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.