Inishkeas, deserted no more

Yesterday had to be the greyest day I've ever witnessed. Still and grey. The day before, Thursday the 2nd of September, we decided to sail out to the Inishkeas, but the wind died and we motored the 35 miles out. But not before I had to climb the mast for the first time in years. We had taken the halyards home to wash as they were green after two years in the elements unused. When Alex tried to reinstall the halyard, it got stuck and wouldn't go over the sheave. It was terrifying. At least it worked and I even managed to snap a few photos. 

So we took off and headed out past Achill Island and Head to the 'deserted' Inishkeas. The last time we were there was about 5 years ago or longer. We anchored in our usual spot in a slight northerly breeze which was to be easterly and during the night did shift but less than 5 knots, so very settled conditions. 

A little sailboat was anchored off the beach and there were people camping in one of the ruins. But lo and behold, two houses were completely restored on Inishkea North and about 6 were restored on Inishkea South! They are deserted no longer. Normally, we would have been ashore in a heartbeat but we were exhausted and thought we'd go the next morning. 

But the next morning they just didn't have that allure anymore. So we took it easy reading our books, me Sinead O'Connor's autobiography and Alex a book on natural beekeeping. It was a nice quiet morning, until a tour boat came out and deposited 2 people on Inishkea North and 5 on Inishkea South. We wondered if this was a pandemic housing reaction. The mobile signal in the islands is pretty good from Black Sod and Achill so they are not as remote as they might look. But we never went ashore. 

Then we went to weigh anchor but the windlass didn't work. No power at the windlass itself and no way to trace it. So we weighed it manually using ropes to the sheet winches. It took about an hour to get it done and we were exhausted after. We motored straight home and came in about an hour and a half past high tide with plenty of water. It was the greyest grey day in history. 

As we approached the mooring, we noticed the pickup stick was caught up in Moytura's bowline. It took three attempts to go around as Moytura swung in the current. I freed the pickup stick, which was well wrapped in the rope. Just then Aleria's engine died so Alex couldn't stop her, but he managed to grab the stick and we were able to secure her on the mooring after much pulling and manoeuvring.  What next? 

Stiff drinks were poured when we reached home. Disasters averted. So much for a relaxing trip to the Skeas. 

 

This is what we had wished for.