Our Friday night destination was
Carrick Castle in Loch Goil.
The forecast was for northwest
winds force 3-4 over the weekend
and that suited us well enough.
We were sailing in a
Pioneer 9 that I was looking
after for a friend and Duncan
was my companion.
The trip up to Loch
Goil from Kip was pleasant. The
clean lines of the Pioneer
spreading the water easily from
the hull and we were picking out
a spot for the anchor by 1930.
There were about half a dozen
boats already anchored off the
castle. The bottom drops away
quite sharply into deep water,
so we took our time to make sure
we were well and truly hooked
away from the shelf edge.
We had a staff meeting
that ended in a unanimous vote
to have a ‘wee libation’ before
preparing a meal. We sat in the
cockpit, relaxed and soaked up
the scenery and the peace of the
place.
A largish incoming
yacht came very close across out
stern and was just ready to
anchor on top of our
tripping-line, when we
‘suggested’ that he would give
us a foul anchorage. Talking
loudly to his companions the
skipper grudgingly moved his
boat away.
We had just resettled
ourselves when we heard raised
voices. Looking over the
coachroof we saw and heard the
nasty chappie getting taken to
task by one of the other
anchored boats for attempting to
anchor too close. That crew
didn’t tell him ‘foul anchorage’
but the words they did use also
started with ‘f’ and were just
as effective as they quickly
moved away. Eventually they
anchored, pretty close to the
shelf as far as we could judge.
While we were
preparing our meal we could hear
loud alcoholic voices and
strident female laughter coming
from the unpopular boat.
A sudden squall
brought heavy rain that reduced
visibility to almost nil.
Duncan and I remarked that one
good thing about the squall was
that it made the noisy ones
sound further away.
We had finished eating
before the squall passed. Out
in the cockpit once again it was
with evil satisfaction that we
saw, a good distance down the
loch – the rogue yacht. They
had dragged their anchor and
must have drifted about half a
mile. They then moved away down
the loch to another anchorage.
We took the dinghy
ashore and went for a walk and a
pint at the hotel. After the
rain it had turned out a lovely
clean night with great
visibility. When we rowed back
to the boat there wasn’t a
ripple on the water. On board
we poured a nightcap and
appreciated the dark, warm
night. It was so still – it
seemed sacrilege to even speak.
We sat for ages, then, before
turning in we both went quietly
to the stern to relieve
ourselves.
As beer and whiskey flowed away,
it turned into a magnificent
phosphorescent display that ran
from us to the water and then
continued down in a fading
cascade of twinkling bubbles.
From a nearby yacht someone
clapped. Others took it up and
some cheered. Seemed that most
of the other boats had been
enjoying the peaceful night from
their cockpits.
When we got back to
the marina we received quite a
few waves and smiles from folk
that had shared the dark night
with us at Carrick Castle.
Bill Mills
