16:47 
Amazing how many cars are still on the road. I've given up thinking about getting more petrol for mine at the moment.
Not good for snorkelling, Kinuachdhradch, nothing of interest on the sea bottom. Good to get in the water though, even if I did forget my ankle weights so my feet couldn't fin properly. Frood made a quick splash round the boat then out, not having the advantage of a wet suit. The cold sapped his strength so quickly it was all he could manage. "Bracing" was the verdict.
Motored down to Craighouse in reasonably decent weather. We could have hung on at Kinuachdhrachdh, but we had run out of gas in the big bottle and needed to get more. Andy took the helm for most of it, but I wasn't worried in such fine seas. Only a slight swell. I slept most of the way down - boy can I sleep on the boat! Had some trouble with the mooring. They're a bit odd in Craighouse. Rather than having a mooring line you bring on board by picking up a buoy, the buoys have a hoop on top through which you pass a line from your boat. The mooring buoy is also pretty heavy, and the Evarne has a high bow, so it was quite a job.
Nick went ashore to see a friend, we stayed on board. He was away longer than he'd intended - he had intended to come back for dinner. The weather got bad while he was away and he had to spend the night ashore. I was a bit miffed because we had intended to put a second line on the mooring and I couldn't do that without the dinghy. The inflatable on board had a puncture and I didn't trust it as the seas were getting heavy.
It was a rough night. I was up and down checking the mooring all night in very strong winds and lumpy seas. The creaking was very ominous and I was worried the line would go where it was running through the buoy. The two sides of the line, running from either side of the bow in a V, had become twisted so the forces weren't being spread evenly. Andy reported that the sound was even worse in the for'ard cabin.
Nick came back the next morning - I was quite worried about him getting back in the strong wind and we did need gas, but he managed it, then he and Frood rowed across together to the stores to get gas and bread and a few bits and bobs. Rearranged the mooring line, putting the main force over the bow rollers and using the first line as a slack emergency spare. I had to go down in the dinghy to do that. I was nervous that whoever was holding the painter would let go, because the wind was so strong I didn't think I'd be able to row back. I was glad of the buoyancy suit I was testing.
Force 8 gales imminent on the weather forecast. A boat let off a flare and called Mayday. I wasn't entirely surprised. It was sorted out quickly though, so I imagine it was only engine trouble, nothing desperate. Having said that, even minor problems can quickly become desperate in that sort of weather. There was a lot of lifeboat activity over those few days.
It calmed down that evening, but the gales were still forecast. We didn't want to go over to shore and get stuck. Still, Andy and I went for a walk on shore. We were't going to get to climb the Paps, and I didn't want to be stuck on board for three days if the weather got really bad. I had no plans to see anything in particular, hence staying in buoyancy suit and wellies, but Andy did seem terribly keen to see a nearby standing stone. We walked up in that direction, and it was further than I had thought from the map. Also, I was feeling very uncaring about stones. The Land was thrumming around me so strongly that the stones seemed irrelevant. The place is all about Land - standing stones are about People, and I didn't care about that. It almost felt like it was rude to go look at a standing stone, a bit like visiting someone and then talking to them by calling their home phone on the mobile, or writing messages on a notepad. Besides, I was concerned about trying to get back to the boat in the dark with the wind getting up, and didn't think we could walk that far and back in time. Then, of course, I'd have had to go through the plantation, and the midges were getting fierce.
Andy went on to see it. I was quite frustrated, being concerned by the safety implications of him going off alone, of him taking too long and us being on shore when the storm hit. Also because I couldn't understand his evident need to see it given how strong the Land is there, how beautiful it is.
It was still quite calm when we got back, although the sun was setting and I was getting impatient. We rowed back and settled down for an evening on board, with cards and booze.
Next day Frood and I went over to the shore to get supplies. I rowed myself, but it was a hard job while we were still just off the Evarne, and I thought I wasn't going to be strong enough for a few heart-stopping minutes. Nick went ashore in the afternoon and spent the time with his friend. Andy and I experimented with various forms of salt-gel mix, including proprietary brand and decided that the sea-salt/KY mix is the most effective, for whatever reason. Went ashore to the pub for dinner that evening, having decided that as long as the weather didn't get worse, we'd head out the next morning. Up the West coast if the weather improved, up the East if it didn't. Dinner was tasty ( I can thoroughly recommend the sea food pie), a few games of pool, having intimidated the white-ball-snatching border collie who frequents the place until he buggered off. Reacquainted myself with Elaine and Scottish licensing laws. Eventually headed back after falling asleep on the chair. Decided that we were pretty evenly matched when it came to pool.
Up early the next day to catch the tide, heading out shortly after 0800. Moderate swell, enough to mean I had to keep an eye behind us and adjust course to try to keep the worst of it coming up directly astern. Another reason not to rely entirely on the GPS, although I was getting used to the idea of it. Nick handed over to Andy when I went for a pee. He didn't seem to take to kindly to me trying to tell him how to helm in heavy seas when I got back. Oh well.
The Corry had a standing wave on the far side that must have been about a metre high, and it was choppy. We decided to moor back in Kinuadhchradch and hike up to see it, abandoning plans to go through to Pig's Bay or Glengarrisdale. Packed kit for a long hike, headed out in terrible squalls. By the time we got there the Corry was as tame as a little puppy, although according to our tidal calculations it should have been quite turbulent. Walked on round the coast, picking our way down steep drops and wet bog to go cave hunting.
Stopped on the beach in Pig's Bay to make tea. Hunkered down over steaming mugs as another squall hit and left us very wet. Hiked up the steepest part of the glen, clambering over thick tussocks that were slippery with the wet, risking landing in a deep wet hole with every step. I was hurting so bad I was crying, but more from frustration than anything else, especially seeing Nick ambling on ahead in wellies and with his hands in his pockets. It was frustrating to be so much slower than everyone else, especially when they didn't really wait for me to catch up. I didn't feel tired when we got back to the boat though. Pleased to have done it, aye, sore definitely, but not tired. Had a massive fry up dinner with beans and potatoes and then just vegged for the evening in the gentle swell. Hippo of Hamble came in, apparently looking to use the mooring. They arsed about for a bit. The boat belongs to the chap who owns the marina in Melfort. Eventually they anchored while we half jokingly said very rude things about them to each other, disturbing our peace and everything.
Next day we decided not to press on to Pig's Bay, but didn't really want to go straight back, so we bimbled over to Crinan to look at the lock and get a cheese toastie. We had to faff about anchoring, avoiding boats coming out of the lock, and I was concerned by how closely to the other boats we were manouvering. Still, we dumped a lot of chain down and sat for a while waiting for her to settle. The trip across in the dinghy was a giggle. Four of us in there, in pretty choppy seas. The bow went under a couple of times, and I couldn't stop giggling. The four of us were laughing hysterically, probably something to do with the gin we had for lunch, and we attracted quite an audience on the slipway.
Was very sad to see Uisge Bheatha in Crinan, looking forlorn and abandoned. A very sad state for a beautiful boat like that. The sausage roll at the coffee shop was nice though. Andy got some inflatable repair stuff from the chandlers. Our decision on whether to get PVC or halyperon (or whatever it was) was based on the fact that halyperon sounded too posh for our little dinghy.
Back up to Melfort then. I took her through the Dorus Mhor, and right the way back from there. The engine lost revs a couple of times, sounded like fuel starvation. I wondered if we were going to have to take her in on the jib, which wouldn't have been easy, but Nick did his thing and we kept an eye on her and she was fine. One last night of store cupboard food and being rocked to sleep, faced with an early start to leave her spotless and shiny when we were done the next morning.
It was very hard to leave.
14:29
Back, as promised, and somewhat changed for the experience. But changed back rather than changed in some new way. Feels awful to be back here. But I'll get to that later.
It was good. Any other descriptor is inadequate because it tries too hard. I'd forgotten how much I love it up there, if that is possible. It's not that I didn't realise how much I missed the boat and the West Coast, it's more that I had pushed that missing so far down I was no longer aware of it. But I sent word that I was coming and even when we were still South of Carlisle on the trip up I could feel Jura especially urging me to hurry up, to get a move on. What's keeping you? What has kept you?
Arrive at the boat having made Frood and Andy somewhat nervous by my aggressive driving on the road up past Loch Lomond. Heh. Evarne just as I remember her, only without the RIB. Nick grinning and welly-clad. So good to be back. I hadn't forgotten how to row. Everything came flooding back. Not just the skills, but the feeling of who I was, what I was raised as. I slot back into the Land as easily as if I had never left. That feeling I had lost, of being a little pixel in a grand picture, not terribly important, but with a place and a home.
I was worried about getting sea sick after so long away but even in the lumpy bits (heh, hardly lumpy), I was fine. No need for the emergency barbeque beef flavour hula hoops. I can still plot a course, can still steer to a compass bearing. The relief was the most profound thing - not because I hadn't turned into a complete land lubber, but the feeling of external forces grinding me down had gone. I have been a few places on short holidays this year, but this has been the only one that felt like holiday, that did me any good.
So what did we get up to?
First day we motored down to Kinuadhchrach (pron Kin-u-ch-rah, the "u" almost like the German "ö"), picked up the mooring with our name on (literally). Ravens made a fly-by, an otter popped up to say hello. The sense of isolation was immense, a huge relief. Fishing was no good - I expect the seals and the otters make short work of anything out there, but it's not a good place for fishing in any case. It's wild out there, the Land completely in the ascendant. There are so few people on Jura, easily outnumbered by deer and wild goats and sheep. There are probably more ravens on Jura than there are people. I was struck by how different even the sheep are - aside from having horns, they act differently. They don't bleat to one another like sheep on the mainland do. It's the one place I know where one can go and be justifiably surprised to meet other visitors.
We hiked up to the Corry on the second day, wary of the tide for we had to make it down to Craighouse. Much of the first evening at Kinuadhchradch was spent with Nick and I poring over charts and the Admiralty pilot, working out the tidal streams. Had to make it in to Craighouse before dark to pick up the mooring safely. The Corry was not in its most impressive form, but the currents and upswells still roiled the water into a seething mass. Impressive enough. And a good strong breeze on top of the hill to keep away the midges. Nick walked in shorts and boots, was forever stopping to pick off the ticks. The ground was wet and boggy. Trails on Jura are narrow troughs in tussocky grass and peat, formed by deer rather than people. It's strenuous walking country.
It was hot enough to get in the water when we returned to the boat. I had wanted to go snorkelling ever since we got there, had been worried that the hike would leave me with insufficient time, but we made a good pace, and Nick and I agreed there was time. I struggled into my wetsuit, Frood stripped off for a bracing dip. I was disappointed that Andy didn't have a swim, but more for him than anything else.
I'll come back to this in a bit. Petrol blockages mean I need to get some food in before the supermarkets run out of stock.