Days 1–4: Oban to Leverburgh, Isle of Harris: May 22-25, 2026

By Paul Bryers; May 26, 2026

We embarked Friday on the Gemini from Dunstaffnage Marina – a sunny afternoon with pleasant breezes and the air of misplaced optimism that always precedes a Hebridean cruise. The Gemini, for the uninitiated, is a converted lifeboat. So no matter how things go, we are technically already in a lifeboat. Reassuring, if you squint.

My fellow guests – Janet, Ann, Claire, Vivien, Kim and Dave – as well as Captain Mark, Deck Hand Emily and Chef Jemima – have been my world for four days now, with six more to go. So far, so excellent.

First things first: the crew are magnificent, and we are not an easy crowd. Oh no.

Captain Mark – the poor man is peppered with questions from dawn till dusk (mostly by me), which he answers wisely and frugally, like a Highland oracle with a quota.

Deck Hand Emily – sees to our every whim and delights us with theatrical wet landings from the Zodiac. Always wet. Always.

Chef Jemima – how she conjures this much excellent food out of that postage-stamp galley is a culinary miracle. Variety, quality, and not a sad sandwich in sight. A baker extraordinaire….

The guests? All wonderful. At various milestones in life’s journey. Let us leave it there.

Now – to the cruise proper.

My cabin is spartan but adequate. I’m berthed between the anchor and the ocean, which makes for an interesting nocturnal symphony every time we drop the hook. Think industrial cathedral. Think being inside a giant’s xylophone. The toilet flush comes with very clear directions….

After leaving the marina we sailed past Oban, then Lismore Lighthouse and Duart Castle. Lismore is one of Robert Stevenson’s many lighthouses in these waters – the man was prolific in ways the rest of us can only envy.

St Columba’s Church on Morvern came next…..

…..before we slipped into the beautiful and tranquil Loch na Droma Buidhe — “Loch Drambuie” to its friends – for the night. A genuinely special spot. A golden eagle put in an appearance, and at least one enormous white-tailed eagle came surfing low over the water to pluck a hapless fish for tea.

The next morning we were off, with an altered schedule courtesy of the weather. Rather than Rum and Canna, we’d head up past Eigg and on towards Skye. En route we passed the MV Glen Sannox — yes! Still above water! A small national achievement.

Eigg’s cliffs were spectacular, and the bird life around the boat was chaos incarnate — majestic dives, the occasional kamikaze, much shrieking.

Anchor for the night was Eilean Oronsay – one of approximately 100 Oronsays splattered up and down the west coast, presumably flung there by St Columba in a fit of naming exhaustion.

We popped into the Eilean Iarmain Hotel for a drink. Lo and behold! There was Helen Robertson with an exhibition – I’d bought a painting from her a few years back at the Glasgow Gallery. The Highlands are small in the way Scotland is small: everyone you’ve ever met is just one whisky away.

The following day’s rearranged itinerary included a stop at Eilean Donan Castle – the quintessential Scottish castle, the one on every shortbread tin — and then north to Portree to anchor for the night.

Lovely to go under the Skye Bridge….

Well. Can. I. Say. Wet. Dog?

The short Zodiac crossing from Gemini to Portree was less a transfer than a baptism. The water breaching the bow was – to use a technical seafaring term – bombastic. We arrived in Portree resembling a small tragedy of soaked (and smelly) spaniels, made directly for the nearest pub, and retreated to the boat early to drip with dignity.

So yes. Challenging so far.

However.

As we left Portree and headed north, the weather grudgingly relented. The seas stayed lively but the skies turned, and soon enough we were domed by actual blue. Blue!

Just saw the tail end of The Storr as the fog lifted.

We made a short landing at Staffa Island (no, not that Staffa) and found the Jurassic dinosaur footprints. Hmmm. They were… there. In a manner of speaking. I’ll leave it at that.

Claire and I met the most extraordinary couple on the pier, fussing about with a Ryland dinghy and an electric motor. Off to catch pollock, apparently. She was a pink, comfortably proportioned queen of the seas; he was wafer-thin and irrepressibly jolly. The motor whirred briefly, then died, then they vanished altogether. Most peculiar. I hope the pollock were merciful.

Back on the Gemini we had lunch.

Most impressive was the Quaraing that rise to from our mooring. Beautiful colors and hues of this magnificent rock formation.

Later we motored across to Harris — bouncy, to put it mildly — and picked up a mooring for the night. Some locals came out to have a good laugh at us, and we slowly realised that either my camera had stopped focusing or something was otherwise amiss. Reader, it was the latter. But that’s a story for another entry.

Tomorrow: St Kilda. Nine hours, big waves, big winds. But we are hardy!