Wind, Weddings, and the West Coast - Sean McGinley

In my third year at University, one of our assessments required us to write a feature article of our choosing. The assignment came with only one condition: no travel pieces. “Everyone wants to do travel writing. Everyone tries to do travel writing.” So, our lecturer wanted us to try other feature genres, to broaden our scope.

Naturally, I did some travel writing.

Not without good reason, though. A friend had approached me with an opportunity I couldn’t turn down. She was a trained skipper, having worked on yachts around the country, and on a tall ship in the Mediterranean. She and a few others had been given access to a boat, for free, for a weekend. And would I like to come?

In a vague attempt to make this story more newsworthy, I interviewed some people involved in a Scottish sailing charity about their work. The most interesting takeaways from the conversations we had were little anecdotes, that I couldn’t help but include. They all spoke to the nature of being on board and what it was like. Most of all, I kept hearing the same message: That it’s the closeness, people and teamwork which make the experience, and not the sailing itself.

“It’s like a pressure cooker for making friends... You’re dropped in this tiny space, for hours on end, sometimes working pretty hard together. You’re bound to come away having met some funny people.”

In the wake of the pandemic, I can’t help thinking about that trip. With all the current restrictions, it’s difficult to imagine being happily confined to a small cabin with some total strangers from various places around the country. That we could shake hands in greeting, sit side by side in the same cramped spaces. And, having been granted a surprising amount of agency that weekend, that we had the freedom to go wherever we pleased.

“It’s not so much about knowing how everything fits together, as it is getting to know your team, and understanding how to work with them. How other people think and how they’ll react to different situations.”

We’re woken to the ringing of a muffled alarm, followed by sleepy grumblings from various places onboard. There’s some shuffling and the sound of a zip being pulled open. Then Sophie, our skipper, bursts out of her cabin, smacking the door loudly on her way out. Her energetic greetings are met with our bleary scowls and a bitterly grunted: “Morning.”

“We should get going to get the most out of today. Izzy has a flight back to Ireland at eight”, Sophie tells us. Others begin filtering out of their cabins and up onto the deck, Dani and Louie first, shortly followed by Izzy and Iain, all in varying states of alertness. The boat rocked as bodies jumped to the pier and back. The mooring lines were cast off and the engine rumbles to life. Upon realising we were the remaining stragglers, Alex, Will and I jumped up, danced off our sleeping bags, and began throwing on yesterday’s clothes.

“Even if you don’t stick with it, sailing between the islands off the west coast is a sight most people haven’t seen anything like before.”

It was half-past seven. I squint in the face of the bright morning as I emerge from the darkness of the cabin. There is a sharp cold on deck that chases any notion of tiredness from our limbs. The sky is quickly clearing, the sun only just crawling over the hills behind Kelburn castle, casting shades of pink into the last wisps of yesterday’s bad weather.

Cormorants, flying silently in pairs just over the surface of the calm water, glide past the boat, one suddenly cutting up between the furled main sail and jib. Those of the crew with experience start their work. They perform checks and begin organising what's needed for the day, bustling around the rest of us who can only sit and wonder at what we saw, as we leave the Kip Marina behind.

We were the only boat around. To our right, hundreds of gulls had mobbed together on the water, all yelling at one another like a hugely argumentative iceberg. A pod of porpoises circled not far behind us and we stood at the stern, whispering to each other, then shouting when we saw another one break the water. A solitary seal pops its head up in the distance, curious at the noise.

“Every trip is different. Even if you go once, it’s not an experience you’re going to forget any time soon.”

At that point we were posed with a decision: “So, Arran or Bute?” When we decide on Arran, the engine is cut and we are put to work hoisting the sails. It’s quickly unfurled, and we begin gliding over the top of the water with an eerie lightness. Everyone stops talking for a while as we cruise with the invisible propulsion of the wind. The others talk in muted tones until at last, someone turns on the sound system, and the music plays us along, most of us reclining on the chilly deck.

We reach our destination after a couple of hours and find a buoy. The two-man dingy stored at the back of the boat would’ve taken several trips to ferry us all to shore, so we decided not to bother. Instead we just take the time get to know each other a bit more. There are some games below deck which get out of hand. We muse about how people can crush cans on their foreheads and some of us give it a go. I earn myself a deep red gouge between my eyebrows. There’s a bit of chilly diving off the bow for those of us who brought swimwear; and some spectator sport for those of us sensible enough not to. More drinking eventually leads to Sophie proclaiming she can technically officiate a wedding at sea. Before I know it, a cable tie is wound around my finger and I’m getting married to an archaeology student from Dublin. Her only question is: “Wait, you're not protestant, are you?” Izzy dearest, wherever you are, it was a good run.

“Sailing isn’t a sport like most people think it is. Yes, it can be hard work and people race quite often, but largely it’s something completely different. It’s more like an adventure.”

Suddenly it’s two o’clock. We’re running late. Iain is at the wheel, powering back to Largs with both the sails up and the engine on. The boat gradually begins to tilt further on its side as Sophie tries to get the most out of the wind. Below deck, I sit and wonder in terror, looking up into the formerly horizontal cabin as the gravity shifts, and the others are lifted high above me. We catch mugs and glasses before they fall from the shelves, Alex grabbing and emptying the kettle before it splashes boiling water on all of us. Will and Louie are tenuously balancing directly overhead, leaning back into chairs that are tilting further and further forward. Izzy, is clinging onto the table, desperately trying to sort an issue with her flight, as water breaks against the windows by her head. The sailors worry we’ll arrive too late.

But we manage it. We actually arrive thirty minutes earlier than expected, at half past five. We lose the wind and everyone steps out for the last of the light just as we trundle back into the Kip marina. We know it’ll still be a rushed drive so we say our farewells there. Hugs are had and hands are shaken. We hurriedly square away the boat, and make a dash for the car, bound for Glasgow first, then on to Edinburgh.

Thinking about it now, it’s an experience I know I won’t forget, and a sport I regret I’ve not fully gotten into. I can't speak for everyone, but it’s safe to say that the isolation has been tough, and thinking about this trip has made me realise it’s been a more difficult a struggle than I initially believed it would be. But it gives me hope that sooner or later everyone will be back out there, and that there’s a chance I’ll be able to take another trip like this one. As ironic as it sounds, I’m actually looking forward to being confined to a small space with some other people for a few days. But mostly that we could travel somewhere, see places, knowing we worked together to do it. It makes me think of when I asked one of the interviewees about the first time they went sailing:

“We got back from Northern Ireland about 4am. The boat had been hammering along at about 14 knots, on only a small jib because of the gale. It had been a clear and cold night, with stars all about us. And I just remember thinking: ‘I’ve never done anything quite so interesting in my life before.’”

Words by Sean McGinley

Photos by Will McGhee