A haunted Mill, Watery Graves and the Toberonochy Lemon Shop

As the MacCrimmons were to piping so the MacFadyens are to handling the wee ferries that keep the place running. Single tickets are on offer, for those who expect to fall in love with the island, or maybe have a boat to recover, but most will buy a return for their eventual reluctant departure.

Since the start of this century an event has taken place in conditions of secrecy only rivalled by the Bilderberg Conference, but less damaging by far to global peace and prosperity, consuming no oil whatever and attended by a much nicer bunch of people, on this small island off the West coast of Scotland.

It takes place in the open air, but participants are untroubled by the vagaries of the weather, viewing extremes of rain, strong wind and temperature as stimuli to, rather than distractions from, their water-borne adventures. In all conditions they congregate. Strong winds and adverse tides present challenges to ever-longer turns to windward; in fact one year the weather obliged with a 180 degree wind shift while the crews were resting for lunch after tacking half a dozen nautical miles South towards the deadly Dorus Mor, coinciding with high water which gave a return journey of equal unpleasantness against a cold wet Northerly and a strong ebb tide. Despite, or maybe because of, such things participants, who like those at Bilderberg are all personal invitees, return year after year. Only the Great Johnson Plague has put a temporary stop to it.

Once over the ferry you’ll travel down slowly through a very Hebridean landscape, unusual for an inner island. Be careful when you reach the water mill; it’s inhabited by water elves, sithichean-uisge, who will inflict terrible punishment if you fail to leave a hair from your head as a tribute. Great hares, the size of dogs, will lollop past you.

Since we started only one of our number has left the scene, the lovely, gentle Hugh Gray, who sailed a little black cutter named after his Tanta Hedwig. His son created a Viking ship for his ashes and we watched as he set off on his fiery last voyage from Cullipool.

To end in the waters you love seems rather a nice destination. In 2004 the Brother came to perform at the special wee ceilidh we hold in the Toberonochy Hall and was captured by some American Campbells who had brought their aunt back to her place of birth. As he played a suitable lament the urn was opened, about half of the aunt entered the Sound of Luing and the residue engulfed the crowd.

On the Sunday morning there was little wind and the fleet was becalmed under a dreich grey sky, the drizzly rain trickling down their necks.

Through the Sound came a commodious plastic-hulled vessel, which dropped anchor in Kilchattan Bay and sent a lady crew member ashore on a mission, to acquire some lemons for the gin and tonic. Asking a local resident where such a purchase could be made she got the reply "I regret, Madam, that there are no lemon shops in Toberonochy, in fact there are no shops here at all."

At that moment out on the water the Brother, still in sombre mood, filled the bagpipe with blaw and started on a tragic lament, in keeping with the grim morning. On hearing this the lady said, obviously stunned at thinking she had gate-crashed an aquatic wake, "I'm terribly sorry to intrude on your small community in this time of grief," and made her way back embarrassed to her yacht.

Chan eil bùth an drasta

Secret Summer Operations

The Yellow Boat, a Christmas Wherry designed by Walt Simmons 

At great personal risk I'm breaking the vows of omertà to describe the recent manoeuvres of the Bilderglug Fleet, a risk greater even than open sea sailing in a fifteen foot open wherry.

There was a lovely first evening at the campsite at Carsaig, where the fleet gathered and those without the luxury of a cabin set up camp, a little squishy underfoot due to frequent heavy downpours which provided plenty of fresh water for the voyage.

view North towards Scarba

At first options seemed limited, with a low pressure system unwilling to move on, but the challenge of working South against strong winds and a foul tide proved irresistible.

The trip was quite exciting, taking about six hours of windward work with waves just random lumps of water. It was tricky to get enough speed to put the wherry through the wind and a couple of times we were just stopped dead by a wave and I had to give her a push round with an oar. A problem is always how to look after two sails, the tiller and the bailing bucket with only two hands, but basically it's all good fun and perfectly safe. 

Years ago, in a much larger boat, I had been put off trying to land on Eilean Mor MacCormick by the angry tidal rips that surrounded it, but arriving at slack water was pretty easy and the little lagoon is a good haven, thanks to the efforts of the MacCormick Trust, who apparently blew up a nasty rock that used to lurk there.

For obvious reasons I don't have images of the voyage down, but here are some of the fleet at rest.

Our mother ship is a floating gem designed by Iain Oughtred.

Fleet at rest, photo courtesy of Brice

My tent is getting old but still keeps out the midges, fierce little fellows who one assumes would have enjoyed providing the monks who used to live here in caves and rock holes with endless torment.

My midge-free abode

This place is seriously spiritual and our party felt far more affected here than we had earlier on Iona.

After several years some experience and our combined resources have proved that you can be very comfortable and well fed even in the most remote of places.

central heating, Brice's pic

The BBQ Meister, photo courtesy Tina

Youth Club, who says today's young ones aren't useful? Tina's pic again

Our happy shelter, Tina's pic

We were storm-bound for a day, then the smaller boats made a break for it up Loch Sween, while the mother ship braved the trip North in open sea.

We stopped for lunch at Taynish Mill, where there are some interesting pieces of art among the trees.

We had a nice trip up the loch and were almost becalmed on the approach to Tayvallich, then just when we thought we were home we were met by what felt like a half gale straight out of the West, as the warm land accelerated an already stoury breeze. Thankfully there's a really nice cafe on the shore where they do great coffee and cakes.