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!