The Exotic Landfalls of Missee Lee

Missee Lee Free as a Bird in Braye

Missee Lee gave me my first taste of cruising under sail; of what is to be as free as a bird. We first met in 1999. We day sailed returning to our berth every night to begin with. Gradually though we began to spread our wings. We crossed a mental and physical ocean together in 2002, the year we first crossed the Channel, and proudly flew our pristine French courtesy flag from the starboard spreader. Stargazer flies that same, now gently faded and slightly frayed flag, when in French waters to this day. By 2004 we “discovered” an exotic archipelago to the west of Cherbourg after riding the Alderney Race down to Guernsey. The thrill of that first landfall under sail at a new unvisited port cannot be repeated. It’s what drives me to cruise on, to sail round the next headland.

Missee Lee Reflecting on the Three Day Rythm in St Peter Port

 There seems to be a three day rhythm built into my cruising psyche. The first day is discovery day: the port is wondrous, unique and enticing. It’s a day of tidying the boat after the rigours of her passage and then, when all is trim, a day of exploration ashore that spills over into day two. By day three local advice is being sought, charts and forecasts gathered, plans laid for a new landfall. As day four dawns we’ll be slipping out to sea, revelling in the sense of freedom that casting off the shore lines brings.

The Minarets of St Peter Port, Guernsey

It was that way when Missee Lee and I “discovered” the Channel Islands: Discovery Day in Guernsey saw me spellbound at the exotic minarets on the skyline. I scaled the steep narrow streets to be nearer them, arrived back aboard hot and footsore. Day two I re-provisioned and relaxed in the cockpit; allowed the water bourn bustle of Victoria Marina and the busy shore side traffic on the Esplanade compensate for my inactivity. By day three my tide tables and charts were out planning a passage plan for Alderney.

Yacht & Gull head West through Tropical Swinge

It may be rose tinted hindsight but I remember a  calm, roll free night tucked in under the forbidding masonry of Braye Harbour’s breakwater. I’ve frequently be grateful for its protection on later visits. It’s never again been roll free even though its always been more pleasant than what’s lain beyond! Day one had added spice: the dinghy had to be disinterred from the cockpit locker and we rowed ashore: arrived with a sense of occasion. Ashore I walked the island. A relentlessly insistent, restless wind, tugged at my shirt and hair as I walked. Despite the small size of the island, or maybe because of it, I sensed the wildness and freedom of the sea here on land. I found an island of contrasts. I paid my respects to the straight backed Quenard lighthouse standing tirelessly to attention above the bay. I marvelled at the violence and energy as the maelstrom of the Alderney Race raked the brown rock of the island with white claws: raked it until the very veins and sinews of the island stood out in ridges and furrows as they met the sea. I walked east and watched over a foreground of tropical silver sand and azure sea as a yacht and a gull tasted freedom together heading west. It’s time for Missee Lee and I to move on.

The Passage Home to Rediscovery

We crossed the Channel back to Studland in a gentle force three under cruising chute. We savoured the trip determined not to spoil it by motoring even as night fell and the wind eased further. By then we’d cleared the shipping lanes. The night was clear. The moon rose astern of us casting long shadows. I looked up, sought out the familiar shape of the Plough in the glinting canopy above us, traced it down and located Polaris to guide us north. The tide was making as the familiar wink of Anvil Point Lighthouse relieved Polaris of his duty and guides us in the last ten miles towards Poole. We slip into Studland and anchor in the Yards behind Old Harry’s shadowy bulk just after midnight – 18 hours out from Alderney. I slept late and rose at midday to rediscover the beauty of Studland’s clear blue water, gleaming white cliffs, verdant green hills and tranquil soundscape of muted birdsong and lapping water. I rowed ashore to sit on the beach. Maybe new landfalls aren’t the only source of cruising pleasure after all. There is a thrill to be had in rediscovery.

The Sea Dragon of Morlaix

Red Feathered Sunrise

It’s the 5^th of June 2009.  I’m at the helm of Goblin – Stargazer’s predecessor. Goblin was built to race and is showing it now! We’ve got 18 knots of north easterly breeze and we’re making 6 knots, under our largest genoa and full mainsail. We left Perros Guirec at dawn with the fishing fleet under a red feathered sunrise. It’s been a reach all the way: Goblin surging along over the low swell and every so often playing her mischievous trick of dipping her bow fully under to scoop water aft along both side decks and into the cockpit.  We’vemade such good time that we’ve rounded the low grey bulk of the Pointe de Primel and arrived in the Baie de Morlaix two hours early for our tide. We heave to off Roscoff and I enjoy a second breakfast.

Sea Dragon Surfacing

We’re bound for Morlaix up the shallow winding river at the head of the estuary. It looked an intriguing pilotage challenge sat in the comfort of the marina at Perros. As Goblin lies to in the deep water off the ferry port I contemplate the horizon inshore. A sea dragon is sunning itself, stretched out across the bay from Ile Callot in the west to Terenez in the east. The dragon is a deep grey black. It is lying just submerged so that only the spikes along its scaly tail and back break the surface. The sea foams white against the black of the spikes and dashes them with spray so that they glisten in the sun. The largest spikes have tips of green which may be weed draped across them as the sea dragon rose from the depths.

 It’s not a sea dragon sunning itself that I’m looking at though – it’s a moonscape of rocks lying between us and the inner estuary.I recheck my pilotage notes and bring the chart up on deck to reconcile the dragon spikes that I’m seeing with landmarks on the chart. I recheck the rise of tide. Enough there I think to try the passage inside the Ile Ricard. I drain my coffee cup and furl the genoa.

Chateau du Taureau

 We run in towards the sleeping dragon under mainsail with the tide under us. I stand conning Goblin with the tiller between my knees. One eye is on the chart gripped in my hand the other on the dragon spikes that are quickly resolving themselves into hard black jutting granite topped with navigation marks.  We’re making 7 knots over the ground. I line Goblin’s bows up to shoot the channel east of Ile Ricard. Where’s the exit? Are we straight? I can’t see La Morlouine – where is it? We’re making almost 9 knots. The rocks flash by close on both sides. Too close! Too fast! La Morlouine flashes past to starboard. How I do not know. Maybe we’ll use the Chenal Ouest if we’re running in under sail again!

Drinking in the tranquility anchored off Penn al Lann

The pace eases as the tide slackens and we’re into the estuary proper. There’s time to take in the square sandcastle yellow battlements of the Chateau de Taureau as Goblin silently passes beneath them rippling their reflection in the water. We round up just below the chateau and anchor off Penn al Lann.  I sit on the foredeck drinking in the view out to sea. The grey sea dragon is gone.  All around us are inviting emerald green topped islands with white sandy beaches rising from a sun spangled sea of the deepest tropical blue.   I sit a while and let the peace and serenity of the anchorage soak into me with the sunshine. Listen to the making tide swirling past Goblin’s bow chuckling at the fright it gave us on the way in. Listen to the songbirds hidden in the trees up on the point singing in a joyous massed chorus.

Pastel Houses

In its own languid time the chuckling tide fills the flat estuary astern of us. We weigh anchor and feel our way gently into the river. The chart marks it as green, marks it as land. The tide is still chuckling with mischief and swirls us past tightly packed white boats on moorings; past pastel blue, yellow and pink waterside houses; past low sand coloured stone bridges and past steep green hedgerow topped banks. It’s urging us on impatiently up to Morlaix. “Don’t dilly dally you’ve had your rest off Penn al Lann now it’s time to play again”it chuckles. The red and green navigation marks snake impossibly across the river and then give out altogether replaced by transit marks.

Goblin moored before the Giant Centipede of Morlaix

 We ride the tide up allowing it and the transits to guide us to deep water. The engine is on tick over. My eyes are darting from chart to transit to depth gauge. I give the engine a burst when we stray out of the narrow channel.  There is one last convoluted slalom of buoys and then we’re in front of the lock gates. I make fast alongside the low stone quay to wait for them to open. Pink flowers and white daisies wave gently in the breeze above Goblin’s deck; wave a welcome to Morlaix. Beyond an over-sized sandy grey centipede with long thick legs supporting a slim graceful body spans the valley. I moor Goblin at its feet.

Out of the Doldrums



Engine in bits &
saloon table covered in parts

I’m in the winter doldrums: The sails ashore, the engine in bits and the saloon table covered in wiring diagrams and battery management black boxes that need fitting. There’s plenty to do aboard- but no prospect of sailing. The certainty of no sailing is somehow far worse than a possibility of sailing which, in the end, doesn’t materialise. The weather’s too stormy this weekend for sailing I tell myself. I scroll through the Navtex messages that glow a thin wan electronic yellow on the chestnut of the bulkhead. Thin and wan like my mood. “Thames, Dover, Wight. W 6 to Gale 8 Perhaps Severe Gale 9.”  Definitely no sailing even if the boat wasn’t in bits. The doldrums feeling is still with me though.

Tempting Pilot Book Titles

 Maybe I’ve got sailing withdrawal symptoms? I brew a coffee, sit down and let my eyes roam around the saloon: the blue of the cushions, the white of the deck head. I try to turn the scene into white cliffs rising out of a blue sea. The chestnut of the bulkheads doesn’t fit into that mental picture though and nor do the bright colours of the pilot books lining the bookshelf.  My mind sharpens a little; I read the pilot book titles in a daydream soft focus: Isles of Scilly, Atlantic France, Anchorages of Brittany and The West Country. My eyes settle on The UK and Ireland Circumnavigator’s Guide and focus sharply of their own accord.

Charts, pilot Books: Limitless
 Potential

Suddenly I’m on my feet, charged with a purpose. The diagrams and components have disappeared from the saloon table, swept back into the odd bits locker. My listless mood has disappeared with them. The table is spread with open pilot books, charts, scribbled notes and a glowing i-phone with the Tide Table app working overtime. Before me, in my mind’s eye and on the saloon table, lies a limitless potential to make new landfalls, to open myself to new experiences and to yarn about it all with old friends and new friends yet to be met. This year I really do have limitless potential too. I’m free for the whole summer for the first time in my adult life.

Lost in a dream of cruising possibilities...

Soon I’m lost in the Circumnavigator’s Guide. A circumnavigation sounds purposeful, has a goal, an outcome. The wild Celtic anchorages of West Coast Scotland sound like my ideal cruising ground. I love the cragginess of Cornwall and North Brittany. There are the midges though. Reading the Blogs great play seems to be made of sunny days and fair breezes too – as if this is a rare and noteworthy combination. Another thing: those Blogs tend to be very quiet on the delights of the East Coast, North Sea run back - half the trip. Well maybe the answer is to stick the West coast then? Head North via Scilly and the Welsh Coast and back via the Irish coast. We’re still heading North away from the sun and the West coast is a lee shore for the prevailing wind though. Do I want a purpose other than to enjoy the cruise for the experiences it brings? And isn’t the art of cruising to keep your options open, make the best use of whatever the weather serves up? The answer to that last question is a Yes for me. Yes: it’s the whole point.  So a Circumnavigation is too constraining, too driven, too much like working life.

Dittisham,on the Dart, our first intended port of call
 & an old favourite

I must visit Scilly though - I’ve always wanted to. I’ve never had the time before to wait for suitable weather. On a two or three week break my whole precious holiday could have been eaten up waiting patiently in Helford, Falmouth or Penzance for the weather to visit Scilly and never getting there. I’ve met skippers alongside in Fowey and Falmouth for whom it’s an annual pilgrimage; waiting for the miracle of the perfect weather falling on their holiday dates. That’s the first anchor point of the cruise settled then: We’re going to Scilly. Let’s check the westbound tides from Poole: I’ll want a High Water Dover around 06.00 for a nice tidal lift out of Poole, past The Bill and into Dartmouth by nightfall. It looks as if the choices are: middle of April, end of April or middle of May. That’s our second cruise anchor point settled: our departure date. Let the weather decide the best pick of the three.

Craggy & Celtic

Where after Scilly? We’re looking for somewhere Craggy, Celtic, yet to cruised by me and with good prospects of fair weather: sun and breeze? I love the North Brittany Ports. I’ve explored from St Malo to L’Aber Wrac’h aboard Stargazer and her flightier predecessor Goblin. The weather’s always better than in the UK down there. Where’s like that? I know: Biscay, South Brittany! It’s about 100 nautical miles from Scilly to L’Aber Wrac’h. So that’s 18-20 hours for Stargazer depending on the breeze and how well I work out the course across the tides to keep distance sailed to a minimum. That’s just about doable for a well-rested single hander. I’ve got the time to rest up and pick my weather too.

That’s the third anchor point of the cruise settled: cross either from Scilly or Falmouth to L’Aber Wrac’h then head round the corner. Sail down through the Chenal du Four, dally in Morgat or Douarnenez maybe, on through the Raz de Sein and into a whole new cruising ground: Iles de Glenans, Belle Ile, Golfe de Morbihan, the turreted harbour of La Rochelle, Bordeaux and seemingly a thousand ports and anchorages in between. That’s it!

To
Summer Cruising: Fair Winds!

The Cruise plan is settled: Head west in early May (give or take a fortnight) and stooge in Helford or explore the Fal until there’s a weather window for Scilly. Explore Scilly: walk, swim, snorkel and row – drink it all in. Then we head South to L’Aber Wrac’h or, if weather and provisioning dictate, head east for Falmouth or Penzance and then South to L’Aber Wrac’h. Depending on weather we then either scoot through the Chenal and Raz in one go or visit Camaret or Morgat between short hops. After that we meander down to La Rochelle or Bordeaux  via the Golfe de Morbihan before returning and visiting the ports and anchorages we missed on the way South. Return to Poole via the Chanel Islands somewhere around the end of August beginning of September. That will do me!

Two days later the engine is rebuilt and the black boxes are fitted. I’m out of the winter doldrums, spring is in the air, and Stargazer and I have got a tide to catch!