Sunday 28 April 2013

Into the Morbihan

I should think so, too
Salt gardens of the Guerande peninsula

We made a reasonably early start from Turballe yesterday, fully watered, fuelled and provisioned. The forecast suggested favourable winds in the morning, becoming a bit wild in the afternoon, with the possibility of squalls.

Conditions were pretty fair to begin with, though the quite shallow waters were still fairly agitated from the previous day's strong winds, which had left a punishing short, steep chop to batter into.

After a couple of hours, though, the wind became erratic, leaving us under-powered in the lulls but unwilling to make more sail due to the frequent gusts. Progress slowed to the point where we would be hard-pressed to make our appointment with the tide at the other end.

The Gulf of Morbihan (pronounced Morbeeyawn) has wide renown as a cruising ground and also for its strong tidal streams, beginning at the narrow entrance and washing through the channels between the islands inside. The universal advice is, 'time your first visit to avoid spring tide'.

4 miles from the entrance:
Let's see here... get out the checklist.
Spring tide... *check*
Slightly too late to catch the start of the flood (HW-4, oddly)... *check*
Vicious looking squall approaching... *check*
OK, let's do it!

Squall to starboard
Squall to port

Moments later the squall struck with full force. Winds over 30kts with the full mainsail up made swiftly heaving to the only option to keep everything in one piece. No sooner done than on came the hail, which pelted down for a good 10 minutes, covering everything liberally with ice. In the midst of this a flash and an almighty clap of thunder, which left the wind instrument temporarily disabled.

Ice on deck not off the Horn

Ten minutes later, it was past and we were pegging it for the entrance. It was about half an hour later than planned, but a current of between 3 and 5 knots was already running, sweeping us in against the freshening wind. Still, with a careful eye on the transits, a pre-planned list of courses and distances, the chart in the cockpit and an occasional glance at the plot on the laptop down below, it was no big deal. The water was very agitated in places, with massive upwellings, eddies and rips, but it was actually rather fun.

We were slightly disappointed to fid that the anchorages marked on the chart have all been stuffed with moorings, but it is still beautiful and well sheltered and we were very happy to get the anchor down off the Ile d'Arz. Tired though, and as the wind howled impotently at us, we ate and then slept 10 or 11 hours.

View from Ile d'Arz towards Ile aux Moines

Much nicer today. We're taking it fairly easy. May get ashore in the canoe later.

The church on Arz

Friday 26 April 2013

Gironde to Brittany


It was a busy week or so we had before the wrench of leaving our good friends in Mortagne. The fine weather was very welcome from a boat prep standpoint and the work was enjoyable, though the shadow of imminent departure after an enjoyable 8 months (!) hung over us the while.

The unexpected job: rebuilding the mainsheet cleat
Zoroette, the Chat, must have had a bit of a shock the next time she came along the pontoon to look for us...

The final sleepover
On the Sunday, we took Fettler out into the estuaire for a couple of hours, as a mini shake-down, just to see that all was well. The last night was spent outside the lock for easier departure and to gradually tear ourselves away a bit. The soft mud situation was very reminiscent of conditions in our home port of Granton. What we could see of the hull revealed surprisingly little fouling.

Granton-style berthing on the eve of departure
The next stage of easing ourselves back into sea-going mode was a very pleasant sail down the estuaire, where we anchored very near the same spot occupied on arrival last year. After a slightly rolly night there we hauled up the anchor and got under way at 0530 to catch the ebb out of the Gironde and out to sea.

The mouth of the Gironde can be perilous as it is rather shallow and very subject to the Atlantic swell rolling into Biscay. Any swell will break on the ebb tide and on the shoals (one aptly named 'la Mauvaise') to either side of the channel and so, even on a rather peaceful Biscay morning we found the conditions surprisingly violent on the way out. It wasn't until we were well clear of the entrance and in depths approaching 25m that conditions settled down to something more comfortable. Only a precautionary anti-seasickness pill swallowed the night before allowed us to keep our breakfast, I'm certain. That was when we discovered that the old Stowe tiller pilot had peacefully expired over the winter, meaning that all steering while under power now has to be done by hand.

There was precious little wind and the day was mainly motor sailing, but there was plenty of wildlife about. A distant sighting of dolphins hunting, the usual range of sea birds (gannets, guillemots, terns, etc.) and a close encounter with a basking shark. The top slider on the mainsail was found to be broken, but was easily replaced under way. There was no traffic once we left the Gironde behind. No big ships, no yachts. The land is low and soon lost to sight. It was like an offshore passage.

In the evening a surprise visitor arrived in the form of this tiny warbler (possibly a chiffchaff):

Flying visitor, rest in peace
He was obviously very tired and a long way offshore but we couldn't come up with anything that he would take to eat or drink. He was absolutely fearless and perched on our hands, shoulders and most everywhere else on the boat. We really hoped to be able to return him to land and he slept below in a corner by the companionway. To our sorrow, he died just before dawn and just before we reached harbour on the Ile d'Yeu. I suppose a bird that size has very limited reserves and he must have been right on the edge of survival when he spotted our vessel and came aboard. At least he spent his last hours warm and dry rather than just plunging into the sea as he otherwise certainly must have. I committed his still warm wee body to the deep just off the Ile d'Yeu.

Back a step. The very slight breeze we were motor sailing into started to veer at around 8 or 9 in the evening, heading us directly towards les Sables d'Olonne, a huge maritime centre and the starting place of the Vendee Globe race. The temptation was definitely there to pull in for the night and catch up on some sleep, though we wouldn't reach it until around midnight. Sonja in particular was pretty exhausted and was pushing hard for the stop, so I agreed and we took a good look at the pilotage for entry to the port.

The very tired Sonja went below to grab some rest when we were about an hour and a half from the entrance and was soon fast asleep. I looked at the bright lights ahead and the bright moon behind, thought about it, and put the helm down, heading back out to sea and towards the Ile d'Yeu. It was a beautiful night, clear and with a rising breeze that promised some good sailing ahead and a deep feeling of happiness settled over me. I knew Sonja was well out of it when she didn't even notice me raising the sails again.

An hour and a half later, at midnight, I noticed Sonja stirring down below and watched with a smile as she looked at the chart and tried to figure out what the heck was going on. Once she realised, she went straight back to bed and I let her sleep on another half hour. At that point I really needed some kip myself and roused the crew, who took over for an hour, which was enough to get me through the night while the needier member slept on and revived in time for the approach to Yeu.

We'd hoped to anchor off, but there was way too much swell working into the anchorage, so we decided to treat ourselves to a night in the harbour of Joinville. Having arrived at 0630, we really got our money's worth. The harbour is outrageously busy in the summer season, but this time of year there was plenty of space and it was less expensive too. We really enjoyed our stay.

Yeu in bloom
Le vieux chateau, Ile d'Yeu, inspiration for:
Kiltoch Castle, in Tintin and the Black Isle!
Dramatic south coast of the Ile d'Yeu
Port La Meule
Cleansing ales at Port La Meule
Nice library in St Sauveur
The other nice thing that happened in Port Joinville was that we encountered the first British cruising boat we've seen since Santander and got together with Robert and Hazel for a good chat and a couple of glasses of vino in the evening. Oddly enough, they'd had a chiffchaff on board the day before as well. Theirs had flown off while still at sea so it's not known whether that one made it.

The forecast was for strong northerly winds on Thursday night into Friday, forcing us to move on and get tucked in somewhere cheaper and well sheltered, so we took a tip from Robert and Hazel, who know the area well, being based here year round, and headed for La Turballe, 40 miles away on the Breton mainland. Next stop from here should be the Gulf of Morbihan, where we plan to spend some time exploring and where there are plenty of secure anchorages to wait out the unsettled weather.

On the beach at La Turballe
La Turballe in the evening sunshine

Tuesday 16 April 2013

Springing into action

Sprucing up the vane
Cockpit after the deck paint's been touched up
The topsides are white once more 
A new coat of non-skid goes on
Boat work has begun in earnest. As soon as spring arrived (five days ago) we spent four hours deep-cleansing the vessel, getting rid of any greenery and dirt that had accumulated over the long winter break. Then our canoe came out of its bag again and we spruced up the topsides from it. Oxalic acid treatment (magic stuff), wax and polish. Jim used the deck brush to remove some of the fouling, but the plan is to dry out somewhere in Brittany and clean the hull properly after it's been out in salt water again for a week or so. The water in the marina is somewhat brackish and maybe some of the growth will die when it comes in contact with the sea again (one can but hope).

The deck was looking in need of some TLC with some chipped-off paint in places. We've had the 2-part poly-urethane since Mallorca when it was left over from painting the decks, but it needs to be applied between 15C and 25C - it just wasn't going to happen when the boat was in the yard in Scotland! This time, we had perfect conditions for it, 20-25C and sunshine. In Mallorca, it had been too hot after 11am to apply it and the wind had blown in Saharan sand overnight, luckily too late to spoil the finish. Today, a fresh coat of non-skid went on so that's the paint jobs taken care of.

Out in the main channel into Mortagne
Side channel into the marshes

We miss having the tandem, but the canoe has come to the rescue and we've been exploring a very peaceful world among the reed beds in small side arms off the main channel into the harbour. We had so much fun checking them out that we missed the lock opening times on the way back and had to do a bit of portaging - but no hardship.

A frequent visitor on board: Zorroette, also known as The Chat
We've still got a few little jobs to do, but departure is definitely on the horizon. Once the waves in Biscay drop beyond 2 metres and we get a nice easterly breeze...

Saturday 6 April 2013

Highway robbery

Yes! We've made it back on board. The return journey wasn't as smooth as we might have hoped, but more of that later.

We left off in the ferry terminal at Roscoff. Two other cyclists, a young Australian couple, joined us there and we passed the time pleasantly with them, waiting together for the ferry and then on board. We all bunked down on the floor of an otherwise deserted seating area, though Emma and Andrew were more comfortable than us, as they had camping gear along. Still, we managed a fairly reasonable six hours of sleep and felt in good shape on arrival in Plymouth.

Paul had given us good enough directions that we only had to phone him once during the ride from Plymouth to Plympton and you've already seen the breakfast that we were welcomed with.
We had a really restful and enjoyable 4 days there with Paul and his amazing super-fit 85-year-old mum, Joan. Our appetites took a while to reduce back to something like normal levels, but Joan fed us magnificently and made up any calorie deficit carried over from the ride.

We also boxed up the stripped down tandem for shipment  to Edinburgh, hopefully to reach there on Tuesday next.

It was very, very tempting to nip up to Scotland ourselves, but we knew it would mean delaying our return to the boat by a couple of weeks at least and now we want to get back to sea and head north home as soon as we can.

Luckily, our return fell on the cheapest ferry day, meaning that we could have a cabin for the same price as it would have cost without one a couple of days later. The Channel was fairly rough overnight, just after an easterly gale, and it was interesting to feel a big ship like that rolling and shuddering under the impact of the waves. It would have been a wild old night in a wee boat.

Though still cold, the weather held fair and it was with light hearts that we walked out of the ferry terminal back in Roscoff and stuck out a thumb to start the hitch south. Yes, we were hitch hiking. Provincial France isn't big on public transport. No buses to speak of and the layout of the rail network pretty much forces you to go to Paris first in order to reach any other part of the country - like the spokes of a wheel.

A fellow ferry passenger got us started on our way and with waits of anything from 10 minutes to an hour, we made steady progress, reaching Vannes by about 2 in the afternoon. We'd had 6 different rides to get there and all really nice. It was about another 100 km to Nantes, where we figured on stopping for the night and taking a direct train to Saintes the next morning. Our guard was down, and that's not good on the road.

A crappy old small car pulled in for us, but we didn't notice it until another driver pointed and we looked around. We didn't know how long they'd been there, so we ran over and hastily piled in without having a proper look first. Inside, three dodgy-looking guys, maybe early 20s, one with a heavily bandaged hand. We were both thinking, 'This ain't good', but trying not to be judgemental and hoping for the best. Anyway, it was too late at that point to do anything else but hope for the best.

They didn't speak proper French but made some sort of small talk until we reached what they said was their exit and did we want to be let off on the main road or up on the exit ramp. Exit ramp it was and they pulled over on the roundabout at the top. I was out first, grabbing the bags out of the boot and saying thanks and good bye. Thinking, 'Ok, they looked rough, but they were all right.' As Sonja stepped out, however, the driver hit the gas and off they sped, with two of our bags still inside. Unfortunately, one of them was the one with all the good stuff. The camera, the Kindles, the Spot Messenger, a phone, and so on.

It happened so fast there was no chance to do anything at all. No looking at the number plate, not even note the exact make of the car. Pretty hopeless, really. Sonja was clearly in a state of shock, but I was trying to keep everything calm, pointing out that we were ok and that it was just stuff, while we worked out what was gone. She said we should call the police and I was reluctant at first, figuring the chances of them being able to do anything about it were close to nil and not really wanting to spend the rest of the afternoon in the gendarmerie. Wanting, in fact, only to get away from there and on down the road. Luckily we had our wallets in our pockets and the passports were still in my jacket after the ferry.

Sonja did manage to convince me though and that was when we realised that we had absolutely no idea what number to ring for the police in France. We had to flag down another car to ask, and the woman inside didn't know either, having to phone her husband to find out. It's 17, in case anybody needs to know.

I did my best to explain the situation in French to the gendarme on the phone and he spoke some English, which helped. After getting the key details and our location, he asked us to wait and said a patrol was on its way. They reached us perhaps 20 minutes later. We gave them as much information as we could (all in French) and they asked us if we would come back to the station to file a report. It was back in the direction from which we had just come, but we agreed and then spent the next hour or so in the gendarmerie. They were very nice, very helpful, very courteous. I've always found the French police rather intimidating, with their paramilitary-style looks, but these guys were good.

Afterwards, they asked us where they could drop us off. At the train station? At a hotel? We were starting to feel rather wiped out at this point and opted for a budget hotel. It was maybe 5 o'clock by this time. We had no reading material and we were full of adrenalin and our heads were in something of a whirl. We went to the supermarket next door to grab some food and a bottle of wine and holed up in our room with the television. Lacking books, the TV came to our rescue, providing welcome distraction while we tried to calm down enough to get some sleep. The Simpsons, in French, an English film. It was all good and we did eventually drop off.

In the morning, Sonja more or less begged me not to do any more hitch hiking for the time being. I kind of thought we should go on, if only to break the fear. Get right back on that horse, sort of thing. I'm just a softie at heart though and soon we were on the bus into town, to the train station.

I had phoned our friends in Mortagne the evening before, to see if they'd be able to pick us up from the train station in Saintes, as we'd been planning to get the train there from Nantes anyway, so that was already arranged. We just had to get to Nantes in time for the 1305 train. We consulted the timetable in the station at Vannes. There was a train shown at 1130, reaching Nantes at 1240 - perfect. At the ticket counter, however, we learned that the train to Nantes wasn't running, due to works on the line. Replacement bus service? No, no, this is France! And no other sort of bus service either. In short, the only way to do it was by dusting off the old thumb and getting back on the road.

My beloved wife wasn't happy about it, but there was nothing else to do and we rode the bus back out to the edge of town and the motorway. Despite our best efforts to avoid it, we ended up at exactly the same spot where we'd been stung the day before. Sure as fate.

It wasn't an easy wait. Very cold, windy, and on a spot with grim associations. It was three quarters of an hour before a white van pulled over, driven by an obviously decent chap. We had a good look at him, believe me, and were suitably relieved to find that he was going all the way to Nantes.

Once on the train, I switched on the phone (it had been kept off to conserve power, the charger having gone with the bags). Two voicemail messages. One from a friend in Edinburgh, wanting to know if he could do anything to help. The other was from the gendarmerie in Theix - they had recovered our bags, with most of the stuff we'd listed missing!

Unfortunately, we found out later that it was not possible to have our things sent to us - we had to go there to pick them up. Fortunately, I was able to borrow a van from another friend here in Mortagne to make the 5-hour drive up and the 4.5-hour drive back yesterday. We were delighted to get most of our things back, especially the Kindles and the new cycle pannier but also the other less valuable but useful and even sentimentally valued items.

We still don't know how the stuff was found. It was scattered in a scrubby bit of forest in a very lonely and remote spot, to which we were taken to see if we could find any more of our stuff (which we did).

Now, the next day, tired, relieved to be back and to have made it through a difficult experience with relatively light losses. Chastened. The saddest loss is the GoPro camera, with the photos and video from our great tandem ride north. At least we have the shots we put up on the blog in Plymouth.

Moral of the story: stay sharp! Don't let your guard down on the road!

The important thing now is not to let that incident mar our memories of what was otherwise a great trip and I think we'll manage that just fine. It's a footnote, and a lesson. Now, it's time to focus on getting Fettler transformed back from winter quarters to sailing machine and watching the weather for the right time to get back to sea.