En France 83

 

We stumble upon each other, unawares. The trawler, intent on its catch, halts abruptly to haul nets. Leaving Stargazer heading directly for her. Only the cries, of its entourage of gulls, had alerted me to her presence, five minutes beforehand. For she was not transmitting on AIS ; and must have been lost, to my line of sight, behind Stargazer's jib.

I don my waterproof jacket. Ready beside me, as I con from the companionway steps. Snug beneath Stargazer's sprayhood. Fortunately we are now reaching under white sails. So it is easy enough to sheet in and duck around the trawler's stern. Unwilling to go ahead, because she could set off again at any minute.

Earlier, in a blue-tinged bleary dawn, Stargazer was riding the tide, off the Pointe de Barfleur. Cherbourg already fifteen miles astern.

Her cruising chute is aloft, whilst the south westerly wind builds. She is making seven knots over the ground. Constrained to a course of between sixty and one hundred and twenty degrees, to the apparent wind. Which suits the breeze, but not close quarters trawler dodging.

Today's tactic is to work the strong eastbound flows, off the Pointe de Barfleur and Cap d'Antifer (orange arrows). Taking the westbound tide at its weakest (blue triangle).

Predictably, progress slows, as the tide turns and Stargazer enters the 'blue triangle,' of the river Seine approaches. Ships steam purposefully, in and out of Le Havre. Following predictable tracks, and transmitting their positions on AIS.

The fisher folk, of the area, are more erratic in their motions ; and strangely forgetful, in the operation of their AIS equipment.

The long awaited south westerly breeze is a moist maritime airstream. As its force increases, the morning mizzle turns to a determined afternoon drizzle . Stargazer's stoic tiller pilot steers.

I keep watch from the companionway. With the comforts of the galley close at hand.

At eighteen thirty three, Stargazer crosses the Greenwich Meridian (black vertical line). Longitude zero. After her summer out West, Stargazer has arrived back in the East.

By dusk, Stargazer has a fair tide beneath her, once more. Sweeping up the Cote d'Albatre (Alabaster Coast), of caves and arches. Making seven knots. Running, under main only, in twenty knots of breeze.

 I rig lines and fenders, to be ready on deck, in anticipation of a night arrival. Half an hour after dark, Stargazer romps in, through the familiar pier heads of Fecamp. One lit white, one green, with a red transit behind it, on the waterfront. For it is a narrow, tide-swept, entrance.