Here Comse the Rain Again Falling Down Like a Memory
Here comes the pelting again,
The Eurythmics
Falling on my head like a retentivity;
Falling on my head like a new emotion.
Very appropriate today to kickoff with an Annie Lennox song, after all, she is every bit Scottish as they come. 😊
Raising our heads from our pillows and looking out of our window this morning, we saw the inevitable clouds and hoped that it would at least stay dry today. On the shore nosotros could see a distinctive white building that proclaimed itself to be the famous Jura Distillery – we had been brash yesterday that we could visit hither after breakfast before the Glen Tarsan continued on its fashion.
After getting done and dressed in warm article of clothing, we took our pre-breakfast java out on deck and looked effectually. The grey clouds rolled restlessly in the sky, buffeted by the gusts of wind, and the Red Ensign at the stern of the Glen Tarsan stood out straight from its flagpole – merely at to the lowest degree it was dry.
We enjoyed a hearty breakfast one time once again; on this vessel breakfast is the main meal of the mean solar day, with a lighter lunch. This morning we were served a scrumptious repast of succulent Scottish kippers accompanied with newly-broiled bread and fresh lemon.
On the way back to motel #1, nosotros retrieved our waterproofs from where they'd been hung to dry out yesterday, and once more got ready to 'disembark'; Trevor looked out of the window and remarked "here comes the rain once more" which (a) formed the championship for today's blog and (b) meant that I would be singing that song for the remainder of the 24-hour interval at present. 😊
Back in the saloon we found that v of the seven of us had opted to go ashore, and the prevalent audio became the popping of snap fasteners and the 'classy, classy' of waterproofs and the muffled sounds of voices behind our masks or scarves. Nosotros then proceeded, one by i, out onto the deck and down the iron rungs onto the yellow fibreglass freedom gunkhole for the short hop beyond the bay.
Off we roared, the picayune boat billowy and skimming and smacking the waves, the air current blasting our faces and hands and the sea spray taste of table salt on our lips. It merely took about 5 minutes before we reached the shore, and we were each helped out of the boat by Max as we handed our lifejackets over. We were told we had about an hr to spend here.
The 5 of us headed purposefully towards the Jura Distillery, where no-one seemed to be well-nigh. Nosotros could aroma a faint whiff of malt and oak and could encounter the 'filling room' with copper containers and wooden barrels merely, as we turned the corner the first affair nosotros saw was a detect in the window saying "Distillery Closed to Visitors". (Damn y'all, Covid-xix!) Hither we were, in Jura, and we couldn't go to the distillery! ☹
Never listen though, the village (you couldn't really call it a boondocks) looked lovely, with a fantastic rugged coastline and undulating road, and gorgeous footling chocolate-box dwellings. There was a full general dealer which sold absolutely everything, a café and water ice-cream parlour which also sold local hand-fabricated souvenirs, and a single-storey white edifice with a hand-painted sign letting u.s.a. know that this was the Jura Community Center.
The tide was partially out, and with information technology came the evocative scents of seaweed, fish and ozone. Small boats leaned at an angle in the sandy mud, and the blue and grey clouds reflected on the water, so information technology was difficult to run into where the sky ended and the bounding main started. The whole upshot was utterly charming.
As we saw the liberty boat approaching once again, we all went downwardly to the small landing stage and boarded the rocking vessel for the brusque render journey to the Glen Tarsan. In one case again, we bounced and skimmed over the waves, and I was able to become some fantastic shots of the Glen Tarsan at ballast, fabricated all the more authentic by the sea-spray striking the lens of my telephone camera. 😊
Once we were all dorsum on lath, Skipper Dave raised the ballast again and soon we were underway over again. We watched the bow of the Glen Tarsan rising and falling, rising and falling, as she carried us ever-closer to our next heady anchorage, which we'd been told was off the island of Islay. At present I wonder what Islay could be famous for… 😉
We enjoyed a delicious low-cal lunch of habitation baked cheese and onion quiche accompanied by a fresh greenish salad, washed downward with local beer, and spent some time pottering around in this lovely picayune vessel that had very quickly felt similar habitation.
Before long we heard the familiar change in engine pitch, the clanking and screeching of metal on metal equally the anchor chain was dropped, and the increased fervour of the wind as information technology threw flurries of rain against the windows of the Glen Tarsan. Nosotros once once more returned to cabin #1 to get into our inevitable waterproofs for the tender ride ashore. 😊
This time, we had been told that the Lagavulin Distillery, whilst not open for tours, was open for us to experience some whisky-tasting and have a look around the shop. The liberty boat holds six passengers and 2 coiffure, so if we all wanted to go it would have to make two trips. One passenger took 1 look at the weather and, wisely perhaps, chose to remain on lath, so it was spot-on with the six remaining passengers all raring to go. 😊
Outside on deck, we were once more assailed by the elements; the gusts of wind and the flurries of rain that stung our cheeks. For the first time, I was actually glad of my Covid mask every bit it helped protect my confront from more than only Covid! The half a dozen or so fe rungs that we had to descend to the pocket-sized pontoon shifted and clanked against the side of the Glen Tarsan, and I watched as the pontoon became awash with the waves. Gripping the railing for dear life, I inched my manner down to the lesser step, where the helping hands of Steve the engineer and Max the bo'lord's day aided me onto the bobbing boat. Ane past one the six of usa boarded in a similar manner and Derek, the passenger who had so far not been ashore, made us all laugh when he questioned his sanity at getting onto a "Tupperware tub" to go ashore. 😊 😊
Well, we've never known a tender ride like this before. All nosotros could see of each other was our eyes from beneath our cagoule hoods and higher up our masks. With Steve at the helm to the rear, and Max at the bow holding the ropes, nosotros set up off over the waves towards Islay. We bounced, skimmed and smacked onto the waves while slap-up cascades of ocean water splashed up and over us, all of u.s.a. laughing hysterically in exhilaration, despite the fact that any 2nd now I expected my teeth to be jolted from their sockets. This was the ultimate white-knuckle ride! In a higher place the noise of the wind, the sea and our laughter Steve the engineer sat nonchalantly at his wheel; later all, it was simply another day 'at the office' for him. 😊
Presently we arrived at the minor landing stage and it was a thing of perfect timing to jump ashore at the exact 2nd the gunwale of the tender was level with the land. Like six drowned rats we dripped our way along the road to the archway of the Lagavulin Visitor Center and rang the doorbell. A very pleasant lady opened upwardly, asked how many at that place were of united states (half dozen) and invited us in ane by one to have our temperature taken and sanitize our hands. We then had fourth dimension to look around the Lagavulin store and taste this exquisite xvi-year-old single malt. Equally I've mentioned previously, I'1000 non a whisky drinker at all, but this stuff was something special and, on swallowing, it sent delightful warm tendrils emanating from my breadbasket out towards my chilled limbs.
Nosotros bought a canteen of the whisky and some tumblers with "Lagavulin" engraved on them to give equally gifts; in fact, most of united states of america bought something. What were they packed into? Paper carrier bags! Whilst shops have rightly stopped using plastic carriers, we wondered how nosotros were going to become our boxed whisky and other items out of the store, across the bay in the freedom boat, and dorsum onto the Glen Tarsan without the whole lot disintegrating into a soggy mess. 😊
While we were waiting for the tender to return, iii intrepid souls decided to walk the ii miles to our adjacent stop of Port Ellen, while three of us (including Trevor and I) elected to return to the boat. Nosotros offered to take the whisky dorsum for those who wanted to walk, and we held the paper carriers nether our cagoules every bit best we could while we waited for Steve to render. I joked that I could only imagine the headlines "Vessel goes downwardly off Islay with consignment of whisky – three missing". 😊
The return trip to the Glen Tarsan was non quite every bit rough and nosotros all made it in one piece. As we made our manner back up the iron steps nosotros needed both easily, and so Max the bo'sun said to leave our whisky and he'd bring information technology in for us.
Back in our cabin we thankfully got out of our wet things; I can certainly vouch for my cagoule's merits on the label that it is "100% waterproof and wind resistant" because I was perfectly dry underneath. Every bit we'd already told Dave the Skipper that the other iii passengers would be picking up the tender at Port Ellen, the Glen Tarsan prepared to get underway… and prepared to get underway… and prepared to get underway. Nosotros could hear the engines merely we couldn't hear the anchor being raised, and nosotros were certainly taking a longer than usual time to get moving again. Shortly after Trevor, who had gone to investigate, returned and said that a fan-belt had snapped, and the engineer Steve was currently repairing information technology.
Next, we could scent a sort of hot rubber scent as the new fan belt took hold. Dave the Skipper came along, wearing his blue overalls, and said that the problem actually lay with the anchor-winching gear and non the engine, and he was having to paw-winch the anchor. Nosotros were stranded at sea! 😊 Meanwhile, the three passengers who had decided to brave the elements and walk along to Port Ellen must accept wondered where nosotros were, just someone got word to them that we were running belatedly, so they took refuge in a handily-situated hotel.
While all this was going on, the indefatigable Mags conjured up some home-broiled scones with jam and cream, all washed down with some good, freshly-ground coffee.
Eventually the Glen Tarsan set off again, and made her way around to Port Ellen, where nosotros were reunited with the other three and eventually everyone was dorsum on board again, with lots of laughter and tales to tell. Port Ellen would exist our anchorage for this night, and so no more white-knuckle rides on the tender for today. 😊
While the vessel was stationary (or at to the lowest degree every bit stationary as she ever got, slowly turning on her anchor) I took a refreshing, hot shower, blow-dried my hair and changed into clean, dry dress. Thus rejuvenated, Trevor and I wandered along to the saloon, where a cold beer was in guild earlier our pre-dinner canapés of smoked salmon and foam cheese mini-tortilla bites.
Dinner, as ever, was delicious and consisted of the poshest fish 'northward' chips we've ever had: a melt-in-the-mouth lemon sole, minted mushy peas and mitt-cut skin-on chips. This was followed past a lemon and Limoncello ice cream topped with a fresh strawberry, and finally the yummy cheeses, where I sampled a Scottish blue cheese chosen "Bluish Murder" and a mature cheddar with truffles. Information technology was all done downwards with chilled house white wine, and followed past the inevitable whisky.
At this indicate, our skipper Dave appeared and explained that there was some other mechanical error – this fourth dimension our water desalination unit was faulty and we would have to wait until Wednesday to become the role nosotros needed brought out to us. He said we still had around i,000 litres of fresh water bachelor, but to use information technology sparingly. I joked that we'd but have to live on beer, whisky and wine until and so. 😊
To make up for the "inconveniences" we'd experienced today, Skipper Dave would buy the side by side circular of drinks: the Glen Tarsan's version of the Captain's Cocktail Party. 😊
As if to compensate for the relentless wind and pelting, Mother Nature decided to bestow upon us a spectacular sunset across the sea loch, the mellow rays radiating out from backside a cloud and leaving a golden path on the concealment sea. It was truly wonderful.
Nighttime-fourth dimension falls late in May in these northerly latitudes, and even afterwards 10.00pm at that place were yet snatches of bluish-tinted calorie-free among the clouds. The engine and generator on board Glen Tarsan had stopped past at present, and a gorgeous peace descended as I went exterior on deck for the last time before returning to our cosy cabin. What a day it had been! 😊
Source: https://ocean-waves.blog/2021/05/24/here-comes-the-rain-again/
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