La Hirondelle 45

 

A small pot boat is the only craft astir, in Port Saint-Glidas. Returning from an early morning inspection of its creels.

For it is near low water. Much of the harbour is dried to mud. The foiling fishing catamaran (see 'wing' between the two bows) unable yet to leave.

Water, at the slip, is too low for the mainland ferries to dock. With their cargoes, of sightseers and stock for the island's two stores.

Slate roofed, whitewashed Breton cottages line the level ground, on the clifftop above the port.

We may not, as yet, have reached the orange pan tiled villages, of the Vendee; But we have reached the hollyhocks latitudes. A sign that we are getting close.

A profusion of colour erupts from the tiniest of flower kerbside beds. Seemingly with little need for soil.

I return to the cliff path. With its wind sculpted, larger than life Bonzai, pines.

Below, a Class 40, out of La Trinite, scents the arrival of an afternoon sea breeze. A code zero is quickly hoisted. The support boat soon left astern.

 Whilst Stargazer lies in the perfect shelter, of her kaleidoscopic coloured cove. Musing upon our next move.