Sailing adventure for the narrows-minded
Last spring a friend, the owner of a beautiful Endurance, asked me if I would like to come for a cruise on his other boat. This turned out to be HMS Albion, 20,000 tons of pure lethality, carrying a large crew of Royal Marine Commandos and Naval personnel. I found myself on the bridge as we passed through the Dover Strait, crowded with big ships behaving like dodgem cars. Hannah the navigator reclined in her padded chair, coolly considering vectors. But there was no mistaking the tension.
Straits are great breeders of tension. An entry-level version can be found in the Kyles of Bute, where the island of Bute comes close to the mainland. It is studded with islands, a wreck and a car ferry. One of the main features of a really good strait is the tide. This, in the Kyles, is by no means negligible, but seems to know where it wants to go, and is therefore no problem to the seafarer.
Anotch up the scale is the Bosphorus. This is notionally innocent of tide, though the rivers of Russia, not to mention the enormous Danube, fill the Black Sea while the sun evaporates large quantities of Mediterranean, causing a perpetual southward surface drift. There are also multiple ships, some carrying Ukrainian grain with crews somewhat jumpy as a result, which add an extra touch of drama.
Closer to home, and cranking up the severity, is Kyle Rhea–a one and a half cable wide gut that separates the Isle of Skye from the mainland.
The tide here can run at the best part of eight knots, the odd rock lurks towards the edges, and there is a small but useful (and now, alas, threatened) car ferry at the southern end. Going through with wind and tide confirms the view that sailing is the closest thing to heaven available this side of the grave. Going through against the tide is a laborious and fruitless process, since backwards is the direction of travel. And going through in an open boat, with the tide but against a stiff northerly, whips up a square sea that the bow shovels in until it is all hands to the pumps, and during pauses for breath prayer is a sensible option.
Crank things up another turn. The hills round Blakeney are lower than the crags of Skye, but this does not restrain the impetuosity of the tide between the tip of the point and the sand-flats of the mainland.
