On Sunday night I went back round to Aith Voe, after Edan had gone for the ferry.
On Monday, I headed north. I planned to go through the Sound of Yell, and head back down the West coast, but the wind was kind of against me - 15-20 knots from the NW, and little prospect of it changing. I was fore-reaching all day, and would have had to motor through the sound. Instead, I had the wizard idea of continuing on my best course up the East side of Yell and find somewhere to anchor, then head down the West side of Yell and onwards. Sort of doing a long tack around Yell.
Quite late on Monday I anchored at the top of Basta Voe, above a number of mussel farms.
Between 12 midnight and 1am, the anchor alarm went off, warning me that I was dragging back down the Voe. (The handheld gps was off, so the drag is missing from the track - it's the gap between where I anchored and where I switched it back on again, just north of the first mussel farm.)
I first tried letting out some more chain, but this didn't help. Then I started lifting the anchor, but by this time I was perilously close to the mussel farm area. This was an unpleasant business - the NW wind was still strong, and it was pitch dark. I was watching the tablet chart, shining the torch into the darkness at the mussel farm bouys and running back and forth between the engine controls and the anchor winch ...
I shortened in the chain, and then couldn't get the anchor up - I think it had snagged on some part of the mussel farm mooring. This was a miserable moment, but it did mean that I wasn't moving any more. I tried lifting it with the marker boy line (which is attached to the front of the anchor to make this possible, but got nowhere with it. In the end, I decided to wait until the morning in case things looked clearer in the daylight. I left the engine ticking over in case I needed it in a hurry and snoozed fitfully thinking about how to solve the problem.
I looked up the mussel farm company and the price of a new anchor online. I had the tools to cut the chain if I needed to, and I would have left the anchor bouy for someone else to recover it. It seemed possible that the mussel farmers might have some insight into how to free it from their mooring...
Anyhow, a better idea (as it turned out) formed in my mind. I wondered if, instead of pulling straight up on the marker buoy line, I should attach a rope to it to make it longer, and then use the boat to pull the anchor back in the opposite direction to the way it was going when it got snagged. It seemed a long shot, and involved the risk of running over the line and having it snag on the prop. But it worked.
About 5am I was pulling the anchor back on board and wondering what to do next. I didn't want to re-anchor in the same place.
There was another possibility about six miles away on the south side of Fetlar, also sheltered from the NW, and with a sandy bottom. I headed towards it.
Then I saw that by carrying on for a couple of hours (or a little more) I could go, instead, to Out Skerries. So I did.
I'd been tempted by them on the way north, but they were too far downwind. If I was heading south again, they were an obvious stopping-off point.
And I was heading south again. I'd used up the energy I would need to face a NW 5-6 in the North Atlantic to get to the west side. Going down the east side, mostly on a beam reach or downwind, looked a lot more civilised.
Out Skerries was interesting, but it's an awkward little place to get into and out of. Also, despite glowing reviews, anchors also drag there ... and after an attempt at anchoring, I tied up alongside the pier. An expensive business as it turned out - it cost more than a night in Lerwick.
During my anchoring attempt, I also managed to grind the keel along a rock in a shallow bit of the bay. No water is coming in but I'll be interested to see the damage when the boat is lifted out in October.
Being tied up at the quay was at least fairly secure and restful - I was suffering from lack of sleep and some physical exhaustion.
Getting off the quay on Wednesday morning was horrible. The wind was blowing me forward and Raasay will only turn to starboard going astern. We were tied up starboard side to. I ended up having to go forward into the shallower part of the harbour and turn the boat around there, with almost no water under the keel. Another unhappy moment.
I spend the next half hour manoeuvering around the little bay getting the mainsail up - this involved several episodes of going downwind a couple of hundred yards and then motoring up while hoisting the sail and organising it's various ropes and controls. And trying not to hit any moored local boats. Or any more rocks.
Finally, exiting the south entrance to the harbor I had to do a 360 turn because I realised I'd misidentified one of the markers and wasn't which side I should leave it on.
The rest was almost straightforward. A brisk sail to Aith Voe, three hours or so away. Fore-reaching, again, reefed. 20-25 knots with occasional gusts in the high 20s. At least we were going fast - mostly over six knots through the water and more than seven over the ground. With a little help from the south-going tide.
One minor drama - the outboard motor for the dinghy, which is mounted on the starboard (upwind) side of the boat tilted itself up because of the angle of heel, and started to waggle around in a disturbing way. I was able to get it down and lash it. Another thing that won't move unless it's required to. The list grows with time ...
Sailing in these conditions is hard work. Even moving around the cockpit requires planning - finding hand-holds and timing the big changes of position to avoid violent boat movements. Getting below is like trying to negotiate a climbing frame that someone has hung from a bungee cord.
And there is the constant worry that something might break. The little 6mm rigging wires on the windward side of the boat, for instance ...
Video: Fore-reaching, 20-25 knots of wind
Coming into Aith Voe I had an old problem with the engine overheat alarm, and had to sail in under the main to let it cool. It happens when there has been a lot of motion - air gets into the cooling water seacock somehow and creates an airlock. I can sometimes 'prime' it by pumping the salt water tap at the sink (which is plumbed into the same intake). This didn't work this time, perhaps because we were heeled over too hard to port. The intake is on the starboard side.
And so here I am back in Aith Voe ... I'll be here for two nights because I have some meetings tomorrow and early Friday. Then I will head south again ...
The boat is bobbing peacefully, and it is not dragging. Still pretty breezy.
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