John Dickson

THE trip was Mary’s idea to mark the fact we were both turning 65. Six weeks later we were on our "small tall ship" as it pulled away from Oban in the heavy rain of a Scottish summer, testing our sea legs for the first time.

In front of us, a bright-eyed young man heaves down on the rigging rope, pulling it towards himself until his body is almost horizontal to the deck. “This is sweating, in nautical terms,” he says. His crewmate pulls and hitches the slack rope generated and tells me this is called tailing.

He shouts across at me: “Right, John. Do you want to sweat or tail? We have to catch the tide.” I stagger towards the ropes, shouting above the wind and rain lashing our first moments of adventure.

“I’ll sweat, OK?” I grab the lanyard as our first mate hands the tail to one of our two other shipmates.

As I heave on the traditional hemp rope running to the top of the main mast, I mentally pinch myself. What on Earth are we doing here? It's Sunday teatime. The Antiques Roadshow will be on soon.

“You’ll have to pull down harder, John. Here, I’ll help.” Iyan, our French-Welsh first mate grabs my rope with me. It descends far more quickly. The mainsail races up from the heavy wooden boom, flapping and groaning until fully stretched, a massive white emblem of times past, billowing in the wind. Then I tail to Iyan as he heaves even heavier ropes pulling the boom over to the optimum position to catch the wind. Skipper Charlie turns the spokes of the brass and mahogany wheel, steering the ship just enough to make the most of the south-westerly wind.

We’re sailing! Mull’s silhouette is on our right, sorry, starboard as we plot a course towards the Sound of Jura and into the Irish Sea. The skipper tells us it is going to be a baptism of fire as strong winds are blowing against us. So climbing then plummeting over heavy swells results in us tacking towards Belfast. We se the lights of the city but have no time to get closer before turning and heading for Peel on the Isle of Man, where we moor for two nights beside its ancient castle and soak up its Viking history.

Mary had been determined. “I’d like an adventure … and don’t say my idea of adventure is walking up both sides of Callander Main Street.”

She gestured towards the laptop. "We can both go on a tall ship journey – crewing. From Oban all the way down to South Wales over six days. And it’s less than £500 each. We could stop in at Jura and Dublin and the Isle of Man. It looks amazing. Passengers are encouraged to participate with the work and watches aboard ship. You could be hoisting the mainsail. Is that what they say?”

I was gobsmacked. If I’d suggested such a journey I’d have been laughed out the room. I studied the screen and sure enough there was a photograph of Irene, a two master West Country Trading Ketch in full sail. Built in Somerset in 1907, she was found derelict by her owner in the 1960s, restored and converted into a charter ship around the Caribbean, often sailing across the Atlantic. She's even transported celebrities such as Mick Jagger and Pierce Brosnan.

Once on board we had to learn to cope with the constant pitching and rolling. Making baby steps across the wood-panelled saloon floor with a hot cup of tea; grabbing the centre pole with your left hand before propelling yourself, twirling to the couch.

Standing on deck in the middle of the 2am to 6am watch as the full moon’s reflection shimmered across the placid Irish Sea, before a glorious sunrise spread warmth and splashes of colour across the swell, creating a breathtaking seascape. I felt I was inside a work of art.

Sweating and tailing quickly became part of the fabric of each four or six-hour watch, along with the banter of captain Charlie and his crew.

Swaying effortlessly across the rolling and pitching deck I felt Irene had transformed us old codgers into old sea dogs … In less than a week.