Midnight Express

It is midnight, UK time, on a moonless night two days after the full spring tide. I am jump starting my body clock with strong coffee and, well marmited, hot buttered toast . We are leaving the high living. . . 

. . .city streets. . .

. . .and quiet alleyways, of Cherbourg.

Stargazer will ride the Cotentin's tidal conveyor away from the internationalist pontoons of the harbour. The tide, on its way out in or out of the English Channel, sweeps fast across the northern tip of the peninsula and then faster still down (or up) its western shore. That flow is at its fastest off the Cap de la Hague, in the Raz Blanchard (Alderney Race). Tonight we will use the power of a ten metre spring tide to our advantage.

Its a beat out to the Cap de la Hague. The only gleam of light is from the phosphorescence glowing in Stargazers's tumbling wake. The true wind speed is probably around fifteen knots. Stargazer is making between eight and nine knots, over the ground - due to the tide . That is pushing our apparent wind speed up to twenty two to twenty three knots. Spray, and the odd dollop of solid water, blow aft as we buck across the unseen waves. 

We're round La Hague now. Stargazer's double reefed main is lit a startling white, as it is swept by the revolving beam of the lighthouse . Our ground speed is up to thirteen knots. The apparent wind up to twenty eight . We are in the fierce grip of the Raz Blanchard . Then - skies lighten, the seas flatten, the wind drops to its true speed . I shake our reefs out. We are through.

I check Stargazer's course is good, engage the auto pilot and put the second pot of coffee of the day on. The sun is fully over the horizon now. I drink the coffee sat in the cockpit. We still have a helping hand from the tide. Our ground speed is seven to eight knots.

We run in under the lee of the Cap de Carteret. . .

. . . and anchor off the mole. The tide will need to rise for another hour before we have enough clearance to get in. Stargazer has covered forty five nautical miles in six hours of rumbustious sailing time.

The mole is almost awash now. I raise the anchor and we tip toe in towards the channel. A large, fully laden, trawler appears from seaward, with the night's catch. He takes a wide sweep before lining up on the entrance. Stargazer follows his lead into the harbour.

The, tree lined, northern shore climbs steeply skyward. Houses poised precariously on its slopes. They crane their necks for the best view out over the sandy beach on the southern shore. We dodge the wobbling windsurfers and debutante dinghy sailors, from the ecole de voile. Stay to the outside of the meanders, seeking the deepest water. Stargazer circles off the visitors pontoon. A launch comes alongside. 'Un catway, monsieur?'  (Do we want a finger berth to ourselves, instead of being rafted on the visitors' pontoon). ' Oui, madame. Merci bien!' The midnight express has arrived.