Departure Largs Marina and Sanda Island 

The spring morning at Largs Marina was deceptive in its stillness. A gentle breeze barely stirred the rigging as Skipper Chris Dickinson prepared his sailing yacht, Miss Markey, for the 750-nautical-mile voyage ahead. Ahead lay Scotland's most isolated outposts. Chris is best known for his Instagram account @sailing_missmarkey and spends his time at sea creating content for his 29k followers. Joining him were Scott Johnston, a YM instructor, from Yachting Scotland, intimately familiar with these waters. Mat Sharpe, an RNLI engineer and navigator from Whitby. Their collective experience formed a quiet reassurance against the unpredictable North Atlantic.

The initial leg down the Clyde was smooth, the spinnaker flying well under a favourable wind. It allowed the three men time to talk, exchanging quiet notes on past crossings. By evening, they reached Sanda Island—an uninhabited Island positioned just before the notorious currents of the Mull of Kintyre. As they lowered the sails, a pod of dolphins surfaced alongside the bow, breaking the glassy water as if guiding them in. They dropped anchor in a sandy bay just as the twilight faded into a sharp, moonlit night.

Written and photographed by Chris Dickinson ( @sailing_missmarkey )

Rounding the Mull 

The rest was brief. At 10:30 PM, the alarm called the crew back to the deck. With the anchor secured, Scott steered Miss Markey away from the shelter of the island and directly into the surging tide of the Mull of Kintyre.

The conditions changed almost immediately. A 17-knot wind collided with a 4.5-knot tidal stream, creating a restless sea of overfalls and sudden eddies. The yacht shifting unpredictably, dropping off the crests of moonlit waves. Out in the dark, the water was growing heavier. Weather forecasts confirmed their quiet apprehensions: a two-meter westerly swell was moving in to meet a 28-knot south easterly wind. The crew knew exactly what that meant - a highly confused, difficult sea.

Offshore 

By dawn, the coastline had slipped away entirely. The easy camaraderie of the previous afternoon was replaced by the disciplined silence of the watch system: two hours on deck, four hours below. Interaction was reduced to brief, functional handovers in the companionway every two hours.

Their position put them north of Malin Head, Northern Ireland, with their sights set on the remote Monarch Islands.

The Atlantic was now thoroughly unsettled. A long westerly swell lifted Miss Markey high over each crest, while the sharp south easterly wind caught her starboard quarter, forcing an uncomfortable, twisting motion. The waves grew steeper, striking the hull at conflicting angles. Surrounded by water and an empty horizon, the crew settled into the monotonous, demanding rhythm of a true offshore passage.

The Monarch Islands and the West Coast of the Outer Hebrides

Arrival at the Monarchs 

They dropped anchor at the Monarch Islands under the cover of the early hours, concluding a gruelling 48-hour passage. When daylight finally broke, it revealed the stark, low-lying beauty of the archipelago—an isolated cluster of small islands edged by white sand beaches and dominated by a tall, slender lighthouse. Scan through the binoculars, the crew spotted a rare sight on the shore: two sea eagles feeding on a seal carcass. Beyond them, the beaches were alive with movement; the islands host a colony of over 10,000 grey seals. It felt like a fitting reward for reaching the edge of the world.

The stay was brief. Moving on to find a fresh anchorage, Miss Markey tracked toward the Isle of Harris and Taransay, discovering more pristine, untouched white sands.

However, a deteriorating weather forecast cut their exploration short. The west coast of the Outer Hebrides was set to become highly exposed over the coming days, offering little shelter. After weighing their options, the crew made a decision: they would head for the Sound of Harris, timing their arrival to catch the eastbound tide at midnight.

The Sound of Harris

The Sound of Harris is a treacherous, eight-mile stretch of water separating Harris from North Uist. As one of the few navigable routes between the west and east sides of the islands, it is famously shallow and cluttered with rocks, islets, and fierce tidal streams. Navigation here demands a meticulous pilotage plan, even in broad daylight. Attempting it at night added a significant layer of hazard.

Miss Markey arrived at the tidal gate precisely at midnight during a brief window of slack water. Ahead, the dark channel was filled with a confusing constellation of navigation lights flashing in red, green, and white. In the dark, the lights seemed to blink in an unorganized chaos. Only the precise pilotage plan brought order to the scene. As the tide turned and the boat gathered speed, navigating from buoy to buoy felt like solving a complex, high-stakes puzzle in the dark.

The Small Isles and the Inner Hebrides 

A long passage to Tobermory brought the boat and crew back into civilization to take on fuel and provisions. With a few days remaining before their deadline at Craobh Marina, the pace shifted to more relaxed day sails, stopping at striking locations along the way. At Loch Tuath, Scott free-dived for fresh scallops, which the crew later enjoyed alongside steak at an anchorage off the Isle of Ulva.

Miss Markey then sailed on toward Loch Tarbert on Jura, a favourite spot known for its remote, quiet anchorage. The evening entertainment was provided entirely by the local wildlife—resident sea eagles, cuckoos, and sea otters. Leaving Jura, the sound of Islay carried them down to Port Ellen, before they made their final run North up the sound of Jura, returning Miss Markey to her summer berth at Craobh Marina.

Writing and photography by Chris Dickinson ( @sailing_missmarkey )