Jean Says: I think that we both felt reluctant to leave Canna behind. It was remote in one sense, as in being a tiny community, not having basic facilities such as a shop and with no mobile phone signal, or daily means of transport. On the other hand, it's managed and being developed as a conservation island destination by The National Trust of Scotland, but development in a good way preserving its natural beauty and supporting the existing community. They are hoping to increase the population steadily to thirty five. The new inhabitants would mostly be employees of the NT and tenant crofters. One of the problems on Canna is that it's overrun by rabbits, so the job of rabbit controller is soon to be advertised. I wonder which publication it'll be in?

It's 3.30 in the morning and I'm on anchor watch. When you get up into the remote parts of the islands, most of the time the only mooring option is anchoring. In calm conditions, it's quite a liberating thing to do, being able to 'drop the hook' in the most secluded and beautiful coves, miles away from the rest of the world. Tonight, despite the fact that we are in a more sheltered small bay in East Loch Tarbert, the wind has been gusting up to more than nineteen knots, and we're swinging around quite a lot. Although the area in which we've anchored is reported to have good holding, our concern is that the anchor might start to drag as the wind puts extra pressure on the chain.
I can easily tell whether the anchor has been dragging. We've put a position mark and a track mark on the chartplotter and we haven't moved away much from our original position. There's a squiggly mass of thin black lines which show the arc of movement that the boat has been making as the winds swing us around. The rocks are still at a safe distance, and I feel confident that the anchor is safely dug in for the moment, but we need to be cautious. We're taking turns to be on the case, and I'll be waking Bob up at four thirty for his two hour shift.
I'm sitting on deck in the half light that you get up here in Northern Scotland. The rocks and hills are quite well defined against the pale grey sky, and the warmth of the night helps to reduce any concern. Over the hills to the West, a pale yellow - orange glow is beginning to span the sky. Between the slapping noise of the water against the boat, and the intermittent gusting noises of the wind, I can hear the sound of different birds singing.
This is quite a fun experience for one night, but I'll be glad to get back to mooring buoys and pontoons. You know where you are with them. I've also discovered that our anchor light isn't working, and there's no way I'm shinning up the mast to fix it and Bob isn't allowed, so that's a good enough reason not to do any more anchoring. Ten more minutes and I'll be back in bed. The sky is really pink now, which I think is not necessarily a good thing according to shepherds. I'm wondering also what's in store for us out there when we head back across the Little Minch and the start of our homeward journey. Ach, it'll be alreet!