Early Summer on the French Atlantic Coast” Cruising to La Rochelle and Back – May/June 2016

“Early summer on the French Atlantic coast” Cruising to La Rochelle and back – May/June 2016

The original idea For several seasons I’d toyed with the idea of sailing across the Bay of Biscay to La Coruna, then turning round and coming back – just because it sounded like fun and the Biscay passage really appealed. In 2014 I’d considered it as a work-up cruise for our trip to the Azores, but there really wasn’t time to do everything all in one year. In 2015 the season was shaped around cruising to the Scottish west coast, so not the right direction for Biscay. Throughout that time the charts had been in a folio under a bed at home waiting to be used. So in 2016 I decided I must cruise to Galicia. The original idea was to have a brief stop in western Brittany before crossing directly to La Coruna; head straight down to the Portuguese border; cruise slowly north again, exploring the Rias Baixas, back to La Coruna; cross the Bay of Biscay to La Rochelle (another place that appealed); follow the French coast north west, then head home. I envisaged a cruise of about 6-7 weeks’ duration. However, as is so often the case, events conspired to prevent it all happening in one go. I launched Rosinis later than I’d hoped, having held on and on waiting for a bespoke solar panel to be delivered; a multitude of small things began to squeeze the time window; and I particularly wanted to be back for mid to late June for various family gatherings and birthdays. It was clear that some re-scheduling was required and it didn’t take long to come up with a plan to sail to La Rochelle and back via the French coast and offshore islands over the course of about a month. This would get me home again by mid-June. From mid-July I would then head directly to Galicia, spend some time there, and return by a similarly direct route. The additional attraction of the revised plan was that it opened up the opportunity for a few more people to join me in the second period who couldn’t make the dates of the first. Apart from my normal, fairly rigorous, winter maintenance programme and a number of general modifications and improvements, my main focus during the lay-up period had been on electrical systems and battery charging. Although the long-awaited solar panel wasn’t available for this cruise, I was looking forward to seeing the effect of a new Merlin alternator management system that promised to boost-charge the batteries at over 14v when necessary as part of a multi-stage charging programme, and being able to monitor battery state accurately by means of a Smartgauge, also produced by Merlin. I’d also replaced the engine mounts, installed a flexible shaft coupling and an earthing brush on the prop shaft, which were still causing some concern, with a slight ‘graunching’ noise at certain revs, as if the shaft were rubbing on metal. This log covers the trip to La Rochelle and back; the Galicia cruise is covered separately. The chart on the following page shows our outbound route and ports of call. Despite my best efforts to invite crew, the challenges of availability and shortage of airports close to potential crew change ports meant that I sailed to La Rochelle two-handed, accompanied by Steve Shergold, who knew Rosinis well having spent a week on board the previous year in Scotland. Rosinis on the Club pontoon ready to go

1 Outbound to La Rochelle (16th to 27th May 2016) By mid-May we were ready to go and on 16th Steve picked me up from home and we made our way to Marchwood where Rosinis was still on her mooring. By lunch time we were on board and moored on the Club pontoon. There was no particular hurry, as the ebb tide from the Solent didn’t start running until after 1900, so we stowed gear, sorted ourselves out, made a further adjustment to the prop shaft, and eventually cast off at 1650. It was a slow goose-winged run down to Calshot against the last of the flood and we then found ourselves unexpectedly beating down the western Solent, fortunately by now with a On our way

2 fair tide. By 2100, at last light, we were passing Yarmouth, and an hour later we cleared Bridge Buoy and SW Shingles and set off into the Channel. Sadly the wind gradually dropped and by midnight we were motoring, adjusting engine revs to minimise the shaft noise. Settling into a 3 hour watch system (with a few occasional variations) our motoring in a WSW direction continued until just after 0700 and included a few more attempts on my part to sort the shaft noise, but without success. By breakfast time we were able to sail again, initially motor sailing, and we gradually converged on the Casquets Traffic Separation Scheme. Soon we tacked onto port to keep clear of the TSS and we were almost immediately lifted on to an almost due west course, which held throughout the day until, around 1700, we could see land on our starboard bow from Berry Head down to Start Point. Someone must have been on our side! By now the tide was against us, so we tacked south onto a heading of 190M to avoid the stronger adverse stream off the headlands, but were still hit hard by the tide. The late afternoon forecast gave W-SW 4-5 occasionally 6-7, but by 2000 we were well to the west of the Casquets TSS and had cleared the west bound traffic lane, still beating with about 20 knots over the deck. By 2330 we were almost through the east bound lane when we had to tack between two large ships to avoid the second whose intentions were very unclear. Shortly after, we tacked back onto our southerly course and put in one reef all round as the wind began to rise. So it continued throughout a long night. At 0320 we tacked back to the west and made good progress parallel to the north Breton coast until daylight, still with one reef all round and the wind holding steady at F5, so possibly slightly over-canvassed. Visibility was not good overall and reduced considerably as heavy showers passed through from the south west, which we tacked to avoid when we could. Suddenly, at 0920, a massive squall hit us, announced by the noise of torrential rain beating on the deck, coach roof and sprayhood, followed almost immediately with a gust of almost 40 knots. Still with one reef all round we were pinned over on our port side and held there for what seemed like minutes but was probably no more than seconds. There was nothing we could do as reducing sail in that state was not a practical proposition, so we hovered in the companionway to avoid the worst of the downpour. Throughout, the sea was strangely smooth, beaten flat by the rain, and the port side cockpit seat was full of water to the coaming, submerging one of the cockpit speakers and the Autohelm control panel. The standard Rustler 36 has no means of draining the port cockpit seat (the starboard seat drains via the locker lid apertures which are angled downwards), so a few years previously I’d added a drain tube to duct water from the seat into the cockpit foot well. Despite this it took several minutes for the water to clear and my fingers were crossed in the hope that there had been no leakage or damage to the instruments (I later discovered that they’d survived without any issues). Despite the drama, it wasn’t long before we were on our way again, unscathed, but with a prudent and probably belated second reef in place. Into Roscoff Our intention when we set off was to get to western Brittany as quickly as we could and the outline plan was to head for Camaret, stopping at L’Aberwrac’h if necessary to take a fair tide through the Chenal du Four. Just after midday on 18th May the tide turned against us again. By now we were about 4 hours NE of Roscoff. We re-calculated our ETA at Bloscon marina, Roscoff L’Aberwrac’h and it became clear that, in the prevailing conditions, it was going to take a lot longer than we’d hoped. Also Steve was not feeling great and it quickly became clear that we should head to Roscoff, have a good night’s sleep and 3 continue the next morning. The decision made, we altered course and arrived in heavy seas at 1700 BST. The new Bloscon marina is some distance out of the town centre, but easily accessed in all conditions, and we made it just in time to pay our dues and gain access to showers. After a meal on board we settled down for a well-earned early night in a marina showing few signs of activity. Onwards to Camaret We were up early the next morning which was still rather grey with wind forecast from NW- SW 4-5 with occasional rain. So it would still be a beat along the coast, but perhaps in slightly better conditions. We slipped at 0630 and by 0700 we were sailing around the Île de Batz with one reef all round, bringing back memories of my first long solo cruise in 2012, when I’d returned this way. We made good progress in fair tide along the coast, initially in company with two other yachts, a larger French vessel which stayed inshore and slowly drew away from us, and a British Ovni 44 which went slightly further offshore and quickly fell behind. It was an uneventful beat in conditions that suited Rosinis well and we were within sight of the massive granite tower of Ile Vierge lighthouse before the tide turned against us. It then took a long time in the fierce adverse tide to beat around the cardinal buoys that mark the treacherous reefs extending from the coast towards Libenter, the fairway buoy for L’Aberwrac’h. However, the positive side was that the tide would shortly slacken and turn again in our favour, giving us a clear run in fair tide through the Chenal du Four. At 1700 we made the decision to press on in westerly winds, influenced somewhat by the forecast for the following day which was for much more south in the wind. At 1825 in grey conditions, and with land only just visible, we tacked south for Le Four and by 1920 we were abeam the lighthouse and ready to start the helter-skelter ride south. Although the land was frequently shrouded in thick mist it stayed relatively clear at sea and we were able to pick out our marks without difficulty, followed by another yacht that appeared to have approached from the north as if it had come from the West Country, Scillies, or Ireland. At 2100, approaching last light, we reached Vieux Moines beacon and altered course for Camaret, making our way across the Le Four light tower approaches to Brest in darkness and varying visibility. The yacht following us lowered sails and motored, catching us and coming very close alongside until we warded him off with our big ‘steamer scarer’ torch shone first into our sails in case he thought we were also motoring, and then onto his helm. We later discovered that he was part of an Irish Cruising Club rally and probably thought we were one of his buddies. We eventually moored in Port du Notic, the inner marina at Camaret, at 2320 BST, almost exactly at low water, and with barely inches under the keel. The final few metres of our approach into the last remaining berth were assisted by a helpful cigar-puffing Frenchman from our neighbouring yacht. Port du Notic only has a few visitors’ berths but is well worth using if there’s space as it gives direct access to the shops, restaurants and bars on the sea front without a long walk along the sea wall from Port Vauban which I’d always used previously. Although the walk past the shells of old fishing boats is pleasant and well worth a stroll, it becomes tedious after 4 or 5 times. The shells of old fishing boats in Camaret - once We spent the whole of the next day (20th someone's pride and joy May) in Camaret relaxing, eating, drinking 4 and catching up with other crews in both marinas (the third marina, Port du Styvel is reserved for locals). Having now reached west Brittany we wanted to get around the corner onto the south Breton coast and start cruising in a more leisurely fashion. We also hoped to catch up with friends Neil and Shiv, also from Marchwood, who had set off several weeks before us heading to Holland in their Rival 32, Valerie. Somehow they’d ended up in Brittany and we now learned that they were in Audierne, weather bound, but only a few miles south of us. Through the Raz de Sein from Camaret to Loctudy With a forecast of S-SW 5-6 for the following day, we planned for a 0500 departure in order to reach the Raz de Sein at 1005 at slack water. This would allow an approach in fair tide, making it easier to judge speed and distance, and a foul tide on the far side of the Raz where there is much more sea room. However, I woke at 0330 and looked at an updated forecast which was for S-SW 6-7, so we went back to sleep until 0700. Once up we re-planned and decided to go for the next slack water at this critical tidal gate, which was at 1553. We slipped at 0915 and by 1000 we were tacking around the Pointe du Tacking around the Pointe de Toulinguet Toulinguet, just west of Camaret in F5/6 and poor visibility. Our aim was to be able to judge our timing to the Raz allowing for the fact that we were beating into a foul tide. We chose Basse Jaune buoy as our timing mark and needed to be there 30-45 minutes before slack water, ready to start our run. As we beat south, piloting carefully to avoid isolated rocks in poor visibility, it wasn’t looking at all promising and the weather was certainly living up to its forecast. However, we pressed on and arrived at our timing mark at 1430, with about 40 minutes to ‘kill’ before we could head on to the Raz. So we reached east for about 15 minutes under the shelter of the cliffs to our south and decided a second reef was needed as a 30 knot gust came through. As we reached back towards our timing mark to the west everything seemed to be going well and the sail plan was perfect, but it was not to stay like that. Just as we approached Basse Jaune the wind dropped to 10 knots and came round to the west, leaving us bouncing around in a heavy Steve on the helm as we beat south against the tide to the Raz de Sein sea and putting up more sail to maintain speed. In the end it was the combination of additional sail area and some drive from the engine that got us through on time: something of a let-down bearing in mind the conditions only an hour

Through the Raz de Sein 5 earlier. Ironically, Steve had obtained a wind speed forecast for slack water at the Raz de Sein from Pocket Grib as we set off from Camaret and we hadn’t believed it when it said 12 knots from the west. It had proved to be almost exactly right! Eventually we ended up motoring right across Audierne Bay, around Penmarc’h and all the way to Loctudy where we arrived at 2310. Once more it was exactly low water and we had some interesting pilotage in the Pont L’Abbé River as we approached the marina in pitch darkness trying to dodge sand banks. As we turned into the marina we spotted Valerie moored at the end of our pontoon: we’d finally caught up with Neil and Shiv. We spent the morning in Loctudy, having first exchanged plans with our Marchwood friends who moved on shortly after (nothing to do with our arrival we hope). Soon after we got ashore it started pouring with rain so we took shelter in a bar, initially with a coffee each, but

Vocal Royalist fishermen……

....in very wet Loctudy.

Loctudy fishing port…..

it quickly became clear we were going to be there for a while if we were to avoid getting very wet, so we ordered some beers and joined some local fishermen at the bar, one of whom distinguished himself by proclaiming his undying love for our Queen. Vive la République! Once the rain eased a little we made our way to a nearby creperie for lunch, then headed back ..... and the Pont L'Abbé River. on board, scrounging en route in the fish docks for wooden off-cuts from which to fashion some small wedges to jam between the tiller and the rudder stock where some movement was becoming evident. Dash to Port la Forêt Our earlier plan had been to head to the Îles de Glenans and then back into Port la Forêt, but in the conditions we decided to go straight to Port la Forêt. As we departed we heard that Neil and Shiv, initially bound for Île de Groix had also gone there. We slipped at 1610 and had a fast reach under genoa alone in a fresh F5 across the bay, past Benodet and the Odet River, then motored the final few miles past Concarneau. By 1845 we were moored in the large marina at Port la Forêt alongside an almost new Grand Soleil 54, all other spaces being taken. After an excellent salad evening meal prepared by Steve, Neil and Shiv joined MYC gathering - drinks on board with Neil and Shiv 6 us for drinks on board in the evening sun. However it became chilly as soon as the sun disappeared and it wasn’t long before we moved below into the warmth. The next morning (Monday 23rd May) we wandered through the forest along the shore of the very picturesque creek to the nearby village to buy provisions and explore. Port la Forêt requires a slight detour for vessels heading east along the coast, but is well worth it. The marina is excellent, the staff very friendly, it was only half the price of similar facilities in UK, and the surrounding area is lovely. Towards Belle Île Once back to Rosinis at 1015 we slipped and hoisted the genoa in a light NW wind The creek and village north of Port la Forêt marina as we sailed slowly back past Concarneau. Our destination was Belle Île. Gradually the wind picked up and by the time we were past Le Dragon beacon and back into open water we were bowling along at over 6 knots in a WNW 5, still under genoa alone. Despite the bright sunshine it stayed cold. By mid-afternoon we were SW of Île de Groix and called Valerie, who’d left while we’d been ashore, to see whether they’d reached Port Tudy, the main town on the island. Unfortunately the island blocked our VHF signal and we only managed a very distorted and brief conversation. In the meantime Steve spotted a couple of dolphins alongside us and within another hour or so we could see Belle Île ahead of us. There are three options for over-nighting in Belle Île: Sauzon, described in the pilot as ‘delightful’; Le Palais, the main ferry port, which we were advised to avoid; and Ster Wenn, an idyllic creek on the south side, but needing settled weather. We opted for Sauzon, and by 1900 we were on fore and aft moorings just inside the breakwaters, having executed a model pick-up of the buoys in an awkward breeze (unlike the next yacht to arrive, which needed considerable assistance Approaching Belle Île

Beers in the evening sun by the Hotel du Phare Sauzon, Belle Ile 7 from the harbour launch). Sometimes it feels good to gloat! Within 20 minutes we had the dinghy inflated and headed ashore, mooring in the inner harbour, much of which dries at low water. The whole place was exactly as the pilot described it – delightful – and we had a leisurely beer or two in the evening sun, sitting on the harbour wall by the lighthouse, then a superb meal at a small bistro just above the dinghy landing. We’d been away a week, had covered a lot of ground, and were now very much in cruising mode, although we still needed to keep moving if we were to make it to La Rochelle in time for Steve’s flight home at the end of our second week. Belle Île to Île de Noirmoutier We’d planned to be up early and leave directly for St Nazaire, some 46nm away, where we hoped to catch up on some of the military history of the area. In particular, the pilot suggested it was possible to lock in and moor alongside the World War II U-Boat pens. It sounded like an opportunity not to be missed. In the event we were up even earlier than anticipated, woken by a swell from the freshening NE wind blowing into the harbour. We decided to go and by 0540, just after a perfect sunrise, we had slipped, hoisting sail as we left the harbour. It was A perfect sunrise in Sauzon no surprise to see a couple of other boats also leaving. Soon we were beating hard into over 20 knots of wind from the east – exactly the direction in which we needed to head. To add insult to our early start, we soon found ourselves pushing a much stronger than expected foul tide. In consequence it took a while to make our way east, tacking first towards Quiberon, dodging ferries scurrying back and forth to Le Palais, and then back towards the eastern tip of the island, which seemed to take ages to clear. We then had a tough few hours beating directly into the wind to the south of the low- lying islands of Houat and Hoëdic. Eventually the wind dropped significantly and we started motoring towards the Loire, dodging shoal patches and anchored ships. It was taking much longer than we’d expected and as we approached Pornichet, on the north bank of the Loire we realised how little time we would actually have in St Nazaire. We also began to wonder whether the mooring facilities mentioned in the pilot were actually available: our almanac suggested they may be closed for refurbishment and that we could face a bare pontoon at the foot of a dock wall, with few facilities. This was not a particularly attractive option and we soon decided to alter course for L’Haubaudière at the north-west tip of Île de Noirmoutier. After a rather frustrating day it was a fast fetch on our new course and by 1830 we were moored in the harbour and headed ashore for crepes for supper. It was grey and cold and had been one of our less pleasant days. The next morning was much better – bright and sunny – and reminded us what a difference the weather makes to impressions of a place. L’Haubaudière has a much more ‘south of France’ feel to it than any of the places we’d been to so far, with its white-walled houses and terracotta roof tiles. There was also some quite significant boat building going on bearing in L'Haubaudière in the morning sun mind its size and isolated position. 8 Island hopping to Île de Yeu After a wander ashore we slipped at 1130 and headed west through the Chenal de la Grise and into the Chausee des Boeufs, with breakers clearly visible on the submerged rock plateau to our south. At last we had a combination of good breeze, sun, and blue sky and it was a relaxing and very pleasant sail south to Port Joinville, the main town on Île de Yeu. The conditions were ideal for trialling the electric Autohelm in combination with the Monitor windvane steering gear, something I’d be dabbling with for a while. This Alfie the Autohelm and Millie the Monitor arrangement allows the electronics of the working together Autohelm, interfaced with the chart plotter, to steer a compass course using the servo effect of the Monitor paddle to apply course corrections to the tiller. The result is significantly reduced power consumption by the Autohelm, which simply replaces the windvane, and the ability to steer by compass rather than by wind direction. Of course this arrangement is only really necessary in heavy weather, when the Rustler helm can place heavy demands on the Autohelm. The expensive Autohelm ram is also very exposed when mounted on the pushpit and connected to a stub vane in the Monitor, so whether I’d be prepared to risk it there in heavy weather is a different matter. But at least I now know the concept works under both power and sail, and the stub vane is the correct length. We had lunch in the cockpit today – a first for this cruise – and by 1705 were moored on the reception pontoon in Port Joinville. Soon after we headed into town for an excellent meal of sardines followed by hake and chips, all locally caught. Port Joinville, Île de Yeu To St Martin de Ré The following morning (Thursday 26th May) we were up early as we wanted to try and stop at Île de Ré rather than head directly for La Rochelle. Steve’s flight had originally been booked for today, but he also had an option to delay it by one day, which he’d now done, giving us time to make one more stop. I managed to persuade a local baker, not yet open for business, that our need for one of his loaves was urgent and then dashed back to the marina and we were on our way by 0600 in flat calm conditions. It looked as if it would be a very hot day with more sun and clear skies, but it gradually clouded over, thunder flies swarmed all over Rosinis, and it showed all the signs of a torrential downpour. Fortunately we had little more than a shower and by 0950 we could see Les Barges lighthouse marking Les Sables d’Olonne on the port bow. The water shoaled as we entered the Pertuis Breton, the broad shallow channel north of Île de Ré, between the island and the mainland and we spent a period dodging fishing boats. Although motoring through the day was rather tedious, we timed it perfectly to creep slowly into St Martin de Ré on the gradually rising tide, watching a couple of yachts ahead of us testing the depth tentatively on our behalf. St Martin is an exquisite fortified port, part of a chain of fortifications constructed by Vauban in the late 17th century to protect the strategic military port of Rochefort, further south. Entering the harbour is like sailing into the flooded moat of a huge castle, with a waiting 9 St Martin de Ré Well worth a visit, but probably not in the tourist season

On the waiting pontoon

Locking in to the citadel

Moored inside

The inevitable tourist street

....and quieter back streets

Outer harbour Inner harbour and entrance

Climbing the church tower

Rooftop view towards the harbour

10 pontoon just inside the walls, prior to a lock giving access to the inner citadel. The wait for the lock to open allowed a quick recce of the inner basin where space is tight, and the chance for an ice cream. We were soon moored within the citadel in what would have passed readily for a film set, pleased it was not high season, when yachts are apparently jammed from wall to wall across the tiny harbour. We had a stroll in the weak sunshine and climbed the church tower for a superb view over the town and much of the southern part of the island, before returning for a glass of wine and tapas on the island in the centre of the harbour forming the heart of the fortified town. We tried to pretend it was warm, but failed and headed back on board for supper. And finally to La Rochelle Friday 27th May would be our last day together as Steve’s flight was that evening from La Rochelle. After a coffee at the local boulangerie we slipped at 0800, having had to ask a French yacht that had moored outside us late in the evening to move, which they did, and very graciously. It was another cool, cloudy, and windless day as we motored towards the elegant Île de Ré bridge, which we passed underneath at 0915. We then hugged the shore as we turned to port, passing close to the commercial port of La Pallice, and then into the La Rochelle approach channel. Our Passing under the Île de Ré bridge hope had been that we would be able to pass between the magnificent twin towers which guard the entrance to the Vieux Port and moor within, but closer inspection of the pilot and almanac suggested it would be better to stay in the collosal Les Minimes marina (8000+ berths) on the starboard side of the approach. This proved to be the correct decision as the old port is noisy, surrounded by the town centre, and has few facilities (none that we could find when we explored on foot later). Les Minimes, on the other hand, had a reputation for poor service, but we were looked after very well in a berth next to the Capitainerie control tower, which we reached at 1025, and the facilities were excellent. I had hoped to fuel up on the way in, but the marina had been extended and our plan didn’t reflect the new position of the fuel point. It would have been obvious if we’d been looking in the right place, but we weren’t and missed it. We then had a crazy rush to catch the next water taxi into the town centre, which is otherwise a 30-40 minute walk. We just missed it, having been informed that it departed from one pontoon, only to find that it left from somewhere else. In such a huge marina it was not at all obvious. Nonetheless, we still had time to explore La Rochelle for a couple of hours, including lunch, before we needed The twin towers guarding La Rochelle's Vieux Port: to head back so Steve could take his taxi to St Nicholas on the right and La Chaine the airport. We’d covered 590 nm together in 11 days, but from 1425 I was solo again.

11 Return to UK (28th May to 11th June 2016) I spent the afternoon washing clothes and giving Rosinis a good check over. I found a winch pawl spring in the cockpit, and knew I’d dropped one during re-fit that I hadn’t been able to find. Was this it, or had another mysteriously made its way out of a winch? With 6 winches around the cockpit it wasn’t a trivial job to strip them all to check, but I reasoned that I couldn’t afford not to. It turned out that all the springs were in place, but my mind was also at rest, which was every bit as important for a solo return trip. As it got dark I warped Rosinis across the corner of the pontoon to fill the water tank, my hose being just too short. All I needed now were fresh provisions and fuel.

La Rochelle - the old town I woke early the next morning for some reason, but used the opportunity to fuel up while the self-service fuel berth was free. There had been reports of a tanker drivers’ strike in France and I was keen to top up in case fuel became scarce. It was also a Saturday morning and I could just imagine the length of the fuel queue in a marina this size at peak times. I then decided to head ashore for a run, looking for a supermarket and exploring the old port. The area around the marina was full of high tech businesses, but had few shops so I eventually made do in the small marina grocery. Back on board, and now in shorts and T-shirt weather for almost the first time, I decided to have lunch on board then take the water taxi back into town. The good weather wasn’t to last and by the time I was on the taxi an ominous dark bank of cloud had appeared, followed by a monumental downpour. Fortunately I had just reached shelter, but the deluge had stall holders in the market frantically trying to keep order in the strong gusts. After an hour or so the rain eased and I was able to see more of a very picturesque old town, and visit the Tour de la Chaine and Tour du Lanterne (the old lighthouse), although the roofs were closed due to the gusty wind. La Rochelle to St Gilles Croix de Vie Having seen La Rochelle I was now keen to be on my way and after motoring down the approach channel directly into a WNW 4-5, I was soon able to bear away around La Pallice and hoist a reefed main and full genoa. By just before 1000 we (that’s the Royal ‘we’ – ie me, and Rosinis of course) were heading north under the Île de Ré bridge before beating north west up the Pertuis Breton at between 5.5 and 6 knots. Annoyingly the wind was from exactly where I wanted to go, so we were going to be on the wind all day. By 1400 we were to the north of the NW tip of Île de Ré and having a great sail, albeit in murky conditions and heavy showers. It took until 1930 before we finally passed Les Barges lighthouse off Les Sables d’Olonnes and we then had a fast beat to the north towards St Gilles Croix de Vie. The pilot advised entry by 0120 via a long narrow fairway with limited depth and at one stage I didn’t think I would be there in time, so had considered sailing on

12 through the night. However, we made good progress and by 2320 we were moored on the visitors’ pontoon. It was raining heavily and I had got thoroughly soaked as I dropped sails and prepared warps and fenders. Unable to sleep immediately I spent some time passage planning for the next day – aiming either for Pornichet 45nm away, or Crouesty which, at 70nm, is at the entrance to the Gulf du Morbihan. St Gilles to the Morbihan It rained heavily all night and was still St Gilles Croix de Vie - heading out the following drizzling slightly as I made my way to the morning Capitainerie the following morning before heading into town. St Gilles was not shown off at its best in the grey, wet weather and I could see no reason to stay very long, so I had a coffee ashore and was on my way again by 1130. The chart below indicates my return route from La Rochelle back to Marchwood.

13 With only 10-12 knots of wind, still bang on the nose, it was full sail, but I was only able to make just under 5 knots with the waves continually slowing us down. Before long the sun came out, but the visibility remained poor. Soon the horizon was empty and we could have been anywhere. Meanwhile I continued to dry my kit out down below following the previous night’s soaking. My initial intention was to maintain a WSW course from St Gilles, passing south of Île de Yeu, and then tack north up the west side of the island. But a closer look at the tidal streams and the awkward wave direction soon made me change my mind, and before long I was on a port tack and lifted to make good a course of 330, passing east of Île de Yeu – just what I needed. By 1700 the island was lost astern and an hour later I could see the low lying Île de Noirmoutier to starboard. I was hoping to clear the reef at its NW end (Les Boeufs) on the same tack and continue across the Loire approach channel, but I wasn’t helped by a wind shift and was forced to tack onto starboard, initially heading just south of west. However, luck was now with me as visibility improved and we were gradually lifted throughout the evening by almost 45o as the wind veered to the north, accompanied by a magnificent sunset. My new course allowed me to miss several reefs north of the Loire approaches before tacking back in the early hours to pass south of Hoëdic island. Meanwhile the wind had suddenly increased and, after a whole day of full sail, I was quickly back to 1 reef all round. I continued to catnap through the night as we made our way around the east end of Hoëdic and into Quiberon Bay, passing north of Houat and then tacking north again. By 0700 I’d breakfasted and was ready for some sleep once moored. By 0815 I was in Port du Crouesty, pleased to have been able to manoeuvre successfully in a tight corner of one of the many basins and come alongside an X-332, bringing back some racing memories from the past. I slept well until early afternoon and then walked a couple of miles to a supermarket to top up on fresh provisions. Port du Crouesty is like a massive marina village with many small shops, cafes and bars around the water front, but all a bit concrete. In the Capitainerie I discovered from an overheard conversation that fuel was being rationed to 50l per yacht because of shortages created by the In a tight corner in Port du Crouesty tanker drivers’ strike. Fortunately I had hardly used any fuel since La Rochelle, so this wasn’t a problem for me, but there were some long faces elsewhere. On my return to Rosinis I had a few small jobs to complete including detailed pilotage planning for the next day’s foray into the Morbihan. The day had become hot and breezy, but I was tired and was asleep again by 2100. Exploring the Gulf du Morbihan For many years the Morbihan had been on my list of ‘must visit’ sailing destinations. This vast inland sea comprises dozens of islands divided by channels with extremely fast tidal streams: a little like an over-sized Poole harbour, but with rocks to greet the misplaced navigator, instead of mud, hence my desire to sort pilotage out in advance. On 1st June it was critical to be off Port Navalo lighthouse at slack low water just after 0900 to take the new flood tide into the Morbihan. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect or what it would be like trying to pilot myself solo in fast streams and initially, at least, at low water. As it happened, I had time to hover off the entrance and identify the initial transit and key 14 beacons through my binoculars so, once committed, at least I was familiar with the first part of the wild water ride. As often happens, the hype in the pilot, whilst to be respected, didn’t quite match up to expectations and I found I had more than enough time to pilot Rosinis safely and enjoy the surrounding and swiftly changing vista. However, it all needed to be done from the cockpit with a well-marked chart and binoculars and hand bearing compass at the ready: no time for dashing down to the chart table, or for fixes. As it was still early in the season and mid-week, there weren’t too many other boats about and the only anxious

Fast streams between the islands in the Morbihan

moment was when depth under the keel dropped to under a metre when I turned slightly too sharply around Creizic Nord buoy, but this was quickly corrected. As we passed the Pointe du Toulindag narrows and turned to starboard I was tempted to stop at the mid- stream pontoon off Locmiquel, but decided to stick with my plan and continue to Pointe d’Arradon where I managed to find a mooring by 1020. Timings and pilotage had been almost perfect and the mooring was in 9m of water despite an approach over a much shallower bank.

Pilotage in the Gulf du Morbihan 15 Approaching Arradon

After a few minutes relaxing in the cockpit watching the world go by I put the dinghy over the side and headed ashore, first to the Capitainerie, then through leafy lanes to the nearby village of Arradon, then around the headland and back on board. Very pleasant. Later in the afternoon I slipped the mooring with the dinghy in tow and motored lazily down the channel on the east side of Île aux Moines, aiming for an overnight anchorage in the Anse de Penhap, a bay at the SE corner of the island, which would hopefully be out of the worst of the tidal stream. Half way down the channel I passed a couple of beautifully maintained wooden 505 dinghies having a friendly race with one another, in stark contrast to the traditional Sinagot working boat, local to the area, that followed shortly after.

Traditional Sinagot working boat

Within an hour I was at my destination and found a mooring that appeared to be in good condition. I was soon ashore and wandered around for nearly two hours without seeing anyone. The island is mostly a nature reserve but there are a number of holiday homes which were still closed up, presumably from the winter.

Rosinis through the trees, moored off Île aux Moines The following morning tides were just as critical to ensure a safe departure and I was up at 0400, while it was still dark, so I could slip the mooring as soon as there was enough light to see the mostly unlit channel markers. By 0510 we were on our way, and 40 minutes later we were passing Port Navalo lighthouse again, ready to hoist sail and head across Quiberon Bay.

16 Morbihan to Île de Groix It was a relatively gentle, short reach across to the Passage de la Teignouse which is one of a number of well-marked routes through the extensive reefs between the Quiberon peninsula and the island of Houat. It was an easy sail through with the wind still just forward of the beam, and by 0815 we were able to alter course for Île de Groix, coming hard on the wind. A larger Belgian yacht had followed me through under power, and then hoisted sail as if he was desperate to get ahead of me before eventually cutting his engine. However, there’s nothing like a bit of friendly rivalry and I enjoyed over-hauling him progressively over the next 90 minutes, passing him just a few metres to windward: very satisfying! The close fetch continued until we were just short of Île de Groix, when the wind dropped completely and I motored the last couple of miles into Port Tudy, arriving at 1245.

Port Tudy - the bustling little port of Île de Groix Saint Tudy - the island's main village As I turned into the inner harbour it was immediately clear that it was packed, but the harbour master seemed convinced that she could find me a berth if I waited a few minutes. Sure enough, I was invited to take a berth vacated by a departing yacht, only to then be told that Rosinis was too long to fit. I was then directed to the outer harbour to moor on fore and aft buoys, but did at least have the pick of position, with only one other yacht there at that point. It later became very busy there also with rafting required, but overall it was better in the outer harbour than it would have been squeezed into the inner harbour. There is also an inner basin with lock-controlled access, but tide times would have delayed my departure significantly the following day so that wasn’t really an option. It was now a beautiful hot day and in the heat of the afternoon I explored ashore. I then lazed in the cockpit, watching the comings and goings of yachts and the ferry from Lorient, which came alarmingly close to my mooring as it lowered its ramp onto the stone slipway to discharge cars and foot passengers. Île de Groix is a lovely island and I would like to have explored more, but I also needed to keep moving and could now see an opportunity, given the stable weather conditions, to visit the Îles de Glénans, which we’d missed on our outbound trip. Île de Groix to the Glénans After a further wander ashore the following morning (now 3rd June) I left Port Tudy at 0900, reaching to the northwest and then eventually goose-winging in the light breeze until the wind dropped completely. I wanted calm conditions to visit the Glénans, so couldn’t really complain. Under engine we approached Île de Penfret from the east and made our way around the northern tip into the large sound on its western side. It was almost high water when I arrived at 1420, so I anchored a long way out on sand in 7m of water, allowing for the large fall in tidal height. It was serene. I took the dinghy shore and explored Penfret, which is the eastern-most island in this archipelago of 9 main islands and over a dozen smaller islets and rocky outcrops. None of them are more than a few metres high, but there are a few buildings on the larger islands, and a couple of restaurants on St Nicholas. 17 Anchored off Penfret, Îles de Glénans Penfret lighthouse - positioned (Rosinis is beyond and to the right of the more on the highest point of the obvious anchored yacht) archipelago

The waters are crystal clear and by the time I returned on board the sandy seabed was clearly visible. Looking towards the main anchorages around St Nicholas I thought I was seeing the poles of oyster beds, but then realised they were masts, dozens of them, and was glad I’d chosen to anchor where I had. It was rewarding to have made it here at last. Via the Raz de Sein to Île de Ouessant (Ushant) In the morning I woke in time to get into deep water before low tide when it would have been a struggle to find sufficient depth to get out. I then motored slowly around the north of the islands taking a good look at all the other approaches and anchorages suggested in the pilot. We then continued in flat calm across to Penmarc’h, which allowed a good opportunity to take a close look at the rocky approaches to Lesconil, Le Guilvenic and St Guénolé, before heading across to Audierne. The approaches to Audierne are shallow to the extent that it isn’t possible for most yachts heading north through the Raz de Sein to leave at the time required to reach the critical tidal gate at slack tide. Not wanting to stay longer than necessary, I anchored at St Evette, a classic passage anchorage just to the south of the town. Not having stopped here in the past, I took the dinghy ashore to explore and quickly found that, short of walking round to Audierne, there’s virtually nothing there. The next morning I weighed anchor at 0845 and headed along the coast to the Raz de Sein accompanied by 7 other yachts, all motoring in flat calm and poor visibility. En route I’d been thinking about where to go and quickly realised that the conditions were ideal to explore Île de Ouessant (Ushant). I’d sailed past many times but had either been on passage and unwilling to stop or, more often, in too much wind for a safe approach to this exposed island. Today was ideal, so as soon as I was through the Raz (not exciting at all in calm conditions) I shaped a course to pass between Île de Sein and the rocky outcrop of Tevennec and on towards the western extremity of Ushant. Soon there was nothing to see in the murky conditions, but it turned out to be an ideal opportunity for radar practice, comparing MARPA targets with AIS targets to pass the time. By lunchtime I had spotted the Pierres Noires beacon at the SW extremity of the line of rocky islets running from Pte Ste Mathieu on the mainland towards Ushant. Faintly, in the distance, I could just make out the mainland itself. Scanning with the binoculars I soon made out Le Stiff, the high radar tower monitoring the Ushant TSS, with its unmistakeable profile, and shortly after I could see Créac’h, La Jument and, eventually, Nividic light houses – all famous names in the maritime history of this brutally exposed coast. Of interest, La Jument is the lighthouse featured in the popular photo of a massive wave about

18 to break over a granite light tower while the keeper stands nonchalantly in the doorway on the lee side. As if to jolt me back to reality a lone porpoise surfaced several times about 30m to port as the tide swept us rapidly north. Soon we were able to turn onto the approach transit for Lampaul and it then became evident how strong the tide really was, requiring a huge ‘aim off’ to stay

La Jument lighthouse, with Le Stiff radar tower and Lampaul church spire in the distance to its left on transit until well into the bay. But once out of the tidal stream it was a very peaceful motor into a most beautiful spot where I picked Lampaul village from the moorings up one of many visitors moorings at 1530. As it was Sunday and I expected the village to be largely closed, I stayed on board enjoying the sunshine in the cockpit as the haze eventually lifted. In the late afternoon a light NE breeze filled in and it became clear that Rosinis’ stern would swing onto an adjacent mooring buoy, so I moved before settling down for the night. Ushant In the morning I was up and ashore reasonably early, intent on seeing as much of the island as I could, but I started with an obligatory pain au chocolate and coffee at the village boulangerie. I then set off towards the western end of the island. What a wonderful place: birds singing, lambs baaing, goats grazing, beautifully natural meadows sprinkled with wild flowers, narrow lanes with virtually no

Lampaul's tiny drying harbour vehicles, all topped off with a lovely clear day. Ushant certainly wasn’t the barren, grey, rocky place I’d imagined, although I could also envisage what it must be like in a westerly storm. I passed a small cottage museum, still closed, and examples of local windmills, then on to the very impressive Creac’h lighthouse, the two amazingly bright beams of which had lit up the sky every 10 seconds throughout Windmill in the meadows

19 the night. I later learned that it’s one of the most powerful in the world. Close by is a ruined tower where an underwater bell had been used as a position finding aid in fog many decades before, working on the principle of a ‘sonic running fix’. Beneath the lighthouse is a large museum of lighthouses and buoys, but it was also closed. I wasn’t unduly concerned as I

The very impressive Creac'h lighthouse much preferred to be outside on such a wonderful day. Next I made my way towards Nividic lighthouse, marking the NW extremity of the entrance to the Baie de Lampaul (corresponding to La Jument

Shingle beach of gargantuan proportions

at the SW). Nividic has some rather strange looking towers between it and the shore which once provided access via a cableway: not for the feint-hearted, particularly in a blow! On my way there I found myself walking alongside a colossal bank of huge boulders which towered

Nividic lighthouse (left) with its eerie cableway supports above me. It was only when I clambered to the top that I realised I’d scaled a ‘shingle bank’ of gigantic proportions at the head of a beach. It certainly brought home the incredible power of the sea that had

A coastline to respect pitched these rocks into place and smoothed them over centuries. Only a few hours had passed by the time I wandered back along a cliff-top path into Lampaul for a pre-lunch beer in a very comfortable wicker armchair outside a hotel in the centre of the village, but it seemed I wasn't expecting to find these on the walk back much longer. Ushant is an amazing place, 20 only accessible when the conditions are just right, and I was delighted to have had the chance to explore. It was long overdue and the island is definitely on my list of places to return to.

A challenge to get back into the dinghy

Lampaul to L’Aberwrac’h Early in the afternoon I hoisted the dinghy back on deck and slipped, bound for L’Aberwrac’h. Despite the calm conditions – I was motoring – there were still heavy overfalls as I made my way with the tide via the north coast of Ushant. Gradually it became more and more hazy and by late afternoon the visibility was down to 3.5 nm, when I lost sight of Le Stiff radar tower astern. Shortly afterwards I picked up the feint smudge of the mainland coast ahead of me and identified Le Four lighthouse as I was swept northeast by the tide. By the time I reached Libenter buoy the visibility was down to 1.5nm, but I was almost at my destination. By 1840 I was moored in the marina in L’Aberwrac’h having been met by Neil and Shiv who not only took my mooring lines but had earlier extended an invitation to supper on board Valerie. It wasn’t long before we having a very convivial evening exchanging stories of our respective travels since we’d parted Le Stiff radar tower (left) and lighthouse from the murk off Ushant company in Port La Forêt a fortnight before. Across the Channel in thick fog I woke to find the river enveloped in thick fog, but it soon burned off leaving just a few signs of poor visibility out to sea. After we’d all headed ashore for coffee and a croissant, Neil and Shiv departed to head east along the coast while I went for a walk, refuelled and caught up on emails.

L'Aberwrac'h in the fog...... and a couple of hours later

21 I finally set off at 1500 and within minutes had hit a very thick bank of fog which meant buoy-hopping as I crept slowly out of the river. The wise thing to have done would have been to turn around, but I later learned that the fog lasted for more than a week, so I’m glad I didn’t. As I reached Libenter and turned north for open water I heard a large ship’s horn quite close to me and dashed to the AIS to find it was a French buoyage maintenance vessel that I’d seen previously in the river. Knowing what it looked like was helpful in deciding how to react when its profile emerged at no more than two cables distance, moving extremely slowly. As soon as I was clear I set a course of 040 for the NW corner of the Casquets TSS, switched the radar on, put the reflector up and set the AIS on watch. I could see almost nothing with the naked eye apart from about 2 swell lengths in any direction. The NW Brittany coast...... in thick fog With the main up we motored on through the rest of the afternoon and into the night. It was wet and horrible on deck and I stayed below where at least technology gave me the ability to see what was around me. I slept as much as I could in 10 minute bursts. Just after 0100 I went on deck and realised I could see stars clearly above me, but still nothing horizontally. Within 10 minutes I could just about make out a horizon, but was still unable to see a ship that was less than 3nm away. By 0145 it was completely clear and we maintained our course, aiming to avoid the up-Channel traffic lane until daylight. This worked well and between 0600 and 1000 we crossed the traffic with just some minor course alterations en route, and set a course for Weymouth. In the early afternoon I heard a warship asking other shipping to keep clear of a temporary missile live firing range which seemed to be across my path. I called the warship and was requested to head NW until clear of a latitude well into Lyme Bay: not exactly helpful given my destination. I decided to head into Brixham instead, carrying the tide rather than trying to fight it. By 1600 a light breeze had filled in and we were sailing again: a fast beat in very flat seas, and just about in the right direction. By 2000 I was moored in Brixham marina and horrified at having to pay just under £40 for one night which didn’t even include wifi (an additional £5). This was a stark reminder of why I don’t normally use marinas in UK, and also a huge contrast with France where I’d used marinas with much better facilities at less than half the cost (in Port la Forêt and Port Joinville). Approaching Brixham marina Brixham to Warbarrow Bay I wanted to try and round Portland before the tide turned against me at 1400 the next day, so was up early and away by 0600, setting sail in a light easterly breeze, not far off the course I needed, and in clear conditions. Whilst checking charts down below I heard a very deep fog horn – a surprise given the conditions – and went on deck to see a thick bank of fog ahead. The radar showed something large in front of me and it wasn’t long before I spotted a container ship moving slowly towards me, presumably into one of the Torbay anchorages. It was now a good breeze and within a few minutes I was having the unusual experience of sailing fast in almost no visibility. I’d always been reluctant to use the radar for long unless the engine was running, for power management reasons, but my recently

22 installed battery management system allowed me to know the precise battery state, so I was able to use a combination of radar and AIS with confidence. When the fog lifted after a couple of hours it was good to scan the horizon and actually see the targets I’d been tracking electronically. We held our course until we were 2-3 miles short of Chesil Beach, just to the north of Portland, before tacking south and motoring hard in a vain attempt to make the last of the flood tide around the Bill.

More fog as we sail fast across Lyme Bay

Instead it was slow plod in failing wind, but by early evening we were at East Shambles buoy and the wind had filled in again. It was then a great evening sail and I decided to head to Warbarrow Bay, anchoring just north of Warbarrow Tout at last light. During the afternoon I’d had a call from Eleanor, our youngest daughter, to tell me she’d passed her second year at medical school. I was so pleased for her, particularly knowing how hard she’d worked, and suddenly it felt as if it was Warbarrow Bay time to get home. Back to the Solent I weighed anchor at 0820 having spoken first to Lulworth Range Control and headed east, the beautiful Jurassic Coast resplendent in the morning sunshine. An hour later I was clear of the DZ and shortly afterwards we rounded St Albans Head close inshore. It was then a fast tack offshore before heading back towards Anvil Point, initially on a course of 030, but gradually being lifted onto 090 which put me nicely on course for the Needles Channel. We had a fast sail to Hurst Castle, but the wind then died and it was much slower to Newtown River where I decided to stop for the final night before returning to Marchwood. In the evening my friend John Foster came over from Lymington and we enjoyed supper in the cockpit in Back on home ground the warmth of the evening sun: a fitting end to another excellent cruise.

23 Cruise statistics Days on board 27 Total cruise mileage 1201 nm Total solo mileage 611 nm Total engine hours 120 Nights at sea 7 Nights alongside 11 Nights on moorings 5 Nights at anchor 3