Kerrera, Water Taxis, Midnight Dinghies… and Oban

Kerrera, Water Taxis, Midnight Dinghies… and Finally, Oban

On Friday 3rd July, we left Lochaline and headed for Kerrera. Although we’d visited briefly a couple of weeks earlier in the dinghy, we’d never actually brought Halcyon Sea into the marina — so we’re officially counting it as one of our “new to us” places. Katy from Taygo had warned us the marina was full for the weekend, so we were lucky to grab the very last berth online. We also booked our water taxi to Oban — a ten‑minute hop across the bay — because at long last we were finally meeting up with Teresa and Martin as they disembarked the ferry to head home after their holiday.

Our berth was right next to the water taxi, which sounded convenient… until it wasn’t. While marina rules politely request slow speeds, it seems those rules do not apply to the water taxi. He came in at such a pace that the wake slapped violently against our hull — loud, sudden, and absolutely terrifying for Pepper, who refused to settle afterwards.

Olly, Nick’s son, was coming up for the weekend. Because you can’t drive onto Kerrera, he left his car near Oban Sailing Club, and Nick launched the dinghy ready to fetch him. The weather was dreadful, and Olly wasn’t arriving until after midnight. We were both anxious knowing the two of them would be out in a tiny dinghy, in the pitch black, with all of Olly’s gear. To make things more exciting, the dinghy’s night‑light decided to pack up halfway across. Still, they managed — and returned safely. After a quick catch‑up, we all went to bed. We’d had enough excitement for one day.

A Shaky Water Taxi, A Quivering Pepper, and A Day in Oban

The next morning we got ready for our water taxi ride. After making it very clear to the driver that Pepper was still a quivering wreck from yesterday’s wake‑slapping incident, we crossed to Oban.

We found a coffee shop for breakfast, then headed to Pets at Home for stress‑relief supplies for Pepper, and finally to M&S for cakes to take to Teresa and Martin. Timing was perfect — we met them as they stepped off the ferry and spent a lovely hour catching up and hearing about their holiday. They hadn’t had the best weather, but they’d explored Uist, Barra, and Vatersay in their motorhome. We were quietly envious — they’d seen more in two weeks than we had, and they were heading home while we were still on a boat that was becoming damper by the day.

A Little About Oban

Oban is known as the Gateway to the Isles — the hub for ferries heading to Mull, Coll, Tiree, Barra, South Uist, and beyond. It grew rapidly in the 19th century when steamships made it a major transport link, and today it’s one of Scotland’s busiest west‑coast towns. The waterfront is lined with Victorian architecture, including the striking Argyll Mansions, built in 1901. These grand red‑sandstone apartments were designed to give Oban a touch of Glasgow’s West End glamour, and they still dominate the harbour with their turrets, arches, and ornate detailing. They’re one of the most photographed buildings in Oban.

Oban is also famous for its whisky distillery (one of Scotland’s oldest), its seafood, and its dramatic amphitheatre backdrop crowned by McCaig’s Tower — the town’s own mini‑Colosseum.

We waved Teresa and Martin off and headed to re‑provision the boat. We were returning to Lochaline for the Royal Highland Yacht Club Summer Muster the following weekend, so we needed supplies.

We caught the water taxi back — thankfully at a more civilised speed — and by the time we arrived, Olly had finished work and returned from a long walk around the island. We’d booked dinner at the Waypoint Restaurant, which saved us cooking and gave us a cosy end to the day.

A Rain‑Soaked Island Trek, A Stubborn Terrier, and a Much‑Needed Escape

After a restless night — Pepper shaking, panting, and refusing to settle — Tracey finally gave up at 6am and took her ashore. Pepper shot off the pontoon like a greyhound out of the traps and made it very clear she had no intention of getting back on the boat. By 9:30am, Tracey had reached her limit. Pepper was still trembling, still refusing to relax, and still desperate to be anywhere except onboard. So Tracey decided: fine, we walk.

Of course, the moment they stepped off the boat, the rain began. Pepper didn’t care. She was free. Tracey, meanwhile, had her sights set on Gylen Castle, at the far end of Kerrera — about 3.5 miles from the marina. Off they went.

Dogs must stay on lead on Kerrera, and for good reason: livestock everywhere. In the very first field, a group of Highland cows and their calves stopped what they were doing and stared at Pepper and Tracey like they were the morning entertainment. After a couple of cattle grids, they reached a steep hill — and at the top, sheep and lambs scattered across the road.

Most bleated and shuffled out of the way… except one. A lone, determined sheep who clearly fancied itself flock protector. It followed behind them at a 3 metre distance, matching their pace, glaring suspiciously. Tracey prayed the rest wouldn’t join in. Eventually, when they were far enough away, the sheep gave up and trotted back to its flock.

Just as Tracey relaxed, a solitary black ram appeared ahead, strolling down the centre of the road like it owned the place. She worried it might turn around and confront them, but instead it disappeared over a small hill and around a corner. They never saw it again. Where it went — nobody knows.

They reached the ferry point — only a third of the way down the island. Already soaked through, Tracey decided they might as well continue. The signs promised tea and cake at the Tea Garden near the castle, only 2¼ miles further. Apart from another couple and a group of four lads, it was a solitary, windswept walk.

Every time Tracey tried to persuade Pepper to turn back, Pepper pulled forward. So on they went.

Some cattle grids had no walk‑around, so Tracey had to lift a soaking wet, muddy Pepper and carry her over. By the time they reached the Tea Garden, there was a queue — orders taken at the cottage gate, food fetched from inside, and a shed to sit in. The walkers ahead were already waiting. Tracey knew that if she stopped moving, she’d never get going again, so she pressed on.

Around the corner, she finally saw Gylen Castle — a dramatic 16th‑century ruin perched on a cliff, built by the MacDougalls and once guarding the approaches to the Sound of Kerrera. She didn’t walk up to it — she was soaked, exhausted, and still had the entire island to walk back — but she snapped a photo as proof she’d nearly walked the full length of Kerrera.

Then she turned around.

The rain intensified. Tracey’s raincoat clung to her skin, her T‑shirt was soaked through, and the wind picked up. Streams ran down the road, puddles formed everywhere, and she just kept putting one foot in front of the other, worried that stopping would make both her and Pepper too cold.

They retraced their steps past the sheep, past the cattle grids, past the staring Highland cows, and finally reached the last hill before the marina. It was a slog. Tracey is not used to walking that distance — especially not drenched, windswept, and carrying a traumatised terrier.

By the time they reached the boat, Pepper was shaking again — whether from cold or stress, it was impossible to tell. Both Tracey and Pepper showered, warmed up, and collapsed into a couple of hours of much‑needed sleep.

That evening, we met up with friends in the marina and had a drink at the Waypoint — a welcome moment of normality after a very long day.

Leaving Kerrera… and Hoping for Calm

The next morning, we departed Kerrera — honestly relieved to be leaving. We’d decided to spend the week in Lochaline. Pepper loves it there, and we hope it will help her calm down. She is still shaking, jumping at every noise, restless, and barely eating. We are at a loss.

And we are fed up with the rain.

If the weather doesn't improve over the coming week, we agreed we’d head home for a reset after the muster. Sometimes you just need dry clothes, a warm house, and a break from the chaos.Read more