Snork Maiden Lifts Out
Monday, September 21, 2009
Equinox, Port Le Foret
Equal day, equal night. It must be a propitious time to crane out. Here at PLF there is a very posh travel lift. Apart from a slightly botched exit from the pontoon, when SM took me quite by surprise, rearing across two spaces like a frightened horse! I spoke quietly to her, released the last moorong line, and we were off. Nice entry into the lifting bay - it looks like a concrete canyon, especially at the lowest of low tides. Herve and another of the matelots jumped on and Snork Maiden was soon cosily in the slings. I jumped off - well, sort of more like a gibbon really - reaching for the ladder on the side of the canyon and swinging over the gap. Then the lift trundles away at slow walking pace - always reminds me of a funeral, although this was more like a frisky wedding with the lift driver threatening to squish a couple’s car on the way.
We rumbled into Technical Area 1, where the Figaro boats live, so SM will be in good company. I am parked next to a tree (as is almost always the case) and, oh joy, next to the electricity and water box. Life is sweet. It’s quiet here at night, not too far to the loo, although peeing in a bottle is practical at night. If you envisage a boat that has a 1.5m keep under her, and a transom (backside) of around a metre, you’ll understand the necessity for a ladder (and a bottle to pee in). Everything has to be transported up and down the ladder or sometimes over the side on a jib sheet (rope to the landlubberly).
I am getting to like Mr Least Heat Moon and his River Horse more and more. He talks about how people change, and how the man planning the trip across America was not the same man making the trip 6 months later. I think I know exactly what he means. The other side of this coin is something I have only recently started to notice and that is that when I conjure up people who I have known for a long time (and we’re talking decades here) I see them as multiple images of themselves at different times. I see my Mum as the forty year old woman she was when I was four years old and at the same time I see her at 80 on her way down to Spain with my Dad and me in the old Citroen, sitting in the back like the Queen. I see Dexter as a baby, as a 3 year old, as a teenager, all at the same time. I see Al with long dark hair at the same time as I see his silver ‘wings’. And I see myself like this too. The only thing that puzzles me is that I never noticed it before.
Well, it’s dark outside now. I’ve finished my supper, but the washing up can wait until morning. (More life without plumbing.) Time to turn the table into my bed, and join the crew of the River Horse. It’s odd how 120 square metres of house seems not enough at home, but here rather less than 20 square metres of boat seems perfectly good for bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, office, workshop, garden shed and spare room! If only we could transplant the trick, we could sublet the rest of the house to five other families.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Snork Maiden Lifts Out
Snork Maiden Lifts Out
Monday, September 21, 2009
Equinox, Port Le Foret
Equal day, equal night. It must be a propitious time to crane out. Here at PLF there is a very posh travel lift. Apart from a slightly botched exit from the pontoon, when SM took me quite by surprise, rearing across two spaces like a frightened horse! I spoke quietly to her, released the last moorong line, and we were off. Nice entry into the lifting bay - it looks like a concrete canyon, especially at the lowest of low tides. Herve and another of the matelots jumped on and Snork Maiden was soon cosily in the slings. I jumped off - well, sort of more like a gibbon really - reaching for the ladder on the side of the canyon and swinging over the gap. Then the lift trundles away at slow walking pace - always reminds me of a funeral, although this was more like a frisky wedding with the lift driver threatening to squish a couple’s car on the way.
We rumbled into Technical Area 1, where the Figaro boats live, so SM will be in good company. I am parked next to a tree (as is almost always the case) and, oh joy, next to the electricity and water box. Life is sweet. It’s quiet here at night, not too far to the loo, although peeing in a bottle is practical at night. If you envisage a boat that has a 1.5m keep under her, and a transom (backside) of around a metre, you’ll understand the necessity for a ladder (and a bottle to pee in). Everything has to be transported up and down the ladder or sometimes over the side on a jib sheet (rope to the landlubberly).
I am getting to like Mr Least Heat Moon and his River Horse more and more. He talks about how people change, and how the man planning the trip across America was not the same man making the trip 6 months later. I think I know exactly what he means. The other side of this coin is something I have only recently started to notice and that is that when I conjure up people who I have known for a long time (and we’re talking decades here) I see them as multiple images of themselves at different times. I see my Mum as the forty year old woman she was when I was four years old and at the same time I see her at 80 on her way down to Spain with my Dad and me in the old Citroen, sitting in the back like the Queen. I see Dexter as a baby, as a 3 year old, as a teenager, all at the same time. I see Al with long dark hair at the same time as I see his silver ‘wings’. And I see myself like this too. The only thing that puzzles me is that I never noticed it before.
Well, it’s dark outside now. I’ve finished my supper, but the washing up can wait until morning. (More life without plumbing.) Time to turn the table into my bed, and join the crew of the River Horse. It’s odd how 120 square metres of house seems not enough at home, but here rather less than 20 square metres of boat seems perfectly good for bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, office, workshop, garden shed and spare room! If only we could transplant the trick, we could sublet the rest of the house to five other families.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Equinox, Port Le Foret
Equal day, equal night. It must be a propitious time to crane out. Here at PLF there is a very posh travel lift. Apart from a slightly botched exit from the pontoon, when SM took me quite by surprise, rearing across two spaces like a frightened horse! I spoke quietly to her, released the last moorong line, and we were off. Nice entry into the lifting bay - it looks like a concrete canyon, especially at the lowest of low tides. Herve and another of the matelots jumped on and Snork Maiden was soon cosily in the slings. I jumped off - well, sort of more like a gibbon really - reaching for the ladder on the side of the canyon and swinging over the gap. Then the lift trundles away at slow walking pace - always reminds me of a funeral, although this was more like a frisky wedding with the lift driver threatening to squish a couple’s car on the way.
We rumbled into Technical Area 1, where the Figaro boats live, so SM will be in good company. I am parked next to a tree (as is almost always the case) and, oh joy, next to the electricity and water box. Life is sweet. It’s quiet here at night, not too far to the loo, although peeing in a bottle is practical at night. If you envisage a boat that has a 1.5m keep under her, and a transom (backside) of around a metre, you’ll understand the necessity for a ladder (and a bottle to pee in). Everything has to be transported up and down the ladder or sometimes over the side on a jib sheet (rope to the landlubberly).
I am getting to like Mr Least Heat Moon and his River Horse more and more. He talks about how people change, and how the man planning the trip across America was not the same man making the trip 6 months later. I think I know exactly what he means. The other side of this coin is something I have only recently started to notice and that is that when I conjure up people who I have known for a long time (and we’re talking decades here) I see them as multiple images of themselves at different times. I see my Mum as the forty year old woman she was when I was four years old and at the same time I see her at 80 on her way down to Spain with my Dad and me in the old Citroen, sitting in the back like the Queen. I see Dexter as a baby, as a 3 year old, as a teenager, all at the same time. I see Al with long dark hair at the same time as I see his silver ‘wings’. And I see myself like this too. The only thing that puzzles me is that I never noticed it before.
Well, it’s dark outside now. I’ve finished my supper, but the washing up can wait until morning. (More life without plumbing.) Time to turn the table into my bed, and join the crew of the River Horse. It’s odd how 120 square metres of house seems not enough at home, but here rather less than 20 square metres of boat seems perfectly good for bedroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom, office, workshop, garden shed and spare room! If only we could transplant the trick, we could sublet the rest of the house to five other families.
Sunday, 20 September 2009
Sunset exactly in the West
Port La Foret
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sunset exactly in the West
So this is the last blog afloat this year - or at least, that’s the plan. As we know by now, it’s not always how things work out.
I though you might want to know what I do all day. First thing - after 2 cups of tea - I went for a run-walk along the coast towards Concarneau. I was going to say ‘passed’ but that would give the wrong impression - I encountered quite a few French runners and an old bloke who I think was having a bit of a laugh at us all. On my way back, he pointed out that was a yacht caught on the Concarneau rocks, which just goes to show that you can’t take too much for granted. It’s my theory that its usually the locals that do that sort of thing - the rest of us follow the pilot book and in the absence of horrible mistakes, do all right.
It’s hard to explain how impressive the tides are here. Tonight is the highest tide of the year and the yachts are practically peeping over the harbour wall.
Most of the rest of the day I spent washing things by hand, since the laundrette here seemed to be completely without any electricity. The yacht broker who looks after it was having a day off, with both his mobiles switched off. I did leave messages, but then I realised that what I should have done was find the most expensive boat in his window, call the mobiles and say that I wanted to buy it, but the transaction had to be concluded today!!
I made up a joke. Some of you might have heard the dog’s blog: Went for morning walk: my favorite thing! Had breakfast: my favorite thing! Barked at the postman: my favourite thing! (I expect you’re getting the idea now.)
There’s also a cat’s blog: This is the 937th day of my incarceration. I shat on the duvet to demonstrate my displeasure. Later, I brought in a decapitated mouse to show them what I am capable of. They said ‘Good cat, you’re showing us how much you love us!' I ground my sharp little teeth and licked my bottom clean. (You’re probably getting this idea too.) Now for the budgie’s blog. Well, don’t be silly, budgies don’t blog, they twitter. Har har. Are you feeling sorry for me yet?
After lunch (grilled cheese sandwich) I read a couple of chapters of RIVER HORSE (by William Least Heat Moon). This is an account of a river journey across America. At first I thought it was a bit boring, but then so are some of the rivers. WLHM has a dry style, and he reports little chunks of life he observes on the way, overheard in diners and bars. He has a companion he calls Pilotis. This person is actually a series of 5 or 6 people, and I have tried to spot the joins, without much success. The author doesn’t give any clues, not even gender. It’s a bit disconcerting since I assume that people are distinctive. So is LHM forcing them into a mould? Are they all fantastically literate and stoic? The boat is called NIKAWA (River Horse) and she’s a tough little beast, taking on huge barges, floods and the American Corps of Engineers. She has a couple of defining aphorisms, painted on various parts of her anatomy. The one I like best is ‘Proceed as the way opens’ just ahead of the steering position. The other is an injunction, borrowed from Joseph Conrad’s ‘HEART OF DARKNESS” - Avoid irritation! I think we might add these to Snork Maiden.
I’ve just started to wonder if people get to look like their boats, as they do with their dogs. I think they might.
Late in the afternoon I went swimming - there’s a beach right next to the marina. I wear a wet suit - the Atlantic is cold. Al always uses the mask and snorkel so I thought I would give it a go. I SAW FISH! It’s really quite exciting. And it’s just like entering another world with beaches, canyons, pools, rocks, weed… All the more fascinating because earlier in the day I have walked over it. Makes me think of the Drowned World.
Not much left to say, except the last floating sunset. It made me nostalgic for the first one that we saw afloat at Marans back in June. Looking forward to next season. We are well placed here to head for the Spanish reas, after a nice little shake-down cruise to the Iles Glenans Google them - they are a bunch of rocks and beaches with one of the best crab and lobster restaurants in Brittany. (I don’t think we want to hear the crustaceans blog, now do we?)
My bunk and River Horse are calling me!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sunset exactly in the West
So this is the last blog afloat this year - or at least, that’s the plan. As we know by now, it’s not always how things work out.
I though you might want to know what I do all day. First thing - after 2 cups of tea - I went for a run-walk along the coast towards Concarneau. I was going to say ‘passed’ but that would give the wrong impression - I encountered quite a few French runners and an old bloke who I think was having a bit of a laugh at us all. On my way back, he pointed out that was a yacht caught on the Concarneau rocks, which just goes to show that you can’t take too much for granted. It’s my theory that its usually the locals that do that sort of thing - the rest of us follow the pilot book and in the absence of horrible mistakes, do all right.
It’s hard to explain how impressive the tides are here. Tonight is the highest tide of the year and the yachts are practically peeping over the harbour wall.
Most of the rest of the day I spent washing things by hand, since the laundrette here seemed to be completely without any electricity. The yacht broker who looks after it was having a day off, with both his mobiles switched off. I did leave messages, but then I realised that what I should have done was find the most expensive boat in his window, call the mobiles and say that I wanted to buy it, but the transaction had to be concluded today!!
I made up a joke. Some of you might have heard the dog’s blog: Went for morning walk: my favorite thing! Had breakfast: my favorite thing! Barked at the postman: my favourite thing! (I expect you’re getting the idea now.)
There’s also a cat’s blog: This is the 937th day of my incarceration. I shat on the duvet to demonstrate my displeasure. Later, I brought in a decapitated mouse to show them what I am capable of. They said ‘Good cat, you’re showing us how much you love us!' I ground my sharp little teeth and licked my bottom clean. (You’re probably getting this idea too.) Now for the budgie’s blog. Well, don’t be silly, budgies don’t blog, they twitter. Har har. Are you feeling sorry for me yet?
After lunch (grilled cheese sandwich) I read a couple of chapters of RIVER HORSE (by William Least Heat Moon). This is an account of a river journey across America. At first I thought it was a bit boring, but then so are some of the rivers. WLHM has a dry style, and he reports little chunks of life he observes on the way, overheard in diners and bars. He has a companion he calls Pilotis. This person is actually a series of 5 or 6 people, and I have tried to spot the joins, without much success. The author doesn’t give any clues, not even gender. It’s a bit disconcerting since I assume that people are distinctive. So is LHM forcing them into a mould? Are they all fantastically literate and stoic? The boat is called NIKAWA (River Horse) and she’s a tough little beast, taking on huge barges, floods and the American Corps of Engineers. She has a couple of defining aphorisms, painted on various parts of her anatomy. The one I like best is ‘Proceed as the way opens’ just ahead of the steering position. The other is an injunction, borrowed from Joseph Conrad’s ‘HEART OF DARKNESS” - Avoid irritation! I think we might add these to Snork Maiden.
I’ve just started to wonder if people get to look like their boats, as they do with their dogs. I think they might.
Late in the afternoon I went swimming - there’s a beach right next to the marina. I wear a wet suit - the Atlantic is cold. Al always uses the mask and snorkel so I thought I would give it a go. I SAW FISH! It’s really quite exciting. And it’s just like entering another world with beaches, canyons, pools, rocks, weed… All the more fascinating because earlier in the day I have walked over it. Makes me think of the Drowned World.
Not much left to say, except the last floating sunset. It made me nostalgic for the first one that we saw afloat at Marans back in June. Looking forward to next season. We are well placed here to head for the Spanish reas, after a nice little shake-down cruise to the Iles Glenans Google them - they are a bunch of rocks and beaches with one of the best crab and lobster restaurants in Brittany. (I don’t think we want to hear the crustaceans blog, now do we?)
My bunk and River Horse are calling me!
Sunset exactly in the West
Port La Foret
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sunset exactly in the West
So this is the last blog afloat this year - or at least, that’s the plan. As we know by now, it’s not always how things work out.
I though you might want to know what I do all day. First thing - after 2 cups of tea - I went for a run-walk along the coast towards Concarneau. I was going to say ‘passed’ but that would give the wrong impression - I encountered quite a few French runners and an old bloke who I think was having a bit of a laugh at us all. On my way back, he pointed out that was a yacht caught on the Concarneau rocks, which just goes to show that you can’t take too much for granted. It’s my theory that its usually the locals that do that sort of thing - the rest of us follow the pilot book and in the absence of horrible mistakes, do all right.
It’s hard to explain how impressive the tides are here. Tonight is the highest tide of the year and the yachts are practically peeping over the harbour wall.
Most of the rest of the day I spent washing things by hand, since the laundrette here seemed to be completely without any electricity. The yacht broker who looks after it was having a day off, with both his mobiles switched off. I did leave messages, but then I realised that what I should have done was find the most expensive boat in his window, call the mobiles and say that I wanted to buy it, but the transaction had to be concluded today!!
I made up a joke. Some of you might have heard the dog’s blog: Went for morning walk: my favorite thing! Had breakfast: my favorite thing! Barked at the postman: my favourite thing! (I expect you’re getting the idea now.)
There’s also a cat’s blog: This is the 937th day of my incarceration. I shat on the duvet to demonstrate my displeasure. Later, I brought in a decapitated mouse to show them what I am capable of. They said ‘Good cat, you’re showing us how much you love us!' I ground my sharp little teeth and licked my bottom clean. (You’re probably getting this idea too.) Now for the budgie’s blog. Well, don’t be silly, budgies don’t blog, they twitter. Har har. Are you feeling sorry for me yet?
After lunch (grilled cheese sandwich) I read a couple of chapters of RIVER HORSE (by William Least Heat Moon). This is an account of a river journey across America. At first I thought it was a bit boring, but then so are some of the rivers. WLHM has a dry style, and he reports little chunks of life he observes on the way, overheard in diners and bars. He has a companion he calls Pilotis. This person is actually a series of 5 or 6 people, and I have tried to spot the joins, without much success. The author doesn’t give any clues, not even gender. It’s a bit disconcerting since I assume that people are distinctive. So is LHM forcing them into a mould? Are they all fantastically literate and stoic? The boat is called NIKAWA (River Horse) and she’s a tough little beast, taking on huge barges, floods and the American Corps of Engineers. She has a couple of defining aphorisms, painted on various parts of her anatomy. The one I like best is ‘Proceed as the way opens’ just ahead of the steering position. The other is an injunction, borrowed from Joseph Conrad’s ‘HEART OF DARKNESS” - Avoid irritation! I think we might add these to Snork Maiden.
I’ve just started to wonder if people get to look like their boats, as they do with their dogs. I think they might.
Late in the afternoon I went swimming - there’s a beach right next to the marina. I wear a wet suit - the Atlantic is cold. Al always uses the mask and snorkel so I thought I would give it a go. I SAW FISH! It’s really quite exciting. And it’s just like entering another world with beaches, canyons, pools, rocks, weed… All the more fascinating because earlier in the day I have walked over it. Makes me think of the Drowned World.
Not much left to say, except the last floating sunset. It made me nostalgic for the first one that we saw afloat at Marans back in June. Looking forward to next season. We are well placed here to head for the Spanish reas, after a nice little shake-down cruise to the Iles Glenans Google them - they are a bunch of rocks and beaches with one of the best crab and lobster restaurants in Brittany. (I don’t think we want to hear the crustaceans blog, now do we?)
My bunk and River Horse are calling me!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Sunset exactly in the West
So this is the last blog afloat this year - or at least, that’s the plan. As we know by now, it’s not always how things work out.
I though you might want to know what I do all day. First thing - after 2 cups of tea - I went for a run-walk along the coast towards Concarneau. I was going to say ‘passed’ but that would give the wrong impression - I encountered quite a few French runners and an old bloke who I think was having a bit of a laugh at us all. On my way back, he pointed out that was a yacht caught on the Concarneau rocks, which just goes to show that you can’t take too much for granted. It’s my theory that its usually the locals that do that sort of thing - the rest of us follow the pilot book and in the absence of horrible mistakes, do all right.
It’s hard to explain how impressive the tides are here. Tonight is the highest tide of the year and the yachts are practically peeping over the harbour wall.
Most of the rest of the day I spent washing things by hand, since the laundrette here seemed to be completely without any electricity. The yacht broker who looks after it was having a day off, with both his mobiles switched off. I did leave messages, but then I realised that what I should have done was find the most expensive boat in his window, call the mobiles and say that I wanted to buy it, but the transaction had to be concluded today!!
I made up a joke. Some of you might have heard the dog’s blog: Went for morning walk: my favorite thing! Had breakfast: my favorite thing! Barked at the postman: my favourite thing! (I expect you’re getting the idea now.)
There’s also a cat’s blog: This is the 937th day of my incarceration. I shat on the duvet to demonstrate my displeasure. Later, I brought in a decapitated mouse to show them what I am capable of. They said ‘Good cat, you’re showing us how much you love us!' I ground my sharp little teeth and licked my bottom clean. (You’re probably getting this idea too.) Now for the budgie’s blog. Well, don’t be silly, budgies don’t blog, they twitter. Har har. Are you feeling sorry for me yet?
After lunch (grilled cheese sandwich) I read a couple of chapters of RIVER HORSE (by William Least Heat Moon). This is an account of a river journey across America. At first I thought it was a bit boring, but then so are some of the rivers. WLHM has a dry style, and he reports little chunks of life he observes on the way, overheard in diners and bars. He has a companion he calls Pilotis. This person is actually a series of 5 or 6 people, and I have tried to spot the joins, without much success. The author doesn’t give any clues, not even gender. It’s a bit disconcerting since I assume that people are distinctive. So is LHM forcing them into a mould? Are they all fantastically literate and stoic? The boat is called NIKAWA (River Horse) and she’s a tough little beast, taking on huge barges, floods and the American Corps of Engineers. She has a couple of defining aphorisms, painted on various parts of her anatomy. The one I like best is ‘Proceed as the way opens’ just ahead of the steering position. The other is an injunction, borrowed from Joseph Conrad’s ‘HEART OF DARKNESS” - Avoid irritation! I think we might add these to Snork Maiden.
I’ve just started to wonder if people get to look like their boats, as they do with their dogs. I think they might.
Late in the afternoon I went swimming - there’s a beach right next to the marina. I wear a wet suit - the Atlantic is cold. Al always uses the mask and snorkel so I thought I would give it a go. I SAW FISH! It’s really quite exciting. And it’s just like entering another world with beaches, canyons, pools, rocks, weed… All the more fascinating because earlier in the day I have walked over it. Makes me think of the Drowned World.
Not much left to say, except the last floating sunset. It made me nostalgic for the first one that we saw afloat at Marans back in June. Looking forward to next season. We are well placed here to head for the Spanish reas, after a nice little shake-down cruise to the Iles Glenans Google them - they are a bunch of rocks and beaches with one of the best crab and lobster restaurants in Brittany. (I don’t think we want to hear the crustaceans blog, now do we?)
My bunk and River Horse are calling me!
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
The Snork Maiden and Me
The Snork Maiden and Me
Port la Foret
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Well, now we have some sailing to tell you about! The forecast today wasn’t too good, but since the forecast wind hadn’t happened by 0900 this morning, I thought I might give it a go. With one thing and another, it took a while to get the boat ready. I went to buy bread, and on the way back thought I should withdraw some more cash. The machine thought differently. Card disappeared without trace, as if it had never been! The phone number given for complaints didn’t work, so I cut my losses and left it there.
Then back to get the boat ready. Having decided yesterday that I’d leave on Friday, it took me a while to get the inside and outside into sailing mode. I usually look after the inside - including the navigation prep - and Al looks after rigging the sails, readying the mooring lines etc. So on my own it took we twice as long and it was almost noon by the time I was ready to go. (Last minute delay while I decided that thermal long johns were a step too far.)
So we left, with new autopilot rigged, helm-steadying bungees in place (sorry for the technicalities), one reef in the main and the working jib tied to the rail. (We eschew a roller furling genoa, although I do wonder sometimes…).
One out there I motored for an hour or so to get clear of channel, rocks etc. On my own, everything is slower. Hoisting sails always entails turning the bow (front) of the boat directly into the direction of the wind, to take the pressure out of the sail and allow it to be heaved or winched up. Single-handed, it takes a little while - take off the ties, move the lazy jacks out of the way, release the halyard, lock off the topping lift etc etc. So if you’re not careful, you’ve inadvertently sailed into a bunch of rocks. So when we were clear I got the main up, with one reef (reduction) in the sail. I looked behind me and 2 large shapes loomed in the distance - BT and Artemis (Google them!). Artemis is the boat Sam Davies (ex-Vendee) is now skippering. So Snork Maiden felt very proud to be out there with the big girls, but too timid to get her nix in a twist trying to put up the jib (foresail) with these two giants bearing down on her. Anyway - they passed - I have pix, but you’ll have to wait, we got sailing and it was all going rather well until the VHS radio came to life with an ‘Avis de vent frais’ or strong wind warning. Well, Snork Maiden was bound for home before you could say ‘lee ho’ or ‘crumbs’ or ‘bloody hell’ - whatever is your preference.
I txted the shore crew to let him know we were going back - he said ‘keep in touch by txt’. I said ‘I might be busy’. He said ‘You could pre-load one’ - but what would it say ‘HELP?’ I did manage one in between taking down the jib and making a cup of tea.
Back in harbour, the rain had stopped, there was hardly any wind and we slipped gently into a berth on the visitors’ pontoon. Actually, it’s better than the one we left, with the wind on the bow, rather than whistling in through the companionway (door to you landlubbers).
I’ve eaten my lunch (late) and now contemplating going shopping for supper. Have craving for guacamole, for which I have the major ingredients, but French crisps, not up to scooping without breaking. Suggestions?
On a completely different subject - most of you - probably all, know that I was adopted as a young baby by my lovely and loving Welsh parents. Although it was a fair assumption that I had biological parents somewhere, I always felt slightly as if I was left by elves, or extraterrestrials. The truth and fantasy sont deux, as the French might say. Anyway, to cut to the chase, I now know who my birth family are, and have seen pictures of most of them - well, not counting great nephews, nieces, cousins etc. Sally Randle has been liaising with Amanda, my youngest birth sibling (there were 6 of us), and I have been able to take things slowly since I’m not in a position to talk to or meet any of them until I get back. My birth mother is alive and well at 82, and it seems inevitable that we will meet. Sally and Amanda have been getting on over the phone and email, and it’s possible that Sal and I will go up to the Lake District, where most of the family live. It’s an irony that Sal has lost 3 close members of her family in the recent past, and now she’s helping me to acquire mine. She’s doing a great job and I really appreciate it. More on this subject later, although it’s not about sailing, just life.
navigare necesse est, vivere non est necesse
http://sj06.wordpress.com/2006/05/18/navigare-necesse-est-vivere-non-est-necesse/
Port la Foret
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Well, now we have some sailing to tell you about! The forecast today wasn’t too good, but since the forecast wind hadn’t happened by 0900 this morning, I thought I might give it a go. With one thing and another, it took a while to get the boat ready. I went to buy bread, and on the way back thought I should withdraw some more cash. The machine thought differently. Card disappeared without trace, as if it had never been! The phone number given for complaints didn’t work, so I cut my losses and left it there.
Then back to get the boat ready. Having decided yesterday that I’d leave on Friday, it took me a while to get the inside and outside into sailing mode. I usually look after the inside - including the navigation prep - and Al looks after rigging the sails, readying the mooring lines etc. So on my own it took we twice as long and it was almost noon by the time I was ready to go. (Last minute delay while I decided that thermal long johns were a step too far.)
So we left, with new autopilot rigged, helm-steadying bungees in place (sorry for the technicalities), one reef in the main and the working jib tied to the rail. (We eschew a roller furling genoa, although I do wonder sometimes…).
One out there I motored for an hour or so to get clear of channel, rocks etc. On my own, everything is slower. Hoisting sails always entails turning the bow (front) of the boat directly into the direction of the wind, to take the pressure out of the sail and allow it to be heaved or winched up. Single-handed, it takes a little while - take off the ties, move the lazy jacks out of the way, release the halyard, lock off the topping lift etc etc. So if you’re not careful, you’ve inadvertently sailed into a bunch of rocks. So when we were clear I got the main up, with one reef (reduction) in the sail. I looked behind me and 2 large shapes loomed in the distance - BT and Artemis (Google them!). Artemis is the boat Sam Davies (ex-Vendee) is now skippering. So Snork Maiden felt very proud to be out there with the big girls, but too timid to get her nix in a twist trying to put up the jib (foresail) with these two giants bearing down on her. Anyway - they passed - I have pix, but you’ll have to wait, we got sailing and it was all going rather well until the VHS radio came to life with an ‘Avis de vent frais’ or strong wind warning. Well, Snork Maiden was bound for home before you could say ‘lee ho’ or ‘crumbs’ or ‘bloody hell’ - whatever is your preference.
I txted the shore crew to let him know we were going back - he said ‘keep in touch by txt’. I said ‘I might be busy’. He said ‘You could pre-load one’ - but what would it say ‘HELP?’ I did manage one in between taking down the jib and making a cup of tea.
Back in harbour, the rain had stopped, there was hardly any wind and we slipped gently into a berth on the visitors’ pontoon. Actually, it’s better than the one we left, with the wind on the bow, rather than whistling in through the companionway (door to you landlubbers).
I’ve eaten my lunch (late) and now contemplating going shopping for supper. Have craving for guacamole, for which I have the major ingredients, but French crisps, not up to scooping without breaking. Suggestions?
On a completely different subject - most of you - probably all, know that I was adopted as a young baby by my lovely and loving Welsh parents. Although it was a fair assumption that I had biological parents somewhere, I always felt slightly as if I was left by elves, or extraterrestrials. The truth and fantasy sont deux, as the French might say. Anyway, to cut to the chase, I now know who my birth family are, and have seen pictures of most of them - well, not counting great nephews, nieces, cousins etc. Sally Randle has been liaising with Amanda, my youngest birth sibling (there were 6 of us), and I have been able to take things slowly since I’m not in a position to talk to or meet any of them until I get back. My birth mother is alive and well at 82, and it seems inevitable that we will meet. Sally and Amanda have been getting on over the phone and email, and it’s possible that Sal and I will go up to the Lake District, where most of the family live. It’s an irony that Sal has lost 3 close members of her family in the recent past, and now she’s helping me to acquire mine. She’s doing a great job and I really appreciate it. More on this subject later, although it’s not about sailing, just life.
navigare necesse est, vivere non est necesse
http://sj06.wordpress.com/2006/05/18/navigare-necesse-est-vivere-non-est-necesse/
The Snork Maiden and Me
The Snork Maiden and Me
Port la Foret
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Well, now we have some sailing to tell you about! The forecast today wasn’t too good, but since the forecast wind hadn’t happened by 0900 this morning, I thought I might give it a go. With one thing and another, it took a while to get the boat ready. I went to buy bread, and on the way back thought I should withdraw some more cash. The machine thought differently. Card disappeared without trace, as if it had never been! The phone number given for complaints didn’t work, so I cut my losses and left it there.
Then back to get the boat ready. Having decided yesterday that I’d leave on Friday, it took me a while to get the inside and outside into sailing mode. I usually look after the inside - including the navigation prep - and Al looks after rigging the sails, readying the mooring lines etc. So on my own it took we twice as long and it was almost noon by the time I was ready to go. (Last minute delay while I decided that thermal long johns were a step too far.)
So we left, with new autopilot rigged, helm-steadying bungees in place (sorry for the technicalities), one reef in the main and the working jib tied to the rail. (We eschew a roller furling genoa, although I do wonder sometimes…).
One out there I motored for an hour or so to get clear of channel, rocks etc. On my own, everything is slower. Hoisting sails always entails turning the bow (front) of the boat directly into the direction of the wind, to take the pressure out of the sail and allow it to be heaved or winched up. Single-handed, it takes a little while - take off the ties, move the lazy jacks out of the way, release the halyard, lock off the topping lift etc etc. So if you’re not careful, you’ve inadvertently sailed into a bunch of rocks. So when we were clear I got the main up, with one reef (reduction) in the sail. I looked behind me and 2 large shapes loomed in the distance - BT and Artemis (Google them!). Artemis is the boat Sam Davies (ex-Vendee) is now skippering. So Snork Maiden felt very proud to be out there with the big girls, but too timid to get her nix in a twist trying to put up the jib (foresail) with these two giants bearing down on her. Anyway - they passed - I have pix, but you’ll have to wait, we got sailing and it was all going rather well until the VHS radio came to life with an ‘Avis de vent frais’ or strong wind warning. Well, Snork Maiden was bound for home before you could say ‘lee ho’ or ‘crumbs’ or ‘bloody hell’ - whatever is your preference.
I txted the shore crew to let him know we were going back - he said ‘keep in touch by txt’. I said ‘I might be busy’. He said ‘You could pre-load one’ - but what would it say ‘HELP?’ I did manage one in between taking down the jib and making a cup of tea.
Back in harbour, the rain had stopped, there was hardly any wind and we slipped gently into a berth on the visitors’ pontoon. Actually, it’s better than the one we left, with the wind on the bow, rather than whistling in through the companionway (door to you landlubbers).
I’ve eaten my lunch (late) and now contemplating going shopping for supper. Have craving for guacamole, for which I have the major ingredients, but French crisps, not up to scooping without breaking. Suggestions?
On a completely different subject - most of you - probably all, know that I was adopted as a young baby by my lovely and loving Welsh parents. Although it was a fair assumption that I had biological parents somewhere, I always felt slightly as if I was left by elves, or extraterrestrials. The truth and fantasy sont deux, as the French might say. Anyway, to cut to the chase, I now know who my birth family are, and have seen pictures of most of them - well, not counting great nephews, nieces, cousins etc. Sally Randle has been liaising with Amanda, my youngest birth sibling (there were 6 of us), and I have been able to take things slowly since I’m not in a position to talk to or meet any of them until I get back. My birth mother is alive and well at 82, and it seems inevitable that we will meet. Sally and Amanda have been getting on over the phone and email, and it’s possible that Sal and I will go up to the Lake District, where most of the family live. It’s an irony that Sal has lost 3 close members of her family in the recent past, and now she’s helping me to acquire mine. She’s doing a great job and I really appreciate it. More on this subject later, although it’s not about sailing, just life.
navigare necesse est, vivere non est necesse
http://sj06.wordpress.com/2006/05/18/navigare-necesse-est-vivere-non-est-necesse/
Port la Foret
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Well, now we have some sailing to tell you about! The forecast today wasn’t too good, but since the forecast wind hadn’t happened by 0900 this morning, I thought I might give it a go. With one thing and another, it took a while to get the boat ready. I went to buy bread, and on the way back thought I should withdraw some more cash. The machine thought differently. Card disappeared without trace, as if it had never been! The phone number given for complaints didn’t work, so I cut my losses and left it there.
Then back to get the boat ready. Having decided yesterday that I’d leave on Friday, it took me a while to get the inside and outside into sailing mode. I usually look after the inside - including the navigation prep - and Al looks after rigging the sails, readying the mooring lines etc. So on my own it took we twice as long and it was almost noon by the time I was ready to go. (Last minute delay while I decided that thermal long johns were a step too far.)
So we left, with new autopilot rigged, helm-steadying bungees in place (sorry for the technicalities), one reef in the main and the working jib tied to the rail. (We eschew a roller furling genoa, although I do wonder sometimes…).
One out there I motored for an hour or so to get clear of channel, rocks etc. On my own, everything is slower. Hoisting sails always entails turning the bow (front) of the boat directly into the direction of the wind, to take the pressure out of the sail and allow it to be heaved or winched up. Single-handed, it takes a little while - take off the ties, move the lazy jacks out of the way, release the halyard, lock off the topping lift etc etc. So if you’re not careful, you’ve inadvertently sailed into a bunch of rocks. So when we were clear I got the main up, with one reef (reduction) in the sail. I looked behind me and 2 large shapes loomed in the distance - BT and Artemis (Google them!). Artemis is the boat Sam Davies (ex-Vendee) is now skippering. So Snork Maiden felt very proud to be out there with the big girls, but too timid to get her nix in a twist trying to put up the jib (foresail) with these two giants bearing down on her. Anyway - they passed - I have pix, but you’ll have to wait, we got sailing and it was all going rather well until the VHS radio came to life with an ‘Avis de vent frais’ or strong wind warning. Well, Snork Maiden was bound for home before you could say ‘lee ho’ or ‘crumbs’ or ‘bloody hell’ - whatever is your preference.
I txted the shore crew to let him know we were going back - he said ‘keep in touch by txt’. I said ‘I might be busy’. He said ‘You could pre-load one’ - but what would it say ‘HELP?’ I did manage one in between taking down the jib and making a cup of tea.
Back in harbour, the rain had stopped, there was hardly any wind and we slipped gently into a berth on the visitors’ pontoon. Actually, it’s better than the one we left, with the wind on the bow, rather than whistling in through the companionway (door to you landlubbers).
I’ve eaten my lunch (late) and now contemplating going shopping for supper. Have craving for guacamole, for which I have the major ingredients, but French crisps, not up to scooping without breaking. Suggestions?
On a completely different subject - most of you - probably all, know that I was adopted as a young baby by my lovely and loving Welsh parents. Although it was a fair assumption that I had biological parents somewhere, I always felt slightly as if I was left by elves, or extraterrestrials. The truth and fantasy sont deux, as the French might say. Anyway, to cut to the chase, I now know who my birth family are, and have seen pictures of most of them - well, not counting great nephews, nieces, cousins etc. Sally Randle has been liaising with Amanda, my youngest birth sibling (there were 6 of us), and I have been able to take things slowly since I’m not in a position to talk to or meet any of them until I get back. My birth mother is alive and well at 82, and it seems inevitable that we will meet. Sally and Amanda have been getting on over the phone and email, and it’s possible that Sal and I will go up to the Lake District, where most of the family live. It’s an irony that Sal has lost 3 close members of her family in the recent past, and now she’s helping me to acquire mine. She’s doing a great job and I really appreciate it. More on this subject later, although it’s not about sailing, just life.
navigare necesse est, vivere non est necesse
http://sj06.wordpress.com/2006/05/18/navigare-necesse-est-vivere-non-est-necesse/
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Sailing, Dolphins and Night Entry
Sailing, Dolphins and Night Entry
Sunday, September 13, 2009
PLF
Al says that I never talk much about sailing in the blog - only our adventures on dry land. I suppose that’s partly because we spend more time on land, but mostly because the being at sea part is a very different experience, and what happens there is to an extent covered in the ship’s log. On the hour (more or less) we record the atmospheric pressure, any changes in sail set, where we are according to the GPS, any navigational marks we can see, with very occasional remarks like ‘DOLPHINS!!’. And that’s what it’s like. Our last trip went through a couple of days and a night, a bit too short to really pick up the rhythm of passage-making, but long enough to remember what it is like. During the day we don’t have an official ‘watch’ system - seems excessive with just 2 of us. But each of us gets some time to rest and some time out of the sun. That’s important - on completely clear days, with little wind, it’s easy to get over-hot, and feel sun-soaked, even with long sleeves, hat etc. At night we do 3 hours each with about half an hour hand-over time for waking up, getting dressed and seeing where we are and what lights are visible.
The 3 things that influence the ‘feel’ of the trip most are waves, wind and cloud cover (or the lack of it). Waves are made up of the ocean swell - in our case coming in from the Atlantic. This can be anywhere from nothing to several metres; we had around 2m and that’s enough to lose sight of other small craft for a short time. The wind was behind us - potentially a good point of sail - better than the wind ‘on the nose’ but the boat rolls a lot, and the course we could comfortably steer was around 20º away from where we wanted to go. Sailing involves a lot of compromise! Incidentally, downwind is also tough on the autopilot which is probably why she resigned!
Now - just when we were getting over-hot, and a bit fractious, on the second afternoon, the dolphins came. I was peeling off layers of clothes, having just discovered how hot I was, Al was on deck, we had just put the engine on to improve the course, and along came dolphins. Hard to know how many - when we started to watch them from the bow, we could see one individual coming back again and again. We could recognise him by a pattern of white squares - scars, I suppose - on his left side near the tail. S/he was one of the bigger ones and would come barrelling in at speed to apparently dodge the bow and ride on the wave. We saw young dolphins, swimming alone or with an adult, groups of 2 or 3 swimming and jumping together, one clear out-of the-water leap, and lots of parallel swimming and crossing with the boat. They must have been with us for an hour or so and then they took off, back into dolphin world. I think they were common dolphins, with a yellow streak along the sides of their creamy underbellies. (That’s a really peculiar word!)
Night was fairly uneventful under mainsail and motor. Not much shipping around, just some distant lights. It’s a good area for big lighthouses, marking Belle Isle, Glenans, Pointe de Penmarc’h. They can be seen over 20 miles away.
Entry into Le Guilvinec, at low water around midnight, was interesting. There’s a good set of leading lights, to keep boats off rocks and shallows. There are 3, quickly flashing in unison, and all you have to do is keep them lined up by steering towards the front one. (Line up you finger with a distant object, move your head from side to side and you’ll get the idea.) The harbour mouth is a kind of ‘S’ bend, so a bit of a confusing approach. We followed the pilot book instructions and all came good. We were also helped by a generous full moon, although she was also responsible for the very shallow tide.
Forecast is determinedly N Easterly and maybe I have to get used to the idea that Snork Maiden will have to stay here for the winter.
Still, crewing offers all considered. C’mon you scurvy dogs.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
PLF
Al says that I never talk much about sailing in the blog - only our adventures on dry land. I suppose that’s partly because we spend more time on land, but mostly because the being at sea part is a very different experience, and what happens there is to an extent covered in the ship’s log. On the hour (more or less) we record the atmospheric pressure, any changes in sail set, where we are according to the GPS, any navigational marks we can see, with very occasional remarks like ‘DOLPHINS!!’. And that’s what it’s like. Our last trip went through a couple of days and a night, a bit too short to really pick up the rhythm of passage-making, but long enough to remember what it is like. During the day we don’t have an official ‘watch’ system - seems excessive with just 2 of us. But each of us gets some time to rest and some time out of the sun. That’s important - on completely clear days, with little wind, it’s easy to get over-hot, and feel sun-soaked, even with long sleeves, hat etc. At night we do 3 hours each with about half an hour hand-over time for waking up, getting dressed and seeing where we are and what lights are visible.
The 3 things that influence the ‘feel’ of the trip most are waves, wind and cloud cover (or the lack of it). Waves are made up of the ocean swell - in our case coming in from the Atlantic. This can be anywhere from nothing to several metres; we had around 2m and that’s enough to lose sight of other small craft for a short time. The wind was behind us - potentially a good point of sail - better than the wind ‘on the nose’ but the boat rolls a lot, and the course we could comfortably steer was around 20º away from where we wanted to go. Sailing involves a lot of compromise! Incidentally, downwind is also tough on the autopilot which is probably why she resigned!
Now - just when we were getting over-hot, and a bit fractious, on the second afternoon, the dolphins came. I was peeling off layers of clothes, having just discovered how hot I was, Al was on deck, we had just put the engine on to improve the course, and along came dolphins. Hard to know how many - when we started to watch them from the bow, we could see one individual coming back again and again. We could recognise him by a pattern of white squares - scars, I suppose - on his left side near the tail. S/he was one of the bigger ones and would come barrelling in at speed to apparently dodge the bow and ride on the wave. We saw young dolphins, swimming alone or with an adult, groups of 2 or 3 swimming and jumping together, one clear out-of the-water leap, and lots of parallel swimming and crossing with the boat. They must have been with us for an hour or so and then they took off, back into dolphin world. I think they were common dolphins, with a yellow streak along the sides of their creamy underbellies. (That’s a really peculiar word!)
Night was fairly uneventful under mainsail and motor. Not much shipping around, just some distant lights. It’s a good area for big lighthouses, marking Belle Isle, Glenans, Pointe de Penmarc’h. They can be seen over 20 miles away.
Entry into Le Guilvinec, at low water around midnight, was interesting. There’s a good set of leading lights, to keep boats off rocks and shallows. There are 3, quickly flashing in unison, and all you have to do is keep them lined up by steering towards the front one. (Line up you finger with a distant object, move your head from side to side and you’ll get the idea.) The harbour mouth is a kind of ‘S’ bend, so a bit of a confusing approach. We followed the pilot book instructions and all came good. We were also helped by a generous full moon, although she was also responsible for the very shallow tide.
Forecast is determinedly N Easterly and maybe I have to get used to the idea that Snork Maiden will have to stay here for the winter.
Still, crewing offers all considered. C’mon you scurvy dogs.
Sailing, Dolphins and Night Entry
Sailing, Dolphins and Night Entry
Sunday, September 13, 2009
PLF
Al says that I never talk much about sailing in the blog - only our adventures on dry land. I suppose that’s partly because we spend more time on land, but mostly because the being at sea part is a very different experience, and what happens there is to an extent covered in the ship’s log. On the hour (more or less) we record the atmospheric pressure, any changes in sail set, where we are according to the GPS, any navigational marks we can see, with very occasional remarks like ‘DOLPHINS!!’. And that’s what it’s like. Our last trip went through a couple of days and a night, a bit too short to really pick up the rhythm of passage-making, but long enough to remember what it is like. During the day we don’t have an official ‘watch’ system - seems excessive with just 2 of us. But each of us gets some time to rest and some time out of the sun. That’s important - on completely clear days, with little wind, it’s easy to get over-hot, and feel sun-soaked, even with long sleeves, hat etc. At night we do 3 hours each with about half an hour hand-over time for waking up, getting dressed and seeing where we are and what lights are visible.
The 3 things that influence the ‘feel’ of the trip most are waves, wind and cloud cover (or the lack of it). Waves are made up of the ocean swell - in our case coming in from the Atlantic. This can be anywhere from nothing to several metres; we had around 2m and that’s enough to lose sight of other small craft for a short time. The wind was behind us - potentially a good point of sail - better than the wind ‘on the nose’ but the boat rolls a lot, and the course we could comfortably steer was around 20º away from where we wanted to go. Sailing involves a lot of compromise! Incidentally, downwind is also tough on the autopilot which is probably why she resigned!
Now - just when we were getting over-hot, and a bit fractious, on the second afternoon, the dolphins came. I was peeling off layers of clothes, having just discovered how hot I was, Al was on deck, we had just put the engine on to improve the course, and along came dolphins. Hard to know how many - when we started to watch them from the bow, we could see one individual coming back again and again. We could recognise him by a pattern of white squares - scars, I suppose - on his left side near the tail. S/he was one of the bigger ones and would come barrelling in at speed to apparently dodge the bow and ride on the wave. We saw young dolphins, swimming alone or with an adult, groups of 2 or 3 swimming and jumping together, one clear out-of the-water leap, and lots of parallel swimming and crossing with the boat. They must have been with us for an hour or so and then they took off, back into dolphin world. I think they were common dolphins, with a yellow streak along the sides of their creamy underbellies. (That’s a really peculiar word!)
Night was fairly uneventful under mainsail and motor. Not much shipping around, just some distant lights. It’s a good area for big lighthouses, marking Belle Isle, Glenans, Pointe de Penmarc’h. They can be seen over 20 miles away.
Entry into Le Guilvinec, at low water around midnight, was interesting. There’s a good set of leading lights, to keep boats off rocks and shallows. There are 3, quickly flashing in unison, and all you have to do is keep them lined up by steering towards the front one. (Line up you finger with a distant object, move your head from side to side and you’ll get the idea.) The harbour mouth is a kind of ‘S’ bend, so a bit of a confusing approach. We followed the pilot book instructions and all came good. We were also helped by a generous full moon, although she was also responsible for the very shallow tide.
Forecast is determinedly N Easterly and maybe I have to get used to the idea that Snork Maiden will have to stay here for the winter.
Still, crewing offers all considered. C’mon you scurvy dogs.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
PLF
Al says that I never talk much about sailing in the blog - only our adventures on dry land. I suppose that’s partly because we spend more time on land, but mostly because the being at sea part is a very different experience, and what happens there is to an extent covered in the ship’s log. On the hour (more or less) we record the atmospheric pressure, any changes in sail set, where we are according to the GPS, any navigational marks we can see, with very occasional remarks like ‘DOLPHINS!!’. And that’s what it’s like. Our last trip went through a couple of days and a night, a bit too short to really pick up the rhythm of passage-making, but long enough to remember what it is like. During the day we don’t have an official ‘watch’ system - seems excessive with just 2 of us. But each of us gets some time to rest and some time out of the sun. That’s important - on completely clear days, with little wind, it’s easy to get over-hot, and feel sun-soaked, even with long sleeves, hat etc. At night we do 3 hours each with about half an hour hand-over time for waking up, getting dressed and seeing where we are and what lights are visible.
The 3 things that influence the ‘feel’ of the trip most are waves, wind and cloud cover (or the lack of it). Waves are made up of the ocean swell - in our case coming in from the Atlantic. This can be anywhere from nothing to several metres; we had around 2m and that’s enough to lose sight of other small craft for a short time. The wind was behind us - potentially a good point of sail - better than the wind ‘on the nose’ but the boat rolls a lot, and the course we could comfortably steer was around 20º away from where we wanted to go. Sailing involves a lot of compromise! Incidentally, downwind is also tough on the autopilot which is probably why she resigned!
Now - just when we were getting over-hot, and a bit fractious, on the second afternoon, the dolphins came. I was peeling off layers of clothes, having just discovered how hot I was, Al was on deck, we had just put the engine on to improve the course, and along came dolphins. Hard to know how many - when we started to watch them from the bow, we could see one individual coming back again and again. We could recognise him by a pattern of white squares - scars, I suppose - on his left side near the tail. S/he was one of the bigger ones and would come barrelling in at speed to apparently dodge the bow and ride on the wave. We saw young dolphins, swimming alone or with an adult, groups of 2 or 3 swimming and jumping together, one clear out-of the-water leap, and lots of parallel swimming and crossing with the boat. They must have been with us for an hour or so and then they took off, back into dolphin world. I think they were common dolphins, with a yellow streak along the sides of their creamy underbellies. (That’s a really peculiar word!)
Night was fairly uneventful under mainsail and motor. Not much shipping around, just some distant lights. It’s a good area for big lighthouses, marking Belle Isle, Glenans, Pointe de Penmarc’h. They can be seen over 20 miles away.
Entry into Le Guilvinec, at low water around midnight, was interesting. There’s a good set of leading lights, to keep boats off rocks and shallows. There are 3, quickly flashing in unison, and all you have to do is keep them lined up by steering towards the front one. (Line up you finger with a distant object, move your head from side to side and you’ll get the idea.) The harbour mouth is a kind of ‘S’ bend, so a bit of a confusing approach. We followed the pilot book instructions and all came good. We were also helped by a generous full moon, although she was also responsible for the very shallow tide.
Forecast is determinedly N Easterly and maybe I have to get used to the idea that Snork Maiden will have to stay here for the winter.
Still, crewing offers all considered. C’mon you scurvy dogs.
Saturday, 12 September 2009
Woods and Water
Woods and Water
Port-la-Foret
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Well, here we are again… we made our difficult decision not to go last Tuesday. Well, we did leave Le Guilvinec but not, unfortunately to go North. Too little sleep, too little visibility, too little confidence in the autopilot (now defunct) and too much wind predicted for the channel. And now, as some of you already know, too few crew. Al’s had to go back to work on the music for upcoming BBC Children in Need ’80 Days’ - a sort of minor celeb relay race around the world.
We (Snork Maiden and me) are in Port-la-Foret, around the corner from Concarneau. It’s an 1000+ boat marina, base for the Figaro race and several Open 60 teams. There’s a few restaurants, a bar, and some of the time, Internet. There’s a pleasant path through the forest to the village of Foret Foutsnant, (boulangerie, huit a huit, tourist office, Sunday market etc.) - also a beach on the other side of the marina. The weather has been hot, sunny and windy. Beach is good for swimming at high water - noon tomorrow, so I’ll struggle into wetsuit and get myself out there. (It’s not warm - chilly with a warm layer at the surface at the end of the day - we swam as soon as we got in on Tuesday.)
Wednesday was spent moaning, groaning and taking the autopilot into the workshop here - also asking for ideas for crew. Thursday I drove Al to St Malo to catch the ferry, and spent a couple of hours admiring the gothic architecture of Dinard - the houses are a bit like some of the houses in the UK resorts, but many times more so, with pinnacles, turrets, elaborate woodwork, sharp pitched roofs, the whole thing teetering over the magnificent, crashing seascape. Worth a visit! (Photos on Picasa when I get home.)
Friday I had the car for a second day (2 days cheaper than one in the crazy logic of car rental companies.) I took a trip to the local chateau de Keriolet. Incredible story of a Russian aristocrat who married a Frenchman 30 years her junior and together they spent 25 years building a folly in an alarming mix of styles on the site of a 15C Breton house. He died not long after it was finished, and she moved back to Paris, where she died 4 years later. She left the pile to Brittany, to be used as a museum - just the way she left it. Then a descendant turned up - alleged to be related to be Rasputin’s murderer. He successfully contested ownership of the property and then sold it off, bit by bit, furniture, paintings, tapestries and finally the land itself. It was bought by a would-be hotelier, who soon realised that his idea wouldn’t work, fell into disrepair and was eventually bought in the 1980’s, I think, by an anonymous benefactor who is slowly restoring it, and opens it to the paying public. A good afternoon out! A quick visit to Le Clerc for a browse around the books and CDs, and back to PLF on the bus.
More about PLF tomorrow.
And if any of you know any willing sailors, don’t hold back. I’ll be press-ganging soon.
Night, now.
Port-la-Foret
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Well, here we are again… we made our difficult decision not to go last Tuesday. Well, we did leave Le Guilvinec but not, unfortunately to go North. Too little sleep, too little visibility, too little confidence in the autopilot (now defunct) and too much wind predicted for the channel. And now, as some of you already know, too few crew. Al’s had to go back to work on the music for upcoming BBC Children in Need ’80 Days’ - a sort of minor celeb relay race around the world.
We (Snork Maiden and me) are in Port-la-Foret, around the corner from Concarneau. It’s an 1000+ boat marina, base for the Figaro race and several Open 60 teams. There’s a few restaurants, a bar, and some of the time, Internet. There’s a pleasant path through the forest to the village of Foret Foutsnant, (boulangerie, huit a huit, tourist office, Sunday market etc.) - also a beach on the other side of the marina. The weather has been hot, sunny and windy. Beach is good for swimming at high water - noon tomorrow, so I’ll struggle into wetsuit and get myself out there. (It’s not warm - chilly with a warm layer at the surface at the end of the day - we swam as soon as we got in on Tuesday.)
Wednesday was spent moaning, groaning and taking the autopilot into the workshop here - also asking for ideas for crew. Thursday I drove Al to St Malo to catch the ferry, and spent a couple of hours admiring the gothic architecture of Dinard - the houses are a bit like some of the houses in the UK resorts, but many times more so, with pinnacles, turrets, elaborate woodwork, sharp pitched roofs, the whole thing teetering over the magnificent, crashing seascape. Worth a visit! (Photos on Picasa when I get home.)
Friday I had the car for a second day (2 days cheaper than one in the crazy logic of car rental companies.) I took a trip to the local chateau de Keriolet. Incredible story of a Russian aristocrat who married a Frenchman 30 years her junior and together they spent 25 years building a folly in an alarming mix of styles on the site of a 15C Breton house. He died not long after it was finished, and she moved back to Paris, where she died 4 years later. She left the pile to Brittany, to be used as a museum - just the way she left it. Then a descendant turned up - alleged to be related to be Rasputin’s murderer. He successfully contested ownership of the property and then sold it off, bit by bit, furniture, paintings, tapestries and finally the land itself. It was bought by a would-be hotelier, who soon realised that his idea wouldn’t work, fell into disrepair and was eventually bought in the 1980’s, I think, by an anonymous benefactor who is slowly restoring it, and opens it to the paying public. A good afternoon out! A quick visit to Le Clerc for a browse around the books and CDs, and back to PLF on the bus.
More about PLF tomorrow.
And if any of you know any willing sailors, don’t hold back. I’ll be press-ganging soon.
Night, now.
Woods and Water
Woods and Water
Port-la-Foret
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Well, here we are again… we made our difficult decision not to go last Tuesday. Well, we did leave Le Guilvinec but not, unfortunately to go North. Too little sleep, too little visibility, too little confidence in the autopilot (now defunct) and too much wind predicted for the channel. And now, as some of you already know, too few crew. Al’s had to go back to work on the music for upcoming BBC Children in Need ’80 Days’ - a sort of minor celeb relay race around the world.
We (Snork Maiden and me) are in Port-la-Foret, around the corner from Concarneau. It’s an 1000+ boat marina, base for the Figaro race and several Open 60 teams. There’s a few restaurants, a bar, and some of the time, Internet. There’s a pleasant path through the forest to the village of Foret Foutsnant, (boulangerie, huit a huit, tourist office, Sunday market etc.) - also a beach on the other side of the marina. The weather has been hot, sunny and windy. Beach is good for swimming at high water - noon tomorrow, so I’ll struggle into wetsuit and get myself out there. (It’s not warm - chilly with a warm layer at the surface at the end of the day - we swam as soon as we got in on Tuesday.)
Wednesday was spent moaning, groaning and taking the autopilot into the workshop here - also asking for ideas for crew. Thursday I drove Al to St Malo to catch the ferry, and spent a couple of hours admiring the gothic architecture of Dinard - the houses are a bit like some of the houses in the UK resorts, but many times more so, with pinnacles, turrets, elaborate woodwork, sharp pitched roofs, the whole thing teetering over the magnificent, crashing seascape. Worth a visit! (Photos on Picasa when I get home.)
Friday I had the car for a second day (2 days cheaper than one in the crazy logic of car rental companies.) I took a trip to the local chateau de Keriolet. Incredible story of a Russian aristocrat who married a Frenchman 30 years her junior and together they spent 25 years building a folly in an alarming mix of styles on the site of a 15C Breton house. He died not long after it was finished, and she moved back to Paris, where she died 4 years later. She left the pile to Brittany, to be used as a museum - just the way she left it. Then a descendant turned up - alleged to be related to be Rasputin’s murderer. He successfully contested ownership of the property and then sold it off, bit by bit, furniture, paintings, tapestries and finally the land itself. It was bought by a would-be hotelier, who soon realised that his idea wouldn’t work, fell into disrepair and was eventually bought in the 1980’s, I think, by an anonymous benefactor who is slowly restoring it, and opens it to the paying public. A good afternoon out! A quick visit to Le Clerc for a browse around the books and CDs, and back to PLF on the bus.
More about PLF tomorrow.
And if any of you know any willing sailors, don’t hold back. I’ll be press-ganging soon.
Night, now.
Port-la-Foret
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Well, here we are again… we made our difficult decision not to go last Tuesday. Well, we did leave Le Guilvinec but not, unfortunately to go North. Too little sleep, too little visibility, too little confidence in the autopilot (now defunct) and too much wind predicted for the channel. And now, as some of you already know, too few crew. Al’s had to go back to work on the music for upcoming BBC Children in Need ’80 Days’ - a sort of minor celeb relay race around the world.
We (Snork Maiden and me) are in Port-la-Foret, around the corner from Concarneau. It’s an 1000+ boat marina, base for the Figaro race and several Open 60 teams. There’s a few restaurants, a bar, and some of the time, Internet. There’s a pleasant path through the forest to the village of Foret Foutsnant, (boulangerie, huit a huit, tourist office, Sunday market etc.) - also a beach on the other side of the marina. The weather has been hot, sunny and windy. Beach is good for swimming at high water - noon tomorrow, so I’ll struggle into wetsuit and get myself out there. (It’s not warm - chilly with a warm layer at the surface at the end of the day - we swam as soon as we got in on Tuesday.)
Wednesday was spent moaning, groaning and taking the autopilot into the workshop here - also asking for ideas for crew. Thursday I drove Al to St Malo to catch the ferry, and spent a couple of hours admiring the gothic architecture of Dinard - the houses are a bit like some of the houses in the UK resorts, but many times more so, with pinnacles, turrets, elaborate woodwork, sharp pitched roofs, the whole thing teetering over the magnificent, crashing seascape. Worth a visit! (Photos on Picasa when I get home.)
Friday I had the car for a second day (2 days cheaper than one in the crazy logic of car rental companies.) I took a trip to the local chateau de Keriolet. Incredible story of a Russian aristocrat who married a Frenchman 30 years her junior and together they spent 25 years building a folly in an alarming mix of styles on the site of a 15C Breton house. He died not long after it was finished, and she moved back to Paris, where she died 4 years later. She left the pile to Brittany, to be used as a museum - just the way she left it. Then a descendant turned up - alleged to be related to be Rasputin’s murderer. He successfully contested ownership of the property and then sold it off, bit by bit, furniture, paintings, tapestries and finally the land itself. It was bought by a would-be hotelier, who soon realised that his idea wouldn’t work, fell into disrepair and was eventually bought in the 1980’s, I think, by an anonymous benefactor who is slowly restoring it, and opens it to the paying public. A good afternoon out! A quick visit to Le Clerc for a browse around the books and CDs, and back to PLF on the bus.
More about PLF tomorrow.
And if any of you know any willing sailors, don’t hold back. I’ll be press-ganging soon.
Night, now.
Monday, 7 September 2009
days and nights at sea
Le Guilvinec
7 september
I exaggerate - 2 days and a night and a half have got us halfway up Brittany. But what to do next? Crystal ball gazing the weather - has many adverse aspects and we are running out of time!
Meanwhile we are in the second largest fishing port in France on an out-of-use visitor pontoon. We came in well after dark, down a channel bordered by cute rocks (I jest, they are scary). We emerged from rocky seascape into midnight fishing fleet - Al said 'looks like we have arrived in Mordor' - images of cranes, rails, cauldrons, banging, people loading big frigo lorries by lamplight. Huge boats in an endless line down the harbour. Not a place for yachts - a huge outdoor fish catching factory.
Then we groped around amongst the yachts and day boats at the end of the harbour to find depth - spring tides just now. Anyway - good things about the trip - full moon, great dawns and a pod of dolphins came to play. Bad things - autopilot screaming like banshee, swells a bit unpleasant and engine smoking like ... an old engine, Calls to Raymarine and Buch respectively - advised to buy a new one and keep the old one going, respectively.
Time to leave the bar and make some decisions. Nice night all, climb into your hammocks and swing yourselves to sleep.
7 september
I exaggerate - 2 days and a night and a half have got us halfway up Brittany. But what to do next? Crystal ball gazing the weather - has many adverse aspects and we are running out of time!
Meanwhile we are in the second largest fishing port in France on an out-of-use visitor pontoon. We came in well after dark, down a channel bordered by cute rocks (I jest, they are scary). We emerged from rocky seascape into midnight fishing fleet - Al said 'looks like we have arrived in Mordor' - images of cranes, rails, cauldrons, banging, people loading big frigo lorries by lamplight. Huge boats in an endless line down the harbour. Not a place for yachts - a huge outdoor fish catching factory.
Then we groped around amongst the yachts and day boats at the end of the harbour to find depth - spring tides just now. Anyway - good things about the trip - full moon, great dawns and a pod of dolphins came to play. Bad things - autopilot screaming like banshee, swells a bit unpleasant and engine smoking like ... an old engine, Calls to Raymarine and Buch respectively - advised to buy a new one and keep the old one going, respectively.
Time to leave the bar and make some decisions. Nice night all, climb into your hammocks and swing yourselves to sleep.
days and nights at sea
Le Guilvinec
7 september
I exaggerate - 2 days and a night and a half have got us halfway up Brittany. But what to do next? Crystal ball gazing the weather - has many adverse aspects and we are running out of time!
Meanwhile we are in the second largest fishing port in France on an out-of-use visitor pontoon. We came in well after dark, down a channel bordered by cute rocks (I jest, they are scary). We emerged from rocky seascape into midnight fishing fleet - Al said 'looks like we have arrived in Mordor' - images of cranes, rails, cauldrons, banging, people loading big frigo lorries by lamplight. Huge boats in an endless line down the harbour. Not a place for yachts - a huge outdoor fish catching factory.
Then we groped around amongst the yachts and day boats at the end of the harbour to find depth - spring tides just now. Anyway - good things about the trip - full moon, great dawns and a pod of dolphins came to play. Bad things - autopilot screaming like banshee, swells a bit unpleasant and engine smoking like ... an old engine, Calls to Raymarine and Buch respectively - advised to buy a new one and keep the old one going, respectively.
Time to leave the bar and make some decisions. Nice night all, climb into your hammocks and swing yourselves to sleep.
7 september
I exaggerate - 2 days and a night and a half have got us halfway up Brittany. But what to do next? Crystal ball gazing the weather - has many adverse aspects and we are running out of time!
Meanwhile we are in the second largest fishing port in France on an out-of-use visitor pontoon. We came in well after dark, down a channel bordered by cute rocks (I jest, they are scary). We emerged from rocky seascape into midnight fishing fleet - Al said 'looks like we have arrived in Mordor' - images of cranes, rails, cauldrons, banging, people loading big frigo lorries by lamplight. Huge boats in an endless line down the harbour. Not a place for yachts - a huge outdoor fish catching factory.
Then we groped around amongst the yachts and day boats at the end of the harbour to find depth - spring tides just now. Anyway - good things about the trip - full moon, great dawns and a pod of dolphins came to play. Bad things - autopilot screaming like banshee, swells a bit unpleasant and engine smoking like ... an old engine, Calls to Raymarine and Buch respectively - advised to buy a new one and keep the old one going, respectively.
Time to leave the bar and make some decisions. Nice night all, climb into your hammocks and swing yourselves to sleep.
Thursday, 3 September 2009
Oh no, where does the glue box go?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
St Martin. Ile de Re
Oh no, where does the glue box go?
When we get ready to go on Snork Maiden, there appears a very long list of Things That Must Be Done. These range from packing everything away to changing the gear box oil. Thanks to Al’s daily bike trips to the supermarché, we are stocked up with everything from toilet rolls to tins of fruit, and we’re really almost ready to go. We could have left today if it were not for near gale force winds coming from the NW - pretty much exactly where we want to go. (Listeners to Radio 4 pay special attention to Biscay, ‘cos that’s where we’ll be.) The long-range forecast from Sat afternoon is pretty favourable, so keep your fingers crossed and watch your seaweed closely. (My weather forecasting is mainly of the ‘if there’s enough blue sky showing to make a sailor a pair of trousers, the afternoon will be nice’ variety. Fortunately there are more sophisticated models out there on the internet.
You’ll be glad to know that I got my first bike outing yesterday afternoon. While I’ve been recovering, Al has been pedalling over to the Atlantic side of the island nearly every day, to swim in the surf and sit in the shade of the pine trees! Yesterday he took me to his favourite beach - the surf was too wild for swimming, but it was beautiful and the sky was fantastic with every kind of cloud you can imagine (but only tiny blue patches, not even enough for a very small sailor).
The harbour has got a lot quieter and the whole town is edging into the autumn. Most of the French holidaymakers have left last weekend (le grand retour) and they have been replaced by British low-season tourists, and the odd grey coach trip. The regulars are back at the ‘Lever du Soleil’ Bar, and the shops are cutting the price of gifts.
The day goes fast here. Sometimes we wake early, but now I’ve run out of fiction, this is not so attractive. So we’ve been getting up between 8 and 9. There’s breakfast, washing up from the night before, the market, showers sometimes… Internet café, coffee at the Lever, lunch, Al’s bike ride, my gentle strolls around the town and along the Vaubon fort walls… sometimes a bit more Internet, then supper. Amazing how the time goes - I thought it never would when I first heard we’d have to be here for 2 weeks.
Thanks for the texts, comments, emails and Skypes. I feel as though we have virtual visitors. Lynda - this was a great chance for a week in the sun - if only we’d known! I think about you every time I pass the fig tree on the way to the Capitainerie. (I don’t think the figs are going to make it to an edible ripeness, too much Atlantic breeze. But they do have that fantastic peppery smell.) I am afraid that food plays a large part in our entertainment, so might have to be unloaded with a crane. We haven’t eaten out at all on this trip - too expensive, and we can cook well on the boat, but there is a café that does a good line in take-away pizzas and chips! The market is good and open every day, so cooking and eating is a real pleasure.
We’re going to try to make the trip back to England with a minimum of stops - so watch this space. I have piled up the charts in the right order, and am about to do corrections (downloaded yesterday - most of our charts are 3 years old, and some of them a lot older), also make sure that the major waypoints are entered into the GPS. If the forecast holds, we will have light winds, against us to begin with, then becoming more helpful as we go North. The big thing is really the channel crossing. There’s a possibility that we will make for Falmouth - in which case we will have to move on to Dartmouth later in September. So here’s a good chance to sail on board the lovely Snork Maiden, for a short-ish passage - maybe break at Plymouth. Anyway, as you know, sailors don’t make definite plans, they just go ‘towards’.
You (might) see a poll. Some of you are dedicated readers and others seem to forget that blogging exists unless reminded by email! Problem is that I can't easily email a whole long list of you from my Entourage (for reasons too boring to explain). So maybe at least some of you can let me know what you think! I'll email as well when I get back.
Off to upload this… so until the next time… Fair winds and gentle seas to you all.
Jenny, Al & Snork Maiden
Oh no, where does the glue box go?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
St Martin. Ile de Re
Oh no, where does the glue box go?
When we get ready to go on Snork Maiden, there appears a very long list of Things That Must Be Done. These range from packing everything away to changing the gear box oil. Thanks to Al’s daily bike trips to the supermarché, we are stocked up with everything from toilet rolls to tins of fruit, and we’re really almost ready to go. We could have left today if it were not for near gale force winds coming from the NW - pretty much exactly where we want to go. (Listeners to Radio 4 pay special attention to Biscay, ‘cos that’s where we’ll be.) The long-range forecast from Sat afternoon is pretty favourable, so keep your fingers crossed and watch your seaweed closely. (My weather forecasting is mainly of the ‘if there’s enough blue sky showing to make a sailor a pair of trousers, the afternoon will be nice’ variety. Fortunately there are more sophisticated models out there on the internet.
You’ll be glad to know that I got my first bike outing yesterday afternoon. While I’ve been recovering, Al has been pedalling over to the Atlantic side of the island nearly every day, to swim in the surf and sit in the shade of the pine trees! Yesterday he took me to his favourite beach - the surf was too wild for swimming, but it was beautiful and the sky was fantastic with every kind of cloud you can imagine (but only tiny blue patches, not even enough for a very small sailor).
The harbour has got a lot quieter and the whole town is edging into the autumn. Most of the French holidaymakers have left last weekend (le grand retour) and they have been replaced by British low-season tourists, and the odd grey coach trip. The regulars are back at the ‘Lever du Soleil’ Bar, and the shops are cutting the price of gifts.
The day goes fast here. Sometimes we wake early, but now I’ve run out of fiction, this is not so attractive. So we’ve been getting up between 8 and 9. There’s breakfast, washing up from the night before, the market, showers sometimes… Internet café, coffee at the Lever, lunch, Al’s bike ride, my gentle strolls around the town and along the Vaubon fort walls… sometimes a bit more Internet, then supper. Amazing how the time goes - I thought it never would when I first heard we’d have to be here for 2 weeks.
Thanks for the texts, comments, emails and Skypes. I feel as though we have virtual visitors. Lynda - this was a great chance for a week in the sun - if only we’d known! I think about you every time I pass the fig tree on the way to the Capitainerie. (I don’t think the figs are going to make it to an edible ripeness, too much Atlantic breeze. But they do have that fantastic peppery smell.) I am afraid that food plays a large part in our entertainment, so might have to be unloaded with a crane. We haven’t eaten out at all on this trip - too expensive, and we can cook well on the boat, but there is a café that does a good line in take-away pizzas and chips! The market is good and open every day, so cooking and eating is a real pleasure.
We’re going to try to make the trip back to England with a minimum of stops - so watch this space. I have piled up the charts in the right order, and am about to do corrections (downloaded yesterday - most of our charts are 3 years old, and some of them a lot older), also make sure that the major waypoints are entered into the GPS. If the forecast holds, we will have light winds, against us to begin with, then becoming more helpful as we go North. The big thing is really the channel crossing. There’s a possibility that we will make for Falmouth - in which case we will have to move on to Dartmouth later in September. So here’s a good chance to sail on board the lovely Snork Maiden, for a short-ish passage - maybe break at Plymouth. Anyway, as you know, sailors don’t make definite plans, they just go ‘towards’.
You (might) see a poll. Some of you are dedicated readers and others seem to forget that blogging exists unless reminded by email! Problem is that I can't easily email a whole long list of you from my Entourage (for reasons too boring to explain). So maybe at least some of you can let me know what you think! I'll email as well when I get back.
Off to upload this… so until the next time… Fair winds and gentle seas to you all.
Jenny, Al & Snork Maiden
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