Stonehaven to Peterhead

Stonehaven to Peterhead: A Foggy Departure, Naval Encounters, and Tracey's Triumphant Return to Dry Land!

Our night in Stonehaven had been one of broken sleep, punctuated by incessant line checks and mysterious noises that kept us both on edge. Neither of us relished the thought of another such night, and despite our profound tiredness, we were absolutely determined to leave. Mother Nature, however, had a different idea. We woke, full of resolve, only to peep out of the hatch and be greeted by… absolutely nothing. Just a thick, impenetrable blanket of fog. Departure was impossible. Ah well, nothing for it but to accept the inevitable.

Nick took Pepper for her morning constitutional and returned with a brilliant suggestion: a trip to the charming little patisserie on the harbour for coffee and pastries (or a bacon sandwich, depending on one's preference!). With high water approaching, the ladder only had a couple of rungs to conquer, so off we went. We checked the forecast – a glimmer of hope! The fog might lift around 2 pm. Peterhead, our destination, was a seven-hour journey, meaning a 9 pm arrival. No problem there, given the gloriously long Scottish summer nights. We returned to the boat, Nick attempting to snatch a few more hours of sleep while Tracey settled on deck, catching up with the blog.

Her writing was abruptly interrupted by the unexpected appearance of a RIB coming alongside. The lady aboard explained that due to the pea-souper, the local kids wouldn't be able to sail outside the harbour wall; instead, they were setting up their races inside the harbour. She cheerfully assured us she'd place another RIB near Halcyon Sea to fend off any overly enthusiastic novice "Topper" sailors. Moments later, the water was alive with about fifteen kids in their tiny Toppers and a couple of Fevas, most frantically pumping their tillers to gain some momentum in the still, misty conditions. Parents watched from atop the harbour wall, their shouts of encouragement echoing through the fog.

Nick was abruptly roused by the cacophony of horns signaling the race starts, cutting short his much-needed rest. One particular boy, Chris, with a remarkably enthusiastic parent, seemed utterly nonplussed by the whole affair. His mum (at least, we think it was!) was loudly praising his efforts, despite him finishing almost last in the first race. "I know! You've already said that!" Chris yelled back, prompting a stifled giggle from Tracey. Moments later, the same intrepid young sailor was drifting dangerously close to Halcyon Sea, seemingly unnoticed by anyone else. Chris looked up at Tracey, bluntly asking, "You have insurance, right?" Tracey, stifling another laugh, quickly gave him some pointers to steer clear just before one of the support RIBs bounced him away like a pinball. The morning had been unexpectedly entertaining. However, the fog showed no sign of lifting.

A Leap of Faith into the Unknown

Nick went to chat with the owners of Kismet, a smaller boat also hoping to leave. They were going to chance it, prepping for a 1:30 pm departure. Nick checked AIS and saw that Mutsch, the German boat we'd met in Arbroath, had left there that morning and was now trucking along the coast at an impressive 6 knots, despite the fog and the added challenge of fishing buoys. If the young ones could sail their 23-foot boat and the Germans were making such good progress, surely we could too.

We pulled on our "big girl pants" (and big boy waterproofs!) and readied Halcyon Sea. The lines were released from the harbour wall, and we slipped away from our berth slowly, carefully navigating the unseen rocks. The fog was unbelievably thick. We followed our electronic track meticulously, but took a wider line than usual, hoping to avoid Kismet, presuming they'd hug the shoreline. Our eyes played tricks on us, and we were profoundly grateful when what we thought were looming fishing buoys either harmlessly dived into the water or fluttered away as startled seabirds.

After about three hours, a faint thinning appeared in the fog. In the distance, a strange, tall framework structure began to pierce through the mist, rising impossibly high out of the sea. We couldn't discern what it was. It looked like a rocket launcher, perhaps an oil rig, or even a bridge? Tracey managed to snap a photo of its summit through the swirling fog and quickly turned to Google. It turned out to be the Noble Intrepid.

Noble Intrepid: A Drilling Giant
The Noble Intrepid is a state-of-the-art, harsh-environment jack-up drilling rig. These massive, self-elevating platforms are designed for offshore oil and gas drilling in challenging conditions. The "jack-up" refers to its ability to lower legs to the seabed and then "jack up" its hull above the waves, providing a stable platform for drilling operations. The Noble Intrepid, like others in its class, is equipped with advanced drilling technology, capable of operating in water depths of up to hundreds of feet. Its sheer scale and sophisticated engineering make it a formidable presence in the offshore energy industry. Sighting such a colossal structure emerging from the fog was a truly impressive and slightly surreal experience.

High Stakes and a Coastal Dash
As we continued, we found ourselves crossing Aberdeen Port Authority's designated area, and soon, we were hailed by Aberdeen VTS. They advised us that significant ship movements were imminent but confirmed we were clear to continue on our current course for now, though they might contact us again if a change was required. We could see numerous large ships and tankers waiting patiently offshore, making us wonder which colossal vessel would soon be bearing down on us. We knew Kismet was now behind us, and we could see the German boat, Mutsch, off our port side. Next thing we knew, we overheard communications between the huge ships, Aberdeen VTS, and the pilot vessels, stating they'd be delayed by approximately 30 minutes while they waited for "the two yachts" to clear the area. Oh dear. Halcyon Sea was now officially contributing to holding up international shipping!

As the fog finally lifted, the wind picked up dramatically, gusting to 25 knots before suddenly dying away completely. Halcyon Sea found herself once again being tossed around in the large waves that began to crash over the bow. Tracey began to feel seasick. Then came the rain. The drops were large and heavy, hitting the deck with an almost hail-like intensity. This was far from pleasant, but perhaps not unexpected given the East Coast of Scotland's reputation. Sheltering Pepper, Tracey fleetingly dreamt of warm Mediterranean seas, anything to escape the current reality. The sea remained unsettled all the way to Peterhead. Fishing buoys reappeared, but they were incredibly difficult to track, vanishing repeatedly in the swell.

We finally arrived outside the large harbour of Peterhead, a bustling commercial fishing port with a small marina nestled in its western corner, fronting a sandy beach. We radioed for permission to enter and proceeded directly to the marina, having already received our berth instructions when we called ahead. What a relief! Tracey's seasickness vanished instantly, as if by magic, the moment Halcyon Sea found the safety of port. By the time Tracey returned from taking Pepper ashore, Nick had already set up the cockpit tent, put a ready-made lasagna and some Mediterranean vegetables on to cook, and brewed Tracey a most welcome cup of tea. We're staying put for a couple of days now, eager to catch our breath and replenish our boat supplies.Läs mer