The Journey Continues……..albeit with a man with a red flag proceeding ahead………

We left Lezardrieux on a glorious sunny day with gentle winds and the prospect of a peaceful days sailing ahead. Well to be honest we had been asked to get a move on, as another boat needed the scrubbing berth so we left early morning on the outgoing tide after a very late night at the hands of some wonderful French friends we had made. That they are still friends is wonderful, as we had donated a bottle of English wine to the proceedings, (thanks Carter) and in true French style dined late into the night. Well anything after 8.30 is late for us, but spending an evening with great people in a wonderful old house made us very aware of the things that we miss……

However, as we made our gentle way out to sea and began our passage into Treguier we were bemused to see a helicopter making numerous passes overhead. Naturally my ego assumed it was the sight of Hannah with sails set had attracted their attention and admiration so was somewhat put out to see a steel grey ship approaching at great speed. Stopping some 50 metres away a RIB was swiftly launched and headed out toward us. They boarded and announced themselves to be “Duane” and would we mind them looking around. Choice does not come into it, Able Seaman Toots wisely ignored them and slept on whilst I accompanied the head honcho below. I wish we could make it to be more exciting than it was but the only two incidents were the searcher proclaiming incredulously “more mange?” as he came across, yet another, pile of secreted food and his gleeful “what is this” as he held up, after sniffing and rubbing between his fingers, what looked like, to him, cannabis. What is French for catnip? Able Seaman Toots denied all knowledge leaving us to try and explain…Thanks Nancy.

Treguier is wonderful and we spent several days there, meeting up with Suzanne several times before heading off for L’Aberv’rach and beyond. But this is us and not some happy nighttime reading. Wind and waves combined to slow us down and we decided to pull into Roscoff and anchor. But even that would be too much so we headed gratefully into Morlaix and spent several days at anchor waiting for a favourable wind. The waves approaching Morlaix had been horrendous, made worse by a dumb decision of the skippers to head between the mainland and a vicious outcrop of rocks……. so the few days were necessary to recuperate. Whilst there we realised that all the time in Treguier should have included a refill on the diesel, a decision we were to regret later on the trip.

We left on a Saturday morning at 10.15 for L’aberv’rach and began a gentle sail toward the edge of the Biscay. At one point progress was so slow and in the wrong direction that we seriously considered heading for Falmouth as an easier option. Luckily a quick calculation showed that our destination was only 24 miles away whereas Falmouth was 90. Perhaps it’s the rocking motion that addles brains in this way? By late afternoon we weren’t much further on, the winds had died but the swell was ENORMOUS. I kid you not when I say the seas were probably 30+ feet. A large yacht, 40 foot, although only 50 metres or so away would disappear completely from view as it dropped into its trough. As we crested the top of the wave a mild feeling of vertigo came over us as we peered down the boat toward the bottom of the trough. Quite amazing. But as night drew on so the wind increased and soon we were heaved to and reefing. Then the heavens opened and we took the brilliant decision to light the fire using the mini chimney. What a difference. That awful condition that exists in boats as they beat through heavy seas in rain, wet clothes below as positions are checked and drinks made was gradually reversed as Hannah and oilskins began to dry out. It made that part of the journey almost pleasurable. Toots, who hates the motion of heavy seas was much more comfortable and able to continue her lifetimes work of kipping.

We chose not to use L’Aberv’rach but continue on down river where it was quieter and cheaper. We eventually moored up some 20 hours after we started having sailed 40 miles. Sailed because of course our diesel was so low that we couldn’t afford to waste it in motor sailing through calms or into head winds when we might need it for the approach. To Lannalis we rode 6kms up hills to buy 50 litres of diesel, scooting down hill balancing jerry cans on cross bars.

where before tackling the Chenal du Four we made bread. I repeat we made bread Nancy! After several years of putting it off we finally tackled it and thoroughly enjoyed the loaf. Since then we have produced a number of fruitcakes and they have now superseded Matt’s Christmas gift of Roses chocolates as our daily consumption. 

Boy, do these Pilot Books like to fill you full of dread. In the event the Chenal du Four was memorable for a wonderful sail in which we took on all comers and stuffed them. Hannah in full flight, though with no topsail, left a pursuing pack of modern boats for dead as we all headed for Brest. Regularly we topped 8 knots and once touched 8.9 as we raced toward the headland where we would turn east toward Brest. As Bee says the story about the Hare and Tortoise is true as the wind also being Easterly became our nemesis and as we slowly tacked into this fading headwind the losers came past us. And disappeared into the Rade as we slowly beat up and down making gentle headway. Those last few miles took as long as the first 2/3rds of the journey but we picked up a buoy in a quiet inlet and retired.

Since then we have wandered slowly around the Rade de Brest, anchoring in rivers, dragging anchor, taking Toots for walks along the shore, chopping up firewood, ignoring a pallet stamped “Quayside Property” and pottering around in the heat.

Bee has just reminded me of the time we were returning to Hannah from one of Toots nightly rambles. Toots was exhausted and watched me clamber aboard before preparing for her dainty leap over the bulwarks. The river was in its 4^th hour of ebb and running at 4 knots. I turned in time to see a weary Toot’s front paws slide off the capping rail as she fell into the water between Hannah and the dinghy. Luckily Bee was still in the dinghy and reacted quickly to my shout and reached into the water and found her. Soaked and shocked she offered no resistance to being wrapped in a towel and dried and was soon up to her usual tricks. It was a day or two later when out sailing I happened to look up and saw her wandering along the boom. She reached the end and found there was nowhere to go and had to reverse herself through various bits of gaffer. All this, as we careered along at 5 knots or so, with our boom some 6 feet or so over the sea. All this is forgiven as Toots has a talent so welcome that she could win a gold medal if fly catching was an Olympic sport. Not to sure about her eating them afterwards.  

So here we are, the middle of June and looking forward to meeting up with  Tim and Nancy in a week or so. They will arrive some 3 days after leaving Quayside which says something about our lifestyle. We’ve spent the last few days on the Elorn river, watching the world, eying up derelict properties and helping out a couple of local of mussel farmers with a fouled chain. 3 years after buying a massive pair of bolt croppers at auction they finally came in handy. Toots enjoyed her first meal of very fresh mussels and we made some good friends. Sometime in the next few days we’ll leave the Rade de Brest and head south but we have doubts as to whether at this pace we will actually manage to leave France before the winter. Who cares, as Eddie Cochran sang.