Groix to St Martin

Getting here

Well, this has been a really odd trip in that it felt as though it was over before it began and the middle bit is like one of those dreams that you would really like to fall back into. After a really prompt launch, the time in PLF expanded to fill the weather – cold and often wet. Then we got started. Then Al got THE CALL – an offer he couldn’t refuse, so we put ourselves in serious delivery mode (5 knots under sail or else the engine goes on) and left Groix as soon as the wind dropped away from the enthusiastic F5-7 it had been blowing for the last 3 days. Not an early start since our destination (Belle Ile) could only be entered a couple of hours before high water.
An uneventful but really enjoyable sail of just under 30 Miles (nautical ones, that is) with one reef in the main and the number 2 jib and steady NE 3-4s with a fairly flat sea ( I think it was what the French call ‘peu agitee’ (apologies for missing accents)). For landlubbers I can only say this is just about nearly as good as it gets. If I manage to get the visual aid up, you’ll see that our course was SE.
We arrived at the offing (a nautical term; get used to it) of Le Palais at around 1930. It is a picture-poscard town – at a distance – nestling under the angular wings of a Vaubon Fort. The outer harbour is bumpy in Northerlies and there’s also a cunning arrangement of buoys that mean you have to pick up fore and aft. We haven’t yet worked out how to do this, so thought we’d go for a quiet night in the inner harbour – protected by a gate and swing bridge. We turned up in the outer harbour at the appointed hour, only to be met by a rough looking harbour irk in a rib (Rigid Inflatable Boat) clutching a hand-held VHF radio and telling us to come back in 15 minutes. An hour of bashing about, burning diesel, alternately playing dodgems and musical chairs with other boats, and we were in. (A couple of coasters were in the way, hence the wait. Working boats come first.) The same faintly unpleasant bloke directed us to a parking space (yes, a berth) just about as long as us, necessitating a bit of jiggling around with lines to get us neatly in (we used to just crash about a bit and hope for the best, but we’re a lot better behaved these days). Only slight embarrassment: Me to woman on pontoon ‘ You can let that line go now, it’s not ours’. She: ‘No, it’s ours’. (I didn’t ask why she was holding on to it as if her life depended on it …)
There is an odd feeling about Le Palais – the harbour staff are kind of casual to the point of being rude, and the whole quay has a kind of rough feeling – and not in a good way. This feeling seriously came home that night when around midnight lots of alcohol started getting its wind up and having a good shout, scream, hysterical laugh and more shouting whilst apparently falling over empty oil drums. This went on until around 4, in waves as successive clubs & dives chucked out. I am usually quite calm about party noise but this time I couldn’t have murdered the vessels of drink personally, but I think I could have gone along with it. (Is this middle age sweeping by like a buoy in a channel?)
Maybe the bad feelings around Belle Ile are to do with its popularity as a holiday home island with Parisiennes, who have probably been scooping up the best houses for decades, employing the locals as builders and caretakers, leaving them dispossessed, and generally out of sorts - a bit like Cornwall.
Next day brought a welcome escape from the torturers of the night and a motor-sail to Yeu, 50 Miles away. I’m afraid we could only make 3-4 Knots without the motor, and we’d already decided that we needed to get Al into La Rochelle for a flight on Tuesday, giving us Monday to sort things out with the harbourmaster there, persuading him to find a safe place to leave Snork Maiden.
Yeu brought a fresh disaster. Getting in was OK (remember last time?) apart from my kicking the gear leaver inadvertently forward after a very slick manoeuvre alongside another boat. Lot’s of shouts of ‘en arriere’ quickly fixed that. That wasn’t the disaster. The disaster happened in a pizza place (no time or inclination to cook, already past 2100 and we have a long day tomorrow). As some of you know, we have a cute little waterproof, shockproof camera (the Olympus Mu, Tough version). Unfortunately it’s not idiot-proof, and in a rush of enthusiasm I deleted all of Al’s favourite pictures, taken on Yeu. What could I say – it was a time for abject boot-licking apology. Al is amazing, he really doesn’t carry a grudge – but I know he grieves for the pictures. He says he went through them all, and so he at least had a bit more of a mind imprint of what we had seen. I did save the movies. (Actually, that was sort of the problem; and it’s not really true about the grudge – he does have it in for my poor old 6 year old Powerbook, creaking away with Mac 10.3. If iTunes hadn’t been so slow this would never have happened.)
Next: we sail from Yeu to St Martin and have a very bumpy night.

Groix to St Martin

Getting here

Well, this has been a really odd trip in that it felt as though it was over before it began and the middle bit is like one of those dreams that you would really like to fall back into. After a really prompt launch, the time in PLF expanded to fill the weather – cold and often wet. Then we got started. Then Al got THE CALL – an offer he couldn’t refuse, so we put ourselves in serious delivery mode (5 knots under sail or else the engine goes on) and left Groix as soon as the wind dropped away from the enthusiastic F5-7 it had been blowing for the last 3 days. Not an early start since our destination (Belle Ile) could only be entered a couple of hours before high water.
An uneventful but really enjoyable sail of just under 30 Miles (nautical ones, that is) with one reef in the main and the number 2 jib and steady NE 3-4s with a fairly flat sea ( I think it was what the French call ‘peu agitee’ (apologies for missing accents)). For landlubbers I can only say this is just about nearly as good as it gets. If I manage to get the visual aid up, you’ll see that our course was SE.
We arrived at the offing (a nautical term; get used to it) of Le Palais at around 1930. It is a picture-poscard town – at a distance – nestling under the angular wings of a Vaubon Fort. The outer harbour is bumpy in Northerlies and there’s also a cunning arrangement of buoys that mean you have to pick up fore and aft. We haven’t yet worked out how to do this, so thought we’d go for a quiet night in the inner harbour – protected by a gate and swing bridge. We turned up in the outer harbour at the appointed hour, only to be met by a rough looking harbour irk in a rib (Rigid Inflatable Boat) clutching a hand-held VHF radio and telling us to come back in 15 minutes. An hour of bashing about, burning diesel, alternately playing dodgems and musical chairs with other boats, and we were in. (A couple of coasters were in the way, hence the wait. Working boats come first.) The same faintly unpleasant bloke directed us to a parking space (yes, a berth) just about as long as us, necessitating a bit of jiggling around with lines to get us neatly in (we used to just crash about a bit and hope for the best, but we’re a lot better behaved these days). Only slight embarrassment: Me to woman on pontoon ‘ You can let that line go now, it’s not ours’. She: ‘No, it’s ours’. (I didn’t ask why she was holding on to it as if her life depended on it …)
There is an odd feeling about Le Palais – the harbour staff are kind of casual to the point of being rude, and the whole quay has a kind of rough feeling – and not in a good way. This feeling seriously came home that night when around midnight lots of alcohol started getting its wind up and having a good shout, scream, hysterical laugh and more shouting whilst apparently falling over empty oil drums. This went on until around 4, in waves as successive clubs & dives chucked out. I am usually quite calm about party noise but this time I couldn’t have murdered the vessels of drink personally, but I think I could have gone along with it. (Is this middle age sweeping by like a buoy in a channel?)
Maybe the bad feelings around Belle Ile are to do with its popularity as a holiday home island with Parisiennes, who have probably been scooping up the best houses for decades, employing the locals as builders and caretakers, leaving them dispossessed, and generally out of sorts - a bit like Cornwall.
Next day brought a welcome escape from the torturers of the night and a motor-sail to Yeu, 50 Miles away. I’m afraid we could only make 3-4 Knots without the motor, and we’d already decided that we needed to get Al into La Rochelle for a flight on Tuesday, giving us Monday to sort things out with the harbourmaster there, persuading him to find a safe place to leave Snork Maiden.
Yeu brought a fresh disaster. Getting in was OK (remember last time?) apart from my kicking the gear leaver inadvertently forward after a very slick manoeuvre alongside another boat. Lot’s of shouts of ‘en arriere’ quickly fixed that. That wasn’t the disaster. The disaster happened in a pizza place (no time or inclination to cook, already past 2100 and we have a long day tomorrow). As some of you know, we have a cute little waterproof, shockproof camera (the Olympus Mu, Tough version). Unfortunately it’s not idiot-proof, and in a rush of enthusiasm I deleted all of Al’s favourite pictures, taken on Yeu. What could I say – it was a time for abject boot-licking apology. Al is amazing, he really doesn’t carry a grudge – but I know he grieves for the pictures. He says he went through them all, and so he at least had a bit more of a mind imprint of what we had seen. I did save the movies. (Actually, that was sort of the problem; and it’s not really true about the grudge – he does have it in for my poor old 6 year old Powerbook, creaking away with Mac 10.3. If iTunes hadn’t been so slow this would never have happened.)
Next: we sail from Yeu to St Martin and have a very bumpy night.

GROIX on a windy day

16 June Groix
Today is biking day. We rent bikes from Bikini Bike Hire (really). It’s still pretty windy F6-7, but away from the harbour it is a bit more sheltered. We cycle first to Locmaria – I think I left the video camera case there yesterday (groan) with an SD card & spare battery in it… we put it down to bad juju from photographing the wreck.
From there we went to St Nicholas – an inlet on the SW coast of the island, further North than Locmaria and shallow and sheltered today. It is hot and there are a couple of boats in there, one tucked right in with a stern line to the shore and one further out. Some people are spear fishing. Al goes swimming. It’s cold but he doesn’t mind that. If we get the chance we’ll take Snork Maiden around there.
After a couple of hours there, we pedal off to the end of the island, to the lighthouse. It’s late in the day and deserted. We watch the gulls, one of which checks us out, walking about and looking at us. It looks comical with a stiff-legged gull gait. It’s very windy here, so we cycle back to the port. There’s a tuna fish wind vane on the church tower, I suppose that's a weather-tuna.

I didn’t tell you about our neighbours. An elderly couple in a power boat, one of a fleet of 12, all retirees, on a little jaunt, but now stuck because of the wind. Yesterday they had a late afternoon party. When we got back they plied us with Rum and pineapple cocktails (I drank Al’s share) and meaty hors d’oevres (Al ate mine). They were quite distraught that we’d missed the social event (but then they had probably consumed quite a bit of rum by then.) When we came in, the chap was very complimentary about our boat. We were quite flattered until we realised that he knew next to nothing about boats! It transpired that they pack leader was trying to get the whole lot through the Raz de Seine at the same time. You have to understand that he had a big range of boats and abilities and the Raz is very unforgiving. Like herding swimming cats! We’ll never know what happened.

Oh yes. And this was the day Al got THE CALL.

GROIX on a windy day

16 June Groix
Today is biking day. We rent bikes from Bikini Bike Hire (really). It’s still pretty windy F6-7, but away from the harbour it is a bit more sheltered. We cycle first to Locmaria – I think I left the video camera case there yesterday (groan) with an SD card & spare battery in it… we put it down to bad juju from photographing the wreck.
From there we went to St Nicholas – an inlet on the SW coast of the island, further North than Locmaria and shallow and sheltered today. It is hot and there are a couple of boats in there, one tucked right in with a stern line to the shore and one further out. Some people are spear fishing. Al goes swimming. It’s cold but he doesn’t mind that. If we get the chance we’ll take Snork Maiden around there.
After a couple of hours there, we pedal off to the end of the island, to the lighthouse. It’s late in the day and deserted. We watch the gulls, one of which checks us out, walking about and looking at us. It looks comical with a stiff-legged gull gait. It’s very windy here, so we cycle back to the port. There’s a tuna fish wind vane on the church tower, I suppose that's a weather-tuna.

I didn’t tell you about our neighbours. An elderly couple in a power boat, one of a fleet of 12, all retirees, on a little jaunt, but now stuck because of the wind. Yesterday they had a late afternoon party. When we got back they plied us with Rum and pineapple cocktails (I drank Al’s share) and meaty hors d’oevres (Al ate mine). They were quite distraught that we’d missed the social event (but then they had probably consumed quite a bit of rum by then.) When we came in, the chap was very complimentary about our boat. We were quite flattered until we realised that he knew next to nothing about boats! It transpired that they pack leader was trying to get the whole lot through the Raz de Seine at the same time. You have to understand that he had a big range of boats and abilities and the Raz is very unforgiving. Like herding swimming cats! We’ll never know what happened.

Oh yes. And this was the day Al got THE CALL.

Groix Afternoon

On the cliffs we saw gulls soaring and diving – doesn’t sound like much but they were so close we could see into their eyes. And why do they do this? It just looks like they are having fun – no feeding involved – is it something to do with social bonds? Lots of animals seem to have a happy hour or mad time when they just seem to do things because they feel good.
Walking along the coast path hardly a kilometre away from the port, we come across an ancient looking circus tent. No caravans, or animals, even people, just the tent. I tightrope walk across the grass outside the tent and Al takes a photo but I just look mad. We walk around and find the entrance. It seems pitch dark inside. We call ‘Bonjour’ and a man emerges from the gloom. He tells us that there is no circus, now or ever. This circus has definitely left town, but the tent is used for summer festivals, dances, gigs… he’s probably making a living out of hiring this tired old tent to the commune for its summer entertainments. That’s why we love the French!
Shortly after it began to shower and a rainbow appeared over the sea. There was an odd perception that it was travelling towards us, like a searchlight beam. This has to be an omen. (Al’s been reading Paul C….’s ‘The Alchemist’ and now everything is a ‘sign’…. How do writers signal irony?) But it was pretty spectacular and not easily forgotten. Tried to photograph it, but just not possible.

NEXT DAY
The other side of the island – has one sizeable village, Locmaria. Once another thriving tuna port, it is now a ghost town. The butcher, baker and several cafes are now holiday homes, the trade names painted over to match the walls but still visible . You could almost believe that the town doesn’t have a population any more, just walkers passing through and summer people in August. We pass on the 'Bateau Ivre' with its up-market menu and prices and eat at a more modest brasserie a little further up the road. The Bateau is for sale, as are many of the ‘fisherman’s cottages’ in the village itself.
There is a sizeable drying harbour (all the water goes away at low tide so single keel boats like ours would fall over if moored there). A couple of boats are anchored off. The wind came up to a decent 6 last night with a nasty looking sea, so most people are staying in today. But this side of the island (the Atlantic side – South coast) is oddly calm. Well, it makes perfect sense but it’s still a surprise when we encounter it!
A party of local school kids arrive, all girls. They wear black, with occasional flashes of pink in T-shirt or sunglasses. They chatter away, teenage magpies, drinking Coca or Orangina. One has something that looks a lot like absinth but can’t possibly be. (I think it may actually be illegal in modern France, although it fuelled Toulouse Lautrec and a good few other bad boy artists.)
After lunch it’s low tide so we go rock pooling. So much life – sea anemones, hermit crabs, shrimps, little fish… they dart away as soon as they see our shadows, must have great eyesight. Fantastic rock pools – just about the best we’ve ever seen, and the rocks are very flat and easy to walk on. Oh yes, and there’s loads of iron pyrites – fool’s gold glitters everywhere you look. There’s also garnet on the island and we find a big sea-smooth lump of it. We leave it in its place, taking only the pleasure with us.
Soon a wreck, huge, rusty and spread over many hundreds of square metres. Recognisable bits make it very creepy – probably a coaster, decades old, but a reminder of just how dangerous this coast can be. We carry on the coast path and soon we can see Les Chats, sharp sharp claws of rocks. There’s a pheasant on the path, walking just ahead of us, popping around a corner just as I lift the camera. Al says it was a shaman. (This borne out by the fact that I deleted all the pictures of this walk, including the wreck – clear bad luck – and the shaman.)
Next in spooky happenings, we met a 97-year old priest who seemed to recognise us from our last visit 3 years ago. He had apparently walked the very rough and steep path from the port, and he invited us to visit him. Almost certainly an apparition, he radiated some sort of positive feeling that we both noticed. (This was not irony.)
As a finale we found some secret steps down to the corner of the harbour where the wind was lashing the waves into a frenzy on the rocks. A solitary young woman gazed into the waves and we took photographs (Al) and video (me). The photographs are lost, but the video might make it.
All in all a pretty good day. Groix is truly a magical island.

Sorry the blogs so out of sync. - I prefer to keep you - and myself - up to date.

Groix Afternoon

On the cliffs we saw gulls soaring and diving – doesn’t sound like much but they were so close we could see into their eyes. And why do they do this? It just looks like they are having fun – no feeding involved – is it something to do with social bonds? Lots of animals seem to have a happy hour or mad time when they just seem to do things because they feel good.
Walking along the coast path hardly a kilometre away from the port, we come across an ancient looking circus tent. No caravans, or animals, even people, just the tent. I tightrope walk across the grass outside the tent and Al takes a photo but I just look mad. We walk around and find the entrance. It seems pitch dark inside. We call ‘Bonjour’ and a man emerges from the gloom. He tells us that there is no circus, now or ever. This circus has definitely left town, but the tent is used for summer festivals, dances, gigs… he’s probably making a living out of hiring this tired old tent to the commune for its summer entertainments. That’s why we love the French!
Shortly after it began to shower and a rainbow appeared over the sea. There was an odd perception that it was travelling towards us, like a searchlight beam. This has to be an omen. (Al’s been reading Paul C….’s ‘The Alchemist’ and now everything is a ‘sign’…. How do writers signal irony?) But it was pretty spectacular and not easily forgotten. Tried to photograph it, but just not possible.

NEXT DAY
The other side of the island – has one sizeable village, Locmaria. Once another thriving tuna port, it is now a ghost town. The butcher, baker and several cafes are now holiday homes, the trade names painted over to match the walls but still visible . You could almost believe that the town doesn’t have a population any more, just walkers passing through and summer people in August. We pass on the 'Bateau Ivre' with its up-market menu and prices and eat at a more modest brasserie a little further up the road. The Bateau is for sale, as are many of the ‘fisherman’s cottages’ in the village itself.
There is a sizeable drying harbour (all the water goes away at low tide so single keel boats like ours would fall over if moored there). A couple of boats are anchored off. The wind came up to a decent 6 last night with a nasty looking sea, so most people are staying in today. But this side of the island (the Atlantic side – South coast) is oddly calm. Well, it makes perfect sense but it’s still a surprise when we encounter it!
A party of local school kids arrive, all girls. They wear black, with occasional flashes of pink in T-shirt or sunglasses. They chatter away, teenage magpies, drinking Coca or Orangina. One has something that looks a lot like absinth but can’t possibly be. (I think it may actually be illegal in modern France, although it fuelled Toulouse Lautrec and a good few other bad boy artists.)
After lunch it’s low tide so we go rock pooling. So much life – sea anemones, hermit crabs, shrimps, little fish… they dart away as soon as they see our shadows, must have great eyesight. Fantastic rock pools – just about the best we’ve ever seen, and the rocks are very flat and easy to walk on. Oh yes, and there’s loads of iron pyrites – fool’s gold glitters everywhere you look. There’s also garnet on the island and we find a big sea-smooth lump of it. We leave it in its place, taking only the pleasure with us.
Soon a wreck, huge, rusty and spread over many hundreds of square metres. Recognisable bits make it very creepy – probably a coaster, decades old, but a reminder of just how dangerous this coast can be. We carry on the coast path and soon we can see Les Chats, sharp sharp claws of rocks. There’s a pheasant on the path, walking just ahead of us, popping around a corner just as I lift the camera. Al says it was a shaman. (This borne out by the fact that I deleted all the pictures of this walk, including the wreck – clear bad luck – and the shaman.)
Next in spooky happenings, we met a 97-year old priest who seemed to recognise us from our last visit 3 years ago. He had apparently walked the very rough and steep path from the port, and he invited us to visit him. Almost certainly an apparition, he radiated some sort of positive feeling that we both noticed. (This was not irony.)
As a finale we found some secret steps down to the corner of the harbour where the wind was lashing the waves into a frenzy on the rocks. A solitary young woman gazed into the waves and we took photographs (Al) and video (me). The photographs are lost, but the video might make it.
All in all a pretty good day. Groix is truly a magical island.

Sorry the blogs so out of sync. - I prefer to keep you - and myself - up to date.

GROIX

Port Tudy is an old tuna port. Whole island of Groix once depended on this fish for a living. Decades ago the tuna left and now the boats from Brittany go as far as the Indian Ocean. But not from Groix. The skippers from Groix were considered to be the best in France - hence the school, now deserted but having a face-lift, thanks to a Government grant or 2. Vive social democracy. We could learn a thing or 2 from the French. Island also complete haven for wildlife - birds, insects, wild flowers, rock pools full of shrimps, hermit crabs, little snails. Off on bikes for the (windy) afternoon.

GROIX

Port Tudy is an old tuna port. Whole island of Groix once depended on this fish for a living. Decades ago the tuna left and now the boats from Brittany go as far as the Indian Ocean. But not from Groix. The skippers from Groix were considered to be the best in France - hence the school, now deserted but having a face-lift, thanks to a Government grant or 2. Vive social democracy. We could learn a thing or 2 from the French. Island also complete haven for wildlife - birds, insects, wild flowers, rock pools full of shrimps, hermit crabs, little snails. Off on bikes for the (windy) afternoon.

SAILING!

Glenans & Groix
Tuesday, June 15, 2010

This our second day here. Since leaving PLF (whew!) our sailing adventures have begun. Our first foray out tested the boat and us. She passed, we scraped by with a lost sail batten. Back to PLF to replace it and then out that afternoon to Iles de Glenans – home of one of the world’s best-known sailing schools, started after the war to raise the spirits of the ex-resistance French. We see the school fleet just about everywhere we go. The wind was from the North so we picked up a buoy on the south side of the sandbar on the main island. First we’d tried the N side – too bumpy so we moved. Unfortunately it was getting late in the day so the choice of parking spaces (buoys) was very limited, like a game of musical chairs. We managed to get one with enough water – just. At low water we had about 30 cm below the keel – like floating in a puddle really.
Just after 2000 we got off SM and into the dinghy, hoping that the outboard that hadn’t been used for over a year, would start. Amazingly after some weak pulls (from me) and hefty ones (from Al) it coughed its way into life and got us to the beach. This is a white sand crescent at high water. These islands are little more than rocks and sand. Only one has permanent residents – the sailing school has decamped to Concarneau, and the islands are a summer destination for yachts from everywhere and day trip boats from Benodet. Lots of people come to fish. None of this does Glenans justice. I’ll try to include a photo that gives some clue.
A sandy path leads to the seafood restaurant. Unless you have a booking, you eat fish soup and crab, with a Magnum ice cream for desert. So that’s what we did. I love eating crab, but I do feel guilty about them. Maybe that was the peak crab experience, after which there should be no more.
We left our mooring around 1430, having missed the morning tide window (a depth issue) through dealing with a leaking petrol container. We went out into a steady F4, verging on 5. We sailed under a one-reef main and the number 2 jib. The wind was right behind us on our course for Groix, around 24 Miles away. The jib was in the shadow of the main, so we dumped that and went under the main only. There was a swell with breaking waves behind us, and the wind was steady. The sun was out with some wispy clouds in front of it and a NNW wind so not hot. All in all, it was as near to perfect sailing as you could want. We were doing around 5 Knots, occasionally more, surfing down the waves. Could probably have gone faster if we had goose-winged (one sail out either side), but it didn’t seem necessary. Can’t quite explain the feeling, but we could have been out there for days, weeks, with just the sea, the gannets, the wind.
We reached Port Tudy on the Ile de Groix around 1945. The wind was quite strong by then, so there was a bit of rolling right on the entrance. Al was on the foredeck, with me shouting ‘hold on’. Afterwards he said he really enjoyed it! Now the weather is coming up to a F7 so we are enjoying Groix. There were some heavy showers yesterday but dry and very windy today, with the same for tomorrow. After that we will head south, I think.
Al’s playing guitar on the boat, while I do this – bar has wi-fi – then we are going to walk to the other side of the island for lunch. I’ll try to get some more pix up on Picasa http://picasaweb.google.com/wikidrat/SNORKMAIDEN2010#

SAILING!

Glenans & Groix
Tuesday, June 15, 2010

This our second day here. Since leaving PLF (whew!) our sailing adventures have begun. Our first foray out tested the boat and us. She passed, we scraped by with a lost sail batten. Back to PLF to replace it and then out that afternoon to Iles de Glenans – home of one of the world’s best-known sailing schools, started after the war to raise the spirits of the ex-resistance French. We see the school fleet just about everywhere we go. The wind was from the North so we picked up a buoy on the south side of the sandbar on the main island. First we’d tried the N side – too bumpy so we moved. Unfortunately it was getting late in the day so the choice of parking spaces (buoys) was very limited, like a game of musical chairs. We managed to get one with enough water – just. At low water we had about 30 cm below the keel – like floating in a puddle really.
Just after 2000 we got off SM and into the dinghy, hoping that the outboard that hadn’t been used for over a year, would start. Amazingly after some weak pulls (from me) and hefty ones (from Al) it coughed its way into life and got us to the beach. This is a white sand crescent at high water. These islands are little more than rocks and sand. Only one has permanent residents – the sailing school has decamped to Concarneau, and the islands are a summer destination for yachts from everywhere and day trip boats from Benodet. Lots of people come to fish. None of this does Glenans justice. I’ll try to include a photo that gives some clue.
A sandy path leads to the seafood restaurant. Unless you have a booking, you eat fish soup and crab, with a Magnum ice cream for desert. So that’s what we did. I love eating crab, but I do feel guilty about them. Maybe that was the peak crab experience, after which there should be no more.
We left our mooring around 1430, having missed the morning tide window (a depth issue) through dealing with a leaking petrol container. We went out into a steady F4, verging on 5. We sailed under a one-reef main and the number 2 jib. The wind was right behind us on our course for Groix, around 24 Miles away. The jib was in the shadow of the main, so we dumped that and went under the main only. There was a swell with breaking waves behind us, and the wind was steady. The sun was out with some wispy clouds in front of it and a NNW wind so not hot. All in all, it was as near to perfect sailing as you could want. We were doing around 5 Knots, occasionally more, surfing down the waves. Could probably have gone faster if we had goose-winged (one sail out either side), but it didn’t seem necessary. Can’t quite explain the feeling, but we could have been out there for days, weeks, with just the sea, the gannets, the wind.
We reached Port Tudy on the Ile de Groix around 1945. The wind was quite strong by then, so there was a bit of rolling right on the entrance. Al was on the foredeck, with me shouting ‘hold on’. Afterwards he said he really enjoyed it! Now the weather is coming up to a F7 so we are enjoying Groix. There were some heavy showers yesterday but dry and very windy today, with the same for tomorrow. After that we will head south, I think.
Al’s playing guitar on the boat, while I do this – bar has wi-fi – then we are going to walk to the other side of the island for lunch. I’ll try to get some more pix up on Picasa http://picasaweb.google.com/wikidrat/SNORKMAIDEN2010#

The Enchanted Forest – Port-la-Foret

The Enchanted Forest – Port-la-Foret
11 June 2010

So blogging has taken a backseat in the scramble to get the boat ready for sailing, and to stay dry. In spite of carrying more recording technology that ever, we seem to be able to post less on the web! Have a new waterproof Sanyo Xacti but superannuated Powerbook groans under the task of processing its files and needs a futuristic version of Flash to get it on FB. So apologies for lack of pix. Will have a go at YouTube from café. The Marina at Port la Foret has very fine facilities, yes, even the showers are hot and free, but the Internet is badly represented in a draughty tent. Last night the table and chairs had been removed so had to sit on a very cold floor with a very intermittent signal. Oh the privations of a sailor’s life!

The forest in ‘Port la’ used to be a very real one, probably stretching from here to the Channel. There are still some chunks of it to be seen between the commercial sheds, housing developments, campsites, farms and golf courses – a ghostly reminder of pre-agrarian landscape. The modern forest is all masts – more than 1,000 boats here, and white plastic gets hard on the eyes. But there’s a wooded path to the village and a pretty good beach. We have seen some spectacularly large jellyfish – all dead. There’s a ban on coquillage – all the local shellfish are unsafe to eat, so definitely time to go south in search of oysters.

Just to jump back a week – we celebrated Al’s birthday with a beach picnic on what turned out to be pretty much the last fine day. We had pizzas from the local take-away, with salads, tiramisu, fruit, cheese – in the evening sun with the Atlantic lapping at our feet. Aaah!

The Enchanted Forest – Port-la-Foret

The Enchanted Forest – Port-la-Foret
11 June 2010

So blogging has taken a backseat in the scramble to get the boat ready for sailing, and to stay dry. In spite of carrying more recording technology that ever, we seem to be able to post less on the web! Have a new waterproof Sanyo Xacti but superannuated Powerbook groans under the task of processing its files and needs a futuristic version of Flash to get it on FB. So apologies for lack of pix. Will have a go at YouTube from café. The Marina at Port la Foret has very fine facilities, yes, even the showers are hot and free, but the Internet is badly represented in a draughty tent. Last night the table and chairs had been removed so had to sit on a very cold floor with a very intermittent signal. Oh the privations of a sailor’s life!

The forest in ‘Port la’ used to be a very real one, probably stretching from here to the Channel. There are still some chunks of it to be seen between the commercial sheds, housing developments, campsites, farms and golf courses – a ghostly reminder of pre-agrarian landscape. The modern forest is all masts – more than 1,000 boats here, and white plastic gets hard on the eyes. But there’s a wooded path to the village and a pretty good beach. We have seen some spectacularly large jellyfish – all dead. There’s a ban on coquillage – all the local shellfish are unsafe to eat, so definitely time to go south in search of oysters.

Just to jump back a week – we celebrated Al’s birthday with a beach picnic on what turned out to be pretty much the last fine day. We had pizzas from the local take-away, with salads, tiramisu, fruit, cheese – in the evening sun with the Atlantic lapping at our feet. Aaah!