Sailing

How wonderful it would have been to go on the Moody Blues Cruise, or On the Blue Cruise as it was more recently known. A flight to USA then a few days sailing to wherever in the company of the Moody Blues and various rock bands. The entertainment, non-stop and first class. The expense, well, one lottery jackpot win could have got me there, and home again. There’s another problem. Me and sailing don’t go together well. Not at all, really, but, if money was no concern, I might have risked it. Too late to find out. I’m saddened by the passing of my favourite, John Lodge, but very happy to have met him on a couple of occasions and enjoyed many concerts. Only one MB member left.

In his retirement, my father took up boating and spend endless hours, days, seemingly forever, on the Lancaster Canal in his cabin cruiser, sailing up and down. His first boat was to see if he liked it. He soon upgraded to something bigger and nicer, even though it needed constant care. He was involved with the boat club, became Commodore then later, President. The boat was moored at Forton, when it wasn’t in dry dock for repair, and occasionally I would visit. Sitting aboard was lovely, until another boat sailed past. Immediately, I would feel queasy. It wasn’t too bad if we were moving, but apart from attending a couple of dinner dances with the boat club, I didn’t grow to love his hobby. It was good for him, even when he became the subject of some gentle ribbing for being very sea-sick sailing from Fleetwood to the Isle of Man, and back.

My desire to visit the Outer Hebrides out-weighed any sailing worries and I booked ferry routes with short crossings. It worked very well. We had CalMac ‘island hopper’ tickets with the intention of seeing as much as possible. The longest crossing was Stornoway to Ullapool coming home. It was so good, it filled me with confidence to return the following year to see Barra and Vatersay, which we had to miss out. The ferry from Oban to Barra was over five hours. Four of those hours was enough to put me off all planned sailing trips round the small islands and I dreaded the journey back. We reached Vatersay driving on a causeway and keeping mindful of the times of the tide. It was worth it.

This summer, we sailed to Guernsey. A brave decision on my part, which I regretted shortly into the ferry journey. Those wrist bands did nothing for me. We needed our own car, not just to explore the island, but to continue our holiday along the south coast when we came back to the mainland.

I loved sailing the River Thames on a sight-seeing pleasure boat in London. I enjoyed the same thing in Shrewsbury, too, so not all is negative.

On our trips to the Ayrshire coast, we go to look at Ailsa Craig, an island that has fascinated me for years. It’s where the microgranite for curling stones is quarried from. I wonder if I could cope with a boat trip, just to sail round and back? I’ll see what next summer brings.

Meanwhile, next Tuesday, New Brighton beckons. Justin Hayward in concert. A first for me. The last member of the Moody Blues. It will be moving.

My Haiku style poem,

Calm swell of the sea,
It’s such a gentle motion,
Roll from side to side.

Soothing? Not for me,
It’s torturous endurance
With nowhere to hide.

Too late to lie down.
These wristbands are not working
Are we nearly there?

It feels so awful,
I’m not doing this again.
(Until the next time.)

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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All Aboard A Cal-Mac Ferry!

Sailing was not my favourite method of transport.  Years ago I would feel queasy on my father’s cabin cruiser, moored at the side of Lancaster Canal, especially when a passing boat sent ripples through the water.  The memory has never left me, but as my desire to visit the Outer Hebrides grew, and the only practical way to do it was to take the car, it was ‘let’s go for it, I’ll cope’. And cope I did, but there wasn’t a problem. The first time we went, we pre-booked our crossings with Caledonian MacBrayne on a Hopscotch ticket and sailed from the mainland to Skye, then Skye to Benbecula, North Uist to the Isle of Harris and the Isle of Lewis back to the mainland. We crossed different waters and they were short journeys. I was very happy to be sailing comfortably. We stayed in some amazing places and tried to pack as much sight-seeing in as possible. We drove south as far as Eriskay, a tiny island reached by a causeway from the end of South Uist. Unfortunately we missed out the Isle of Barra. We couldn’t schedule it in, but it was a perfect reason to return the following year.

I couldn’t wait to get back to the wonder of the Outer Hebrides. It’s like being in another world, even another planet; it’s so different from anywhere. We were only going to the Isle of Barra, not touring like before, but we needed the car and our dog would be with us so we chose the most direct route. We would sail from Oban to Castlebay, Barra. It was a journey of over five hours, but I had confidence from the last time. It would be fine. We arranged an overnight stop near Glasgow before a long drive to Oban for a lunch-time ferry. It was mid-May, warm and sunny, the beginning of last summer’s glorious weather. I looked forward to boat trips around the small islands close to Barra.

After the many crossings we did the year before, we had ferry travel off to a fine art and chose our seats by the windows in a dog-friendly area close to a café. We settled down for the long trip.  The beginning of the voyage was slow and gentle through the Sound of Mull. I hoped to get photographs of Tobermory as we passed the Isle of Mull before sailing into open water. Being out at sea, away from the shelter of the Inner Hebrides, was very unpleasant for me. The water was choppy, the ferry rose and fell like a slow roller-coaster. I couldn’t stand up, I would surely fall. Our poor spaniel whimpered and sat on my husband’s knee like Scooby-Doo. I spent hours bent forward, staring at the floor, feeling unwell.  I was so glad to reach Castlebay.

The experience of that crossing put me off any idea of island boat trips. We were halfway through our stay before I felt better, then I began to worry about the ferry back to the Scottish mainland.

Sailing back to Oban was fine, I needn’t have worried, but I’m back to square one. Sailing is not my favourite method of transport.

I think I’ll manage the Orkneys, but Shetland will have to be a flight and a hire car.

 

I've chosen Robert Louis Stevenson's version,

Over the Sea to Skye

Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul, he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye

Mull was astern, Rum was on port,
Eigg on the starboard bow.
Glory of youth glowed in his soul,
Where is that glory now?

Give me again all that was there,
Give me the sun that shone.
Give me the eyes, give me the soul,
Give me the lad that's gone.

Billow and breeze, islands and seas,
Mountains of rain and sun;
All that was good, all that was fair,
All that was me is gone.

             Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 - 1894)


Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

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