A man can only take some much showering and shopping. The yacht race was over as were the celebrations in the yacht club bar and I was getting stuff growing on my bottom. Time to make a move. The duty man at the marina desk asked where I was going. I shrugged my shoulders and said that I was probably going to anchor off the pier heads. He gave me a strange look but I am used to that. So we made a seaman like departure (as in we didn't hit anything) and scuttled downwind down the Coquet river with 23knots up the chuff. In the distance was Coquet island with its lighthouse. There was enough water on the bar not to make things interesting and I wouldn't want to do it with the wind blowing the other way. I've seen those Ewe Tewb vids of yachts surfing over the bar! We tucked ourselves as far up the beach as the water would allow and we had gentle night, even if the wind did sound a little demonic at times. On the way out I noticed some lads fishing off the pier end so I had a look as we weren't far away and was disturbed by the sorry state of the northern breakwater.
It's breaking up rather badly. The morning saw us hauling up the anchor and heading north as that was the way the wind was ablowin. With the tide with us and just the genoa rolled out we trundled our merry way to - well I hadn't got that far, maybe back to Lindisfarne or the other Farnes. Upon hearing the forecast I decided against those as it might me a little exposed. Looking at the chart and pilot Newton Haven leaped out as a likely contender so we started the engine and turned left and rolled up the genny. A few minutes later we would have missed it but we lined up the gable ends of the lefthand side cottages of Newton square and headed in, avoiding the Fills rock to port and the ice Carr to starboard, no worries.
The gable ends that mark the leading line are right behind the mast of the yacht. You don't know what you are looking for at first but all becomes obvious eventually. Being low water all the hard stuff was visible and as the last significant hump of the Emblestone rock lined up with the ruins of Dunstanburgh castle we turn to port, inside the reef but off the beach rocks. We are a bit to the east of the leading line. We are on the vee not the hump. You may ask why we don't just use the chart plotter. Weeeeellllll, the charts are not that good, even the large scale Admiralty charts don't really give you much help here. Carry on until the sand dunes give way and we can see a prominent wood with a shed to one side of it. That's where you drop the hook. The rocks and reefs and land give you a brilliantly sheltered anchorage with winds from north-north-west by south to south-south-east. We had a lovely day watching folk on the holiday beach, and even the sun came out in the evening. We were sheltered from the strong winds but they didn't do what the forecast said and ended up in the north-east for a time and by the morning were in the south-east. So we had to make a move before the wind got up any more as it was not going to be nice when the tide covered our sheltering reef. Our fellow conspirator, the "Flying Pig" who turned up in the night, left before us. Maybe Kim can identify the class? We soon followed and had a brisk mizzen and genoa broad reach to the Inner Farne. Where we anchored in the Kettle anchorage. It was swarming with trip boats from Seahouses disgorging the hordes onto the island.I reckon the National Trust made 1480 golden coins that day as the charge for landing is £7.40. I suppose some were children and family rates though. As evening drew on the battlements of Bamburgh castle could be seen over the end of the Inner Farne and by five thirty the place was deserted apart from the rangers living on the island. Deserted that is apart from the locals who must number in their thousands. Puffins, shags, terns, gulls, seals, jelly fish to name but a few. Quiet it was not, and it was rather smelly too. It was a bit lairy at times as the SE wind had worked itself up and made its way into the anchorage when the tide let it over the reefs. It looks so peaceful but a bit of swell was making its way in and making Tutak dance. This is the southern entrance and wide open at high water.
But by bed time all was calm but we were going to be rolled out of bed in the early morn I reckoned. When the next low pressure system has flown across we should have some westerlies, a day or so maybe. I'll end up back in Scotland soon, but that's not such a bad thing. This last little clip is a 360 of the Kettle anchorage at high water. Pretty is it not?
The weather patterns were suggesting inconvenient winds for the foreseeable future. I didn't want to be hostage to Peterhead forever, despite its charms, so something had to be done. We decided to accept the contrary winds and headed out, well out, bound south, for perhaps Montrose or Arbroath. Both were about 14 -16 hours away, maybe a bit less. We needed to get there for around high water as Arbroath dries and Montrose can have a wicked ebb up the river. That meant climbing out of bed at an early hour for me and we aimed to leave the berth at 07:15hrs. Billy at the marina was his usual very helpful and friendly self. On a nice day Peterhead is worth a look round if you can face the walk round the bay to get there. The port is busy, these are the ships at the South Base on our way out. There is the North Base and several smaller inter-linked harbours at the North end of the bay.
I digress. The intention was to head out to sea to avoid the nastiness that sailing inshore can provide from the hills inland. You can get some contrary winds and what should be a fetch turns into an "on the nose" brute. We ended up about 36nm offshore in the end as the conditions weren't that bad and I wound on revolutions for wave busting. Tutak is not a fine entry vessel and any wave or ripple lifts her buxom bows and she slows down. To counteract this we went for a close sheeted main and maximum continuous engine revs and we were able to make significant progress against wind and tide plus a bit more with the tide with us. Although the waves did steepen a bit with wind over tide but hey. We had around 20 knots over the deck all day, and night as it happened. With the wind being on the nose I had expected it to be uncomfortable and tiring even with the comfy seat. The sea state was supposed to be moderate and I guess it was but it wasn't a lumpy moderate if you see what I mean. Anyway we were feeling good and I did a few calcs and had a look at where we could go if we carried on. A straight line from Peterhead to the south took us straight to Lindisfarne. That was a stroke of luck, no Firth of Forth to negotiate and only another eight hours. We still had the options of Montrose, Arbroath and Eyemouth if we needed to.
So we punched our way south and dropped anchor under the Heugh of Lindisfarne at seven in the morning. 123 miles in just under 24hrs gave us an average of a little over 5kn. Well done Tutak.
Naturally I needed a rest so I hibernated for a few days and when the sun eventually came out I puffed up the old dinghy and rowed to the magic island. Cresting the path from the beach up the cliff I was faced with foreign hordes. I did think about turning back but I needed to post the card for the boy Jack. Lindisfarne is obviously a busy place despite its meagre population. Coachloads of folk must be brought over the causeway at low tide,
to view the peaceful magnificence of the island, the ruined abbey,
and the fairytale castle. To be honest is probably wasn't that bad but the ant like chain making their way to the castle wasn't for me. I posted the card at the post office which was queueing out of the door and headed for the west shore out of the wind. I found a metal bench near a well overlooking St Cuthbert's island,
where the wildlife carried on their duties regardless. Out came the book about Arnhem and the afternoon was taken up with sun and words. When the sun had had enough I trundled up the Heugh to find the anchorage had swelled in number a little.
Meet Bob, he spent the whole evening after sunset scratching his back on Tutak's bottom. It was a little unsettling at first until I sorted out what was going on.
Our time at Lindisfarne was coming to an end. The weather was due to change and the anchorage would become uncomfortable especially with springs on their way. The tide runs hard through the gutways round here. We were to set sail for a nice amble to Amble, a very nice 5 hours away with the tide with us all the way. What more could one want apart from the wind not being on the nose.
We managed a good look at the castle on the way out. The rocks in the foreground are the Stone Ridge which cover. The upturned boats used as sheds can be seen too, along with the lime kiln with the different styles of arch.
And here we have the Old Law Beacons which line up to lead you to the Triton buoy where you make the turn to line up the Heugh Beacon with the Belfry. I notice they are doing some something on the aft Law beacon.
So once past the Triton buoy we turn into Skate Roads, avoiding the rocks of Parton Steel, on towards the Inner Sound which separates the Farne Islands from the mainland. We pass Bamburgh Castle, larger than Lindisfarne by some measure. Mind Lindisfarne only has eleven rooms, peedie by comparison.
A close up with the Cannon 24X digital zoom shows detail but the image stabiliser struggles to get a grip on a boat!
By the time we get to the Inner Sound the tide is hustling through the narrows and we just manage to get a shot of the lighthouses on the Inner Farne. The old stone square light tower light to port of the modern round tower.
The white on the cliffs is guano not the colour of the rock. We end up in the river Coquet at high water or a little after and pull up for some fuel in the Amble marina where I am greeted like an old friend. They do say it is a friendly place. Here we will stay to wash and clean, the boat and myself, shop too for victuals and trinkets for Tutak perhaps. I need a new tap washer and a descent pump for the dinghy wouldn't go amiss.
Let's be honest here, this is my third trip this far north and I have avoided traversing the Pentland firth. Don't know why, yeah right. I have even gone to Shetland to get round the problem. It has a fearsome reputation and I was keen to see if I could do it.
Of course I had been all set up for it and then it didn't happen, what with the fog. I thought I would try a different tack now that we were in Scapa Flow. If I just nip down to Long Hope, I will be able to pop out into the firth and catch a ride between Swona and Stroma before being spat out at the other end.
Anyway we seemed to have got rid of the fog for a few hours to I left the Bay of Ireland down Hoy Sound.
With Stromness behind us.
Hoy with it's highness.
And it's high and low lights to lead you in from the westward.
You can just see the lower light at the righthand end of the island of Graemse. We island hoped our way along the eastern end of Hoy, past Cava with it's vinyards and dive boats.
Onward past the wee Rysa Little and inside the larger island of Fara where Flotta came into view. This island is set apart as an oil terminal. Pipelines end up there from the North sea and tankers fill their bellies with the black stuff.
I had thought that Marshmallow towers were a thing of the south but apparently not. I saw two of them and here is one.
After all this fun I had to take over from Samantha to avoid a tricky little reef and round up and take some sails down for out approach into Long Hope Sound, except you can't call it that now as they've blocked up the other end so I suppose it's a loch now. Anyway the Burgers of Long Hope have thoughtfully laid a couple of visitor's morings. The lifeboat was out in attendance just in cast. It was their openday, sadly ruined by the "no-show" of the rescue helicopter. They were called away on a real shout.
Taking the dinghy ashore allowed us to be parted with vast sums in aid of the brave folk who man these fine vessels. Anyway I wanted to cross their palms with silver as they may be needed if my plans went belly up! After all the fuss had calmed down I took Tutak into the little harbour and tied up for a quiet sleep.
The morning brought us clearish skies and the jolly was on after getting the forecast, so we left Long Hope on the island of South Walls behind.
The wind was due to be variable 3 - 4 and we were just able to lay out of the bay and into Switha sound. The idea is to take the last of the West going steam out into the firth and West to Aith Hope. Lot of hopes around here, worries me it does. So rounding the East of South Walls we pick up the Cantick light and round that for the West.
A thing or two about tides. I have got all the Admiralty tidal atlases with their rates and directions and pretty diagrams. These must be a figment of some graphic designers imagination and can bear no relationship, now or in the future, as to what the tide might actually be doing. We shot out of the sound at 8kn to be met with a back eddy down to 1.5kn and had a worsening foul tide the whole way up to Aith Hope (I'm starting to understand these hopes now) which we never got to anyway because we had started to go backwards. I'm out of breath now, anyway, we had to head off to the Southwards and make enough distance so we didn't end up on Swona's beach. This we did, reaching out into the firth with 50 degrees of tidal offset. Reaching the middle of the firth we set a couse to take us between the islands of Swona and Stroma and stopped. The tide was now doing nothing. I was rather dissapointed to be honest. At least I could put the fog horn on for sailing, that made a change. Yes the vis had dropped now to less than a mile and occaisionally a lot worse and we had crossing ferry traffic. After an hour the tide did pick up and quite rapidly. The wind was no longer enough to keep us clear of Swona and the good old Bukh was started. The vis was steady at a mile, anyway it's not as if I had a choice now is it?
The water started to behave rather oddly. We speeded up and slowed down, it boiled away and then went mirror calm. I tried to get some of them in the photos but I don't know if it comes across.
This was more like it and the water really started to move in the narrows between the islands. We maxed out at 13.1kn with a boat speed of 3.9kn. So what's that? About 9 knots of tide, just off neaps if I remember rightly, wicked. I wouldn't want to do it on a nasty day. You need power and plenty of it to counter act the eddies and currents.
The fast ferries were on their return journey by now and I had to make sure we were not in their way. Things happen quickly at two or three times normal speed. We rounded Duncansby head mid stream with the Pentland skerries and headed south, still clocking a respectable 9 knots. All of a sudden I realised the fog had gone and looking back the whole of the firth was in one bank, weird.
You can see the fog bank quite clearly as a dark cloud on the horizon.
We passed tanker waiting to drink Flotta's potions as we carried onto Wick.
I did think we had time shifted in some Pentland wormhole when this Dutch barquentine met me coming out of Wick. Strange things happen at sea.
We are a bit out of sync here but I will just upload yesterday's vid for you. The Pentland firth will have to wait. We set off from Wick, near the top of Scotland, John O'Groats way like, for Peterhead, 80 odd miles away across the Morray firth. I say the Morray firth, it might as well have been the North sea as we were offshore. The forecast was for N - NW winds of 5 - 7 on Beaufort's scale. Enough to blow your hat off anyway. However it was going to be behind me all the way and Peterhead is approachable in all weathers if you have the bottle.
Even in Wick bay which was sheltered you could feel the swell. Exiting the bay the swell broke over the shallows. Here it was 2 metres and once off shore a bit it calmed down and became more regular with just the odd slapper to dampen the decks. Once we had got far enough to be out of the shelter of the land it got really exiting. We were pulling 5.5 knots with just the full genoa. We were hitting 3 metre swell now and a few big ones came together and made the wheelhouse dark until they lifted the stern and we started to surf. 10.6 knots was the fastest and by this time I had returned my breakfast to the deep. I always get sick when I am a little anxious. Anxious, I was feckin terrified. Nice feeling though. I had a coke and a few biscuits and felt a bit better. By the afternoon it settled down to a steadyish 23 knots apparent and the second headsail was hoisted. Tutak likes this rig going downwind in a blow, tracking well, Samantha, the autopilot, has less work to do.
I had allowed 16 hours for the trip. You have to work it backwards as you need to hit Rattray head with the tide going the right way. This wind over Rattray's tide would have been murderous. We did it in 13 anyway and the swell and counter current made for a considerable swell off Peterhead. They had cancelled the pilots' boarding and they are used to it up here, enough said.
We said our farewells to Kirkwall and headed out for the delicate bit of pilotage out into the Atlantic via the Eynhallow Sound. It is delicate because of the narrowness of the narrows, the tidal race and the many, many rocks that get in the way. The wind was behind us and only the genoa was set as the wind was due to pipe up a bit. The view behind shows the cathedral spire, most useful in navigating these parts. Our visit there was inspirational and baffling, such a big building and such a small population and so old.
We passed the deep water quays with a rather strange cruise ship along side.
Ah that'll be the reason then, it's two, not one. The lesser is the Star Legend and the greater the Magellan.
A little further out is the Coastguard ship "Herakles", son of Zeus of course, anchored in the bay.
I didn't have a lot of time to take any more piccies, the wind was now 25 knots behind and I was keen not to make the acquaintance of any rocks. Suffice to say we made it out of the clutches of the Burgar rost and turned south once out of the Sound.
The Atlantic is making its mark on this battered coast. Impregnable rock is carved and moulded.
Rounding another headland the Kitchener monument comes into view. Perched on the top of the cliff it reminds us of the loss of the warship HMS Hampshire in June 1916. There are plans afoot to add a circling wall to the monument. This wall will have the names of the 736 who were lost not just Kitchener. Kitchener is maybe best remembered from the recruiting posters of the Kaiser war (WW1). His was the face and pointing hand "your country needs you" if I recall correctly. The Hampshire hit a mine just off the coast here and that was after surviving the battle of Jutland where another 6000 odd lives were lost and that was on our side.
Predictably the wind, now upon the nose, had increased to 33 knots over the deck and it was getting a little lively. I only hoped the Bay of Skaill was going to be a tenable overnight stop, it being rather exposed to the Atlantic. We had to steer round some of the worst of the swell and slow down, which was a pain because the discomfort lasts for longer. The Bay of Skaill appeared over the horizon as a welter of broken water and spray and I had my doubts at to whether it was going to be an option. Slowing down was now not possible as the wind and waves were demanding near full power just to keep way on. Further into the bay the waves eased and allowed us to make decent progress. The gusting 8 offshore wind was not allowing any swell to make it into the bay but the waves in the bay itself were enough. We had to drop the hook nearly on the beach to get shelter, but it was sufficient and a fine meal was eaten in comfort. The wind dropped overnight and what a fine place the Bay of Skaill is.
Here you can see the settlement, sadly overshadowed by the rather large farm buildings.
It was a fine day and I planned to take a passage through the Pentand Firth and, once having been spat out of the other end, to a safe place to wait out the forecast easterlies. Timing is once again rather important and I was expecting the tide to give us a 7 knot helping hand, maybe 9 in places with a bit of luck. The eastbound passage is not as fraught as the westbound, still not to be trifled with mind, but the Merry Men of Mey do not play rough on the eastbound. We make our way out of the Bay of Skaill past the hole in the cliff.
And, after a couple of hours sailing, reach the cardinal marks of the energy test site. Here they test machines that generate electricity from the action of the waves. I wonder what makes this place special for that then!
Plans have to be changed and we alter course to take us into Hoy Sound and then into Scapa Flow. The fog has surrounded us and I don't want to do the Pentland Firth in fog. I would rather like to see what I am about to hit thank you.
And just for good measure the Hamnavoe (8780 gross tonnage) appears, wraith like, through the mist.
It is less than 1/4 of a mile away, yeah right and he's doing 22 knots. Whatever happened to "navigate with safe speed" as the Graemsay fast ferry comes clattering into my give way sector and I have to do an emergency 180 to get out of its way. His AIS transponder was not operating, so there. We managed to get across the fast tide without any further incident and anchored, thankfully, in the Bay of Ireland, Scapa Flow. Here follows a series of photos of the fog, how quickly it comes and goes and how deadly it could be.
The last one shows a vessel at speed navigating on the edge of the bank of fog with the light beacon astern. Think I'll have a day off tomorrow.
