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Alert, (now named Vember) an Elizabethan 33, sloop rigged, owned and skippered by Boyce Cardus, first mate Peter Sinclair, guest crew Graham Marsden and Michael Swarbrick. Thursday 3 October 1991, 1800 hours. Forecast: west or south west 6 to gale 8 occasionally storm force 10. The crew were quietly going about their tasks preparing to sail. The boat was lying to a mooring in the secure natural harbour of Tayvallich, Argyll at the head of lock Sween. After three days of studying each shipping forecast in minute detail the crew felt that it was possible to leave. The forecast was still bad but improving. The crew were confident that they had assessed all the dangers, they knew that it wasn't going to be easy but they knew that they were right that knew that if they could get outside the loch they would be able to get to Glasson safely. Nevertheless each was aware of the task that lay ahead and the mountains that had to be climbed before safely arriving at Glasson. Boece was checking the course setting the decca, putting the waypoints for the unlit rock in the middle of the loch and the islands at the mouth of the loch. Peter and Graham were bending on the sails. Michael was finishing off the washing up and tidying up below deck ready for departure. Each assumed his task without question, all were quiet, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Mooring slipped Graham at the wheel the boat slowly eased it's way through the moorings and the hidden reefs.

The cruise was the routine return to Glasson with the boat based in loch Leven at North Ballachulish.

Leaving Ballachulish in Boece's old boat, Lorne of Naze, in 1990

The adventure began Sunday the 29th September as the boat left it's mooring behind and headed for the open sea. The plan was to spend a few lazy days anchorage hopping all the way back to Glasson. No night passages were contemplated, just lazy holiday cruising. It was a splendid morning the sun was shining with as we goose winged with a gentle following wind down loch Linnhe. Michael was at the wheel, the first time he had ever steered with a wheel. Days later he was still turning it the wrong way, it's just like a car Boece said but that did not help, he kept turning it like a tiller. In the distance behind us we could see a boat with spinnaker flying, growing ever larger eventually catching up and leaving us behind before turning to starboard and following the northern shore. Colonsay was the provisional target but we had left a little late so it would mean arriving in the dark. We continued meandering between Shuna Island and Lismore Island. After Kerrera we decided to look for an anchorage for the evening, Puilladobhrain on a Seil Island was the obvious choice, an idyllic anchorage. We were the second boat to arrive, closely followed by two others, one of them being the boat that had sailed past us with the spinnaker earlier in the day, mysteriously appearing from nowhere. They had a crew member whom we would have been willing to share our provisions with. The last time I was here we were plagued by the flies but tonight it was too cold for them. It had been a glorious day. After supper Peter and Graham rowed ashore and staggered over the hill to the pub. Boece and Michael listened to the music and the peace was heavenly. Monday morning, a perfect morning except there was no wind, we motored out of the anchorage, nowhere in particular just going South perhaps Colonsay perhaps the western side of Islay. Gently motoring with hardly any wind at all picking our way through the islands we arrived off the West Coast of Scarba still gently motoring about 4 knots Boece announced that we were going throughout the Gulf of Corryvreckan, the notorious whirlpool the swallower up of boats. All pilot books say avoid the gulf so that must be why Boece decided to take us through. After all the stories it was somewhat of an anti-climax but nevertheless possibly a worthwhile experience. We entered the Sound of Jura and faced the strong south west wind. We unfurled the sails and proceeded to tack down the sound it was still a lovely day with glorious sunshine although the forecast said the wind would pick up stronger later. We made good progress but the wind was strengthening and in view of the forecast Boece decided to take us up loch Sween to Tayvallich. Heading up the loch the scenery was magnificent. Tayvallich, the almost ideal natural harbour, was to prove a welcome haven over the next three days. It was only Monday evening so we had lots of time left for our trip to Glasson. The crew were in good spirits looking forward to their visit to the local Inn. The storm raged over us on Tuesday but it didn't prevent us getting to the pub on Tuesday night. We studied each shipping forecast in minute detail looking for a way out, a ray of hope. Wednesday arrived with still overpowering forecasts we could see hope at the end of the tunnel but the rapidly moving depression seemed to be moving slower each forecast. We rowed ashore for provisions and a short walk onto the other side of the hill to look at the Sound of Jura. Had we made a mistake, was the forecast wrong, the sea appeared calm perhaps we should have left. The problem facing us was our next port of call. There are many anchorages within a days sail of where we were but none were a safe and secure as Tayvallich. There was no hurry we still had plenty of time. We were hoping to visit Bangor because none of us had been there and we believed there was a marina where we could step ashore. Wednesday night Michael stayed aboard while the others went to the inn. After two more shipping forecasts Thursday morning arrived. By this time we were developing a deep understanding of the weather situation and detected a slight improvement. Time was now beginning to run out and the prospect of the long trip to Glasson was looming ahead the holiday cruise was being condensed into a long long struggle. The thought of long physical struggle with the weather demoralised Michael but the rest of the crew were still quite happy. The midday forecast looked promising, if there was a further improvement at six o'clock we would go. If we left immediately after the forecast we would have enough daylight left to get through the entrance of the loch. It was 1908 hours just after seven o'clock as we entered loch Sween the wind was coming directly down the loch, the waves were bigger than we had imagined. We were forced to tack all the way down. Because of our late departure it was going dark, there was an obstacle in the middle of the lake and unlit rock which we peered through the gloom trying to avoid. As we got opposite Castle Sween what little light there had been was completely engulfed by squall clouds. We were relying on the decca but the warning light was starting to flash. We lowered the foresail and attempted to motor into the wind down the centre of the channel. There was an horrendous banging noise. We were bouncing about on a rock ledge. We were too close to the eastern shore. Boece stopped the engine and in the confusion we bore away bouncing more than ever on the rock letting the wind and sea drive us to safety back in the direction in which we had come until only the noise of the wind could be heard bringing a flood of relief to all of us. Boece went below and checked everything. There was no apparent damage only our egos were dented (We milled around the boat anxiously at Craning Out, a few days later, but there were no signs of any conflict). The night before Michael had had a dream a pair of lips kissed him and they were stone cold. He awoke trying to close from his mind the thought that he was going to meet a watery grave. As the boat hit the rocks the realisation dawned on him what was happening, he was convinced the time had come, but Boece was completely calm and fully in control of the situation, he was behaving as though bouncing off rocks was an everyday occurrence (perhaps it is for those that sail in Scotland) and nothing to worry about. Going back was completely out of the question the night was too dark and we could not possibly see, there were all the hazards and we would never find the entrance to Tayvallich. Boece decided that we would go over to the west side of the loch and try and find a lee shore, this we did and dropped the anchor. We were prepared for a rough night but the wind gently eased and a calm descended round the boat. The calm was short lived the wind got up again. To stop the violent jerking of the anchor chain Boece secured one of his old climbing ropes between the chain and the boat which acted as a very effective spring and took out most of the shock. Nevertheless the boat violently swayed from side to side and up and down, the wind on the mast produced a chilling vibration which shook through the whole boat. We must have been in some sort of tidal race, we were at the entrance to a small inlet. Was the night never going to end? Michael lay awake on his bunk imagining the worst that could possibly happen vowing never again to set foot on a boat if someone had asked him at that moment he would have given his boat away. After a long long night dawn arrived preceded by a forecast which despite all the evidence to the contrary outside was even more promising but one look outside convinced the crew that to go on was impossible, there was a force six or seven blowing down the loch with short steep waves, there was no way we could get out. There was only one thing to do and that was to go with the wind and the weather and return to Tayvallich. We motored back and picked up the same mooring and just collapsed and lay exhausted and defeated on our bunks. Should we go ashore for more bread. Had we enough milk? It now looked like we were going to have to take up Jean's offer, Jean's the landlady of the inn, to run us to Oban to catch the train back. We lay on our bunks shattered and relieved, Boece resigning himself to the fact that we were not going to get the boat back and he could see the pound notes ringing up in the till infront of his eyes. The rest of the crew depressed and yet relieved at not having to fight the seas all the way back to Glasson were looking forward to sleeping on the train all the way home. The afternoon forecast again showed a slight improvement. Theoretically if we could just get out of the loch it would be okay but the wind was still raging outside. A few days ago what we were now considering as a favourable forecast we would have been horrified at and in no way dreamt of putting out to sea but we were so in tune with the boat and the conditions that we felt that we were capable of doing it. Michael back in the land of the living and now not having to face the long physical voyage was feeling a lot better and no longer selling his boat. Suddenly Boece said "the wind's dropped, we're off". With continuous sailing we could just get back in time to go to work on Monday. There was an outside chance we could get to the hoe-down on Saturday night. We weren't sure whether we were more afraid of the sea or the wrath of Kath if we didn't get back in time. We nosed our way out again this time a little more confident because we had plenty of daylight left, it was just quarter to three in the afternoon, the waves had almost disappeared on the loch, there was a steady wind blowing down the loch and we motored on confidently, this time able to see all the hazards. With not much to do Michael went below and lay on his bunk and the five or six mile trip to the end of the loch seemed never to end. At last we were through the islands at the entrance to the loch and in the Sound of Jura. We hoisted the sails and found that we could just make it towards our destination, the wind was still south westerly and not going round to the west as promised. We left the motor on and made a steady six knots. The day wore on and the boat happily motor sailing made progress towards the Mull of Kintyre, the wind was about force six occasionally gusting to seven. The seas were still a bit high from the previous winds, we were comfortable. The day became dark we could see the lights of Rathlin Island and the Mull of Kintyre both welcoming and reassuring despite dipping below the wave tops. A ship passed by in the distance as we entered the traffic separation zone and made towards the North Channel. Bearing away north east with a slight adjustment to the sails we found that we could now sail happily between six and seven knots without the motor and now we were really sailing the holiday beginning at last. We had a favourable tide through the North Channel and gradually the wind backed to north west as promised. The wind was too strong for the big spinnaker we did not have a cruising shute and so we fluctuated uncomfortably on alternate tacks trying to find an acceptable point of sailing. In the end we gave up and lowered the mainsail and sailed on under the head sail still doing six to seven knots. We were set to arrive at the Point of Ayre too soon so we made course to pass the Isle of Man well to the north east. It was the right thing to do because the local people had told told our friends that the fishermen from Ramsey took that route on the way in when the tide was not right. The wind was still six to seven every now and then gusting eight and as we were going with the sea so the waves did not seem very high, we were surfing down them in exhiliarating fashion. We all took turns at the helm and it was quite physical keeping the boat going in the right direction with the unbalanced headsail. Boece remarked that he was glad he was going this way and not against the sea. This was to be dramatically illustrated moments later. We were having difficulty keeping the boat on course and he headsail, the large genoa was flapping wildly from time to time putting severe strain on the rigging and boat. We decided to change to the working jib. At about this time a moments drop in concentration at the helm and we broached to starboard a huge wave breaking over us Boece and Michael getting the soaking (wash) they much needed. However there was no man overboard drill necessary. Rounding into the wind to take down the headsail it was suddenly apparent how large the waves were with huge walls of water descending upon us as each time we thank god just rode over the top. With the headsail changed we continued on into Saturday night. We now knew that we were going to miss the hoe-down. Our way point was lightening knoll just Walney Island. There were patches of light all round the horizon and we spent our time working out which patch of light represented what. We were approaching from a bearing which obscured Walney Light so we could not pick it up at all. Boece decided that we were going into Peil for the night so that wer could get some much needed sleep we had missed the evening tide into Glasson and we would be much too soon for the Sunday morning tide. At last we rounde Lightening Knoll and headed up the Barrow Channel towards the flashing red light which we assumed to be Halfway Buoy. There were several boats moving or anchored around Lighening Knoll and this seemed a little strange having not seen many boats moored here in the past. After a few cables a large boat turned it's blinding spotlight on us, why was it doing this? We altered course to show that we were aware of his existence. The flashing red light in the distance was not bobbing up and down or disappearing behind the waves like you would expect a buoy to do. This was strange. To the west of the light was a huge ship, a working ship, possibly a dredger. As we got closer it was displaying lights identifying itself as a dredger but it had two green lights on either side. Did that mean it was safe to pass on either side? A huge black tower appeared under the flashing red light, was this the conning tower of a grounded submarine? Did we go between the tower and the boat or did we go round the eastern side of the boat? There appeared to be cables between the boat and the tower so we nosed round the eastern side. There was a working boat backing up to the larger boat. There were cables from the stern of the large boat eastwards. Anchor cables, so give them a wide berth. Giving them a wide berth suddenly a huge floodlight lit up a large rectangular buoy about the size of our toilet block (note the comparison - I really had the ****s now). Going further east there were cables from the eastern side of the buoy. Giving them an even wider berth, suddenly a huge floodlight came on again thia time highlighting a large round navigation type buoy. After much heated discussion Boece was persuaded to talk to the large ship. In a foreign accent the large ship said that we would be alright passing half a mile either side of him. Was there enough water so far out of the channel? Michael was still at the helm and completely knackered, the rest of the crew also completely knackered. We started to round the large buoy thinking that at lst we were going to get past but oh no the ship put his huge floodlight on again. What did this mean? Did it mean keep away? I did not know, none of us knew. Why do not we go into Fleetwood? It is nearer to Glasson anyway. We get to bed later but we can get up later. After over forty hours, rough seas and high winds were we going to go down just off Peil Island. Michael had the wheel so he pointed towards Fleetwood. the others were too tired or too sensible to protest too much, with a frightened man at the helm..... The course was set for Fairway Buoy. What seemed hours later, with Peter now at the helm we approached Fleetwood Channel. All four of us were looking for the flashing light of the Fairway Buoy, we could see Lune River in the distance, or at least we thought it was Lune River but it was only flashing six. We had the Decca waypoint set for the Fairway Buoy. We followed the Decca to within a cable. Was the Fairway Buoy off station? We could clearly identify the entrance to the channel by now so we abandoned the search for the buoy and started down the channel carefully picking our way between the marks. Fro some reason the engine revs died down and we made excruciatingly slow progress against the ebb tide, which was by now flowing at it's strongest. We spent the next hour trying to distinguish between the town street lights and the buoys. There seemed to be very little water in the channel the closer we got to Fleetwood. It was hard to distinguish between the wet shining land and the water, the only apparent difference being that the sea was black and the wet sand glistened. We weaved our way though the last few obstacles and managed to get off the Roll on Roll off ferry staging and make towards the moorings. We headed for no 22 buoy and we could seee a couple of vacant moorings but we were not to reach them because the boat glided to a halt in the mud. By now it was nearly low water and it had been a spring tide. We eased ourselves free and tried again but this time we got stuck aground. We dropped anchor and bemused we wondered what to do. Whilst considering this problem some of us fell asleep. Would we be able to get out of the channel if the motor was not working properly? Would the wind be strong enough to blow us out? Should we leave the boat on a mooring? At first light we ere making cups of tea and coffee and sorting out our plans for departure. We switched on the radio as we could hear rumblings on the Ro-Ro terminal. Sure enough the announcement came that Puma was shorly arriving at Fairway Buoy and would be proceeding down the channel in about fifteen minutes would al vessels stay clear. Well the Fairway Buoy must still be there. We prepared for sail and waited for the Puma which ever so slowly made it's way down the channel, turned round and docked. We started the motor and it was working okay. We gently eased ourselves into midstream and started to leave Fleetwood. Progress was very slow because of the spring flood. Again there were moments of anxiety as the crew were wondering if we could get round the corner where we could hoist the sails and sail down the channel. Boece however ws quite cool and confident, confident enough to kill the throttle to frighten the other three of us to death. We did not want to get so near and not make it. Fairway Buoy was there after all but its top and light was missing, or perhaps it was just a temporary buoy. We had the jib up just in case and we eased our way down the channel. It was a lovely morning. The wind had died a little but the waves had gone and it seemed as if our journey was over. There was an air of sadness about the boat as the realisation dawned that this was the end of summer and that there would be no more sailing this year.