When we set out on this cruise, the vague general direction was north, and the possible destination, weather and everything else permitting, was Orkney. When we bought our fifteen day pass from the Highland Harbours in Flowerdale, we knew we could spend two weeks there, in Lochinver, and in Kinlochbervie, without further marina fees. So there we were, sitting in a fellow sailors' cockpit for pre-dinner drinks in Kinlochbervie, discussing the weather for the next day and possible destinations. Weather was great for going north and east to Orkney, and Ju and I had already decided that it wasn't the day for crossing to Lewis, somewhere near Stornoway, we would go the following day, when the wind would have gone round to the north-east, according to the forecast. Neither of us could think of a single reason we would want to actually go to Stornoway itself, having been there before. When the conversation of our four companions turned to going to Orkney, both our resolutions to go to Lewis strated to weaken, then disappeared completely. As we headed up to the Kinlochbervie Hotel on our own for dinner, we admitted this to each other, and shook hands on the decision to sail in very loose company with these two other boats, and go for Orkney.

So on Monday morning at 5.30am I got out of bed (Ju was up before me) and we got the boat ready to sail. It was not very windy, and there was a light drizzle, but we went for it anyway, following the other two boats out of the terrific little harbour, into Loch Inchard, and off, on what was to be a 75-mile journey, which ended at 9.20pm safely tied up in Stromness marina.

At first the going was difficult, with a surprisingly heavy swell coming into Loch Inchard, but once out into open water, this settled down, and we hoisted sail and headed west to the point where we could turn north towards Cape Wrath. One of our companion boats checked with the coastguard that the MOD were not going to use their firing range beside Cape Wrath that day, so we were reassured that noone would bombard us with artillery! (No kidding, this had almost happened to Dutch friends of ours, when they strayed into the range accidentally during their circumnavigation of Britain and got a severe telling-off from the MOD on the VHF)

Sailing was lovely up to and past Cape Wrath, a really impressive headland from the sea, with a number of different profiles as you sailed past it, and a tall lighthouse on the top.

Once we safely past the turning point, we moved on to our new heading towards Orkney mainland, and the entrance to Hoy Sound, over 50 miles away across open sea. Attempts to sail soon failed, as the wind went incredibly light, 3 to 4 knots, and came at us for hours in variable directions, making things difficult for the sails. So we rolled away the genoa, and triple-reefed the main, sheeted well in, and got Vera the Volvo to give us her best shot. Motor sailing, we were soon out of sight of land, and running the radar to check on other invisible vessels in the murky mists which rolled over the sea, bringing drizzle and rain, which had us using our little home-made rain-door for the cockpit, to stop rain from entering the cabin when it hit us from astern.

Radar showed us large objects like ships and small ones like yachts. We encountered only a few ships on our journey, but the radar helped us check that they were nowhere near us. Soon we lost track of which yachts were the two we had set off with. But during the entire long journey we could just about see at least one or two yachts all the time. Into the afternoon the weather suddenly improved. Blue sky and sunshine, and a flat sea for a short while, then the wind came back a little, right on the nose, and it was accompanied by a heavy cross-swell. Other yachts pulled out their sails and went for it, but we decided, as we were heading for a definite tide window at Hoy Sound, we would just go on as we were, motor-sailing. The swell would have dumped air out of our sails and really slowed us down. The tide in Hoy Sound has to be with you as you go in, or you don't get in, unless you have an engine that can beat up to 5-8 knots of tidal water flowing the wrong way. So we needed to be there around 8.30pm, when the tide was just changing favourably to us, and the essence of passage-making in my book is to get where you plan to be by the right time, by any available means.

As we approached Hoy, in my opinion one of the most beautiful islands I have ever seen, the evening sun was playing on its red rock-faces, picking out the outline of the Old Man of Hoy, with its impressive shadow cast on the cliff behind it. As we entered Hoy Sound Ju captured this shot of the local Northern Ferry Hamnavoe approaching the sound, looking almost as if it was going to say hello to the Old Man on the way!

Pilotage in the Sound is straightforward, once you work out which of the two lighthouses on the island of Graemsay is which! We folded away the sail and picked up the first available bit of pontoon space we saw, and had a sandwich supper with a beer, and fell into bed, exhausted. The Talisker moment would have to wait until tomorrow!