Carpe Diem

 

We are in St Malo tonight. Fifty nautical miles to the south east of the Ile de Brehat anchorages. Our intended destination.

We left Paimpol to find a fine passage making breeze out at L'Ost Pic. Twenty knots from the west. An urge to stretch our sea legs overcame Stargazer and I, after our week in port. This felt like a moment to be seized.

Ten minutes with the almanac confirms that the tide will turn in our favour as we sail - and that, by our estimated arrival time in St Malo, there will be enough water to get in. The wind strength builds as we fully clear the lee of the land. By the time we pass Cap Frehel we are on a dead run, under full main and no jib, in twenty five knots of breeze.

The Grand Jardin lighthouse, guarding the reefs off St Malo's entrance, glows in the evening sun. It was visible two hours ago. Standing like a vesta's match on the rim of the horizon. Now it towers above us, plain and clear. We gybe our way down the dog legged channel. Refreshed.

Suck it and Sea

 

Study, of the Ile de Brehat chart, has provided an embarrassment of anchorage options to ponder. The forecasts are for westerly winds with a hint of either north or south to them. If there's much south, it will render the deeper parts of La Chambre, the classic Brehat spot, uncomfortably rolly with swell. In fact it is not possible to anchor a full draft keel boat in there atall. The available space is taken with moorings. But four of these are available to visitors. Boats come from far and wide to stay. I have rowed in to admire the, splendidly craggy, setting - but never found a vacant mooring. A marginal day may be Stargazer's opportunity, to set that omission right.

If not, there is an anchorage, visited by both Goblin and Stargazer, which is sheltered from the west by several miles of reefs. At low water they stand high, their rock pools and pinnacles acting as a wind break. With big tides, like this week's, they will cover by a metre or so at high water - but still act as an effective wave break. There is room for one boat. Two if they are anchored sympathetically. 

As I stroll the streets of Paimpol, taking in its variety, I consider a fallback anchoring option. Our best bet seems to lie on the mainland shore, a mile or so to the south of the Ile de Brehat. From the chart, once a low reef is crossed on a suitable rise of tide, the Anse de Launay looks as if it would provide both shelter and depth. Or turn out to be occupied by a shellfish farm, for which it would also be ideal: shallow and sheltered. Encouragingly, there are no signs of encumbrances on the Google Maps satellite picture.

I am through the leafy suburbs now and back at the bustling harbour.

About to plunge off into the old town.

With its busy alleys and eateries.

There are enough options, for tomorrow night's stopover, that we ought to be able to find one which is both available and suits the prevailing conditions.

We shall suck it and sea.

Maree Haute

 

Trawlers fill Paimpol harbour, on a wind torn sunshine and showers day. Seas too stormy for fishing.  

The Glenans Sailing School fleet, too, has returned to port. Tomorrow new students will arrive. Before they do, there is preparation work to be completed.

Space is running short. Caused by a combination of boats arriving for the weekend and boats, previously at anchor, running in for shelter. A forty foot flybridge angler is manhandled alongside Stargazer. We are putting the breeze to good use - a line full of washing dries on the foredeck. 

It is not just the winds which are high. Today's is a full, eleven and a half metre, spring tide. This morning water lapped just one masonry block below the top of the harbour wall. The floating pontoons, to which Stargazer is secured, level with the pavement. Normally the lock gates shut at high water, to maintain the depth. Today, they are still open two hours after high water. To reduce it.

A spring tide means not just the highest of high waters (maree haute), but the lowest of lows. In just six hours, the water level will drop by almost ten metres.

Leaving only puddles at the feet of the lock gates, by the time low water arrives.

And only wading depth, for a seagull, in the entry channel. 

On the horizon, a glittering necklace of seawater adorns the first of the islands. Channel markers high and dry, in the foreground.

The barometer is slowly rising. A sign that the low pressure, which has brought this stormy weather, is easing away. The large scale chart of the Ile de Brehat is spread on Stargazer's saloon table. Pencil marks showing possible anchorages, according to wind direction. Often, a day or two of north to north easterlies follows a south westerly gale. If they do, on this occasion, Stargazer is ready.

Uncle Albert

 

There's consternation on the quayside this morning. The sun beams and a benign force three breeze gently ruffles flags. Barometers have risen overnight. But most forecast sites predict a blow, intensifying over the next forty eight hours. It is definitely late arriving. Do we stay put, or make a dash to another port?

Paimpol offers secure shelter for Stargazer and multiple shore-side diversions for me. On a tip from the crew of  'T Wilde Rake, out of Nieuwpoort in Belgium and heading for the Med, I explore the back lanes, out of town.

I wander through a string of villages. The housing density waxes and wanes. Hamlets, comprised of original terraced cottages, are loosely linked by more modern homes, set in leafy gardens.

Housing gives way to woodland, with the occasional glimpse of a shimmering blue sea. We have crossed the neck of a headland. The ground begins to slope downward, towards the Anse de Beauport. Named after the abbey, which stands above it.

There is a tranquil beauty to the bay (anse). I sit on the beach, to eat my lunch, as the tide silently ebbs.

My view is of the rugged islands, which Stargazer sailed past, when we made port.

Back in Paimpol, Stargazer has a new neighbour alongside. Another thirty one foot Hallberg Rassy. She is named 'Albert' and is out of Dunkerque. She is as far from home as Stargazer. The two smallest boats, on passage, in the harbour are both Hallberg Rassy's and are both on thousand mile plus cruises.

Albert is a Kutter 94. Designed as a motor sailer and built until the mid nineties - with a snug wheelhouse, large engine and modest sailing performance. Stargazer shares her seaworthy traits, but inherited her sailing genes from a different branch of the family. Albert is her uncle, rather than an elder sibling.

Sign of the Times

 

The jaunty strains of an accordion tune, a shanty to judge by its rhythm, lure me towards a cobbled alley. In a sign of our times, the busker has her hat at her feet and a mask upon her face.

The alley opens onto a market square, overlooked by well groomed stone built shops with apartments set above them. 

The quadrangle, which they form, is, almost completely, roofed over by myriad white awnings. They shade wooden trestle table stalls, piled with all manner of merchandise. 

All remaining space is filled by jostling milling crowds. The majority wear masks, as they squeeze and elbow their way among the wares. No quarter is given - and no regard is shown for social distancing. For the first time on this cruise, I feel that I am at risk.

I withdraw. Gradually the crowds thin.

My feeling of danger does not dissipate, until I reach the fresh air and space of the harbour. Sit a while in the security of Stargazer's cockpit.

I take stock of our stores. It is time for more than a baguette run. I set off to the top of the town, in search of the Carrefour Drive (with an accute accent on the final e). The largest size of store - they ascend from (Cite, through Market to Drive).

I have discovered that, in a happier sign of the times, veggie food has become mainstream in France. At least if you shop in the larger Carrefour's. I return with baskets filled with the usual selection of cheeses, fresh fruit and vegetables - and supplemented by falafel a variety of savoury tartes and some fresh filled tortellini.

High water has been and gone. More boats have arrived and few have left. Despite our sheltered inland position, twenty five to thirty knots of breeze pummels the port. As thunder clouds pass, whistling gusts set lines groaning and send craft staggering. Across the harbour the talk is of shoreside walks - to pass the time agreeably, whilst this deep low rumbles through.

Show Time

 

On the quaysides around us, Paimpol awakes - in a leisurely manner.

Last night's packed harbour has emptied, with the morning tide. Stargazer, still well fendered up, has the visitors' berths almost to herself.

Peace pervades the pontoons. . .

. . .and quaysides.

A show unfolds on the fishing dock. An Outremer Forty Five is being lifted out. One of the original year two thousand, Gerard Danson, designs - whose looks I always rather admire. Sleek and wind cheating, with a hint of UFO to the cabin top. 

All eyes are on the unfolding drama. As her seven tonne weight is gently lowered, ominous groans echo across the port. There is a flurry of activity under the stern of her starboard hull. Worried faces peer.

Fortunately it is the stacked wooden planks, which she is being lowered onto, protesting - and not the hull. Solid wood baulks are positioned in place of the planks.

She settles onto her supports. In silence. The lifting strops are released. Breaths are held. . . . . . . unnecessarily. The ending is a happy one.

Paimpol harbour relaxes back into reverie.

Slo' Mo' Sailin'

 

The historic Breton fishing port of Paimpol basks in the evening sunshine. We have taken a full afternoon to sail the twenty miles from St Quay Portrieux . For once, slow sailing was the object of the exercise. High water was at nineteen hundred hours - and, to be sure of having enough depth, we didn't want to arrive too much before then.

The Ost Pic is the first marker of a five mile channel. It guides us in from seaward, the low afternoon sun glinting off the water. Turning it to a burnished silver. Making the smaller posts and buoyage hard to discern amid the glare.

We thread our way past craggy islets.

The islets grow into full blown islands.

Finally, rolling green shores rise up to embrace us.

The sight of craft, albeit of lesser draft than Stargazer, emerging from the channel is reassuring. As are a bevvy of inbound craft. We pace ourselves to three knots, giving the tide time to rise some more.

A stone jetty appears ahead. We round it, with two and a half metres of water under the keel - twice the clearance I had expected. Before us the lock gates lie open, on 'freeflow' (both gates open at the same time - allowing boats to pass straight through). There is no need for us to lock in. Two happy surprises in as many minutes. Beyond, the harbour is thronged - with one last space, for Stargazer.