Out of Biscay

Quay flowers, Chateaulin

Chateaulin lived up to our first impression of friendliness. Quite a few people paused to chat with us on their way along the waterside and the nice lady at the Town Hall waived the very modest berthing fee because the key we were given for the toilets didn't work, though the one for the showers was fine. We were very pleased to find a Lidl just up the hill where we could stock up some essentials and a crepe stall at the market where we could chomp our favourite galette complete (cheese, ham and egg).

A very interesting and friendly chap, Didier, who had spoken to us a couple of times in passing, invited us to his flat for a glass of vino and a chat. He's Breton, a cabinet maker and sailor, 54 years of age and a widower of 3 years. Children grown and moved away. It was his name day, St. Didier's, and he was delighted to welcome us into his home. When we mentioned that we found the townspeople friendly, he demurred slightly, and it's a point worth making that the French seem to be generally quite reserved. Super polite, normally forthcoming with a smile and a greeting and a few words in passing, but then very slow to move on to the next stage of developing a friendship. So it happens that a decent, charming and skilled person like Didier, living in this over-populated world of ours, can be lonely. We were more than happy to spend some time with him and help him celebrate his name day.

Chateaulin also provided free wifi, and intensive examination of the GRIB files seemed to show a window for progress to the north opening up in about 3 day's time, but first some nastiness had to blow through, as usual. We decided to take the afternoon ebb down the river and spend another couple of nights at the super sheltered anchorage there, placing ourselves in a good position to catch the tide right for our sail out of the Rade de Brest and make the connexion into the Chenal de Four. All very intricate and interconnected.

Cute Aulne-side cottage

The run down the river wasn't nearly as relaxed an affair as the upbound journey had been. A fairly stiff northerly breeze was blowing and funnelling right up the river valley, around bends and all. We had the current on our side, but the wind blowing against it raised quite an impressive chop on the longer straights, having us ducking the flying spray blown aft from the bow and feeling the cold. The issue was not in doubt, however, and we made it down to the anchorage in good time.

Full moon, big tides

The next evening we were mildly surprised to see another British boat coming up the river. They went on by, but soon came back, clearly searching for a spot to drop the hook. It was near high water and the tiny nook we were tucked into was looking deceptively large, enticing them in for a look. I hailed them and explained that there simply wasn't space for two boats to squeeze in at low water, pointing out a couple of good alternative spots within about 200 metres. They were determined though, and eventually insinuated themselves right over at the northern horn of the wee bay. Of course, they later had to re-anchor twice as the water disappeared, evenually ending up out near mid-stream, but no matter.

We invited them aboard for refreshments and had a good chat before they headed ashore to try the restaurant (the one building visible nearby). Possibly it wasn't open, because they were soon spotted returning to their vessel. Unfortunately they were soon joined by a French Customs launch and we knew the chances were pretty slim that we wouldn't be next. The Customs lads spent a long time aboard our neighbours' boat and we wondered how thorough a going over we were going to get. We'd heard one or two horror stories about French Customs and, with the boat pretty well stuffed full of gear, a deep search could be a messy business.

In due course, the Customs RIB came alongside. Their craft was almost bigger than Fettler and three of the four burly chaps on board stepped down onto our deck, after receiving permission to do so. They were affable and seemed pleasantly surprised to be addressed in French - a good start. Passports and boat documents out of the way, they asked us about our trip. Seemingly we were flagged up on their computer as we had been in the Azores recently - a classic drug-smuggling route into Europe.

I could see the eldest of the team signalling to the boss with a shake of the head: He'd clearly decided we were clean. Boss wanted to be a bit more thorough though, so Senior went down below and had a chat with Sonja (half heartedly looking under a sail bag or two when prompted by the boss), while Boss himself peered into the cockpit lockers. It was all over within a quarter of an hour, with obvious goodwill on both sides. Senior was heard to say to Boss (in French), "They are what the English call 'cute'."

Early departure, former neighbours visible at the anchorage

We got going at first light the next morning and had a tremendous sail out of the Rade. The plan was to anchor in the Anse de Berthaume, more or less opposite Camaret, but the going was so good and the timing so spot on to catch the flood through the Chenal de Four, that we decided to continue.

Deep in the Rade

All was well rounding the corner at St Mathieu and tacking our way up into the Chenal, right on low water. As the tide started to turn in our favour, however, the sea state underwent a remarkable transformation. Suddenly there were large whitecaps all around and the going was becoming distinctly rough. We could have bashed on, but it wouldn't have been much fun and we knew the forecast for the following day would bring much more pleasant conditions. Besides, the fishing harbour of Le Conquet was only a mile and a half away, so we ran off downwind to reach it.

This was only half an hour after low water, but already there were 3-4 knots of current running against us, making a long haul of that mile and a half to Conquet. Once inside, everything was suddenly calm, sunny and warm. We worked our way in amongst the crowd of big fishing boats, looking for an unoccupied mooring, finally settling on one right back in the inside corner by the bottom of the slip. A shouted query to a crab fisherman sorting his catch on shore (aided by his wee boy, identically kitted out in yellow oilskin trousers and blue jersey) confirmed that we could stay where we were without putting anybody out. No charge either.

Full spectrum of fishing boats at Le Conquet

In the almanac the shelter at Conquet is described as being 'good, except in strong westerlies'. I would add that any westerly swell will work its way into the harbour around high water. We were quite comfortable in there, except for a couple of hours either side of high water, when things got rather rolly. Fortunately the timing worked out so that it was calm during the night.

It was a civilised noon start to catch the tide up through the Chenal, this time motoring into a very light northerly breeze (forecast westerly), giving us a mostly smooth passage to Aber Benoit. Even under those benign conditions, the spring tidal current produced some impressive effects with rips, races and eddies here and there along the way.

Rather rocky around the Four

Glad the current was going our way

Aber Benoit was made to sound very attractive in 'Secret Anchorages of Brittany', described as being the smaller, unspoilt, often overlooked neighbour to Aber Wrac'h, so of course we couldn't resist. Clearly things have changed since that book was published in 2005. Probably a thousand moorings have been laid, eliminating any space for anchoring. Some hundreds of holiday homes have also popped up on the banks, mostly shuttered up at this time of year, giving the place a very suburban air. Reed's (2011) mentioned free visitor moorings, now nowhere to be found. We grabbed an empty mooring (amongst many), which we were subsequently ousted from. There was incessant small boat traffic zooming past and throwing heavy wash during daylight hours, but we had a peaceful night.

Not as nice as it looks in this photo: Aber Benoit

In the morning, a girlie appeared on a launch who, though friendly, told us that if we wanted to stay on the mooring it would be €12/night. No facilities. That was the final straw. With bad weather on the way, we really didn't want to be stuck in there for anything up to a week, so we politely thanked her and declined, heading instead for Aber Wrac'h.

Aber Wrac'h

It was a boisterous 6-mile passage, during which we considered and rejected the possibility of pushing on for Morlaix. Rising seas, 3 knots of current running against us and a wicked looking cloud bank approaching from the northwest combined to put us off the idea. We were very pleasantly surprised to find just how nice it is inside Aber Wrac'h. It turns out that Wrac'h is actually the quieter, more unspoilt Aber.  We bypassed the marina and the expensive, exposed visitor moorings at the port in favour of the very sheltered, peaceful, fore-and-aft trots at Paluden. The everlasting strong northerlies and huge swell continue outside, so we might be here some time.

On the trot at Paluden 

We're getting back into the big tides: 7m

Another Breton week

Audierne seems like quite a while ago now, though it's only 4 days since we left. A sudden improvement in the weather forecast on Saturday afternoon gave us an opportunity to slip through the Raz de Sein on Sunday and up to Camaret. The tide times were not especially convenient. The Raz is a classic 'tidal gate', meaning that you can only go through when it's slack or setting in the right direction. It sets north on the flood, so ideally one would aim to be there at low water. Unfortunately, low water that day was at 0601 and we needed about 3 hours to get there. We decided to leave at 0700 and catch as much of the flood as we could.

That worked out all right, but the passage through the Raz was rather rough with wind and swell running against the tide. Still, it was fun, in that special boisterous sailing kind of way. We'd prepared flasks of tea, coffee and porridge before departing Audierne, intending to breakfast on the way. Sadly, it turned out to be too rough for that. We managed to grab a few spoonfuls of porridge and cups of tea, but the bulk of it had to wait until we reached Camaret at 1400. Late breakfast.

Camaret contribution to the boat graveyard series

Maybe we had unreasonable expectations, with all the enthusiastic reports we'd heard about Camaret from other sailors, but we found it a bit of a disappointment after Audierne. Probably we didn't see it at its best either. The main problem was noise. It was quite blowy, so there was the constant drone of wind in rigging, coupled with clanging halyards against masts. Then there was the steady tramp of feet up and down the pontoon, right by our heads, that went on all day and most of the night. Add in a birthday party on the boat next door and the din from bars along the waterfront and you have the complete cacophony. The facilities weren't nearly as nice as those at Audierne either, so we were glad we'd spent the time there.

We were ready to move on after one night of that, but the forecast was showing nothing but stiff northerlies and big seas for the next week so we turned right out of Camaret and retreated into the depths of the Rade de Brest, making for the tranquil Aulne River for shelter, peace and quiet.

Warship graveyard, on the Aulne

They're dummies, right?

Perfect peace, viewed from the anchorage

It was a superb sail through the sheltered waters of the Rade and we were really delighted to drop the hook in a snug river bend, surrounded by forest and hearing only bird song.

Two nights there and a grey day, very useful for a make do and mend session, and then we drifted up on the tide (and off our charts) to Chateaulin, the mast-up navigable limit of the river. It probably should have been obvious to us sooner, but this is where the Nantes-Brest canal emerges, so we've now visited it by boat as well as by tandem.

At least we know where the river is, for the return journey

Loving this river pottering

The buoyage wasn't great (this was the only one we saw today)

Approaching the lock to the Nantes-Brest canal

Port Launay

Chateaulin is a nice, friendly town. From the photos we've seen, there must be a lot more boating action in the high season but, just now, there's only one small section of pontoon, with just us on it. We had to go to the Town Hall to get the key for the showers. Very civilised.

Alone, but not lonesome

They do a very cute cottage, the Bretons

The forecast now shows a possible Dartmouth window opening up at the beginning of next week, so we'll probably be dropping back down river tomorrow to position ourselves for a run up through the Chenal de Four on Sunday.

High and dry

Drying out with the fishermen

Still in Audierne. Great place to wait for the weather though. We've got a lot of boat jobs done, big and small. At last we found a French harbour where it's still permitted to dry boats out on the slipways and work on them there, rather than having to lift out in a boat yard and pay handsomely for the use of their 'special' facilities.

The spot used by the fishing boats looked by far the best bet so we slipped in behind them on a very conveniently timed tide (HW 0830). The state of the hull wasn't too awful, considering the nearly 8 months spent immobile in the water at Mortagne, but it did need to be done. We waded in, with wetsuits and wellies, while the water was still knee-high, it being easier to scrub with the rinse water right there and needing the time. All was clean and painted by the time the water came lapping back up. The fishermen cut it a bit fine, as may be seen in the photo. They did curse when a passing powerboat threw its wake up under them while they were still painting. The beaching legs sported by nearly every boat here are immensely practical. Maybe Fettler will be getting a pair sometime.

It's always a long day, slipping the boat and working on her over a tide and one is well tired out by the end of it, but there's also something of a post-exam elation about it when everything is finished up successfully. The evening and the next day were most enjoyable.

The small fry have a problem

Really nice walks around here. On a stroll up the river yesterday, we passed a boat yard with many an old wreck adorning the shore either side. It's quite something to have a close look at the remains of these vessels which were once somebody's pride and joy, as well as their livelihood.

A skeleton in the cemetery of boats

Even in decay are they magnificent

Decks need swabbing

Pointe of departure

Fishing boats in Lesconil at HW-1

Port La Foret was a very useful stop. Great for picking up some extra provisions, getting an enormous load of washing done and gathering intelligence on the harbours ahead. An English couple, locally based, informed us that the harbour (Loctudy) we had planned for our next stop is currently closed for dredging, but that there are new pontoons and a new, welcoming (to yachts) attitude at the formerly hardcore fishing harbour of Lesconil (our 2011 Reeds says that yachts will only be accepted in case of emergency!). That gave us the ideal staging post to time our arrival with tide and current at Audierne.

Strange creatures washed up on the beach

Sadly defunct

Snug Audierne harbour

The forecast was showing pretty clearly that we would want to be tucked up in Audierne by Tuesday and that our stay was likely to be a longer one than usual. A deepening low, bound for Ireland, threatened 'very high' seas. In the meantime, almost no wind, from behind, meaning a good day's motoring to Audierne. Rather frustrating, therefore, to observe a fleet of super light super fast racing yachts wiping the floor with us as we chugged along, lacking enough air to even fill the genoa. Our sail wardrobe would definitly benefit from the addition of a large, lightweight nylon drifter.

Spring has reached this coast

Bar-tailed godwit and harem on the beach

The empty beach east of Audierne

Dolphin corpse, an unusual sight

Memorial to fishermen lost at sea, the last one in 2006

Notre Dame de Roscudon in Pont-Croix

Marlinspike House? Up the Goyen river

Breakwater at the river entrance to Audierne

The gloomy forecast was right on the money and the plan has worked out. We've been enjoying a snug berth in Audierne while the seas build outside. It's a pretty town with splendid coastline either side and some amazing beaches too. I also managed to repair the tiller pilot - a welcome suprise!

Now, we wait and watch the weather for the moment to move on Ireland. The way the forecast is looking at the moment, however, we might end up ascending the Channel after all. No window in sight.

Caught out: landlubbers

Nice use of an old fishing boat

Trez Goarem

Marginal moorings at Loc'h

The Raz de Sein, with Ile de Sein just visible in the distance

The Pointe du Raz

The Breton sunshine coast

Blustery Morbihan morning

It turned out to be rather a windy and choppy stay in the Gulf of Morbihan. Of course, part of the point of being in there was to have a snug place to wait out any heavy weather but, after several days of listening to the wind moaning in the rigging and bouncing on the chop, we were ready for a change of scene.

We were feeling bold on the morning of departure and determined to do the whole thing without having recourse to the engine. It was still blowing a good 20 knots, so a double-reefed main was plenty to sail off the anchor and then stooge around the bay while cleaning away the thick black Morbihan mud that came up with the ground tackle. We worked our way along the twisting channel, through the wind shadows of various wee islands and finally out and back into Biscay. All very satisfying.

The sailing purity unfortunately was soon sullied when the wind dropped right off and left us wallowing around the passage around the tip of the Quiberon peninsula. Once around that inconvenient promontory, the chop remained but a good breeze returned and we had excellent sailing all the way to Port Tudy on the Ile de Groix.

Port Tudy, Ile de Groix: shades of Tobermory

We were a little apprehensive about the price of the marina at Port Tudy, having been warned that it could be dear,  but we hoped that the off-season effect would cheapen it significantly. It's normal around these parts for prices to double during the high season of July and August when things get insanely busy, but otherwise they tend to be fairly reasonable. Port Tudy, however, commences high season on the 15th of April! Charge: €22. Steep, but we could live with it for a night or two, to get showered and do some laundry as well as have a good look around the island. Wait. What? No showers? No washing machine? No toilets reserved for harbour users?? Very disappointing. We didn't stick around. A pity really, since the island is very attractive.

Freshly anchored at Port Manec'h

A nearby-ish anchorage had been recommended to us (Port Manec'h) so we pulled out of Port Tudy on a really magnificent morning, drinking coffee and munching fresh pains au raisin as we motored clear of the island, getting in a superb sail the rest of the way.

The main water-borne wildlife we've observed on this stretch of coast, unfortunately, is truly colossal medusa jellyfish. These beasts measure anything up to 2 feet across and, although they have a peculiar beauty of their own, I wouldn't fancy swimming with them about. Not that the question arises just now, with the sea temperature stuck at a frigid 10C.

Port Manec'h lies at the mouth of the River Aven and is really just an indentation in the coastline, but it gives fair shelter when the winds are northerly. Very pretty spot and anchoring on clean sand was great to clear away the last traces of the mud of Morbihan.

French schooner off Port Manec'h

Another short 15-mile hop took us to Port La Foret, recommended by a couple we spoke to in Port Tudy who knew we wanted showers and a washing machine and a lower price tag. Good choice. Attractive surroundings too.

The vieux port at La Foret

Pretty little 18th-century chapel in La Foret

This is particularly for our friends back in Granton: The dredging scheme at Port La Foret is rather interesting. They've laid a pipeline stretching 4 km, which runs to a construction site where a new sports stadium is being built. The mud from the harbour is pumped all the way up to the building site, separated earth from water and the water returned to the harbour, leaving the earth for the builders. Sadly the project is many months behind schedule, due to frequent pump breakdowns!

Crazy dredging at Port La Foret