Just left mainland port Scotland The sun was fading behind us and we were sailing into a yellowish soft light. The sea looked like a deep, dark denim. For now, the winds seemed steady and unchanging. Mungo Watson said, deadpan and calmly, “Here are they coming,” with his hands at the helm. I and the crew scanned the horizon on deck before moving gingerly to the bow of our boat and looking down. “No, not porpoises—DolphinsWatson continued. Watson continued. “For some strange reason, which nobody can explain, they love boats.
Our journey had begun only an hour before at the marina in Mallaig. Eight strangers had boarded Eda Frandsen For a more or less unscripted sailing adventure in Scotland’s Inner Hebrides. Watson and Stella Marina are the co-owners who recently got married. Both experienced sailors, they bought the 1938 Danish gaff cutter in 2020, and now run trips. Cornwall The west coast of Scotland is open from April to September. Some, like the nine night passage from Falmouth o Oban, may require more sea-grit than a long weekend sail along the Cornish coastline. But they think that no sailing experience is required. It’s a good thing I didn’t have any. Nothing.
Some of us were there to see Scotland during the summer months without having to join the long line of campervans heading for Glencoe; others just for fun. David, a friendly bunkmate, told me that he liked old boats. That’s fair enough. I went to the island in order to gain access into offshore sailing. This is a world with few entry points, except those who are wealthy or know someone who owns a boat. This is also due to its reputation as an exclusive club. Marina: “The elitism is indisputable.” “We are trying to avoid that. This is one of the main reasons why we created Eda FrandsenIntroduce people to the joy of being on the sea. “To open sailing to all.”
We arrived in Eigg late afternoon, a small island of 83 people, a tennis court-green, flat land with one peak. The sun was setting and distant mountains began to take on lavender and rose hues. The lapping of the waves and soft clattering cutlery were accompanied by a profound calm. It was the beginning of my spiritual journey. I was on the sea. The life was good.
It would only get better. Below deck we dined by candlelight in the cozy wood-finished galley on fresh langoustines, mussels, and chilled rosé. Marina is a fantastic cook. She spent most of her career working as a superyacht chef. Watson, with a gruff and half-joking wit, said that the trip was a “food trip” with occasional sailing. The wine continued to flow. whisky. The evening ended in my bunk that was just big enough (more comfortable than I expected), and with relief at the fact that there weren’t any tricky people aboard. Close contact is a part of sailing. As I was warned, a single asshole can cause pain.
The next morning we left the shelter of the bay and forged into a far less hospitable ocean—not quite bad tempered, but not far off. Watson, never short of words when describing the sea, called it “lumpy”. The word “squally” is used to describe the swirly or pitchy nature of the wind.. The boat slowed down as we passed the moleskin grey volcanic peaks on Rum, one Small Isle, to our starboard. We then sped towards Canna where we hiked up to its easternmost tip to see puffins. Finally, we looped back to the bay to have a beer. Café CannaA tiny, remote restaurant, which attracts sailors from all over the archipelago.
We spent our days in this way: we had breakfast, then set sail on a sea that was constantly changing, and dropped anchor at a remote location, which would have taken us days to reach otherwise. We hiked around Rum one afternoon, looking into the windows at the crumbling Kinloch CastleA red-stone Edwardian mansion. As the sky began to turn pink, we jumped off the boat and into the glassy dark waters of Loch Moidart. Eilean Shona—Vanessa Branson’s island—while seals (“waterproof dogs,” quipped Watson, affectionately) looked on from an islet. We sipped beer on the Knoydart Peninsula. The Old ForgeBritain’s most distant pub
