Northbound Dreams, West Coast Reality

Northbound Dreams, West Coast Reality, and a Week of Tobermory Tales

On Saturday 20th June we left Lochaline and headed for Tobermory, where we spent two days doing what all sailors eventually do: staring at weather apps, comparing forecasts, and trying to decide whether the universe was finally going to let us go north. On day three, our break came. We slipped our mooring, headed past the Rubha nan Gall Lighthouse, and into new water.

It was glorious — warm, bright, and for the first time this season we left without coats. That lasted about 30 minutes. The sky turned grey, drizzle arrived, and suddenly it felt like groundhog day again. Our spirits dipped, especially hearing about the heatwave down south. Still, we pushed on.

After an hour and a half of motoring we rounded Ardnamurchan Point, the most westerly point on the UK mainland. The lighthouse here is iconic — built in 1849, designed by Alan Stevenson of the famous lighthouse‑building dynasty, and constructed from pink Mull granite. It’s the only lighthouse in the UK built in an Egyptian style, with a tapered tower and bold architectural lines. Once manned by keepers who lived on site, it’s now fully automated, and the old buildings house a museum and visitor centre. A dramatic landmark, and a symbolic gateway to the wild west coast.

We were headed for Sanna Bay, only 30 minutes further on — our second new place in a week, and our second time anchoring. Tracey was nervous. The pilot books don’t help: they read like horror novels. “Beware hidden reefs.” “Mind the rocks.” “Uncharted hazards.” Honestly, it’s a miracle anyone goes anywhere. Tears started, panic rose, and Nick remained calm as ever. Before long the anchor was down, holding fast, and the world felt a little less terrifying.

Once we were sure the boat wasn’t going anywhere, we took Pepper ashore to a white sandy beach we had entirely to ourselves. She had the time of her life — sprinting up and down, barking at waves (she still hates water), and getting a full‑blown case of the zoomies. Pure joy.

Back on the boat, the gentle rocking began. Nothing dramatic, but Tracey started feeling nauseous — the emotional build‑up of anchoring probably didn’t help. She lay down and stayed there. Meanwhile, Nick still had at least one more Pepper‑run ashore to do.

We’d known the wind direction was marginal for swell, but it shifted to the west — the one direction Sanna Bay does not like. The swell increased. We were no longer gently swaying; we were rocking. At 9pm Nick suggested we move, but where? The next bay was two hours away and might be worse. Tobermory was two hours back, and arriving in the dark with Tracey already unwell was not an option. She preferred the misery she knew over the misery she didn’t.

We stayed put. It was awful.

Nick stayed up until 5am, monitoring the boat as the swell finally eased. He grabbed a couple of hours’ sleep before we lifted anchor and headed — yes — straight back to Tobermory.

During the night he’d spoken to friends more familiar with the area. Our goal had been Vatersay, but the forecast looked grim. It would require multiple anchorages, island‑hopping, and several nights exposed to wind direction we didn’t like. With Tracey’s confidence at rock bottom, it simply wasn’t doable. Time for Plan B, C, and D.

A Lighthouse Walk, a Pub With a Past, and a Well‑Earned Glass of Wine

On Thursday 25th June, Tracey took Pepper for a walk out to the lighthouse we’d passed as we left Tobermory — Rubha nan Gall Lighthouse, meaning “Point of the Strangers” in Gaelic. It’s a 4km round‑trip through beautiful woodland, with a stop at the Robert John Brown memorial viewpoint before reaching the lighthouse itself.

Rubha nan Gall was built in 1857 by David and Thomas Stevenson — part of the same legendary family who built most of Scotland’s lighthouses (and produced Robert Louis Stevenson, who swapped lighthouse‑building for storytelling). The tower stands on a rocky headland guarding the entrance to Tobermory Bay, and for over a century its keepers lived in the cottages nearby, battling storms, isolation, and the occasional shipwreck. It was automated in 1960, and the keeper’s cottages are now privately owned. The lighthouse still shines every night, guiding boats safely past the point — including ours.

Once they’d finished their walk, Pepper and Tracey met Nick in The Mishnish for a well‑deserved glass of wine and a spot of lunch. The Mishnish is a Tobermory institution — a bright yellow waterfront pub dating back to the 1860s, once a favourite haunt of fishermen, sailors, and visiting crews long before tourism arrived. Over the years it’s been everything from a rowdy harbour bar to a live‑music venue, and it still carries that old‑school West Coast character: wooden beams, nautical memorabilia, and the feeling that if walls could talk, they’d have some cracking stories. It was the perfect place to warm up, dry off, and reset.

Six Nights in Tobermory: Friends, Food, and Far Too Much Pimms

We ended up spending six nights in Tobermory. Vicki and Pete, whom we’d met in Lochaline, arrived and we invited them aboard for drinks — a brilliant evening. They returned the favour a couple of nights later.

On Friday the 26th, the Round Mull racers arrived from Oban. The marina came alive — music, laughter, people everywhere. A guy shouted Tracey’s name from across the pontoons; it turned out to be a friend from her Prestwick Sailing Club days. Then another couple Nick knew from RNSA arrived, and we invited them aboard for Pimms… which turned into three jugs. A fabulous afternoon.

Then another couple we’d met in Craobh arrived — with a dog also called Pepper. Mike and Katy had met them in Ireland, so the six of us ended up having drinks aboard Taygo. A one‑hour catch‑up turned into five hours of laughter, stories, and questionable decisions.

During this marathon social session, we all decided to take the local bus to Calgary Bay the next day — on the northwest side of Mull. And what a day it was.

We arrived just before the coffee shop opened, waited ten minutes, and started with coffee and cake. Tracey, Katy, and Cathy explored the sculpture trail — a beautiful woodland walk dotted with carvings, installations, and hidden surprises around every corner.

Then we all headed down to the beach to let both Peppers off for a run.

Calgary Bay — A Little Slice of Paradise

Calgary Bay is one of Mull’s most stunning beaches — a sweeping curve of white shell sand washed by turquoise water, backed by machair grassland and dramatic cliffs. The name “Calgary” comes from the Gaelic Cala Ghearraidh, meaning “meadow by the bay”. It’s so beautiful that a Canadian visitor in the 19th century loved it so much he named Calgary, Alberta after it. The beach has a long history of crofting, fishing, and small settlements, and today it’s a favourite spot for walkers, swimmers, and campers. Even on a grey day, it feels magical.

We wandered, explored, laughed, and soaked in the scenery before catching the bus back along the winding coastal road. Those few hours away from the marina gave us a renewed sense of purpose. We all needed it.

New Plans, New Winds, and the Same Old Challenge

Everyone was leaving the next day.
Mike, Katy, Shaun, and Cathy were heading to Kerrera before going through the Crinan Canal and onwards home.
We were heading to Lochaline for a BBQ, then back to Kerrera or Oban to try — once again — to meet up with Teresa and Martin before they headed south.

The winds were all over the place. But it wasn’t just us — everyone was saying the same. You can only plan one day ahead; the forecast changes constantly. If we didn’t have Pepper onboard, maybe things would be easier, but we do — and that means planning carefully, choosing safe stops, and accepting that we’re not as free as others.

We’re a little tired of Lochaline and Tobermory now. We’re desperate to discover new places. But for the moment, we have to wait until Mother Nature gives us the green light.

And when she does… we’ll be ready.Read more