The wildness of the wind died overnight, mercifully, so we were able to make our early exit from Bangor. Both of us woke feeling a bit jaded, a bit tender… something had disagreed with us on our rare posh meal out!
We had a morning in Glenarm, waiting for the tide. There isn’t a whole lot to do! The harbour master, the friendliest marina person we have encountered on our trip, had suggested a fry up at the local cafe – but they didn’t open until 10:30, so that was a vague notion cancelled!
WNW 3-4, with slight seas becoming moderate for a time
45 NM (1,010 cumulative NM)
The weather forecast broadcast that we heard at 08:10 made us think again about our plans for the day. The forecast was for better wind (more of it) than for Wednesday, so we both thought that it was THE day to cross the North Channel that separates Scotland from Northern Ireland at the Mull of Kintyre). The conditions can be horrible, but it seemed that this would be about the best weather window that we could hope for.
Another day of early rising for me… and another glorious sun rise witnessed. Actually, I took this photo about an hour after daylight was seeping over the hills of Jura, as it was the warm hues that were being cast in the cabin that inspired me to get up. This was the image that greeted me:
N – NW and very variable! Force 3 the nothing, then blowing hard! Slight to moderate seas!
37 NM (934 cumulative NM)
What a truly shaky start to the day! Pete woke with a start at 06:00 when the boat moored next to us bumped us – their anchor had dragged… Pete said that there was no damage, but it was a bit of a rude awakening. I hadn’t noticed until I heard him get up. The yacht in question (actually the one I have silhouetted in the sunset photo from the previous day) raised their anchor and went elsewhere to relay it. All good.
Three weeks away from Whinchat, and I returned slightly apprehensive and overwhelmed by the experiences in Uganda – Karen and I had the most amazing trip, and it will take me a long while to ponder it. I was apprehensive on returning as I feared my sea legs hadn’t followed me back north, and that I’d be deskilled in the finer arts of sailing.