Oban is rain soaked. It’s coming down in solid lines: the sort of rain that gets through to the skin in less than a minute.
North Pier is on the front near all the shops, eateries and throngs of visitors. There are boats of different shapes and sizes: a motor launch that advertises ‘Sea Exploration’ with a dirty grey hull that wouldn’t look out of place with pirates on board near the Horn of Africa, a smart looking medium sized cruiser with navy blue paint, polished brass portholes and staff in crisp white short sleeved shirts. There’s even a round the world yacht covered in advertising being chartered out for youngsters.
At the end of the L shaped pontoon beyond all the rest one stands out. She is the belle of the ball. Bessie Ellen. Over 100 foot long. Two masts. A tall ship. Built in 1904 in Plymouth. One of the last of the old cargo ketches from the West Country. There are only two left like her.
We leave at 1600 exactly. 27 miles to Tobermory.
We have to motor. Not enough wind to put sails up. Bracken the border terrier. Sits upright on the back looking out to sea.
Mull appears to our left. Low clouds snake themselves around hills or lie heavy in valleys like a sleeping creature.
One of my crew mates asks ‘Why are those clouds so low?’ I don’t know.
A large castle is perched on a square cliff above the water’s edge. It has scaffolding spiking off it on 2 sides. It reminds me of Macbeth’s castle. It seems unreal in its combination of grandness and exposedness. They must feel the gales in Winter.
As soon as we’re underway one of the crew demonstrate how to use the ropes.
A shiny black ball breaks the surface. It’s a grey seal. It seems oblivious to our presence. Sometimes they swim on their backs before diving again.
After about three hours we arrive into a glassy bay. Tobermory. The houses from the bay look like doll’s houses in their jaunty colours and perfect white windows. It’s silent apart from the rush of water. A river hidden in the woods and a waterfall that issues out of the trees into the sea. That sound I always associate with Scotland.
The Slow Walker 