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Thursday (May 27th). The first boat left in the afternoon, Rice Pudding, but only got as far as Lancaster. Norman planned to start from home at about 11.00 hours on Friday. It was later learned that Abryll and Gotcha had already left.

Weasel was lined up outside the clubhouse ready to be hitched up. Dennis had gone home to go out for a meal with Jo before leaving.

Reality's trailer was in bits. Richard was busy fitting new wheel bearings.

There was no sign of activity round At Last but it was rumoured that Jim was going to fit new wheel bearings as well.

Yassou, Dr. Syn, were to complete the fleet of eight boats.

It was the hottest day of the year so far, 22 degrees C. The sun was beating down. Michael and Denys (Denys had planed 3 mm of his thumb a couple of days before) were slaving away inside their 'oven' and Tony and Vic were trying to work as well. The sudden heat wave has disabled everyone. Don't worry, thunderstorms and cold weather to follow were forecast.

We, Rice Pudding VII or RP7, left Lancaster at 10.45 hours on Friday 28th May. We stopped for lunch at Cairn lodge, Douglas Water, Happendon. We were pleasantly surprised to meet Dave and Rachael Evans of Tigger. They were on their way to Oban to join other 'trailer sailors'. We tested the trailer lights and found that they were not working. Preliminary investigations compelled us to motor on illegally.

Checking the trailer lights at Craig Lodge. Peter checked the plug wiring and put a meter on the socket but all to no avail. The same checks repeated at Largs before we left for home mysteriously started the lights working?

It was a miserable day, rain, mist and general gloom, lightened only by the fact that we had a week's sailing ahead of us.

We arrived at Largs at about 17.15 hours to find Reality and Yassou putting their masts up. Both had come via Dumfries, as had Weasel, we had come via the motorway and Glasgow. 191 miles to our 225. Weasel arrived shortly afterwards followed by Dr. Syn. Abryll II and Gotcha had arrived on Thursday and sailed for Rothesay this morning.

At Last was missing. Richard rang the club and they said he had left at 16.00 hours.

Richard had problems with his bottle screws. Careless lowering of the mast, Dennis and Michael were guilty, had resulted in one being bent and one broken. Reality's crew were also mutinying, however things improved later when we all rallied round with new parts found on the other boats. Rice Pudding's spreaders needed new rivets, the other side to last year. Rivets were bought and a gun borrowed from the chandlers and the mast was repaired.

Alice in the rain. Alice was an incredibly good sailor, at 4 she was the youngest by far of our party.

We had the masts up by 20.30 hours and dined in Nardini's at Regatta, the restaurant on the marina. Peter spotted Daniella Nardini or it could have been her sister, deliciously tall. The rain had stopped by the time we returned to the boats.

During this time someone spotted a notice on the marina notice board which was addressed to the trailer sailors saying At Last had broken down at Carlisle and had decided to return home. It was later reported that they had arrived at Glasson on a low loader.

We awoke on Saturday into a new world of harmony. It was dry and there were blue patches of sky around. The wind was cold, Southwesterlyish and forecast to be force 4 to 5 later veering Northeast to East.

Dr. Syn's Michael handed out tide tables and useful information he had prepared. The launch was planned for 12.00 hours, high Water being 12.58 hours.

Dr. Syn launched first and was soon off towards Rothesay and he was in the inner harbour when we arrived later. Yassou went in next followed by Rice Pudding VII, Weasel and finally Reality, now with a happy crew. All the boats motored round to the marina whilst the rigs (cars and trailers) were washed and stored on the marina hard.

Dr. Syn launching at Largs. Dr. Syn is a Wayfarer. Michael sleeps under a boom tent. You can see the large bolders, hiding the slipway on either side of it, which cause such a lot of anxiety.

Weasel was first away followed closely by Yassou and Reality. Rice Pudding VII filled her water tank before casting off. The next we saw of Weasel was when we entered the harbour at Rothesay. The wind had freshened and we made sail as soon as we had cleared Largs town, motoring into the wind to get some Northings. We creamed along making 6,5 to 7 knots on the log. Reality made to windward, telling us later that 'miles to windward were miles in the bank', a lesson learned from our illustrious President, Mr Roberts, Carruthers to his friends. Poor Carruthers was having to suffer the warm sunny weather of the Mediterranean rather than being with the Glasson fleet. RP7 was next to arrive in Rothesay having sailed on over canvassed, too lazy to put a reef in the main. The harbour was full but we managed to raft alongside an exiled, thirty years, Australian and a fifty-year-old ex-lifeboat. Reality managed to raft alongside Weasel but Yassou couldn't find a suitable place until she went into the inner harbour and found the best berth of all.

Reality and Weasel at Rothesay. Rafted alongside the fishing boats it was quite a journey to the quay. It is easy to overlook the drying out inner harbour behind, where Yassou eventually found shelter. There are more pontoons on the north side of the ferry terminal.

The wind was blowing quite strong from the town when we arrived and the next hour or saw was quite entertaining watching boats of all shapes and sizes performing 'tricky' manoeuvres trying to find berths. At one point a particularly large boat got completely out of control followed by a blood curdling female scream. A lady was trying to protect her boat by fending off the boat out of control, fortunately she turned out to be OK.

A 'racing' Sigma 35, Panache, dived into the harbour and tied up alongside us. They boarded us like pirates as if we weren't there, a complete contrast to our skipper, Norman's, polite request for permission to lay alongside when we had arrived earlier. They were on their way back from the racing and had just called for fish and chips, these 'pleasantries' were enjoyed later as they left for their home port of Rhu, a former launching site for the 'trailer sailors'.

Rothesay has changed since my last visit in Fred II in 1986. A big new ferry terminal has been constructed, this was revealed as I tried out the new toilets.

We had fish chips and peas for supper in the usual fish and chip shop come café. They were delicious. This was the thirteenth time that the trailer sailors had visited the Clyde in Spring. The café was to fall into disrepute later in the voyage. We strolled down the main street buying postcards and stamps and arrived at The Taverna for drinks and entertainment from Margaret Zavaroni, auntie to Lena Zavaroni and probably a better singer. It was a marvel to me that we could turn up a year later and know that Margaret Zavaroni would be there to sing for us.

Peter felt a little crowded in the pub so he went back to the boat. He had been a bit depressed all day because he was beginning to think he wouldn't be able to sail his own boat again. As the holiday progressed his confidence in his physical ability returned and he is now looking forward to launching Privateer soon. I thought, because of the tortuous path back to our boat, down the quay wall, across two trawlers and then two boats to our boat, and the fact that I didn't want to drink and I was stood up sticking out like a sore thumb, I would go back also and see that he was safely back to the boat. When I got there there was no sign of him! Had he fallen in and frozen to death. Whilst I was panicking not knowing what to do I spotted him walking back along the quay. Now it was his turn to be concerned. Who was the strange figure in the boat cockpit? Were we being pillaged?

It seemed hard to believe that we had only launched a few hours ago, it seemed weeks away.

Passage Plan. Each colour represents a day's sail

I awoke at 01.20 hours to the sound of the loud Australia giving sailing directions to his blind crew rowing back to the boat in the dinghy. Our Captain still hadn't returned. I was later to deduce that a 'bad' landlord was one that wouldn't allow Dennis to drink into the early hours of the morning.

Next morning, lovely and sunny but freezing cold, I discovered the delights of the Victorian Loos made famous by Lucinda Lampton. They were constructed in 1899 and renovated in 1994. I was glad that the showers were up to date with warm electrical heating. Other members were to shower but a few didn't.

A few boats left early and this resulted in Weasel and Reality moving on to the pontoons.

The annual "putting" tournament took placed as planned on the Esplanade putting greens. This in no way resembles golf. The boat teams had a ball each and the nearest to the hole played first, causing confusion to the other visitors trying to put. Can you imagine ten people on one small putting hole at the same time! Gotcha and Abryll had declined to take part. RP7 loaned a crew to the solo Dr. Syn but he soon got fed up and wandered off which turned out to be an advantage to Michael. One of RP7's crew, me, used to play golf but it was soon evident why he had given up golf for sailing. Several holes-in-one were almost achieved, Weasel striking the flag but bounding off into the bushes, Dr. Syn lipped the hole but unfortunately failed to drop. Eventually Reality, Richard, Vicky and Alice ran out clear winners, winning the trophy by two clear holes.

There was some doubt about the forecast and there was also a strong tidal pull from the pub at the end of the pontoons, whether it was the beer, the warmth or Margaret I was never sure. The next sail was to be to Caladh Harbour with Kames as a fall back destination. The wind was favourable and if we didn't leave there was a chance that we would become port bound. It was forecast to be strong the evening after. Weasel elected to stay, Reality's crew were reluctant although their skipper and RP7's< were keen to go. In the end we set off up the East Kyle with the wind behind and had a pleasant sail, enjoying the spectacularly lovely scenery, up to Caladh.

Reality goose winging up to Caladh. fishing rod trailing a line behind. We can see Alice and Vicky but where is Richard?

The little natural harbour at Caladh had been purchased and vandalised over a year ago and it was still distressing to Peter to see it today. A large bank of rhododendrons had been cleared and the picnic spot had been turned into a lawn with keep off the grass signs in evidence. A beauty spot destroyed. Right of access denied. A demonstration barbecue should be organised for next year!

Yassou sailing on to Kames. Passing Tighnabruaich.

We sailed on to Kames and into a watery sun and a lovely evening, RP7 arriving first and had the choice of the remaining moorings. Weasel being last found a mooring near the hotel ('watering hole') but it was attached to a huge lump of kelp. They struggled to clear it for ages. It looked like they were pulling in a trawl net full of fish! Yassou was unfortunate in that they had to give up their mooring to a local fishing boat but he allowed them to tie up to his stern. Dr. Syn had carried on down the West Kyle, he later radioed in to report that he had arrived at St. Ninnian's Bay off Inchmarnock Sound. He had to return on Thursday so he had pressed on to be able to get back in time. It was suggested that he wanted to get back to Rothesay as Margaret had taken a shine to him but this was just jealous rumblings amongst the other sailors. He wished us all a good holiday.

A party had been planned aboard RP7 but some of the crews retired to the pub part of the hotel and sipped porter till early in the morning, RP7's Michael being encouraged beyond two halves of Guinness to a small malt whisky. The landlady, reminded us of Jill Dando, was particularly delightful. One of us told her he wanted to bite her.

We wandered back to the boats, via the dinghies of course, and awoke to a lovely sunny day with a gentle breeze, the best day yet. It was now Monday, Trudie's birthday, my stepdaughter, and my first experience of 'the bucket'. One s*its in the cockpit smiling at all around.

Today's target was Loch Gair of the top middle of Loch Fyne. Otter Spit, or more correctly Otter Ferry was the preferred option but the forecast was high winds from the North which would have left us exposed so Loch Gair was selected by default. Dennis had a task to perform in loch Gair so it was no hardship. As it promised to be a long sail we decided to start off 'early', 10.00 hours. Yassou was having difficulty as Danny is usually up around 5-o-clock, Sods law made them last to leave in the end, after being first up.

Reality left first, well before 10.00 hours, motoring into the wind down the West Kyle. Weasel was first to leave sailing off her mooring. She had touched the bottom in the evening so they had moved off their 'refurbished' mooring into deeper water. RP7 was next one 'tack' behind. We, RP7, were in good spirits so we tried our best to catch them, which we did several tacks later before we reached the turning point at Ardlamont Point. We managed to get the sails trimmed pretty well. One tack after we passed them, as if they were standing still, we heard over the radio that they had kelp round the keel, allegedly from their mooring of the night before, which was slowing them down! Our next target was a bigger boat which we also overhauled easily but like Weasel he had an excuse, he was single handed so our enjoyment was dented somewhat. Still it didn't matter really as the scenery was enchanting. The greens on the shore were all fresh and spring like, their different shades being highlighted by the sun. The rugged outline of Arran in the distance was magnificent and the boat was going well. We rounded Ardlamont Point in something of a traffic jam, boats bearing down on us from Loch Fyne, apparently motoring desperately in the opposite direction to us. The wind dropped for a while and we motored for quarter of an hour but then the wind returned and minutes later we were putting a reef into the main. We saw several puffins, which was quite exciting. We sailed on with the racing fleets a spectacular sight in the distance off East Loch Tarbert. We caught up with Reality just short of the lighthouse.

Reality off East Loch Tarbert. Are they motor sailing?

As we got amongst the first racing fleet they seemed to be having a break between races so we had no problems but by the time weasel caught up with them they had to thread their way through with boats coming at them from all directions. There were three separate fleets about a couple of miles apart. We witnessed the excitement of a start in the second fleet.

The wind was a gentle breeze again as we goose-winged up the loch. Otter Spit came and went and we finally lined up to enter Loch Gair, reading the pilot to make sure. We picked up a mooring and awaited the arrival of the others. We had been sailing for seven hours, our longest sail to date. The weather was glorious. Off with the sailing gear and on with the shorts for the first time. Weasel arrived, then Yassou and finally Reality. Reality had been laying lobster pots. Reality were definitely enjoying their holiday, wandering off the route with gay abandon, living the moment fully.

Dennis and John chugged round in the dinghy inspecting all the mooring buoys looking for one with Roger's number on it but in vain. Michael thought it should be over there, he had been up with Roger in 1990, but it wasn't where he remembered it being. There were several Buoys without the yellow pick buoy we expected but no clues as to which was the right one.

A walk ashore was suggested by Norman, Michael agreed and Richard, Vicky and Alice came as well. We had forgotten about the midges. How could anyone forget about Scotland's midges. They swarmed round us and turned a pleasant evening's walk into purgatory. We inspected the tower at the entrance to the loch. It looked like it had been lived in at one time. We sought refuge in the Hotel, Dennis's favourite grumpy landlord. Only Vicky and Alice didn't come out. Strange as it may seem the wicked landlord actually smiled once or twice, even when he kicked us out just after eleven. A complete contrast to Kames hotel the night before.

Tuesday morning arrived and it was lovely and sunny again. My 61st birthday, I was keeping it quiet but Susie had told Peter. This morning the contents of the bucket presented a problem as the loch was quite small and the water hardly stirring. There wasn't much wind so the loch was like a mirror. The water is incredibly crystal clear and apparently clean, very inviting but too cold to swim, plus I learnt years ago not to swim round boats.

We set off in the light wind, Reality were first away again. They went round their lobster pots but there was nothing worth having inside them. Rothesay had supplied the bait. Weasel was next off and we didn't see them again until we got into Tarbert. Reality was sailing around again enjoying the freedom. Two large racing boats followed us out. They gradually caught us up but the wind became even lighter. Yassou was last away and they didn't seem to be making any progress. They appeared to be drifting up the loch, Loch Fyne. Meanwhile the big boats, 35 footers, had tacked back into the centre of the loch towards the passage through Otter Spit. Norman drifted us across to Otter Ferry and we were surprised to see Highlands and Islands moorings outside the pub. It is a 'better' pub than Loch Gair and the strong winds hadn't materialised so we could have had a good night ashore! We tacked towards the narrows and were pleasantly surprised to see we had left the two big racing boats behind. One appeared to be Welsh national boat, the other Irish. We were quite chuffed at this only to find out later that they both were charter boats out of Largs and had 'holiday makers' aboard. Our success was short lived again.

Weasel had radioed that there was a group of seals but we passed on the other side.

We were puzzled as to why Yassou wasn't sailing very well? Norman had the bright idea that I should be exchanged for Eileen and help Danny with the sails. Because I sometimes race in the dinghy fleet they think I know how to sail! There was some doubt about the drag caused by the outboard being in the water all the time, discussed fully in the hotel last night. We sorted out the sails and got them looking very pretty. We took the outboard off but we still hadn't managed to get the boat moving any faster!

The wind dropped altogether so we motored a while. We tried again and Danny was pleased because he thought we had made some improvements. We approached East Loch Tarbert and circled round rather than get in the way of the ferry. We needn't have worried because he doesn't go into the harbour but we didn't know that. We read the pilot and got in with out any problems - we followed a local trawler. Weasel and RP7 were rafted together and they motioned us over to raft alongside Gotcha. Gotcha and Abryll had made it to Tarbert from Rothesay.

Gotcha and Abryll II alongside the pontoon at East Loch Tarbert. Dennis of Weasel is talking to Reg on Abryll and Ron on Gotcha. It was Gotcha's first venture on the open sea. Normally they sail on Windermere.

Tarbert had been the centre for the 25th Clyde Cruising Club annual series of racing. The previous nights there had been 250 boats moored in Tarbert, an unbelievable feat. The boats must have covered the entire harbour. I suppose it wasn't surprising that the water wasn't as clean as the rest of Scotland, it was full of bits floating in suspension. It was still a lovely day and after showers, washing not rain, we wandered into town to find somewhere to eat, all ten of us. Abryll and Gotcha only seemed to join in the drinking. A table for us was readily found but some of our party complained about the quality of the food, justifiably so. Norman arranged a surprise birthday cake with a candle and a kiss from the waitress. Before the serious drinking began Alice was taken back to RealityI>RP7, and Michael stayed back to listen out for her, so Vicky and Richard could go to the pub together, whilst they all, Peter excepted, celebrated his birthday by getting pissed and being disinclined to sail the next day.

Yassou's crew, East Loch Tarbert. Danny and Eileen discussing the finer points of sailing.

Wednesday morning. Another beautiful morning. Peter and John walked to West Loch Tarbert and back whilst Norman and Michael scrubbed down RP7, which shamed the other boats into doing the same. The plan was to spend the afternoon exploring the shore line however it started to rain shortly before lunch and didn't stop until eleven-o-clock on Thursday morning.

Undeterred by the rain Reality slipped out to harvest their lobster pots put out on the way down from Loch Gair. This time there was considerably more success, a dogfish and several reasonably sized crabs. The dog fished was returned to the sea but the crabs provided a lovely snack for several of the sailors.

Richard's catch. A dogfish which he returned to the sea and one of the larger crabs. The dogfish is thrashing around eager to escape, hence Richard's expression.

There had been several pledges to have a night away from the pub but the rain weakened everyone's resolve and the usual activity took place. Not all of us gave in, Yassou had an early night and Peter and Michael stayed on board and read.

Thursday morning and it was still raining but it cleared up and we set of for Rothesay again. Abryll and Gotcha set off early for Inverary. Yassou, with a refreshed crew, set off first determined not to be last again. Our destination was Rothesay. Reality also had an early start, lobster pots in mind. Another, this time larger crab, was caught but that was consumed by the crew on their way to Rothesay.

Yassou radioed back to say that they were with a school of porpoises off the island with the lighthouse. They were delighted and excited by them. Weasel eventually saw them but RP7 didn't. We all tacked out of Tarbert but the wind died off after a couple of hours. We were escorted for a while by a family of six guillemots. They were off our port quarter sailing in echelon but after a while they peeled off and dived one by one, just like fighter aircraft going into battle.

Yassou, in the lead, was going through the Kyles. Weasel decided to stick to the same plan which was the original intention but RP7 carried on to circumvent Bute in the hope of getting some wind on the run up to Rothesay. Reality radioed us to say they were a mile ahead on our starboard bow. They had caught a large crab but were unable to share it as they had already eaten it.

We saw a couple of seals off Ardlamont Point and several eider ducks.

The wind didn't blow up so we continued to motor into Rothesay. There were plenty of berths and we tied up between Yassou and Weasel.

Next we wandered across to the fish and chip shop/café for tea/dinner/supper. They refused to serve us as the café section was closed. We trundled back to the boats and stopped at Oliver's on the way. Dennis said it was highly recommended by Abryll and Gotcha so we went in. A lady, reminiscent of Peter Lathom, but soft underneath, the proprietor, looked after us and we had a delightful meal. We can unreservedly recommend Oliver's restaurant to all who visit Rothesay.

Olivers Restaurant which we all unreservedly recommend to anyone visiting Rothesay.

We finished up in the Black Bull, a congenial pub recommended by Dennis, but they were sticklers for the law and we retired to our boats at 23.30 hours.

Drama. Dennis discovered that the gas stove was still on but unlit and the boat was full of butane gas. Next to Weasel was a Royal Navy (I thought they were members of the criminal fraternity) training sloop with a crew of chain smokers on the deck all puffing away. They were lucky they hadn't all been blown up, I can just see the headlines - Royal Navy attacked by terrorist fire ship from Glasson! It took Dennis and John until 01.30 hours to satisfy themselves that it was safe to enter the boat. Dennis tested all the lockers with a match? Dennis had stood at the open forehatch for an hour and a half wafting fresh air down into the boat and John was down below wafting it through the boat and out of the main hatch.

The boats preparing to leave Rothesay on the last day. Weasel, Rice Pudding VII, Yassou and Reality partially hidden behind the next boat. John is pushing off, Norman is giving Danny last minute instructions but Reality's crew are nowhere to be seen.

Later in the morning, Friday, we left for Largs whilst Reality's crew were still in the Victorian Loos showering. Apparently we had told them we weren't leaving till lunchtime, 12.00 hours but that was the planned time of recovery. We arrived at Largs after a spirited sail in a stiff breeze, Weasel being first away and successfully maintaining their position to the end, beating off the challenge from Rice Pudding VII.

The trailers were all OK and martialled at the top of the slip. Reality's van and trailer, the battery was still on the boat, were towed round. As we arrived the public slip was sheltered from the wind but it veered slightly and set up a swell across the slip. This caused some consternation because of the huge rocks placed either side of the slip to protect it from the waves. Could we get the boats out? The wind dropped for a while and we were able to get them all out safely. The only moment of excitement was when RP7 on its trailer reached the top of the slip. Danny stopped, he was pulling them up, but the boat continued on charging towards his Land rover. There was a flurry of activity trying to get he chocks under but fortunately Danny started up again and drove into safety.

Later in the evening, after having a fish and chip supper in Largs we went back to Nardini's on the marina. Eileen went to the loo and said to the person following her in "You can't come in here this is the women's toilet" only to be told that he was a woman and not a man as Eileen had thought!

When we got back from the fish and chip shop Reality had already gone. We left for home the following day, Yassou having gone before we got up. We followed Weasel through Dumfries. The journey home was remarkable because of the quality of the sunlight shining through the trees and vegetation. There were so many dramatic scenes; the beauty of the countryside was enchanting.

We all had a wonderful holiday guided by our leader Norman, the Rear-Commodore Cruising.

Back at the Club. Discussing the week amongst ourselves and ones like Alec who had to work.