we took the tide past Fort William and through the Corran narrows. For some reason the steward was particularly happy this morning.
The journey from Corpach to Oban was a gentle 16 knots on the nose passing some fine real estate.
Another snack was called for. This time a sausage and tomato sandwich.
Upon arrival in Oban bay and after the dodging of the plethora of ferries we tied up on the island of Kerrera at a marina opposite the town. They run a boat taxi into Oban which we took to get some supplies. We had also run out of paper charts and were about to fall off the earth's edge so a visit to Nancy Blacks was in order. I had ordered paella provencal for dinner that evening and the steward was sent off to barter with the locals.
Suitabley charted up, we once more set forth, west, to Jura, home of fine whiskey and the "Great Race". Tootling along as close hauled as Tutak likes, which is about 55 apparent if the waves aren't too big, we headed for the tail and on the left was the Gulf of Corryvreckan.
I managed to get through a lesser poppley bit than most and we popped out the other side with barely are scratch but suitabley awed. Rounding a headland took us into loch Tarbert. A little further found us in Glenbatrick bay which was going to shelter us for the night as it had piped up by now from the southwest. A fine gentleman's yacht had got there before us and gave us something to watch until the cloud met the sea, again.
Dinner that evening was Thai red vegetable curry.
We breakfasted a little earlier than we were accustomed to as we had a date with Islay Sound and the swift tide that inhabits that place. We accelerated out of the bay and were drawn, as if by "tractor beam" lighthouse into the sound.
Five knots, six point five, seven, nine, nine point five. We peaked at eleven point four, a little less than five knots was actual boat speed the rest was the tide. This nautical drag race was accompanied by a hulabuloo from the steward and the captain. We even avoided coliding with the ferry.
At the end of the sound we hung a right past McArthur's lighthouse
On past Ardmore Point and its light.
Needless to say the journey to Port Ellen on the island of Islay didn't take long. We fed well that evening.
The next day had us heading out for the crossing of the North Channel, actually it was a bit north of the North Channel proper but it was to take us to Ulster. In particular, if the tide would let us, to Rathlin island off the north coast of County Antrim. We managed good time and ran the MacDonnell race to the east the island before it had got enough energy to swallow us up.
It was a bit of a fight and the crossing was boisterous but we eventually made it to the pontoons in the harbour. To call it a "marina" might have been pushing the bouderies of the english language too far but this was Ireland after all.
There are two ferries to the mainland, the fastcat passenger and the vehicle. This isn't the fast one.
Went went exploring and the steward was attacked by local wildlife and needed a brandy to recover.
The bar was easy to spot, having its name on the roof for the whole island to see.
We could keep an eye on Tutak whilst we went to visit the bar.
Feck, girls, drink, fags, "Father Ted", has nothing on this place which was turning into Craggy island by the minute. I hasten to add that the Guiness was very good, very very good.
I gave the steward the night off and ordered something to soak up the alcohol.
For the first time in the trip the sun burst into flames and caught the steward unawares.
We needed a rest so we stayed in the bar to recuperate for a day or so before we headed south for Copeland Island and its sweet anchorage in Chapel bay. We passed the Maidens to starboard.
And then the steward spied something from the galley porthole and begged us look. They turned out to be the "Gobbins", perhaps caves or cliffs accessed by walkways and bridges just above the waves.
Probably Victorian originally but nicely up to date with aluminium and stainless gantries. The veiw went nicely with the mid morning snack of cheese on toast.
The Chapel bay hook repository was a wonderfully peaceful place and, when the tide went out, quite flat, making the roll damper redundant. After another spendid creation from the steward we retired for the night.
And there ends our island excursions. The island of Ireland is a little too big to fit in the same chapter.
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