Canna - 06 July 2006 (day 47)

Yacht Gothik

At Anchor

Canna Harbour

Isle of Canna

Highland

06 July 2006

Click here to see a map.

Logged distance: 14.5M

Chart distance: 14M

Time under way: 4h

Thursday 06 July 2006

Our destination today was only 14 miles away. This meant we could have leisurely morning and a proper bath in our own time. Looking out of the companionway hatch; everyone else had left - we had the loch and the mountains to ourselves. There was a slight problem though in that the air was much colder than yesterday, it had also begun to rain. The thought of getting undressed outside and then jumping into a bath of cold water (all before breakfast) was no longer appealing. Funny that.

While we were thinking about this, Keith - who was standing in the companionway peering through the drizzle and looking up at the stream - all of a sudden with bulging eyes and a pointing finger shouted "Holy sh__". There was a roaring noise... I had a vision of a collapsing cliff and of us all being washed away by a tidal wave. What I saw was barely less impressive - the stream that Ben and I had visited yesterday was in the midst of a flash flood. The top half was now a white frothy torrent while the lower half was as it had been last night. It was fascinating to watch, the roaring getting louder and louder and the empty stream becoming ever more full. Compare the picture of the stream here with that of yesterday (click here).

A bath no longer seemed possible but we were keen to go and have a look. Taking our washbags we got to the foot of the stream. It was shocking to think back to yesterday, Ben and I could the see places where we had stood or rock hopped - the flood would have dashed us against the rocks or washed us over a ledge. One hears about these things but can never really quite believe it. Having seen it now for myself I will treat 'dry' riverbeds with a healthy respect.

The scramble over the rocks had made me warm, the water was still far from being ice-cold and so jumping in and soaping up seemed a reasonable prospect once again. The problem now though was where? The water was running so fast it was impossible to stand up in anything more than a foot deep. Keith took the 'easy' option of sitting on a rock, filling a bucket and then pouring it over himself. Brrrr! Nothing 'easy' about that. Eventually Ben found a small pool where the water was just slow enough to not to get washed away. I searched for another but without success. By this time Ben had finished and we swapped places.

Half way through shaving I could hear Ben and Keith shouting at me and pointing out to sea. I couldn't hear a word they were saying above the roar of the water, neither could I see anything without my glasses. Since they were laughing I knew there was nothing wrong and so carried on shaving. Once dressed, I put my glasses on, turned round and was confronted by a boat load of tourists who had just entered the loch!

After waving to them merrily, I joined Keith and Ben in the dingy and the three of us headed back to Gothik.

Before too long we were on our way to the Isle of Canna - this being the north west most of the four islands that make up the small isles. Once again (like Muck) I had no idea what to expect. As it turned out it was absolutely nothing like the Isle of Muck. The first thing that struck me when entering the anchorage of Canna Harbour was the prominent, well built and well maintained church. The second thing that struck me was another prominent, well built and well maintained church. The 2001 census records 12 people living on the island making these buildings seem all the more remarkable. Today I expect the figure is more than 12 people. During our few hours of walking on the island I counted at least eight individuals, another church and fourteen inhabited houses, some of which were newly built (there were many more houses but I could not say for certain whether or not they were inhabited). A new ferry terminal was in the final stages of being constructed. There were no pubs but, like Muck, there was a licensed tea room / restaurant.

Things have clearly changed since the 2001 census - but what for certain I could not say. The individuals on Canna did not seem to exude the same kind of contentment as those on Muck. Of course, it is very unfair of me to say these things, having not talked to many people on either island, but the feeling was very strong. Canna, by all appearances, was a far more regulated kind of island. There was more of a "keeping up with the Jones' " look about the place compared to Muck. Although the island was barely any bigger than Muck, people were used to driving rather than walking or bicycling.

Llike Muck, Canna was a pretty place - if a little bleaker (but this could have been the weather). One of the more interesting buildings on Canna was the little wooden shed which was the Post Office. It was closed when we passed but peering in through the perspex window revealed an establishment that was clearly in full swing when it shut for the day. Canna is one of the few places in the British Isles allowed to issue its own postage stamps - why it is able to do this, how it is able to continue doing so, or even if it continues to exercise this right I couldn't say, it is nice however to think that an island of less than 30 people can have its own officially recognised postage stamps.

Standing beside the post office was a coin operated telephone box. We could see it from the boat. In fact it was one of the reasons for electing to go ashore (Keith needed to phone home). Inside were some creature comforts, one of them being a stool to sit on - I guess this was provided by the local inhabitants rather than BT. Amusingly, Keith nearly had to queue to use the telephone. As we approached the shore in the dingy we could see the telephone box was occupied, by the time we had got to shore, dragged the dingy onto the beach, etc., etc., and walked toward it; out popped the occupant who then disappeared into the house next to it.

Canna, or least the bit one thinks of as Canna when looking at a small scale map, is strictly two islands; Canna and Sanday. Sanday being the smaller island with about half the combined population of the two islands (i.e. Sanday pop. 6, Canna pop. 6). The two islands are separated by a patch of water no more than 3 metres wide at low tide. Until recently this used to be forded by motor vehicles with a footbridge crossing nearby. Now, however, there is a newly constructed road bridge in place of the old footbridge (maybe this is why everyone drives?). Being made of wood, the road bridge was most definitely worth a photograph - it would have been a pleasant job knocking this one together.

Once back on the boat the wind had begun to freshen as forecast. A few more yachts had arrived (presumably seeking shelter) bringing the total number to five. In fact the last one to arrive was still trying to anchor. Every time he let go and drifted back on the chain the anchor would drag. The bottom of Canna Harbour is rock with a thick covering of kelp seaweed. Rock is bad enough to anchor on in the first place but when it is covered by enormously long strips of thick, leathery, very slippery seaweed it is a matter of pure chance whether an anchor will hold. It took us two attempts to anchor and I thought ourselves lucky. On arriving in the harbour a boat warned us about the bottom - he'd obviously had a bad time of it. Anyway, these poor souls still trying to anchor were going round and round - dropping anchor, letting out chain, dragging anchor, pulling in chain, weighing anchor, moving to a different patch of water, dropping anchor... Eventually, after countless attempts, we could hear them hacksawing something on the foredeck - this was perseverance. They had rigged up and old 'fisherman' style anchor - the type you see tattooed on red nosed people in pubs - dropped it overboard and it held. I felt happy for them - they could now have a few beers and sleep easy.

It struck me this evening that Gothik was a minnow amongst many bigger fish. Since leaving Oban the average length of yacht we had encountered had gone up quite considerably. Sitting in Canna Harbour made me feel a) a little vulnerable (is Gothik too small this kind of cruising?) and b) a little proud (no - of course she isn't too small).

The wind began to blow harder...