Sunday 23 June

Over our nightcaps yesterday we debated our options and decided as we are on holiday not making a lengthy passage seemed a good idea. Reaching our destination at a leisurely pace sometime in the next week or so would suit admirably. So we will take a more scenic route.

The tidal stream in the Sound of Islay turns north a bit before high water Dover which put it at about noon today. The skipper cooked prata rolls (basically a thin omelette in a wrap) for breakfast and made our morning tea for him, coffee for me. At around 08:30 we raised the anchor and headed out under engine. We debated sailing but once clear of Port Ellen there was little wind. A few boats followed us out, presumably they had spent the night in the small marina. Touring around Islay by boat is a virtual tour of Islay’s whisky industry. Port Ellen distillery on the north shore of the bay is rapidly followed by a litany of famous names – Laphroaig, Lagavulin and Ardbeg. Their picturesque white painted warehouses writ large with their names.

We were too early for the north going tide by about 90 minutes so dropped the hook temporarily in an open road stead, with an amazing view. Parsig Bay is just an indent but looking out to sea there’s the Mull of Kintyre, Gigha then Jura. A low mist along the horizon indicated warmer air arriving, was summer actually going to turn up today? Kevin busied himself restringing Temptress’ dodgers which had recently been laundered and repaired. Over the years we have discovered this is a tricky task as, unless both sides are laced symmetrically, it will drive both crew and skipper crazy until they are redone.

Meanwhile I focused on planning the pilotage for today’s anchorage, Loch Tarbert. That is Loch Tarbert, Jura not East or West Loch Tarbert. Tarbert apparently is Gaelic for isthmus, which might explain why it’s a popular name in these parts, much to the confusion of tourists trying to track down their B&B.

At noon we set off, one of several boats heading in the same direction. If we’d thought yesterday’s trip through Rathlin was a sleigh ride, the Sound of Islay on a spring tide was amazing. Our peak speed was over eleven knots thanks to the tidal assistance. The whisky tour continued as Caol Ila, Ardmore and finally Bunnahabain sped by on our port hand side. To starboard the peaks of south Jura cast off their cloud caps then regained them before finally being persuaded by the sun that they didn’t need hats. Green and granite grey with few trees, the spectacular scenery sped by.

Having reached the north end it was time for a complete change of pace. Loch Tarbert is a rock strewn delight for addicts of close quarters pilotage. We closed in on our final way point and switched to the iPad and the pilot guide working our way through Blondie Hasler’s leading marks as Temptress zigzagged through the maze. It was just after a very low water so most of what a boat could hit was very visible though there were a couple of submerged objects to avoid even so. Time to concentrate, what was that bearing? Where are the next pair of white painted leading marks? Behind you? What’s 245-180? Your reward for all this is to drop the hook in one of the most remote spots in this part of the world. Low grass and bracken covered hills, peaty coloured water. There’s more to explore further in but we’ll do that by dinghy.

Blondie Hasler, legendary single handed sailor and owner of Jester, originated the OSTAR and was one of just five competitors in the first race in 1960, along with Sir Francis Chichester. He invented the first practical self-steering for yachts, proving its worth on that first OSTAR. According to our pilot in later life he lived in Scotland working on a local estate. His leading marks were spot on!

A French flagged, elderly Amel was just departing as we gained the main body of water. The spot they were leaving was along the southern shore and with south easterlies in the forecast seemed ideal so we motored over and dropped the hook. A celebratory drink was followed by a few hours catching up on the sleep missed last night. The sun had finally decided to come out and it was lovely just to lounge in the warmth in the cockpit listening to the noisy squawks of the oystercatchers exploring the seaweed on the foreshore.

A long evening of warm sunshine followed. We ate our sausage pasta supper in the cockpit then played Crib until sunset. Of the seven boats at anchor here, we seem to be the only one with an anchor ball up but then again we have to have something to hang our anchor light from in the fore triangle. The British flagged Jeanneau 37 that dropped the hook and fell back behind our port quarter very smartly has intriguingly a German speaking crew who also were enjoying the warm evening, their voices carrying on the still air. A lovely end to a great day onboard.