5 Days Sailing around the Scottish Highlands

The opportunity to accompany a 5 day sailing trip around the Scottish Highlands was not one I could turn down. Naturally I jumped at the chance, so keen I basically invited myself. Having virtually no sailing experience (I dabbled in a bit of sailing as a child), I didn’t really know what to expect so decided to go along with an open mind, ready for an adventure on the ocean and the new experiences it may bring.

Bumbling up the motorway in a borrowed VW camper van, we endured the 10-hour long drive up from Cornwall to the Highlands. The further north we reached, the more excitement built up, with lochs peeking around every bend as the road wound through green mountainous valleys. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that the marina had hot showers and after our first night sleeping in the van, we were able to set sail feeling fresh and clean.

Being the only member in a crew of four who lacked the necessary experience, I felt in safe hands. We set sail with our first port of call, the bustling (for these remote parts) town of Oban. The seas were rough and it didn’t take long before the seasickness took over. A wave of nausea forcing me to shut my eyes and hope for it to pass. It struck me with a horrible dread that I might spend the whole trip clutching my stomach and staring at the inside of my eyelids. Motion sickness is a consistent obstacle in my life, what had I gotten myself into? We moored up in Oban harbour and I spent the evening in bed while the others went to a local pub. Not a promising start to the trip.

The next morning I didn’t take any chances and took seasickness tablets first thing. Feeling much better, I was positively hopeful for the day to come. We left Oban and motored along to our next stop, the Ross of Mull. Unfortunately, the wind wasn’t on our side so we didn’t get to do much actual sailing. However, I was delighted to see a variety of birds that I hadn’t seen before. Most excitingly were the Gannets diving at full speed into the waves. We pulled into a bay, surrounded by small rocky islands, spotted with patches of green vegetation, and pristine white sandy beaches. The sun was just setting, casting a warm pink glow over the landscape, the glassy water catching glints of orange and pink as the sun fell behind the islands.

We dropped anchor into the soft sand and the boys took the paddle boards out to explore, while Immy went for a rest. Suddenly I was alone on deck. The only sound was the soft lapping of the ocean on the hull, reminding me of its constant presence. I looked around for signs of life. A white cottage sat on the side of the hill, the sole mark of human existence. But it seemed to be empty. Ben came back to the boat and I hopped on the front of the board, letting him paddle me out to the islands. The sea was crystal clear like it belonged somewhere tropical. The biting cold of the water was the only reminder that we were, in fact, in Scotland. Looking 3-4 meters down to the sea bed was like looking through a glass window. Beautiful seaweed of various shapes and colours covered the sand, growing together like a wild underwater forest.

The next night we spent anchored in Jura, right next to a traditional Scottish Bothy. Being my first time seeing a bothy, I had to paddle out and explore. Unlocking the bolts to open the old wooden door, I was engulfed in thick dusty darkness. The well-used fireplace gave the air a permanent smoky scent. I sat by the only window and read the guestbook, which dated back to 2016. Clearly not that many people ventured out to this bothy as 6 years' worth of notes didn’t even fill up two notebooks. I read the stories and experiences of fellow travellers who’d taken refuge in this very room. Some had reached it on foot, some on kayaks, some on boats like us. They all spoke fondly of this little cottage and I felt a connection with these strangers for our shared experience. I paddled back to the boat as it was getting dark, keen to escape the swarms of midges on land. We shared a hearty meal of creamy blue cheese pasta and played card games into the night.

Startlingly, we jolted awake to banging on the window of our sleeping compartment. A change to the usual wake-up call of condensation dripping on our foreheads. Panicked that something was wrong, we sprang up to help, all hands on deck. Only to be pleasantly surprised by the sight of dolphins, surfing alongside the boat. Playfully gliding in our waves, in and out of sight. It was 7 am and our skipper, Angus, had woken early to motor us out of the loch before the tides trapped us in. He’d allowed us to sleep in but knew we’d jump at the chance to see the dolphins so close. Not long had we rushed up to witness them then they swam off out of sight again. A fleeting visit, not even allowing me the chance to snap a photo. Getting tired of the constant hum of the motor and the lack of wind to do any real sailing, we decided to moor up nearby in the town of Craobh. Besides, after 2 nights anchored in remote (but beautiful) spots, we were all quite desperate for a hot shower.

Along the way, we passed through the treacherous whirlpool of Corryvreckan. Watching the sea change from calm glassy waters to raging choppy waves and back again was surreal. We made it through without any hiccups thanks to Angus’s skills and experience. After entering the still, glassy water again, we switched off the engine and drifted for a while. I took the opportunity to go for a swim in the clear, cold water but not without donning my 5mm wetsuit first. At a depth of 30m, the water looked black and eerie, with the occasional Lion’s Mane jellyfish drifting by. Immy caught a mackerel, delighted to have finally caught something, and cooked it up with butter and fennel. Not a lot compares to the taste of freshly caught fish. We enjoyed our last night together with a pub meal and a few games of pool.

The next morning was just a quick hop over to Ardfern, back to where we started. The boat got emptied, and deep cleaned and we said our goodbyes to Immy and Angus. Next on our Scottish agenda, even further north in the van to climb Ben Nevis, the UK’s highest mountain.