The day that we would set sail from Largs had finally dawned. (For real this time!)
We’d moved our starting date back by a day due to around 20knots of headwind which our experienced sailing friend, Ollie, had advised against if we wanted to keep our growing love for sailing intact. We’d decided to heed his advice, which also gave us the chance to have a goodbye dinner with him and his partner Jess. We were honoured to be presented with a logbook from the pair of them as a goodbye gift, a place to keep track of our sailing journeys. Empty pages waiting to be filled with tales of the seas.
We’d put some fuel in the tank, though not filled it to the top (an unfortunate mistake you’ll hear more about later), had stocked up on food and water, and had our navigation and pilotage (the plan to navigate a safe entrance into the next harbour) plans ready to go. Feeling as mentally prepared as we ever would, we awoke early on Saturday 14th May, handed in our marina keys, and by 7:30am we were slowly motoring our way out of the marina.
Our first port of call was to be Campbeltown, with Arran being an emergency backup on route. We had light winds throughout the day as the weather had predicted, though unfortunately the winds were heading in the wrong direction and were of no help to us. We tried raising the sails and turning off the engine at a couple of different points along the journey but found we were heading further and further off-course in order to keep the wind in our sails, so soon lowered them and continued on with the engine.
Land masses slowly morphed as we chugged through the water, colours fading or becoming clear as we travelled further or closer to shore. As we passed the Isle of Arran we played a game, trying to guess the distance we were from land. Gauging by the amount of colour and detail we could see.
Ten hours later and we were making our entrance into the port of Campbeltown. Carefully, and nervously, following our pilotage plan as there was a lot of shallow water meaning there was a risk of us running aground. Lucky for us, a line of buoys led the way. We passed the larger port for ferries as the marina came into view. There were only a handful of pontoons here, half of which were in water too shallow for us. We’d called in advance for someone at the marina to help catch our lines (ropes) as we were far from confident mooring alone. They didn’t make it out in time but thankfully someone from a neighbouring vessel was good enough to lend a hand.
With spirits high, we were looking to celebrate our first success across the water and so, after some advice from the marina guy we headed to the local social club, a stone’s throw from our pontoon. Not much to look at from the outside, but a lively place within. We found our spot in the back room, an almost empty square that led to the toilets and housed a dartboard on the wall. Every now and then someone would dance their way through the room, or stop for some random conversation, likely intrigued by these foreign folk that had ventured into their favourite haunt.
It had been our first real journey with only the two of us on board. A victorious moment indeed and one that was celebrated with glee.
We already had the next port in our sights however, as the winds were to be favourable again the following day, a Sunday. We were to point towards Bangor, Northern Ireland. A whole new country ahead, and an open expanse of sea between us and our destination. We decided we wanted more fuel before making our way across the North Channel – here is where our plans fell afoul. There was no fuel to be got in Campbeltown on a Sunday. A small port town at the end of the peninsula, it was sleepy on the best of days and Sunday is truly still a day of rest in these parts. That meant we would have to aim for the following weekend as we were working through the week, and hope that the weather gods were still in our favour.
When we did manage to get out hands on some fuel, it didn’t go quite as planned (something that we are learning is a recurring theme in the boating world!). As we didn’t have a fuel gauge on the boat, we thought the capacity was more than it was. The result? Lifting the floor to find a bilge full of fuel, and a good couple of hours spent trying to clear it all up!
One week in the historic whiskey capital of the world turned into two. After ticking off the fuel, we were then waiting for the weather. At last, our day came – Monday 23rd May. We had set off early, and excitement built over the next few hours as the open sea drew nearer. But alas, we had bow almost level with the end of Scottish land on this western peninsula when the motor failed. After a few tries to restart we ended up calling the RNLI (UK volunteer lifeboat organisation) to our rescue and were taken back to the nearest port – Campbeltown. Ending our day right back where we’d started, we were disheartened, frustrated, and a little at a loss for how to proceed.
We would have to wait for a weather window again and resolve our engine troubles before we headed back out to sea. A seasoned sailor may have been unperturbed by our issue, but we were far from confident or experienced enough to head out into open waters without being able to rely on our engine.
During this time we discovered that Campbeltown was even less protected from the elements than Largs. Strong southerly winds pushed us horizontally towards the pontoon, the vessel bouncing back and forth, lines straining and squeaking under the constant movement. More than once we could be found on deck in the early hours of the morning, trying to find a way to quieten those lines, hoping for just a few hours of peaceful rest.
During our time there we had the chance for an odd bit of exploration. There was another pencil monument in this town, as there had been at Largs, and I started to wonder if it was a theme of the region. We found a tiny local curry house, which turned out to be a hit with locals and tourists alike – other boats came to the marina for a night or two before heading off again, using Campbeltown as a stop-off point between the Hebrides and the Firth of Clyde.
Worried we would cause another disaster we nearly didn’t change the engine filter before our next attempt, but after looks of doubt from the locals we pushed ourselves to go for it. It turned out to be a very uneventful affair, and we were mighty glad we did as the filter we removed was black with grime!
Take two to Bangor happened on 28th May. We still didn’t have full confidence in our engine and were starting to think Scotland would never let us go, but were determined to give it another go. So it was that we were on our way at 7:20am, timing our journey to work with the tidal streams we would hit as we left Campbeltown Loch.
There was more trepidation and less belief for the first part of this journey. Then slowly, the bow began to edge into the North Channel and looking over the starboard side we could gaze upon a stretch of open water, reaching out towards the Atlantic Ocean. Over port, we were looking towards the Irish Sea. The winds picked up, and the engine was shut off. We then began our most beautiful venture – bounding across the water by the power of wind alone.
Whenever it was my turn to take the helm I found I felt very nervous with every bob and wobble of the boat, half-sure we were going to capsize and feeling like I didn’t have control. Strange, as I felt much more relaxed when on deck, even standing at the mast as the boat rolled and heaved through the waves.
Winds reached 20knots as we crossed the channel. Perfect conditions for the regular experienced sailor, but for us, they were the strongest winds we’d ever been out in and in my jittery, excited state, I requested that we reefed the main (made it smaller), preferring to bob along at a slower pace rather than worry about losing control.
As we passed the halfway point across the channel I pacified myself with the thought that at this stage, if we needed a rescue again, at least it would be the RNLI from Northern Ireland that would pick us up and so would drag us towards Belfast, rather than back northwards!
And so it had happened. Disbelievingly, we sailed our way across the channel, Northern Ireland becoming clearer hour after hour. Elated almost doesn’t feel like a strong enough word to explain emotions at that time. Before we knew it, it seemed we were right alongside the lush green hills and that there must be just moments until we arrived, but we had another 3-4 hours to go until we reached Bangor! A nice reminder of the non-speedy life of a cruising sailor.
Alongside the nerves I had felt, was also an amazingly freeing feeling. A feeling that lasted much longer than the jitters of the moment. Something that I think will forever ignite a passion for sailing within me whenever I think back to that first groundbreaking accomplishment. Though we had reached Campbeltown alone, we had motored all the way due to the winds not being in our favour. But here? We had sailed, for hours. And we had sailed through a wide-open bit of water!
At 5:00pm we were nearing the marina, headsail rolled in and the motor turned on. I was at the helm, admiring colourful buildings that lined the front, spotting a beach to the left, and trying to sneak a couple of photos in as Miki moved around the deck, preparing the boat for us to make our way to the marina.
Then it was my turn to focus as I was to take us into the marina and moor at the pontoon. We were both a little tense as we navigated our way past a couple of tight turns, found the correct pontoon and were gratefully greeted by a member of marina staff waiting to catch our lines.
By 6:00pm we were moored in Bangor and by around 7:00pm we were sitting with a pint of very well-deserved Guinness in hand, listening to live music at Donegan’s. Enjoying the very Irish feel of the bar as we revelled in our victory. Never had a Guinness tasted so good!
If you’d like to see a video of this first part of our journey, click here
