What next?

The definitive end of the sailing season has been brought home to us by the sudden change to decidedly autumnal weather. During the warm, even hot, sunshine of September we could imagine perhaps one last weekend of cruising, but the gloom, drizzle and chill of October have us lowering our sights towards Sunday afternoons spent poring over the charts and dreaming of next summer, or, more accurately, squabbling over the itinerary. Tea and crumpets and log fires are infinitely more tempting than 2 reefs and a damp sleeping bag.

Skipper’s Box-To-Tick next year is that of two 60-mile passages (required for the Yachtmaster exam) which are to include as much night sailing as possible. Until this summer, the Mate was sceptical about doing this without a third crew member, but now I think it’s perfectly feasible, with a bit of careful planning. There is a balance to be struck, however – I’ve had to dig my heels in to prevent the holiday (holiday, this is the key word that seemed to be missing from the Skipper’s yachting vocabulary) from being totally hijacked to this end. I think we have reached a good compromise now, but of course the best laid plans, etc.

The boat is already booked, from La Trinité sur Mer again. It seemed sensible to do the long passages in an area we’re getting to know quite well. This time, however, the boat is a Dufour 34, which should be a little more sporty than the Bavaria. Make that a lot more sporty. I’m really looking forward to helming it. The best bit about helming is watching Tubs the Skipper do a bit of winching for a change. Short tacking can be such fun. In his short (and not especially illustrious) offshore racing career the Skipper was often the youngest crewmember, and did a great deal of winching, but I’ve allowed him to rest on his tiller, so to speak. I intend to make amends.

Having challenged ourselves with the Dufour: long passages, lights, tides, rocks – does this sound like fun? – we have decided to treat ourselves to another week in the Baltic on a little Folkboat next July. Hopefully it will be just as much fun for us as this year, if somewhat less entertaining for any spectators. We plan to get hold of a copy of the Pilot Book in advance, so I can do some translating at leisure rather than guessing and bluffing with the harbour already in sight, as I did last time. (Well, we didn't hit anything, did we?) We might also splash out the extra 100 euros for one of the smarter Folkboats. Sailing the scruffiest boat in the Baltic once was certainly amusing, but I think once is enough.

Remember this?

The idea of buying a Folkboat one day is starting to solidify as a Plan. The Skipper has gone so far as to find out how much a permanent berth in Brittany would cost, and was very tempted to join the waiting list, currently at least 10 years, depending on the port. On reflection, though, it makes more sense to wait too long and have to pay monthly rates for a year or two, rather than to get to the top of the list before we’re ready, have to refuse the place, and go straight to the back of the queue again. Having reached agreement on that point, we nevertheless have a source of “debate” in the question of deep or self-draining cockpit. That should keep us busy for at least a few of the years between now and the actual purchase of the boat…

Reflections

We have had an excellent summer of sailing – two whole weeks, plus a long weekend crewing, is more than we have ever managed before. We have learnt a huge amount, and although we didn’t face any serious difficulties, we met the challenges that did come our way with reasonable confidence and, most importantly, unfailing (well, in my case at least) good humour.

We have made a big step forward in terms of the Skipper’s Plan: the RYA Yachtmaster qualification. Why bother? Well, partly because he loves certificates (and gets them framed to adorn the walls of his library), but also because he is a cautious bunny by nature, and wants to be sure he knows as much as possible before setting out to do what is, to be truthful, an activity not without its dangers. Perhaps most importantly, he is passionate about sailing, and wants to satisfy himself that he is more than just competent at it. The Yachtmaster certificate is certainly a tough test, and I expect he will be suitably smug when he gets there. Which he will.

In the light of the above, getting skippering experience, and miles in the log, has been the primary objective for the last three years. We did two flotilla holidays from bases in Croatia, which were very useful and hugely enjoyable. The Dalmatian coast is everything the brochures would have you believe, and the country is friendly and relaxed, although you wouldn’t go there for the food… From the Mate’s point of view, a large part of the fun derived from the journeys to and from the Adriatic, adventures in themselves. We were able to stay in places as diverse as Salzburg, Rovinj, Verona (stayed in a winery – most instructive…), Bergamo, Dubrovnik (so beautiful), and Milan (fantastic food).

Sunset at Rovinj, Istria, 2009

The downside of flotilla holidays is being told what to do! General organization, restaurants, booking of marina places, help with berthing: all this is taken care of, which is great, but you have to go where you’re told each day, and if you have one of the smaller boats you will probably have to motor to get there on time. We felt we had milked the flotilla holiday for all it was worth after two weeks, and were eager for our first bareboat charter.

Whilst we have clearly made huge advances in competence since our first flotilla in 2009, the thing which pleases me most personally is something that only dawned on me after we returned from Brittany, which is this: Since the Folkboat week in July, I have completely ceased to feel afraid on a boat. It’s not that I was ever terrified, but I felt many moments of trepidation as we cleared the harbour and prepared to raise sail, even more so if there was a fair bit of wind. Partly this goes back to the dinghies we first learned to sail on. If the boat heels and you don’t do something fast to get it back in balance, then you are going swimming. Knowing there’s a ton of lead at the bottom of the keel, and really believing that the boat cannot capsize (at least not in the kind of conditions in which we would ever set out) are NOT the same thing! Miraculously, my stress has just evaporated. I’m not sure it’s even as rational as confidence born of experience, it’s just that a little switch has flicked in my brain this summer, and I hope it stays that way.

This year, the Mate has also had lots of helming experience, although we never did quite get around to practicing man overboard retrieval, and the more relaxed pace allowed me to look around the boat and think about what was going on. I have also been promoted to Navigator (in the face of zero competition – you just can’t get the staff), and even had the privilege of preparing passage plans and making entries in the log. Gosh.

I also have to confess that I get a lot of pleasure out of the camping side of cruising, at least some aspects of it: cooking in a little galley, with two pans, a knife and a couple of spoons is fun for a week, and eating supper in the cockpit on a sunny evening, moored in a pretty little cove, takes some beating. Paddling a dinghy is certainly a much less tedious way to get to the supermarket than sitting in a queue of traffic (even if keeping the purchases dry can be a challenge). 

The Honeymoon Suite

 Sleeping bags are a pain, though. I don’t like being rolled up like a dead Egyptian. I’m not so crazy about trekking up to the shower block at 7am in the pouring rain, either, and the less said about buckets the better. I’ll stop there.

La Moira, Our last day

26 August : The expected bad weather had passed through during the night. The morning forecast on the VHF tallied with the printed forecast that the Skipper charmed out of a Mooring Fairy (female): good sailing weather in the morning, but thunderstorms later in the day. We decided to fill up the diesel tank here rather than at the relatively cramped fuel dock at La Trinité. We had kept a log of engine hours, but a lot of the motoring had been into and out of port, and we didn’t know what fuel consumption would be like at low speed. The fuel gauge was still showing full, so we wondered if it was broken. In the event, we had used very little, but at least it left one fewer thing to do later.

We had a fun sail eastwards across the bay and then north to La Trinité. We were one of the first to arrive, which was good, as we could choose our berth, and for once there happened to be someone there to give us a hand with the mooring lines. While I finished packing, the Skipper made the lengthy trek round to the harbourmaster’s office to get a trolley. We hosed down the decks and loaded the car during the gaps between really heavy thundery showers. We were pleased that people from the charter company were already around, so everything was sorted by about 4.30.

River Crac'h from La Trinité

Next to the harbourmaster’s office is a little gallery selling paintings and drawings by Stéphane Lauro, an artist from nearby Vannes. They are slightly wistful Morbihan scenes, in gentle colours, many of them showing small boats at low tide. We bought a couple of prints and an original ink drawing, and we’re very pleased with them now that they’re framed and hung in the Skipper’s library and our in our bedroom. We ate at L’Arrosoir as planned, and it was really good – must remember to book there next time we visit La Trinité!

Cale Sèche en Bretagne, Stéphane Lauro

We had thoroughly enjoyed our week on board La Moira. We had visited some beautiful and interesting places around the Baie de Quiberon (oh yes, we also went to Le Crouesty), learnt about yet more imaginative mooring arrangements, and met lots of friendly fellow sailors. We certainly appreciated the space and comfort of a relatively big boat, and our reservations about how easy to manage she would be for just two people proved unfounded. But… we both felt that the little Nordic Folkboat had been much more fun!

La Moira, Thursday

25 August: The saloon was a mess when we got up on Thursday morning. We had run out of fresh water the previous evening (the Mate having judged hair-washing to be a priority) and there were piles of dirty washing up all over the place. I decided this was intolerable, so we washed the lot in seawater (Buckets of same, that is. We resisted any temptation to chuck the lot into the sea.), which seemed moderately successful – a considerable improvement at any rate.  As for washing the crew, we were told that a portable shower block would be open for a couple of hours this morning, but we were heading to the luxurious facilities of Port Haliguen, so decided we could wait.

The grandads next door postponed their visit to the showers to help with our lines, as we wanted to get away early. (Needless to say, the five grandsons were still fast asleep.) This is one snag with the barrel-buoy system: if there is nobody on the neighbouring boats when you want to leave, and you are short-handed, you’ll really have your hands full! Our haste led in part from the weather forecast, which was not encouraging. We expected a warm front fairly soon, bringing heavy rain and perhaps gale-force winds. We had decided to spend the night at Port Haliguen to leave a short passage to La Trinité on our final day, as the boat then had to be hosed down and cleared of all our stuff by late afternoon.

La Teignouse light

We had a gentle sail across to Port Haliguen, made simpler by the fact that we were getting to know this end of the Baie de Quiberon quite well. It was lunchtime when we arrived and the Mooring Fairies were off having their nectar, but we were allocated one of a pair of adjacent free berths, and managed very well by ourselves. We met a rather shocked and distressed boat owner on the next berth. He had just made the alarming discovery that his boat had a broken sea-cock and could start sinking at any moment, and was desperately making arrangements to have it taken out of the water for repairs.

By this time the promised heavy rain had arrived, so, after filling up the water tank, we settled in for a cosy afternoon aboard. There were several polar fleece blankets in the saloon; I made myself very comfortable with a cup of tea and a book and very soon nodded off!  A while later, at the shower block, I came across the very useful information that a local weather forecast was broadcast continuously on VHF channel 63.

We had been carting around a large tin of cassoulet for just such an occasion, so we had that for supper, with chunks of the lovely bread from Hoëdic. We worked out a number of options for the next day. We could either have a good sail, if the weather was favourable, or just head straight for La Trinité if it was not.

La Moira, Wednesday

24 August : We had tried moving the Navtex away from the chart table to see if interference from the boat’s electrics was responsible for its lack of messages. This proved to be the case, and from now on it worked perfectly. Happily, it had nothing worrying to report this morning.

The first thing to deal with was getting out of the harbour, as we were in the middle of a long row of yachts, with the harbour wall in front of us and a second row of yachts astern. We watched as a Mooring Fairy created a space in the second row, simply by pushing the boats apart with the zodiac, to allow one of our neighbours to leave, and we thought the same method could work for us, with a little rearrangement of the mooring lines. We called the harbourmaster, and were told rather gruffly that we couldn’t expect all the other boats to be moved just for us. The Mooring Fairy was not so easily defeated, however, and quickly reached the same conclusion as us as to how we might be liberated. A space was duly created, and we motored slowly backwards into the middle of the harbour, our neighbours brandishing fenders on all sides, just in case.

There was no wind at first, but it picked up fairly soon and we had a good sail round the south of the island of Hoëdic to the little bay of Port de l’Argol on the north side. According to the pilot book, we were to encounter yet another novel mooring system. In the middle of the harbour are four giant barrel-shaped buoys, to which visitors each attach a line from the bow, forming a circle or star around the buoy. We had been assured by a neighbor at Le Palais that this was no problem, and that even if the communal buoys were fully occupied there was plenty of space to anchor, although depth of water might have been an issue in that event.

A barrel-buoy and a lot of string

As we approached the little harbour we saw a few yachts leaving. At a guess, they had just stopped there for lunch. At least we were now sure there was room for us.

The boats tied to a particular barrel-buoy are tied together, so the whole group tends to turn into the wind. We chose to approach the end of the line which gave us the better angle into wind. While we were circling, getting our lines and fenders ready and thinking, a large old yacht arrived and moved in ahead of us, calling out to us to follow and tie up next to them. When they had got themselves sorted, we moved up alongside, and they kindly took our line to the barrel-buoy in their dinghy. We gave similar help to the next boat to arrive - crewed by two brave grandads and five of their grandsons! We were a little concerned about the depth of water, but as it was neap tides we decided it was adequate.

The little bay was by far the prettiest place we saw all week. Probably very bleak and windswept in the winter, it was utterly charming on a warm August afternoon, with little sandy beaches and isolated, typically Breton, cottages on the grassy slopes above.

Port de l'Argol, Hoëdic

We paddled over to the little beach, and I jumped out into knee-deep water with the painter. I misjudged this rather badly, lost my footing and disappeared briefly under the water, much to the Skipper's amusement. Fortunately I had changed into swimming things under my clothes, and the afternoon sunshine soon dried me out!

Behind the harbour, the village has little shops, a couple of restaurants and pretty traditional houses, mostly used only as holiday homes. We walked the short distance along sandy paths to the tiny Port de la Croix on the other side of the island. Back in the Bourg, we bought some excellent bread, then paddled back to La Moira. We found that our neighbours had moved over to another of the barrel-buoys, so we spent some time reworking all the lines and fenders.

We had a simple pasta supper, and were entertained by a chap on the boat next to us who played an accordion and sang a selection of old favourite French songs. The grandads were getting worried. They had allowed the five boys to go off in the dinghy together. We could see them splashing about near the beach, but they did not seem inclined to come back to the yacht, and it was now almost completely dark. "I think we made a mistake," sighed one of the brave gentlemen! We felt totally relaxed, really "on holiday", although sadly the week was now racing towards its conclusion.

I was kept awake by the squeaking of fenders during the night. Next morning one of the grandads suggested lubricating them with a drop of washing-up liquid: must remember that one!

La Moira, Tuesday

23 August : Up bright and early, we were still puzzling over why the Navtex gadget hadn’t been receiving any weather information. It had proved invaluable in the Baltic, and we were sure there should be broadcasts for our area. As we were preparing to leave, a chap arrived in a zodiac to post the latest forecast on the noticeboard nearby.  I rushed over to have a look, and took the opportunity to smile sweetly and ask for a hand with our departure. He readily agreed, and brought his boat round to our berth. We got things a bit wrong, and released the lines in the wrong order, so it was handy that he was there to give us a little nudge in the right direction. Skipper was by now mastering the art of marina manoevring by means of short bursts of power – we were starting to look quite competent!

We motored south towards the Passage de la Teignouse in a very light breeze, and found that the buoys marking the passage were very clearly visible and easily identifiable. We were in the company of a couple of yachts following the channel under sail, and we could have done the same, but there was barely enough wind so we were content to motor.  We were well ahead of slack water, due to the need to arrive early at Le Palais, but the advice we had received, that the passage poses no problems in decent weather, proved to be correct.

By the time we had cleared the passage, the wind had picked up, so we got the sails up and had a fun upwind sail to Belle Ile. The harbourmaster offered us a place in the inner harbour. This has the advantage of quayside or pontoon mooring, but would have meant waiting until one hour before high tide the following afternoon for the lock to open so that we could leave. We therefore asked for a place on one of the large shared buoys in the outer harbour. Despite having read the description in the pilot book, we weren’t quite sure how this was going to work, but were assured that someone would be there to help us. As we approached the harbour entrance, a girl in an orange zodiac approached at high speed. This was the Mooring Fairy. She very efficiently attached our stern to a buoy which already had 3 boats attached to it, and took a line from our bow to a chain attached to the harbour wall. It was hard to see where any more boats could possible go, and we were fascinated to watch as more and more yachts were packed in during the course of the afternoon. We had the presence of mind to launch the dinghy and attach it to the stern cleat before we became too tightly wedged in. To add to the fun, the port is served by quite large ferries which use every inch of the remaining space in order to turn around.

A hard-working buoy!

Here again, we were part of a little floating community. Dinghies, with and without engine, threaded their way between the lines of yachts, ferrying their crews ashore to go shopping and sightseeing.  We paddled across the harbour to the slipway, and this time remembered to pull the dinghy well above the high water mark and to tie the painter to an immovable object.

Le Palais is a pretty little town, overlooked by an impressive Vauban fort. We walked up to the clifftop, with the Skipper muttering to himself all the way. Exercise makes him rather grumpy. The view from the top was worth the effort, though. We had a look round the fort, which now houses a smart hotel, and strolled back to the port. There was a lively holiday atmosphere, with ferryloads of tourists wandering the little streets and filling the terraces of the bars and cafés.

Le Palais, Belle Ile en Mer

Paddling back to La Moira with our shopping, we looked up to find a huge ferry looming over us as it made to leave. We paddled as fast as we could to the shelter of the little yacht colony, ducking under the warps of neighbouring boats to get to our place in the middle.

We ate a delicious chicken curry (if I say so myself) and green lentils cooked with ginger and fresh coriander, and Skipper prepared the passage plan for the next day’s sail to Hoëdic.

La Moira, Monday

22 August: I awoke at about 6am to the chugging of a little diesel engine, and was amazed at how quietly our neighbours managed to tie up their boat. At breakfast time, they apologized if they had disturbed us (thank goodness they hadn’t witnessed the pantomime of OUR arrival!) and Skipper engaged them in conversation. It transpired that the Figaro racer’s father and uncle were well-known and successful racers in their day, and I suspect they were amused and just a little flattered that their English pontoon neighbour had heard of them and knew of their achievements.
We were rather slow out of the blocks the next morning. I toddled off to the supermarket, and by the time I returned, the skipper had been given all sorts of useful information by the locals. We had hoped to go directly to Le Palais on Belle Ile, but were advised that we were unlikely to get a place on the shared mooring buoys in the outer harbour unless we were there by 2pm. It was quite a long way, including the potentially tricky Passage de la Teignouse, and we hadn’t yet prepared the passage plan, so it just wasn’t going to happen. I belatedly saw the attraction of Port Haliguen, and proposed that we sail over there, do all the preparation for the next day and get an early night, ready for the longer trip the next day.
Our neighbours gave a hand with our lines when we left Le Crouesty, by which time the current had eased, although it was quite breezy, and our departure was considerably more stylish than our arrival had been. We made a note NOT to bother going back there!
We had a good sail across to Port Haliguen in a steady Force 4, and were given an easy berth at the elbow of the visitors’ pontoon. We inspected the facilities, without a doubt the best in the area, and did a spot of shopping. Having done our preparations for the next day, we decided to treat ourselves to a restaurant meal, and ate very well on the terrace of the Hotel Port Haliguen, by the Vieux Port.

Port Haliguen

La Moira, Sunday

Sunday 21 August 2011: We watched a couple of yachts sail out of St Gildas bay. They set sails in a lively breeze, so we very soon followed them out. We had planned to head east to La Turballe today, but unless we had favourable winds all week we mightn’t then get as far as Belle Ile later in the week, something I had really hoped to do. We therefore decided to cross the Baie de Quiberon northwards to Le Crouesty, on the Presqu’île de Rhuys.

We put a reef in the mainsail and worked our way out past the mussel farm. The wind progressively withered. First the reef came out, then the engine had to go on. It was barely lunchtime when we reached the entrance to the Le Crouesty channel, but we were very bored, so skipper went below to radio the marina and ask for a berth. As he did so, the wind suddenly picked up – he ignored my attempts to attract his attention from the helm – and by the time he emerged we had a steady 12-14 knots. We told Le Crouesty we’d changed our minds – they seemed untroubled by this – and turned round to have a little sail. We plotted a course to round North Banc de Quiberon mark, although in the event we didn’t get quite that far. It was fun to do our first real sailing with La Moira, but the wind faded again and we headed back to Le Crouesty. With hindsight we should have put into Port Haliguen, but we’d been there (twice) many years ago, and I wanted to see somewhere different. This only goes to prove that I’m not always right, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

We were allotted a berth in the huge marina at Le Crouesty, and a zodiac appeared to lead us in the right direction. He buzzed off at the end of the pontoon and left us to find the berth and tie up. Two spaces were free, either side of a finger pontoon. After a couple of failed attempts to get into the one we had been allocated, we moored in the adjacent one with the help of a couple of locals from a nearby boat. We had failed to understand the current, understandably, as it was racing in to this part of the marina even though the tide was ebbing. We were warned that when leaving at flood tide a lot of welly from the engine was needed to fight the current, which is then flowing outwards. Confusing. Still not quite happy with the idea that “moving slowly” and “low revs” are not the same thing!

When we went to check in at the Harbourmaster’s office we were told we couldn’t stay where we were as the owner had just called to say he would be back during the night – from Les Sables-d’Olonne, where he had been watching his son set off on the last stage of the Solitaire du Figaro race! With the help of the zodiac, a couple of marina staff and our pontoon neighbours La Moira was swiftly tied up to the correct berth.

Our walk to the Harbourmaster’s office had revealed the full horror of Le Crouesty. There isn’t much there except for the marina edged by a long row of tacky souvenir shops, bars and fast food outlets, with loudspeakers everywhere repeatedly broadcasting offers of cut-price lingerie. Candyfloss would have been too posh for this place. The supermarket was closed, it being Sunday, but fortunately we had provisions aboard. We ate pasta all’amatriciana with a drop of red, and fortunately the techno music stopped at a civilized hour so the evening turned out better than expected.

La Moira, Saturday

Saturday 20th August : Our first sailing day dawned bright and sunny. The charter people arrived to collect our deposit and answer any questions. Skipper had been conscientious, as ever, checking that everything worked, so he promptly sent the charter company guy up the mast to fix the anchor light. By the time we had bought bread and some petrol for the dinghy outboard it was lunchtime – everything seems to be a long walk away at La Trinité.

We set off for the island of Houat. We planned to pick up a mooring buoy outside the harbour at St Gildas, although we had been warned that it might blow from the northwest that night and the anchorage is rather exposed in that event. There certainly wasn’t any wind to speak of during the afternoon. We raised the mainsail for a while, but I suspect the Skipper just thought I could do with the exercise. It didn’t really help much so I - sorry, we - brought it down again.

We were pleased to see free buoys when we arrived off St Gildas, and at this point stopped bemoaning the lack of wind. The Bavaria’s deck is very high above the water, but with patience I got a line through the ring of a buoy by lying flat on the deck. I also managed not to drop the boathook overboard, always a bonus. It had a wooden handle, and I wanted to see if it would float but Skipper wouldn’t let me try. This mooring exercise has led to much debate on how it could be made easier, so we’ll be eager to try our New Improved method next year, if we can remember what it is. We decided a second line to the buoy would be reassuring, if indeed the wind did get up, and Skipper suggested the easiest thing would be to swim out with it. Except that he had “forgotten” to bring any swimming shorts.  I would quite happily have volunteered for the mission, but he seemed to feel it was his job, so in he went, clad only in his checked Jermyn Street undies.

St Gildas beach, Houat

The next new experience for us was to launch the dinghy to go and have a look at the village. It didn’t look very far from our mooring to the slipway in the harbour so we decided not to bother with the outboard and fished the paddles out of the bottom of the cockpit locker.  This proved to be a good decision, as it made it a lot easier to carry the dinghy up out of the water. We left it next to several others and went off in search of a drop of the amber nectar

Witnesses to our progress across the harbour were doubtless amused by my irritated admonishments to the skipper: “Paddle!” as we seemed to keep turning towards his side. Only later did I grasp that the little boat was pivoting about its centre of gravity, so as skipper weighs about 30 kilos more than I do he needed to paddle harder than me to keep us moving in a straight line. Seems fair.

La Moira is the one with her fenders out!

Overlooking the bay was a bar with lots of tables outside on the grassy sand (or sandy grass?). We enjoyed a drink, dutifully wrote and sent our postcards, did a spot of grocery shopping and wandered back to the harbour. We realised how spoilt we had become by sailing in the Mediterranean and Baltic when we saw that our little dinghy was only a few inches from the rising water. Another 15 minutes, and it could easily have bobbed away across the harbour. As we paddled back to La Moira lightning streaked down behind the headland, and a squall began to blow up. Aware of our ignorance of local weather, to be on the safe side we stowed the dinghy on the foredeck, secured it and went below just as a brief but quite spectacular storm erupted.

We ate beef stroganoff and rice. I had forgotten to buy mushrooms, so Skipper charitably declared that it was better without. We were surrounded by yachts with people eating drinking and chatting quietly in their cockpits, and the scene was most tranquil. This was not to last. Normally I’m not averse to a spot of bobbing, in fact I sleep better on a boat than on land, but there are limits. By about 4am I was only in contact with the mattress for half the time, and a glance up to the cockpit would reveal sky…then sea, then sky, then sea. Skipper moved into the saloon, but I was too sleepy to move. Next morning, the sky looked bright and the sea not very heavy, so we prepared to get underway. I made the mistake of eating a hearty breakfast. I hope seagulls like muesli.

La Moira - preparations

Morbihan,  19-26 August 2011

Sunday 14 August: This charter has been booked since last November, so naturally we have less than a week to prepare. Skipper has been poring over the pilot book (in a language we understand, this time, which takes some of the fun out of it) without, apparently reaching any conclusions about where we should go. I begin to wonder if, after 20 years’ valiant resistance, he has caught my commitment phobia and horror of making plans with the absurd intention of sticking to them. The Mate is responsible for the galley equipment and provisions, and also, incongruously, for swotting up on tide calculations. La Moira is a Bavaria 33, quite palatial compared to the Folkboat, so the packing lists are expanding accordingly.

Monday 15 August: Skipper has profited from a bank holiday here to prepare a cruising plan for the week. Meanwhile, I have been making lists, and the packing of clothes and provisions is well advanced.  I have read all the tide and weather stuff. I am beginning to see a pattern here: I have never been so well-prepared for a trip in my entire life, and Skipper is baulking at the idea of making a detailed plan: if this convergence continues, by the time we are 70 even our best friends won’t be able to tell us apart…

Friday 19^th August: Finally on our way to Brittany, after a last minute panic over who would look after Monty the cat, who still needs nursing care after his illness last month. The car is crammed with all sorts of indispensables, such as an extra fender and a bag full of ropes of various types and lengths. We also have buckets, a fog horn, and a traditional sail-mending kit. Well, you never know.

After a trouble-free drive in fair weather and light traffic, we arrived in Morbihan in time to visit the only Nordic Folkboat dealer in France. This turned out to be run by a pair of English brothers, who brought a Folkboat in from its mooring buoy at Port Blanc for us to look at, and answered some questions for us. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, and I was captivated by the beautiful view across the gulf to the Ile aux Moines, and getting increasingly eager to get on a boat and start sailing.

La Moira at La Trinité sur Mer

We arrived at La Trinité sur Mer and found that the boat was all ready for us. We stowed our copious luggage and went in search of supper. There seemed to be nothing between touristy brasseries on the waterfront and very expensive seafood restaurants. The most tempting place was full, so we vowed to book there for our last evening, a week later. In the end we ate decent if rather unimaginative grilled fish and made ourselves comfortable for our first night aboard La Moira.

We'll be back!

Day 6

We would have to be content with three days of good weather. Our last sailing day began with grey drizzle and no wind. There seemed to be no hurry, as we had plenty of time to get to the swing bridge by midday. Looking out into the sound, though, I spotted a few sails up, so we quickly got Das Drama ready and headed out. The jib had to be hanked on to the forestay each morning, but it was not a very big sail, and the system was simple and easy. It sounds like a nuisance if you’re used to a roller-furling headsail, but I found that I could lower and flake the jib at the same time (provided Skipper kept the boat roughly into wind), then just tuck it under the jackstays to be bagged later.

We gybed up the sound towards the bridge in increasingly heavy rain, and then sailed around happily, if damply, whilst waiting for the bridge to open. A fairly large freighter loomed up behind our little fleet of yachts, and was responsible, we think, for the fact that we got the green light first again and chugged through into Stralsund harbour. It was now raining quite hard, and we were chilly and damp. Not wanting to end a fabulous week on a soggy note, we decided to head in to Altefähr and get the boat ready for handover.

As we entered the harbour, a large motor-sailer barged past us (with a friendly wave, naturally), motored right up to the top of the harbour, then reversed into the spot we were aiming for. Fine. We tied up in a box at the end of the mole, with the help of a fellow Folkboat sailor. I went to inspect the facilities, and returned to find Das Drama crossing the harbour with Skipper at the helm and the Harbourmaster and his chum as crew. I took the bow line and mooring proved much easier with an extra crewman and smaller box, as we squeezed up next to the other Folkboats at the harbourmaster’s request.

Having checked the boat in with Philipp, we set off in the car to have a look at Binz, one of the island’s traditional seaside resorts. The skies had cleared, and at 7.30pm the promenade was buzzing and there were still bathers in the sea. Traditional two-seater basketwork beach sofas on wheels are either rented out or provided by the hotels for their guests, and make a charming sight on the beach. We were spoiled for choice of restaurant, and had yet more beautifully cooked and served fish. Before setting off home the next morning, we decided to have breakfast at the Inselbar Café on the quayside at Altefähr. It seemed to be taking a while, and Skipper was dispatched to investigate. He found piles of fresh fruit being lovingly chopped for my “muesli & fruit” breakfast, which was so good that I ate more fruit than I would normally eat in a month! Yet another excellent meal made a fitting end to a fantastic week. We’ll be back, no question. After several years of hesitation, Mate might just have got the sailing bug…