It was time to head north. The rest of the west coast does not get strong thermals and relies on passing storms instead. These form in the Atlantic and follow the Gulf Stream current past France and up towards Scotland. September is when they pick up and the forecast was good (ie, bad) for Scotland, so that’s where I went. Four days of driving, stopping in Burgos (Spain), Bordeaux (France, and dinner with my sister), Maidstone (South London), and Oban (Scottish Hebrides), before boarding a 6am ferry to Tiree, population 650, an island “known for its quaint villages and its windsurfing” as Google Maps puts it.
I like to plan, but not in detail. I figured that I would take care of my sleeping situation on the four-hour ferry ride to the island, because who else would be in Tiree in rainy September. I figured wrong, in addition to hosting the famous Tiree wave sailing competition in October (which I knew about), Tiree also hosts the famous Ultra-Marathon competition on the very same weekend I was arriving (which I didn’t know about), bringing with it 500 runners and support crew, effectively doubling the island’s population and leaving me without shelter.
There’s a saying I learned on my Alaska heliskiing trip (read the story here) that would have really helped me at this point: slow is fast; fast is slow. It means that if you rush things you’ll spend more time fixing what you did wrong instead of taking your time to do it right the first time (when applied to loading and unloading a helicopter at the edge of an icy precipice, it takes on a special emphasis). Anyway, ignoring those wise words, I rushed to find a place to stay, anything with a roof and a bed. I scoured Google Maps for options and fell on a lovely B&B in a place called Coll a few miles from where the ferry was landing. Perfect. Except it wasn’t, because after I paid for my week (in advance) and drove my car off the ferry, I realized that Coll was on the next island over, not connected to Tiree at all. It’s close but there’s no way to get there, which is probably why the B&B was available and happy to have me.
After a couple of hours calling the dozen guest houses on Tiree to ask about last minute cancellations, I finally wrangled a bed for each night, including a couple of days sharing a small cottage with a group of runners that decided camping in a storm was not for them.
But stormy weather was exactly why I was there, and Tiree treated me to five out of five days of perfect wave sailing. Cold, grey and stormy, yes, but also consistent, steady wind, expansive white-sand beaches and perfect waves. There’s a reason they call Tiree the Hawaii of the North (it’s true!).
Because Tiree gets its wind from storms, it can come from any direction, and often it will turn during the day as the storm passes over. What makes Tiree so special, in addition to pristine Hebrides nature, unspoiled seashore and ideal windsurfing conditions, are the 14 beautiful beaches that surround the 12 mile long island, basically a beach for every wind direction that you can reach from anywhere in 20 minutes. Pretty cool!
My first beach was Balevullin, a place that even regular visitors don’t get to sail. The wind and the tide need to be just right, and the swell not too big. It was perfect when I got there and empty. Finally a local who said he was popping out for a quick 20mn sail before picking up the kids at school (I guess windsurfing is part of everyone’s routine here) showed me the ropes. The waves were head high, so a nice size, and the beach is surrounded by rocks, so it takes a bit of local knowledge to sail comfortably. I stayed in my new friend’s tracks and it turned into a spectacular session. Every time I sailed out, turned and came back in, I caught a wave that was among the best I’ve ever sailed. Not the biggest, fastest, cleanest or longest, but completely comfortable, fun and beautiful. I finished the session alone and elated, and it set the tone for the rest of the week.
The next day I sailed The Maze, the most famous windsurfing beach on Tiree. My friend from the day before tipped me off that the locals would be there, so that’s where I went, eager to meet the locals. I did, all five of them, plus a couple of regulars from the mainland. I never saw a surfer either, so there was absolutely no competition for the waves – a windurfing paradise.
The Maze is so called because you have to walk almost a mile along a winding path and imposing rock formations to get to the beach, with your windsurfing gear in hand. The locals know better; they use little pull carts. The beach is vast, endlessly peeling waves breaking onto empty white sand. Everything is as nature intended, the only visible human impact are the cows grazing on the overlooking bluff. The session was a repeat of the day before, with the added pleasure of company, so one (ie, me) could show off a little and compare notes.
The third day was brutal. The storm had strengthened to gale force, enough to cancel the once-a-day ferry to the mainland (no need for radios or newspapers on Tiree; you hear the news by going to the local store), and I was told to go to a sheltered bay where, maybe, I would be able sail. When I turned up, two others were already out, battling the epic conditions. The wind was crazy, but it was mostly onshore (blowing from the sea) so the worst that could happen is that I would be blown back to the beach. It was a struggle just to rig the sail. My smallest size was way too big. It was a struggle to get to the water, fighting to hold onto my equipment. It was a struggle to pass the waves, as the wind seemed twice as strong at the tops of each peak. Eventually, I found a place on the side of the wide bay where the waves were smaller and the wind more steady, and I actually enjoyed myself for 30 minutes before stopping from exhaustion. Epic.
The rest of the trip was like the first two days, pretty perfect, and I left understanding why Tiree had such a mythical reputation, even if, like Sagres, it sits at the end of the world.
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