POOH BEAR REPORT - 25 August 2002

Western Scotland, 24 August 2002
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SOME DAYS CHICKEN, SOME DAYS ONLY FEATHERS, SOME DAYS
CHICKEN & FEATHERS

Sailing the Western Scottish Islands is an experience I 
have dreamed and talked of doing for thirty-five years.  
And as Judy and I are doing it now, I am indeed living a 
dream.  Of course, nothing is perfect, not even a dream.  
Some days are superb, others something definitely less than 
superb.  Yesterday was an example of both.

The day actually started downhill during the previous night 
while on a mooring at the village of Arinagour on the 
Island of Coll.  We had experienced several days of light 
winds and warm weather and had gone to Coll as a stepping-
stone to the Outer Hebrides.  The light winds of the 
previous days had meant much motoring so we also thought it 
would be prudent to replenish our diesel supply while at 
Coll.  During the night the wind began to build and along 
with it came rain.  It was not a good sleeping night for 
either or us.  

The Saturday morning weather broadcast called for North and 
Northwesterly winds (not good) at 10 to 15 knots (very 
good) with clearing skies (even better).  We emptied our 
two 6 gallon jerry jugs of diesel into the main tanks and 
dinghied ashore for refilling them at the village community 
operated service station.  It is open 9 to 11 on most days 
except Sunday and Thursday (good, it being Saturday).   
"Sorry", the lady told us, "we are very low on diesel so 
can't sell you any.  But maybe a farmer might let you have 
some".  

We thanked her, decided we were not really desperate for 
fuel, and walked to one of the two inns on the island, 
named (this is great) The First Port of Coll!  Our timing 
was poor, the ferry had just arrived from the mainland and 
disgorged hordes of people (well, at least two dozen) for 
the weekend.  And a bunch of them all wanted to start their 
day on the island with breakfast.  I waited with all of my 
usual patience, made easier by our waitress being a very 
wholesome looking young lass.

I ordered the Scottish Breakfast; egg, bacon (English 
variety), sausage, black pudding, beans, tomato, potato 
scone, toast, butter and jam.  Judy was a bit more 
conservative with her sausage in a bun.  I figured a day 
starting with a breakfast like that could not be all-bad.

Back on Pooh Bear it was noon before we slipped the 
mooring.  Starting so late with quite a brisk wind out of 
the northwest, the direction we wanted to go, already we 
knew we were not heading for the Outer Hebrides.  In 
addition the heavy overcast showed no signs of clearing and 
it was cold.  So our destination (destination #1) was the 
island of Rum, 25 miles to the north.  After an hour of 
pounding into increasing winds and seas we discovered 
several things; one - that when a locker door comes open, 
the contents end up in a terrible jumble on the cabin 
floor; two - that the wind was building instead of laying; 
three - that the fair weather was not materializing; and 
four - that the expected 1 knot of tidal current was at 
least 2 knots and was setting us way to the east of Rum.  
Our speed over the ground sometimes fell as low as 2.5 
knots.  At that rate, it would have been midnight before we 
reached Rum.  Flexibility being the key to cruising, the 
tiny island of Muck became our destination (destination 
#2).  

After another hour of bashing into a head wind of 25 knots 
(remember the forecast of 10 to 15) and making good only 
3.5 knots over the bottom, all the while being set still 
further east by the current, we decided a new destination 
was called for.  After a perusal of the pilot books, we 
decided we had always wanted to see Loch Moidart 
(destination #3), reportedly very isolated, very beautiful 
and guarded by a very rocky and tortuous entrance channel.  
Once we rounded Ardnamurchin Point, it would be an easy 
sail.

While bashing our way on to Ardnamurchin Point we learned, 
or more properly relearned, something about sailing Pooh 
Bear.  Pooh is cutter rigged, meaning there are two 
headsails and a mainsail.  The jib, the most forward 
headsail, is roller furling, meaning it is rolled up on the 
headstay and can be set by simply pulling on the proper 
rope and unwinding it.  Very simple.  It is so convenient 
we use it all the time, sometimes without even setting the 
mainsail.  And above about 20 knots, we unroll only part of 
it so as to reduce the area.  At that point yesterday we 
were sailing with the main double reefed and the jib also 
heavily reefed.  And still Pooh was not moving very well.  
The other headsail, the staysail, is a bit of a bother to 
set and hadn't been out of its bag since I can't remember 
when.  As we bashed along, Judy said, "Might we not do 
better if we set the staysail along with the jib"?  After 
thinking hard for at least one reason not to go up on that 
wet, wildly pitching foredeck, and not being able to come 
up with one, I agreed it was worth a try.  The effect was 
startling.  Pooh came alive, pointed closer to the wind and 
the speed increased from around 3.5 knots to 5 to 5.5 
knots.  I hope in the future I will not let the bother of 
setting the staysail keep it in the bag so long.  

Moving smartly along we rounded Ardnamurchin Point, eased 
the sheets, and coincidentally the tidal current switched 
from foul to fair.  We fairly flew, as much as a fat bear 
flies, east along the rocky coast towards Lock Moidart.  I 
watched the seas, now three to five feet, breaking on the 
rocks a quarter of a mile to leeward, sending spray high up 
the cliffs.  Then the mountains ahead began to disappear in 
heavy rain.  Then the wind died leaving us rolling 
maddeningly.  On with the engine, down with the sails.  

The rain passed to the east and the wind returned, but 
again NW 20 to 25.  I began to visualize the entrance to 
Loch Moidart. Waves would be crashing over the rocks 
through which we would be trying to pick our way in a 
fading light.  And with only a sketch chart to guide us in, 
there being no detailed paper nor electronic charts of the 
Loch, our high tech Global Positioning System and our radar 
would be of no help!  Time for another consultation.  Judy 
and I ageed that to attempt an entrance to Loch Moidart, 
now only 3/4 of a mile distant, under the existing 
conditions would not be wise.  In fact, it would be down 
right foolhardy.

Time for a new destination (destination #4); Loch Ailort 
three miles up the coast.  With the engine at cruise speed 
and a double reef in the main and a triple reef in our 
faithful jib, we could just lay the entrance.  A reading of 
the cruising guide made me wonder if we were out of the 
frying pay into the fire when it stated, "Navigation of the 
middle part of Loch Ailort is as difficult as any in this 
chapter, with the usual crop of drying rocks, and islets 
that are difficult to identify".  But it was clear that the 
outer part of the loch would break the seas meaning we 
would not be entering in white water as at Loch Moidart.  
The details for the entrance directions say, "Approach 
before half-flood so that the Bogha Sruths (drying rocks) 
are visible".  Instead, our entry would be less than a half 
hour before high water.  Those rocks would be totally 
covered!  So much for our timing.  

At 1830, using the directions in the cruising guide and old 
fashioned eyeball navigation (taking bearings to rocky 
islets), we picked our way between mostly unseen rocks to 
an anchorage in a beautiful cove at the base of a mountain 
a mile deep into Loch Ailort.  The cloud shrouded mountain 
towered a thousand feet above us to the east and the 
setting sun broke through the clouds to cast deep shadows 
on the mountain peaks to the north and south.  

With the cabin heater muttering quietly, Judy fixed a fine 
dinner.  After our meal in a warm cabin we had a little 
wine and surveyed our world.  If outside the loch there 
remained any of the day's boisterous 25 knot winds and big 
seas, we were unaware of it.  Around Pooh Bear the water 
was perfectly smooth, undisturbed by any trace of wind.  

So ended just another idyllic day cruising the Western 
Scottish Islands!

END of PB Rpt 2002-8, Some Days Chicken, Some Days only 
Feathers