Bombs Away – Sailing Around Cape Wrath
With the prospect of being sunk by torpedoes, peppered by machine gun bullets, or bombed by ‘friendly’ fire, it’s not all plain sailing in British waters these days. On a passage around Cape Wrath on the extreme northwest coast Scotland, I found that the only way to make progress was to keep our heads down and sail on.
A Very ‘Special’ Bomb
Since sailing from Kirkcudbright just two weeks before, we’d been asked – politely – to ‘clear off’ as we skirted an MoD firing range lest a wayward shell should make a hole in our sails. Then, while hard on the wind and punching the tide in lousy weather we’d been informed by the commander of a range control boat that we might be running into unseen danger as we sailed along the edge of a submarine exercise area. The ensuing tack we were forced to make resulted in several extra hours added to an otherwise short passage. Now, dammit, we were to round Cape Wrath and I was told that they were going to drop a bomb. A very ‘special’ bomb, at precisely the time we wanted to pass through the ‘Bombardment Area’ off Cape Wrath on the north west corner of Scotland.
Collateral Damage
Well sod the bomb. Cape Wrath is not a place to linger in a 27ft sailing boat. If we were going to carry the tide around the Cape and eastward along the northern coast of Scotland, my sail plan would put us bang – no, don’t say bang – in the middle of the bombing range when the RAF’s latest projectile came whistling down. There was a very small window in the weather and we simply had to use it. Still, I looked closely at the chart again and plotted a course that would just skim the perimeter of the bombing range. But just how ‘special’ was that bomb? I had no intention of becoming collateral damage.
Talking to Eeyore
Jalcyon was actually tied up alongside the firing range guard boat in Kinlochbervie harbour. I planned to leave early next morning at six so as to be off the range by nine – just when the bomb was due to be dropped, according to the harbourmaster, who was also the skipper of the guard boat. I mentioned my plan to him. He shook his head dismally. I told him I would make all speed, and that, wind and tide permitting, I would keep to the very edge of the exercise area and leave if requested, but I made it clear that I would only leave in an easterly direction. He looked decidedly pessimistic, shook his head gloomily and gave a long sigh. It was like talking to Eeyore. But was there a trace of a wink in his eye when he explained that he must await crew, and wouldn’t be able to sail until seven, so he couldn’t stop me if we left early?
Prayers
It was good enough for me. We would leave at five, and should be past the range by the time the guard boat was in position on the range at eight. It would mean punching an hour of tide around the Cape – no mean task in a small sailing boat, but there was nothing else for it. At 4.30 next morning I was on deck readying the sails and putting in a cautionary reef when I became aware that I was being watched. The harbourmaster was looking at me balefully from his wheelhouse window. He leaned out and spoke through the steam of his tea mug: “It will be a very special bomb and I pray that you will make a wise decision, skipper.” That’s all he said before sliding up his window. In the eerie silence and half-light of dawn it spooked me, I’ll admit, but we stowed the fenders and set off anyway.
We had a choppy sail beneath the Cape Wrath lighthouse, but Jalcyon was well through the range and approaching the eastern edge of the danger zone when the bomb was dropped.
Damp Squib
It was a damp squib. Quite a disappointment, really. Though I daresay it would have made rather a large hole in the deck. Through binoculars my shipmate and I saw a black aircraft flying very low and fast, then a little plume of water. No bang. No explosion. Nothing. We sailed on eastwards. Nobody bothered us. It made me wonder; did they know we were out of danger when they let that bomb go? Were they even aware that we were there at all? You don’t see many yachts on the wild north west corner of Scotland. Had the harbourmaster mentioned our presence to range control? I doubt it.
Perhaps Eeyore was still sipping his tea and praying for us.
An earlier version of Philip Dunn’s story appeared many years ago in All At Sea – Britain’s Favouite Waterfront Newspaper.
See Cape Wrath in detail – Marine Charts