The wooden pier, at whose front we drew alongside, is privately owned, as was soon made clear to us by a shout from a motor launch, which had been fishing at mid loch. The Kena had immediately to stop disembarking us, and the crew hauled on their ropes until they had her clear away from the pier altogether. The launch drew up to the side of the pier (not the front), landed its fishers, and then proceeded to its anchorage. We hauled on the Rena’s ropes and got her back into position. Some of the fishers watched the operation without word of apology or greeting or farewell. The clergyman killed a cleg or two with real spirit.

It was with regret that we waved our farewells from the dilapidated jetty at Bonawe, with a special wave for the engineer. The Rena runs from Achnacloich, and our return ticket from Bonawe had cost us only three shillings each. We had had tea and tomato sandwiches on board and two hours ashore at the head of the loch. A song to the Rena, like Speed Bonnie Boat, would have real point to it. And you can rely on the engine.

Over we went to the railway station, and presently the Mate bore down upon us, under full canvas. It was the open sea now. So that night the weather broke down.

XIX

‘I dislike being long at a time’

By catching the last of the ebb down the Falls of Lora, we should have the flood with us up the Lynn of Lorn.

The engine had not been touched for ten days, yet she fired at the first priming—on two cylinders and backfired two flames the size of saucers over the flooded carburettor. Not very promising, so we changed a plug and proceeded to get the anchor up. It was bedded to the hilt. A splendid anchorage, which every yachtsman in that region, anxious for good holding ground, would be well advised to use. It started raining.

We opened out a residence and saw a comfortable bay in front of it, with a jetty, and what looked like boathouses, but no yacht. Behind us, Ben Cruachan was shrouded. The day was heavy and sombre. The mists came over the water. It was a glen of weeping. Why it was different from the day on which we had entered I cannot explain. But it was.

To starboard was the Ardchattan country, well wooded, with hay cocks at precision in the fields. There was good land right on to the point, and we could see how in such a mountainous country this part was of value in early times.

Leaving the north shore, we soon had the second upright of Connel Bridge ahead. The submarine ledge still had some water tumbling over it, and as we cleared the bridge we got caught in tide rips that swung us about in summary fashion, while I worked the tiller from side to side, meeting shock after shock, but never quite losing control. It was exhilarating while it lasted.