Hot Water
Having had to get up in the night to chase away some local nippers who were throwing stones at uteh boatI was glad to get out of Inverness. We picked up yet another fishing boat on the way out to the sea lock, this time it was the Star of Hope, from Galway, on the way to be broken for scrapin Hull. I don't have a huge amount of love for rusty, square transom steel boats but surely it is a bit sad to end up in Hull of all places.
The skipper of the Star was keen to keep up with us as he was not sure about the exit through the Firth of Inverness and into the Moray Firth. Despite that he went full pelt up out of the locks towards the sea and there were some extremely tense moments when we saw him go the wrong way around a channel marker - because it was red he passed it on his port side, but he must have forgotten that we were leaving a harbour and not entering it, so the colours are reversed.
I was doubting my own eyes and the evidence of the chart - especially when he did it again but on the other side with a green marker. He was lucky it was high tide - we calculated he had at least 18" of water under his hull. Surely a fishing skipper knows what he is doing, but let that be a lesson to us, not to take anyone's lead unless they look like they know what they are doing, especially when they say they came all the way from Galway without charts. I only wonder how on earth he got through all the tricky tidal bits with all the rocks around Oban and Fort William without a big bump.
We were both really enjoying being out of the bath away from all the little rubber ducks and in the big water again; the tang of salt in the air, the water and froth seething down the sides, the prow leaping and plunging., there were dolphins playing around the boats and leaping clear of the water.
The fun did not last for long because within a couple of hours the weather had changed, the sea was really up and we were going over the waves and up and down like a fair-ground ride, but more expensive and with no candy floss to look forward to.
Things did not improve as dusk fell. The Star of Hope was leaving us to go 24 hours a day to get to Hull and apart from an air-sea rescue going on a couple of miles away and a huge tug towing a massive target barge for the navy and an oil tanker, and a tiny trawler dashing about between it all, we were entirely alone in a big sea.
It was not far now to our next stop, Buckie, but once again our navigation software let us down and we spent a couple of uncomfortable hours as the waves got sharper with me on the floor to stop falling over with the PC on one knee and the huge paper chart on the other, trying to nail down the right approach to the harbour, guarded by rocks of various heights and sizes, with all the harbour's lights obscured by cars' headlights, street-lamps and for all we know, local wrecking teams.
We were getting very tired and hungry - it was impossible to move around the boat without using all your strength just to hold on; I was even using my neck to brace my head against things as I was sitting. Also, it was impossible to use a bucket, so there was some talk of abandonning them and going for the old-folks remedy of "going where you stand". Fortunately, just as we were discussing our next moves, the small trawler, which had been racing about previously, appeared and looked like he was going into Bucke. We radioed to see if he would mind leading us in and he was happy to do so. We followed his wildly rolling stern lights, clinging to the path they made on the water and found our way in. I must say I have never been happier to see a grotty concrete wall.
I know we would have made it, we were just setting ourselves up to go in using the GPS, radar and the charts, it was just hugely more relaxing this way and saved our laundry. Once we were moored, Skipper went to express our gratitude to the trawler skipper, who is called Ian and owns the little 30ft "Challenge". He used to own an 85ft boat but that size is becoming uneconomical, and so, like so many other fishermen, he is earning his living getting high-value shellfish on a smaller, more "boutique" vessel.
The skipper of the Star was keen to keep up with us as he was not sure about the exit through the Firth of Inverness and into the Moray Firth. Despite that he went full pelt up out of the locks towards the sea and there were some extremely tense moments when we saw him go the wrong way around a channel marker - because it was red he passed it on his port side, but he must have forgotten that we were leaving a harbour and not entering it, so the colours are reversed.
I was doubting my own eyes and the evidence of the chart - especially when he did it again but on the other side with a green marker. He was lucky it was high tide - we calculated he had at least 18" of water under his hull. Surely a fishing skipper knows what he is doing, but let that be a lesson to us, not to take anyone's lead unless they look like they know what they are doing, especially when they say they came all the way from Galway without charts. I only wonder how on earth he got through all the tricky tidal bits with all the rocks around Oban and Fort William without a big bump.
We were both really enjoying being out of the bath away from all the little rubber ducks and in the big water again; the tang of salt in the air, the water and froth seething down the sides, the prow leaping and plunging., there were dolphins playing around the boats and leaping clear of the water.
The fun did not last for long because within a couple of hours the weather had changed, the sea was really up and we were going over the waves and up and down like a fair-ground ride, but more expensive and with no candy floss to look forward to.
Things did not improve as dusk fell. The Star of Hope was leaving us to go 24 hours a day to get to Hull and apart from an air-sea rescue going on a couple of miles away and a huge tug towing a massive target barge for the navy and an oil tanker, and a tiny trawler dashing about between it all, we were entirely alone in a big sea.
It was not far now to our next stop, Buckie, but once again our navigation software let us down and we spent a couple of uncomfortable hours as the waves got sharper with me on the floor to stop falling over with the PC on one knee and the huge paper chart on the other, trying to nail down the right approach to the harbour, guarded by rocks of various heights and sizes, with all the harbour's lights obscured by cars' headlights, street-lamps and for all we know, local wrecking teams.
We were getting very tired and hungry - it was impossible to move around the boat without using all your strength just to hold on; I was even using my neck to brace my head against things as I was sitting. Also, it was impossible to use a bucket, so there was some talk of abandonning them and going for the old-folks remedy of "going where you stand". Fortunately, just as we were discussing our next moves, the small trawler, which had been racing about previously, appeared and looked like he was going into Bucke. We radioed to see if he would mind leading us in and he was happy to do so. We followed his wildly rolling stern lights, clinging to the path they made on the water and found our way in. I must say I have never been happier to see a grotty concrete wall.
I know we would have made it, we were just setting ourselves up to go in using the GPS, radar and the charts, it was just hugely more relaxing this way and saved our laundry. Once we were moored, Skipper went to express our gratitude to the trawler skipper, who is called Ian and owns the little 30ft "Challenge". He used to own an 85ft boat but that size is becoming uneconomical, and so, like so many other fishermen, he is earning his living getting high-value shellfish on a smaller, more "boutique" vessel.
posted by Pomme at 3:29 pm
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