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.
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.
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