Leaving for Scotland

Astonel on the lower Thames

Astonel is a 36' ketch designed in the seventies by Laurent Giles. Astonel was built in 1977 and is still a strong and well looked after sailing yacht.

With different crew members, Astonel travelled up the east coast of the UK to Inverness, passed through the Caledonian Canal, explored some of the Inner Hebrides and came home back to Essex via Ireland and the south coast of England, with some time in France.

The voyage started on the 22nd April, early in the season to try and get the best weather in Scotland. She brought us back home at the beginning of August.

Monday 22nd April 2019

The reason for leaving in April is to catch the weather in Scotland. That's the typical, statistical weather, and if the statisticians have worked hard, that's how it might be.
Anyway. Today is fine and sunny with a light easterly wind. XCW weather says it's like this, although it is nicer to have forecast with little fletched arrows.
So inshore we have good winds and if it holds for a few days because of the high pressure over France, we will be in Edinburgh by next weekend.

Days at sea or daze at sea

A bit of nightfall

Lowestoft: well - rough over the banks in the total darkness as we got there, but a well lit harbour and little traffic. So we slept, late, and pushed on again for a 100nM (nautical mile) stretch to Grimsby, which came up with some surprises. But the voyage up the sandbanks, past Great Yarmouth with a sail up to help us, and the sea absolutely horrible - rolling and pitching.
Grimsby: Grimsby approach is full of sand banks and out of bounds

Look at the depth of this hull in the shipyard at Grimsby.

shipping channels, and the entry to the marina is subject to the tide. We got a ticking off for hanging about outside as bigger and more important boats were leaving the Royal Dock, and we were waiting for the Fish Dock. We got in at about 7.45 am after the long overnight voyage. We walked a long way for fish and chips in a posh fish and chip restaurant where we had a choice of peas and every dish came with a pot of tea. Very good. We took a taxi back to the Humber Cruising Association. Next morning, 0500, the engine failed to start, just a lot of rattling noises from the starter motor.
We spent a couple of hours testing all things and found a dead battery and a special regulator that had probably committed a kind of suicide in the face of the new alternator which was providing more power than it could cope with. We bypassed the regulator, and got a new battery - and in doing so had enormous help from the local people. A lift to the battery shop, the loan of a battery tester, much time, phone calls and all that. Grimsby docks, where we were, were dilapidated, but still busy. We left the next day for Whitby.
Whitby: is beautiful. There is a sense that it hasn't been touched by time, just cleaned and painted. We had dinner in Wetherspoons because the other restaurants all seemed to close at 9pm. It was vampire night, or something, and Wetherspoons was peopled by special bloodstains and strange long morning coats in memory of Count Dracula.
Blyth: Unfortunately Blyth, our next stop, was a bit weird, and we nee
ded fuel and fuel was only available for professionals. But the Royal Northumberland Yacht Club established in an old wooden lightship which didn't leak. That was lovely. But to get fuel, we had to buy 30 litres of cans to put 30 litres of fuel in which would be enough to get us to Eyemouth the next day. Jane had come to fetch Peter away and her car and her skilled knowledge of Blyth got us to Homebase to buy a large WW2 style fuel can, and a plastic fuel can, after which we went shopping at Asda and got the fuel.
Farne Islands: We passed by the Farne Islands. We were going to have a night at anchor there, but we had started to run out of time, and also forgotten where we had put one of the nights - literally forgotten - until we remembered that it was the night sail from Lowestoft. But the Farne Islands just looked gorgeous.
The coastline continued to improve, and we made our way up to Eyemouth.
Eyemouth: Go and visit. Absolutely lovely.
We crossed from Eyemouth to Stonehaven.
Stonehaven: Quite nice. But we were charged £20 to lie alongside the harbour wall with a steep ladder, no toilets, no water, no fuel, no nothing, really. So don't go and visit.
Peterhead: Very nice, but a little bleak. Very commercial, lots of gas and oil vessels. But we found fuel, had good showers, did some washing, made our way to bed and got up to leave at 0500. "Go back to bed," I said, as we couldn't see the buoy about a hundred meters away because of the fog. At 0600 we could just see the buoy. At 0700 we switched on the radar, checked the AIS, spoke to port control and left in about half mile visibility. 
Lossiemouth: Leaving in the fog was a good idea, and we headed round the headland for Lossiemouth, from where the RAF fly submarine tracking aircraft, and had a nice dinner at the hotel. In the morning it blew a bit hard, and we had a great deal of dry mouthed trouble turning the boat in the wind. Than an immensely rough departure after which the sea settled down, the gannets dived for fish, and the guillemots did their cute vanishing trick.

Inverness: - under the great downhill curved bridge, into the sealock, and up to the marina. I have to warn all and sundry, the fees are enormous for the transit, and tend to depress one's wallet's general joidevivre. For example, £11 for 4 litres of paraffin, and £15 to pump out the poo tank and getting on for £300 for a week's licence to be there. I think they don't understand something pretty crucial about poo tanks: they have to be emptied, and if the loch needs to stay clean, do what the Dutch do - pump out for free.

Hail on the deck after sweeping
to ensure crew safety. Of course.

So now we sit in a tiny harbour on Loch Ness, having motored through  thick hail.Couldn't see the deck for hail.

Loch Ness after tea with the Monster

We are sitting, lying and chopping onions on Loch Ness. Profound, but we've actually had a bit of rest because we've needed it after a sequence of 5am starts ending in the evening.

But the weather has been kind, if a little too kind, as sailing has been negligible, with a flat calms and a bit of mirror like water

See you soon for part 2.

The battery issue

Not a lot of people know about our battery problems, and quite a lot wouldn't be terribly interested, anyway. More fool you, they might say, going to sea with duff batteries.

Anyway, you can read about it here: The Battery Issue.

During the ride to Grimsby, Astonel suffered a battery failure, and after a lot of faffing around, a butch battery testing device identified one of the house batteries as being defunct.

However - we also reckoned that the 100amp charge splitter had not been happy under the regime of the 125amp alternator. Muggins hadn’t really thought about that in the time the replacement engine was installed, but it was odd that it hadn’t failed earlier.

The long night out on engine, with all electrical things blazing away, may have had the alternator providing more than the little charge splitter could cope with. And then, it seems that it had failed, because replacing it revealed two things: the charging system began working properly, and the battery cabling to the splitter had been reversed during the engine installation - this was only seen when the new splitter was being installed. Our fingers remain crossed, but all seems well.

Here's a picture of a charge splitter.

Linnhe Marine

About the crew: first of all, long suffering fits the bill. They all put up with long long hours of motoring - as most of the journey has been achieved, so far, by the engine. We've made good time, had some motor sailing, and contended with the fog.
The first crew were Peter, Alison and John. Here they are in Grimsby, or Cleethorpes, enjoying a very short walk by the sea.
The second crew were Alison and John, and the final crew were Alison, John and Val. They kept a rigorous lookout on the canal.

Linnhe marina was reached  on Monday 6th May. It is a lovely little place: just swinging moorings and a pontoon to go alongside for water and fuel. Umpteen sailing yachts, all of a decent ilk, not a Bavaria in sight. Almost old world. The pontoons are part of the crab/mussel industry which works over on the island side. We saw them lifting the great ropes of mussels. There are at least three Pentlands here, including two that are immaculate. I must paint the decks. There is one called ‘Alison’ which I think is nice as my better half is called Alison, most of the time.

The skipper. You may not be able
to see it but there is a sign
behind him about fishing.
Makes you think.

It’s the sort of place where, if it were a film, the handsome owner who used to be a brain surgeon has now given up the nasty world and set up a business with his father who has provided the capital but who is a widower with an affectionate relationship with the owner of the coffee shop, and although the boaty business struggles a little, Mr. Handsome is content now that he has got rid of the awful wife who has taken all his money and possessions, doesn’t have to wear a suit, and can substitute for the local doctor during the winter season. But along comes a beautiful blonde woman who has suffered similar things but has a gorgeous smile . . .

[end of script] [no, it wouldn’t be Jennifer Aniston].

Much warmer down here. About 17 degrees in the saloon today, not 4º as in the dark and gloomy walls of the Great Glen before we switched the heater on.
Added to that, Maillaig steam railway ran by, and a very large cruise yacht of the motoring kind came in.
However. . . the best bit was seeing the snowy mountains behind us instead of in front of us, and not having hail stones deeper than the toe rails.

Steam at Corpach on the way to Mallaig.
Still marked 'British Rail'.

The Caledonian Sleeper

First: it’s 25ºC in London, today, 23rd May.  It is about 9ºC in Fort William, a little warmer in the sun

Anyway. The Caledonian Sleeper - the return journey.

It was definitely a treat, because it might have been cheaper to take a bus. But it has some sort of magic. We took a bus to Witham station, 45 minutes, a train to Liverpool Street, 45 minutes, travelled by tube to Euston 15 minutes, had a pricey meal in the station, 45 minutes, and got on the train. It left just after 9pm, and arrived in Fort William 24 a bit over twelve hours later. Breakfast, including some poor coffee and porridge in a paper cup was served at 7am (by choice) and we made ourselves comfortable in the saloon. There were a lot of walkers on board, who got off at various stops along the Highlands part of the route.

The Caledonian Sleeper is, apparently, the longest train in the UK, about 18 carriages, and Euston, Watford, Carlisle and one or two others have platforms that are long enough. At Edinburgh, the train splits in three, one for Aberdeen, one for Inverness, and the other for Fort William.

During the daylight hours, we watched the scenery, I recorded various sounds, took some video, some photographs and had a banana each.

Fort William is not inspiring: but the bus timetable had been altered such that the bus left at 12 and not 1130, and by some stroke of luck the driver’s ‘machine’ had not been updated, and she couldn’t be bothered to issue tickets. It was a free ride. Nice.

To Loch Aline

Back in Linnhe Marine it is absolutely lovely -  the kind of place where sailors who can make their own boats work properly (like the battery charging issues…) like to be. About 100 beautifully laid moorings with all the right gear on it.

We did the gearbox oil change, the engine oil change, spilled some oil in the bilges at which point the perfectly installed automatic bilge pump pumped some of the oil into the surrounding water. Naturally I did one of those ballet moments with a squeezy bottle of washing up liquid, trying to disperse the rainbow effect and avoid prosecution by the local laird or procurator fiscal. The nice new air filter supplied by boatpartsandspares.co.uk is completely the wrong size. So is the replacement engine anode.

Loch Aline, Drumbuighe, Mallaig

Loch Aline, pronounced ‘lochalin’ (sometimes), one word, was very interesting. Rather noisily, Aline has a large mine that produces white sand, so pure that it is used world wide to make posh lenses for things that need lenses. The Marina is excellent, but a teeny bit expensive, and the restaurant, the White House, is almost worth travelling from London for. We had a ‘taster’ meal with a bottle of rosé, and Alison treated me to the meal as my birthday present, well, part of my birthday present. It was absolutely first rate, in a very small restaurant far away from any large conurbations, and there was a big white pushmepullyou ferry that kept appearing near the entrance to the loch, which in itself is quite small, dumping people and cars, realoading, and then disappearing to cross the Sound of Mull.

If you like small, smart workboats, Loch Aline has them, including this one called Just Tin. It's made of metal. One of the funnier names given to a boat.
The actual sound of Mull (sound, as in noise) is unknown yet, although the bird life here in Drumbuighe, just off Loch Sunart, is prolific. It is a little bolthole surrounded by small hills which are diminutive in comparison with the usual 500m monsters that create weird winds that are bit like having too many beans the night before, although I don't believe that volcanoes ever ate beans.

Tomorrow is a little bit of a stretch to Mallaig (pronounced Mallig, it seems), and the thin promise of a wind that will be on the beam - and that would be the very first independent sailing of the season. Sailing, as in pressing sails in to service. We turned in to the loch today, and I said, joyfully, this will be the first day that we have the wind behind us. The wind speed turned out to be five and a half knots, which exactly matched the speed of the boat. Diesel fumes surrounded us.

I saw a rather distinguished motor boat today, as it came past us in the general chop of the Sound of Mull, and thought that sitting in a T-shirt in a heated bridge deck was attractive. After the intense huddle of extra clothing needed for the Great Glen, one’s mind is tempted by the architecture of engine only vessels.

But in Mallaig, you can catch the Hogwarts train - and here it is, beautiful engineering from way back when Dad liked steam engines. Mallaig is pleasing, the food is good and the water is clear. It has ferries to everywhere, and the occasional dog that wags its tail and has a sniff at the garbage.

Also some very large seagulls with beady eyes that stare at you.
Mallaig was reached in good time, in spite of Imray's chart plotter giving seriously wrong information. I've emailed them of course.

The leak, and some navigation issues with an iPad.

Once I wrote about a leak, about twenty years ago, in PBO. That leak was resolved one sunny day when sunlight coming in the engine hatch lit up the actual drip of water: it was a copper rove that was a size too small and not riveted over properly. I put a tingle on it. It wasn't a fibreglass boat. Obviously.
This blog bit is about another leak. Last summer I fixed the leak that was spoiling the bedding in the aft cabin, and thanks to the low pressure system that has just hovered by us in Mallaig, giving us two days of solid, leaden rain, we discovered the leak again. Or Alison did. "Oh noo-ooo" she said.
In fact it wasn't actually the leak I'd fixed, but it may have been the same leak only in a different place because I hadn't been savvy enough to really search hard for the leak and had made an assumption about where it was and it all ended with sheets and duvet covers draped around the boat for at least a day.
The rain was torrential, but some Plumber's Mait provided some relief, along with Captain Tolley. Today is Sikaflex day.
Tomorrow, once the minor blow is past, we go to Tobermory.
I have to say that there are a lot of Scots who denigrate the food that Scottish people eat. It isn't true. We've only had one duff meal out, and that was at Euston station.
Navigation: this voyage is navigated using C-Map on a Chinese plotter, which is a bit clumsy to use and doesn't have particularly fine definition, some paper charts particularly for the West Coast, and Imray 'Navigator' on an iPad which uses its own charts. During the passage up the coast to Mallaig, Navigator ceased operating, just insisting that we had another eight hours to cover a distance of 6 miles. We were doing 7 knots over the ground. Basically it had seized up for the time being. The C-Map plotter was correct (we could identify things on the coast which made our position clear), and my iPhone, running the same software, was also correct.
There's a lesson learned: I don't know if Android gadgets do this, but iPads 'hold on' to the apps it has been using, in the background. Eventually the system gets clogged up. Clearing these apps isn't clear, but this morning's learning has been how to do this - switch them all on (need to know how to do that) and then stop them hanging about by 'sweeping' them off the screen.
Navigator charts are good, just as Imray charts have always been. But iPads keep ducking and diving and behave more and more like a special toy - and for that reason they are annoying.
So - if you are a sailor and reading this, say goodbye to Navionics on a laptop - no longer available, hello to really expensive over complex plotters, and also have a look at the Imray Navigator. It will be out for Android tablets soon.
And learn to tolerate iPads.

Big rocks

A lot of these islands are made of big rocks, red hot and liquid in their first form, cooling to form the huge and sombre cliff faces that we sailed past today. And then, in between, the flat sandy beaches, looking tropical, but not so, even though the sun was shining and the sea glittered and dolphins rolled past us and massed birds skimmed the water.

It was borderline cold.

The central cloud looks like a Ninja Turtle. Doesn't it?

The high cliffs seem to lean over the sea and seem morose and fantastic. Clouds gather over them, rather than over the sea, rolling into fantasy faces, and brilliant in the sunlight.
Tobermory looks like a collection of doll's houses.
Astonel has done us proud, with a small dose of electrical flu.

Tobermory bus ride

The light is amazing here, sharp and clean.
Because the conditions were really good for sailing to Oban, and the forecast was too, we took a bus ride round the island instead. This is what confident sailors do. The forecast said same tomorrow, anyway, when we would do our best for Oban, or the marina across the water.
We went to the southern end of the island. Because a caravan had slipped off the road at an overtaking lay bye, the bus was delayed so long that we caught the same bus back having quickly bought a sandwich and had a wee. By the way, Scotland doesn't accept English bus passes. Grim, isn't it?

The roads are narrow with passing places. The bus drivers were
brilliant.

A light supper during the evening was
possible. Although we had to wear
an extra layer.

Look closely - a warning about otters
crossing the road.

As good as the Mediterranean. Apart from temperature.

The road to one of the ferries. We thought that the
bus was going to board it, but it was just to pick up
passengers

The pontoon where Astonel lay quiet,
waiting for us to return.

It is an entertaining island, for geologists, artists, eagle watchers and sailors, because it is dotted with dead volcanoes, has unbelievably blue sea, loads of eagles all shimmying around on the thermals, and boats everywhere.
So it's just a photo gallery -

The Mediterranean thing again.

In places there are smooth beaches, in others, just steep rocks/

Five miles inland, the end of the loch.

Workboat with lens reflections (sorry about them).

Three days

As there is no special cake, Tunnock's fine wafer biscuits
provided a satisfying alternative.

Tobermory is lovely. Go there, sail or road. We went to a brilliant concert by the winner of Young Jazz Musician of the Year in Scotland. We had slightly poorly fish and chips (not as good as Essex, really) and in the morning topped up the fuel and water.
We sailed for a happy two hours, tacking down the sound of Mull before the wind faded and went to the usual position behind a mountain to have a rest, or just ahead of the roller foresail. It was the first time we have had all three sails up (really), and it was lovely while it lasted.
Oban is itself a little daunting, but it has a major whisky distillery, so we stayed at the marina opposite and had a very nice dinner at the Bar'n'Grill. The next morning we bought two duck eggs and six hen's eggs. As we left the farm, which is on the same island Karrera as the marina, a posse of chickens tried to make it hard for us to leave as they wanted to be fed.
The rain had begun hours before and it continued to rain into the night. We didn't go to Oban on the very regular ferry.

Oban to Crinan.

The route through the
Sound of Luing. Notice how it
 wobbles a bit, a bit like us when
the echo sounder told us
there was about 1m beneath us.
The chart begged to differ,
which made us happier.

This is about 24 miles. It was foggy when we got up, but it wasn't exactly raining. We left, steering carefully into the fog with two chart plotters and even the iPhone making its contribution, and made our way down to the Sound of Luing, which is the next one up from Corryvreckan. It was quite shallow in places, the echo sounder lost the will to live, and there were genuine whirlpools as the tide took us at around 9.5 knots down the sound, into the fog.
[We've done 13.5 knots over the ground in the Alderney Race, just to cap that one].

Crinan Canal.
Well, the book said it would be open until 9pm, but it wasn't, so we anchored off. The fog had lifted and the sea was quiet, although when I got up at 0300 for the usual, the next boat was still there with his anchor light. When I got up at 0800, the next boat was about a mile away out to sea. Still with his anchor light on.

We  anchored at Crinan. The sky was flat grey, with a
thin band of light where the clouds had nothing to
rain on apart from the sea, which must be a bit
pointless for a heavy rain cloud if there are no
living things to torment

Anyway, it rained. For twenty four hours. It rained all varieties of rain apart from rain carried by a gale. It rained all day, and in to the night, heavy, persistent and unrelenting. Left to our own devices, we managed eight locks, and finally after some assistance from passing staff of the canal, we retired, absolutely soaked to the skin.

Alison had attempted a mutiny at least twice, as she was in charge of winding the paddles. Also my welly boots were up to three inches in water, inside, that is, surrounding the socks, so I wouldn't allow a mutiny. Nevertheless, she was disheartened and at the same time quite exceptionally grumpy.

The driest thing was my vest. Only
the left sleeve was wet. Everything else
was wet. Wet. Humph.

This is the licence document for the Crinan Canal
after it was tucked in my waterproof pocket in the
office at Crinan Harbour. It was retrieved when we were
asked to present it on leaving the canal through the
sea lock at Ardrishaig. They had to phone the
office at the other end to see if we were legitimate.

The next morning the boat was dripping damp (everywhere), but at least the rain had stopped. My two or three year old "waterproofs" didn't prove their worth even slightly.
The cost of a licence for the Crinan is amazing, or breath taking, not quite sure which. The time spent waiting for something to happen is also amazing, but on Saturday we had a decent run down the hill from lock to lock because staff were around and a lot of boats were coming through so the locks were often open as we got to them. The locks are mostly antiques, and only the sea lock had hydraulics. All the rest were handraulic.
I said before, they need to speak to the Dutch about how to run it. Maybe. Don't tell anyone I said that.

Identify which boat is Astonel. The one on the left, or the one on the right?
The prizewinner gets a Tunnock's biscuity thing.

Tarbert. As good as Tobermory, absolutely gorgeous entry to the harbour, castle on the hill, and a new bilge pump switch from the chandlery. Dripping damp gone as the sun had warmed the sky andthe  air had warmed up no end.
And a glass of wine. Cheers.
Ireland is just about in our sights, although we may try the Isle of Man. We don't feel we've done the whole place justice, but three stops stand out: Linnhe Marine, Tobermory, Drumbuighe, and Tarbert. That's four. And I quite enjoyed that freezing cold little harbour on the Caledonian Canal. Tarbert is the home of many rather senior citizens, which made one of us feel young again whilst eating a jam scone with a cup of tea. The marina is lovely, and the ablutions block is a wonder to the eyes: all new and sparkling and designer, although the Dyson hand drier is a bit crap.

And Dickies of Tarbert still exists.
This is the figurehead on a fairly Norse-looking vessel, obviously double ended and designed to be powered by oars. The middle picture is pretty obvious - I was wondering just how an old boat can appear to be so shiny at times, but actually it was the torrential rain that has cleaned everything.
And of course, the bottom picture is a view from the ruined castle. It's been a defensive position since around 600BC, apparently, but I think the locals have ignored it.
It hasn't defended anyone against midges. I've just squidged one on the computer screen.