Kittiwake Condos & Surprise Visitor
17–19 mai 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ☀️ 16 °C
Lowestoft: From Sunrise Town to Kittiwake Condos (and a Surprise Visitor!)
Our time in Lowestoft, the UK's most easterly town and the first place to greet the sunrise, was destined to be a fleeting one. With just a single day to prepare Halcyon Sea for the next, and longest, leg of our journey to Grimsby, sightseeing unfortunately took a back seat to meticulous planning and an early night.
Lowestoft boasts a rich and varied history, evolving from its mention in the Domesday Book of 1086 to the thriving tourist resort it is today. In the Middle Ages, it flourished as an important fishing town, a trade that remained central to its identity well into the 20th century. A significant milestone in 1609 saw the construction of Lowestoft's first lighthouse, also the first in Great Britain, its beacon then powered by humble candles. Fast forward to June 1665, and the naval Battle of Lowestoft, part of the Second Anglo-Dutch War, unfolded some 40 miles offshore, culminating in an English victory. The town embraced modernity in 1903 with its first tramway, though the arrival of buses in 1927 proved so popular that they completely replaced the tram service by 1931. Today, while the fishing industry has gradually declined, Lowestoft thrives as a tourist destination, and a stroll along its promenade quickly reveals why. The sea wall, having undergone numerous transformations throughout history, is currently benefiting from government grants, with ongoing regeneration work promising new fountains, enhanced lighting, and extensive biodiversity improvements.
South of Claremont Pier, the beach is truly stunning, its golden sands and designated games areas evoking the feel of a Mediterranean coastline. This is a Blue Flag beach, signifying its adherence to the Foundation for Environmental Education (FEE) standards for environmental management, encompassing water quality, safety, and public environmental education. Looking out from Claremont Pier, we spotted two peculiar structures in the sea (we seem to have a knack for finding oddities!). A quick bit of research by Tracey revealed these were ingenious nesting boxes designed for Kittiwakes. Each structure can astonishingly house up to 500 pairs of these graceful seabirds! Developed by a multidisciplinary team of ornithologists, architects, ecologists, and engineers, these structures feature narrow ledges and vertical sides, cleverly mimicking the natural cliffs where Kittiwakes typically nest.
Beyond our fascinating research into Lowestoft's past and present, Sunday dissolved into a blur of dog walks, a Sunday roast dinner cooked onboard, meticulous passage planning for Grimsby, and a much-needed early night.
Monday arrived, bringing with it the familiar flutter of anxiety that accompanies a new destination. While our confidence at sea steadily grows with each passage, that healthy fear of the unknown remains a constant companion. Nick, ever the diligent captain, busied himself with boat checks and ticking off jobs from his list, while Tracey embarked on a crucial shopping mission. We're quickly learning that preparing for longer passages requires a different approach than that of our weekend soirées around the Solent. With a daunting 20-hour trip ahead of us, we decided to make life onboard a little easier. Our shopping list included pre-packed sandwiches, ready meals, a generous supply of chocolate and other snacks, and even pre-cut melon and pineapple slices. Yes, we could have made sandwiches, but this way, we had a varied selection, crucial for Tracey, who often struggles with her appetite while underway and is not a fan of preparing food in a rolling galley.
Mid-shopping-stowage, a voice hailed Halcyon Sea from the pontoon. We initially assumed it was marina staff, expecting our departure. Instead, we were delightfully surprised by a fellow sailor who had been following our journey on AIS, having heard about our travels through the RNSA newsletter! We welcomed Jeremy onboard, and the next hour was filled with lively conversation, spinning "dits" (naval slang for stories) about our respective navy days, sailing histories, and adventures. It was such a genuinely welcome surprise and incredibly heartwarming to meet someone who had taken such an interest in our journey, enough to come and visit! The only regret? In our excitement, we completely forgot to ask Jeremy to sign our guestbook! So, Jeremy, if you're reading this, next time you're onboard, that guestbook awaits!
Before our departure, a final stop at the fuel pontoon was necessary. Tracey took Pepper ashore for her last land-based walk, returning with the quintessential seaside treats: hot, fresh donuts and a couple of sticks of classic Lowestoft Rock. With full tanks and happy bellies (and a slightly sugared-up crew!), we were ready. The next episode of our blog will recount the epic passage to Grimsby!En savoir plus
Lowestoft to Grimsby: A 20-Hour Odyssey
19 mai 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ☀️ 14 °C
Lowestoft to Grimsby: A 20-Hour Odyssey Through Starlight, Fog, and Triumph!
The clock struck 13:40, and with Halcyon Sea's tanks brimming with fresh diesel, we cast off from Lowestoft. The air was crisp, carrying the invigorating chill of the North Sea, but the conditions were, in a word, perfect. Not too windy, yet enough of a breeze to promise the sweet silence of sails once we cleared the shallows. The sun blazed in a brilliant blue sky, a dazzling canvas for our next grand adventure. We were ready! Every conceivable preparation for this 20-hour odyssey had been thoroughly executed; now, all that remained was to actually get on with it.
The sea stretched before us, a vast, empty expanse, save for a lone fishing vessel, its stern a flurry of activity as a flock of seagulls performed a hungry aerial ballet. The coastline, rugged and wild, was punctuated by charming bursts of colour – clusters of beach huts nestled wherever the cliffs receded to reveal a sandy stretch. In the distance, Great Yarmouth emerged, its iconic Big Wheel standing proudly against the backdrop of a sprawling industrial dock. Childhood memories of seaside fun, of sticky fingers and joyful shouts, flickered in our minds, a nostalgic counterpoint to the serious business of navigation. Pepper, our furry first mate, seemed to absorb the serene beauty, basking in the sunlight, lulled into a deep slumber by the gentle rocking motion of the boat.
And then, the moment we'd been waiting for. With a satisfying rustle and flap, the sails unfurled, catching the wind, and the engine, our faithful workhorse, fell silent. The world transformed. The only sound was the rhythmic, peaceful swoosh of the waves as Halcyon Sea's bow sliced through them. Absolute bliss!
As dusk began to paint the sky around 6 pm, we decided it was time for a pre-night-sail refuel. Our ready-made cottage pie and lasagna, culinary masterpieces of convenience, emerged from the oven just as the sun began its majestic descent. We ate, cleared away, and watched in silent awe as the fiery orange glow melted into the sea, leaving behind a crimson horizon. With no light pollution to mar the view, the stars began to pepper the inky canvas above, the familiar Plough constellation surrounded by a dazzling tapestry of thousands of tiny lights, ordinarily hidden from our urban-tinted eyes. It was truly beautiful.
But as the velvet darkness of night rolled in, a new challenge emerged. The subtle glints of distant lobster pot markers became increasingly elusive, and with each passing mile, we felt a growing sense that our journey was now truly in the lap of the gods. The clear sky, while beautiful, brought with it a dramatic drop in temperature. It was cold. Pepper, sensing the chill and perhaps our quiet tension, burrowed deeper beneath her blankets, comforted by Tracey's frequent, reassuring strokes.
We continued to make good progress, but tiredness, an insidious adversary, began to creep in. Tracey attempted a brief catnap in the saloon, but Pepper, ever the vigilant co-pilot, refused to settle, nudging Tracey back on deck where we resorted to taking turns snatching moments of rest. Tracey managed to get a couple of hours sleep and as the silence and boredom of being alone set in, Nick began to munch his way through some of the treats and snacks that had been bought for the trip. The tide, ever unforgiving, turned against us, and our speed over ground began to dwindle. With a sigh, we fired up the engine, the familiar thrum a welcome boost to our progress, and rolled away the genoa, keeping the main sail hoisted for added stability in the dark, rolling sea.
Then, around 3 am, a chilling realization: the stars had vanished. Visibility was plummeting. Once again, the insidious tendrils of fog had found us. Both of us were instantly wide awake, our senses on high alert, scanning the inky blackness for other vessels and keeping a hawk-like watch on Navionics. Wind farms loomed close by, their invisible blades slicing through the mist, and the electronic map revealed a surprising amount of traffic in our immediate vicinity. Throughout the long, dark hours, messages of support from friends and family, who knew this was our toughest leg yet, flickered onto our phones. Their virtual presence, their reassuring words, were a lifeline, reminding us we were not alone in this vast, foggy expanse.
As the first hint of pre-dawn light began to paint the eastern sky, the vast mouth of the Humber Estuary emerged ahead. Our destination, Grimsby Marina, lay approximately 11 miles into this wide, imposing river. Once again, we found ourselves surrounded by a flotilla of vessels, but the constant, reassuring crackle of Humber VTS warning them of our small position made us feel like a tiny, well-protected fish in a very big, busy pond.
The lock into Grimsby Marina operates on a free-flow system for two hours either side of high water. High water was at 11:28 am, meaning the lock gates would open at 9:28 am. We arrived a full 45 minutes too early, forcing us to hold our position outside the lock, battling the cold and the encroaching exhaustion. Normally, we'd use this time to deploy fenders and prepare our lines, but the sheer weariness of the journey meant we opted to set the boat up once safely inside the marina basin.
And then, sweet, sweet relief! We were in. Twenty hours and thirty minutes after casting off from Lowestoft, we had conquered the longest leg of our journey. Tracey, with a spring in her step, took Pepper for a much-anticipated walk while Nick systematically put Halcyon Sea to bed. After checking in with the marina staff, we succumbed to the irresistible pull of sleep, waking in the afternoon to the glorious warmth of sunshine streaming through the hatches.
A celebratory drink was poured, a well-deserved toast to our achievement. For some, it might seem a small feat, but for us, it was a mammoth undertaking, a true test of our resilience and growing confidence. This passage has fundamentally shifted something within us, proving that we are capable of far more than we ever imagined. Now, for a few days of well-earned rest before we embark on our next chapter – Scarborough awaits!En savoir plus
The Grimsby Escape and Top Secret Party
20–28 mai 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ⛅ 20 °C
Scarborough on Hold: The Grimsby Escape and a Top-Secret Party Mission!
Scarborough, our next maritime conquest, had been abruptly put on ice! A last-minute, utterly irresistible invitation had landed in our laps – a party we always attend, but tragically missed last year. There was no way we were letting this one slip through our fingers if humanly possible.
It all began innocently enough. Our friend Julie, catching wind of our latest blog post, messaged us: "Where in the world are you two?" A flurry of WhatsApp messages later, the audacious invitation arrived. She knew it was a long shot, a near impossibility. After our epic Lowestoft-to-Grimsby passage, all we truly craved was to "down tools" – or, more accurately, "drop sails" – for a few blissful days. The mere thought of orchestrating a train journey back to Peterborough, with Pepper in tow, felt like a monumental challenge. We debated, we pondered, but honestly, neither of us possessed the mental fortitude to make any big decisions. We simply carried on, walking Pepper (when absolutely necessary) and gingerly beginning to explore our new locale.
"Gingerly" being the operative word. Stepping out of the marina gate, we were plunged into a scene of stark desolation: derelict buildings, parched verges, and a disturbing carpet of broken glass and refuse, even the grim sight of dead seagull carcasses. This was not the picturesque welcome we'd hoped for. Grimsby, once a titan among the world's fishing ports, had visibly, heartbreakingly deteriorated. A fellow sailor's vlog had hinted at a park nearby, a supposed haven for Pepper to stretch her legs, so we decided to brave the walk into the nearest township. For Tracey, whose anxiety sometimes flares in unfamiliar environments, this expedition was terrifying. The "high street," as it was optimistically called, ran perilously close to a thundering dual carriageway. The roar of boy racers, their souped-up exhausts spewing noise, spooked Pepper, sending shivers down our own spines. We trudged on, provisions being a non-negotiable, and Aldi, conveniently opposite the promised park, was our target. The entire experience felt deeply unsettling.
It was amidst this rather bleak landscape that the conversation turned serious: do we push further north, or do we bin the sailing for a bit and make a dash back to Peterborough? After acquiring our groceries and allowing Pepper a much-needed frolic in the park, we returned to the marina. The clubhouse was open, and with the sun still shining, a drink felt mandatory. Alas, this was the second time Pepper was denied entry, but a spacious veranda, protected by a high glass windbreak, offered a perfect alternative. We sat outside, soaking up the last rays of the day, our spirits slowly mending. The club members, incredibly friendly and apologetic about the dog rule, popped out frequently to chat. And it was then, under the golden glow of the setting sun, that the decision solidified: Peterborough, here we come!
Just then, our friend Tareena called, wondering about our next destination, hoping to pinpoint a future meeting point further north. She mentioned she was going to the party. A mischievous glint appeared in Tracey's eye. Julie's last message echoed in her mind: "If you can make it, make it a surprise for everyone, especially me!" We kept our lips sealed.
Back on the boat, Nick began to conjure dinner while Tracey, a woman on a mission, re-checked train times. Yes! It was doable!
The next morning, bags packed with military precision, we set off for Grimsby Docks station, aiming for the 13:00 train. A kind gentleman offered us a lift as we left the marina – a gesture we politely declined, proud of our trusty shopping trolley and the not-too-distant walk. Oh, how we instantly regretted that decision. Upon arrival at the station, a stark message glared at us: TRAIN CANCELLED.
A cold dread settled in. We had a mere 45 minutes to get to Grimsby Town station, a feat that would be a breeze for anyone who actually knew where they were going. Tracey, remembering a taxi firm office from our walk, dragged us back. "A cab," she gasped, "and it must take dogs!" The struggle was real. Many drivers, it seemed, viewed our adorable pooch as a canine contaminant. Rude! Finally, a hero cabbie arrived, whisking us away to the main station. It was only then, as the familiar bustle of shops and people surrounded us, that we realised where we'd walked yesterday hadn't been "town" at all. We were in the real town!
Tickets purchased, we hurried over the bridge to the other platform, a mere ten-minute wait until our train arrived. Our destination: back to Teresa and Martin's, Tracey's sister and brother-in-law. They were going away for the weekend, and in exchange for their hospitality, we'd gladly agreed to look after their dog, Toby. A win-win! Martin met us at Whittlesey station. Not only was the shopping trolley bursting at the seams, but we also had a large holdall overflowing with dirty laundry. Teresa's washing machine was about to get another serious workout!
Friday was a blur of land-based logistics. Tracey’s Mum, Kathy, had popped over and all of us jumped to tidy the house as Teresa received a last-minute call for a property viewing. Once Teresa and Martin were waved off on their weekend escape, Tracey jumped in the car and headed to Hampton for a crucial gift and food shop. This was a high-risk manoeuvre; the possibility of bumping into someone she knew was considerable. And lo and behold, there was Tareena, sitting outside with her dogs while her partner Darren ran errands. The dilemma: hide, or risk the surprise? Tracey, ever the daredevil, chose the latter. Tareena's jaw nearly hit the pavement! She hadn't suspected a thing after their phone call. Tracey swore her to absolute secrecy, and after a quick, excited catch-up, they parted ways until the grand reveal at the party.
That evening, after a delicious dinner and a few competitive rounds of cards, we indulged in a cheeky hour in the hot tub, the bubbling warmth washing away the week's stresses. Sleep came easily, filled with the buzzing anticipation of the next day.
Saturday dawned, the air thick with excitement. The party kicked off at 2 pm. After getting ourselves sorted and giving the dogs a proper long walk, it was showtime. A cab was called. We decided to video our entrance, hoping to capture the pure shock on our friends' faces. Nick, ever the strategist, suggested Tracey run in first, shouting "SURPRISE!" The moment was glorious. A cascade of shrieks and squeals, followed by a torrent of hugs – the reunion had begun! The birthday girl was genuinely thrilled we'd made it, and so were we. This group of friends, the "glue" that keeps us all connected (thanks to Julie and Matt's incredible efforts!), is truly special. We usually only see them once or twice a year, and Julie's party is the magnetic force that draws us all together. Matt had laid on a truly fabulous spread, far more food than could possibly be consumed – they are, without a doubt, fantastic hosts. After regaling tales of our recent maritime adventures, indulging in far too many sausages, and dancing around the garden like carefree teenagers, it was time to bid our bittersweet farewells. What an event! It's always incredibly humbling how, despite the distance and the years, this cherished group of friends makes us feel so utterly welcome, as if no time has passed at all. We are truly blessed to have such wonderful friendships.
The Case of the Missing Garden Ornament:
During the evening, Nick vanished. This isn't uncommon; we're both social butterflies, flitting between conversations. However, a little while later, Lisa cornered Tracey, pulling her aside conspiratorially. "I've put something in your bag," she whispered. Tracey, momentarily perplexed, glanced down. "I haven't taken a bag with me," she mumbled. Lisa's eyes twinkled with mischief as she clarified. In the bag that contained our drinks, a new resident now resided: a garden gnome. Once again, Nick and Lisa, partners in playful crime, had been up to their mischievous tricks, "borrowing" and "relocating" one of Matt and Julie's beloved gnomes. The audacious plan? For us to smuggle the gnome onto Halcyon Sea, take photos of its adventures, and nonchalantly post them to our blog until Julie or Matt finally recognized their missing garden dweller. It seemed hilariously funny at the time, a stroke of genius in the warm glow of friendship and a few celebratory drinks.
Gnome Alone: A Captain's Dilemma
As for the gnome… in the cold, harsh light of day, Tracey’s laughter turned to a slight frown. Not only did we face the Herculean task of transporting this surprisingly heavy garden ornament back to the boat via train, but to truly execute Nick and Lisa’s naughty plan, we'd have to keep it safe throughout its maritime escapades. This was one risk Tracey, the ever-practical co-captain, was simply not prepared to take. While we do have photographic evidence of the gnome's brief foray into our lives (proof of Nick and Lisa's cunning!), it has since found a much safer harbor. It's now residing comfortably at Teresa and Martin's house, in secure storage, awaiting either collection or a direct return to its rightful garden.
So, Julie, if you're reading this, apologies! Your gnome's world tour might be slightly curtailed, but rest assured, it's living its best (and safest) life, probably enjoying miniature cups of tea by the fireplace. We promise, it's in better hands than ours—we're too busy trying not to run aground!
A couple more blissfully relaxing days followed, before it was time to catch the train back to Grimsby. The weather forecast for our trip to Scarborough isn't looking particularly inviting until Saturday, so it seems we're embracing a few more days here. Time to get the polishers out, give the cockpit a good shine, and freshen up Halcyon Sea. The land adventures were epic, but the call of the sea, and the next port, is getting louder!En savoir plus
Voyageurwell, that was a very long blog. lol it must have took you ages to write that ..It was lovely to see you both and safe travels on your next adventure xx
VoyageurI was trying hard not to miss things out of our last 8 days. Hope you enjoyed it! Will be in touch once we start moving and have a better idea of when and where we will be. Lovely to see you both too xx
Voyageuras i said before you need to write a book .. you’re very good at writing 🩷 yes keep me posted xx
The Unfinished Chore List
28–31 mai 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ☁️ 17 °C
Grimsby: The Unfinished Chore List and the Wisdom of the Humber Cruising Association!
Our time in Grimsby has been a whirlwind of boat jobs – tasks long overdue and, typically for us, still not quite complete!
Wednesday saw the start of the polishing saga. Oh, what a mind-numbingly boring chore, yet the gleaming end result is always incredibly satisfying. Tracey channelled her inner Karate Kid, muttering "Wax on, wax off!" as she tackled the process:
Applying a medium cutting compound (our trusty T-Cut).
Allowing it to dry, then buffing it off.
Applying Starbrite Marine Polish.
Letting it dry, then buffing it off.
Applying wax.
And finally, more buffing!
We didn't conquer the entire cockpit, but we made a solid start and are keen to finish the rest whenever we next find ourselves with a spare moment (probably somewhere in Scotland!).
Thursday brought a new challenge: replacing one of the leather wheel covers. Yes, just one – the other still awaits its turn. This five-hour endeavour was diligently videoed for future reference (and perhaps amusement!). We'd bought the kit last year, but sheer nerves about messing it up, coupled with a healthy dose of forgetfulness, meant it had languished in a locker. We're genuinely chuffed with the result, so the second one will get done when we can. With a few extra days at our next stop due to the weather, maybe we can tick that off the list then. As you can probably tell, we're not exactly the most motivated couple when it comes to boat chores!
Friday presented a slight problem. The headlining on Nick's side of the boat had decided to stage a dramatic collapse, peeling away from the hull. Nick set about the tedious task of scraping away all the old, crumbly foam backing and meticulously cleaning the vinyl cover. While we'll eventually replace the entire vinyl, a temporary fix was needed. Once cleaned, Nick liberally sprayed both the hull and the back of the vinyl with spray adhesive, coaxing the covering back onto the wall. The only minor snag? With the foam now completely gone, a sliver of light now pierces through from the hull. It's a rather stark, if not a little scary, reminder of just how thin the barrier protecting us from the elements actually is! Let's not dwell on that too much.
Grimsby's Hidden Gems and Local Wisdom
Friday afternoon saw us move Halcyon Sea to the fuel pontoon for a final fill-up. Our next destination was Scarborough, another long journey looming on the horizon. The berthing master, bless him, gave us permission to stay on the fuel pontoon for the evening, making our Saturday morning departure incredibly straightforward. After dinner onboard, we ventured up to the clubhouse for a well-deserved drink. Nick, ever the conversationalist, asked if we could join a group already seated. We are so glad we did!
It transpired that Roger, a sprightly 89-year-old, was one of the founding members of the Humber Cruising Association. It was absolutely fascinating to hear him recount the history of the association, how this very marina came into being, its current operations, and even their unique pricing structure. Like many sailing clubs, they openly admitted their struggle to attract younger members – a common thread we've observed on our journey. But as the evening wore on, filled with shared stories and hearty laughter, our initial reservations about Grimsby began to soften.
We asked them about their typical sailing grounds, as we couldn't quite fathom where local trips would take them. They mainly stick to sailing to Hull or up to the end of Spurn Head point, where they can anchor or beach, depending on their boat type. Intriguingly, they also make regular passages across to Belgium or Holland, with Oostende being a mere 16-hour journey – less than our longest passage to date! One of the members kindly guided us through the best departure routes on the large charts adorning the clubhouse walls. It was incredibly reassuring to have our carefully planned route affirmed by local experts.
We returned to the boat, content and ready for our 8 am departure. It was most definitely time to move on. After hearing about the local area directly from the locals, we couldn't help but feel that we might have missed so much. Perhaps we need to be more open-minded, to truly not judge a book by its cover. Too late now, though – maybe another time!En savoir plus
Grimsby to Scarborough
31 mai 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ☀️ 21 °C
Grimsby to Scarborough: A Race Against Time, a Sea of Surprises, and a Roaring Welcome!
Finally, the day of departure from Grimsby had dawned! A shared eagerness buzzed between us; we were both more than ready to feel the familiar thrum of the boat beneath our feet and explore new horizons. The 7 am alarm was met with surprising enthusiasm, and we busied ourselves around Halcyon Sea. It felt distinctly more leisurely than usual – perhaps our overnight preparation skills are finally sharpening, or perhaps it was simply the glorious weather. A warm breeze caressed our faces, and the sea stretched out, invitingly calm. Just what the doctor ordered.
We radioed Fish Dock on Channel 74, requesting permission to slip through the free-flow lock. High water was at 9:31 am, and the lock's generous two-hour window either side of high tide meant a seamless transit without the need for traditional penning. Then, another call, this time to Channel 14, seeking clearance to exit Fish Dock and venture into the Humber. Permission was granted, accompanied by a gentle nudge to switch to Channel 12. We took our mild reprimand in stride, swapped frequencies, and headed out, hugging the south side of the river to avoid the giants of commercial shipping.
Our next crucial step was to cross the TSS (Traffic Separation Scheme). We called Humber VTS again. They informed us that three wind farm vessels were fast approaching from astern and that we should cross behind them. Oh, and by the way, we should now be on Channel 14. We accepted our second (and slightly more pointed) admonishment with good grace, waited for the massive catamarans to slice past us, and then made our move, heading north. A wave of relief washed over us; despite our radio channel missteps, we were safely out of the river entrance. As if on cue, a lone seal popped its head up next to the boat, its dark eyes mirroring our own sense of accomplishment. We took it as a very good sign indeed.
With the morning sun climbing high and the sea as flat as a millpond, the opportunity to raise the sails was too perfect to resist. We are determined to sail more on this journey, and with the wind coming from a SSW direction, we couldn't have asked for better conditions (though a little more breeze wouldn't have gone amiss!). We kept the engine ticking over for a while, just at low revs, ensuring we maintained momentum for the 10-12 hour journey to Scarborough. We didn't want to arrive in the dark, and ideally, we aimed for high water, so dawdling wasn't an option. It wasn't long before we could cut the engine completely, gliding along at a respectable 6 knots – pure sailing bliss!
Our focus, however, couldn't solely be on the horizon. The waters between Spurn Head and Flamborough were a minefield of fishing pots. Some markers were clear, brightly coloured buoys, but many looked like forgotten relics, encrusted with green and black marine growth, almost invisible against the shimmering sea, lurking like submerged traps. We knew that beyond the distinctive headland of Flamborough, with its lighthouse perched atop, the markers would shift from buoys to flags on sticks, notoriously difficult to spot, especially the darker ones that seemed to deliberately blend into the waves.
Flamborough Head itself was breathtaking. Sheltered coves hugged the shoreline beneath towering cliffs, and tiny figures of tourists dotted the clifftop, enjoying the dramatic views. The iconic Flamborough Head Lighthouse, built in 1806, stood guard, a beacon designed to warn ships of the perilous cliffs. Originally lit by a revolving oil lamp (an earlier 1669 lighthouse was never actually lit!), it was electrified in 1940 and automated in 1996, it is now controlled remotely from Harwich, Essex. As we sailed past the lighthouse, hundreds of Guillemots and Kittiwakes wheeled and soared around the cliff edges, their cries adding to the wild symphony of the coast. Pepper watched, utterly fascinated, as numerous groups of Guillemots bobbed in the water, only to take flight in a flurry of wings just as Halcyon Sea carved her way through their patch. The flag markers of the lobster pots began to appear, and we found ourselves playing a tense game of dodgems right up until we reached Filey Brigg.
It was here, that the tide had turned against us, our speed dropping noticeably, prompting us to restart the engine to maintain our pace. And then, as if on cue, the wind began to gust. We'd started the day with a gentle 5 knots, watching it steadily climb to 15. Now, it was ripping up to a ferocious 28 knots. While the sea state miraculously didn't escalate into a full-blown chaos, the boat began to feel heavy, almost sluggish. For our own safety, a tactical decision was made: drop the genoa and put a reef in the mainsail. Tracey turned Halcyon Sea into the wind, bringing her to a near halt and centring the boom, while Nick wrestled with the reefing line. For those unfamiliar with the terminology, this simply means reducing the amount of sail exposed to the wind, lessening the force on the boat.
However, a new snag! We noticed our second reefing line was stubbornly trapped behind the first at the mast. Not a critical issue for that very moment, but it would certainly become one when we eventually needed to drop the mainsail or put in a second reef. Once the first reef was in, the boat felt significantly easier to handle, and we settled back into the rhythm, pushing onward towards our destination.
Ahead, a massive, ominous black cloud loomed over the cliffs ahead. We kept a wary eye on the wind, which seemed to teasingly drop, only to gust ferociously again just as we started to feel safe. It was time. Time for that second reef. Once again, Tracey smoothly turned the boat into the wind, slowing the engine. This allowed Nick to get to the mast and, with a bit of "jiggery pokery" managed to free the snagged line. With that accomplished, the second reef was promptly added to the mainsail. We could have dropped all sail at this point, but Scarborough was still a little way off, and we were keen to maintain our momentum.
Finally, we were close enough to the harbour to call for berthing instructions. Yet again, our 2-meter depth presented a slight predicament. The harbour master, initially, told us to berth alongside a dredger. Tracey's composure, already frayed by the reefing issue, plummeted. Ease was all we craved, and Pepper needed to get ashore immediately. Climbing over a massive dredger and scaling a harbour wall was not the "easy" arrival we'd dreamed of. However, the Harbour Master, bless his soul, was incredibly helpful. He seemed to grasp our plight and, perhaps because we didn't descend into a screaming fit, seemed even more eager to assist. Eventually, he offered us another spot – it was tight, and, wouldn't you know it… short pontoons. Tracey was on the verge of tears. But Nick's expert boat handling saw us creep into our designated spot with surprising ease, only a gentle kiss on the pontoon. Our primary concern was avoiding the Commodore's speed boat, berthed precariously close, and the harbour master kindly helped by fending us off it.
We were in! Just as Tracey took Pepper ashore for her eagerly anticipated walk, the heavens opened. It was a short, sharp downpour, the first rain we'd seen during the day for months, lasting no more than ten minutes. Back onboard, Tracey poured our now-obligatory celebratory drinks. A loud, rumbling noise then echoed around the marina. "Quick!" Nick shouted, "Bring your phone!" A convoy of tractors, large and defiant, were parading along the promenade – we assumed a protest against recent farmer inheritance tax changes. By God, they were loud; they certainly made their presence known!
After a classic fish and chip supper, we crawled into bed, utterly weary but filled with a profound sense of accomplishment. We'll only be spending two nights here, taking advantage of the weather window on Monday to move further up the coast.En savoir plus
A Quiet Day in Scarborough
1 juin 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ⛅ 16 °C
Scarborough: Coastal Charm, Lighthouse Lunch, and a Date with a New Horizon!
Our morning in Scarborough dawned with the familiar rhythm of Tracey taking Pepper for her first walk of the day. Tracey was up early, and the town was still cloaked in a peaceful quiet. The amusement arcades and the small funfair beside the marina were shuttered, and the bar on the marina wall hadn't yet roused itself to blare out music. It was wonderfully serene.
Instead of heading into the South Bay, Tracey decided to explore the right side of the cliff, curious to see what lay beyond. As she and Pepper walked up the gentle incline, the views unfurled before them, nothing short of spectacular. They could clearly see the entrance to North Bay and the dramatic headland jutting out into the sea. The usual morning joggers and cyclists were out in full force – not Pepper's favourite, as she issued a series of barks and growls at all of them as they went past. A photographer stood patiently at the cliff edge, camera poised, waiting to capture that perfect moment as the Kittiwakes swooped and soared, returning to their high perches. Along the sea wall, information plaques were evenly spaced, offering intriguing snippets of Scarborough's history alongside details of the marine life thriving along this coastline. The walk, though breezy, allowed the sun to begin its brave attempt to break through, casting a pretty canvas for capturing some photos of the stunning scenery.
Back on the boat, we decided that we would head to the Sailing Club for Sunday lunch. This charming club is housed within the very lighthouse building at the end of the pier. It was blustery and raining as we walked up but we can imagine the views on a clear day would be spectacular. The club members were incredibly welcoming and the food was outstanding – amazing value for money, too! Many of the members made a delightful fuss of Pepper, and the chef even saved her some leftover meat for her dinner. Their accommodating and hospitable nature was truly appreciated.
After our delicious lunch, we opted for a walk up the steep but rewarding hill to the castle walls. It was too late in the day to go inside the castle itself, but the climb was manageable, and once again, the views from both sides of the hill did not disappoint. To the north, we could clearly see our planned route out for tomorrow's journey, and to the south, the entire coastline stretched back to Flamborough Head, revealing where we had come from. The landscape had transformed from the flat expanses we felt we'd been seeing for so long, now giving way to undulating green rolling hills. We were genuinely looking forward to venturing further up this changing coast. Nick, ever the connoisseur of seaside treats, popped into the small town to pick up some hot donuts – an absolute favourite for us when visiting the seaside!
Later, the commodore of the club, whose speedboat was berthed next to us, returned from his day out, having given pleasure rides to tourists eager to see the coastline. We seized the opportunity to question him about our plan to move to Whitby the next day, asking for any tips or insights. He generously provided a wealth of useful advice, which either solidified what we had already painstakingly researched or added crucial new details to our passage plan. With a 5 am alarm set, we treated ourselves to a much-needed early night. The timing for our departure from Scarborough was critical: enough water in the harbour to leave comfortably, but also arriving in Whitby at high water to navigate the swing bridge into the marina – another new experience to anticipate.
Let's see what tomorrow brings!En savoir plus
Scarborough to Whitby
2 juin 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ☁️ 16 °C
Scarborough to Whitby: A Race Against the Clock, a Dance with the Elements, and a Pint with New Friends!
BEEP BEEP BEEP! The alarm blared at 5 am, ripping us from the depths of sleep. As our senses slowly awakened, the howl of the wind and the insistent drumming of heavy rain against the deck assaulted our ears. This was not the gentle start we'd hoped for. Nevertheless, we had to push on, or risk being stranded in Scarborough until the next elusive weather window. We constantly remind ourselves that this is our journey, on our timeline; if we choose to wait for calmer conditions, that's perfectly acceptable. It's a mantra that works for us. But today, we were going.
The voyage to Whitby was estimated at a brisk three and a half hours. Our crucial deadline: arriving within two hours either side of high water to access the swing bridge that would grant us passage to the marina. Miss that window, and we'd be relegated to a temporary pontoon before the bridge, unable to leave the boat – an option we were determined to avoid. The challenge was compounded by the need to depart Scarborough at high water, as the Commodore had warned us both ports were heavily silted and in desperate need of dredging.
We pulled on our foul-weather gear. Tracey, feeling like the Michelin Man in her many layers, was determined not to let the cold seep in. Nick prepared the lines for our departure; it was going to be a tricky one. Our berth was incredibly tight, and the Commodore's speedboat loomed precariously close. We talked through the plan, ensuring every step was clear – we had only one shot at this. Before casting off, Nick called Scarborough Port Control to check the depth. A wave of relief washed over us: 3.7 meters at the harbour entrance, much higher than expected, and we had a comfortable 2.3 meters under our keel in the berth.
We eased ourselves backward out of our spot, Tracey poised with a roving fender, ready to deflect any unwanted bumps. The gods, it seemed, were smiling on us; the wind mysteriously vanished, making our tricky departure significantly smoother. We executed a flawless 180-degree reverse into another empty berth, then swung the wheel and throttled forward, gracefully navigating around the pylons and towards the harbour entrance. A sandbar lay in wait at the entrance, so we followed the advice to cross and hug the port-side wall. Without any real fuss, we were finally on our way, leaving Scarborough's challenging embrace behind us.
The sun's rays valiantly pierced through the cloudy sky to our right, but ahead, the cloud cover was thick, and the wind, inevitably, was on the nose. We were in a race against the tide, battling to reach our destination on schedule, so the engine remained steadfastly on (seriously, at this rate, we should have bought a motorboat!). The silhouette of Scarborough Castle, sitting high on its hill, slowly faded into the distance as we continued up the coastline. Aside from a lone fishing boat hugging the shore, we were out there on our own, a tiny vessel in a vast expanse. Once again, it was a game of dodging fishing buoys while trying to maintain our track. The green, rolling coastline dipped and swayed alongside us, and occasional bursts of rain felt like tiny pinpricks on our faces. We felt alive, truly immersed in the hands of nature and all her elements, and thus far, she was being remarkably kind. A rain shower brought with it the ethereal beauty of a faint rainbow, its vibrant colours arcing in front of the cliffs and dipping into the sea. We passed Robin Hood's Bay, the bay itself empty, but we could clearly make out the narrow roadway appearing to spill directly into the waves.
As we rounded the final headland, the haunting, majestic remains of Whitby Abbey dramatically presented themselves. Our eyes scoured the horizon for a Northerly cardinal marker – the crucial buoy that, once rounded to port, would lead us directly into Whitby harbour entrance. At 9:46 am, we radioed Whitby LPS (Local Port Services), requesting permission to enter the harbour and stating our intention to pass through the swing bridge into the marina. The swing bridge operates on the half-hour and hour during its four-hour high-water window. Whitby LPS advised they would open the bridge for us at 10 am. Perfect timing! No need for a stressful temporary mooring alongside. A shared smile crossed our faces; despite the challenging weather, this was already shaping up to be one of our favourite passages, for a whole host of reasons.
Whitby Welcome and Unexpected Camaraderie
The swing bridge obligingly opened before us, revealing the marina beyond. No one was manning the marina office, so we were simply asked to mill about in the marina basin and then take the berth currently occupied by another vessel, "Cherokee," who was due to leave for the 11 o'clock bridge opening. We had a little time to kill, so we circled patiently in the basin. Once Cherokee had vacated, we swiftly replaced her. And what a spot! No short fingers here, just a gloriously long pontoon with plenty of room. It felt like slipping into our old familiar berth in Gosport. Another leg conquered – woohoo!
On the other side of our pontoon, a vessel named "Adele" was berthed. We remembered hearing her name called over the radio as we left Grimsby. The boat proudly flew a German flag, so we were pleasantly surprised when a very English voice hailed us. Martin and Stefan, it turned out, are also in the midst of their own UK circumnavigation, though their approach is slightly different, aiming for a rapid 3-4 month completion. We invited them aboard Halcyon Sea for drinks that evening. They arrived with the best of intentions – just one drink, as they were departing the next morning. However, our night ultimately came to an end around midnight, after more than "one beer" and a fair amount of rum had been consumed. We had a truly wonderful evening with them and genuinely hope to meet up again once we reach the west coast of Scotland. We'll certainly be following their progress on AIS. What a fantastic day all around. We are so very lucky!En savoir plus
Whitby Wonders
3–6 juin 2025, Angleterre ⋅ 🌬 16 °C
Whitby Wonders: Abbey Heights, Sandy Delights, and a Goth-Rocking Night!
Tuesday dawned in Whitby, a truly glorious day! The sun beat down, chasing away any lingering sea mist, and Tracey, ever the explorer, was determined to find a new walking adventure for Pepper. Instead of heading towards the bustling town centre from the marina, they ventured in the opposite direction, discovering a charming footpath that ran alongside the railway tracks. Pepper, a furry blur of excitement, sniffed and explored every inch of shrubbery, her tail wagging happily. Aside from a few morning runners and a couple of determined cyclists (at whom Pepper, naturally, felt compelled to bark and growl with gusto), it was a wonderfully peaceful stroll. The path led them along the meandering River Esk, under a grand viaduct, all the way to the quaint village of Ruswarp. On the return journey, the views of Whitby Abbey, perched majestically high above the town, were simply breathtaking.
Later, all three of us headed into the town proper, making a beeline for the end of the pier and searching out some of the highly-recommended local eateries. But first, a detour for our four-legged crewmate! We took Pepper down to one of the designated dog-friendly beaches, and being the only canine on the sandy expanse, she had an absolute blast! Zooming around with unbridled joy, this was her very first encounter with sand – all our previous beach visits had been disappointingly pebbly. She dug with wild abandon, quickly learning that while sand was fun to displace, it wasn't quite as delicious as she might have hoped. Tracey, feeling a little under the weather, opted for a quiet afternoon pottering around the boat, followed by a home-cooked dinner onboard and a relatively early night.
Conquering Abbey Steps and a Pint with a View
Wednesday arrived, and much to our relief, Tracey was feeling significantly better. We'd admired Whitby Abbey from afar, but today was the day we would finally ascend to its hallowed ground. Whitby, as anyone who's visited will attest, is notoriously hilly. When Nick spotted the sign declaring "199 steps to the top," his initial enthusiasm waned slightly, but the promise of a well-deserved pint in the pub at the end ultimately sealed the deal.
The Abbey, a magnificent ruin, is lovingly cared for by English Heritage. The entry fee was £9, which isn't much, but with Pepper in tow, our access would be restricted. So, we decided to save our pennies and instead focused on capturing the outside of the Abbey up close. And we were certainly not disappointed! These ruins are, without a doubt, among the most celebrated sights in North Yorkshire. The first monastery here, founded around 657 AD, blossomed into one of the most significant religious centers in the Anglo-Saxon world. In 664 AD, it famously hosted the Synod of Whitby, a landmark moment in the history of the Church in England. The haunting remains we see today are the shell of the 13th-century church of the Benedictine Abbey, established after the Norman Conquest. The views from the hilltop were utterly stunning, allowing us to gaze for miles down the coastline, both North and South.
Once we'd soaked up enough history and breathtaking vistas, we ambled back down the hill and straight into the promised pub. With panoramic views of the harbour entrance and the sun streaming through the windows, it was the perfect spot for a well-earned pit stop. We ambled around town for a bit longer before heading back to the boat, our stomachs rumbling with the promise of a quintessential seaside treat: fish and chips from the legendary Magpie Cafe, which had come highly recommended.
Fish and Chips, a Singing Sailor, and Goth Surprises!
Just as we were leaving the boat to collect our eagerly anticipated supper, one of our neighbours from the pontoon stopped us. "I'll be singing and playing guitar in one of the pubs up the hill later!" he announced. Intrigued, we mentally filed that away. Our fish and chips from the Magpie were… fine. They were okay, but if we're honest, we've definitely had better. After devouring our meal, we took Pepper back to the boat, settled her into her crate, and headed back up the hill to The Little Angel pub.
And there he was – Mark, our neighbour, singing away! And he was really good. Perhaps we shouldn't have been so surprised, but you just never know what hidden talents lurk in the marina next door. It turned out Mark had studied music at university and even taught it for a while. His first love was percussion, but as he dryly explained, "It's a bit difficult to get a gig as a solo drummer!" The pub had an area cordoned off for a birthday party, and just as Mark was mid-song, a large group of Goths made a grand entrance. Whitby's deep connection to Bram Stoker's Dracula lends itself perfectly to its gothic appeal, and the town famously hosts the twice-yearly Whitby Goth Weekend, attracting thousands of enthusiasts. We'd missed the first festival of the year (they are held in April and October), but the town's many gift shops dedicated to goth culture were a testament to its enduring influence. Later, one of the ladies from the birthday party graciously brought cakes around, offering them to everyone in the pub. It was a truly great evening, filled with unexpected charm and excellent music.
Dodging Raindrops and Passage Planning Perils
Thursday was spent in a constant game of "dodge the raindrops." Tracey, completed the recovering of the other steering wheel – another job triumphantly checked off the list! Nick, meanwhile, dedicated his time to cleaning the sprayhood and polishing the boat's stanchions. We cooked onboard and spent a cozy afternoon in the cockpit, playing cards, plotting our next move.
We had decided to leave Whitby on Friday. Our intended destination was Hartlepool, but the timing was looking incredibly tight. We couldn't leave Whitby until the first swing bridge opening at 11:30 am, which would give us enough water to clear the marina. The problem lay with Hartlepool: we needed to arrive at high water, meaning we couldn't be there any later than 4 pm. Our calculations put the journey at approximately four and a half hours, leaving absolutely no wriggle room for any unexpected weather delays. While our timings had been incredibly lucky so far, complacency was a luxury we couldn't afford. We needed a Plan B.
Plan B involved pushing on an additional four hours to Sunderland. This would make the day a much longer one, certainly not what we ideally wanted, but safety is paramount. So, with both Plan A (Hartlepool) and Plan B (Sunderland) firmly in place, we watched the weather forecast. Let's see what tomorrow brings!En savoir plus
Whitby to Who Knows Where
6 juin 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ☁️ 15 °C
Whitby to Who Knows Where: A Journey of Unexpected Turns!
Our morning in Whitby began with a relaxed pace, preparing for an 11:30 am swing bridge opening. However, it was Nick's turn to feel a bit under the weather, achy and sensing a cold coming on. The morning weather wasn't ideal, but the forecast promised improvement later in the day. Our initial check suggested the rain would cease by 10:30 am. Tracey began stowing everything to ready the boat for sea, while Nick retreated to bed for a bit. The question lingered: would we actually leave today? At 10:30 am, the rain persisted, and Nick was only just stirring. It was a dilemma, but Tracey was ready to move on.
Once Nick saw the boat was largely prepared, he found new motivation, perhaps not wanting to hold Tracey back. Nick got up, and together we packed away the cockpit tent and donned our full foul weather gear. The updated forecast now extended the rain until 11:30 am, not ideal, but we pressed on. We headed to the marina office to settle up, but it was empty. A minor panic set in: could we leave without paying, or would we be stopped at the bridge? We continued our preparations. Tracey made another attempt at the office – still no one. Other boats also gearing up for the 11:30 am bridge seemed to be waiting for us, even though they could have departed independently. Suddenly, the pressure mounted. With no time for further contemplation, we cast off, turned the boat around, and headed for the bridge. Four boats were departing: three heading south, and just us going north.
A Change of Course and a Surprise Squall
As predicted, the rain stopped the moment we cleared the bridge, and the wind began to ease as we left Whitby. However, with the tide against us and the wind, predictably, still on the nose, we quickly realized that making Hartlepool was unlikely. Nick tried increasing the engine's revs, but it made little difference to our speed. We agreed that Sunderland was the better option, and with the increased time on our side, a sense of calm returned, despite the prospect of a longer day than initially hoped.
Heading north from Whitby, saw a dramatic increase in the amount of fishing buoys. We were no longer playing dodgems; this was a full-on game of fishing buoy battleships. Tracey took the helm, picking her way through the minefield of buoys.
We hoisted the sails and cut the engine. Our change of course now brought the wind to a more favorable direction, allowing us to truly enjoy the sail without the pressure of a tight schedule. The sun broke through, tunes played, and we settled into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying the simple pleasure of sailing. When the wind eventually dropped, so did our speed, slowing to just 1.4 knots. We even managed to create a video documenting our unexpected change of plans for Facebook.
But just as we'd settled in, a colossal storm cloud appeared on the horizon. It looked distant, and Nick altered our course, hoping to skirt its edge. A few minutes later, fierce gusts announced its arrival, the sky darkening ominously. The wind gauges soared to 30 knots – a brutal surprise not in the forecast!
Immediate action was required. The boat heeled dramatically, her starboard gunwale kissing the water. It was time to reef, a decision we'd perhaps delayed a little too long. We quickly furled the headsail to reduce our canvas. Tracey then took the helm, steadying the boat while Nick efficiently worked the lines to put in not just one reef, but two. The boat bucked and rolled violently, and we found ourselves pushed off course. We wrestled with Halcyon Sea, bringing her back onto our desired track as the wind continued to shift. This was a stark contrast to the easy sailing of just fifteen minutes prior. We were acutely reminded of nature's formidable power.
Despite the chaos, we persevered. We successfully navigated around the back of the storm, which began to dissipate southwards. Ahead, milder seas and the reappearance of the sun offered a renewed sense of calm. We settled back into the rhythm, pushing towards our new destination.
Sunderland Marina had advised us that entry was only possible before 7 pm or after 8 pm due to tidal constraints. Nick had recalculated our ETA, aiming for an 8 pm arrival. Tracey harboured a slight unease, preferring to wait a little longer for a more generous water depth, but Nick's assurance prevailed. We spotted the harbour entrance, carefully running our course adjacent to it to avoid surrounding rocks before finally pointing Halcyon Sea's bow inwards. Strangely, there were no visible masts or clear signs of a marina. We nudged cautiously into the River Wear, and then we saw it: a tall green and yellow post. The entrance was incredibly narrow, a tight squeeze between the posts. It was just past 8 pm, and the only thought was to get in without incident.
Slowly, very slowly, we inched between the posts. With only 0.4meters underneath our keel we were nervous. Our designated berth, D17, was supposedly straight ahead, but the marina seemed filled with much smaller fishing vessels. A flicker of concern crossed Tracey's mind. D17, the only double berth available, had notably short pontoons. It turned out Sunderland Marina's maximum length is 40 feet, putting us right at the limit. Very carefully, Nick eased Halcyon Sea into the berth, our mast standing significantly taller than any other. It had been a day of diverse challenges, a firm reminder of the need for constant vigilance at sea.
Once the boat was secured, Tracey led Pepper to the nearby beach we'd spotted on our approach. It was Pepper's second time on sand, and with no other dogs in sight, she unleashed a joyful explosion of energy, running in circles and enthusiastically sniffing everything in sight. She's a true joy to have along, and watching her discover the world is a blessing. After a pasta and sauce supper that Nick prepared whilst Tracey was out, we called it a day. We will sit here whilst the next weather front passes and hope to move on again early next week.En savoir plus
VoyageurGlad you made it across. We didn’t explore Sunderland as we were out early the next day for the Farne islands.
Sunderland: A Warm Welcome & Hidden Gems
7–8 juin 2025, Angleterre ⋅ 🌧 14 °C
Sunderland: A Warm Welcome and Hidden Gems!
Our first day in Sunderland started quietly, but a touch of homesickness crept in for Tracey – a feeling of distance from home and familiar faces. Pepper, sensing the mood, enjoyed an extra-long morning walk as Tracey processed her thoughts. Luckily, the sun graced us with its presence, temporarily dispelling the predicted rain and brightening the mood considerably. Back on board, Tracey diligently caught up on the blog and edited photos and videos to share. We also secured a Tesco delivery for Monday, the earliest slot available. Dinner called, and with little knowledge of the local culinary scene beyond a few spots on Roker Beach, we ventured out. Our first stop, The Harbour View pub, was bustling with lively groups – a promising sign! However, they didn't serve food, so we ambled down the road to The Wolsey. Here, silence reigned; the place was almost empty and completely devoid of atmosphere. After ordering drinks, the barman casually informed us food service had stopped at 7 pm, an hour prior. A quick call from Nick secured a table at the Marina Vista, a restaurant boasting prime views from the top floor of the marina building. We promptly downed our drinks and headed over. The Marina Vista was buzzing with energy, several birthday parties adding to the lively ambiance. The staff were wonderfully friendly and helpful, and we soon found ourselves at a table, enjoying a bottle of wine with our dinner ordered. The food was really good – a definite recommendation for any visitors – and we rounded off the meal with a couple of Limoncellos. It was precisely what we needed: a night out for ourselves, with Pepper safely tucked away in her crate back on the boat. We returned, vowing that tomorrow would be a day of wider exploration.
Exploring Sunderland's Charms
Sunday arrived, bringing with it glorious sunshine and, even better, a significant drop in wind. We woke to a pleasant surprise: messages on Facebook from locals who had seen our Limoncello post the previous night, extending a warm welcome to Sunderland and offering fantastic suggestions for our day. Our first mission: breakfast at Grannie Annie's, located on the seafront where Pepper had enjoyed her beach run. We decided to let the locals guide our day, as much as possible. Grannie Annie's delivered a good, reasonably priced breakfast, and they were wonderfully dog-friendly. Afterward, Pepper had another chance to zoom around on the beach as we slowly made our way back towards the marina.
Next, Nick was keen to visit the RNA (Royal Navy Association) club, which he knew was nearby. We headed away from the marina and seemed to walk for ages down Roker Avenue in search of the club. Nick had phoned ahead to ensure Pepper was allowed, but upon arrival, we were initially told no dogs were permitted. Thankfully, the lady spoke to someone else who granted us entry, with the caveat that we'd need to leave by 2 pm. As it was just past noon, we paid our 50p entrance fee and went in. The large bar and lounge area was surprisingly quiet, save for a couple of gentlemen at one table. They had a TV advertising upcoming events, with dates stretching to November 2026, featuring numerous tribute bands and music nights. We couldn't fathom why it was so empty. Soon, a few more people arrived, two gentlemen who both made a delightful fuss of Pepper, which she naturally adored. We spent a while chatting, and they told us about other sights, including St. Peter's Church near the National Glass Centre, another spot worth visiting. They also pointed out the iconic red and white striped Roker Pier Lighthouse at the harbour entrance. Completed in 1903 after over 18 years of construction, the pier and its sister, New South Pier, were built at the height of Sunderland's shipbuilding prowess to protect the vital harbour docks and shipping. The pier features a tunnel running its entire half-mile length, once the only way for the keeper to reach the lighthouse in stormy weather. Though the lighthouse keeper role ended in the 1970s and the lighthouse suffered vandalism, Sunderland City Council began painstaking restoration in 2012. Tours through the tunnels and up to the restored lighthouse are currently halted due to storm damage in 2023, but repairs are underway, with hopes of resuming tours within the next 12-16 weeks. It was a shame not to visit, but learning about its history was fascinating. By the way, Pepper did us proud and was so good, the lady said that we didn’t need to leave.
Hidden Wonders and Yacht Club Hospitality
After a few drinks at the RNA club, we decided to search for another intriguing suggestion from Facebook: the North Dock Tufa. This proved to be one of those little gems hidden right under our noses, easily missed without local knowledge. It's not signposted, but it lies literally behind the Marina Activities Centre. You find it by entering the Marina Centre, turning left, and exiting through the next door. What awaits is a fascinating display of calcite stalactites and stalagmites, formed over centuries by dripping water. It's widely believed to have been discovered in 1992 during the marina's development, when old fishing huts were removed, though some locals claim to have known about it long before. It's particularly renowned for its beauty when illuminated at night. It was truly a testament to the power of social media for uncovering local treasures!
Having explored the Tufa, we then made our way to the Sunderland Yacht Club. The club building stands separately from the marina, boasting its own moorings and yard. We weren't sure if it would be open, but we'd chatted with a couple of members earlier who were heading out racing. After knocking and pressing a few buttons at the entrance, a friendly lady appeared. We explained we were visiting yachtsmen hoping for a drink, and she readily invited us in, even asking a group of members to make space at their table for us. We joined them, learning a little of the club's history – how their original building had been compulsory purchased for the surrounding estate, and how they'd secured grant funding for their impressive new building. It was incredibly spacious inside, with a purpose-built race office occupying the top floor. They run both yacht and dinghy racing out of the club. We couldn't have asked for a more hospitable welcome and were even given a Sunderland Yacht Club cap as a souvenir!
After dodging yet another brief rain shower, we decided to head back to the boat, pretty exhausted from all the walking, but what a day it had been! A day that started with no real plan, transformed into an enriching experience, leaving us feeling incredibly welcomed and grateful for the time locals had spent sharing their knowledge. Too tired for more walking, and with our fridge looking bare awaiting the morning's Tesco delivery, we ordered a pizza delivery. Once eaten, we closed up the boat for the night, our tired limbs yearning for a well-deserved rest.En savoir plus
VoyageurYou’re both blessed to have sun in Roker. I remember going to see a football match at the old Sunderland ground, Roker Park. I was high up in the stands with the ground right next to the sea. I don’t think I ever been so cold as that windy rainy January night…..absolutely frozen!! X
Dolphins, Docks, and a Mini Disaster
9 juin 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ☁️ 16 °C
Departing Sunderland: Dolphins, Docks, and a Day of Mixed Fortunes
Once our Tesco delivery arrived and all the provisions were stowed, Nick made the decision to continue our journey from Sunderland. The instruments showed a mere 0.3 meters under the keel, giving us about an hour for the tide to rise sufficiently for a comfortable departure. The sky was overcast, but the sea was calm with a gentle breeze. If we motored, the next leg of our journey would be a quick hour and a half. Tracey had put in a special request for dolphins, as they'd been spotted in the harbor the day before.
We slipped out of the marina with ease, heading for the open sea. No sooner had we cleared the end of the piers than Tracey's wish was granted! Nick spotted a splash ahead, and Tracey raced to the bow, camera poised. At first, it seemed she'd missed them, but then a small pod of dolphins began breaching and playing alongside Halcyon Sea. Though they were heading into the harbor and didn't stay long, the mere sight was utterly magical and incredibly uplifting, filling us with renewed enthusiasm for the sea.
Tyne Transit and a Tricky Tie-Up
Grins plastered on our faces, we continued our journey. It would have been easy to motor, but we unfurled the genoa, cut the engine, and glided through the water under sail. Our speed was a leisurely 2-3 knots, but there was no rush; Royal Quays Marina accepts boats at any state of tide. We simply enjoyed the coastal views, navigating only the occasional fishing buoy that snuck up on us.
As we neared the entrance to the Tyne, we dropped sail and restarted the engine, then radioed Tyne VTS to inform them of our intentions to enter the river and proceed to the marina. Permission was swiftly granted. The Tyne is a bustling commercial port, accustomed to large vessels, but we were informed there were no planned movements during our transit. We made our way to Royal Quays Marina, turning to starboard to enter the lock. Here, you tie up on the starboard side, with no lines on the port, and the lock operates quarter to and quarter past the hour. We were the only boat entering, and having arrived at high tide, the marina staff kindly opened the lock for us slightly ahead of schedule.
Once inside and tied up, a marina staff member approached, map in hand, to show us our designated berth and offered to meet us there to help with lines – a thoughtful gesture, we believed! However, as the lock gates opened and we tried to proceed, the wind pressed us firmly against the side of the lock, raising concerns about our solar panel. Nick expertly used the fenders to push off the wall, creating just enough space to move forward out of the lock.
Making our way around the marina we turned up between pontoons E & D where we saw the helpful staff member waiting at our designated spot. We have a well-rehearsed routine for coming alongside; we know our roles and anticipate each other's moves, making even tricky conditions manageable. Unfortunately, the marina had allocated us a berth where the wind was blowing us away from the pontoon – not ideal, especially with plenty of easier spots available. The man asked for our bow line (usually Tracey's job), and she handed it over, but being out of our usual routine, she was momentarily unsure where Nick needed her next. Nick asked her to take the stern line, but by the time she moved, the stern was too far from the pontoon to reach. Unhelpfully, the man then started shouting, "You're going to hit the pontoon!" Nick remained calm, explaining his plan: "Don't worry, I'm going to use the pontoon and put some forward thrust on, which will bring the back end of the boat in." The man, however, seemed to ignore this, pushing the bow away from the pontoon. With the bow line already fixed, the boat began to swing uncontrollably. The bow ultimately nudged into a corner of the pontoon where, instead of wood, there was a metal plate – another contact. The man then suggested taking our spring line, which Tracey handed to him. As this wasn't part of our routine, the spring wasn't tightly secured to the boat, and the man managed to pull the entire rope off. Tracey, tears welling, felt a surge of panic. Eventually, we managed to get Halcyon Sea alongside, and the well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful staff member departed, leaving us to survey the minor damage. We'd "kissed" the pontoon again, and the bow would need a rub down and recoating – nothing major, but the whole scenario significantly dented Tracey's confidence.
We headed to the marina cafe for something to eat. Tracey, still visibly upset, was ready to call it a day. The incident, combined with a touch of homesickness, was truly taking its toll. We discussed the situation, questioning if we could have done anything differently, always aiming to learn from our experiences. Our conclusion was that without the external intervention, the docking would likely have been far less complicated – hindsight, as they say, is 20/20. We've decided that in the future, we'll politely request staff to simply stand by in case of genuine need, but otherwise allow us to handle our own mooring.
We plan to spend at least a couple of days here, as we still have a mountain of washing to conquer. We've also arranged to meet up with Tareena and Darren, and Nick's son, Olly, for Father's Day on Sunday. Looking at the weather, Wednesday seems like a good day for our next move, but we'll keep a close eye on the forecast. If not then, we'll likely stay here until after the weekend.En savoir plus
VoyageurHey .. i’ll phone you later discuss options for Saturday 🍻🥂🍹🍰🎈xxxxx
VoyageurI love that you are able to talk things through and learn from any mistakes. Tracey, I would be in tears too after that and would definitely be guilty of losing my rag! Well done to the both of you for being so calm and professional!
VoyageurIt happens to us all, I have just shelled out for a new boat hook after bending it between a ladder and shroud in Dunbar. It won’t be my last🤣
North Shields Down Time & Amble Respite
10–13 juin 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ☁️ 17 °C
North Shields: Downtime, Discovery, and Dolphins to Amble!
Our stay in North Shields felt different, not because of the place itself, but due to a shift in our perspective, particularly for Tracey. The previous docking incident had undeniably left its mark. Compounding this, we had begun to map out the daunting next leg of our journey towards the Caledonian Canal, noting the seemingly challenging access to potential stopping points. Stonehaven, for instance, involved tying alongside a wall rather than a pontoon – a completely new manoeuvre for us both. With confidence momentarily rattled, Nick suggested turning back, not out of desire, but to offer Tracey options. However, retreating wasn't an option for Tracey either; we'd come too far, and quitting simply isn't in her DNA. Instead, we opted for a deliberately easy few days, starting with the mountain of laundry and the perpetual list of boat chores.
The marina itself was pleasant, though like many we'd visited, it was surrounded by housing, giving it a somewhat "concrete jungle" feel. We had a clear view of the enormous DFDS ferry departing daily for Holland, and Pepper thoroughly enjoyed the lovely patch of green space nearby. We also became regulars at The Lock cafe, frequenting it twice during our stay – once for lunch/dinner and another time purely for coffee and cake. The marina office staff were both friendly and helpful, providing detailed local maps and instructions for venturing into Newcastle if we chose. For the first time, Tracey wasn't in the mood for sightseeing, preferring to focus on chores and some much-needed pamper time. This pause highlighted a realisation: despite not having "work," we had been continuously on the go for two months, either planning or executing our next move. Every day felt like a weekend, yet we hadn't truly taken a break. It was definitely time for some downtime.
The weather wasn't conducive for moving on anyway; we faced a choice of leaving on Wednesday (we arrived Monday) or staying until the following Monday. Tuesday was dedicated to starting the laundry, and Tracey finally delved into her Kindle, downloading a couple of new books. One of Nick's former colleagues from SETT kindly arrived at the boat, offering a lift to the local chandlery, which afforded Tracey a precious hour of peace. Upon his return, Nick continued polishing the cockpit's white surfaces and had plans to re-waterproof the sprayhood. Wednesday dawned glorious and sunny. We debated moving again but ultimately decided to stay put and fully embrace the perfect weather for a genuine chill day. Tracey indulged in a pamper session, giving herself a pedicure and manicure before losing herself completely in her Kindle – once her nose was in a book, the outside world vanished. Meanwhile, Nick continued his boat pottering, diligently avoiding anything that might disturb Tracey's newfound serenity. Thursday arrived, and Tracey felt significantly better; perhaps the enforced downtime was exactly what she'd needed. We walked to Fish Quay for some shopping and a change of scenery. That evening, we cooked onboard and started a Netflix series. We hadn't turned the television on since Dover! The series, "Dept Q," proved instantly captivating, and four episodes later, we decided we really should head to bed, as we planned to move the next day, seizing a newly presented weather window. We were definitely ready for a new environment to explore. Friday arrived, and we busied ourselves stowing the cockpit tent and prepping Halcyon Sea for departure.
Leaving for Amble: A Lively Ride to England's Edge!
As we prepared to leave, a shared sense of anxiety, though unspoken, hung in the air. Although a passing couple had suggested a shortcut through the gap at Coquet Island and even Navionics backed up their theory, we firmly opted to go around the back of the island. We had no desire for shortcuts or further incidents. We radioed the marina, requesting a lock out, which was granted. We made our way around to the open lock entrance and tied alongside – so far, so good. After exiting the lock, we called Tyne VTS, who advised us to wait for a commercial vessel to pass before entering the river. We spotted the vessel, waited patiently, and all remained calm.
As we made our way to the harbour entrance, the wind hit us – far windier than predicted! What on earth was going on with these forecasts?
On our port side before we reached the entrance stands a tall statue dedicated to Vice Admiral Lord Cuthbert Collingwood. A Napoleonic-era admiral noted for being second-in-command to Admiral Lord Nelson during the Battle of Trafalgar, Collingwood is sometimes referred to as the forgotten hero of Trafalgar.
Just as we reached the entrance, we were greeted, once again, by a truly spectacular display: dolphins putting on an incredible show, breaching, jumping, and twisting out of the water right before us.
We pointed the boat northwards, and the true character of the day became clear. The sea, a challenging mix of waves and swells, made for a lively ride. Halcyon Sea responded to the ocean's motion, heaving and rolling significantly. We cautiously rolled out the Genoa, hoping for a little more stability, but it seemed to make little difference. We were moving at a brisk 7 knots just under the Genoa alone. Keeping a lookout for fishing buoys became a full-on challenge; they were incredibly difficult to spot in the waves, sometimes only bobbing to the surface just as we were passing. Both Pepper and Tracey felt unwell, and we briefly contemplated diverting into Blyth. With not much there and no other weather window until at least Monday, Tracey, despite her discomfort, bravely insisted we continue. The wind intensified, whipping up the sea and gusting to 30 knots. Halcyon Sea was being tossed about, making it the most uncomfortable sustained period we had experienced on our entire journey. We could clearly see the lighthouse on Coquet Island in the distance, watching impassively as we were buffeted by the elements, willing for everything to calm down, but instead, the wind intensified.
Immediate action was required. We needed to furl the sail, and Nick remained at the helm, working to keep Halcyon Sea on course against the strong wind while Tracey worked the winch. It was a demanding physical effort, each winch turn a testament to willpower. It took three arduous attempts to finally put the sail away – it was utterly exhausting!
Amble's Respite and a Scottish Promise
Despite the chaos, we persevered, we had no choice. Ahead, milder seas and the reappearance of the sun offered a renewed sense of calm. We settled back into the rhythm, pushing towards our new destination.
We finally spotted the harbour entrance and diligently followed the track, carefully avoiding the shallows. Amble also has a cill at its marina entrance. We arrived two hours before high water, ensuring ample depth to pass over the cill and move to locate our allocated berth. We were utterly worn out when we finally tied up. After walking Pepper and registering with the marina office, we simply collapsed, taking time to sit and rest. Dinner at the Fish Shack, right on the harbour edge, was a welcome reward. As we made our way back to the boat, the wind had completely died down, and the sunset was truly stunning; it had transformed into a really pleasant evening. The stark contrast between the challenging journey and the serene arrival felt almost surreal, but we had made it. This is our last stop in England; next stop is Eyemouth. We will have officially made it to Scotland, an achievement to be immensely proud of. For now, though, we're going to savour Amble, its quaintness, and everything it has to offer: its scenic river walks, long golden beaches, numerous restaurants and local pubs, and the historic Warkworth medieval village just a 30-minute stroll away. Amble might just become our new favourite place.En savoir plus
Amble: Surprise Visitors & Warkworth
14–15 juin 2025, Angleterre ⋅ ☁️ 17 °C
Amble: Weekend Wonders and Warkworth's Majestic Echoes!
Our plan was to settle into Amble until Monday, hoping for a clear weather window, but in the meantime, the weekend stretched out, ripe for local exploration. Tracey's oldest school friend, Tareena, and her partner Darren were staying about 1.5 hours away, and while we'd initially aimed for a North Shields rendezvous, our northern shift made it a longer trek for them. The weather was also a wildcard; with Pepper and Tareena's two dogs, Milo and Leo, a soggy boat or a futile search for dog-friendly indoor spots was less than ideal. We'd put up the cockpit tent when we arrived anticipating rain around 2 am, and throughout the night, the drumming of heavy rain on the deck, accompanied by the howl of the wind, confirmed its arrival. Morning dawned with dark, threatening skies, promising more of the same. We resigned ourselves to a boat-bound day, a perfect excuse for Tracey to catch up on the blog and edit photos – there’s always something to do on Halcyon Sea! Tareena checked in a few times for weather updates, and to our delight, they eventually decided to brave it and head to Amble. We quickly prepped to greet them, excited to explore somewhere new together.
After a swift tour of Halcyon Sea for Darren, who hadn't seen her before, we decided to venture into Warkworth to take a look at the castle. It was about a 25-minute walk along the river and the road until we reached the truly magnificent structure. Warkworth Castle is a classic motte and bailey design – a "motte" being the artificial hill built for the castle, and a "bailey" the courtyard protected by a stone curtain wall, exactly what most people imagine when they think of a medieval stronghold. Thought to have been founded by Henry II in 1157, it's one of the most historically significant castles in the North East, having weathered countless sieges. The Percy family has owned it for centuries, and it's still officially held by the 12th Duke of Northumberland, though English Heritage now manages the site. With the dogs in tow, we didn't go inside, but we thoroughly enjoyed walking the grounds and perimeter, capturing some fantastic photos of its imposing presence before heading back to the coastal path. We found a lovely spot where the dogs could finally run free, and Darren even got his drone out for some aerial footage! We then popped into The Hermitage Inn for some much-needed refreshment before making our way back to Amble.
Seaside Feasts and Unexpected Sunshine
Fish and Chips, or chips with curry sauce, called our names, and we headed to the Harbour Fish Bar, a spot Darren had heard good things about. Tareena and Tracey secured a picnic bench near the beach, eagerly awaiting our delicious dinner. Once devoured, it was time for farewells. The day had flown by, but despite the ominous start, we'd remarkably missed most of the rain, and the sun had even made a welcome appearance. We parted ways, heading back to the boat, our limbs feeling the pleasant ache of a long walk and great company.
Sunday greeted us with blue skies and sunshine, though it remained quite breezy. We decided to try the sailing club for a Sunday roast, but alas, we just missed out, with the last available dinners being served to the family who arrived just ahead of us. Still, we enjoyed a refreshing drink on their balcony, a perfect sun trap overlooking the river. With the tide out, the intricate sandbanks became clearly visible, offering a striking visual explanation for why we'd needed to hug the south side wall on our way in. We then walked into town for lunch, finding a hearty meal still being served at The Schooner Pub. Full and content, we returned to the boat. With so much still to explore in Amble, and after checking the latest weather forecast, we've decided to extend our stay until Wednesday. There's plenty more to see and do in this charming coastal haven!En savoir plus
VoyageurWell it was certainly a lovely unexpected day out and the weather was kind. It was great to see you both and definitely worth the trip. I think we will come back to Amble. xx
A Whirlwind Tour of Northumberland Gems
16–17 juin 2025, Angleterre ⋅ 🌬 22 °C
Amble: Sunshine, Scrubbing, and a Whirlwind Tour of Northumberland's Gems!
Our final few days in Amble were a masterclass in relaxation. Despite the persistent wind, the sun valiantly broke through, casting a shimmering glow across the sea. We ambled around the pier, enjoying clear views of Coquet Island, its presence a constant reminder of our coastal journey. Halcyon Sea, however, had accumulated a rather impressive collection of weed on her underside, so Nick bravely inflated the dinghy and took to the water, giving her bottom a much-needed scrub.
Tuesday brought a welcome change of pace: Lee, one of Nick's former work colleagues, arrived to whisk us away on a sightseeing adventure. We were buzzing with anticipation, eager to see more of the North East coast, which had already impressed us deeply. Our drive wound through the picturesque villages of Alnmouth and Boulmer, their charming stone cottages nestled against the rugged landscape. We met up with Lee's wife, Zoe, for a delicious lunch at The Running Fox in Longhoughton, a truly delightful spot. We then continued our journey along the coastline, passing Howick and taking a closer look at Craster, famous for its kippers. Dunstanburgh Castle stood proudly on the headland, its ruins a dramatic silhouette against the sky. After picking up their three enthusiastic dogs, we made a stop at Beadnell Bay, allowing all the pooches to let off a bit of steam on the vast sandy expanse.
Farne Islands, Bamburgh's Majesty, and the Heroine of the Longstone Lighthouse
Our tour continued to Seahouses, where we drove down onto the pier, observing the day trip boats preparing to depart for the Farne Islands, a renowned wildlife sanctuary. From there, we paused to admire the majestic presence of Bamburgh Castle, an iconic stronghold perched dramatically on the Northumberland coast. As we gazed, Zoe pointed out the location of the Grace Darling Museum.
Grace Darling is a celebrated heroine of Victorian Britain, famed for her extraordinary act of bravery. Born in 1815, she was the daughter of William Darling, the lighthouse keeper on Longstone Lighthouse, one of the treacherous Farne Islands. In the early hours of September 7th, 1838, the steamship Forfarshire struck the Outer Farne rocks during a fierce storm. Grace, from her vantage point in the lighthouse, spotted survivors clinging to the rocks. Despite the immense danger and her father's initial hesitation to launch their small coble (a traditional fishing boat) in such conditions, Grace's unwavering determination persuaded him. Together, they rowed through mountainous seas, a truly perilous journey, reaching the shipwreck and rescuing nine survivors, including a woman and two children. Her heroic actions captivated the nation, turning her into a national icon and inspiring countless acts of courage. The Grace Darling Museum in Bamburgh now commemorates her life and daring rescue, displaying the very coble she and her father used.
Harry Potter Magic and Amble's Charms Endure
After this fascinating historical interlude, we headed back inland via Alnwick, where we made sure to grab a photo of Alnwick Castle, famous for its role as Hogwarts in some of the Harry Potter films. Finally, we arrived back in Amble, truly awestruck. What a whirlwind tour of such incredibly beautiful countryside and coastline! A huge thank you to Lee and Zoe; we would never have seen all of this without their generous guidance, not even if we'd dared to get our bikes out (Nick is still having palpitations at the mere thought!). The bikes, by the way, remain firmly in their original position in the back cabin, untouched and probably covered in a fine layer of dust.
Our biggest regret is that we were so captivated by everything we were seeing that we completely forgot to take many photos. This is definitely somewhere we would like to explore further, perhaps with the car next time.En savoir plus
Amble to Scotland: A Coastal Leap
18 juin 2025, Écosse ⋅ ☁️ 17 °C
Amble to Scotland: A Coastal Leap and Eyemouth's Embrace!
Our time in Amble had gracefully reached its conclusion. Suitably refreshed and re-energised, we stood ready to tackle our next challenge: Eyemouth. This wasn't just another port; this was Scotland! A major milestone in our grand circumnavigation. Before setting off, we needed to top up our fuel, the pontoon conveniently situated right at the end, just before exiting the cill and the marina. A familiar companion, anxiety, had once again crept in, which, frankly, was annoying. You'd think by now we'd be seasoned pros, but it's simply not the case. Nick's anxiety tends to manifest as we leave a port, while Tracey's kicks in upon arrival at a new destination. Perhaps it's just the fear of the unknown, but we're choosing to see it as a "yin and yang" dynamic – we balance each other out, and that can only be a good thing.
With Halcyon Sea refuelled, we restarted the engine and gently pushed ourselves off the pontoon. The sea lay calm before us, with barely a whisper of wind. We chugged our way along the pier towards the harbour entrance. A small fishing vessel, with only one man aboard, suddenly decided to pull out of his berth and head straight across our bow – a jolt of excitement we definitely didn't need this early in the day! As we reached the harbour entrance, the distinctive lighthouse of Coquet Island came into view. We would pass the island to starboard as we made our way north alongside the stunning Northumberland coastline. From this new vantage point, we could clearly make out all the picturesque spots Lee and Zoe had so generously shown us by car yesterday. It was fascinating how different they looked from the sea, and we'll admit, Google Maps occasionally came in handy to help identify some of the beaches.
Farne Islands, Puffins, and a Holy Detour
A few hours into our journey brought us to Seahouses and the famous Farne Islands. Once again, it was the distinctive lighthouse that provided our reliable bearing. We followed our track, watching the day tripper boats shuttle back and forth between the mainland and the islands, ferrying tourists eager to glimpse the abundant wildlife. The latest, much-talked-about addition to the list of attractions was a pod of Orcas, reportedly taking up residence to feast on the burgeoning seal pup population. Secretly, Tracey harboured a fervent hope for a glimpse, but alas, it was not to be. Our track kept us well clear of the islands and the hidden, unforgiving rocks that lay in wait, ready to claim any vessels that ventured too close. We passed inside the Farne Islands, and our course then took us outside of Holy Isle, otherwise known as Lindisfarne.
Holy Isle, or Lindisfarne, earned its revered name as one of the most important centres of early Christianity in Anglo-Saxon England. It was here, in 635 AD, that Saint Aidan founded a monastery which became a flourishing centre for evangelism and scholarship, notably home to St. Cuthbert and the creation of the illuminated Lindisfarne Gospels. This rich spiritual heritage is why it transitioned from simply being known as Lindisfarne to the deeply significant "Holy Isle."
Halcyon Sea had been too far from any of the islands to spot any major wildlife spectacles, but we frequently saw tiny puffins bobbing in the water next to us. They were much smaller than we had imagined for some reason! Their camera-shy nature, however, made getting a clear picture of one an almost impossible mission. As we felt safe enough to do so, we turned off the engine, embracing the quiet glide of sailing, though the sea remained dotted with fishing buoys that demanded constant vigilance. We steered a good distance offshore to avoid them and were making excellent time. We knew we'd have to slow down slightly, as entry into Eyemouth was only possible around high water. We thoroughly enjoyed our sail, eventually having to tack to windward to bring ourselves back inshore and onto our final track.
Eyemouth's Narrow Embrace and a Fisherman's Bounty
Our waypoint reached, we continued along the coast towards Eyemouth. A local fisherman was also making his way in, and as the harbour is naturally protected by a ring of rocks, we politely requested he go before us, leading the way into the narrow entrance. He obligingly consented, and we were incredibly grateful. The harbour mouth is remarkably tight, a mere 17 meters wide! As you enter, there’s a sharp right-hand turn to reach the inner harbour and the visitor pontoon. The Harbour Master was there to greet us, along with another visitor, Sam, who had been there for a while. Both helped us secure our lines. One of the local harbour seals, with large, eerie eyes, came to greet us too, watching our every movement on the pontoon, hopefully anticipating a fish we, unfortunately, didn't have to offer. The seal eventually moved back to a nearby hut near the entrance, where fresh fish can be purchased specifically for feeding the harbour seals. Hopefully, he had more luck there.
Tracey took Pepper for her walk. We were in another new place, and this, too, was a thriving fishing port. Pepper, much to Tracey's disgust, delighted in crunching on discarded langoustine claws left by seagulls along the harbour wall. Sam, meanwhile, had walked up to meet Gordon, the fisherman who had so kindly guided us in on "Fortunatous." Gordon had returned with his catch of mackerel. Sam explained that out of the ten boxes caught, about one and a fifth boxes contained fish too small for market – apparently, a good ratio. These smaller fish would be used as bait for lobster pots, while the majority of the catch would be shipped to France and Spain, as there isn't a large market for mackerel in the UK. He then asked if we wanted to try a fresh one and promised to ask Gordon to bring one back for us. By the time Pepper and Tracey returned to Halcyon Sea, Sam was walking along the pontoon, triumphantly carrying a freshly caught mackerel!
Scottish Shores, Smugglers' Tales, and a Somber Memorial
As it had been a long day – eight hours on the water – we opted to eat out and made our way to The Ship Inn, where Nick happily downed a couple of pints of Belhaven Best, one of his favourite Scottish beers. After dinner, we ambled around this small, quaint fishing town, allowing Pepper to run free on the beach.
Eyemouth, with its rugged coastline and hidden coves, has a long and storied history as a notorious smugglers' den. Local lore is rich with tales of illicit goods being brought ashore under the cover of darkness, evading customs officials with cunning and daring. Beyond the whispers of its illicit past, Eyemouth is also home to the poignant "Widows and Bairns" Memorial. This powerful sculpture, located overlooking the harbour, commemorates the devastating fishing disaster of October 14, 1881, when a sudden, violent storm claimed the lives of 189 Eyemouth fishermen, leaving 160 widows and 350 fatherless children. It's a stark reminder of the harsh realities and profound losses faced by coastal communities.
We had decided to make the most of this period of calm weather to push on up the east coast. As such, we planned to go to Arbroath the next day. This marks the first time on this adventure that we have sailed two consecutive days! It also feels very strange as we are now going to bed and it is still light outside. Scotland, here we come!En savoir plus
VoyageurJust copped you on Martineau Traffic still at sea (19:30) and way past Arbroath!
VoyageurWe were heading to Peterhead yesterday and got in about 8.45 last night. I’m a little behind on the blog as we have just completed 4 days sailing on the trot and they have all been around 7-8 hours. We are pretty tired so are going to rest for a few days now. We think only 2 more stops until the Caledonian Canal woohoo 🙌
Eyemouth to Arbroath
19 juin 2025, Écosse ⋅ ☀️ 18 °C
Eyemouth to Arbroath: Scenic Delights, and a Precision Landing!
Our plan was unfolding beautifully, a testament to Nick’s planning being as accurate as it could be. We woke to a truly glorious sight in Eyemouth: radiant sunshine and seas as calm as a millpond, confirming our departure for Arbroath. The tide was high, allowing us a safe exit from the harbour, though it cleverly concealed the ring of rocks that guarded the bay. Sticking rigidly to our planned track was paramount to avoid any unintended underwater encounters. Eyemouth had been a fantastic stopover – small, quaint, and utterly charming. While we were sad to leave its narrow embrace, we were keen to press on, seizing the fleeting good weather to push as far north as possible.
Once safely out at sea, we quickly settled into Halcyon Sea's familiar rhythm. There was barely a whisper of wind, but the air was cool and invigorating. We raised the mainsail and unfurled the Genoa, simply plodding along, content with our steady pace. The scenery had undergone another dramatic shift. Now, we were running alongside rugged, brown cliffs that dramatically fronted rolling green hills. Small, inviting sandy coves punctuated the coastline, yet they seemed desolate, with no obvious path down from the towering cliffs. We kept the engine ticking over to maintain a consistent speed, as our window for entering Arbroath was incredibly narrow. Missing it would mean an additional six hours on the water, a fate we absolutely did not want to inflict upon Pepper.
Coastal Giants, Avian Acrobatics, and a Jellyfish Bloom
In the distance, the imposing white buildings of Torness Nuclear Power Station and Visitor Centre stood out like a beacon atop the green hills, a striking modern landmark on the ancient coast. We passed the Isle of May and the wide entrance to the Firth of Forth. We would have loved to stop at Port Edgar, sailing majestically beneath the iconic Forth road and rail bridges, but our July deadline for a function further along our route has imposed some minor restrictions. For now, we're content to soldier on, knowing the West Coast beckons ever closer. We even caught up with and smoothly overtook a German-flagged yacht that had also departed Eyemouth, clearly bound for the same destination. A vast bloom of moon jellyfish drifted by, their ethereal, translucent forms bringing back vivid memories of our first trip together to Beaulieu, where the river seemed to shimmer with their collective presence.
Above us, big flocks of Northern Gannets, easily identified by their striking yellow heads and black wingtips, put on a spectacular aerial display. They took turns dive-bombing into the sea for their dinner, a breathtaking spectacle of power and precision. One even flew so incredibly close to Halcyon Sea that its wingtip almost brushed Nick's face; the whooshing sound of its powerful wings and the feel of the wind it created were indescribable. Tracey, with her camera poised for action, finally managed to capture a picture of a puffin – a triumph given their tiny size and their naturally shy nature around lenses. We passed the entrance to the Firth of Tay, a potential bolt-hole should our Arbroath entry prove elusive.
We had been warned about the hundreds of fishing buoys that sat outside Arbroath, but the reality was far beyond anything we could have imagined. From a considerable distance off, we began the intricate process of picking our way through them. Some were traditional balls, others thin flags, but with the sea state having picked up slightly, we were threading through this minefield with extreme caution. For the last hour or so of our journey, we purposefully reduced our speed. The cill (a submerged barrier at the entrance) to the inner harbour was only open from 6 pm to 7:45 pm today, and we had made excellent time. One boat was already bobbing around at the harbour entrance, then us, and then the German boat behind, all patiently waiting their turn. We called the harbour master, who informed us we had about 40 minutes to wait and instructed us to remain outside until he called us in. Inside the harbour wall, submerged rocks presented a hazard, and two leading lights – one high, one lower – had to be perfectly aligned for safe passage. We gently bobbed, dodging the ubiquitous fishing buoys, awaiting our turn. The first boat went in, and as it did, three powerboats zoomed out, clearly locals, expertly weaving through the dangers. Then, it was our turn.
Arbroath's Tight Embrace and Historic Echoes
The harbour master, a welcoming figure, stated he would be waiting on the pontoon to show us our berth. We had already requested which side our fenders and lines should be on and had prepared them whilst at sea. As you enter the harbour, you execute a sharp 90-degree turn to the right into the outer harbour area, then another sharp 90-degree left turn to cross the cill and enter the inner harbour. Then, to reach our designated berth, we had to perform a final loop. It was incredibly tight. Nick took his time, with just a few revs to maintain steerage, bringing Halcyon Sea safely to a standstill. The harbour master was wonderfully friendly, providing us with a wealth of information and a key to the gate so Tracey could get Pepper ashore. Unfortunately, the two closest places selling the famous Arbroath Smokies had already closed for the day, so indulging in this local delicacy would have to wait until tomorrow.
Tracey took Pepper down onto the beach, passing the famous Signal Tower. This striking landmark, built in 1813, was part of a chain of signal stations connecting the Bell Rock Lighthouse (one of the world's oldest surviving lighthouses, located 11 miles offshore) to the mainland. Its primary purpose was to relay messages between the lighthouse keepers and the shore, especially crucial for communicating distress signals or supply needs. It played a vital role in ensuring the safety of mariners navigating these treacherous waters.
Arbroath also boasts a rich industrial past, having once been a significant centre for the flax industry. In the 18th and 19th centuries, Arbroath was renowned for its production of linen, with numerous mills processing flax into cloth. This thriving industry was particularly important for the maritime sector, as the robust linen fabric produced here was ideal for making durable sails for ships – a wonderful historical connection for a boat like Halcyon Sea!
Olly, Nick's son, had even found a webcam positioned atop the Signal Tower and had spied Halcyon Sea in her berth within the harbour! Later, the three powerboats that had zoomed out earlier returned. They explained they'd been watching the webcam all day, ready to leave when the cill gates opened, but hadn't seen what they were looking for and had returned early. When asked what they were hoping to see, they revealed that dolphins had been playing around the area recently – though we hadn't seen any on this particular journey. Nick had planned our next stop to Stonehaven, and the timings allowed us a welcomed lay-in the next morning. After a take out dinner and bottle of wine, we retired for the night. How much sleep Tracey will get is debatable as tomorrow she meets her nemesis!En savoir plus
Tracey Meets her Nemesis
20 juin 2025, Écosse ⋅ ☀️ 24 °C
Arbroath to Stonehaven: Tracey Meets Her Nemesis
The cill lock at Arbroath was scheduled to open at 7:54 am on Friday, June 20th, remaining accessible for four hours. This offered ample time to prepare for our departure to Stonehaven. We woke, and Tracey was already fractious, her movements around the boat unusually forceful – a clear sign she was not pleased, and not necessarily with Nick! Having missed out on the famous Arbroath Smokies the previous night, Tracey decided a shopping trip was in order. With a couple of "bags for life" in hand, she set off, determined to gather provisions. Meanwhile, Nick diligently performed his engine checks and stowed everything, readying Halcyon Sea for our journey.
Tracey, however, had dramatically underestimated her shopping haul. Without the trusty shopping trolley, she returned to the boat, her arms nearly dragging on the pontoon, laden with groceries. Her mood was not improved by the sight of Nick sitting comfortably on the boat, engrossed in conversation, and seemingly oblivious to her struggle. The man, it transpired, was Charlie, an ex-submariner. Nick had spotted Charlie's distinctive dolphin decal on his Merry Fisher, and they had struck up a conversation. While they didn't know each other or share common acquaintances, they instantly connected, laughing, joking, and reminiscing about the boats they had served on. There's an unspoken familiarity and camaraderie among those who have served in the military, a bond forged in shared experiences.
Tracey busied herself putting the shopping away, and then it was time to start the engines. Stonehaven was approximately six hours away, and we aimed to arrive at least an hour after low water, meaning anytime after 3:30 pm would be suitable for entry. We slipped from our berth and over the cill, executing a sharp right turn towards the fuel point. We wanted to top up our tank, unsure of the next reliable fuel stop. This marked the first of our day's significant challenges: both the fuel point and our allocated berth in Stonehaven required tying alongside a wall. Neither of us had ever performed this manoeuvre, and Tracey's apprehension was visibly mounting.
Wall-Side Woes: A Practice Run and Mounting Fear
Nick calmly explained the process: Tracey simply needed to pass a line around a rung on the ladder and secure it back on the boat to our midship cleat. Nick would then manage the rest. The fuel point’s location, tucked into a corner, meant a challenging right-angle approach. This manoeuvre would typically be straightforward with a bow thruster, a luxury Halcyon Sea did not possess. As Nick brought the boat in slowly, Tracey reached over the guard rail, snatched a rung before we moved past it, and swiftly managed to wrap the line around it, securing it back on the boat. Nick then climbed the ladder (fortunately, we were at high tide, so only two rungs to climb) and managed to throw down a bow and stern line, which we secured. We had done it! Nick optimistically declared this our "practice run," attempting to reassure Tracey that our main event at Stonehaven would be fine. Tracey, however, was having none of it; the experience had only intensified her fear of coming alongside the wall in Stonehaven. Having successfully refuelled, Tracey chose to climb the couple of rungs to pay for the fuel and berthing rather than remain on the boat watching the lines – clearly, the lesser of two evils.
We then slipped our lines for the second time that morning, completing the necessary dog-leg manoeuvre to exit the harbour, ensuring we stayed mid-channel to avoid any unsuspecting rocks.
A Fishing Buoy Battlefield and a Castle's Glimpse
As soon as we cleared the harbour wall, we went on high alert, scanning for the hundreds of fishing buoys that littered the sea. Nick aptly described it as "Selsey Bill on steroids." Knowing that two other boats had also left Arbroath that morning and were heading to Stonehaven, we called ahead to confirm our berth. We were informed ours would be the first ladder inside the outer harbour wall.
The fishing buoys relentlessly continued to appear until we reached Montrose, offering a brief respite before they resumed. The sun was shining, but the sea breeze was cold, and a one-meter swell generated long, rolling waves. We pulled up the sails to try and create some stability, but the wind was constantly shifting, making it a battle to maintain a steady course without constantly changing direction or drifting too far off our track.
In the distance, the dramatic silhouette of Dunnottar Castle perched high on its craggy rock, a welcome sign that we were nearing our destination. The wind had picked up, and huge gusts began to play with Halcyon Sea. This was not what we needed. The shore was littered with rocks, and Tracey's anxiety began to escalate, doing everything she could to prevent hyperventilating. We still had to drop the sails, a task that required both of us in these challenging conditions. Nick maintained a calm composure, reassuring Tracey that this was normal, and that we had done it many times before – all very true, but nerves had clearly gotten the better of Tracey, who was now tearful and felt as though she had forgotten everything she knew.
A Hard-Won Berth and a Vertical Climb
We managed to turn the boat head to wind so that we could drop the sails. Then, Nick hung the fenders and fender boards in readiness for our arrival. As we rounded the corner of the harbour wall, it appeared a small RIB was occupying our spot. We had failed to spot the first ladder, which was cunningly hidden in an alcove in the harbour wall. This necessitated a 360-degree turn to position ourselves for a second attempt. We had arrived after low water, but still only had a mere 30cm under the keel as Nick swung Halcyon Sea around to try again. To compound the pressure, an audience had, as usual, gathered atop the harbour wall. Nick brought the boat in slowly, as close to the wall as possible. Tracey, with a surge of determination, grabbed a rung, managed to fix the line around it, and secured it back on the boat. Nick then had to ascend the vertical ladder so he could secure the bow and stern lines, dropping each one down to Tracey for her to secure on the boat.
We were in! The first thing we noticed as we rounded the harbour wall was the immediate increase in temperature. At sea, we'd both been layered in sweatshirts and jackets, but stepping into the harbour felt like entering a sauna. The heat hit us, much like exiting a plane into sunnier climes. We quickly stripped down to our shorts and T-shirts, and then the realisation dawned: Pepper needed a walk! As we were not long after low water, there was a significant number of ladder rungs to climb to reach the top. Tracey's fear of heights, now adding to the mix, left her shaking, her legs like jelly. Nick stood behind her, offering encouragement with each rung, until she finally scrambled over the ledge and stood on terra firma, her tears mercifully hidden behind her sunglasses. He then climbed up with Pepper securely under his arm, his hand threaded through her harness, ensuring he still maintained four points of contact with the ladder. Tracey was immensely relieved to be ashore and took Pepper for a long walk around the boardwalk to Stonehaven beach, on the other side of the harbour, and then back through the pretty town.
Stonehaven's Charm and a Fireball Legacy
Stonehaven, once known as Kilwhang, is located about 15 miles south of Aberdeen. It was historically a very busy fishing port, particularly renowned for its herring catches, though its main business now revolves around tourism. Approximately two miles south of Stonehaven lies Dunnottar Castle, a ruined medieval fortress steeped in rich history. The castle has played host to notable historical figures, including William Wallace and Mary Queen of Scots. It is perhaps best known as the hiding place of the Honours of Scotland (the Scottish Crown Jewels) from Oliver Cromwell's army in the 1650s; they now reside safely in Edinburgh Castle. The castle was even used for portions of the film Hamlet, starring Mel Gibson and Glenn Close. We would have loved to visit, but arriving so late and with plans to leave the next morning, time, tide, and weather were once again not on our side.
Stonehaven is also famous for its spectacular Fireball Ceremony that takes place at midnight on December 31st each year. This unique ceremony has been performed annually since 1908, pausing only during the First and Second World Wars to avoid revealing their position. The ceremony is widely believed to be a tradition rooted in ancient practices of cleansing and warding off evil spirits, with some sources suggesting it's a purification ritual to ensure a fresh start to the New Year.
A Nightly Ritual and the Seas Ahead
Anyway, we digress, much like Tracey's walk did when she realised she would have to descend the ladder on her return. Nick, meanwhile, had been expertly adjusting the lines securing Halcyon Sea to the wall. He'd rigged a long line from the top of the ladder, securing it to the lowest visible rung. He then ran our midship line around the back of this fixed line, allowing it to slip freely up and down, moving with the tide. The bow and stern lines, sufficient at high water, would need checking and possibly adjusting at low water.
Nick had been watching for Tracey's return and was ready at the top of the ladder to take Pepper. He climbed down first, then stood ready to guide Tracey safely back onto the boat. Once secured, she vowed she would not leave the boat again until they arrived somewhere she considered more "safe."
Later, seeing a Facebook post from John and Dee of Fareham Sailing and Motorboat Club, who were using their Cobb barbecue, reminded us we had ours onboard. It seemed the perfect way to heat the Arbroath Smokies and hot-smoked salmon Tracey had purchased that morning. Following the fishmonger's instructions, Tracey soaked the smokie in very hot water, allowing us to easily prise the fish open and remove the bones while keeping it moist. We served it with a fresh salad. While Tracey wasn't a fan, Nick thoroughly enjoyed his fish supper.
The day's events had taken their toll, and tiredness had truly set in. Nick set an alarm for 3 am to check the lines and was up again at 5 am, thinking he heard strange noises. It had been an experience. Was it as bad as Tracey thought? At the time, and for her, yes it was. But she now understood the process and what was expected, though she sincerely hoped it wouldn't be a frequent occurrence. We leave for Peterhead tomorrow, another long day, marking four consecutive days of sailing – the longest stretch we've done without a significant stopover. Only three more stops, hopefully, before we finally reach the Caledonian Canal!En savoir plus
Stonehaven to Peterhead
21 juin 2025, Écosse ⋅ ☁️ 15 °C
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.En savoir plus
Peterhead: Rest, Recharge and Where Next
21–24 juin 2025, Écosse ⋅ ☁️ 15 °C
Peterhead: Rest, Recharge, and the Quest for the Next Scottish Haven!
Peterhead was earmarked for a crucial couple of days' stopover, a chance to recover from the previous few, rather demanding, days at sea. Nick's mind, a whirlwind of weather forecasts, tidal charts, and passage plans, was starting to show signs of overload; he was even getting muddled about our past stops when talking to people! We had certainly experienced some challenging days on the water (for us, anyway), whether it was battling confused sea states or navigating the trickier entries of new marinas, a far cry from the comparatively sedate sailing of the Solent. The weather forecast for the coming days offered little encouragement to move, providing a perfect excuse to stay put and recharge.
As mentioned previously, Peterhead is primarily a commercial port, but its western corner hosts a pleasant marina and a sailing school. The small, gently sloping sandy beach nearby is a popular spot for wild swimming, and we often saw enthusiastic locals taking advantage of its sheltered waters early in the mornings. Crucially for us, Pepper had ample safe space to run off-lead, dig in the sand, and paddle in the sea – a true canine paradise. The harbour itself is vast, giving us plenty of room to set our fenders and lines within its protective walls before even approaching the marina. Not long after our arrival, Mutsch turned up, and a little while later, Kismet also arrived safely. Kismet had a young couple onboard, and we give full credit to Heather, the female crew member, who had bravely taken to sailing with no prior experience.
The marina facilities were a bit of a trek (a good five-minute walk), navigating a somewhat maze-like configuration of pontoons. However, the marina manager was incredibly helpful, and the berthing fees were refreshingly cheap. At just £26 per night for Halcyon Sea, it was the least we've paid since our journey began. Needing to replenish our food supplies, we discovered an Aldi about a 25-minute walk away. This time, the trusty shopping trolley was resurrected from its stowed position, and all three of us set off for a combined shopping trip and walk.
Bloo Toon Bliss and the Next Nautical Puzzle
Peterhead is a historic fishing port and holds the distinction of being the largest town in Aberdeenshire. It's affectionately nicknamed the "Bloo Toon," a nod to the traditional blue clothing worn by its local fishermen. The town proudly sits on the most easterly point of mainland Scotland. Its former prison has even been converted into a museum, though, regrettably, we didn't get a chance to visit. In truth, we did very little here, consciously dedicating our time to simply recharging our batteries.
Soon, it was time for us, or perhaps more accurately, Nick, to begin planning our next stop. However, indecision reigned. We considered a short hop to Fraserburgh, but a friend's blog, detailing their stop there, suggested the harbour wasn't particularly yacht-friendly, being another predominantly commercial port. Was the potential hassle worth the minimal progress along the coastline? We thought not. Our goal was to find a suitable midway point between Peterhead and Inverness, with the possibility of one additional stop if needed. We explored Banff, but the pilot information regrettably indicated that, at 12 meters, Halcyon Sea would exceed the maximum length of 10 meters for entry. Next, we looked at Buckie, but this involved coming alongside a wall again – an experience Tracey was distinctly unenthusiastic about repeating. This left us with Whitehills, situated between the two. Its entrance looked challenging, and, as usual, required us to enter two hours after low water to avoid lurking rocks. This was the one. Nick duly prepared our passage plan, and our departure from Peterhead was set for Tuesday, June 24th.En savoir plus
Peterhead to Inverness Via Whitehills
24–25 juin 2025, Écosse ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C
Peterhead to Inverness via Whitehills: A Northern Scottish Odyssey!
Our late evening arrival into Whitehills meant a wonderfully late start was afforded to us, allowing plenty of time to dismantle the cockpit tent and prepare Halcyon Sea for departure. It was yet another eight-hour day stretching ahead, but the weather looked exceptionally favourable, and the sea was calm – a welcome contrast to our eventful arrival in Peterhead. We set off in high spirits, feeling rested and genuinely excited as our ultimate goal, the Caledonian Canal, drew ever closer.
We left Peterhead under bright blue skies, but the minute we exited the harbour walls, a thick bank of fog rolled in, behind us, thankfully. Ahead, the air was misty, but visibility remained good. Looking back towards Peterhead, it was undeniably "dreach," a wonderfully apt Scottish term often used to describe dull, dreary, and bleak weather conditions. Along the coastline, a refinery of some sort blazed, its chimney emitting an orange glow. We passed Rattray Head, renowned as one of the most wild and secluded places on the coast of Aberdeenshire. The beach here stretches for seventeen miles from Peterhead to St. Combs, punctuated by wind-sculpted dunes that reach a staggering 100 feet in height. Remnants of several shipwrecks can still be seen on the beach, and legend tells of shipowners deliberately grounding their vessels on the rocks as part of a primitive insurance fraud. On calm days, the turquoise waters gently lap at the unspoilt golden sands, but Rattray Head Beach has always posed a hidden danger to passing ships. Today, we were in no such peril and passed by easily. Fraserburgh came and went without incident. Tracey felt a lingering nervousness about this stretch of water, having many times sat up on the sea wall looking out to turbulent seas.
Rounding Kinnaird Head and a Tight Whitehills Entry
We then rounded Kinnaird Head. The original lighthouse here was ingeniously built within a converted castle, with its modern replacement constructed in 1991. Kinnaird Head holds the distinction of being the first operational lighthouse built in Scotland by the Northern Lighthouse Board. Here, the coastline turns a dramatic 90 degrees, and we found ourselves heading west again. We arrived near Whitehills a little early, so we spent some time circling offshore until we were able to enter the Marina. We even gave it a little extra time, just to be sure. The entrance to the harbour was difficult to discern; it requires taking a wide berth to avoid rocks, then turning sharply back on oneself. Two tall stick posts and a large white splodge of paint on the outer wall marked the narrow entry point. My goodness, this was tight! With only 20cm under our keel, we were profoundly grateful for that additional buffer time as we inched forward. A sharp 90-degree left turn took us into the outer harbour, where the visitor berths are situated. A sharp right turn and then a 180-degree pivot brought us alongside the pontoon, facing the correct direction for an easier exit. The wind, as always, kept us on our toes, first gusting to push us into the harbour entrance faster than we wanted, and then pushing us off the pontoon, making our docking procedure far more challenging. Tracey has learned to keep quiet during these moments, allowing Nick to work his magic and placing all her trust in him. A bow thruster would have been a handy tool to have here, though! It was late, and the pub had stopped serving food at 7 pm, leaving us no option other than to cook onboard. Opting for something quick and easy, sausage, egg, and chips was as much as we could muster. We needed to leave by 9:30 am for Inverness, and with a 12-hour day ahead, sleep called.
Departing Whitehills and the Moray Firth Beckons
Waking with the thought of exiting this tight little marina was a little daunting, but what comes in, must go out! A Dutch boat had followed us in and was also leaving that morning. We had all decided to push for Inverness, as Lossiemouth, our preferred interim stop, had put out a notice to mariners stating there was dredging activity going on, and they might be able to make alternative arrangements. It was once again not worth the bother, and although a 12-hour day, we knew we would be passing some truly spectacular scenery. As the weather was good (we have been so incredibly lucky!), it made perfect sense to push on through. Inverness Marina could be accessed at any state of tide; we just had to contend with some shallow waters before Kessock Bridge and watch out for the current running under the bridge that could pose some difficulties.
We left Whitehills with no wind and plenty of water beneath us; it seemed much easier to navigate in these conditions. We passed so many picturesque coves and charming small towns, far too many to mention individually. However, we managed to get a lovely picture of the viaduct at Cullen. As we approached Lossiemouth, a couple of Eurofighters roared over the top of us, the noise of their engines deafening before they quickly vanished through the cloud cover. Lossiemouth is probably the most northerly point we will reach this season. We passed Findhorn, a place we would have loved to visit but that was too shallow for us to enter.
The Majesty of the Scottish Coastline
Here, for the first time since Grimsby, land embraced us on both sides. The green hills rolled into each other, a magnificent tapestry of verdant slopes cascading towards the water's edge. These are the ancient, timeless contours of the Scottish coastline, where the land meets the sea in a breathtaking display of nature's artistry. The hills undulate with a soft, inviting grace, each curve and hollow cloaked in a rich palette of greens, from the bright, fresh hues of new growth to the deep, heather-laden tones of the uplands. They seem to flow with an inherent rhythm, a silent dance against the expansive sky, creating vistas that are both grand and intimately beautiful. This landscape speaks of quiet majesty, of resilience, and of an untamed beauty that has shaped by the elements for millennia.
Inverness Achieved: Dolphins, Seals, and a Milestone Marked
We were now well into the Moray Firth. A playful pod of dolphins came close to Halcyon Sea, as if to welcome us, their sleek forms effortlessly slicing through the water. On the sandy banks near Ardersier, colonies of seals were basking in the sun, their dark forms stretched out in peaceful repose. We zigzagged our way into Rosemarkie Bay, hugging the edge to avoid the shallow waters in the centre of the bay. This also gave us our first clear view of Kessock Bridge, a sign that the end of our day was truly in sight. We only had to pass under the bridge and then turn left into Inverness Marina. The views that unfolded were utterly spectacular, filling us with a profound sense of serenity as we approached our destination.
We entered the marina and easily found our berth. We had made it. Another significant milestone accomplished on our journey. We were now only a mile away from the entrance to the Caledonian Canal.
This last week has tested us both mentally and physically, pushing our resolve. And we have triumphed. What an achievement. Neither of us can quite believe we've made it this far – from leaving Cowes on April 9th, 2025, to reaching the top of the Caledonian Canal on June 25th, 2025. We plan to take a well-deserved week's break here, aiming to be fully ready for the delights of the canal. There are some essential boat jobs to tackle, including an engine service, oil, and filter changes, as our trusty engine has accumulated many hours. We also have shopping to do to replenish supplies. Our plan is to enter the Canal on Wednesday, July 2nd. Fingers crossed the weather is kind to us.En savoir plus
Inverness: A Long Week
25 juin–1 juil. 2025, Écosse ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C
Inverness: A Week of Recharge, Realisations, and Readying for the Canal!
The last week had taken its toll. We had, in a single week, navigated the East Coast of Scotland, tackled some of the trickiest marinas we'd encountered, and endured multiple consecutive days of sailing. We'd faced dense fog and very windy weather, and to put it bluntly, we were utterly knackered. A quick glance at Inverness Marina's pricing structure, noting the slightly cheaper weekly rate, combined with a check of the weather forecast, solidified our decision: a full week's stay was the best option. This would grant us much-needed time to recharge and tackle those essential boat jobs before entering the mighty Caledonian Canal. Had we made the right choice? Only time would tell.
Here's how our week unfolded:
Wednesday (Arrival Day)
Arrival & First Impressions: We arrived into the marina on Wednesday, June 25th. The first thing that struck us was the delightful, fresh scent of cut wood, a lovely pine aroma filling the air. This, we soon discovered, emanated from the large area adjacent to the marina occupied by Scot Bark, where freshly cut logs and ornamental bark were piled high.
Late Night Fuel: It was late, and our food supplies had dwindled to critical levels. A quick decision was made: pizza delivery! Our order arrived within a speedy 25 minutes, providing a much-needed end to our travel day.
Thursday (The Great Grocery Trek)
Shopping Expedition: Thursday was designated as shopping day. We had attempted to order a Tesco delivery, but the earliest available slot was two days away, and we desperately needed daily essentials like milk and bread. Tracey embarked on the 30-minute walk into town, which took her through the marina's somewhat industrial surroundings.
Tesco Truths: While it proudly bore the name "Tesco Superstore," it didn't quite live up to the grandeur we were accustomed to down South; it was a relatively small store. Prices weren't exactly a bargain either, but Tracey managed to buy enough provisions for the entire week, knowing we'd need another trip before the canal.
Taxi Rescue: A taxi was called to ferry the shopping back to the marina; even our trusty shopping trolley wouldn't have coped with the sheer volume of bags Tracey had amassed!
Friday (Laundry, Laughter, and Long-Distance Calls)
Chore Time: Friday meant laundry day! This most mundane of chores provided Tracey with a welcome opportunity to spend a couple of hours away from the boat, catching up on the blog and editing photos.
Unexpected Encounter: While sitting there, an older gentleman entered and struck up a conversation. He offered ideas on places to visit, but then, quite unexpectedly, launched into his entire life history! Tracey found herself subtly trying to message Nick, a silent plea for rescue.
Telepathic Rescue: Luckily, her telepathic thoughts (or perhaps just excellent timing) clearly got through, as Nick and Pepper arrived, bearing welcome refreshments. Just like that, the little man scurried off. How bizarre!
Virtual Dice Game: Friday night, we caught up with Mike and Anne, Nigel and Sarah, who were all out on their boats and in Emsworth for the night. We managed to play a lively game of dice over FaceTime, which, after a few "bevvies" on both ends, became quite hilarious. It was the first time we had all seen each other simultaneously since we left, and we genuinely wished we could have been there in person. We truly miss our friends and family, so we always cherish any opportunity to catch up.
Saturday (Canal Glimpse and Cromwell's Legacy)
Canal Preview: Saturday's adventure involved a walk to the very start of the canal, eager to glimpse what the initial steps of our next big challenge looked like. The walk took about 40 minutes, and despite being incredibly windy, it was a warm breeze.
Retail Reconnaissance: On the way, we passed a large retail area, complete with a Lidl, Aldi, Co-op, and the usual array of shops found in such locations. It was right next to another marina, one we'll actually transit through as part of our canal journey. We briefly wished we'd booked here instead, but no matter, we were managing fine.
Lunch & History: After a delicious lunch at Jammy Piece (a charming cafe), we made our way back to our marina. It seemed to take forever! Nick had noticed a monument with a blue plaque on it on the way out, so we decided to investigate on the return. It turned out to be a clock tower, now the sole remaining structure of Cromwell's Fort in Inverness.
More Virtual Connections: Back on the boat, we had arranged another catch-up FaceTime call with friends Mike and Sarah. It was so good to see more familiar faces, though it brought with it that familiar tinge of homesickness. Unfortunately, both our phones died mid-call, so we arranged to finish our catch-up on Sunday.
Sunday (Bikes Unleashed!)
Bike Resurrection: The excitement for Sunday was palpable: we actually got the bikes out of their long-term storage in the back cabin and brought them up on deck! Tracey's tires were flat, so we spent some time checking them over.
Pepper's Pedals: We tried Pepper in her basket, and while she didn't seem overly keen, we're optimistic she'll adapt. We then took Tracey's bike up the road for a test spin, with Pepper running energetically alongside her. When they turned around and Nick called Pepper back, she easily outpaced Tracey – she was incredibly fast!
Monday (Weather Woes & Canal Booking)
Dull Day: Monday was a rather uninspiring day. While everyone down South was basking in glorious sunshine, we endured persistent wind and rain. We know this is Scotland, but it did nothing to improve Tracey's mood.
Engine Maintenance: Nick also carried out essential engine checks, changing the oil and oil filter, and inspecting the fuel filter and impeller.
Tech Troubles: Adding to her frustration, the Wi-Fi here was unreliable, and she was having technical difficulties downloading photos and videos from the GoPro, further dampening her spirits.
Canal Excitement: However, the day ended on a slightly better note: we successfully booked our transit through the canal (how exciting!), enjoyed a lovely steak dinner, and watched the final two episodes of "Waterfront."
Tuesday (Final Preparations & Lock Keeper Kindness)
Boat Prep: Today (Tuesday), Nick spent time cleaning the decks and unpacking the dinghy, inflating it and getting it ready for next week.
Lock Keeper's Lifeline: He called the sea lock, as requested on the Scottish Canal's website, to arrange our lock-in time for tomorrow. He explained our predicament regarding shopping, and Matt, the lock keeper, was incredibly understanding. He assured us it wouldn't be a problem and arranged for us to have a couple of hours alongside in the other marina tomorrow morning so we can nip off and grab our essential supplies.
Optimistic Outlook: The weather here today is sunny, and the winds have died down. It's likely to be light winds for the start of our transit tomorrow. Everything is working out as planned, and we are both incredibly excited for this next highlight of our journey!En savoir plus
VoyageurSo impressed you managed to get a pizza delivery……… hopefully to Halcyon Seas 😂😂😂…. As always lovely to catch up on FaceTime…. Our butcher has confirmed he can get two big Tomahawks when I need them... 👍👍
First Day on the Caledonian Canal
2 juillet 2025, Écosse ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C
We Made It: Our First Day on the Caledonian Canal!
BEEP BEEP BEEP! The 6:30 am alarm blared, dragging us abruptly from the depths of a Netflix-induced coma. We'd definitely stayed up far later than we should have, but there was no time for regrets – a flurry of activity awaited before our 8 am appointment at the fuel pontoon. It felt good to be moving again; a week in one place, especially one as... functional as Inverness Marina, was quite enough! After topping up Halcyon Sea's tank, we eased her over to a spare pontoon. Our slot to enter the sea lock at Clachnaharry wasn't until 9:30 am, a mere 20-minute cruise away. For once, the weather forecast was spot on: glorious sunshine and light winds, absolutely perfect for our inaugural steps into the canal.
As we exited the marina, we crossed to the other side of the water, rounding the Northerly cardinal to port, and wow, what a view! The water lay flat calm, a perfect mirror reflecting the fluffy clouds and the majestic hills that cradled it. We spotted a vessel departing the sea lock – our cue! Tracey, taking the helm of the radio for the first time (usually Nick's domain!), confidently hailed on Channel 74, requesting permission to enter. Permission granted! The water in the lock was low, signaling that this first section of the canal would involve a series of ascents. Tracey, ever wary of her throwing arm (a skill that, even in school, remained stubbornly elusive), used the boat hook to hand our bow line to the lock keeper, who deftly secured it to the shore cleat. Nick, with his practiced aim, threw the stern line up, and just like that, we were ready. Another boat entered behind us, and the lock keeper repeated the process for them. Without further delay, the chamber began to fill, and Halcyon Sea started her gentle rise, both of us diligently taking up the slack on our respective lines.
As we reached the top, the lock keeper retreated to his "office" and returned, not with a bill, but with our official canal license, a paper copy of the Skippers Guide to the Caledonian Canal, and our all-important key for the toilets and showers along the route. This vital piece of kit was handed directly to Tracey, "the sensible one" (haha!). The gates then swung open, revealing the narrow, tree-lined banks of the canal stretching before us like a verdant ribbon. The first lock was done, the first of eight we would conquer today!
Bridges, Bargains, and Brawn at the Muirtown Flight
Next came the Railway swing bridge, leading directly into the Clachnaharry Works Lock. This second lock was a breeze, and as we reached the top, a number of locals were out walking their dogs. Everyone offered a cheerful "good morning," and Pepper, not to be outdone, made her presence known with a series of enthusiastic barks. She was behaving impeccably, peering over the side of the seat at Tracey, ensuring her human hadn't mysteriously vanished from the bow.
After the second lock, a short distance brought us to Seaport Marina. We pulled onto the waiting pontoons and radioed for the bridge timings – this was our designated stop to pick up the week's groceries. The first bridge opening was at 11:40 am, with the next at 1:20 pm. It was a tight squeeze for the earlier slot, and getting the shopping was essential, so we opted for the latter, taking the pressure off.
Tracey set off, armed with bags and the trusty shopping trolley. It was only a five-minute walk from the marina to the retail park, so not far at all. She zipped around Lidl, gathering items from her list, but once paid, a familiar dread set in: there was no way she could get all this back to the boat alone, and she still had to visit the Co-Op for the remaining items! A quick call to Nick, who, with Pepper in tow, walked round to assist. After reaching the boat, we had about an hour before the bridge opening, so we stowed the groceries and enjoyed a leisurely lunch. The boat that had shared the first locks with us had already gone ahead, and now a Dutch boat would be joining us for the next set.
We called the lock keeper, confirming our readiness, and it wasn't long before the familiar beeping sirens heralded the stopping of traffic. We were about to enter another swing bridge that led straight into the Muirtown Flight – a magnificent set of five locks. And then we were off! Through the bridge and into the first chamber. The action here was the same as the previous locks, but as we reached the top, we were informed that one of us needed to get off the boat and pull Halcyon Sea through the next four chambers. Nick bravely volunteered, jumping off and pulling the boat into Chamber 2 while Tracey kept a watchful eye on the lines and steered to keep her away from the wall. After Chamber 2, Tracey and Nick swapped places, and Tracey took her turn helping to pull the boat through the remaining chambers. This arrangement worked better, at least for Tracey, and Nick was happy to go with whatever was easiest. We had made it through the flight, with only one more lock to go today, though a couple of swing bridges still lay ahead.
Bridge Malfunctions and Highland Cows
Tomnahurich and Torvean swing bridges are positioned close together. The operators are already alerted to your approach by the previous lock keepers, and you then call them as you draw near so they can close the roads. The procedure involves entering the first bridge, waiting in the area, and then proceeding through the next. We were the lead boat and cleared the first bridge without issue. However, as the Dutch boat followed us in, they clearly weren't close enough, and the bridge began to swing shut while they were only halfway through! We waited in the designated area, expecting the second bridge to open almost immediately, but it seemed to be experiencing a malfunction. Although the barriers had come down to prevent cars, and we could see the bridge had been released, it simply refused to open, emitting all sorts of clunking noises. The wind, as is customary for us, had picked up, and we began to be pushed towards the bank. Nick had to apply a little reverse thrust to prevent us from getting too close to the bridge. Finally, and to much relief, it swung open, and we zipped through as quickly as possible.
We continued through the narrow canal, reaching Dochgarroch Lock, our last of the day. Once we had passed through, we decided to moor up on the available pontoons here. Conveniently, toilet and shower facilities, along with electricity, were available. Once alongside, Tracey got Pepper off the boat for a well-deserved walk while Nick secured Halcyon Sea for the evening. The Dutch boat, having more miles to cover, continued onwards into Loch Ness.
Dochgarroch itself is a small, charming spot, offering a cafe, an ice-cream parlour, and a gift shop. However, its true highlight is a field containing three magnificent Highland cows. It was amusing to watch busloads of tourists literally running up the hill just to catch a glimpse of them. It served as a wonderful reminder of how privileged we are to experience all of this at our own pace.
Tomorrow promises a day free of swing bridges or locks as we finally enter Loch Ness. We have no exact plan yet, though the weather forecast suggests rain. Our canal license grants us seven days to travel from Inverness to Corpach. During that time, we will navigate through 29 locks and 11 swing bridges. Today, we completed eight locks and four swing bridges, yet we haven't travelled very far at all. Most people complete the canal in about 4-5 days, but with no time restrictions, we intend to make full use of our seven-day license.En savoir plus
Loch Ness
4 juillet 2025, Écosse ⋅ 🌧 15 °C
Day 2 - Loch Ness: A Battle with the Elements and a Poetic Pursuit of Nessie!
We slipped our lines from Dochgarroch and headed towards the legendary Loch Ness. When you purchase a Caledonian Canal ticket, you receive a 7-day license allowing transit from one end to the other. This time constraint meant that while we might have preferred to wait out the winds for another day, we simply didn't have the luxury. Adding to the urgency, the wind forecast for the following day was even worse. The winds were coming directly from the South West – a headwind, right on the nose – and predicted to gust up to 30 knots, typically not our preferred sailing conditions. Believing we'd find some shelter within the Loch compared to the open sea, we departed.
It was not pleasant. The first few hundred meters offered a deceptive calm, still within a very sheltered section. It felt surreal, gliding along the water while vehicles whizzed by on the adjacent road. But as we rounded a bend, and Loch Ness opened up before us, nature truly showed her raw power. Due to the immense length of the Loch and the wind blowing directly towards us, a significant fetch had been created. In nautical terms, fetch refers to the uninterrupted distance over which wind can blow across open water. The longer the fetch, the more energy the wind can impart to the water, resulting in larger and more powerful waves building up. Here, the vast expanse of Loch Ness allowed the waves to build to an impressive size. Halcyon Sea was relentlessly slamming into the waves, each one breaking over the bow, sending cascades of water down the side deck. The scenery was moody, the water looking angry, and heavy grey clouds shrouded the tops of the hills in mist and fog. Yet, despite the challenging conditions, it still looked mystically stunning.
Loch Ness: Depths, Legends, and a Castle's Gaze
Loch Ness is Scotland's most voluminous body of freshwater, famously holding more water than all the lakes of England and Wales combined. It stretches approximately 23 miles (37 km) long and reaches an astonishing depth of 745 feet (227 meters), making it the second deepest loch in Scotland. Its vast, dark waters are, of course, synonymous with the legend of the Loch Ness Monster, Nessie, a creature whose elusive nature has captivated the world for centuries.
We hugged the coastline, eager to catch sight of Urquhart Castle. The dramatic ruins came into view at the end of a peninsula, and for a few fleeting minutes, the clouds parted, revealing a patch of brilliant blue sky. Urquhart Castle boasts a rich and turbulent history spanning over 500 years. Strategically positioned on a rocky promontory overlooking Loch Ness, it was once one of Scotland's largest castles. Its past is filled with tales of conflict, including battles during the Wars of Scottish Independence and its eventual destruction in 1692 to prevent its use by Jacobite forces. Today, its ruins offer a poignant glimpse into Scotland's past and remain a popular tourist attraction, drawing countless visitors hoping to soak in its history and, perhaps, catch a glimpse of Nessie.
Nessie's Elusive Nature and a Poetic Tribute
We continued our journey towards Fort Augustus. The rain came and went, the fog swirled in and out, and our search for Nessie continued, but she proved as elusive today as she has for centuries. It's worth noting that we're also following the journey of Martin and Stefan on their boat, Adele, whom we met in Whitby. They've raced ahead, weeks ahead of us now, also circumnavigating. Something about the Canal seems to ignite the creative spark in people, and Martin, in particular, began writing stories and limericks during their transit. One such story involved fishing for Nessie with a Bockwurst. So, in true Tracey style, she penned her own poem – Martin and Stefan, we hope you appreciate it!
The Ballad of Halcyon Sea (and the Sausage of Suspense)
Through Scotland's locks and highland gleam,
We chased a whisper, chased a dream.
A beast beneath the Nessie tide,
Where mist and monsters often hide.
Our friends had charted this bizarre:
On Adele, with a sausage jar.
Martin, Stefan - hearty souls,
Had dangled meat in monster holes.
Their bait? A wurst, both bold and plump,
Grey-flecked, spiced and slightly... dumped.
It bobbed about the inky foam,
A siren song to call her home.
Now Tracey steers, while Nick keeps watch,
With charts and rum (no need for scotch),
And Pepper stands with noble pride,
Our lookout pup, small tail held wide.
Halcyon Sea in their wake did sail,
A few weeks late, but right on tale.
With Nessie lore and hope to lure,
We stowed a bockwurst, firm and pure.
The loch grew still. A Tremble. Thunk!
A shadow loomed, then swiftly sunk.
We dropped the sausage with great care,
One sniff could spark a maritime scare.
But Nessie, shy, gave just a swirl,
A ripple, splash, a soggy twirl,
Then vanished deep, like dreams at dawn,
While Pepper barked: "She's nearly gone!"
So now we dock with tales well spun,
The sausage tossed, the voyage done.
No monster caught, yet joy immense,
A journey rich in lore and sense.
With engine off, we raise a toast,
To Nessie, our elusive ghost.
Halcyon Sea shall rest awhile,
With Pepper dreaming, curled in style.
Poetry done, we carried on down Loch Ness towards Fort Augustus. At first, we struggled to see the red and green buoys marking the route, and then Nick spotted the red can at the end of the spit – we never did find the green one! We came alongside the pontoon before the next set of locks and tied up for the night. We have no electricity here, so we're relying on the boat battery for lights and phone charging, and gas for cooking. The bikes have been stowed in the saloon for now, patiently waiting for a better day for an outing.
That night, we decided that as we hadn't eaten out for a while, we would treat ourselves. The challenge was that not many places allowed dogs inside, and it was too cold to sit and eat a meal in a garden. The Lock Inn, however, did allow dogs and provided typical bar meals, which suited us perfectly. As we finished our meal, an Australian lady named Nicole came over to fuss Pepper, and we struck up a conversation. She then made her way to her waiting friend upstairs, but it wasn't long before she and Anne came down, eager to ask us questions about our journey, specifically about Pepper's role. We spent the next hour or so swapping stories about how we had all arrived at Fort Augustus and what our future plans entailed. It turned out to be a captivating evening, and we returned to the boat content.En savoir plus
Day 3 - Fort Augustus
4 juillet 2025, Écosse ⋅ 🌧 15 °C
Day 3 - Fort Augustus: Weather Woes, Hidden Gems, and a Card Game Comeback!
The weather, as grimly predicted, was utterly dismal. Cold, wet, and relentlessly windy – in a word, miserable. Movement was clearly off the cards for us, and indeed, for everyone else in the marina. We resigned ourselves to a day of playing tourists in Fort Augustus, albeit damp ones.
Our morning began with a wonderfully lazy start, simply pottering around on Halcyon Sea. As we were pottering, we heard a shout from the pontoon. A guy from a hire cruiser boat, berthed just in front of us, was requesting some assistance. It transpired that they had arrived from Muirtown two days previously and had required help from four other people just to get alongside here. While the challenging weather had been a factor, they admitted they hadn't moved for two days because they were simply too terrified. The hire company required their boat back by the end of the day, meaning they had to turn the boat around and head back across Loch Ness. Nick went up and calmly explained to them how they could use the elements – specifically the wind – to turn the boat around. They were about to let go of all the wrong lines, which would have made their situation far more difficult.
Their story corroborated what we had already been told about these hire cruisers: people pick up a boat, watch a 20-minute video, are taken to a lock for a brief practice session on coming alongside, and then they are essentially let loose. They aren't provided with a radio, which, while understandable given they have no qualifications, makes it incredibly difficult for them to call ahead for advice when approaching a lock or swing bridge. To be honest, the start of the canal was terrifying for Tracey, so the thought of embarking on this journey with absolutely no prior experience seems quite ludicrous.
Fort Augustus Abbey, Pepperpot Lighthouses, and a Canine "Oops!"
After this unexpected interlude, we ventured out during a brief lull in the rain. We walked down to the spit of land where Loch Ness dramatically opened up before us. A charming family of ducks dabbled near the shoreline, and Pepper, ever the enthusiast, was desperate to join their aquatic games. This walk led us in a loop back to our mooring. We discovered a wonderful vantage point to capture a picture of the impressive Fort Augustus Abbey. We then passed a dilapidated bridge, adorned with a very obvious warning sign (a picture of which we'll share – it certainly got our attention!).
Next, we braved a walk up the towpath alongside the five locks we hoped to ascend tomorrow, before ducking into a welcoming cafe for a much-needed hot chocolate and cake, waiting for the next downpour to subside. We then walked back along the opposite side of the canal from where our boat was berthed, and to our delight, finally found the elusive green light! If you recall from yesterday's entry, we couldn't locate it. The reason? It's charmingly housed within a miniature lighthouse, known as a Pepperpot Lighthouse, nestled near the bottom of the path. This is one of three such distinctive Pepperpot Lighthouses along the Caledonian Canal. We paused to capture another moody picture of Loch Ness, its vast waters still shrouded in mystery.
We had delved into some of the Abbey's history and read about a cemetery where former monks were laid to rest. Following a walking trail, we soon stumbled upon the very cemetery. The trail led us through a beautifully wooded area, a perfect spot to let Pepper run off-lead. She had an absolute ball, sniffing every nook and cranny with joyous abandon. The trail eventually came to an end, and as we opened the gate that led back to the main road, we noticed a sign: "Dogs should be kept on a lead." Oops! Ah well, no harm done, and Pepper had certainly enjoyed her freedom.
Takeaway Treats and a Card Game Comeback!
We circled back towards the boat, picking up a Chinese takeaway menu on the way. Our onboard meal plan suggested pasta with sauce, a dish that, due to its ease of preparation on the boat, had featured a fair bit lately. Tracey, however, simply couldn't face it. The thought of another pasta dish was just too much. We ordered our takeaway, which proved to be absolutely delicious, and then settled in for a few games of Five Crowns, a card game. What started as a casual few rounds quickly escalated into a full-blown tournament, with Tracey, for once, emerging as the triumphant victor!
We eventually went to bed, silently praying for better weather tomorrow. We truly needed to move; our seven-day canal license was ticking away faster than we'd hoped, and although the sheer length of Loch Ness meant we'd completed more than half the canal's distance, we still had plenty more to explore. Despite the dreary weather, it had been an unexpectedly interesting day, filled with small discoveries and a well-deserved win for Tracey!En savoir plus
VoyageurWhat a joy that every day bring new experiences. I wish we'd had more time to explore more when going through the canal. You'll soon be in Loch Linhe!!!! xx
Day 4 - Leaving Fort Augustus for Laggan
5 juillet 2025, Écosse ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C
Day 4 - Fort Augustus: Locks, Laughter, and the Lure of The Eagle Barge!
"Yeah – we're moving today!" Despite the dismal, showery weather, we simply couldn't afford another night in Fort Augustus; our precious 7-day canal license was ticking away. We set ourselves up for the locks, carefully arranging all our lines on the starboard side. We were slated to go through with two other boats – one of them a German vessel, significantly larger than Halcyon Sea. Everything seemed perfectly aligned until, just as we were about to slip our mooring, the lock keeper requested us to move everything over to the port side. Nick, with a sigh of practiced resignation, set about relocating all the lines and fenders to the other side. And then, finally, we were off – through the swing bridge and into the first chamber, the initial step of the daunting five-lock flight.
As with Muirtown, once you reach the top of the first chamber, one of us steps off the boat to assist in pulling Halcyon Sea through the remaining locks. Today, that honour fell to Tracey. The intermittent sun had brought the tourists out in droves, and we found ourselves with quite an audience as we ascended the locks. Many people stopped to ask questions about the boat, our journey, and the intricate workings of the locks. Tracey even had requests for photos with her, which she graciously obliged, holding up the queue (much to the lock keeper's amusement!). The German boat, however, encountered a few difficulties. First, they lost their stern line, causing their massive vessel to swing perilously close to ours. Nick, ever the calm voice of reason, firmly advised them to put out some fenders on their port side. Later, as we were about to enter the fourth chamber, we had to pause between locks because the German boat's stern line had snapped, necessitating a quick rigging of another line. Despite these minor dramas, we made it through without incident, feeling a growing sense of accomplishment. Practice, as they say, makes perfect!
Loch Oich, Tranquil Woodlands, and The Eagle Barge's Embrace
We continued our journey, passing through both Kytra and Cullochy locks, and then through the Aberchalder swing bridge before entering Loch Oich. This is a small, narrow loch, and we had been forewarned at Cullochy that the Lord of the Highlands, a large cruiser whose beam fills the entire width of the lock chambers, would be passing us. Halfway across, sure enough, we saw this impressive vessel bearing down on us. We were in a shallow part of the loch and had to move slightly outside of the buoyed area to create enough room for the cruiser to pass safely.
We carried on through Loch Oich and made our way through Laggan swing bridge, the last obstacle of the day. Once on the other side of the bridge, we travelled through a narrow, tree-lined corridor that was simply breathtaking. We were stopping on the other side, before Laggan Loch, for the evening. It was incredibly peaceful; only a few other boats had stopped here, and the only sounds were the gentle hum of insects, the chirping of birds, and the soft whisper of the wind through the trees. We took Pepper for a walk along the opposite bank to where we were berthed, and the bank led into a beautiful wooded walkway, its floor carpeted with fallen pine needles and leaves. We were the only ones there. It's difficult to describe the profound sense of peace and serenity we felt. Just watching Pepper running along, not a care in the world, simply exploring her new surroundings, was utterly captivating.
On our way back, we popped into The Eagle Barge. Tracey had seen this unique floating pub on a YouTube video and it came highly recommended. We stopped in for a drink and were immediately surprised by how spacious it felt inside. It was absolutely heaving; goodness knows where all the people had come from! The decor was a delightful collection of maritime memorabilia, all arranged in a wonderfully quaint and charming way. The bar had absolutely everything you could imagine, their bar food menu looked delicious, and they even offered fine dining for fourteen seats per night (though these were, of course, fully booked in advance, and we had food onboard anyway). We finished our drinks and returned to the boat to cook dinner. Once eaten, we ventured back out to the barge for a nightcap. There were now only a few people left, and we struck up a conversation with the owner, who kindly allowed Pepper to be off the lead to play with their dogs, Zena and Penny. Pepper was in her absolute element! The owners now live on the barge full-time, and it's open to customers from April to October, five days a week (closed Mondays and Tuesdays). It was truly one of those hidden gem moments. We returned to Halcyon Sea, a little worse for wear but profoundly content, already wondering whether to stay another night. This has, so far, been our absolute favourite place on the canal.En savoir plus
VoyageurGosh, this looks and sounds so peaceful, and Pepper looks so happy in the videos exploring the tow paths. I wait to see if you stay another night.......Xx
VoyageurYou are definitely showing us “look what you could have won!”. We missed the floating pub and most of the great adventures the three of you are having.😢
VoyageurWhen I catch up with you, I will be delighted to sign your guest book !
Voyageur👍🏻