Gylen Castle from the sea

Gylen Castle stands guard at the South end of Kerrera, a former MacDougall stronghold built in 1582 and occupied until the inhabitants were besieged by General Leslie in 1647, Deprived of water, they surrendered on the faith of Leslie's promise to spare them, on which of course he promptly reneged, allowing only one young MacDougall boy to survive.

I've written before about my acquisition of the sailing vessel Gaudeamus, here; The Crinan Canal not quite for me. I eventually made it through the canal in 1974 and moored my ship at the Brandystone in Oban Bay, thanks to the wonderful Donnie Currie, then one of our last surviving boatbuilders. Our old friend Donald Brown soon heard of the move and demanded that I take him to see Gylen Castle from the sea. 

Mr Brown was not a man whose demands you could easily refuse. Born and brought up in the family farm at the head of Loch Feochan he had walked daily the five miles to school in Oban. Standing well over six feet he was a commanding presence, also a loud one, as his wartime service as a front line doctor had left him quite deaf. A man of principle, as a medical student he had refused to take part in University boxing. Like many from Argyll he had cousins everywhere, John Stevenson the procurator fiscal and the inspiration for Sutherland's Law, in which he was played by Iain Cuthbertson and Jimmy Macdonald the Oban undertaker being two of them. Jimmy's hearse proved useful when Donald bought a grandfather clock in Oban, but started rumours when it was seen parked outside his house in Glasgow.

We had arranged to meet at the boat, the Browns being already in Oban. On the appointed day I left Glasgow early, but my car developed problems on the way and on arrival I had to leave it in a garage. This was fortunate as by the end of the day I was to be in no fit state to drive.

At the Brandystone I was met by Donald in full white surgical dress, which he assured me being bloodproof was also waterproof, his wife Barbara in more normal clothing and their golden labrador, Juno. The Browns were namely for matrimonial discussions, both being of wonderfully strong character. Donald felt that wife and dog should stay ashore, Barbara disagreed and had Juno had a vote she would have been with Donald. Barbara of course won and we duly made a somewhat risky trip out in the eight foot pram dinghy to my ship.

Gaudeamus is a Loch Long, number 98 in the class, twentyone feet overall and with minimal shelter. here's a picture of a sistership.

Celeano II, built by Robertsons in 1949

We were quickly underway in quite a brisk following breeze. From the outset Juno was distinctly unhappy and cowered under the wee cuddy that you'll see in the photograph. Donald took the helm, while Barbara held on tightly and I did my best to keep calm. We were soon past Horsehoe Bay, avoided the Cutter Rock and made a swift turn to starboard at the bottom of Kerrera Sound.

There followed a nice fast reach in a flat sea under the lea of the island, with a wonderful clear view of the castle, before clearing the coast for the trip back North.

Loch Longs are tough wee boats and I had no doubt that we would make it, but they're not comfortable in a blow with the nasty short waves that we get when there's a good strong tide running. It took several tacks to work our way back to the entrance to the bay, after which we had a run down to the Brandystone. As we picked up the mooring Juno saw her chance to jump into the water, swim ashore and make off.

Once all stowed, dinghy back in Donnie's shed and  Juno recovered, Donald drove us to the summit of one of Oban's peaks, where we were met by the above mentioned John and Jimmie. They said they had been concerned about us and greatly relieved when they saw the Gaudeamus coming round into the bay and flying down to her mooring. Once we were seated we were each handed a pint glass of whisky topped up with strong ale to fortify us for the trip back to Glasgow in Donald's Rover.

The Crinan Canal not quite for me

In 1971 I visited Mr Hain, the manager of the Royal Bank, and asked him for a loan to buy myself a boat. To my shock he instantly agreed and soon after I found myself the owner of the Loch Long Class yacht no 98, Gaudeamus. Once I’d repaid the money Mr Hain told me that had I been looking for, say, a fridge he would have been much more dubious about the idea. He hadn’t understood how important it was for me to get afloat and that for some having a boat is one of life’s necessities.

I bought Gaudeamus from Edinburgh University, one of four boats that they were forced to sell after lobbying by Gordon Brown and others, the Students Association seeing anything called “yacht” as a symbol of privilege.

Although less than ten years old the University’s boats (the others were, of course Igitur, Iuvenes and Dum) were all suffering from the constant hard use and lack of proper maintenance typical of club yachts, especially those made available to students. She had a lot of broken frames and her sails were exhausted. All this made her affordable, with Mr Hain’s help.

Loch Longs are of course technically yachts, but they lack many of the features that one might expect to find, such as a cabin. Doing serious coastal cruising in one is quite a basic undertaking, but that is exactly what I wanted to do.

In late September I set off from Cove with a friend we’ll call Big Jim with the intention of cruising the West coast. We made good progress down the Firth of Clyde and through the Kyles with the intention of making Tarbert our first port of call. But exhaustion and darkness took over and we eventually anchored in Skate Hole, somehow getting in without hitting “the rock which covers at H.W.” according to the CCC Sailing Directions, see image below.

 

After a rather uncomfortable night we woke to find ourselves in more or less the same spot, in retrospect surprising, given the lack of chain in our anchoring arrangements. We got underway and had a fast run down to Inverneill, where the parents of a university chum gave us breakfast and encouragement, then on to anchor in the shallows off Ardrishaig.

At this point a small element of realism entered our world. We had allowed ourselves just a week for our first trip and had already spent longer than expected just getting to the canal and plainly the traverse would take longer than what was left of day two. The plan to explore a few islands began to look a little unrealistic. It seemed a good idea to do some serious investigations into what might lie ahead and these started off in the hotel, where we soon found such good company that we ended up staying the night.

The following day we walked the canal and spent a pleasant afternoon in the public bar at the Crinan Hotel, which was in those days a friendly place. We ended up quite unable to walk the nine miles back and got a lift back from a nice old fellow in a Land Rover, who turned out to be the Bishop of Argyll. We found Gaudeamus a few hundred yards nearer to Lochgilphead, pitching about in a South-westerly half gale, nasty muddy waves breaking over her bows. So we booked ourselves in for a second night, abandoned plans for the cruise and began to realise that the main focus would be on getting back home.

We left after breakfast on day four, beating into short steep waves thrown up by the strong wind against tide. The little ship coped well, less so the rigid pram dinghy, which constantly filled so that we had to stop and bail it out every half hour or so.

Off Tarbert we passed a tiny plastic cruiser with three aboard, struggling a bit but seeming cheerful, the only other craft we saw all day.

Each long tack across Loch Fyne got us half a mile or so closer to Ardlamont Point, which we rounded as it was beginning to get dark. It had taken many hours of constant hard work to get there. The wind had steadily freshened during the day, but now we had a lee in the West Kyle and flew down on a reach to Tighnabruaich, where we found a mooring. The hotel was full but we persuaded them to find us some space to doss in our sleeping bags. The talk in the bar was about that little plastic cruiser, which had been lost an hour or so after we had passed her, drowning her crew.

Severely chastened, weather-beaten and tired but a bit wiser, we had an uneventful day five spent reaching and running back home. I haven’t seen Gaudeamus for many years but it’s good to know that she is still around. These tough wee boats have a habit of surviving. Big Jim is still around somewhere in the South of England.