I can take a hint

Out into Loch Fyne from the Kerry Kyle (West Kyle for sassenachs)and full genoa seemed a good idea to make some progress against the force four gusting five south westerly which was kicking up a steep chop against the last of the ebb. For a few minutes progress was good but a sharp crack followed by a flogging genoa indicated that good progress had just ceased. The starboard genoa track had let go some eight out of twelve screws securing it to the gunwhale and part of the track now faced upwards at an angle of 45 degrees.
It was a cracking sailing day following a balmy autumn afternoon the previous day but I can take a hint, the boat has been in the water for nearly twelve months and it is time to strip the gear, head for the hoist and spend a few months ashore.
Out to the south as I plugged into the chop with mainsail and engine the airwaves were alive with a multitude of voices on channel 16. Authoritative American voices announced portentously that US warship zero one six was leaving Faslane and anyone in its way would be exterminated. Polished upper crust tones asked politely if the unnamed warship whose AI could not be clearly read could please tell them where it was going to and where it had come from, sir. Efficient polite Canadian women asked Caledonian Isles to join them on channel twelve. Across this a more urgent American commanded that this was his last warning....I waited for the bang but none came so I guess he complied. A Scottish yottie demanded a change of course, "Veer away pleeeease!" He got his way from warship two six eight.
I wondered who won the war as I nipped between two Canadian vessels in the Clyde channel and entered the Tann, moorings had been lifted at Millport and most yachts were ashore. It's traditional to end the season on 30th September but no longer necessary, especially for plastic craft, but Crunluath isn't bomb proof glass fibre and she needs attention, a proper coat of varnish, some glossy paint and a lot of tlc.
War games had seemed a long way off the previous night as I rowed ashore to see the last of the evening light at Caladh Harbour. (photo above) This little gem of an anchorage is usually full by the time I reach the north end of the Kyles of Bute but only a pretty little Victoria 26 shared it with me that night. I'll be back there in the spring when the trees and shrubs are full of chiff-chaffs and willow warblers setting up territories and red squirrels bounce across the lawns to the bird feeders in the loch side cottages.
For now it's on with the overalls, out with the ladders and roll out the sandpaper, it's time to get a boat fit to be seen out in good company and sound enough to brave the Mull.

Busy doing nothing....

....nothing the whole day long.
Well not quite nothing but very little. I had a long slog to windward trying to reach Lamlash harbour, a very sheltered anchorage or mooring on the east coast of Arran. Its great depth and sheltered nature, closed to the west by Arran itself and sheltered from the east by the mass of Holy island (photo above), made it a hideaway during wartime for valuable ships. Eventually I resorted to mechanical power, stowed the sails and slogged to windward sheltered under the hood whilst "George" steered the boat, George being a Simrad 2000 Tiller Pilot.
On reaching Lamlash and picking up a mooring off Arran Yacht Club I settled down for a windy wet night. The following morning I paid my mooring dues to a friendly chap with an english accent and a Penrith Mountain Rescue jacket and headed ashore in the dinghy, a bouncy wet ride. I didn't improve matters by missing my step ashore and plunging an unwellied foot into six inches of water. I squelched to the Coop and post office and dried out somewhat before looking into my favourite bookshop, a combined yacht chandler, fishing supplies and bookshop, a lethal combination for the wallet.
I came out with a pristine copy of 12 Ships a Sailing by Jim Andrews, a man who knows his west of Scotland. With this, a couple of Arran beers and a copy of The Scotsman I repaired to the dinghy. "Mind how you go, keep that bow up" said another english accented local. Wise advice, it was a lumpy trip back to the boat and shortly afterwards the rain began in earnest. The wind also joined in the act and the forecast force seven soon made itself felt for the rest of the day and most of the night. Crunluath even dragged her mooring as far as the next buoy in the line, bouncing noisily alongside just to add to the cacophony outside.
Waking early the following morning I resolved to head back before the next forecast band of rain arrived and I slipped the mooring just before 8am taking the precaution of putting both reefs in the mainsail and unfurling only a handkerchief sized genoa.
It was a good deal quicker on the way home but tiring with the force five to six south-westerly dead astern and a need to steer almost every yard of the way. There were one or two "interesting" moments and some involuntary gybes. I pondered on the fact that there is a thin line between exhilaration and terror.
I found a few quieter moments to make a few videos and patched them together on my return. Click here for a two minute film.

Sailing again-mast still upright

There were a few anxious moments as I unfurled the genoa,hardened up the main and headed towards the Cumbrae shore but a few tacks down channel eased the worries as I realised that my new forestay fitting was holding.
A new forestay bracket had been made from some 3mm stainless steel angle and below decks further pieces of the same angle were located athwartships under the beam shelves, passing through 50mm square oak and secured to the fitting with four lengths of 10mm stainless steel rod. lock nutted in place. It should hold for the rest of the season when I may make the structure more permanent or replace it with a different system.
Sailing off Keppel Pier on Great Cumbrae Island I was able to photograph another Honeybee Jane, an east German built boat dating from 1965 like Crunluath but looking quite different above the sheerline with a more curved coachroof and cabin windows. (see picture above) These boats would be difficult to tell apart from a Twister, I wondered if they were designed to look like Twisters, perhaps as a marketing ploy?
I continued south and made a circumnavigation of Wee Cumbrae Island in declining winds. I had intended to call at Millport but looming grey clouds to the south suggested rain was near and I headed back home to Largs.
Entering my berth I had a lot of sympathy for the skipper of a Westerly Centaur attempting to get into a berth but being repeatedly blown off in the southerly cross wind, it is not only long keeled yachts which are difficult to manoeuvre but some bilge keelers can be tricky, especially at slow speed.
Toasting my good fortune with the last of the Arran I was sad to learn recently that Mudjekewiss another Millport based Honey Bee has recently lost her mast, her owner has replaced it with another wooden mast but now has suffered engine failure - oh the joys of old boats!

Better not to know

Sometimes it is better not to know what you don't know as Donald Rumsfeld once nearly said.
A lively trip to Loch Ranza and around the Kyles of Bute was the case in point.
After a lazy start with a short hop to Millport, enjoying a couple of Bottle nosed Dolphins frolicking about en route, I managed to get back to Loch Ranza for the second time in recent weeks, this time getting ashore and up the road to the distillery to renew fading stocks of the water of life.
Leaving Arran in a brisk north-easter progress to the Cock of Arran was slow but I looked forward to a quick reach down to Lamlash in the late afternoon. Instead the wind shifted south east and piped up leaving the prospect of a long uncomfortable beat against tide and wind.
I stuck at it for an hour but then sense took over and a course was set to Inchmarnock, a fetch turning into a reach as the wind veered further south and increased to a steady force five gusting six. Crunluath was in her element and a steady five and a half knots with a few bursts of six plus soon had us into the Kerry Kyle. Continuing up to Tighnabruich I opted for a night at Balnacarry Bay at Burnt Isles, a trifle uncomfortable when the tide turned and the wind swung back to north east but a good end to a great day's sailing, the Arran was uncorked and tested for quality, it passed!
The morning saw the north-easter continuing to blow five to six so a few rolls of genoa plus engine saw us down the East Kyle to Loch Striven. I hoisted a double reefed main, took in a few more rolls of genoa, killed the engine and set course back home.
Three Maersk line bulk carriers are laid up in this part of the Clyde, I pinched to clear the bow of one of them off Rothesay and continued towards Largs in lively conditions with a good deal of pounding into the waves but comfortable despite pulling out the furling line stanchion mounted blocks whilst attempting to further reduce sail.
I was safely moored back at the marina tidying up when a passer by commented, "Should it look like that?", pointing to the fore stay fitting on the foredeck. It was bent up by a couple of inches having pulled the stainless steel 10mm rod partially out of the stem and bent it and another securing bolt. Beads of sweat formed as I realised how close I had come to loosing the rig overboard.
It was a great trip in perfect sailing conditions but now I am back to having a floating caravan until a new bracket it fabricated and installed. A permanent solution will have to wait until the boat is ashore at the end of the season but I have a little plan, all that is needed is ingenuity, a lot of sweat, maybe a few tears in the confines of the pointy end of the boat and we should be back in action before too long.

Me and Dan Houston (editor of Classic Boat) seem to follow each other, it must be something to do with being wooden boat owners/restorers. this months (June ) editorial was about sailing not restoring.
The bank holiday weekend is something I normally avoid but circumstances took me to the boat last weekend. The weather was not good but I arrived Sunday and set to work on the many jobs, fitting out the cockpit being the most urgent. Come Monday lunchtime a need to sail began to overtake me and I set off for Loch Ranza on Arran at mid afternoon.
It was motor sailing for the bulk of the way with a good lot of rain but nevertheless it felt good to be sailing. Off Garroch Head I engaged gear to improve progress but without any effect. Had the prop fallen off (unlikely), had it broken off (never heard it go)or what?
On with the Tiller Pilot, up with the cockpit floor, head down in the hole. The gear change cable was disconnected, bolt apparently unscrewed. Some thought resulted in a lash up involving a cable tie. Back at Largs a couple of days later I collared my engineer and mentioned the problem,"Yes I've come across that before", so why did you not fit a locknut, I failed to say, gobsmacked by his response. What is it with these guys? Do they learn nothing from experience? No is the answer.
The trip back from Arran was lively to say the least. the GPS recorded 10.1KN I saw 8.4 and thought it remarkable. A couple of involuntary gybes but no disasters. Exciting, even a bit scary but enervating.
Not sure the boat is ready for the Mull of Kintyre yet but we are getting there.
Keep sailing and worry about the details later is the motto. I tidied up the cabin and even took a couple of photos to show how good it looked. Made me feel better even if the boat did not look much better, boats are for sailing not rebuilding.

Sailing a shed

A few days ago a friend of mine was looking at some caravans on ebay. One tatty example was declared to be "a shed".
I have been sailing a shed this last weekend. I said to my neighbouring berth holder, "I am going sailing in a builders' yard". Tools were tidied up, tins, screws, electrical wiring and all the dross of an ongoing restoration job were jammed into place, snacks and drinks were placed in grabbable positions and the yellow peril was fired up.
That last action is a continuing surprise to me after years of cajoling the ancient Volvo to burst into smokey, noisy life, an engine which starts first time is still a novelty.
Heading south and west into the Tann past Millport I unrolled a bit more of the part furled genoa and started to pull away from a smart modern cruiser before he spotted me and sorted out his sail trim, it was good while it lasted but he soon pulled ahead and tacked up the Clyde channel whilst I continued towards Garroch Head in an increasing blustery nor-easter. I pulled down a reef on the main as the wind increased towards force five with some blasts of force six to keep me alert.
Into Loch Fyne a long strung out racing fleet was heading south. It must be dispiriting to be in the slower boats at the back of the fleet when the hot shots are nearly out of sight up ahead. I waited for the fleet to pass then winched in more sail and put Crunluath on her ear as we stormed across towards Inchmarnock Sound, leaving the notorious Shearwater Rock well to port. A yacht appeared to have anchored for Sunday lunch in St. Ninian's Bay, my lunch was an apple, banana and a grabbed coffee when the wind eased as we passed the north end of Inchmarnock Island.
Near the Kames Hotel an elegant elderly cutter was making stately progress towards Loch Fyne (photo above). I didn't get too close in case I lost heart as the "shed" passed the gleaming varnish and polished bronze and comparisons were made.
By tea time Tignabruich was astern and I dropped anchor not far from a posh motor boat in Wreck Bay, I did get a friendly wave from the lady aboard as they zoomed off at high speed in a rib, probably to book dinner at a nearby hotel. I cooked my Cumberland sausage and smoked bacon, an egg and peas. I had to use a screwdriver to open the tin of peas owing to a mismanagement of the galley kit which turned out to be tin opener-less. The mobo moved on and I was left in peace, at least as much peace as you can get 200 yards from a large gull roost. After dinner I heard an odd gargling noise and a cough. The "drowning man" turned out to be a grey seal investigating my anchor chain and nosing around for a meal.
Sunday dawned wet and misty, there had been thunder rolling around Loch Riddon the previous evening. I pottered around fixing this and that until the rain eased and a breeze set in. Overnight I had rigged what I have come to call my "Deck Saloon" in the current fashionable boat sales nomenclature. The saloon consists of a white polytarp which covers the boat from mast to cockpit, securely rigged it it quite a help in keeping off the worst of the weather but is a devil to stow when it is windy and/or wet.
I motor-sailed down the Easter Kyle until near the convergence with Loch Striddon there was enough space and wind to manage without the engine. Past Toward Point the south-east wind gained considerable strength and there were several pauses to wind in more genoa and sort minor tangles. As the Clyde shore was approached it became increasingly gusty and I eventually resorted to motoring, sails down and plugging into short steep seas towards Largs, hiding under the hood whilst the auto tiller took control of the navigation.
Cobwebs were certainly blown away, from the boat and me. One fly did manage to escape and get into the ointment, just as I was entering my berth and gave a blast of astern to stop my forward progress the engine shrieked to a stop. I had allowed my stern line to slip overboard and wrap itself around the propeller. Another little job to do in "the shed" on the next visit.

Bright bright,sunshiney day

It's been a bleak midwinter recently and it has been taking its toll. An early wakening prompted me to depart for the boat as soon as the porridge had hit the stomach. I had intended a day of much needed maintenance but a suprisingly mild atmosphere, a force 2-3 south-westerly and an urge to blow away the cobwebs had me hoisting the genoa for the first time of the year and heading out into the Hunterston Channel, south past the Polish collier unloading another few thousand tons of electricity generation. A racing crew were out practicing their spinnaker hoisting and a family crew was out taking some instruction from the hired help. Over at the south end of Loch Fyne a sail was heading north. A few dinghies off the Scottish Sailng Centre and a smart little Leisure 17 completed the total number of yachties enjoying the day. The rest of you didn't realise what you were missing.
The varnish is peeling, the decks are green, the cabin is a shambles, there are more leaks than ever but who cares, we are sailing! (Rod Stewart fans please feel free to join in the chorus)
When I got home an email from my daughter had sent me a link to this youtube video, intended to drag me out of my midwinter blues. It worked! I can see clearly nowEnjoy!