Alastair Morison, formerly of North Uist and now of Crieff, generously concedes that my picture of Loch Eport1,2 was indeed Loch Eport and not Lochmaddy. Of all the sea lochs in the Western Isles, the one I am least likely to misidentify is Lochmaddy. Eighteen years ago I attempted to anchor a large yacht there under sail — our engine was working, but not, unfortunately, the gear box. Wind squally from the west, 25 knots. Out went the anchor and chain, and more and more and more chain, all 60 metres of it. And there, for all on the foredeck to see, the little bit of string that attaches chain to boat, the Bitter End! The only member of the crew not on the foredeck started to pray out loud. I switched mode to Master and Commander-ish and uttered my most melodramatic line in years on boats, ‘Pull Men, for our lives depend upon it!!'. This, and a helpful fishing boat, had the desired effect and we were towed into a little tidal gut so secluded that the open sea was invisible. We sat there, stormbound, for 3 days. On the first day the Lochmaddy Hotel had neglected to renew its licence and the bars closed. On return to Glasgow one member of the crew never set foot on a boat again, and another emigrated. So, Lochmaddy, I know thee well!
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