After a truly cracking day of wildlife spotting and exploring the utterly charming Isle of Canna, our intrepid crew set sail for the bright lights (and even brighter pubs) of Tobermory. Spirits were high, particularly for one of our number who had a singular, unwavering focus: to get to the pub before last orders. Let's call him "Thirsty Jon."
I've never quite grasped the sheer, unadulterated length of time it takes to get from one place to another when you're relying on the whims of the wind. Thirsty Jon, however, seemed to possess an internal pub-o-meter, ticking down the precious minutes. This translated into a rather exhilarating (and slightly terrifying) dash across the waves. Our sails were trimmed to within an inch of their lives, groaning under the strain as we tried to wring every last knot of speed out of our trusty vessel. It was thrilling, I tell you, genuinely thrilling! Or maybe that was just the fear of disappointing Thirsty Jon.
Finally, with an hour to spare before closing time, we positively flew into Tobermory Bay. "Yes!" we all silently (or not so silently) cheered. Pub success was within our grasp! We could practically taste the… well, whatever one tastes in a Scottish pub on a summer evening.
And then, reality, like a rogue wave, slapped us in the face. The pontoon. It was full. Utterly, completely, dishearteningly full. We circled. We peered. We hoped. We prayed. We even considered politely asking someone if they wouldn't mind just popping off for a bit. But alas, to no avail. Round and round we went, a sad, pub-less nautical carousel.
Defeated but not entirely demoralized, we conceded. A mooring it was for us. The dream of a celebratory pint vanished quicker than a free dram at a ceilidh. As for me, still in my PJs (don't ask, it was a Canna thing), the thought of a warm bunk suddenly seemed far more appealing than squeezing into a crowded pub. So while Thirsty Jon likely shed a tear into his emergency hip flask, I was happily tucked up, dreaming of the wildlife we'd seen, rather than the beer we hadn't.
Another glorious sailing adventure, even if it didn't quite end with a triumphant pub crawl. Next time, Tobermory, next time!