The Snaky Sevre

The Snaky Sevre
June 20 2010
The transition from sea to land is a real transformation – like something out of Alice Through the Looking Glass, especially the first time you make the trip. From the air, it’s clear why you choose a rising tide. You see clearly a bay of very shallow water with a channel carved through it, becoming a river with sneaky, snaky bends (check it out on Google Earth). At first it’s no different from being on the sea, but you do have to keep an accurate course to stay in the channel, since at this point, it’s invisible from boat-level. Once then next safe-water mark appears, things get easier and it becomes more like a wide lake, and there’s a smell of land joining in with the sea tang. Of course the wide lake is deceptive, since outside the channel, you could probably wade. (Snork Maiden draws 1.52 metres = 5 english feet, that means she touches bottom in any less.) The channel proper, begins, and from then on you hop from one marker buoy to the next – red on the left, green on the right. Today the Buoys are leaning away from the wind, straining at their mooring chains. Most of them look new – the old ones were carried away by the huge winter storm that swept into this area of the coast, killing many people stranded in their single-storey houses. Many hundreds of boats were damaged and the La Rochelle marinas are almost entirely closed to visitors this year. Anyway, back in the channel, we are starting to pass oyster boats – it’s Sunday and no-one is working. There seem to be fewer boats than there were last year, and as we get further into the river, we pass a few wrecks thrown onto the land by the waves and apparently abandoned. Now the land dominates, with reeds and then fields stretching away, pylons marching across the flat landscape of the Vendee. We are river creatures now, and we encounter moorhens, herons, egrets, ducks and some sort of fish-eagle thingy. There are fish too, jumping as we pass. There’s a whiff of farm animal as we get close to the lock and bridge that will let us into the final stretch of canal. Our timing is spectacular, and we don’t have to pick up a buoy – difficult since most of them have broken rings, making them almost impossible to capture. I guess the repeated attempts help to pass the time if you’re not early enough, or lucky enough, to get one that works! First the bridge swings open then you approach the lock, which has a wide basin and a pontoon on one side, so several boats go through at once, all tied to each other in a raft. We hang about until the boat ahead of us is settled, and make a very nice, smooth entry. Al chats with our neighbours. We have met this chap twice before in the same place – more than coincidence, surely (another spirit guide?). His boomy voice drowns out my feeble attempt at answering any questions from the wild-haired skipper of the next boat over. Boomy-voice has a 5-year plan to go to Senegal. He’s a retired farmer, has bought himself a 10 thousand euro boat, and taught himself to sail. He’s already been down there for 3 weeks by air for a fishing recce.
Through the lock, we head straight down the canal for Marans and the other 2 boat inexplicably head straight for the canal bank and wedge their bows in the reeds. Inexplicable until we realise it’s lunch time.
It takes only half an hour, maybe less, to motor down the tree-lined canal – more wildlife, more fields, and we find ourselves a space amongst the crowded moorings. We are fifth boat out, so no electricity for us tonight, and an obstacle course of safety lines, rigging, fenders, spinnaker poles and other weird stuff between us and the shore, where it’s a final scramble up the harbour wall. Later we go for a walk to the bus stop to check the times, and eat supper at the Thalassa Café. Their food’s not that great but its inexpensive and I like the name. There are a few town bad boys ranged around the bar, but otherwise its quiet. There’s still a cool wind, the remains of the Northerly blow, so we sit inside.
The next day we find the harbourmaster, M. Coindeau (followers of the blog know all about him) and after we all shake hands Al broaches the delicate subject of our projected abandonment of Snork Maiden for a period of weeks, thus taking up a valuable berth at the busiest time of year. Now here’s where this social democracy thing wins out over private enterprise. He has a good laugh and then tells us that it’s OK, he will find us somewhere. We chew over the pros and cons of the alternatives, and decide on a spot halfway between the market and the shower block, with no resident neighbours and on the outside of 2 boats that look like they are not going anywhere, although you can never really tell! I have another neighbour who makes an occasional appearances on his oddly named ‘P Pipotin’. He’s a cheerful bloke who likes to practice his English, saying things like “’Ow are you-oo” and, being assured I am fine, “I am ‘appy that you-oo are fine” to which I respond by saying that I am happy that he is happy, and we pretty much leave it at that.
Next: I shed my sailing trousers, accompany Al to the airport where we are disappointed with the new catering arrangements, and I head for the Film fleshpots of La Rochelle.