Captain’s Log………..It’s life Jim but not as you lot know it…….

Well here we are in Spain, despite our last missive saying we were finding it hard to think about leaving France. You lot don’t understand how difficult this life is, decisions decisions decisions. Shall we stay, shall we go, what wine will we buy, shall we sit in the sun or the shade………..

We spent about 2 weeks in the Rade de Brest and would definitely rate it as a cruising area, good anchorages, plenty of shelter plus we had the pleasure of meeting up with Tim and Nancy, who had sailed in Larus from Quayside in Southampton to where we were in 2 days, a journey we had crawled along over 7 weeks. We rarely sailed in company but would usually meet up in the evening having decided roughly where we might be at the end of the day. Highlights of the trip this time have to be headed by a wonderful sighting of dolphins playing in the bow wave, swimming under the boat, leaping out of the water with Toots, front paws on the capping rails, eyes like chapel hat pegs, watching their every movement. It really is one of those quintessential cruising moments that people write about and we can well understand why.

If you’re heading for Benodet then it is better to head up river where peaceful anchorages can be found and where we found a house that would suit us. Having been warned by a French house owning brother and partner, whom we visited, used their shower, drank their wine and nicked  a bag of coal  from, about the cost of repairing roofs we checked that first. What joy! A new roof had been installed. ‘course the house only had 4 walls, no power, toilet, windows or much else but it looked great and had wonderful views.

It was from the anchorage that the combined talents of Larus and Hannah using all their vast maritime experience decided to head up river in our dinghy. At low water. Progress was fine until we approached the town. Have you noticed how fishermen of whatever nationality get arsey if you run over their lines? How were we supposed to see the damn thing in a torrential downpour as we all tried to shelter under a piece of awning whilst motoring up river? Things then went downhill as we ran out of water forcing Tim and Bee to abandon ship and walk the boat toward the distant town of Quimper

One of our best days sailing came from Benodet to L’Orient. Little wind to begin with but as the afternoon arrived it brought 5’s and Hannah roared along with the best of them. Certainly the speeds have been much better than last year and the log showed an average of 7.8 knots for a large section of the journey. It was here that we had our last supper as Larus would be heading north in a day or so. As they came alongside to hand back belongings left from the night before, Toots recognised her chance and jumped ship hoping for a quieter life. Bundled ignominiously back onto Hannah she retreated to her shelf with a glare. We went into the Morbihan, fought our way through horrendous rip tides and suffered as the anchor chain dragged back and forth across the seabed once we had anchored. Unfortunately it was the weekend and here is a space to rival Solent Waters in terms of boat density. It also rivals it for congenital idiots who roar up along side in overpowered motorboats with little regard to what we might be attempting to do. But we all survived and though we only stayed a couple of days we felt, for us, it was time to move on. The wind had been Northerly for some time and it would be silly not to take advantage. The trip was predicted to take 44 hours but ended up taking 73. The days were ok as we had wind and were able to progress but come the evening it would die and we would drift silently through the night. Actually that bit is a lie as we would frequently wallow in the swell so the sails had to be sheeted in hard but even so were very noisy. We kept a watch system, Bee slept and so did I but we would pop up every 15 minutes to make sure the distant trawlers were still distant. But we finally made it to Castro Urdialles a town some 30 miles east of Santander. A big harbour we were able to anchor in but suffered from swell. The local yacht club run a water taxi service although we chose to use our dinghy. Frowned upon as they charge of course. We met a Spanish guy, Aure who hopes to own a wooden gaffer one day and took him and Sylvia sailing. Light winds and a heavy swell made for an unpleasant day and we dropped them off in a nearby surfing village (what fun it is to anchor in surf..) before heading on to the fun and games of nearby Santona.

First we tried to anchor near the local moorings but the CQR wouldn’t grip and we came close to the boats so moved on. The bay shallows rapidly and with no obvious other choice we went back to the first position. We dropped the anchor, dragged and then found the anchor buoy had been forced to Hannah’s stern. Of couse by this time we were heading at some speed toward the line(s) of local boats as the tide is the middle of a spring ebb. I would like to say that I obeyed the Gaffers maxim of “If you’re going to hit ‘owt, aim for the cheapest” but events moved too fast. Gunning the engine, hoping the speed would drag the anchor buoy rope onto the prop cutter, I hoped to just clear the small, unassuming fishing boat we had “chosen” as a target. Actually that’s a lie to as gunning the engine was all I could think of. But it worked. The rope was cut, the engine continued and with a bit of judicious fending off from a very quick Bee, who’s finest hour was about to come, we escaped. Course the CQR is now held under the bobstay by the rope that is wrapped somehow around or near the prop shaft. Bee was all for leaping overboard there and then but we headed instead for a more exposed anchorage that at least has deep water. Here we dropped the Danforth and once that had gripped, Bee went over the side. Within minutes the little bit of rope that had remained was gone and we began to tidy up. It wasn’t much later that a Guardia Civil Patrol Boat came along and told us to move on. The outcome of the conversation was an escorted trip into a nearby harbour described in the almanac as dirty and smelly. But we came smoothly alongside watched and assisted by an open mouthed, helpful crowd of dockside loafers. And much appreciated, as the mooring points on the harbour wall were, by now, some 10 feet above our heads. Once moored the crew of Hannah resorted to its customary harbour procedures. Bee tidied up whilst I rabbited to all and sundry about Hannah and the trip, extending invites to come aboard the following day if they wanted. Well a trio did, bringing wine and Spanish Omelette and we spent a few hours preaching the gospel of a live aboard life and making new friends.

Finally, we are about to start on the journey to Atlantic Spain and Portugal where we are hoping the anchorages and Ria’s will be more welcoming. We also feel we should leave the Biscay by the end of July and round Finistierre and begin the trek toward a winter hideaway.