claymore
Well-known member
The bold crew of the vessel Claymore slipped their mooring at the crack of 09:30 on Saturday and ventured along the treacherous fish farm infested wastes of the lovely Loch Melfort. Beating into a hearty blow with the skipper shackled to the bucking foredeck (fingers trapped in the bow roller) we emerged to the vast and desolate sound of Shuna. Reaching now, all full and bye we charged gallantly southwards, only a lonely lowly Highland cow stood watching as we sailed on by Toberonochy and down towards the very Ard of Luing. Anchoring with only a few feet of water beneath us, the wife and daughter of the now freed but quite chilled skipper, brewed coffee and ate the ships supply of dark chocolate digestives as he gazed manfully at the black void of Corryvrecken as it beckoned seductively as any dusky Oban maiden, alluringly - calling him. To the north the shoulders of Ben More wore their new coat of the first snows, below an empty coffee pot and crumbs of the biscuits he thought he'd hidden so well brought home to him that lonely is the hand that writes the cheques.
regards
Claymore
regards
Claymore