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Stargazer is taking on a semi-permanent starboard list. As a stiff south westerly breeze continues to pummel her port bow.

Along the visitors pontoon, the flags of the northern European nations stream in the breeze: Poland. . . .

. . . .Germany. . . .

. . . .and Denmark, are all represented. The hardy Dutch departed during yesterday's (relative) lull. Aboard many boats, maintenance work is underway, whilst there is a  pause in passage making.

Stargazer is no exception. Her skipper labelling up the batteries and their cabling. In preparation for their anticipated replacement. I had hoped to swap one at a time. To minimise the number of connections to memorise. But it becomes clear that the geometry of the box and the number of cross links make that option unrealistic.

Instead, a combination of photographs, labels and a schematic diagram will have to guide the reconnection process. When I check, that we have a suitable spanner for the cable clamps, I discover that our additional third battery was installed using imperial fittings, of two different sizes. One we have a ring spanner to fit. For the other, there seems sufficient space to wield an adjustable.

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Stargazer’s barometer performs an Irish stepdance, upon her bulkhead: kicking high, stomping low. Chimeral skies alternate between blue and black. The whistle, of the wind, falls silent, before returning with a gleeful shriek. As the eye, of Erin, passes through.

The season is on the march. Autumnal September about to arrive. Bearing the equinox at its tail. Which is often marked by a Channel gale.

 

Aboard Stargazer, spirits have risen. With confirmation, from DPD, that three replacement batteries are on their way.

Short sharp downpours punctuate the sunshine. Through a drear blur, of raindrops, a rainbow burns bright. 

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Plans, to restore Stargazer's onboard electricity supply, soon suffer their first setback. With the arbitrary cancellation of our amazon.fr order, by the supplier, this morning.

Cue further scurrying about, on foot phone and internet, to fill the voltage void in Stargazer's battery box.

The outcome of which is placement of a third on-line order. That included an option, which I ticked, for express delivery by DPD. Only time will tell if this is 'third time lucky,' or a(nother) Google ghost victory.

Suffice it to say, that today's squalls have not all been of Erin's making. Although the silver lining, within her scudding clouds, is that Stargazer is losing no sailing time, during her skipper’s battery buying battles; and that Cherbourg is well placed, both to provide shelter and to source spares.

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 Technology, in combination with croissant consumption, turns out to trump shoe leather, in finding a solution to Stargazer's sudden power outage:

As Stargazer exited the Alderney Race, on passage from Saint-Malo, her domestic battery bank sprang an unwelcome surprise. In the space of thirty minutes, depleting from seventy odd percent, to completely flat. Leaving navigation systems down and lights out, as dusk gathered.

Back in May, leaving Belle Ile, something similar occurred. The anchor windlass flattening the batteries, within seconds. Which I had put down to my misreading their initial charge state, after several days on the hook. In both instances, the engine could be started (using its dedicated battery) to restore voltage across the system.

And so it was, that Stargazer sped through the night, toward Cherbourg, propelled by wind and tide. Her lights and navigation systems powered by the throb of the Yanmar diesel. There are no outward signs of anything awry. However a cell (or cells) are clearly down in the three domestic batteries. Which are about seven to eight years old. . . . and were scheduled for precautionary replacement this winter. . . .

From an installation point of view, it would be simplest to fit identical Varta batteries. Both to ensure that the link cables are the right length; and that the batteries slot into their compartment and its inversion restraints. A Google search shows several Varta stockists within walking distance of the marina. However, when I visit them, this information proves incorrect. Although, in the third, I am supplied with the address of a car parts centre, across town, who should be able to help.

But, it being midday and we being in France, not until fourteen hundred hours, after a pause for lunch. I return to Stargazer, via a patisserie. Whilst I eat, I Google some more. Discovering: Firstly, that our exact Varta battery model has been discontinued; . . . .

Secondly, that a dimensionally identical model replaces it; and thirdly that I can (apparently) order the batteries on line. For delivery to the marina. (Which solves the problem of how to transport heavy batteries, to the boat, on foot). Except, when I confirm my delivery address, my order is rejected: Following Brexit, 'We are no longer able to deliver outside the UK.'  

This tantalising brush with success sows a seed. Which blossoms, as the effects of fresh croissant and strong coffee take hold. What a sensible idea, a two hour lunch break is! I log onto the marina wi-fi, with the lap top. Whereupon my Google search results become French based. (Whereas on my phone, with UK SIM, they are UK based). 

I am, I discover, now able to log onto Amazon France, using my UK account credentials. Where no amount of fiddling with the phone app would previously allow me to do so. Stargazer's batteries are available. They can be delivered to the marina office. Tracking will be provided, to notify me of their arrival. If the helpful and attentive marina team do not do so first. Now, all we have to hope is that, during the model change, the geometry of the battery case tops has not been altered, so as to interfere with the routing of link cables. 

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A red sky at dawning, brings Stargazer her long awaited west wind. Whilst announcing, along with a tumbling barometer, that Erin is on her way in from the Atlantic.

Stargazer sails, from Saint-Malo, at first light.

Sweeping seaward, to make the most of the day.

We settle onto a comfortable, tidally assisted, reach as the sunrise dries the dew from Stargazer's decks.

Stargazer weaves her way north. Between the low lying Minquies and Les Iles Chausey. Where the tide funnels hard and favourably, between rocky pinnacles rising from unseen reefs. We are making for the Tres Grunes, off the south east tip of Jersey.

The first of Erin's fronts arrives. Briefly boosting the breeze to twenty knots. Stargazer making seven knots over the ground, with two reefs in the main, while it passes.

Jersey appears, off the port beam. With it, phone signal briefly resumes, bringing a forecast update. We shall enjoy fourteen to sixteen knot westerlies on into tonight. Beyond that, Erin brings stronger, more volatile, conditions. Rising to a stormy thirty knot crescendo over the weekend.

A plan begins to form, in the mind of Stargazer's skipper. As Stargazer lopes north over the swell. Well ahead of schedule, far too early to enter either Cartaret or Dielette. Which were, in any case, staging points to transit the Raz Blanchard (literally White Waters) or, more prosaically, the Alderney Race. A task to which today's breeze is perfectly suited.

Although (now) bound east, for Cherbourg, Stargazer steers a little to the west of the rhumb line. Once clear of Jersey. For the Race flows fastest upon its eastern side. In order to make progress against it, Stargazer must stay clear of the strongest flow.

Through the afternoon, and into the evening, Stargazer makes five to six knots through the water; two to three over the ground. Jostled by the uneasy seas of this restless strand. By sunset, the tide is, once more, turning in Stargazer's favour.

It sends us on our way, swirling us around the Cap de la Hague, making nine knots over the ground. The wind still on our beam (the fastest, and most relaxing, point of sailing), having backed southerly at sunset. Stargazer secures, in storm proof Cherbourg, at midnight.

Picture Credits

Chart screenshot courtesy of Navionics by Garmin.

Stargazer track screenshot courtesy of MarineTraffic.com

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The embers of storm Erin are expected to stir up the winds and send them westerly, from tomorrow. Which is a direction that suits a northerly ascent of the Cotentin peninsula. If a window can be found, before they grow too strong.

From Saint-Malo, the obvious port to make for is Cartaret. A fair tide would assist us, more or less, all the way. However, a three to four hour wait, off an exposed lee shore, in a rising breeze, would be required. Before there was enough water for Stargazer to enter. (Bringing back memories of our bouncy anchorage off Saint-Vaast-la-Hougue: Zen Again 27).

Better, perhaps, to invest that waiting time in slowly 'pushing' a foul tide. Which could bring Stargazer to Dielette, with sufficient depth to enter upon arrival.The tide we would be battling would be the tail end of the, notoriously fast flowing, Alderney Race. We will have to see how this works out in practice. With the option to retreat, into Cartaret, if our fight proves futile.

All in all, it is a passage plan composed from leftovers: Storm Erin's wind and the Alderney Race's tide. Yet, some of my favourite dishes have been discovered by combining larder remnants. Stargazer’s dawn weather watch is resumed.

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Winged gargoyles crouch ready to pounce. Like mischievous djinn.

They utter soundless cries, from their gurning jaws.

Above them, the high spire, of Saint-Vincent cathedral, soars heavenward.

Landmark of the city intra-muros. Visible from both land and sea. A symbol of power, wealth and pilgrimage.

Today, sharply attired tourists flock to the streets at its feet. Drawn by glittering baubles, on display in designer boutiques. 

The cobbles ring with the trans-Atlantic tones, of passengers shuttled ashore from a cruise ship. Which, with a silence denying its scale, took up station overnight, off the beaches of Dinard.

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Saint-Malo, the self styled Corsair City. It is no idle boast. The taking of English maritime prizes brought great wealth to the privateers of the port.

Surcouf was the most successful of them all. His statue stands high upon the ramparts. Boulevards are named after him. Here, his arm is outflung toward Angleterre. The source of his wealth.

"You French fight merely for gold. We British fight for honour" sneers a hapless English captain.Victim to Surcouf. Only to be further humiliated, by the buccaneer's rapier-like riposte:

"We fight for what we do not already possess." Runs an apocryphal tale.

The seizure of foreign flagged ships was seen, on both sides of La Manche, as well as further afield, as a legitimate source of income. During the Napoleonic wars and the great age of sail.

The walled city of Saint-Malo, proved a perfect base, from which to conduct such bloodthirsty business. With its outer ring of defensive reefs; and, beyond them, ready access to the lucrative shipping lanes, of the Channel, North Sea and Atlantic Ocean.

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My first port of call ashore is Saint-Servan, a short walk along the beach front, from the harbour.

For, whilst the city intra-muros is well supplied with shops, few are geared toward meeting the daily needs of a cruising skipper.

Saint-Servan proves picturesque in its own right.

Boasting bread shops galore, and two supermarkets, on its high street. Its pavements thick with al fresco eateries.

Unable to resist the pun, in the self styled Corsair City, I stop at a barbers. Emerging shorn, by Valere, of surplus growth since my Les Sables d'Olonne trim.