SIPR 1: Oban

This whole island peaks thing started - like many an idea you live to regret - down the pub. Four pints into a particularly pleasurable evening and Graeme (with an 'e'), a boat-owning work colleague, dangled the suggestion of a daunder round the west coast by foot and boat. Why not? I'd considered it a year earlier and rejected it out of hand as too tough, but that was by-the-by. Graeme had chosen his moment well. It was a particularly pleasant evening, full of possibilities, and he'd just bought a round. What could go wrong?

The first inkling that I'd have to up my game came in February. In Oban on business, I skipped away at lunch to recce the Oban dash. Running up Haggart's Brae and Dun Uabairtich was a punch in the guts! My regime - twice a week round Arthur's Seat at lunchtime and the occasional half-marathon - was clearly insufficient. Did I mention I was no fell runner and had never done an event like this before? I started to run the 8 miles to work, and Graham (with an 'h'), my Arthur's Seat jogging partner, agreed to take part too. "At least if we get weather like February we'll be laughing," I said to Graeme. "Are you kidding?" he said. "We'll need more wind than that..."

Oban in February from Dun Uabairtich:


The night before the race Graham and I arrived in Oban to meet Wilf and Leo, Graeme's crew. They'd arrived two nights before and had planned to have a couple of days sailing round Oban but this had not been possible due to a lack of wind - and it wasn't looking good for the Friday and Saturday of the race either. "Some of the other boats are rigged up like galleys," said Wilf. "We've been watching them practice rowing." Our only oars were in the dinghy. Modifying Phoebe, a 32-ft Bavaria cruiser, was not something we had considered. Lesson one for the novice SIPR crew. The next morning, as we gathered to run round the Oban route, I tried in vain to spot someone who looked less fit than us. Sinewy, athletic, muscular... the blokes too... "they all look fitter than you," Graeme offered helpfully. This Oban section is really a preamble to the race proper, a way of avoiding a mass start for the boats. By the time Graham and I were back on board, we were towards the end of the field. And as soon as the momentum died from approaching the start line under power, we floundered helplessly in Oban Bay, expending most of our effort getting out the way of ferries.

Busy seaway in Oban Bay:


Come on guys - only 20 miles to Salen!


'This is hopeless!' we agreed. But out there boats were heeling over and pulling away from us. We only had to get out of the bay and the wind would pick us up. After further interminable rowing - and now right at the back of the field - we finally caught a breath of wind and escaped Oban Bay, three hours after Phoebe had crossed the start line.

Read on for the next installment..