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Mercredi is Market Day, in Roscoff Vieux Port.

Complete with Breton piper.

The Bible Class stall draws an inquisitive crowd.

Live lobsters flail their claws, ineffectually. Indignant to find them clamped closed, with stout rubber bands. Unaware, that worse is to come.

Summer fruits, sweet and juicy, tempt spontaneous purchase. For quayside strollers. Alongside Bob Marley T-shirts and hand made jewelry.

I replenish Stargazer's stock of olives. The bottled variety proving scarce, in the shops, this year.

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 Stargazer begins preparations to put to sea. Starting with the filing of her skipper's request, to have his passport stamped out of Schengen. An appointment is swiftly granted, by return of e-mail. For tomorrow morning. Before the day turns hectic, for the Douanes. Who have two, high season, afternoon ferries to turn around.

Aboard, trials have been successfully completed, to verify that fifteen litres of fresh water, carried in cans, is sufficient for, the cooking, drinking and washing needs of, an overnight passage. If used sparingly. Sink and kettle will be filled, at departure, to give us a 'head start.'

Our tranquil summery high has brought light winds, from the north and east. Together with the, more welcome, return of languorous, balmy, days.

If Stargazer bides her time, for two days more, the forecasts suggest that, a passage making westerly breeze will set in. Coinciding with fair tides, for an overnight arrival in St Peter Port. On Thursday into Friday. With Marine & General on standby, to begin repairs from Monday. Touch some wood and cross your fingers!

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Ribald laughter rings from the Roscoff quayside. As the fishing fleet return, with their catch.

Mirror calm seas, and summer sunshine, making for a relaxed mood.

Offshore, the 'Torduf' (Tour du Finistere a la Voile) fleet spread their spinnakers. To capture a zephyr of breeze. And creep along the craggy shoreline, of the Ile de Batz.

Race rules proscribing use of the shortcut, through the tide torn Canal de Batz. Between the island and the mainland.

In Bloscon, the forest of flags, masts and brightly painted hulls has finally put to sea.

The crews extricating their craft, from the raft, one by one. Watchful harbour RIB's darting about. Intervening, as tugs, or fenders, as required.

Leaving an unaccustomed stillness behind, in the port. Returned to the slower paced ways, of cruisers and sightseers.

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The Heavenly Twins, Mahi Mahi, able to take the ground, lies against the quayside in the Vieux Port.

Watching the hidden granite molars, of the harbour, emerge and recede. As the tide breathes metronomically, in and out.

The British flagged barge yacht, Snark, is still afloat. Moored to the inner mole. But she too will dry, on her flat steel bottom. Lee boards and rudder blade are raised, in readiness

The hospitality of the Rocoff waterfront before her.

The breeze, which flutters Snark's ensign, blows from the north east. A headwind for Stargazer. But a fast spinnaker reach for the racers, bound for L'Aberwrac'h tomorrow. Who can afford to relax a little, at the prospect of a downhill run.

Whilst the raft, of starters, continues to grow around them.

Late comers shoehorn themselves in. With a smile.

Whilst a bevy of all conquering (in their day) Pogo3 Minis ( just twenty one feet long, but built to race across the Atlantic) have taken up residence on Stargazer's southern, 'small boat,' pontoon. Spending the day swapping, from their 'delivery sails,' to their crisp and crackling 'race sails.'

For those not fortunate enough, to have secured alongside berths, stores must be portaged aboard. Across a floating bridge, of decks.

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The Tour du Finistere a la Voile starts from Roscoff, this year. On Monday. From yesterday evening,  a stream of crews has been arriving. 

Which explains the shortage of spaces. And increases my respect for the RIB-borne berth-finders. One by one, eighty competitors add themselves to a burgeoning raft, on the events pontoon. 

The northern end, of Port Bolscon, is abuzz with pre race banter, aglow with brightly logoed hulls and agog with expectation. For the week of racing ahead. 

Which will see the fleet finish in Port la Foret, south of the Raz, in Bigouden Bay. Where we met them last year. Impatient to discover their final placing, once the handicap calculations had been run.

The southern end, of the marina, by contrast, is a haven of tranquility. Albeit designed for boats two to three metres shorter than Stargazer. Her finger berth, ending just aft of her shrouds. But, infinitely preferable to being rafted. Which is never a restful experience.

Stargazer finds herself in the unusual position of dwarfing her neighbours. And projecting some way out into the fairway. Hence the heavy fendering. For the tide runs diagonally across the pontoon. Making leaving their berths tricky, for our neighbours, whilst they have our stern to clear.

This corner of the port turns out to be, something of, a solo sailing home from home. The boats mainly in the twenty one to twenty five foot range. Often wooden. And maintained to the highest of standards. After their skippers first enjoy a Saturday morning sail, that is.These craft are no ‘marina queens.’

A German flagged Waarschip arrived, as I breakfasted (very late!). Before her skipper retired below, for the day. I am looking forward to hearing his story, once he awakes. The photograph, on Amica’s Marine Traffic AIS tracker page, places them in Peniche, Portugal, last August.

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Stargazer top and tails a day, which brightens as we travel east, with classic company. The resourceful Roscoff berthing team, out in their RIB marshalling boats on arrival, at this busy time of year, find Stargazer a space, in a quiet corner of the port, amongst the smaller, local craft.

Last night, the Fifers Moonbeam V (pictured) and Mariquita arrived in L'Aber Wrac'h. Ahead of a rolling grey blanket of fog. Which brought an early dusk.

As Stargazer left, in today's pre-dawn twilight. Their lithe hulls glowed an ethereal white, amid the dark silhouettes and shadows of the estuary.

Clouds cloak a breathless sunrise. An oily swell rolls across an otherwise still sea.

Stargazer's engine will be getting some exercise, if we are to make progress today. In just three to five knots of wind.

Six hours of sluicing tide races around this north westerly corner of Brittany. Predictable and reliable. When the breeze decides to turn fickle. With no change to the throttle settings, Stargazer's speed leaps from four to six knots, sometimes seven, abreast a hazy Ile Vierge.

The tide has us in its grip. Hurtling Stargazer east, to the Ile de Batz. On a, two to three knot, watery conveyor belt.

The sight of a ferry, loading at the Roscoff terminal, is our cue to dismount.

Stargazer skirts the reefs and crags. Down into the Baie de Morlaix. Picking her way past the (drying) Vieux Port. To be greeted by the Roscoff RIB riders.

 

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Cooking and washing arrangements, aboard Stargazer, have descended to a basic level. With the unwelcome discovery, on arrival in L'Aber Wrac'h, that there is a blockage somewhere in the domstic system. Trapping our, quarter tonne, supply of fresh water in its tank.

The most obvious suspect is the in line filter. Installed to prevent any foreign matter entering (and damaging) the pump.

The pump itself (replaced the winter before last) spins up 'normally,' to pressurise the system. But labours, when a tap is opened. Producing a reduced flow. Hence the prognosis of a blockage. The most probable location for one being the filter.

Which, along with the pump, is located beneath the bottom boards, of the berth in Stargazer's aft cabin.

Home, when on passage to Stargazer's comprehensive array of cruising clobber. Much of it stowed (on the centreline) in three large, black, lidded crates (whose yellow clasps you can see). An ordered (despite first appearances) state of affairs, with which I have a pyschological dread of interfering.

In part because of the chaos that, emptying the cabin, brings to Stargazer's saloon. Which, whatever excitement may be going on elsewhere aboard, I seek to preserve as a cocoon of calm. But needs must. 

When I reach it, the in line filter is clear. As is a filter (which I was unaware of, until a Good Samaritan met on the quayside, alerted me to its presence) contained in the tap spout. The blockage lies, either within the pump outlet, or the pipework downstream of it. Both beyond my DIY endeavours to resolve.

Professional marine engineering assistance is required.  The nearest source of which is the Marine & General yard, on Guernsey. Which (since Brexit), first requires a trip to Roscoff, in order for Stargazer's skipper's passport to be 'stamped out' of Schengen. Serendipity has, once more, taken a hand in Stargazer's summer cruise.