Tempting Fate

 

My early morning forecast check reveals that our expected north westerly breeze will be with us all day; and that the phone, on which we are dependent for forecasting, navigation, banking and more besides, has not charged overnight. I suspect the lead and dig out the spare. It turns out to be the wrong type. Today’s new priority is to restore reliable phone charging.

It is our great good fortune to be in Cherbourg at this moment. With its comprehensive array of city centre shops. I soon find the local phone unlocker. And am relieved when we establish that it is only the lead which is at fault. He even has a genuine Apple spare - for cash only!

Feeling relaxed once more, I stroll the thronging Saturday streets. Market stalls fill the squares. The aroma of fresh cooked food hangs in the air. Tempted, I queue for my morning baguette.

And top up on fresh vegetables.

Back at the harbour, the Open 40 fleet is mustering. Sails are being put aboard. Ernest conversations had. Preparations made.

Others are at sea. Testing sails and rig set ups, in the fresh breeze.

For those not yet ready, the sight is a spur to action.

I shall make no bold prophecies, about whether Stargazer too will be saying farewell to Cherbourg, in case I tempt fate - as I may have done with yesterday’s post. I will merely observe that both wind and tide suit an eastbound passage on Sunday morning. 

Season's March

An autumnal sun casts a golden glow across the Cherbourg quaysides. Leaves pearls of dew glowing on Stargazer's decks well into a still morning. The season marches imperceptibly, but inexorably, onward.

 

Fishermen tend to their nets before the grand waterfront facade.

In town. . . .

. . . .masks are now mandatory on the streets.

Tomorrow, the wind is forecast to blow once more. Fifteen to twenty knots from the north west. A tail wind to carry us east, on a fair morning tide. Bound for the Pointe de Barfleur. Like the season, Stargazer marches onward.

Square Seas

 

The Raz Blanchard (Alderney Race), lives up to its descriptive French name: White Waves. At the Cap de la Hague eight knots of north bound current runs into the full east bound English Channel tide - and a force six westerly breeze. The result is a confusion of large breaking seas, literally coming from all sides.

Stargazer shoulders her way through, under and over the brutally square-sided seas. Taking it all in her stride. A few miles east, the confusion is gone. We are riding long powerful swells, with the wind on the beam. Sailing fast.

We enter Cherbourg on instruments, catching only the barest glimpse of Napoleon's fortified sea wall - through a white-out downpour. It is gone as quickly as it arrived, carried off by the wind. Stargazer swings alongside the cosmopolitan visitors pontoon. Helping hands appear, from neighbouring boats, to take our lines. 

The Scenic Route

 

Scrutiny of Google satellite images, suggests that there is a scenic route into Barneville.

A path leads through the fields and over a foot bridge.

To run along the banks of a creek. The path gradually broadens into a bridleway and then to a fully metalled road, lined with stone built cottages. On the outskirts of Barneville.

Returning to Cartaret, shopping baskets filled with provisions, the last of the tide is ebbing away. A shellfish boat makes a dash, to enter, before the channel dries.

When it does, a mechanised game of sandcastles ensues. The twice daily rush of the tide is over deepening the channel (left hand side of picture). Undermining the protective concrete-work of the old cill (right hand side of picture). Threatening the quayside.

In an attempt to slow the erosion, one tonne bulk bags are being filled with sand, from the harbour bottom, and dropped into the channel. It explains what seemed to be a bright white line beneath Stargazer, and an unexpected shoaling at this point, when we arrived.

Tomorrow there is a spring tide, the most powerful of them all. There are fifteen to twenty knots of south west wind forecast. In the morning, there will be six hours during which the two combine forces - to carry us north through the Raz Blanchard (Alderney Race), round the Cap de la Hague and then east into Cherbourg. Stargazer is fully victualled and ready to sail.

Serendipity

 

Today is a day for brisk walks along the sands.

The breeze is too light, for passage making sailing.

Instead, open vistas, viewed from ashore, beckon.

From the sands and from the cliff path.

Serendipity lent a helping hand to our cruise yesterday. When Stargazer was becalmed, she had been making for Dielette. A somewhat utilitarian port, overlooked by Flamanville nuclear power station. It is well placed for a passage through the Raz Blanchard (Alderney Race). I now realise that the tides work just as well from Cartaret. After a succession of bustling city ports, the change of tempo, moored in this sylvian setting, is a welcome embellishment. 

Egrets stalk silently in the shadow of the grassy banks. . . .

. . . . and Stargazer reclines, supported by a mirror image of herself, on mercury still waters.

Mirage

 

A sulphurous sunrise heralds the start of a new day. 

Stargazer left Granville whilst constellations shone bright, in a clear night sky.

At dawn we are off the Lilliputian kingdom of the Iles Chausey, with a fair tide beneath us.

The breeze is light, but with sails well eased, sufficient to make progress.

Slowly, as the morning progresses, the wind fades. The sea breeze, driven by the heat of the land, is cancelling out the barometric breeze. The sea turns glassy. A shimmering heat haze forms. We hold station off the south east tip of Jersey. Had St Helier been accepting visiting boats, we could have let the tide carry us in. This strange year, that option is not open to us.

I start the engine. Perhaps as well, we are still on the tank of diesel we set out with - and its getting old. It needs using. The calm conditions allow us to cut some corners, as we thread our way through the reefs and past Les Ecrehou.

We make for Cartaret, our nearest available port. Stargazer anchors beneath the Cap de Cartaret. . . .

. . . .whilst the tide rises sufficiently for us to get in. (The red topped pole, behind the part submerged fisherman in waders, is the port hand channel marker). We have only an hour and a half to wait, such is the scale of the tidal range in these waters.

Golden Eye

 

A Kestrel nestles watchfully amongst the clifftop scrub. Maybe for camouflage, or perhaps for respite from the wind. Her choice of landing place varies, so she cannot be guarding a nest.

The waves roll in beneath her. They wash onto the miles of deserted beach, stretching away to the north, as far as the eye can see.

She rises in a blur of movement . Climbs high, spiraling on the invisible updraughts rising up the cliff face . Holds station, to hover above my head . Wind rippling her dappled plumage . Eyes scouring the ground . Beak at the ready . Talons tucked up, to accelerate a stoop . Supreme in her element.