PORTS OF CALL

She was quite an impressive boat by anyone's standards, and we wondered how many crew she held. The binoculars did not reveal anything. All was still. The tricolour waved in the stiff breeze.

Later on, as we set off to the creels, I saw a solitary figure, bearded and spare, attending to the windmill on the stern. I waved and shouted 'Bonjour!' The figure waved back and mouthed something, but the wind carried it away.

It was later at the Coll Show that I again saw the same bearded man. He was wearing shorts and was riding an exotic folding bicycle. I approached him and enquired: `You're the bloke on the ketch, aren't you?' and he replied, `So it was you who shouted Bonjour!'

And from that casual meeting began a friendship. Jean-Claude Vallot had worked as an airline pilot, flying 747's for Air France before a routine cardiac examination showed some sort of a dodgy pattern and put an end to his flying. Not content to be earthbound, Jean Claude had bought Kurika, and had set out to sail around the world, mostly single-handed and here he was in Arinagour.

Those of us who love Coll know that there is no spot on earth quite so delightful, but a French single-handed round-the-world yachtsman might need a reason to spurn the delights of Oban or Tobermory. And so it proved. Jean-Claude was just about to sail for the Carribean and he realised that he was running short of his prescribed medication. Unwilling to set out across the Atlantic without an adequate supply, he had arranged with his wife to post reinforcements to her distant relatives, the MacLean-Bristols of Coll. And here was Jean-Claude, looking for Nick Bristol in the middle of the Coll Show, hoping he had a packet of beta-blockers for him.

As we set off fishing that evening, Jean-Claude was again fiddling with the troublesome windmill. Returning, awash with pollock, in the small hours, we greeted him with a trophy fish. In reply he invited the crew of Rafiki aboard for a nightcap. Suffice it to say that the reputation of France was upheld as cognac flowed. Kurika turned out to be luxurious. Designed to be stable in all weather, and easy to manage, she was spacious and elegant. Jean-Claude had bought her for her sea-worthiness. As we slid back into Rafiki I had begun to understand the attraction of a big boat. I, who had never sailed anything bigger than a Mirror dinghy on the West Kirby Marine Lake...

Needless to say the offer of a trip out was too good to miss, and I turned up early at the Middle Pier. Once out of the harbour the first thing Jean-Claude did was to ask me about lunch, before disappearing below to cook. Fresh pollock, grilled, with lemon... And a glass of Suze. I was left alone on deck and the boat sailed herself. In deference to a quaint tradition, we put in to Breacacha Bay and anchored. Slowly we dipped our sail, 'in salute to the Chatelaine', before sweeping out again and setting the spinnaker. I don't think anybody saw us. On the way back I steered, reassured that it would be 'just like the dinghy...' But there were too many dials to watch, and a tricky thing to do with the angle of the wind which certainly didn't point to where the wind came from... And trying to keep a steady heading wasn't easy either, until Jean-Claude suggested I pick a landmark and aim for that. A couple of lessons on the autopilot and I felt like an old sea dog as we slipped into Loch Eatharna on the diesels.

And then there was the lobster feast at Tigh na Mara, and the following morning we watched as Frenchman met porridge over breakfast. The porridge lost. Black pudding was more successful. Boudin noir? Yes!

And eventually the drugs turned up, but only after Dr Carle had filled the gap. And there was the troublesome windmill, specially ordered from the USA, and the six batteries that needed replacing... But one or two days later Kurika slipped her moorings and set off.

A letter related her progress down the west coast of Ireland, then via the Scillies to Madeira. A postcard mentioned Christmas was spent somewhere between the Cape Verde Islands and The West Indies. Then there is summer time in the Carribean before the coast of South America, Cape Horn and on to Australia. Sometime, before the millennium he hopes to be back in France. And sometime soon after that he hopes to put into Arinagour again, where, as many have discovered before, a very special kind of welcome is kept. So if you see a 14 metre ketch flying the tricolour, look again. And by the way, Kurika means lion in Senegalese... Or so I've been told.

Neil Frowe

Neil Frowe was a guest of Robert and Ruth Sturgeon at Tigh na Mara last summer.