Leg 1: Poole to Concarneau

 (click on image for detailed view)

24^th June 2000

My friends arrived about 11.30 and we went out for a two hour sail between the 12.30 and 2.30 openings of the Poole bridge. We picked up Alban, who Salete had invited, at the Town Quay and headed up river to the Moriconium Quay, the first time I'd been that far up. I found it a bit stressful having five crew members. It's ok with 1 or 2 novices, but with so many, one hardly knows which one to choose for each task. On the way back we came across a windsurfer resting on his board with boom adrift. When we asked if he was ok, he admitted he'd like a tow to the shore. Though middle-aged he was a novice windsurfer and was tired out. So I used the throwing line I had bought the previous week and we towed him back close to the shore, which he said was deep, but we ran aground some 50 yards out and in the interests of getting off had to abandon the throwing line.

Back at the boatyard, Roger and Ruth had arrived together followed by David Jones and his friend Sylvie who were to be my crew for the first leg to Brittany. There followed a very hilarious meal in the cockpit -- 11 people, more than I imagined would fit. Champagne flowed and Donna's refreshments were up to her normal immaculate standards.

Next morning we set off through the 7.30 opening of the bridge to catch the last few hours of the tide running out of the harbour and waved goodbye to Donna on the town quay. The wind was light but from the north west so we continued motor sailing all day. Visibility was good -- it was a lovely day. We rounded the Casquests to the west of Alderney as the sun was going down and just reached the entrance of the entrance of the Little Russel channel heading to St Peter Port in Guernsey before the tide turned against us and it was 1am before we made it into the harbour.

There were only two small incidents in the day. Crossing a bank south of the Casquests which was mildly disturned but didn't show less than 10m of depth on the chart, the echo sounder suddenly started bleating. Though this couldn't mean that we were out of water we hastily turned the boat round and headed to calmer waters, where I realised that the echo sounder was still on the higher range and reaching 20m had set off the alarm. Around the Solent there hadn't been many opportunities to use the higher range and I was still learning.

The other incident occurred in the middle of the Little Russel changel when we had finally taken down the mainsail which had done nothing but stabilize the boat for several hours. Just past the Roustel light I realized that we had stopped: the 4 knots that my underpowered engine could achieve in a slight headwind was matched by the current now flowing against us. It's a bit scary heading over to the shoals in an unknown channel at night, but that got us out of the flow and we made it into the harbour.

It was a good first day's sailing with David, who I found through the Cruising Association's crewing list. I emailed all 15 crew on this list whose criteris, including travel at short notice, fitted the bill. I picked up his reply on returning from Alderney the week before and he agreed to come the same day. He had done many solo channel crossings in a 22' gaff-rigged boat and was engaged on buying a 41' boat (though this subsequently fell through). He's a self-employed electrical contractor and we got on well. His girl friend Sylvia had never sailed before but didn't have a history of sea-sickness and could swim so I saw no reason to object. She sports a ring in her lip and a large tattoo of some Chinese-like characters on her shoulders and has adapted remarkably well, despite a little sickness at first, and satisfies the insurer's criterion of having three on board for long offshore passages.
 

Monday 26^th June

Amazingly the wind, which had been predicted as NW on the Friday, SW on Sunday turned out to be NE on Monday -- perfect for a run down to Ushant. When we left the Russel channel we experimented with several sail settings before settling on using the cruising chute alone, with no mainsail. This gave us around 5 1/2 knots, as good as the mainsail plus genoa and it was a lot easier to manage with a following wind. Indeed, if we had taken down the mainsail on my earlier aborted channel crossing from Chichester we might have made it and the subsequent story would have been very different.

The wind continued all the way down to the Chenal du Four which runs between the French mainland and the isles of Ushant (Ouessant). At night we took down the chute as the wind was increasing and sailed most of the night with a partially furled genoa. David and I took 4 hour watches and I was there for a glorious red sunrise. I couldn't remember having seen the sun rise over the sea before and wondered if we were in for bad weather.

The cruising chute went back up as I was worried about making through the Chenal du Four in the six hour tidal window that started at 10am. As the wind increased we replaced it with the Genoa once more. The swell also increased steadily and by the time we put the mainsail back up to turn left through the channel we were facing into big seas, though these eased as we rounded the corner.

Sailing through the Chenal du Four felt like passing through the pillars of Hercules as we left the English Channel heading south on a journey of adventure. Thunder clouds had formed and flashes of lightening were striking the sea either side of the marker buoys. The cliffs overlooking the channel must have seen many generations of travellers thankful to see its comparative calm after the wild seas of the English Channel.

David showed me how to prepare for lightening by draping the anchor chain around one of the shrouds with its end dropping into the sea. We disconnected the radio aerial and other masthead fittings, though we gave up on the anemometer: its fittings were firmly taped down at the mast foot. We reached the end of the channel with 1 1/2 hours to spare before the tide turned against us and headed across the Brest estuary into the calm of Cameret bay where we found a semi-berth on the end of a pontoon - the other boats were so badly parked we had to leave the stern sticking well out.

It was 9pm before we were moored - 29 hours of sailing in great conditions. Apart from 40 minutes to recharge the batteries we used the engines only to get out and into the harbours. Despite a relatively challenging schedule we had made the first big leg of the journey.

Wednesday June 28

I slept well, falling asleep when my head touched the pillow at 10pm until 8 the next morning. I haven't yet acquired the art of sleeping at sea, unlike David, who can be snoring within munutes, and hadn't slept at all the previous night. I need to fit a lee cloth on the starboard bunk - one needs a feeling of security when trying to sleep at sea, and that doesn't happen if one is anticipating being thrown out of one's bunk.

After breakfast, David and Sylvia walked round the harbour wall to the town whilst I pumped up the dinghy and went across the harbour. Camaret is a charming village with a number of restaurants and bars along the front giving testimony to its popularity. I got no signal on my mobile, which is a step backwards for my communications plans. David couldn't either, who also uses the One2One network but Sylvia, who uses Cellnet had no problems. I may have to buy a sim-card for France to get it working.

By 2pm we were back on the boat and David, who had resisted the idea of moving on that day, ageed to setting out for a 30 mile trip as far as Audierne. The tide was right and once we were out of the bay and the Brest estuary, the wind picked up and we had a beautiful afternoon sailing across L'Iroise to the Raz de Seine. The area is noted for its sea breezes or 'vent solaire' as it is known locally, and they continued until a couple of miles from the Raz, where we had to turn on the engine, the wind dying altogether when we were round the corner.

Although there was only five miles visibility, we could see three lighthouses on the coastal side the Raz de Sein and two on the islands outside. I've never seen such a concentration. The current races through the channel at up to 6 knots and in wind-against-tide conditions it is impassible. As it loomed up out of the haze I was profoundly thankful we had such ideal conditions. We motored down to Audierne where we anchored in the bay for the night.

Thurs Jun 29

First thing, David announced his news with a finality which couldn't be answered: he and Sylvia were leaving that morning. He had suggested earlier that he would leave on Thursday although they didn't have to be back till Sunday and I couldn't understand the contradiction: it doesn't take three days to get back to Kent from Brittany. But there was a typical British reserve on both sides - I couldn't ask his real reason and he wouldn't offer it. Thinking it over, he and Sylvia obviously wanted some time to themselves. There isn't much privacy on a 29' boat, though I would have cheerfully cleared out for a few hours if we had discussed it. But no, there was the ultimatum. Audierne wasn't the ideal spot for my next crew to join me at the weekend as it was far from the railway and I had hope that we'd get as far as Concarneau.

Before he left I persuaded him to help me fix the aerial for my medium frequency single side band receiver to get weather information. It had to be tied onto the back stay and as he was lighter than me he went up in the bosun's chair and then hauled himself out sideways onto the stay. It proved trickier than anticipated, breaking twice before we fixed it, despite liberal applications of Fairy liquid to reduce friction.

I volunteered to take them into Audierne using the dinghy and that was another learning experience. An odd pattern developed with the outboard. It would run for a couple of minutes and then die. It restarted ok but would die again a couple of minutes later. Finally it died altogether and when I got back I realised it had simply run out of petrol. This was the early warning sign which says "fill up now". The power of the motor titled the tank so much that the supply was cut off. Stopping the motor allowed in a little more fuel.

I saw David and Sylvia onto a bus and rowed back to the boat when the tide had changed. I wondered what I was to do next. I haven't yet done any extensive sea sailing by myself and I am a bit scared. The most obvious solution was to borrow a crew member from another boat heading in the same direction, but all the English boats had two sailors only. Maybe I have to stay in Audierne till the weekend.

Friday June 30

After breakfast I discovered that one of the neighbouring boats - Phebe, with Richard and Joe sailing her - was planning to head to Loctudy, about 30 miles to the southeast. The weather was calm with a mild SE wind which would be right in our faces for much of the way. Very few dangers here, so I asked them if I could sail along with them and keep in touch by radio. They were agreeable with this though they suggested a foghorn was a better alarm indicator given the engine noise which could drown a radio call. So around 10.30 we both set off.

Though their boat, at 27', was a bit smaller than mine, it had a better engine and by the time we reached Penmarch Head, about half way, they were nearly half a mile ahead of me. At this point we were able to motor-sail, but I wasn't able to catch up. Nonetheless it gave me some confidence that I could follow their course. It happens that the chart I had for this stretch was the oldest and most of date of all the charts I had purchased from a contact in the Cruising Association. It was based on an 1828 chart by the French governments and the updates were only made till 1980 (or perhaps 1984). I've since discovered several changes to the buoyage and an oddity to the mapping: there is no method of indicating drying heights. Well, I've stuck to the indicated buoys and been lucky with the tides, arriving at both ports close to high tide.

Coming into Loctudy should have been a doddle. Richard and Joe were already there and pointed to a starboard berth for which I had prepared. I blew it in the final seconds. As usual I forgot to lower the fenders which were on deck both sides. I leaped forward to correct the omission and forgot that I had just put the boat back in gear. I hit the pontoon fast enough that Richard couldn't stop it, though it caused little damage except to my pride.

Later they came over for drinks. They have a house in the Dordoigne and were bringing the boat from Dover where they had purchased he. They'd been a lot less lucky than me with the weather and were quite tired. After they left, I crossed the river to the so-called Isle of Tudy where I had some lovely crepes and felt very much in Brittany.

Saturday July 1

This was to be my day for projects: getting the radio and cool-box installed. But I didn't do them. In the morning I walked into Loctudy and did some shopping, which included a sizeable Rouget fish which I ate for lunch. Then I suddenly realized that it was better to get to Concarneau today rather than Sunday. There were westerly winds today with easterly forecast for the morrow. But more important, Robert was planning to set out at lunchtime on Sunday and I needed to give him reliable instructions about where to find me, before he left.

So I set out at two for my first totally solo trip into an unknown foreign port.

On the whole it went remarkably well. There was a strong flood tide running and I watched another sailing boat negotiate it, giving me a good idea where the current was strongest. I raised the mainsail before I left and took the precaution of putting in a reef, expected the the wind was a lot stronger outside the harbour. This was the right tactic but proved to be my undoing.

With the help of the sail I got out easily against the tide and then saw an ominous black cloud to windward. I put on my oilies but in the event almost outran the storm, having only a few minutes of rain. Rounding the south cardinal buoy heading towards Concarneau I was on a dead run, following a lovely old wooden gaff-rigger which I eventually passed. At this point the wind had dropped so much that I decided to take the reef out of the sail. I undid the reef knots, released the clew and reefing line and raised the sail; there was some resistance. I looked along the sail and everything seemed ok so I applied the winch handle. There was an awful tearing sound and a right angle tear nearly a metre long appeared in my beautiful new mainsail. I had forgotten one of the reefing knots. How I cursed myself for my carelessness. But there was nothing to be done and I completed the trip with a gaping hole in the mainsail.

I found the entrance to Concarneau, though no thanks to my chart. Several cardinals had been removed and other port and starboard markers added. I was lucky the visibility was so good. I went into the marina which stands immediately outside a picturesque old walled city in the harbour entrance. For once, the approach went fine. There was an old fellow on the quay who caught the bow rope for me and I moored very easily. The evening finished with some very competent jazz at a little bar close to the quay. This is what it's all about!