A145

 

Something in the Guernsey air encourages the ancient seafaring art of boat hopping: Moving from one welcoming cockpit to another. For the exchange of aspirations, tales and information. Lubricated by liberal coffee consumption and, often as not, an open copy of Reeds Nautical Almanac or an iPad full of charts.

Anja and Berthold are Stargazer's immediate neighbours, aboard a similar sized Jeanneau. They are heading south into Biscay for the first time. With plans to over-winter the boat there. Whilst they spend Christmas at home in Germany. Stargazer's skipper is happy to assist in their endeavour. With suggestions of ports which are both scenic and boast suitable yard facilities.

On the next pontoon, is Dutch flagged Hallberg-Rassy 342 Robuste. Stargazer's berth-mate, for a week in Saint-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie, last year. Duelling with us on the long beat north to Noirmoutier. Before we went our separate ways. Now homeward bound. With choices to make about which coast to follow. English or European.

Marisol, a thirty five foot Contest, is also making for the Netherlands. Returning from a ten year circumnavigation. Crew and boat looking as fresh as if they were about to set out. With plans for a Biscay cruise, "the most beautiful part," already forming for next season.

Boats able to dry out take their cue from High Barbaree. Queuing for energetic activity on the scrubbing pad. To speed them on their way, once wind and tide serve.

All of us sheltering behind the high St Peter Port cill. Making our own entertainment, in the time honoured cruising tradition.

Ad Lib 144

 

Our forecast forty knot blow churns the waters of the Little Russel white. Misting the air with salt spume. . . . .

. . . .mingled with rain. From its associated cold front. The berths of St Peter Port as empty as Stargazer's skipper has ever known them. A sight which the Harbour Master confesses is "simply depressing."

For, August Bank Holiday weekend is (usually) his busiest of the year. Soon, the system sweeps by. To leave sunshine and an abnormally brisk breeze.

Which brings Stargazer a new berth mate, from across the Bay of Biscay. Last landfall Porto Spain. A family of four making their way home to Dover. To complete a three year circumnavigation. Pausing for respite, in St Peter Port, whilst this heavy weather passes.

Her skipper's verdict is that his Lagoon 50 was "the perfect boat for the trip." Despite the marque's reputation as 'Condo-Cats,' favouring condominium scale accomodation over sailing performance. "It was mostly downwind. Only the Red Sea was a problem. This boat is ideal as a long-term live-aboard,” he adds.

A view probably shared by a cool-as-a-cucumber solo German skipper (with whom I prove to have insufficient language skills to hold a meaningful conversation). Also in from Porto (was as far as we got). He pirouetted his eight metre beam craft, within the confines of the harbour, by running one engine forwards and the other in reverse. Coming sweetly alongside, as the breeze built, single handed.

To dwarf Kimbula, the other occupant of 'cat corner.' The shallowest part of the harbour. Also, as her mirror reflection testifies, the most sheltered. Tight in beneath the intersection of two tall granite quaysides.

Ad Lib 143

 

The tide swirls out over the St Peter Port cill. All falls still within. The jostling scend, of our rising south westerly gale, is quelled. Leaving the wind whistling harmlessly overhead.

A small flurry of boats ran in, for shelter, as the breeze rose yesterday.

Amongst them High Barbaree. Her crew electing to make the most of the port's ten metre tidal range, whilst they are here.

By taking advantage of the scrubbing pad. Carefully keeping her long keeled hull heeled, as the water drains away.

To leave her leaning against the quayside. Protected by a row of super sized fenders, on loan from the Harbour Master's 'lost & found' store.

Until she settles on a concrete plinth. Set a little above the level of the cill. To permit dry shod access to her (normally) underwater areas. Yet retaining yard-brush-dipping access to water. For the purposes of speed-sapping green-growth removal.

Ad Lib 142

 

Stargazer's decision to set sail is swiftly taken. On Wednesday, over her skipper's supper. After the evening forecast update is issued. In which the cards, of the weather forecast pack, have been well and truly shuffled.

Thursday afternoon's thunderstorms have been cancelled, to the north if not on the Breton shore. With the big Bank Holiday blow brought forward to midday Friday. Stargazer sails from Treguier an hour before dawn, on Thursday.

Bursting from beneath the darkly brooding river banks into the more open waters, of the Jaudy estuary, as the sun rises.

Greeted there by ten knots of breeze from the west. With just enough south in it, for us to lay the channel on a single tack.

By midday, Stargazer is abeam the Roches Douvres reefs. Feeling the full force of the west going tide. Which runs hard, hereabouts. But less slowed by it, than her skipper had feared.

The southern shore of Guernsey is within sight, ten to fifteen miles off, by the time a mid-afternoon pot of coffee is brewed. Les Hanois at its western tip (left hand side.)

Stargazer is swept east and north, by the turn of the tide. It sucks and surges, stirring whitecaps, as we round St Martin's point, close in.

The Little Russel channel opens before us. Marked by the Brehon Tower. All breeze now blanketed by the high-set islands (Guernsey and Herm) on either hand.

Sparkling like jewels, backlit by the soft light of a setting sun, the towers and minarets of St Peter Port straggle up its steep hillside. Which will be Stargazer's bulwark, in the stormy days to come.

Ad Lib 141

 

Treguier returns to its mediaevel roots (see Ad Lib 135) on Market Day. Its streets thronged with hawkers and travellers. Bargains are demonstratively struck. Vendors loudly tout their wares; and their customers respond with equal vehemence.

One seller is momentarily taken aback, by an unusually argumentative client. Seemingly bent on setting the world to rights, rather than on making a purchase.

By and large, would be patrons are keen to make a purchase. Perhaps after savouring a small sample of the goods on offer. Then to move on swiftly.

Along this modern day pilgrim's trail. Which fans out across the flat land atop the riverbank. . . .

. . . .and scrambles up steep cobbled streets. With stallholders seizing the opportunity, of any lull in their brisk trade, for a swift lunchtime snack.

At the hill's summit, two flamenco guitarists strike up. Sitting on the stone flags before the cathedral door. Weaving intricate melodies, tapping toes, eyes locked. Together elevated to a higher musical space. 

An appreciative audience soon forms. Some circle the duo, applauding between numbers. Cobbles defeat several who would dance. Still others, soak up the rhythmic feel-good aura subliminally. Whilst setting about the serious business of shopping, Wicker baskets at the ready.

Ad Lib 140

As a breed, sailors are most particular about their weather. Although far from agreed upon what represent ideal conditions.

Today is, all but, windless. Yet it has suited those who either prefer to motor; or who are forced to do so, by a pressing deadline. Able to make progress in any direction, at a predictable speed, governed only by the tide. Accompanied by a fog of diesel fumes.

Tomorrow, a light south westerly, by morning, gives way to thunderstorms, with their risk of lightning strike. Plus a warning of forty knot gusts from the east, in the afternoon. Which will suit neither sailors nor motor-sailors.

Thursday is shaping up to be similar. But it is too early to be absolutely sure.

By Friday, a passage-making westerly is probable. The vanguard of a stormy weekend. As befits a British August Bank Holiday. The tides, by then nearing springs, running predominantly west during the day. Making a northerly course the most viable option.

Ad Lib 139

 

Strong squalls set the trees swaying. The occasional gust spilling down to set Stargazer straining at her lines.

Like Sir Francis Drake, with his apocryphal Plymouth Hoe bowls game, we must bide our time, until wind and tide serve our purpose.

Whilst taking full advantage of the services on offer from both a nearby laundrette and a supermarket.