A stirringly beautiful sailing holiday among the remote islands of the Hebrides

Duncan Craig boards the 1930s gaff cutter Eda Frandsen for a week-long voyage around the diverse islands of Scotland’s Inner Hebrides

Eda Frandsen is a Danish former fishing trawler.

Lucy Laucht

The Oregon-pine deck was already warm when I emerged from my cabin at dawn. The sea lay becalmed, the anchor slack, the sky cloudless. I dropped over the side and then swam the short distance to the shore to explore the vast crescent of white sand cradling our anchorage. Anywhere else in the UK, such a beach would be completely overrun. Here on the island of Coll, on the outer fringes of Scotland’s Inner Hebrides, it was just me and a smattering of insouciant sheep.

Mornings start early on Eda Frandsen to make the most of this atmospheric time of day

Lucy Laucht

The aroma of homemade crumpets and fresh coffee drew me back on board and, under the gaze of a couple of comically watchful seals, we departed, setting a course for Lunga, the largest of the remote, uninhabited Treshnish Isles. Along its narrow cliff-edge path, scores of puffins – who seemed charmingly indifferent to our presence – fussed around their commandeered burrows, their bills stuffed with glinting herring.

Lucy Laucht

A few miles east of here is the islet of Staffa, site of Fingal’s Cave. Painted by JMW Turner, and with astonishing acoustics that inspired the music of Felix Mendelssohn, this is Northern Ireland’s Giant’s Causeway in cubbyhole form – hexagonal jointed columns that retreat nearly 80 metres into the cliffs. Two centuries ago, William Wordsworth lamented the plethora of visitors, but our late-afternoon arrival was timed to perfection. As the last of the tour boats gradually retreated into the distance, we swam in the clear waters at the sunlit mouth of the cave, before we ven-tured deep into the cool of this enthralling geological cathedral.

Lucy Laucht

Still there was more: a pod of dolphins joined us as we crossed the sparkling waters west of Mull, taking up formation on the bow wave like cetacean outriders. As we dropped anchor in a sheltered lagoon between Ulva and Gometra, first a white-tailed sea eagle swooped between the islands and then a brace of stags appeared, perfectly silhouetted high up on the hillside.

Lucy Laucht

Was this a typical day aboard Eda Frandsen? I am not sure there is such a thing. Some days, it is swimsuits and sun cream, and the sea is millpond calm. On other days, it is hot toddies, oil skins and straining sails. But all are equally compelling. As for a firm schedule, forget about it. ‘Sailing plans,’ our marvellously deadpan skipper Mungo Watson warned us on our first day, as we departed the little port of Mallaig, ‘are cast in custard’.

Lucy Laucht

We were seven passengers in total – a mix of salty sea dogs, nauti-curious novices and those in between. Mungo, his partner Stella Stabbins and the boat’s deckhand made up the crew. But there was an 11th presence, more charismatic than all: Eda herself – built as a fishing trawler in Denmark in the 1930s and still turning heads well into her eighties. The boat’s story is not so much one of restoration as resurrection. Snapped up for a pittance when facing the scrapyard and oblivion; later, ravaged by fire and lovingly nursed back to health on the nearby Knoydart peninsula.

Lucy Laucht

Her sturdiness – 60 tons, robust enough to have with-stood decades of North Sea punishment – belies a striking elegance. Russet and cream sails and lashings of mahogany and teak. She feels extravagant in all but dimensions – and limited confines, we quickly found, inspire camaraderie.

They also inspire ingenuity. Bunks are squirrelled into alcoves; seats double as fridges; the saloon’s smart wooden dining table folds out like an Ordnance Survey map; and the galley, in which Stella turns out stellar creations with dis-concerting ease, is little bigger than a telephone box. Yet out come mussels and langoustines with teriyaki and butternut-squash salad, or fresh Ottolenghi-inspired mango semifreddo with lime and pistachios.

Lucy Laucht

But you do not come on such a journey to stow yourself away below decks. Up top is the place to be. Hoisting, winching, trimming and stowing if you are so minded; dozing and reading if you are not. I found two favourite spots: aft with Mungo, soaking up his 200,000 nautical miles (equivalent to 10 times round the world) of sailing wisdom. And harnessed to the tip of the bowsprit – which extends like a narwhal’s tooth from the bow – scanning the horizon for Manx shearwaters and the occasional minke whale.

Lucy Laucht

The final day brought the pick of our unscheduled stops: Rum, the biggest of the Small Isles. We anchored in its natural harbour, dominated by a crumbling sandstone Edwardian castle and, while others sat down to lunch, Mungo zipped me ashore in the tender. My target? The summit of 723-metre Hallival, the second highest of the island’s horseshoe of unforested peaks.

The sky was once more cloudless and my efforts were rewarded with unbroken views north to the toothy Cuillin range of Skye and east to the mainland and Knoydart’s imposing contours. In the bay far below, one boat was unmissable. Rugged and stirringly beautiful, she seemed entirely in keeping with her surroundings.

Ways and means

Six-night voyages of western Scotland on board ‘Eda Frandsen’ (eda-frandsen.co.uk) cost from £1,320 per person, full board.