Aleria's Adventures

Aleria being hauled onto the Quay in Westport last spring Preparing to haul Aleria Aleria is a rather big handfull of boat. At 57 feet and 27 tons, it takes a bit of effort to lift her, not to mention move her.  She also needs a bit of space around her, which isn't always easy to find. This was her lift in this past spring.  It took two cranes and lots of prayers. I am already biting my nails about the lift out this Fall. Oh, woe is me. We need to move south like to Spain where she can stay in the water all winter. Now there's an idea. So here we are searching for one crane big enough that can haul her alone, or two that can do it together. Logistically, it has to be done only at high tide or we'll be stuck in the mud careened at the Quay in Westport. Not the best thing for her to do. So we're calling around to see who is going to be in the vicinity at the time we need. Let's hope we find someone soon.

The cyclonic system affecting our weather today. Weather, the ever challenging concern for the blue water sailor Our sailing club cancelled racing for today several days ago when it became clear that we would be experiencing gale force conditions with periods of storm force winds from the wee hours of Sunday into the late hours of Monday.  Right now, we have driving rain and we've already had 23 mm of it.  There are sunny spells in between but the wind is relentless. I worry about Aleria out on her mooring. But she's been through worse out there on her own. The cyclonic system causing our weather is actually passing over Iceland so we are getting the southern portion of its rotation. We had westerlies yesterday and are now into southwesterlies so a big chunk has already passed by. No sailing this weekend.

Heading out to the Inishkeas, or so we thought. A typical cruiser's change of plans Fog in Clew Bay We were heading to the Inishkeas, a group of deserted islands off the Mullet peninsula in County Mayo, Ireland. The weather was supposed to be settled, with light northwesterly winds and patchy fog clearing by late morning. The anchorage is completely exposed to any easterly winds, so the forecast was perfect for a simple overnight stay. Our destination is only about 45 miles away and high tide was at 0820. Perfect. We could leave at 8 am and be there by late afternoon. Then we could return on the evening tide the next day. I was really looking forward to exploring the deserted Inishkea homes, the ancient monastic settlement with beehive huts, and the remains of a whaling station. We hadn't done enough of that kind of thing this summer. And I was sure we'd be the only ones there on a Monday. The best thing about working for yourself is that

Alex working away, with Onyx the Edider keeping a close watch.  Before the novel hits the virtual shelves... We had been working hard for more than a year to get Alex's new novel completed. He started it last September when his mother broke her leg and we moved into her house to care for her, the house, and the farm. One day, Alex started writing. He wrote much and more, and then some more again. He was crazed, like a madman compelled to get every last word out of him. It was fascinating to watch. He didn't know where it came from or where it was heading, only that it had to come out. Alex was doing research online for historical tidbits to weave in. He was delving into our personal experiences with and around 9/11, as we had been living nearby and had many friends affected by the tragedy. He was conjuring up characters that cobbled together bits and pieces of people he'd known in his life.  It was all a fascinating adventure.

Moytura doing launch duty between Aleria and home    There and back again – there's no place like home! Low clouds in front of Croagh Patrick Once again, we marvelled at the beauty of Clew Bay as we prepared to bring Aleria back to her mooring. Every time we have left, we have REALLY felt good about coming home. This time was even more poignant. The west coast of Ireland has no match. The house was immaculate. It hadn't been that clean since it was built. Our friend Siobhan who was house and kitty sitting for us did an amazing thing. We were afraid to touch anything as our fingerprints would be telltale!

Mackeral sky and mares tails, soon will be time to shorten sails. Making our way home to Clew Bay, bypassing the Inishkeas The wind was < 2 knots on the nose, so motor boat we were once again. We left Broad Haven early, shortly after sunrise, as it would be a long day rounding Erris Head and Achill Head and high tide was mid-afternoon. We have a 15-foot tidal variation and need a minimum of half tide to get across a shellfish bed to our mooring. The weather turned miserable. Welcome home! We made it to the Inishkeas around 1130 and poked our nose into the anchorage. The Inishkeas are relatively flat and said to be much like the Outer Hebrides, which we had not made it to in Scotland. There is a wide expanse of sandy beach, abandoned houses, some being restored as summer holiday cottages, and lots of ruins. Another of St. Columba’s monastic settlements – the guy was like George Washington, he slept around – and the remains of a whaling station.  We toyed with ancho

Flying across Donegal Bay toward Mayo and home Flying Across Donegal Bay to Broad Haven Bay We got up early to make the long trek back home.  Some time during the night, the wind had shifted and we now had quite a swell coming into the harbour.  It made getting out of bed pretty easy. Bashing doesn't seem to bother Alex Alex was thinking we could make it all the way home to Clew Bay, but I wasn’t convinced. The sea was much more settled but still messy. And the wind, which was supposed to go west, went southwest. We managed to sail in glorious 15-knot breeze and mostly sunny conditions, with passing showers, all the way across Donegal Bay. It’s the most amazing feeling when you shut off the engine and the wind takes over in silence. Ahhhhh. Our original destination was all the way to Clew Bay or a stop in Portnafrankagh, but the latter would have been untenable in a westerly. As the wind shifted, veering southerly, we knew we couldn’t make it home, whic

Teelin harbour surrounded by lovely hills and homes Harbour of refuge and the parking lot at the edge of the world Leaving Gola via the South Sound We left Gola early through the South Sound. The wind was to go westerly but it was southerly. And of course we wanted to go south all the way to Mayo.  We sailed southeast past Arranmore where we had stopped on the way up, then had to start motoring.  We were not looking forward to 10 hours of motoring while bashing into the wind. Our goal was to cross Donegal Bay, a wide expanse of water where one shore is not visible from the other. But first we had to sail down the coast of Donegal.   The Atlantic can be mighty unforgiving here. It bounces into tall cliffs and bounces back out to cross itself. And it was just awful out there. Bash bash bash. Bash Bash bash. Hour after hour. After a while it got really tedious.

Stone arch at the end of Gola Getting Closer to God The harbour We woke to a beautiful crisp morning with sunshine and puffy white clouds. We decided to go ashore for a morning exploratory visit. We stopped at the café/tourist information hut on the far side of town and saw photos of inhabitants from around the 1930s before the island was deserted in the 1960s.  This was a special exhibit for the weekend festival.  Decendants are now coming back and restoring the old homesteads.  Very interesting. Marie, the proprietor of the café, told us all about the people, the history and the current happenings.  They’ve laid on water and electricity and built two new piers. Yet, they are having difficulty with conservationists who want everything preserved to protect sensitive species.  The islanders are being forced into making all kinds of concessions to be permitted to restore their ancestral homes.

Thunderstorm approaching the coast of Donegal (click photos to enlarge) Tory artists and artifacts aplenty, but no King Leaving Mulroy Bay Someday we'd like to come tour Mulroy Bay by small boat. It's supposed to be the most wild waterway in Ireland. From what we could see, I'd say that's true. But today we were heading off again. It was yet another calm day but thunderstorms were forecast.  We hauled our anchor in Mulroy Bay destined for Gola in Donegal, but en route we decided to stop in Tory Island.  We are very glad we did. Exiting Mulroy Bay There were squalls and thunderstorms all around us and we kept thinking we’d get caught, but we somehow managed to miss them all except one little one.  There was  a persistent light rain which welcomed us back to Ireland. We’d had little rain in Scotland for almost an entire month.  The clouds made for a beautiful sky and we enjoyed the transit to Tory along the rugged coast of Donegal. 

Fog in Port Ellen, Islay Across the North Channel, Heading Home Seal wishes us farewell There was heavy rain overnight, but it was generally calm and a gentle swell brought a sweet night of rest.  The ferry boomed us awake in the morning. Thick fog had wiped the world away. We were very glad to be anchored here away from town, rather than closer inside where the ferry turned.  You couldn’t see the boats we knew were anchored there…at least they had been there attached to the bottom the night before. Typically, you shouldn't be starting a voyage on a Friday.  But this wasn't really starting a voyage; we were completing a circle. And we weren't really sure it was Friday. When you are cruising, you don't always know what day of the week it is. You know the date because you make log entries daily, but the day of the week can be elusive. Sometimes, they include it in the forecast on the VHF radio. Usually, I jot it down then. This time, we thought we might

Aleria at anchor in Oronsay Gorgeous scenery, wildlife galore, and a lovely passage under a painted sky We had to rise early to catch the south flowing current in the Sound of Islay. It would be a long day and once again there was no wind. The Paps of Jura in the distance We headed out by 0800 and picked up a favourable flow past the Treshnish Isles towards Colonsay.  We passed close to the basaltic stacks off Iona and we realized we were early – at least 2 hours early and we now had a 1 knot current against us.  So why fight it?  We pulled into Oronsay for a visit.  Dropped anchor between the rocks and the island in the most beautiful spot yet. We thought we might have time to get to the priory but it was too far to walk in the time we had before the tide turned. Geese on the beach

Catabatic winds blowing down Skye as we depart The day of the winds It was heavily overcast, but a nice breeze of 10-15 knots as promised, as we prepared to get underway. We hoisted the main and mizzen and made way by 0830, heading down the Loch Harport with the tide but directly into the wind.  As we turned the last corner by the light house where we thought we’d be sailing, the wind started cranking up really fast: 20, 23, 25, 27, 29, 33.  Oh my, the boat ahead of us in full sail was getting hammered.  Suddenly, it was slammed to the water, broaching as it rounded up.  Alex puts two reefs in the mainsail Aleria is not as easy a pushover, but seeing that, Alex quickly went forward and double reefed the main as the wind stabilized at around 27 knots.  The boat ahead of us did the same. We suspected katabatic winds, and so we power sailed through it, mostly on the nose.  It suddenly dropped from 27 knots to 17, and we were sailing along quite nicely with Skye

View of  spectacular Skye from  Loch Harport Touching Skye in Scotland Mid-morning we headed over with the tide to mountainous Skye, which looked like the fabled Highlands to me.  This whole area was once connected to Greenland and North America at the equator.  But its peaks were formed by volcanos in more recent times. There are collapsed calderas noticeable everywhere.  Skye itself reaches up into the heavens and catches the clouds on its lofty peaks. It is spectacular, when you can see it.  Alex watching the 'cumulobimbos' The sky darkened as we approached Skye and thunder started booming overhead.  There were small lightning discharges but nothing like what happens along the east coast of the US.  A heavy downpour washed off the boat and Alex, while Onyx and I suffered down below. We were concerned about bursts of wind but it really wasn't like that. We'd never seen such interesting and heavy cloud formations at every level above us. Cumulobimbos

The anchorage in Loch Scresort on Rum Castles, calderas, and wildlife on Rum We sailed downwind out of the harbour to Ardnamurchan Point where the wind died, so we motored until the wind came back up. Lovely.   We were heading for the Small Isles, and the topography had changed significantly. The hills were more ragged and peaked. Ardnamurchan is the remains of a volcano, as are the Small Isles – Muck, Eigg, Rum, and Canna. We were heading to Rum which consists of huge peaks covered with forest. Very distinctive.  We wondered why it was called Rum and not Whisky, but we didn't find any answers. 

The Treshnish Isles, where nature abounds Nature and human nature  An adorable puffin on Lunga We’ve had this amazing weather – like the Caribbean – hot and hazy and occasionally humid. Light winds. Smooth seas.  Pretty bloody unbelievable.  For two weeks and more to come.  Everyday, the forecast read something close to this: Strangely shaped islets Sails up but not full in glass calm Meteorological situation: a high of 1030 mb has settled over Europe.  Forecast for 24 hours. Winds variable E-NE Force 2-3, seas smooth, conditions fair, visibility moderate to good, poor in fog patches, risk of thundery showers, temperature reaching a high of 22-24 degrees C. 

Staffa, with it's basalt columns, home to Fingal's Cave Natural splendor in seeming isolation Sailboat passing by We returned to the pier where we had tied the dinghy and were horrified to see that the fast ferry was in and jammed against our inflatable. Poor Cappucino was almost squished. But luckily not quite.  We departed Iona at the height of the tide and followed a circuitous route to keep to the deepest areas to avoid rocks.  Daria stood at the bow and watched for rocks in case the chartplotter proved unreliable.  The water was so crystal clear here, it was easy to see through it.  And the sun was at just the right angle to assist. We made it through the Sound of Iona without a hitch, which saved us hours of motoring all the way around.  Beautiful cut between the islands As we approached Staffa, the basalt rock lit up showing us her most impressive façade of columns topped by what looks like a giant afro.  I was annoyed with the guide book which

Horror! Cruise ship at Iona. Fog around Mull.  Iona, Scotland’s most important historical and mystical place… Iona is clear of fog at 10 am.  The cruise tourists are leaving!  It’s a good thing we rested up the day before because this day was going to be a long one. After two peaceful days in a hole that had to be a pirate’s lair, we were ready to see more.  Beach and anchorage for small craft Today, it was sunny, it was settled, and we were heading to Iona, the holiest place in Scotland, and just around the corner from Tinker’s Hole.  We’d be there in an hour.  As we started the process of pulling up anchor, our neighbour called out to us, “Where are you heading?” Alex answered, “Iona.” He said, “I just saw a cruise ship in there when I walked to the top this morning.”  Our hearts sank. Seeing a place like that in the midst of mobs of cruise ship tourists is among out worst nightmares. Oh well, we’re here. It’s probably not that big a deal. I mean we ha

Morning brings dense fog yet again Bumper boats and and crystal waters Onyx watching the action  We decided it was so beautiful, we’d stay an extra day in Tinker’s Hole. Besides, overnight a fog settled in so we used that as an excuse – we wanted to be able to actually see Iona! We’d been moving about every day and sometimes twice a day, and we just needed to chill. That’s what cruising is supposed to be. Drop anchor and stay awhile. So we were permitting ourselves an extra day. It was a beautiful sultry morning, people postponed departure until the fog lifted, but all the boats eventually left except one other.  

Parting Company Vicki and Paul aboard Nokomis Daria studying the coast pilot We agonized over the decision. Should we continue on with the OCC fleet which was heading around the bottom of Jura and back up Jura Sound where we had just been, or should we part company and head north while we had a good window to do so.  The forecast was for westerly wind of about 15 knots today, dying out to less than 5 knots and variable the next day as another high settled over Scotland and all of Europe. That high was to remain in place for at least a week.  If we went south and then around Jura, we’d be motoring all the way north after that.  We’d had enough motoring, but we really wanted to stay with the group.