A Dreary Day and a Dinghy Adventure

We woke up this morning to a classic Scottish dreich day — grey, wet, miserable, the sort of weather that whispers “go back to bed, no one will blame you”. We haven’t had a properly warm, sunny day in what feels like forever, and it’s starting to wear us down a bit.

We had two choices:

Sit on the boat and mope (Nick had rope jobs, Tracey had her paints), or

Pull on our big‑girl pants, brave the weather, and go exploring.

Against all logic, we chose option 2.

Tracey was not thrilled. The idea of taking the dinghy “around the corner” to Kerrera Marina felt like planning an Arctic expedition. The wind was up, the rain was relentless, and the distance looked suspiciously far. But we suited up — foul‑weather gear, life jackets, Pepper’s tiny life jacket (she was delighted, Tracey was not) — and off we went.

Our outboard, sounding like a lawnmower on espresso, screamed past Mogambo, past the fish farm, and aimed for the gap that leads towards Oban. A sightseeing vessel blasted past, throwing up enough wash to make Nick change course so Tracey didn’t get a faceful of seawater. Then, as we rounded the corner, one of the big CalMac ferries appeared, heading straight for us like a floating apartment block. We tucked in close to the shore, bracing for the wash… but somehow escaped without being flipped, drowned, or emotionally scarred.

We made it to Kerrera Marina and tied up at the dinghy dock. A stiff drink felt appropriate, but we were sensible and ordered pizza and soft drinks at the Waypoint Restaurant. The pizza was delicious — not cheap, not huge, but absolutely worth it.

After lunch we went exploring. A couple we follow had mentioned a farm shop nearby, so we wandered up the road and found Ardentrive Farm Shop — a tiny honesty‑box setup with a cash tin full of change, a notebook for writing down your purchases, and a laminated sheet with bank details for payment. Only in Scotland can you leave a shop with meat, biscuits, and a warm fuzzy feeling about humanity.

We picked up some hogget cutlets and treacle biscuits. Hogget was new to us — it’s the moody teenager of the sheep world, older than lamb, not quite as worldly as mutton. Aged between one and two years, it’s supposed to have the tenderness of lamb but with a deeper, richer, more grown‑up flavour. Basically, the sheep equivalent of someone who’s just discovered red wine and jazz. We’ll report back once we’ve cooked it, but expectations are high.

On the way round we had spotted a monument on the hill that Tracey insisted needed investigating. Hutcheson’s Monument — an 1883 granite obelisk honouring David Hutcheson, pioneer of West Highland steamship travel and the man whose company eventually became CalMac. The path was soggy, the wind was howling, and Tracey climbed it alone while Nick and Pepper waited below. Pepper used the time to run laps and burn off her cow‑pat energy from the day before.

After a few photos we trudged back to the dinghy. By the time we reached the boat we looked like three bedraggled otters. Nick’s hands were shaking from the tiller vibration and he was muttering about developing RSI, but we’d had an adventure — the kind you only appreciate once you’re warm and dry again.

The wind picked up in the evening, so we’re not expecting a peaceful night at anchor… but we’re happy to stay here another night. After all, what’s sailing without a little discomfort?Read more