We welcome our friends from Tasmania to Scotland

Bron and Ken aboard!

With the Coronation under our belts and the memory of the priceless impromptu bagpipe rendition given by twin young ladies at the Waypoint Bar and Restaurant on Kerrera, Zoonie made her way across the Firth of Lorn under genoa alone on the afternoon of 8 May 2023.

After passing three shy Harbour porpoises in the entrance, we picked up a buoy in friendly and familiar Tobermory and were delighted to be able to show Ken and Bron all we knew about the place, including a walk to the lighthouse and Aros lake, both along the pretty shoreline in opposite directions.

This time it was young Ian who showed us around the distillery; what a career future in whisky making, although I got the impression, he was foreign bound.

A new excursion for us was the healthy plod uphill to the cheese factory. Sadly, no tours were taking place but we did peep through the production area windows, into the milking parlour and around the back where the longest rhubarb stems were pinking-up in a mini forest of tastiness. Also, there is a lofty orangery style café there with outrageously naughty cake on offer, beneath green vines and potted plants, to fuel us up for the downhill return to town.

Next on our agenda to show our friends around this beautiful area was a motor the short way across the Sound of Mull to the outer reaches of Loch Sunart and our little godspot in Loch Drumbuie.

There we anchored very close to a Wayfarer that had been cleverly anchored just off the shore with a line leading between shore and the dinghy for retrieval. Two men were camping on the beach and exploring the local area and we assumed they were the crew. I quite envied them. Wayfarers are truly voyaging dinghies and have made long ocean passages to some remote locations like Iceland. We used them when I did my RYA Dinghy Instructor course at Calshot, along with Optimist dinghies and I’m not sure which was more fun; sailing backwards and then sailing without a rudder in the Wayfarer or racing against the other Optimists in a force 5, as if we were in bath tubs.

Seals showed just their heads above water, curious of us but cautiously distant; sensible creatures.

We walked with our friends to the deserted croft we had found last year and, later, continued the happy routine of playing games in the evening; Mexican Train, Threes and Fives, Scrabble and Tri-onimos.

A real treat awaited us the next morning when Bron disappeared into the galley while we made our way to Rum beneath sunny skies. The men in the Wayfarer (Tarka, and I will tell you how I know her name shortly) had retrieved the dinghy and packed up all their gear and were making their way out of the narrow entrance just after us. Hopefully they enjoyed their stay.

The aroma of pancakes wafted into the cockpit and we ate them ravenously as fast as Bron could bake them. I will never forget Bron’s perfect pancakes, or her fresh bread we shared with them in Bathurst Harbour, Tasmania. Bron is as at home in an unfamiliar galley as she is in her own land-based kitchen.

A minke whale showed us just its back as we passed between Muck and Eigg and we saw our first puffins in the water. There were a few guillemots around but their numbers are severely depleted after last year’s bird flu. I remembered passing between lines of dead ones in the water between Northern Ireland and Islay as we crossed over, last year.

A walk around the eerie and misnamed Kinloch Castle and on up the Glen and down again was the order of the day. I mentioned these in my blog last year so I will spare you the repetition here.

‘Tarka’, the Wayfarer, was crossing from a beach further around on Rum towards Skye the next morning as we motored westwards in the calm towards Canna, where we were greeted with a healthy number of common Atlantic grey seals languishing on the rocks to the left of our entrance. There were more on sheltered rocks near the mooring field and I wondered if they accounted for the smaller number of Eider ducks around, or maybe the ducks suffered from the flu as well.

After a generous ploughman’s lunch at Canna Café where newborn Hector who we met last year, as he languished on his pa’s chest while the latter was serving us pints of his delicious home-brewed Jack’s beer, has just taken his first steps. The café is understandably busy with this years’ visitors and locals.

Canna has a ‘go ahead’ population determined to forge a healthy future on this beautiful furthest out of the Inner Hebridean Islands. It is heart-warming to be a part of the buoyant mood even for a very short time.

We showed Ken and Bron the Monks’ area where their cells and monastery once stood and wandered back through the overgrown graveyard, pondering over the stories the gravestones had to tell.

In pursuit of Puffins over Sanday; on Sunday.

Just near Zoonie was the beach overlooked by the ruin of the steamship master’s home, and I had been thinking that if we could land on that beach, we could make our way across the island of Sanday to find one of the puffin colonies and see how they were faring; this would cut out a long trek all around the shore and over the bridge between the main island and Sanday. It was possible the access to the colony would be closed off, as it was breeding season and because of their recovery from last year’s epidemic, but we’d see.

The way across grass and narrow animal tracks was marked by cute little pictures of puffins to spur us on and all around were great views over the island, out to the mountains on Rum and to the west and the lovely Atlantic.

Up a last rise towards the cliff edge and the openness of our access was explained; the colony was on top of a massive vertical stack, a healthy distance away from the cliff that we were comfortably sitting on.

The characteristic profiles of these delightful birds were all over the top where they were nesting in hollows and tunnels in the tufty, low foliage. They would dive from the top and fall into a swoop over the water to go fishing and it was an incredible treat to be able to sit and watch their antics knowing they were safe from harm. We reckoned there were 30 – 40 birds and also some guillemots and oyster catchers with their orange legs and distinctive cries. Walking on further we could see from a different angle that the stack-top slopes gently over a generous area of grass and it was covered with puffin couples! How I wished I’d taken my Canon with its telephoto lens.

That evening we were in for another treat; supper at the restaurant, Café Canna. As much as possible of the menu is home grown, foraged and home-made. Home-baked bread slices spread with dried seaweed butter prepared us for the main course and mine comprised a vegetarian chowder with two types of crunchy and salty seaweed, a local chuck egg, island vegetables and glass noodles. I asked for a spoon so as not to miss any of the liquid. Rob had home-reared belted Galloway beef pie and Ken and Bron tucked into burgers in glazed buns.

Talisker whisky ice-cream and shortbread rounded off the meal a treat. I could get used to this unusual Scottish fare!

Canna welcomes young people to work for a few months in the summer and help keep the visitors happy and well fed. It is served by the ferry from Mallaig, an essential lifeline all year round.

The next morning brought perfect downwind sailing under genoa alone all the way down the ferry track to Mallaig; a busy transport hub despite its small population. We four sat in the rear courtyard of the Steam Inn as the bar was full and downed dark ale while sea-gulls wheeled around above us.

In the afternoon of the next day a very familiar little boat pulled up into the marina and tied alongside a pontoon, its lines reaching up to the cleats. Tarka had arrived and after a final glen walk behind the town with Ken and Bron we invited Rob from Tarka, the Wayfarer, aboard for a cuppa.

His helmsman had caught the bus back to Oban to retrieve the car and trailer, so after ten days of dinghy sailing these waters and camping on beaches, they would both be home to Kelso in the Scottish borders by evening. The only thing Rob said he would do differently next time would be to rig a tent over the boom so they could sleep on board and not have to hump all the gear ashore every night and back again the next morning.

Ken and Bron continued their journey early the next morning on the 6.03am train to Paisley near Glasgow and will fly non-stop back to Sydney, after their two-month sojourn in the northern hemisphere, on June 5th. I asked Ken how soon it will be before he goes to inspect their sailing yacht Nichola, moored near to their home in Tasmania and he replied “A couple of hours!”

To get caught up on the mundanities of life we stayed in Mallaig for two more days and found another loop walk which took us south from the town and back along the lower coast road. Approaching town, the familiar sign of mobile historic Victorian industry, in the form of dirty smoke from a steam engine funnel, could be seen above a rock outcrop. The Jacobite, Black 5 steam engine was getting itself all steamed up for the return journey to Fort William, over the Glenfinnan Viaduct, a journey made famous by the tales of Harry Potter amongst other stories. We climbed up onto some rocks from the road-side path to get a better view and were greeted with lots of waving Potter fans out to get all they can from the rare experience.

So now we are once again moored beside Isle Ornsay on the east coast of the Isle of Skye and have been planning some bus trips from Portree, when we get there, to explore this vast island. But first we have to run the gauntlet through the Kyle Rhea narrows where the spring flood tide can run at up to 8 knots (similar to Hurst narrows between Hurst Spit and the Isle of Wight) before we pop out at the top into Loch Alsh for some new adventures.

I’d better get my tidal calculations right!