Preparation: In 1997, we entered the All-Rounder Class, with the sole objective of finishing and in that sense, we succeeded. In 1998, looking at the list of entries, we estimated that in reasonable conditions, the boat, crew and runners had the potential to put us roughly a third of the way down the 24 boat Class 3: in fact we were pipped for 3rd place by two minutes. It was now clear that we could realistically set a target of taking one of the top three places. A glance at the 1998 results shows that Hot'n'Tot's sailing performance was a significant weakness. Neglecting the later legs, where comparisons are pretty pointless as the fleet becomes widely dispersed, our first leg sail to Mull produced data from which important conclusions could be drawn. The sailing conditions had been close to ideal, but we had been placed 11th in our class of 20 starters for this leg. Peter decided to analyse the results for all the monohull classes, taking into account each boat’s racing handicap, in order to evaluate whether Hot'n'Tot was sailing (or being sailed!) to her full potential. The conclusion: could do significantly better. Our time, corrected for handicap, was comparable with that of Delia, Checkmate, Lady Linzy and Hanky Panky, but Calypso, Hawk and Fascinator were nearly 10% quicker, and Flying Squad, Nipper (our next-door neighbour at Largs) and Sophie were all of 15% faster. Not being a cheque-book sailor (much as he'd like to be), Peter felt a bit of engineering was called for. The modifications were first put to the test in the Clyde Cruising Club's Bute Weekend race series at the end of April when Hot'n'Tot won her class (of only two entries), but more significantly, on corrected time she beat all of the 15 boats in the two faster classes which shared the same start and sailed the same course in the Round Bute passage race.
The start to the delivery trip from the Clyde to Dunstaffnage was a grim affair this year. (Departure had been delayed until the Sunday before the race due to the wedding on Saturday of Cameron Johnstone, team member on our last two outings.) En route, Hot'n'Tot seemed especially eager to show off when she left the Crinan Canal in a most beautiful evening. In the hands of Colin Lapsley, team of 1997, she fairly skated up Loch Shuna on an 8 knot fetch to Craobh Marina for the night. Next day, a flat-out motoring thrash via the Cuan Sound had us in Dunstaffnage in time to catch the midday bus to Glasgow.
Thursday afternoon saw Peter's ancient and seriously abused estate car head northwards packed with crew and crew gear, roof festooned with oars and outriggers. On our evening trip into Oban, we found our close rival from 98, Sula, drying out against the sea wall to allow her crew to fit a folding propeller. ("You know, I had a terrible job finding a huge Allen Key to fit the new shaft nut they sent with ours," said our chief engineer as we left and, umm, guess what? Fortunately, one of the brand new ketches at the North Pier was equipped with an equally new and thoroughly comprehensive socket set.) "We've just fitted a new mainsail too," they told us. Hmmm….
We had been tracking the weather forecasts (the USAF charts being most useful) for several days and, by Thursday, it seemed very likely that winds would be light to non-existent during the entire weekend of the race. In recognition of this, and to keep Hot'n'Tot's weight as low as possible, as each trolley load of crew gear went on board, it was re-filled and returned to the car with the assorted junk that boats seem to accumulate. And then some: by the time she left Dunstaffnage on Friday morning, we had resorted to ditching the boom tent, spray dodgers, mooring warps, fenders, spare gas bottle, and even the battery charger and last year's almanac, into the old car (now very much in Tardis mode). Finally, the anchor chain, 60 metres of it, was replaced with "Anchor-plait" rope, saving another 150kg or so. (Dunstaffnage was soon echoing to rattling anchor cable as several other teams seemed to follow our lead!)
It's a pity you can't improve and tune the runners' bodies in the same way as the boat! So, as in previous years, training for the long distance runs commenced early in the year, with a few 20 mile runs in the hills and abstinence from alcohol for a week before the run.
The start (hill run near Oban): The omens were bad. At 8:00 on the Friday morning of the race, the sea was flat calm and there was a fine drizzle. The forecast for the weekend was for high pressure, with mixed sun and rain and very light winds. However, by the time of the mass start at 12:00, there was a gentle breeze and the rain had stopped. Bill and Paul did the short 5 mile warm up run over Druim Mor, a grassy ridge overlooking Oban. This year, the route involved running along the ridge, down the south-western end and then back up along a parallel route to the pick up point near the sailing club. A total of 49 boats set off out of Oban harbour, and there was the usual mayhem as yachts, varying from swift 27ft trimarans to the 80ft brand new Gordonstoun's Oyster "Ocean Spirit of Moray", competed as though it was a short round the buoys race instead of a long-distance 2/3 day event.
Oban to Salen: Steve's positioning of the dinghy on the beach produced an excellent start to the sailing leg, Hot'n'Tot being able to bear away the instant the runners connected, immediately rounding the south cardinal buoy in the middle of Oban Bay. Passing us early, and never to be seen again, Jackie Pearson, gave us a friendly wave from All-rounder, the extremely quick Looney Tunes. (Jackie is the owner of Hot'n'Tot's highly competitive sister, Largs based Moody 33, Lindisfarne II. He claims there are no special secret tweaks underpinning her remarkable record.) The first part of this year's course had a touch of "round the cans" racing to it, including a giant Tunnocks mark laid off the North Pier. This obviously lulled the more sporty skippers into Pavlovian responses, bustling for inside overlap positions and screaming for "Water!" at the marks being the first indications. Hot'n'Tot was caught up in this too as she was hailed to, "Sail your proper course!" by an overtaking boat of the big dinghy variety. "I'm sailing my proper course and there's a knot of tide pushing us up, in case you hadn't checked!" yelled our skip in response. A minute later and, too late, he realised the Racing Rules of Sailing don't apply in the Peaks Race; consequently there is no "proper course", the overtaking boat must give way, and he had missed the chance to luff his new friend right off the course.
Within a few minutes, we were off Dunollie Castle and through the narrows at the north end of the bay. With a steady increase in the breeze to a healthy 12 knots from the south, the pandemonium quickly dispersed as the fleet spread out into the open expanse of the Firth of Lorne.
We were now able to assess our position and it was much more encouraging than in previous years – about half way down the fleet but we could only identify Calypso and Checkmate ahead of us in our class. Sula (see '98 account!) pulled ahead for a time as Hot'n'Tot sailed close in to the lee of Kerrera Island but this was soon recovered. We had determined that we would follow a course somewhat to the south of the heading which the core of the fleet seemed to be taking (the tide would be pushing us north until we reached Lismore Light) and holding to the left of the fleet was appearing to pay dividends. Close by, the signs were good too. Sula was falling back and by the time we entered the swirling whirlpools in the narrow channel between Lismore and Lady Rock, we had built up a lead of about 10 boat lengths over Calypso.
By now, the wind had backed and we were flying our lightweight spinnaker which, despite being elderly and wrinkled, had proven to be devastatingly effective in recent months. We were going well, and now we were closing the gap on the leading boats, including the multi-hulls but this was not a good thing. We were running into a lull, and eventually a hole, which left the entire fleet becalmed across the full width of the entrance to the Sound of Mull. This produced a concertina effect, and our position as one of the leading boats in our class was quickly demolished. Well, one thing we've learned, and sometimes have to re-learn, is how serious the knock-on effects of a few minutes complacency can be in this type of situation. With no hesitation, as soon as the boat speed fell below 2 knots, out came the oars and we rowed from cat's paw to cat's paw, filling the sails in the light puffs where we could find them. The gloomy overcast sky had by now dispersed, and we were in baking sunshine – pleasant enough, but we'd rather not have to row. This interlude was short-lived. The wind filled in from the north-west and remained there, fluctuating between 12 and 20 knots for the rest of this leg. Sunshine, wind, flat water and magnificent scenery combined to produce the most perfect sailing conditions. Hot'n'Tot was beating exceptionally well and again progressively built up a healthy lead over Calypso and Sula. Between Lochaline and Salen, she even managed to pass, among others, Eilidh and, from the faster Class 2, Largs-based Centauri (flying the Teachers Round-Britain Race sails of the Welsh team).
But where were the faster boats in our class? Checkmate was ahead for sure; Flying Saucer, crewed mainly by our friends from Flying Squad, winners for the last three years, seemed to break away from the lull at Lismore; and what about First Encounter and Hanky Panky who had both put in good times on this leg last year? And are there any dark horses? Three miles from Salen, one question was answered when we crossed tacks close under a boat we had been pulling up on but couldn't identify - Flying Saucer! Delighted to be in touch, we held on to our port tack for another few minutes, heading out into the mid-channel: Flying Saucer headed in to the Mull shore, seeming ultimately to regain some advantage in the process. (RACING LESSON:- This was a boat we had to beat: all the books say you must cover the boats you have to beat and in this case, we didn't and, on this leg, it cost us.) Our early arrival at Salen took the runners by surprise (they were below deck and no-one took the trouble to tell them!) and the final preparations for disembarking were rushed to say the least. To add to the confusion, two big yachts from the youth team class were manoeuvering under power in the vicinity of the drop-off point. Five blasts on a horn "I am unclear as to your intentions". "Was that for us?" asks Peter. "Sailing! On the heading we've held for ten minutes now. And STANDING ON!!!" is the abridged version of his reply.
With Steve, Paul and Bill safely despatched at the old pier, Donald and Peter quickly dumped the sails and motored round the anchorage. Checkmate, Flying Saucer: is that it? We were third in class! Timed at 4:23:10, 12 minutes behind Checkmate and just over 5 minutes behind Flying Saucer.
Ben More: This leg starts off as an easy run along the road to Knock, followed by a rough track into Glen Clachaig (including a 300m section of slippery, and smelly, cow dung) and then a steady incline up Creag Mhic Fhionniadh to the plateau at 330m. From here for the next 8 miles, there are no tracks to follow. Across the plateau, below the steep scree slope, up a steep gully to the summit ridge, and then up a narrow ridge to the top. This year, navigation was easy, with good visibility throughout, the only problems being lack of energy and dehydration. A scree run down fine scree to a checkpoint in the streambed of Abhainn Dhiseig; then a short climb over a ridge into the remote corrie of Gleann na Neinne Fada. The traverse of the corrie was followed by a final descent to the east for another long traverse back to the rough track and road. After continuous thoughts of "why am I doing this?" and "this is definitely the last year" (on a 23 mile run, there is plenty of time for thinking), Salen pier was reached after 5 hours 50 minutes.
Salen to Craighouse, Jura: With the runners ashore and the dinghy safely back alongside, the crew followed the now familiar ritual involving a good heavy dollop of sea fare (i.e., Kraft Cheesy Pasta) followed by a few hours of attempted forced sleep – difficult after the sustained adrenalin rush of the race up from Oban. In fact, the sailors managed an hour or so each, but there was no need for the 9 pm setting on the alarm. Anticipation got the better of them and by this time they were busying themselves preparing the boat for the night ahead. Half an hour later, Hot'n'Tot had weighed anchor and Steve was ashore waiting with the race marshals.
By 10.15, with the sun still glowing just below the horizon, we were off again. The instant the runners were aboard, the light spinnaker was popped and Hot'n'Tot was already up to urgently needed speed before passing Salen pier. Newcomers to the race might be surprised that every minute, every second even, gained or lost can be so important so early in so long an event. We learned that lesson the hard way last year. Other teams were to be dealt a similar lesson this year. We had anticipated that Ben More would be our weakest running leg, barring injuries, and our position was now 6th in Class 3. Checkmate had left when our sailors were asleep and was well clear, exactly two hours ahead and probably uncatchable either on sea or land. Peter and Donald had tried to count the others out in the failing light with Steve ashore. Flying Saucer remained second placed, now an hour ahead, with Calypso and, having pulled a long way back, Suarachas , neck-and-neck, 45 minutes ahead of us. Sula had also overtaken us but, even in the gathering dusk, she and Class 2 Silver Lady were visible less than 10 minutes (under a mile, that is) ahead.
Dozens of stern lights spread eastwards ahead of us down the Sound of Mull, while every few minutes another set of nav. lights appeared out of Salen Bay. We were thankful that the wind was holding and, with a fair tide running, the fleet was making excellent progress, much better than we had anticipated a day earlier. A few boats appeared to take the slightly shorter route between Glas Eileanan and Mull, but we decided to hold to the mid channel, progressively edging closer to the Morvern shore at the mouth of Loch Aline where a worthwhile boost can be picked up as the flow from the emptying loch enters the Sound and immediately turns south-east. It was here that we could identify one of CalMac’s bigger ferries approaching at 16 knots from her Oban base: if this was an overnight sailing to the Isle of Barra and South Uist she would pass us in the narrow channel at Glas Eileanan Light and put our night-time boathandling under spinnaker to something of a test. False alarm: she turned off towards Craignure on Mull, possibly on an unscheduled cargo or ambulance run.
By midnight, approaching Duart Castle, where we turn right, as it were, we were becoming confident that we were gaining on a fair portion of the fleet ahead in general, and the closer boats in particular. In fact, although approaching the darkest hour of the night (a glimmer of light persists in the north on clear nights at this time of the year) we could now clearly discern the crew on the boat ahead of us, and the next boat (smaller than the first and almost certainly Sula) was becoming closer at a similar rate. Cutting the corner close to Duart, further in than the boats directly ahead, Donald called instructions up to the cockpit as he inched us in, following the underwater contours with the aid of the chart table echo-sounder. The wind became flukey here and began to rise quite quickly, to the point where we considered dropping the kite, but soon, out of the influence of the headland, we were on a fairly gentle broad reach southwards. It was here that the crystal clear sky gave the three sailors a spectacular view of a never-ending display of shooting stars and at one point a huge brilliant satellite swept overhead at an incredible speed. Half way across the Firth of Lorne to Insh Island, we steadily overhauled Silver Lady (we think it was) and Sula(?) was in our grasp. No one had passed us since leaving Salen, the boats behind us did not seem to have gained on us, and we were feeling quite strong. But looking ahead, it was becoming clear that our planned strategy was about to come in for some rapid reassessment.
We had intended to take the most direct route to Fladda island at the north entrance to the Sound of Luing, which involves passing between Insh Island and Seil. There were obvious drawbacks to this approach: the wind direction being what it was, we would be in the lee of Insh for a short spell; and there are some nasty unmarked rocks quite far off the island to the north and to the east, but nothing particularly difficult. Now, so far as one could judge gazing over dozens of square miles of sea in the middle of the night, the fleet was splitting, most boats going outside Insh Island. Further south, it seemed that some were even taking the "outside" route to the west of Scarba, to come back inside through the Grey Dogs (at night? surely not!) or the Gulf of Corryvreckan, perhaps even to take the long route down the west of Jura to the Sound of Islay. Quickly re-checking our times and tides, and in the belief that the outside route seldom pays off, we proceeded as originally planned. We knew that we had to pass through the tidal gate at Fladda light by some time around 2am or we would be stuck for up to 6 hours: if the wind held, we would make it. Just. Once into the Sound of Luing, and past the first half mile or so where the tide runs fastest, progress, though much diminished, would still be possible depending on how much wind we got.
Sula, if it was she, appeared to waver similarly before passing to the east of Insh. But the wind was falling. By the time we were clear to the south of Insh Island and with about 4 miles to sail to Fladda, we were completely becalmed. Worse than that, there was a left-over slop from the wind and tide, superimposed on a slight swell. The motion of the boat induced by this made rowing extremely difficult, and any light puffs of wind were rendered virtually useless by the flapping of the sails. Nevertheless, we rowed, making headway at just over a knot. It was now certain that we would miss the closing of the gate at Fladda but if we could get some wind we would bypass this barrier by heading out into the weaker stream down by the Garvellachs, coming back in through Corryvreckan when the tide turned again. This was a high-risk strategy. The potential pay-off was that we could make up to 10 miles progress rather than being parked off Seil for 5 or 6 hours: the danger was that we could be becalmed on the outside of Scarba and unable to row into either of the tidal gates in time. Anyway, the possibility never arose. We remained becalmed, the tide progressively built up against us, and row as we did, we passed Easdale four times backwards. During this period, a couple of boats crossed behind us, rowing, and headed towards Easdale, managing to make some progress along the shore: but soon, they too were halted along with boats which had arrived earlier. In the Sound of Luing itself, a cluster of masthead lights suggested that a number of boats were anchored close in to Lunga and Fladda, or making painfully slow progress. "Time for Bye-Byes, skip," declared Donald as dawn broke, and Peter grabbed an hour of badly needed sleep. We settled in a point of equilibrium just south of Insh Island, too deep for anchoring, but where the tidal stream was weak enough that only gentle rowing was required to counteract its effects. (We later discovered that among our neighbours inshore, one almost touched bottom twice and another lost two anchors, jammed on the rocky bed.)
As the tide began to slacken, the light chop disappeared and a very light breeze appeared on the water about a quarter mile to the southwest of us. Ziggy (All-rounder) which had left Salen 20 minutes ahead of us, had been becalmed out there and she was beginning to sail. With a determined effort, we pulled out into the wind and we were off again. Rowing when we had to, it took nearly two hours to cover the 4 miles to the entrance to the sound of Luing. We were in a party consisting of Ziggy, Shimshal, Centauri and ... Flying Saucer. The sight of our rivals from Class 3 so close was a great boost to us and we were the first boat in the group to enter the narrow channel between the two lights. Our calculations had predicted that it would be slack water at about this time, but the tide was already running southwards quite strongly. (Quoting that expert navigator from these parts, Para Handy, "Tides is chust a mystery!")
With the tide pushing us rapidly down the narrow channel, we were able to sail quite effectively, the lee-bow effect being more or less the only effect in the near-still air. Tacking back and forth across the Sound, all the time watching the tidal swirls and eddies and trying to make the most of them, we traded the lead position in our little group, on and off, with Flying Saucer. We were surprised that the three bigger boats were not making as much of this opportunity as us, but they seemed to be sticking on either side of the channel, possibly caught in dead zones or even back-eddies. (In such light conditions, Shimshal was further handicapped by being a couple of tons overweight, equipped for an imminent transatlantic voyage.) But then we made one smart move too many. Thinking that the flow in through the Grey Dogs channel at the north end of Scarba would boost our progress southwards, we took a tack directly into the channel entrance. "Bad call, Pete!" shouted Kevin from the helm of Flying Saucer as she slid by on the opposite tack 100 yds to the west, with Hot'n'Tot almost dead in the water. The water spilling in through the Grey Dogs seems to push the flow in the main channel eastwards, leaving a dead zone off Scarba. Flying Saucer held onto a good push in the main stream and steadily built up a lead of over a mile as she headed in the direction of the Dorus Mor. But this puzzled us. One of the Oyster ketches sat in there, having been becalmed for hours.
Despite Flying Saucer being a boat we had to beat, and one that we should therefore cover, we had no intention of going over there. Our plan was straightforward and based on a number of close observations of the Gulf of Corryvreckan. We would, indeed, hold to the Scarba shore, and move to get into the stream flowing in through the Gulf at the earliest opportunity. We would then aim directly across the flow to take us close to Jura – not too close, to avoid stagnant zones and back-eddies. The stream coming in from the Atlantic side of the islands turns sharply to the right, down the Sound of Jura in exactly the direction we wished to travel. It paid off. Flying Saucer fell into the same hole as Alba Venturer and gradually disappeared from view. Several hours passed before we had to row again.
In the early afternoon, we were a mile north of Tarbert Bay, Jura, and about half a mile off the Jura shore when, as is so often the case, at slack water the light breeze we had been enjoying disappeared. Now rowing from puff to puff again, we were collectively feeling quite smug at opening up such a gap on the boats behind until Bill noticed that we were going backwards in relation to Jura. To make things worse, we could see two yachts approaching about from about 5 miles to the north – had Flying Saucer broken free? Time to take our medicine and head directly, and as fast as we could row, for the shore and out of the worst effects of the stream, losing considerable ground to the tide in doing so. However, we could also see that there was wind close in and we were soon making headway again. As the afternoon progressed, the offshore breeze built and we were creaming along at up to 8 knots on a beam reach (too chilly to sunbathe now, though).
In contrast to the previous two events, this year we made a high-speed entry to Loch-na-Mile, and, making the most of Hot'n'Tot's shoal draught, catapulted the dinghy off as we did a handbrake turn close up to the old stone pier at Craighouse, arriving at quarter past four on the Saturday afternoon. We had picked up two places since leaving Salen to be fourth in class. Calypso, now second, had left just as we were coming round the north end of Goat Island, but third placed Sula was still on a mooring. [We later discovered that Sula had been rowed against the tide down the Sound of Luing, she can make up to 3 knots, having arrived at the tidal gate just before it was too late to pass through. The crews of both Sula and Flying Saucer believe Calypso chose to go outside Scarba – it would be interesting to know whether this was the ploy which paid off for the heavier Contessa for she certainly did well on this leg.] Our ranking became clearer when Sula departed about half an hour after our arrival, her kite appearing with a flourish just as she left the loch and turned south towards Ireland.
Then, after an hour, the two boats behind us arrived and turned out to be Shimshal and, a few minutes later, Ziggy. Skerryvore (Class 2) entered the loch just ahead of this pair, but did she come by the much longer Sound of Islay route? At about 6 o'clock a group of sails appeared over the headland at the north end of the loch. Flying Saucer was being pursued (very appropriately, some of us believe) by the two Strathclyde Police teams in First Encounter and Salamander. Suarachas was there too. Time for the sailors to sleep.
The Paps of Jura: Weather was excellent, with just a few broken clouds on top. The views were spectacular (seen through a mist of sweat) - blue lochans, the Atlantic to the West, the Sound of Jura to the East, and huge areas of wilderness populated by only red deer. The two runners arrived back after climbing the 3 Paps in a time of 5 hours 3 minutes with only minor bruising and cuts from the scree runs. We later heard of a brave lady from another boat who carried on to finish the run after dislocating her knee, and went on to complete the Goatfell leg too.
Craighouse to Lamlash on Arran: Paul and Bill had shaved almost half an hour off last year’s time, and the sails had only just been prepared for departure when our dinghy was spotted leaving the slip. The north westerly wind had freshened and Steve had to row frantically to catch Hot'n'Tot as she began to build up speed under a flogging mainsail alone. It was just after half past nine and still daylight as we rounded the beacon which marks "not-quite-the-end" of the reef guarding the southern entrance to the loch. The Jura run had pulled us almost an hour closer to Sula, still well over 4 hours ahead of us though. The next major obstacle would be the Mull of Kintyre, over 30 miles to the south. Slack water at the Mull would be at about 1am tonight: thereafter the opposing tide would build up rapidly, eventually making progress virtually impossible, and at the very least, extremely uncomfortable with the wind blowing from the northwest. The timing of our departure from Jura meant that a leisurely 4 knots or so would see us at the Mull in time for the gate to reopen. On the other hand, we figured that Sula, having left before 5pm, and with good wind, might slip through on the tail end of the earlier tide. Calypso would almost certainly make it. The wind had held throughout the evening and both boats would have had a fair tide to help them all the way down the Kintyre peninsula. But would they escape all the way up past Sanda Island to the Kilbrannan Sound? What was the wind like at the Mull? We still had it all to play for.
Hot'n'Tot was performing well initially, her spinnaker pushing her southwards at 7 knots on a broad reach. Too much of a reach Donald claimed, as the dim flashes of light the skipper was aiming for over the horizon were not the Mull of Kintyre, but Rathlin Island across the North Channel, just off the Irish Coast. "I'm, er, reaching downwind. It's quicker, don't you know?" Not in a Moody 33 you keep telling us……
Repeating the pattern of the previous night, the wind dropped in the early hours of the morning at about the time of slack water. We were dreading the prospect of being becalmed here. At least at Fladda the really serious part of the tidal gate extends only a mile or so southwards, and with a reasonable breeze, progress outside this zone is still possible. At the Mull, safety aspects enter the equation in a much bigger way too and, all things considered, the barrier the tide can present stretches to well over 10 miles. With the wrong breaks, it is all too easy to pick up a 12 hour penalty here.
With the wind down to 4 or 5 knots, and the sea forming a short, nasty, confused chop, it was becoming very difficult to keep the sails drawing on the run and it was necessary to reach, gybing through 100 degrees or more, to keep the boat steady and moving. As dawn broke, to the southwest of us, taking the longer offshore route, a yacht we had been catching could be identified as one of the Oyster ketches, confirmed as she made her safety call to the Coastguard as Alba Venturer. Behind, a boat had come out of Craighouse about an hour after us, but she didn't seem to be gaining: was she in our class, we wondered. Some of us were certain it was Flying Saucer's spinnaker.
South of Machrihanish and about 3 miles offshore, our speed was down to less than 2 knots. Worse, for a spell the tide was pushing us backwards up the Kintyre coast. We decided to sacrifice all southerly progress in order to head inshore as quickly as we could. Close inshore around the Mull of Kintyre, the tidal stream reverses its direction over an hour earlier than is the case a mile or two out, and it was nearly time to pick this up. (It also runs faster, so you don't want to go in there too early.) As the tide turned, the chop diminished and the sails became more effective. Minute by minute, we became more confident that we would make it on this tide. We certainly had no desire to hang around here, and as we passed the lighthouse, the Mull was looking typically dark, sinister and threatening, the usual pall of mist on the cliffs reinforcing the gloom. To add to the atmosphere, the temperature had dropped quite dramatically.
As we turned east towards Deas Point (Sron nan Uam) and Sanda Sound, the wind picked up and we were reaching along at hull speed and then more. Very soon we had 15 knots of wind on the beam and under her full-bodied light spinnaker, Hot'n'Tot was hard pressed. Even with the mainsail let out until the boom was almost on the shrouds, the rudder stalled out three or four times within a few minutes. Regaining control, we ran off southwards, hoisted the No.1 Genoa and tripped the kite. Hardening up, we headed back northeastwards to the Kintyre shore to pick up the faster running tide in the inner stream. Give or take a few knots, the wind held, and with the favourable tide under us, we made excellent progress, close-fetching all the way to the Isle of Arran's south coast by midday on one tack. Uncannily, last year's pattern was repeated again with the wind falling away completely when we were half a mile west of Pladda Island (just about the time of slack water too). Behind us, three boats still had good wind and, despite our efforts at rowing, they soon ate into the gap of 10 miles or so that we had built up, before they too were becalmed. One was Alba Venturer for sure and, through binoculars, we could just make out that another had a broad dark band around her hull; could it be First Encounter? We knew it could be.
We could see that there was wind on the surface of the water on the other side of Pladda: rowing into it was difficult with the tide now against us. An American flagged yacht passed close by, her crew gazing in apparent amazement, possibly speculating on canny Scots saving on the diesel. Out on the east side of Pladda, a fresh north/north-easterly breeze quickly developed meaning a beat up the Firth of Clyde along the east coast of Arran to Lamlash. The first long tacks out and back, with tidal overfalls throwing lumps of spray over Hot'n'Tot for the only time in the race, brought us back to Pladda. Short-tacking along the shore in flatter water out of the tide was more productive. As we arrived at King's Cross, at the southern entrance to Lamlash Bay, the wind was dropping just as the tide was approaching its maximum flow, and it was only on the third tack "attempt" that Hot'n'Tot was able to skip across the stream which was flowing past the southern tip of Holy Isle. Inside the bay, the light breeze and flat water made for an easy 6 knot fetch to within a couple of boat lengths of the old pier at Lamlash (the "new" pier was demolished in 1960) where the dinghy was set loose. At this state of the tide we could have gone alongside but disembarkation by dinghy was probably quicker. Hot'n'Tot headed out to her own mooring. This long leg took only 16 hours 20 minutes, the near perfect synchronisation with the tide at the Mull and beyond helping to make Hot'n'Tot's time 9th fastest in the whole fleet, including the multihulls, over this section.
Observations now we'd stopped:- There were a lot of boats here, most them had left Jura before we had arrived at Craighouse, and we had obviously made up a good bit of time on them. Focussing on Class 3, Calypso was leaving as we were preparing to drop our runners, meaning a 4 – 5 hour gap; Sula was still on a mooring, dinghy alongside, with no-one looking out for runners. The race could still be on. Behind us, nothing appeared for a long time; the foul tide had built up off Pladda by the time the three following boats had arrived there and they seemed to suffer more than we had. Alba Venturer and Ziggy (with a dark band!) finally appeared while the third boat, probably not in the race, disappeared. (Timing was, of course, crucial for the boats leaving Craighouse behind us: it transpired that teams leaving a couple of hours after us were trapped by the tide at the Mull and took ten or more hours extra to make Lamlash.) More immediately, the sun was blazing and there was time for a couple of hours' perfect kip on deck…….
"Stick one of our race numbers on the stern so that the other boats'll know who's passing them," said Steve at Dunstaffnage, tongue firmly in cheek. So we did. Outside Oban Bay until finishing at Troon, other than for short spells, only Matilda overtook us whilst we were sailing. What's that about positive thinking???
Goatfell: Ashore just after 1.30. This leg was run in the afternoon in hot sunny weather. The run goes over Prospect Hill, through Brodick, up Goatfell and then back by the same route. The runners managed the run in 4 hours 25 minutes, having stopped at every small stream on route to take on water. All runs were completed in daylight this year - the first time in 6 attempts that Bill and Paul had experienced this.
Lamlash to Troon: Departing at 6 on a beautiful warm evening, we enjoyed a light to moderate north-easterly breeze all the way across to Troon. What a relief, not having to row this year. Another contrast was that we were ending the race alone, between two groups which had been widely separated by the effects of the tides. With the pressure off, the helm was locked and Hot'n'Tot, perfectly balanced, took herself unattended on a fetch over the Firth to Troon. Down below, the team gorged on the remaining fresh supplies, meaning an endless supply of toasted cheese.
A sprint up the pontoon in Troon Marina after a 4 hour 10 minutes sail,
and, fourth (again) in Class 3, the team were timed in at 22:43 on Sunday
night - early enough to congratulate the crew from third placed Sula who
were celebrating in the marina bar. Total sailing time was 43 hours 23
minutes 54 seconds; total running time was 15 hours 19 minutes and 1 second.
An excellent weekend, with the weather turning out much better than expected
- dry and warm with fairly consistent light winds.
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