In 1910, Robert Groves enjoys his last cruise on Sheila before Captain Walsh takes over as guardian.
Humber Yawl Club
Yachting Monthly issue 68 of December 1911
ON July I5, 1910, I travelled down to Tarbert to finish fitting out Sheila for another cruise on the wild West Coast of Scotland. I found her at anchor, with most of her gear on board. A new suit of sails had been ordered, but had not arrived, and as it is my usual custom to get off with the least possible delay, the old suit had been bent. In this case I expected to wait a week in Tarbert for a friend to join me, so there was no hurry. On the following day the greater part of the fitting out was completed, and in the evening I had a pleasant run in Mr. Lawrence’s pretty little motor boat, Colleen Dhu. By night it was blowing hard, with a sickly looking moon; but the glass was steady. The 17th was a lovely day, with hazy sunlight and a strong S.E. breeze. Ran over to Buck Bay and back to Tarbert in the evening, anchoring in that quiet corner known as the Deuch lands. Wind S.E. 6. Bar., a.m. 30•5,2 р.m. 305. Day’s run, 64 miles.
On the 18th Sheila sailed two miles. Quest II arrived from Loch Ranza. The next few days were broken with heavy showers and strong southerly winds.
On the 23rd my shipmate, A. H. P., arrived on the Fingal. On the 25th we got under way, and had a fine run to Castletown Bay and back to Tarbert. Heavy rain and a stiff N.W. breeze in the evening. Wind, N.W. to N. 5-7. Bar., a.m. 29•4, p.m. 29-6. Day’s run, 18 miles.
On the 26th and 27th it blew a gale from S.W., so we were, perforce, held up in Tarbert. Quest started dragging her anchor, and shortly after Sheila did likewise. Both ships put out their kedges. Sheila’s anchor came up entangled in a mass of old fishing net.
On the 28th the new sails arrived, and during a lull in an otherwise wet day, we managed (tbc)
Originally published in ‘Yachting Monthly’, May 1933, this extract is from a series of articles by Robert E. Groves, regular contributor to the Magazine, yachtsman, soldier and artist. He recalls experiencing ‘a bit of a dusting’ in his Albert Strange yawl, ‘Sheila I’ whilst setting out to sail single-handed from Peel on the Isle of Man to Ireland around 1910. The illustration shows ‘Sheila’ in the renowned overfalls of Strangford Lough.
A hazardous sail from Peel
That it was probably injudicious to set out at all, in the face of such weather warnings as my barometer had given me, I am bound to admit. But life is made up of risks, and a certain amount of risk is necessary if one is to meet with any adventure worth speaking of. The glass had been falling steadily for the last 12 hours, but being of an optimistic nature I imagined I could slip across before any big change took place. The distance between Peel Harbour, Isle of Man, and Ardglass in County Down, was a matter of 32 miles, and with the breeze as it now was, blowing fresh from the SW, I calculated on reeling off the miles at the rate of about six per hour. Well, as I have said, the wind was fresh from the SW, the morning one of dazzling brilliancy, with, at first, a cloudless sky, when I got underway at 7.75 am, and, sliding out beyond the pier, shaped a course for Ardglass. I was alone, but what of that? The snow-white canvas of my little ship, the rich blue seas flecked everywhere with white caps, the cloudless sky, and the sharp tang of the salty air, filled me with an exhilarating joy.
How she did cut through it! The spray sparkling at the bow, for all the world like a million diamonds glinting in the sunlight. This was life! Hearty, vigorous, joyous life! How glorious were the views on sea and land! The stately bulk of Peel Castle, the smiling fertility of the northern half of the island, in contrast with the stern ruggedness of the southern portion, were a delight to the eye. A fleet of Peel Nobbies, away to the south, was scudding before the breeze as they made for the harhour I had just left, and a cargo steamer making her way down channel lent an added interest to a perfect sea picture. While, away down on the port bow, the Mountains of Mourne stood clear and blue against the western sky. As the morning slipped by it became evident that the threatened change was at hand. The breeze had hardened considerably, and was working round more to the west, making it difficult to steer my course for Ardglass. I thought it wise, however, to get across with the least possible delay, and kept the little ship full with the idea of picking up the land as near to Ardglass as possible without beating. I was becoming wet, and donned my oilskins. Before setting out I had fortunatelv prepared some sandwiches, placing them in a locker in the cockpit, together with something to drink. This I was glad of, as the keenness of the air had whetted my appetite. As it looked as though I was in for a tough fight later on, I despatched the meal, and felt considerably better for it. Now for the work ! – By this time the sky was becoming very much overcast, and the Irish coast was obliterated from time to time with heavy rain squalls.
‘Sheila’ was becoming rather hard-pressed, and something must be done to ease her. I hauled in my sheets and put her up into the wind. With the jib set a-weather she rode the seas fairly quietly and I was able to take a couple of reefs in the mainsail; then I stowed the mizzen and shortened the jib. Once again on her course, she now made much better weather of it. It was difficult to estimate the speed I was making, but she was certainly walking along, in spite of the heavy seas which now occasionally came over her bows and raced along the deck. To leeward her deck was continually awash, but so far all was dry in the cockpit. I kept the companion closed tightly to save the cabin from being flooded should any green seas come aboard, and (must I confess it?) I began to feel a little anxious, as I could now see that it would be quite hopeless to make Ardglass on the course I was now sailing. I should here mention that I was quite unfamiliar with the Irish coast to the north of Ardglass, and from what I had read in the Sailing Directions, combined with what I had studied on the chart, I did not feel at all eager to attempt Strangford Lough, with its intricate navigation and fierce tidal currents, to say nothing of the numerous outlying dangers, hidden or otherwise. In the light of what followed, and on subsequent consideration, it would probably harve been wiser to have made a run for Donaghadee. but as that would have added another 25 miles to my day’s work, I was loth to do so. As it turned out, besides experiencing a deal of discomfort, I had to sail a good deal further before my day’s work was done. We can always be wise after the event!
At any rate, I had the feeling that as the wind was becoming more and more westerly it would be a simple matter to put her about and sail down the coast to the desired port. I dare say many of my brother cruisers have at some time experienced the same reluctance to give up without making a good fight for it. The fact remains I was obstinate and was destined to suffer for that obstinacy. Alas! as I neared the Irish coast, which had been totally obscured for the last hour and a half, I found I was much farther north than I had calculated, for all of a sudden the sound of a gun made me start, and in another moment I saw the South Rock Lightship over my lee bow. In less time than it takes to tell my helm was down and I was off on the other tack. What a piece of luck! As I raced down the coast towards Ballyquintin I saw the gaunt remains of a large ship on a reef of rocks, the Ridge, and thanked my stars that I had received such timely warning of the danger for which I was heading. The ebb tide had now set in and the seas were becoming very steep. I passed Ballyquintin Point and was soon in the terrifying overfalls off the entrance to Strangford Lough. The broken seas knocked all the sense out of poor little ‘Sheila’. The steering was a nightmare, I was virtually helpless and at the mercy of the tide, which at this point was very strong.
I shipped three very bad green seas. Each time ‘Sheila’ staggered and shuddered as though the burden would overcome her. Three times I was completely submerged, and was sure my last hour had come. Three times I said ‘Bother it!’ ‘Oh dear!’ ‘What a nuisance!’ or words to that effect. I clung desperately to the tiller in the hope of regaining control. Each time the gallant little ship shook herself free and rose again, buoyant as a duck, the water cascading from her decks. Once in a very heavy squall she lay down almost on her beam ends, the sea pouring into the cockpit. What was the best thing to do? I did not quite know, she seemed so helpless! How ever my little dinghy survived I shall never cease to marvel, but survive she did, and followed bravely astern in the wake of her parent ship. With the shipping of the green seas all steerage way was lost, and again a heavy squall struck the yacht. Down she lay once more and once more she rose. She must have divined what was passing in my mind, and knowing my uncertainty decided the question for me. Her stern was coming round and I foresaw a gybe.
Grabbing the mainsheet, I held on like grim death in order to ease her as gradually as possible when the gybe came. It was inevitable. A sudden lurch and over came the boom, almost wrenching my arms from their sockets; but she was now before the wind and pointing once more for the Isle of Man. And so before a following wind, which did not seem anything like so heavy now that I was running, I felt well pleased to be getting away from that dangerous vicinity. The seas in the channel were now very heavy but ‘Sheila’ rode over them like a duck. How she did sail! How the seas lifted her and urged her forward!The rain, which had been heavy at times, had now ceased, and the deck was beginning to look whitc once more. The long, regular motion was delightful after the terrible dusting she had recently gone through. The Irish coast was rapidly dropping astern and the coast of Man becoming clearer. The afternoon was wearing on, and occasional glints of stormy sunlight pierced the heavy clouds away in the west. I was rather cold but supremely happy, and very proud of the seaworthiness of my boat, as proved by the way she had come through her trying ordeal.Hour after hour passed by and still she tore through it, until when nearly dark I caught the first glimpse of the light on the pier-head at Peel. Another hour passed, and then the harbour was reached.
The feeling of satisfaction I felt as I once more ran up the harbour and tied up at the quayside I shall never forget. I must have sailed a good 70 miles that day, and had been at the tiller for nearly 15 hours. Was I sorry for what I had gone through? No! It had been an experience worth having and had taught me a valuable lesson: never to set out for a comparatively unknown coast before making sure that I had all the necessary information properly tabulated and fixed in my mind, to enable me to cope with any situation that might arise. It is so very difficult when caught out single-handed to go below and study charts and sailing directions. No! All this should have been done before. My practice ever since that day has been to know all there is to know, as far as possible, before starting, and so do away with any feeling of indecision when confronted with a sudden emergency.
Robert E. Groves, Yachting Monthly, May 1933
Originally published in ‘Yachting Monthly’, May 1933, this extract is from a series of articles by Robert E. Groves, regular contributor to the Magazine, yachtsman, soldier and artist. He recalls a most enjoyable sail to the Shiant Islands in perfect weather conditions across the challenging waters of the Minch around 1910. Robert E. Groves sails single-handed in ‘Sheila I’, the little yawl of four tons built for him at Port St. Mary from the design by Albert Strange. She’s a fine seaboat, as was often proved on many a strenuous cruise in the wild waters on the west coast of Scotland. Here he paints a beautiful picture of the wildlife and dramatic cliffs of the Shiant Islands, off Lewis.
Cruising the Shiant Islands in Sheila
The Shiant Islands, Nah-Eileanan Sianta as they are called in the Gaelic tongue, are sometimes referred to by the alluring title ‘The Enchanted or Charmed Isles’ and well do they deserve that poetic name, for in their wild and lonely beauty they might, in reality, be the dwelling-place of mermaids, fairies, pixies and other delightful legendary beings. The weather conditions on this occasion were all that could be desired. The glass was high and steadily rising; but although there was, as yet, very little breeze at our anchorage one look aloft was sufficient to set the mind at rest on that score, for against a sky of the most heavenly blue, little wisps of delicately-traced, wind-swept clouds foretold the coming of that very necessary adjunct to a good day’s sail. A thin blanket of silvery mist lay like a silken shroud upon the waters of the bay, and through this occasional glimpses of the land were obtained, whenever a sudden puff of air set in motion the wool-like banks of vapour.
As the sun rose higher and gained in strength the rifts became more frequent; the mist was thinning rapidly, and presently, as if by the wave of some magic wand, it melted away, revealing a glorious picture of the heaving bosom of the Minch glittering like silver in the morning light. Away to the SW, remote in their ethereal loveliness, the hills and headlands of Eilean a Cheò, Skye, the Isle of Mist, completed a seascape of the most entrancing beauty. What joy to be afloat amid such scenes of earthly perfection! Eagerly spreading her snowy wings, ‘Sheila’, at 6.45, rounded the little islet of Vallay, guardian of the basin of Rodel Harbour, and with a light though steady breeze from the NW, headed for our islands of desire. Slowly we sailed along the sun-drenched coast of Harris over a sapphire sea just ruffled by light airs, until, when off the entrance to Loch Stockinish, it freshened considerably, and we bowled along in fine style with the wind on our beam. By this time every vestige of haze had dispersed, the sun was warm and cheering and our islands looked ethereal and attractive in the clear morning light, some sixteen miles away.
The passage through the Minch is dangerous in places on account of the strong tidal currents and numerous overfalls. As a matter of fact, nearly all that portion of the Little Minch which lies in a line between the north of Skye and Tarbert, Harris, is better avoided, except in really good weather; although when known, or under the pilotage of a man with local knowledge, the dangers, like a good many others on the much-maligned coasts of the Hebrides, are not nearly so bad as the Sailing Directions would imply. Still, caution is necessary! By 9 o’clock we were abreast of Sgeir Inoe, and ‘Sheila’ was walking along in grand style, with a breeze just sufficient to put her lee rail under. The mountain views of Harris on the one hand and of Skye on the other were magnificent: the glorious blue of the Minch, flecked with white crests, a feast for the eyes. Astern, the long, creamy wake testified to the speed we were making.
Talk of life, ye dwellers in stuffy cities? Until you have experienced the joys of sailing in your own little ship under such conditions as these, you have only existed! This freedom from care: this glorious independence: this absence of all the trivial worries of civilization: these are but a few of the joys awaiting the cruiser in the romantic seas of the distant Hebrides. The memory of such happy days lives again and again for us as we sit musing by our winter fires. Rounding Sgeir Inch, the wind was almost dead aft, giving us a clear run for the southern most point of Eilean Tighe. Following this course will carry the cruiser well clear of the overfalls to the south of the group. By this time there was a considerable cross sea running, which, but for the strength of the breeze, would would have made the going somewhat uncomfortable on account of excessive rolling. As it was we were glad to put on oilskins. Away in the direction of Skye, and a mile or so away, we were entertained by a large school of whales. They were making for the south, and it was interesting to watch the jets of spray from their blow-holes rising like puffs of steam at regular intervals.
When approaching the Shiant Islands for the first time, what will probably strike the newcomer is the apparent mist or film which seems to envelop them. At closer quarters this resolves itself into nothing more nor less than countless thousands of seabirds constantly wheeling about them. The air is literally packed with them, a truly amazing and unforgetable sight, and one cannot help marvelling at the prodigious powers of reproduction among the finny denizens of the deep, by which the enormous toll levied by this vast concourse of birds is efficiently compensated. On entering the sound or strait which separates the two main islands, the scene is more than ordinarily impressive in its grandeur. Vast colonnades of basaltic pillars, similar to those seen at Staffa, rise majestically from the ocean; and wherever there happens to be a patch of turf it is riddled with the burrows of the puffins. Every available ledge is also occupied by row upon row of quaint little black and white uniforms. Guillemots, razorbills, shags and cormorants add their quota to this mighty army: and as if there were not already sufficient numbers, a further reinforcement is supplied by hosts of kittiwakes, herring gulls, black-backed gulls, both less and greater: all finished off with a touch of delicacy, the delightful sea-swallows or terns.
The tides run very strongly between the islands, and even in the calmest weather there is a mighty, heaving swell. The westerly, and larger, of the two main islands, lies north and south, and is all but divided into two separate portions by a narrow shingle neck. So nearly so, that for purposes of nomenclature, it is treated as two islands; the northern portion going by the name of Garbh Eilean, or Rough Island, while the southern portion is called Eilean Tighe, or the Island of the House. The overfall to the south is nearly a mile from Eilean Tighe, so there is plenty of room for manoeuvring between it and that island. It may not be convenient for the cruiser to approach the Shiants from the Harris shore, and if on the Skye side of the little Minch, a good course to take is one nearly midway between the island of Fladdachuan and Sgeir nam Maol beacon. Here the water is deep and clear of hidden danger. A word of warning with regard to Sgeir Gratich! In its immediate neighbourhood the overfalls are of such a character that even large vessels become unmanageable if they get within their clutches so keep at least four or five cables’ lengths away, and the danger will be avoided. I have deliberately painted as lurid a picture as possible of the dangers attendant on a visit to these islands: although, bearing in mind the old saying that ‘discretion is the better part of valour’, I have avoided the necessity of describing them as a result of personal experiences, by giving such dangers a wide berth in anything like bad weather.
At 10.15 ‘Sheila’ entered the channel, and, as if to give us welcome, quite a number of seals came to meet us, their shiny black heads looking for all the world like the buoys on a fishing-net. Once in the shelter of Eilean Tighe the wind fell to the merest air, just sufficient to give steerage way, while a long, heaving swell of black waters was passing through the channel. Running into the anchorage, the hook was dropped in 3 fathoms, opposite the shingle neck. The rattle of the cable startled a grand peregrine falcon which had apparently been dozing on the cliffs, and we had a good view of it as it fell with a graceful swoop and then glided over the heights. There was rather more wind at the anchorage, but still it was quite comfortable.
Robert E. Groves, Yachting Monthly, May 1933
Humber Yawl Club Yearbook
