Sunday 19th July: Port William - Drummore

The wind is still in the west, but the forecast for tomorrow has it decreasing and backing into the south, so it's time to position myself for getting round the Mull of Galloway. I set off in the sunshine, slamming into a F4 westerly, and three-and-a-bit hours later I pulled the boat ashore at Drummore. What more is there to say?
Well, there was a Big Scare, and some Little Scares, a mile or two off to port. It seems that the name is a Norse word (or Scots, depending on whom you talk to), more familiar to me as the "Scar" of the English Peak District - a conspicuous rock.
At Drummore, the Clash public house has a campsite, easily accessible from the water using the ramp at the extreme north end of the village. It looks like a static van site, but don't be deterred: it takes tents on the small grassy area at the top of the ramp (seaward end of the site). Reception is in the pub, where the landlord, an auxiliary coastguard, is all too familiar with hauling people off the cliffs of the Mull, and where the regulars are happy to regale you with descriptions of the complex tidal streams and daunting sea states to be expected off the Mull and the west coast of the peninsular. Their advice to stand well in to the cliffs as you round the Mull (from the lighthouse to the foghorn) was to prove sound tomorrow.
Meanwhile, I was making a complete fool of myself in the pub - forgetting the name of the place where I had landed while on the phone to the coastguard, and freely admitting that I lacked a chart for the coming crossing of the Firth of Clyde.