
Close hauled we could just lay north by east, which course would have taken us to the West of Ailsa Craig by a narrow margin. Accordingly, when we picked up this island fine on the starboard bow, I decided to pass to the east of the island and sail the ship half a point free and gain the added advantage of the increased speed, while as it appeared we could more easily make one of the Clyde ports than either Campbeltown or East Lock Tarbert, which were now well to windward, it did not seem to matter passing leeward of the Craig. An added attraction for the eastward course was that during the dark hours we should be certain of having Ailsa Craig Light to fix our position should the fog return, This light is obscured for a great portion of the western semi-circle.
We now enjoyed a perfect sail. The ship getting along in fine style. As soon as the wind permitted, or perhaps because we had found out how astonishingly stiff she was, we got the Genoa on her at 17.10. This was really a misunderstanding as I had asked for the No. 1 jib, but as it had been got on deck before I discovered the error we decided to try it. It certainly pulled all right, and the ship seemed quite capable of carrying it, so we let it stay, adding the staysail as well at 19.30.
Ailsa Craig was abeam at 20.00, at which time the wind took off a bit, but after dinner it breezed up again and between 22.00 and 23.00 we knocked out 4¾ miles close hauled. Not bad for a ship 18ft on the waterline and towing a man sized dingy. It was good fun.
Even with the rather hectic sailing her motion was astonishingly easy, and only ordinary caution was needed to keep the dinner plates on the cabin table.
By 23.00 we were patting ourselves on the back ad saying to each other, “Rothesay by 8 in the morning and the 2 o'clock train south. Only one day late. Our offices can stand that.”
But at 23.30 we ran clean out of the wind. The ship came upright with a jerk – the Genoa flapped inboard against the forestay, and the very devil seemed to have been let lose below, as she wallowed in the sea left by the wind. The ship turned round in circles.
There was nothing else to do but to get all the sail off her and wait for something to turn up. We hung the riding light on the main boom and the watch on deck read a book. Fortunately the tide was in our favour.
However, at 01.45 we picked up a faint air from the southward, and I managed to keep her pointing in the right direction under Genoa alone as there was too little wind and too much sea to take the mainsail without excessive chafe.
These conditions continued until 05.05 in the morning, when the sea had decreased sufficiently to hoist the mainsail with no fear of it being chafed to pieces. We were then abreast of Sanda Island, and as the tide was now against us, we crept slowly up to Holy Island. At 10.45 the wind died again.
This time it looked as though it had died for ever, and under a grilling sun we took to the dingy – half an hour each – on a course for Ardrossan, which we hoped to make before the evening high water, reckoning on a towed speed of about 1 knot.
Days run noon to noon 34½ miles, Pretty poor, but good considering the weather.
Fortunately, just as the skipper was preparing for a second imitation of a galley slave, a light air came away from the S.W., and under main and Genoa she crept along on her course about 10 points off the wind with the tiller pegged and sailing as straight a course as one could wish.
After lunch the wind seemed to have settled down into a proper afternoon breeze.It was light, but looked as if it had come to stay for some time – or, at any rate, until evening – accordingly course was altered for Farland Point and the destination changed to Fairlie, as it was so obviously a better berth in which to leave the ship until my holidays,
At 17.45 we had Farland Point abeam, and I had at last succeeded in sailing to the Clyde in my own ship. Poor Pearl had four attempts and each time met a moderate N.W. gale. It is a local saying that of all the small sailing ships that start for the Clyde only one in nine gets there. I cannot pretend that Robinetta's passage was easy. We were two days overdue, but we had plenty of fresh food, plenty of water, as much sleep as we needed – and a magnificent time, the crew proving exemplary in every way.
We carried our wind from Farland Point to 1 cable short of the southernmost buoy off Fairlie. Here it died and the skipper, elated at having at last arrived on the cruising ground of his dreams and, being newly shaved, towed the ship the short distance remaining. Secured to buoy at 19.35.
I am glad to be able to record that we were all accorded a sympathetic reception on our return to work two days late.
Total distance for passage 186 miles in 99 hours 10 minutes, of which 11 hours 10 minutes under motor and anchored on account of fog or calm for 14 hours 55 minutes.
Cruise from Fairlie to Portincaple
On 29th May, my wife – henceforth referred to as “E.” – and I arrived at Fairlie. For this, the longest portion of this cruise, I was to all intents and purposes singlehanded as E. would only take the tiller when the ship was under tow by myself in the dingy, and resolutely maintained to the end her refusal to touch a rope.The very fullest of marks must, however, be placed to her credit for taking without a grumble the confinement in a very small boat for long periods of incessant rain, and also for the miraculous way in which she handed up the most luscious meals at the most appropriate times, and proved also to be a chart reader of no mean intelligence – a great help to me when anchoring in waters which I had never before visited, and in which I generally had my hands pretty full managing the ship.
There being no mechanical conveyance we had to walk to the boat pier where the punt awaited us, first obtaining a promise from the station hand that he would deliver out bulky luggage by 18.00.
Arriving at the pier, we found a heavy swell in the anchorage, and not wishing to put E.'s endurance to the test at such as early date, I decided that she should do the shopping while I got the ship ready for sea, and that at 18.00 we should shove off and cross to the shelter of Cumbrae Island.
Everything worked according to plan except for the arrival of the luggage. Sprinting up to the station, I found the porter gone for his tea and only the ticket clerk in charge. A wordy argument ensued, as a result of which I left the station at the double, pushing before me a large handcart piled with luggage. The course was downhill, and a more awkward craft to manage I have never come across. As our speed increased it tried manfully to sheer across the road, and in one occasion all but broached to across the bows of a car. In a very short space of time we arrived at the anchorage – a trifle out of breath and very scared. However, we had the luggage and, getting aboard at 18.30 we sailed at 18.35.
With a fresh wind we soon reached the shelter of Cumbrae, and casting around with the lead, found a comfy anchorage out of the swell some 4 cables to the south of a conspicuous house.
We turned to at 06.00 the next morning and sailed at 08.15 bound for as far as we could get. A dull day but a glorious breeze as far as Rothesay Bay, where it started to blow up a bit. The wind S.W. coming through the flat neck of land and going up Loch Striven in a hurry. E. inspected it and remarked that it was like being between an open window and the door. This remark we had cause to remember for the rest of our stay in the Clyde – the place is full of windows and doors and the draughts are simply wicked.
At Ardmaleish Point we had to reef. This, for me, was an interesting moment as I had not previously reefed her in a blow, and I was interested to see if the gear would work. It is simply a length of tungum steel wire wound round a drum, the fall leading through blocks to a single whip purchase running along the top of the cabin. It functioned perfectly and the power was, and has since, proved to be adequate. As all halliards and the reefing gear purchase are turned up in the cockpit it is simplicity itself, and one sits at the tiller – plays around with a few rope ends, and the ship is reefed – and to think that there are still people who hand out on the booms passing reef pennants.
As we beat up the East Kyle the gusts became fiercer and we had to drop the stay sail.
Neither of us had ever seen this part of the world before and we were spellbound with the scenery, which, now that the sun had come out, was indescribably lovely.
We were abreast of Colintraive Pier shortly before noon, going like a scaled cat – the ship steering as lightly as a model. In fact never during the whole cruise did I ever had to hold the tiller in anything but a light grasp.
In the narrows we got more wind still, and an 8-meter just ahead of us took a beautiful knock-down blow which set her reefing in a hurry. We poked our nose into Loch Ridden, but as the wind was blowing right up the loch, decided to find a quiet anchorage and watch the others. We were not yet hardened to this sort of sailing. Later on we would have taken it as a matter of course.
We therefore reached through the south passage and anchored in a sheltered bay just S.E. of the easternmost Red Buoy. An anchorage recommended by the Clyde Cruising Club Journal – a book which no strangers navigating these water should be without. It only let us down once – but of that more anon.
A glorious walk over Bute finished the day. 15½ rather trying miles.
The next day (Monday) we turned out at 06.00, intending it make Tarbet, but it was blowing so hard round our anchorage that we decided to stay where we were. This we found was a local joke of the place. It produced gusts fully force 6 every time we passed it or anchored in it, in later days – a very definite windy corner. However, we were not alone in our captivity, and a local motor yacht – Burnlibo, R.G.Y.C. – also spent the day with us.
In the afternoon I rowed over and inspected the vitrified fort on Buidhe Island. Very interesting, but the visit made interesting by a resentful old ram – at least, I think it was a ram. E., who doesn't like cows and was overjoyed that I had been in trouble, suggested that it was a sheep. Ram or sheep, it had big horns. The terrors of the land are far greater than those of the sea.
Mr. Watson of the Burnlibo suggested that the rocks that they used as the amalgam for cementing the forts was an aluminium ore. I don't know if this is correct, but it is truly astonishing that such an early people should have discovered this method of building.
Also watched two oyster catchers breaking mussel shells. Very interesting.
It rained spasmodically all day and although we had one attempt to get away shortly after lunch, a violent series of gusts and a torrential downpour decided me to replace the gear.
After an early dinner we had another attempt, but again a heavy downpour caused us to accept the proffered hospitality of Burnlibo and forget about sailing.
The next morning we were off early at 06.20. It was still blowing quite hard in the puffs, so under 5 rolled main and No.2 jib we beat cautiously through the narrows. Once through, the wind died away and I set the staysail and let out two rolls in the main. The hurrying clouds told their own story, and I had little doubt that we should get the wind sooner or later. In the meantime we beat on to Tignabruich in a series of puffs and calms, while a very excellent breakfast was prepared by E. and passed up to be speedily demolished. It rained intermittently with considerable vigour, but as the wind steadied down at 08.30 when off Tignabruich Pier to a decent sailing breeze, in between the gusts we forgave the rain.
Once round Rugha Dubh Point we squared away on a broad reach for Ardlamont Point, the ship travelling very fast and achieving her so far best speed of 6½ miles in 1 hour 10 minutes when Ardlamont Buoy was a bean at 09.40. Bright spells of sunshine now interspersed between driving rain squalls from the N.W.
At Ardlamont Buoy we ran into a foul sea, and the little ship, despite her high freeboard, was poking her bowsprit into the wavetops – although she never took anything but a little spray on to the foredeck.
Close-hauled, she bounced her way out to windward, but the sea created by the wind running at right angles to the swell coming up Kilbrennan Sound made the motion anything by pleasant.
Ardlamont is a poor part of the world for a sailing vessel, as a shelf carrying only some 20 fathoms runs out for two miles from the point, at which spot it drops to 80 fathoms. A S.W. Swell meeting this ledge soon loses its wavelength, producing chaotic conditions. With an engine to help us over the tops of the waves, it might have been worth settling down to the 6 mile plug to windward for East Loch Tarbert. Without one it was definitely not, and so after we had made about 1 mile out into the sound, we put about – the ship spinning round like a top when instructed – and ran back to Blindman's Bay, where we anchored with bower and kedge in 2 fathoms as instructed by the CCC handbook, intending to go for a walk in the afternoon.
However, after lunch the wind drew more northerly, and as the barometer was rising quite steeply, I decided to clear out before the wind got around to N.E. and put us on a lee shore. Accordingly I weighed bower and kedge and in a moderate to strong breeze beat back to Tignabruich, anchoring off Smith Bros.' Eastern Boat Yard. Here we found a good berth in 1 fathom – a spot not mentioned in the C.C.C. Handbook, which recommends a more westerly berth. As, however, I was anxious to get Smith's to have a look at the beading along the lower edge of the fore end of the cabin which was leaking very badly, I chose this berth for convenience.
Smith's man came aboard and for a very modest price put down the lead flashing with which I had previously provided myself. I believe this to be the only way in which to stop this type of leak forever.
Soon after arriving, we were astonished to find Mr. Ginders of Manchester rowing about in a dingy with a recently exploded primus stove. Hauled him aboard for tea, and discovered that he had just come North with a 10-tonner, Memory. Fair winds all the way. Why doesn't that ever happen to me? He expressed great surprise at our high standard of comfort and the airiness of the saloon for so small a ship, and vowed her to be more comfortable for two than his own temporary home.
Ashore for dinner at the Royal Hotel – good, comparatively cheap, and used to yachting guests. Wind easing as we returned aboard – it really looks as if we shall have good weather tomorrow. 14½ rather ineffectual miles.
My surmise was right and the morrow's morn was cloudless – it also happened to be windless, but we felt that this was a matter which time would right. Tested the mend in the foredeck before breakfast by water trial, and found it still leaking around boltholes of the iron gallows which carries the blocks for leading the halliards aft to the cockpit.
Made messy mixture of bacon fat and varnish and worked spunyard grommits soaked in this mixture around heads and washers of bolts. Leak cured apparently.
Meanwhile E. completed exhaustive shopping expedition.
Sailed at 10.30 to a light very northerly air, hitting myself hard across the back of my left hand in the process – with what I can not say, but hand very painful and swelling across the back – can only use the beastly thing as a claw. Very awkward because going down Kerry Kyle the wind started playing tricks, shifting from N.E. to N.W. and back again. As I had set the Genoa to help us along this necessitated tacking the big sail three times in an hour and was not considered a good joke.
Finally wind left us halfway down the Kyle and we slammed about for an hour until at 12.30 we picked up a decent S.W. breeze and got sailing again on the starboard tack, just laying Inchmarnock Sound. Unfortunately the wind took another rest at 13.05 and we had another bout of slamming. Very hot under cloudless hazy sky – temper getting frayed and poor E. collected raspberry for being indecently cheerful. Bitterly ashamed of myself, and was generously forgiven after decent interval. A calm and oily swell always plays the devil with my temper provided I have to remain at the helm. Believe it or not, the most trying part of singlehandedness is not being able to leave the ship when no wind to sail properly for long periods.
Breeze came again just as I was getting deperate, and we just scraped around Ardlamont Point on port tack at 15.02 and eased sheets for Skate Island.
Barometer falling after rising all the forenoon – should bring S.W. or W. wind, but at 15.30 we were becalmed again while a smart black cutter flying R.C.C. Burgee passes to what was windward of us with a gentle breeze and we have none. Wind came west and we could only just lay Skate Island. It soon freshened, and I had to get Genoa down and set No.1 jib. To do this I let the ship make a bit of westing on the other tack while I played with the sails. Put about as soon as the ship under all plain sail, and just scraped through Skate Island Sound with about 4 yards to spare. Altered course to pass up land making for Otter Spit. Fine breeze and magnificent cloud effects on mountains. Sky now looks dirty – but as we are making for sheltered waters do not care. Had a fast reach up to Otter Spit, which we managed to round against the ebb at 19.30, the wind dead astern. Ran over the tide to entrance to Loch Gair, which we entered and anchored in 3 fathoms mud at 20.45.
24½ miles in a very tiring 10 hours 15 minutes.
Awoke the next morning to find it blowing a moderate southerly gale. Hand still sore and raining in torrents. Evidently tacks in lead sheathing not closely enough spaced and persistent rain has allowed water to seep through. Out blankets all soaked right through to the sleeping bags. What a picnic!
Sailed at 11.20 for Inverary, 5 rolls in main and No.2 jib. Blowing very hard,. Had to beat out of loch greatly assisted by a nautical looking gentleman on south side, who intelligently indicated when to go about and when to stand on. A rather important point, as with the ship travelling very fast and a number of shoal spits on each side, his local knowledge was invaluable and intelligently transmitted.
We were soon clear of the entrance and rolling along up Loch Fyne on a broad reach at great speed. Unfortunately, the dingy took a dollop over the stern as we squared away and was towing very badly. With only one good hand I did not relish the job of heaving too and bailing out, so carried on and hoped for the best. Minard narrows were passed at 12.10 and we left the worst of the sea behind us. From there on the wind gradually eased as we got further into the land – not so the rain, which fell persistently and without mercy. Morale restored by excellent stew manufactured by E.
At 14.30 off Kenmuir unrolled main and set staysail and at 15.20 secured kedge to N.E. Of Inverary Pier. The ship crowned all previous efforts at docility by running dead before the wind with tiller pegged for ten minutes while I got the kedge over the side. I should have like to see for how much longer she would have gone, but Inverary pier intervening, I had to take her in hand myself.
Had a frightful tussle getting the main sail down. Cannot understand it. I was just about all in by the time the gaff reached the boom.
Still raining hard. Ship soaked inside and out. Went ashore in rain to run some friends to earth who we hope might dry us out. Find they are moving house to-day, so turn cowards and install ourselves in Argyll hotel. Still raining when we turn in. Fifteen fast miles in 4 hours.
Hotel is good but expensive and obviously caters mainly for motoring traffic. If we had not been able to inquire for friends of impeccable character, and well known in the neighbourhood, I rather fancy we should have been told that they had no rooms available.
It was still raining when we woke but our morale better than the night before. Extensive shopping expedition at ruinous cost to exchequer. One small enamel jug for half a crown. Yachtsmen, beware of shopping in Inverary!
I bought another oilskin coat and leggings here as my own coat, which had stood the sea for five years, can make nothing of this rain.
Sailed in the rain and light fluky S.E. wind at 11.45. It continued raining for the remainder of the day, and we beat slowly and spasmodically down the loch. Again a frightful job to hoist mainsail. But cause discovered in that the ash blocks had swollen so much that the cheeks have jammed the sheaves. Luff ropes of the sails have shrunk abominably and the headsails are wrinkled like the face of an old crone. The varnish on the cockpit teakwork is a livid bluish pink. She looks like a death ship.
Anchored at 17.03 in Newton Bay as wind obviously going to die and we must get fire going and ship dry below before nightfall. Seven very wet miles in 6 hours 18 minutes.
By 22.00 we had succeeded in drying 6 blankets, 2 sleeping bags, two pairs trousers, 1 duffle coat, 1 vest, 2 caps, 1 tea towel, 1 towel, and an assortment of feminine apparel. Good old coal stove – can always be relied on to pay for its first cost at least once every season. Rigged oilskin tens over foot of bunks for the night.
E. logged for extremely sporting way she is taking all this.
Not a breath of wind and still raining when we turned to at 06.00 next day.
08.30. Glory be – the rain has stopped. 54½ hours continuous rainfall. Of course, it soon came back again, but it was nice to be reminded that there were times when the rain did not fall. Hand now completely recovered and in good working order – it needs to be, too, as the mainsail is a devil to hoist.
We hoisted sail at 08.45 to a light catspaw of air but did not good until 09.30 when the wind came out S.W., force 2.
At 11.30 we were in the south passage of Minard Narrows, and the wind started playing the fool again. Sudden gusts tore down the mountains to port. E. says it must be a healthy spot as you get mountain air at sea level. Healthy be damned! The air takes too little time in coming down. Tried to put off reefing, as I know it is only because we are in a windy corner again. However at 11.45 gave in, as I cannot abide sailing with the luffs of the sail lifting – it is so slovenly. Had just finished when we ran out of it into complete calm and had to replace everything. Fortunately we were not imprisoned for long, and after half an hour we were sailing again to a freshening S.W. Wind. Anchored in the same berth in Loch Gair at 13.50. Eight miles in 5 hours 15 minutes.
It started raining again at 13.00 but we must get some exercise, rain or no rain. It is now 4 days since we had a walk.
Returned aboard very wet but feeling better. At 17.45 still raining and continued to do so until we forgot all about it in sleep.
However at 06.00 the next morning it was not raining, but hardly the sort of day one would got for a walk without a mackintosh.
Sailed to light catspaws principally from the south at 08.15, but it took 55 minutes to clear the ½ mile to the entrance to the loch. In the next 65 minutes we made good about 3 cables, so in desperation and for fear of missing our tide at Otter Spit, I started towing in the dingy.
After half an hour of this useful if distasteful exercise,a light wind came from the W.S.W, and having hurriedly scrambled aboard, I got the ship sailing again.
At 12.00 we just had Otter Spit abeam and I set the Genoa hoping to be able to lay down lower Loch Fyne. But we were out of luck, and as we slowly opened up the loch the wind came more southerly – more beating in light winds, force 1-2.
Outlook not improved by obvious rain coming up from the south. it soon came down on us, and it was so thick that in the middle of the loch we could see no sign of land.
It was, however, only another prolonged shower, and as it passed the wind freshened, and I had to get the Genoa in and set the No.1 jib. Later on it fell off again and backed slightly to the east of south. There was a short lop on the sea and in order to keep her moving I got the Genoa up again. It had hardly been set for quarter of an hour when the wind piped up again and down the Genoa had to come.
In explanation of this hectic sail drill, I find it very difficult to decide except by trial whether the big sail will be an advantage or not. Having only one part sheet and as the ship must be left to look after herself while it is taken in, I am forced by my singlehandedness to hand it rather earlier than I should do if I had a crew, as I cannot in all reason expect the ship to give herself a luff just when required. With the big sail in light weather the ship points about half a point further off the wind than when under No.1 jib. However, in certain conditions of sea, i.e. a short lop and dying wind, she is taken through the water very much better under the big sail and with much more steadiness in the ship. I change my opinion from day to day, but think on balance that if the ship speed falls below 1 knot, close hauling the big jib is worth the trouble of setting, and that so long as she can keep moving under the working sails she gets to windward better.
At 19.5 we passed the outer heads of East Loch Tarbet, the rain having stopped for the time being. Previously we had met a ship which from the lines of her hull I think to have been the original Blue Dragon, so well known to readers of Mr. Lynam's famous book. If it were, it is poetic justice that I should meet her on my first cruise in my own designed ship in Scottish waters, for it was her exploits as detailed in the log of the Blue Dragon that first started the sailing canker. How such a book should have found its way into the library of a midland county preparatory school I do not know – but it had done so – and vows then made to sail my own ship in Scotland had to wait 20 years for fruition.
Taking the south passage into the Loch, we were becalmed just past the perch, and the dingy once more had to go ahead and tow the ship to a berth off Dickie's Yard, where we anchored in 5 fathoms at 19.35. 13¾ miles in 11 hours 20 minutes.
The next day was magnificent – brilliant sunshine and moderate westerly wind. Turned out at 06.00 and rowed over to inspect a small green brigantine about 34 ft L.W.L. The Mary Fortune, as she was called, is a real brigantine. Square yards on the foremast and for and aft mainsail. I gathered that she set three headsails but presume that the sail on the forestay would only be rarely used as it would be blanketed by the fore course. I had a good look round, and cannot say that I approved the rig, though it might had sent Cariad's and Saoirse's owners into raptures. To me, it looks a horribly expensive way of obtaining a sail area, but, thank Heaven, we do not all like the same sort of ship or the anchorages would be dull affairs indeed. I am in no position to throw stones with my own unusual packet.
Ashore shopping after breakfast and invested in 2 pairs of dark glasses. I find these long watches, often ten hours a day, very trying on the eyes when beating in light shifting winds when the burgee has to be watched for the slightest sign of freeing wind. Ordinary sailing in these lochs is as exacting on the helmsman as a hotley contested race – that is, if you want to get anywhere.
Sailed at 09.40, No.1 jib and full main. Set staysail as soon as clear of the Loch. Caused quite a sensation amongst longshoremen by coiling down warp on foredeck while the ship ran out of the Loch, steering herself.
Found a grand S.W. Breeze outside – even if a bit puffy under the West shore. As, however, we drew away from the land, just laying Skate Island on the starboard tack, the wind settled down to a steady force 3, the first time for eight days that one could forget the burgee or not have to keep an eye to windward looking for squalls. Brilliant blue sea sparkling beneath as blue a sky across which numbers of baby cumulus clouds were drifting. Real sailing with just that pleasant crackling kiss under the bow that tells you that the miles are slipping away astern.
Skate Island was very close abeam at 10.55 and Ardlamont Buoy 1 hour and 5 minutes later; the last quarter of an hour being a small bit carved right out from the centre of the yachtsman's heaven that we all hope to cruise in some day. A slightly veering wind put us just off the point where the ship was close-hauled and, as it notched itself up one point on the Beaufort scale, the ship snuggled her lee side down into the creaming bubbles streaming aft from the bow wave and really left the land behind while the masthead with long even strokes was cutting great arcs from the sky.
We gybed round Ardlamont Buoy and, with a fair wind up the Kyle, had Tignabruich Pier abeam at 13/15. her we found the black cutter which we had seen flying the R.C.C. burgee at anchor in Blackfarland Bay. Sailed over and spoke her. She was the Nova. Though the owner will forgive me, no doubt, if I say that she does not live up to her name except for the freshness which is always apparent in a well kept ship. A straight-stemmed schooner of the old school, with long, slender topmast and spars to match, she seemed to us a real picture of a ship. What is more, she had such obvious character. Contrast her with the modern cheerless monstrosities that carry their heads as high as their heels and middles.
The wind having been extremely kind to us in giving us a fair wind up the Kyle to Tignabruich, followed us round the right-angle corner at the top, and we had the Black Buoy off the Burnt Isles S. passage abeam at 13.45. Here, however, the wind decided that we had had altogether enough fun for one day, and as we entered the narrows the sails one by one were taken aback and we found ourselves beating against the strong tide. Fortunately, this windy corner was living up to its name and it soon produced enough wind to stem a torrent.
We found Burnlibo at anchor in her previous berth and tacked close alongside, so close, that Miss Watson, doubting possibly either my own ability or the ability of the ship to turn on her heel, made a hurried dive for the dingy. It was, however, necessary to go very close as the wind made shouting the order of the day even at so close a range. The ship did not let herself down.
I had hoped that the wind would ease once we had passed Colintraive, but it did just the opposite, and once more in open waters I had to reef her two rolls of the main at 14.30. But the wind was not satisfied so I dropped the staysail at 14.45, and finally ended up at 15.55 when opening up Loch Striven by being forced to take in another 2 rolls.
Crossing Rothesay Bay we got a real dusting. The wind was so strong that it blew away the contents of the tea which E. had considerately made for me completely out of the cup as I lifted it to my mouth. Disconsolately I lit a cigarette, only to have it bent by the first squall that came along. I had had to keep the mainsheet in hand all the way from Colintraive, letting it run whenever she was knocked down, and gathering it in again as soon as the squall had swept by in order to get her moving ready for the next one. The sky had clouded over now and the seas, which had been sparkling and young in the morning were now old. Their dark olive-green backs streaked with long lines of startlingly white spindrift.
Our only comfort was the knowledge that ahead in the Clyde there appeared to be far less wind.
At 16.55 we had Toward Point abeam to port and eased the sheets for the run up the Clyde. The strong wind against the Clyde ebb had, however, put up a steep following sea – so short that as some of the larger ones picked up our stern the bowsprit would gently stroke the back of the one that had passed. The wind, although no little more than force 5, was stronger than it had appeared from the blowy waters off Rothesay, but even though the motion was trying for E., I decided to carry on rather than beat back whence we had come, as at the pace we were travelling we could run the 6 miles to Cloch Point in less time than it would take to beat back the one and a half odd miles to Port Bannatyne.
Even though feeling affected by the violent motion, E. had the courage to put the beef in the oven – not forgetting to run salt into it, either. Full marks given to the lady concerned.
At 18.05 we had Cloch light abeam – the ship having travelled magnificently in just the sort of weather in which I had thought she might loose some marks for pulling hard on the helm. Once round Cloch Point we lost both the sea and the wind, and I gave her the full main and re-set the staysail.
At 19.05 Gourock Pier was close abeam and in a failing wind course was altered for Roseneath Point, where at 20.45 we were belcalmed so that once again the dingy had to act auxiliary, and we towed into Roseneath Bay, anchoring about 1 cable from the shore off Roseneath Castle in 2½ fathoms course shingle over clay. 36 miles in 11 hours 35 minutes.
The roast beef that night was very, very good. After dinner, as it was the first time that the forward deck had been really dry at anchor since leaving Tignabruich a week before, I got a coat of varnish over the lead sheathing, letting it run well down behind any little gaps between the lead and the teak.
We had a lie in the next day, not turning out until 07.00. Not encouraged to do so then as it was raining. However, by the time we sailed at 09.58 it had cleared, although it was still overcast, and we had a pleasant little W.S.W. wind to carry us through the narrows. Here we found many yachts to look at in the Gare Loch, and as that was our main reason for being there, we sailed through Silver's anchorage on to Clynder and then crossed to Shandon.
I was, I must admit, a little disappointed to see so many full-power motor cruisers in comparison with small cruising yachts. As a matter of fact, we think this applicable to the Clyde as a whole. Considering the magnificent cruising ground available to the young men of Glasgow, I think the use they make of the facilities on their doorstep very poor. I would also – taking my courage in both hands – say that the standard of sailing on an average is below that of the south Coast. Why it should be I cannot tell, but I am sure that we say more tight topping lifts – burgees left up all week or not set up taut when under weigh – lines over the side, etc., in a fortnight than one would see in the Crouch in a month. I may be maligning the Clyde yachtsman as a whole, but it was a very definite impression remarked on not only by myself, but by E. as well, whom I had not expected to have detected it.
After Shandon we went on to Garelochhead and tried to anchor as directed by the C.C.C., who advised us to find a 5 fathom patch to the south of the pier. Cast around with the lead, but got nothing less than 9 until, finally thinking they must be wrong about the rider added by them “well off shore,” I closed the land, but did not get 5 until so close to the shore that before I could put her about her heel touched and the onshore wind held us there. Hastily took out the kedge and 30 fathoms warp and were off again inside five minutes and stood along to the north of the pier. Here we found our patch and in its position. i.e. well off shore, so anchored about 1½ cables N.E. of the pier.
Had a shopping party and retuned aboard for lunch. We had had it in mind to lie here for the afternoon and go for a walk, but after lunch it showed such vigorous signs of blowing up that we decided to clear out while the going was good, as the S.W. Wind was piling up quite a chop.
Under weigh again with No.2 jib as a precaution (soon justified), full main and the staysail at 14.25.
Dropped the staysail for a squall at 14.45. Reefed main three rolls at 15.00, turned in two more rolls at 15.15 and finished up under gale canvas. Squalls not of long duration but of incredible venom. Just won't let the ship get up when they hit her and give little indication of their approach on the water to windward. Wind in the squalls seems to hit the water at about 30ยบ and spreads out in a fan. If the centre of the fan is ahead of you, then you get the wind lifting the luff of the sails. If astern of you, then you get knocked down flat.
Fortunately, this exhibition did not last for long, and at 16.00 I was able to log “Wind easing.”
Anchored to N.W. of Silver's Yard in 1 fathom clay. 10 fathoms warp out at 16.55. 8 ½ miles for the two sails in a total of 4 hours 17 minutes. Our boat-gazing in the morning would account, of course, for at least another 3 miles and our beat back relatively slow owing to persistent sail drill.
Went ashore as soon as the ship was made up and saw Mr. Bain of Silver's re wintering and engine repairs. Returned aboard again and fetched off E. and went for a walk. Sun had come out now and wind died. Very pleasant indeed.
After dinner gave lead another coat of varnish and double-banked the copper tacks with some I had aboard. This cured leak once and for all.
Turned to at 05.30 the next morning as it appears that the forenoon is the best time for sailing just at present – it gets too squally for fun later on. However, this day was the exception, and there was not a breath of wind then. So had breakfast before getting under weigh but still no wind. Finally sailed - all plain sail to infinitesimal wind at 08.35. Had little hope of doing anything, but better than sitting still. Owing to there being no wind at 05.30 we missed our tide through narrows, and now shall have to stem the flood. Sailed slowly over and looked at it, but after seeing the rate of the stream, gave it up and sailed over the Clynder for stores. Anchoring off the hotel in 5 fathoms at 09.45. Distance ¾ mile.
Shopped and did one or two odd jobs aboard and then,at 10.45, decided to try again to see if tide slackened at all towards full flood. It didn't – but there was a little more wind, and with great attention to the sailing and by finding a weaker stream on the Rhu side, we managed to get our bowsprit level with the beacon at 11.50. At 12.00 we had the beacon abreast the shrouds and by luffing her occasionally I could just get a little kick to windward from the tide, which stopped us drifting broadside on to the beacon itself. At 12.01 the local ferry, apparently tired of our presence on the scenery, offered to pluck us into the slack water of Roseneath Bay, only a cable ahead. To my cautious query as to “How much?” I received the answer, “Och, it will cost you nothing.” Needless to say, he did not go unrewarded, but I would like to take this opportunity of saying how charming and helpful we found the inhabitants of these parts - the farms at which we called for milk. The little stores that served our wants, and the seafaring folk we met. Only at Inverary were we overcharged. I fear motorists must be very fair game – they certainly have spoiled the shopkeepers of that particular town.
The wind held about force 1, veering to W. as we opened up the Clyde, so that we had to beat along past Gourock. However, as we neered Loch Long the wind backed until at 15.00 when off Kilgreggan we could just lay Strone Point. It was a gorgeous day with a slightly increasing wind and, for once, we could lay the course.
Sailed over to Hunter's quay and had a look at one of two metre boats lying there, and then went in to Holy Loch where we lost the wind for a time until it came out fresh from the west, giving us a short but pleasant beat to Sandbanks, where we anchored off Morris & Lorrimer's yard in 5 fathoms mud at 16.07. Distance for day 9¾ miles, some of them very slow.
I had just got the ship made up when a fine white cutter came in flying the R.C.C. Burgee. Exchanged salutes by hand and, after what I hope was a decent interval, rowed over to call. Found her to be Bittern with Messrs, Worth and Handley aboard, four days out from the Helford River.
Returned aboard and took E. off for walk and to send telegrams. After dinner the Bitterns came over for coffee. Usual but ever interesting discussion about ships and gear.
Turned to the next morning at a rather late hour for us, 07.00. A grand morning but plenty of wind about. Though, as usual, we seem to have chosen a windy corner, for although later on our burgee and ensign were streaming out from the mast, the bunting on the ships further to the went was hardly astir.
At 08.00 only Bittern and Robinetta took any notice of the fact that it is usual to hoist one's colours at this hour. The two R.C.C. Burgees reached the masthead within half a minute of each other. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before the next ship took any notice – that is, if one excepts the very smart looking yacht that had worn hers all night. The last burgee was not mastheaded until after 09.00. That ship had at least two paid hands.
I went ashore at 08.45 to telegraph my father as to where to pick up, and did some shopping, returning aboard at 09.30. Sailed at 09.55, No.2 jib, staysail, and 3 rolled main, Squall rig for negotiating Loch Long. Ship astonished a number of paid hands by sailing through the anchorage while I cleaned up.
Twenty five minutes later we had Strone Point abeam and were wondering if we were being over-cautious in our reduced sail area. However, we decided to let it stay as we were making very good way through the water with the wind on our port quarter even though it was a trifle variable in force.
Just as well we left the reefs in, as when some two miles short of Finart old Aeolus produced a number of magnificent hiccoughs, nearly lifting the ship clean out of the water. The attack passed off fairly soon, and after we had Finart House abeam at 11.20 the wind eased and we were becalmed at times.
The scenery from Strone Point to the northwards is absolutely magnificent and quite unsurpasses anything I had previously imagined to be available in the British Isles. Well worth the nervous strain of sailing in waters where a whistling squall may be lurking up any gulley in the mountain ramparts.
At midday we were sailing in two winds at once – one from the south giving us a run up Loch Long, and the other coming westerly out of Loch Goil. Sometimes we sailed in one and sometimes in the other. The transitory periods being awkward to deal with.
As we entered Loch Goil we had a number of hard squalls and were very thankful for our reefs.
At 12.30 we anchored to the kedge in Swines Hole in 2 ½ fathoms mud with 20 fathoms warp out. As, however, it was blowing so hard in the squalls I rowed over and inspected a large mooring buoy – a rather strange object to find in this out-of-the-way place – and having decided it was all right, I shifted over and secured to it. 9 ¾ miles in 2 hours 35 minutes.
Had a glorious walk in the afternoon and returned aboard at 17.05, Sailed 7 minutes later (my best time so far for getting away from a harbour stow). Full main, staysail, and No 2 jib. Wind had eased a great deal since 15.00. It is now a glorious evening.
Anchored at 18.45 with kedge in 5 fathoms off Portincaple. Distance 1½ miles. Wind almost dying away.
Another good climb up to Railway Station in Whistlefield after dinner. This is a lovely spot, but anchorage a bit open to south and west in winds of any strength.
Turned in at 22.00.
The next day, Friday, we turned out at 06.00 and, after a hurried breakfast, disembarked E., who was really sorry to leave, and escorted her to the station. Rushed back aboard and hoisted colours two minutes late. Cleaned up, and at 08.50 went ashore again to shop and meet my father, who duly arrived after an adventurous trip owing to miscalculation of time taken to walk across Glasgow, and refraining from changing trains at the proper stations. How he arrived at all is a bit of a mystery, but he managed to get the train held up by a sympathetic guard and the use of the telephone while he retraced his steps to the proper junction.
Portincaple to Rosneath
Embarked Dad at 09.52 and got underweigh all plain sail at 10.15. Gloriously sunny day, warm as well – but only the faintest catspaws of wind. By noon we had hardly made 1½ miles, and during the last hour only some 3 cables. However, at 12.20 we picked up a light S.E. air which, as we got down to Strone Point, drew more easterly. At 13.40 I set the Genoa, and at 13.55 had Strone Point abeam, the wind increasing all the time and now backing to the north of east, giving us a broad reach. Gantock light abeam at 14.30, Knockamillie Pier at 15.15, and Toward Point at 15.40 proved us to be slipping along at about 5 knots – a grand sail, but the sky was now overcast and the air cold. At 15.50 we gybed, and altered course up to the East Kyle, bound for the Burnt Isles, my father having expressed a wish to visit the Kyles of Bute. The wind, as usual, treated us to a good blow up the Kyle, increasing rapidly as we entered, so that at 16.05 I handed the Genoa and set the No 1 jib. Ardine Point abeam at 16.21 and Ardmaleish at 16.35 have a speed of 6¼ knots. We anchored 50 minutes later in our previous berth to the south of the Burnt Isles, but rather nearer the Bute shore at 17.25. It was then blowing extremely hard, so I let go the bower anchor and 6 fathoms chain veering to 16 fathoms on the warp.We were in need of paraffin, and I had a rather hectic journey in the punt to Colintraive, but as I was very fit by that time I rather enjoyed the trip. Returned aboard and after dinner we walked round the Buttock of Bute, returning at 21.50. The wind still doing its best to blow us on the beach, and bitterly cold.
After we had turned in the wind suddenly dropped. It was quite uncanny to “hear” the sudden silence broken only by the slop of the waves, then suddenly the wind came with renewed energy and pandemonium broke loose again.
Distance for day 23½ miles in 7 hours 10 minutes.
During the night I was aware from time to time of the booming gusts, but at 02.50 one passed over, to which all the others had been babies. Accordingly, I dressed myselt and had a good tour round the ship looking for chafe and trying with fortunate success to pick out my anchor bearings. Finally, as everything seemed all right, I veered another 5 fathoms on both cables to make quite sure and turned in again.
Turned to at 07.00 to find things much as we had left them, except that somehow she had managed to take three round turns in the cables. Dull, overcast and very cold.
Sailed at 09.15, 3 rolls in main, and No. 2 jib. Beat down East Kyle – one very long leg and one very short one. Once past Ardmaleish Point and as we opened up Loch Striven the wind increased and we were for a time rather over-pressed. However, as we could then ease the sheets a little we let her drive. We had Toward Light abeam at 11.25, and with an easing and backing wind, commenced to beat up the Clyde. At 11.30 I set the staysail, but the wind eased off still more as we approached Skalmorlie Bank, and I gave her the full mainsail at 12.15 and the No 1 jib at 12.45.
The wind was still playing about between north and N.N.E., but the clouds were coming up from the south. Unfortunately, they did not bring a fair wind – they merely killed the north wind and progress was very slow.
At 15.30 we tacked in Dunoon Bay, but it was not until 17.15 that we had Cloch Light abeam. The wind was dying, and what there was had not drawn easterly out of the Clyde, giving us another beat to Roseneath. The tide had turned against us at 16.30 and we were making very little over the land. I had hoped to have been able to lay the course once round the Cloch, but as I could not, I thought it better to stand on to the northward until abreast of Strone Point. Unfortunately, the wind eased off still further and we could then barely stem the tide. Anxiously we watched two flagpoles on the Dunoon shore. Sometimes we had them in transit, sometimes they opened – the wrong way. Then, finally, they opened badly. The tide was setting us down on to the Gantock Rocks. We had to run her off and pass inshore of them, gybing the ship and letting her come off-shore on the other tack. Net result, we are at 18.00 exactly where we were at 15.30.
Stood across to the Cloch side and commenced working up the shore in short tacks, and finally had Cloch Light abeam again at 20.56. It was bitterly cold, and all afternoon I was wearing two sweaters – a reefer, a duffle coat, and an oilskin.
The wind was still very light from between N.E. And E.N.E., but as there was now nothing like the number of puffers about, the sea was much quieter and we could get somewhere – even if slowly.
At 22.00 off Strone Point it started to rain and I put on a second oilskin. Contrary to expectation, a little breeze came with the rain and, with the tide turning, we could now make good a course for Gourock Pier, which we had abeam at 23.30. I stood over to the north and passed Roseneath patch by the north channel as I wanted to keep out of the traffic.
Still raining at midnight, and I find in the deck log a very rain smudged note. “00.01. The thirteenth always was my unlucky day.” I fear I must have been feeling a bit miserable.
However, the wind bucked up a bit and drew more to the south of east, and I found myself able to lay Craigendoran Pier. I stood on until I had opened up the Beacon on the Narrow's Spit and then let the ship run off for Roseneath Bay. The ship obligingly keeping her course while I got the mainsail and staysail down. Continuing under jib, I rounded Roseneath Point, and with the lead going came to with the kedge in 2½ fathoms off Roseneath Castle at 02.15. Just 17 hours out from the Burnt Isles. Distance 21 miles.
Made up the ship with the riding light secured to the topping lift, while the stew was warming up, and then down below to eat my food in my bunk – a great luxury – and as dad was far too fast asleep to see me, I forebore to wash-up and got my head down at 03.00 exactly.
And so the last sail of Robinetta's short season was in much the same sort of weather as she started out on her first. Rain and pitch dark with an easterly wind.
Turned to at 07.00 and cleaned up the ship. Not a breath of wind, the sky overcast, but very much warmer.
Hoisted all plain sail to dry at 09.10, and as there was no wind, towed the ship round to Silver's, where we moored with 20 fathoms on each leg and 2 fathoms upright at 11.20. Distance 1 mile.
Left the ship in the care of Silver's at 14.30, and took the ferry across to Rhu and a 'bus into Glasgow, where we caught the train south.
Every cruise has always seemed to me to be better than the last and this was no exception. This year we found finer scenary than we had expected, and there was an almost complete lack of incidents. We kept without an engine our timetable which had been prepared allowing for one, and we saw everything that we had intended to – except when the rain blotted it out.
I left her up there because to bring her home without an engine I should have allowed myself four days, and I did not wish to cut my holiday by this amount. Added to this, had I brought her home I should have been without an engine for a month at least – and as any cruiser is useless at Hilbre without one, I should not have been able to use her until the middle of July, when I have to be away for a fortnight. By giving up a possible five week-ends, I have ensured the ship being in the right place to start next season's cruise and as E. demands another W.Coast cruise next year I feel that I have done the best, hard though it is not to have her under my eye.
One week after I left her, two of Pearl's old crew – one of them the lady whose name she bears – joined her for their honeymoon. I hope the experience of being a honeymoon ship brings her luck. So far in her young life she has shown herself remarkably successful in keeping out of tight corners.
1938
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These days Robinetta is 20' on the waterline and draws 4'6". We think Nigel Heriot added a lot of lead ballast to stiffen her.
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