By JAMIE

It was Easter 2003 and Mum had brought us up to Assynt for the school holidays. The bad weather had us trapped in the cottage with only books and playing cards for entertainment. After a few hours and lots of persuasion, Mum agreed to let us take out the boat, as long as we stayed close to the shore. With the weather overcast and damp, we sat as water pooled on the weathered seats of our 16-foot fibreglass boat. She was well loved but required constant bailing to keep the internal water at a reasonable level.

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The rain gently seeped through my waterproof trousers as I shifted position to keep my legs from going cold. We hadn’t caught any mackerel that day and the orange twine from our grandpa’s homemade fishing spool was wet and awkward in my hand. Lachlan’s line lay tangled in the bottom of the boat while Ewan frantically tried to restart the outboard engine. A southeasterly offshore breeze nudged us further out to sea, and we began to wonder what we should do. The flares in the tackle box hadn’t been replaced in a couple of years, and although they probably still worked, it seemed a drastic last measure.

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With the outboard showing no signs of life, we dug out the oars and attempted to gain some sort of momentum back towards the shore. We were all cold, wet and increasingly hungry. But no one complained. This was exactly the type of adventure we were looking for, and we wouldn’t accept defeat.