Head south 'till the butter melts!

For the last wek in June more miserable weather had us holed up in Aber Wrach on the north west corner of the Brest peninsular. We got out for a bike ride and a walk then headed for Paris for the weekend. Our best man Craig and his family were over from Oz on a holiday so we went up to meet them. We had a lovely dinner on the a boat on the Seine and did the usual sights of Paris. 

Not so usual was the Gay Pride parade we stumbled across; 

this gave a whole new meaning to gay Paris!

On the Sunday evening after drinks by the spectacular Alexander bridge on the Seine  we went to the Champs de Mars beneath the Eiffel tower where huge screens had been set up for the football with the tower as a back drop – pretty spectacular – the giant football is lit up with the flag of the country that wins that day. We saw France beat Iceland standing in the drizzle - a great atmosphere!

Melanie then went home for a few days for her cough clinic (she is taking part in the trial for a drug that will hopefully stop the cough – July to August – right through the sailing!) and to see her Mum.

I was joined by uni friend, Nigel, who brought with him …… the sunshine! Wall to wall for 5 days – marvelous – but poor Melanie missing it!

We set off to Ouissant (Ushant in English), an island off the tip off Brittany and the turning point to head – yes, really south – keep going ‘till the butter melts! From here to the med we are promised down wind sailing; could life at 30 degrees really be over?? Sadly we could’t land at Ouissant because of the Swell but we did go ashore on the smaller neighbouring island of Molene, a very pretty little island. We skipped Brest that Melanie and I had passed through on the way to Paris, a rather ugly city that was flattened and rebuilt after the war and found a lovely anchorage at Camaret. A nice coastal walk took us past a huge gun emplacement from the war that had been turned into a museum; outside flew the flags of France, England, America and, which I found rather surprising, Germany. Put the past behind you, kiss and make up and move on I suppose; good for the French, I am not sure I could have done it.

Two cracking days sailing took us through the Raz de Seine, a pretty vicious tidal race where we had to fight a 4 knot tide as we got there earlier than expected and round to the Odet river and the delightful town of Quimper. The were some rather splendid chateaux on the river bank!

Nigel left me here and I picked Melanie up from the train.

Pronounced Compaire (with a french accent!) Quimper saw its hey day in the middle ages and many of the buildings still stand today. Although we have our fair share of these lovely old timber framed buildings in England, France does seem to have them in greater density. These wonderful buildings surrounded the magnificent cathedral.

Its difficult to get you head round this ornate monument to God being built 800 years ago (and even more difficult to get you head around the general poverty when money was being spent like this!)

At the end of any good days sight seeing one should, well, eat ice cream – the blackcurrant sorbet was fabulous!

Woody has truly taken to being a sea dog. He loves to stand with his face into the wind and take charge of the deck; he has taken to doing his Titanic bit keeping lookout from the bows!

Melanies first drama at sea!

From Treguir we headed west in lovely sunshine (finally) but little wind to Les Sept Isles, seven little islands a couple of miles off the coast, home to an old fortress and a colony of breeding herring gulls.

After a walk and lunch we headed into the little harbour of Ploumanach, famed for the wonderful red colours in the rocks, like us, somewhat jaded by the weather! Being soft sandstone the wind, rain and sea had carved them into some wonderful shapes.

It also made a great building material, used to make this rather super light house.

A little cunning shopping (much more successful than fishing) bagged us a couple of fine looking lobsters for tea; Woody did wonder where his was!

In light winds we motor sailed to Roscoff our next stop. Tides are strong on this coast as this is the mouth of the funnel where the Atlantic Ocean tries to squeeze into the English channel with the push of the tide. We therefore have to pick our times to travel but get it right and you jump onto a magic carpet doing 3 knots in the right direction. We were soon entering the channel between the Roscoff peninsular and the Ile de Batz, a pretty island just off the coast.

The island is known for its little market gardens fertilized with the local sea weed. We passed several small boats pulling up huge loads of sea weed in the channel to be taken ashore for fertiliser.

We anchored in a little bay off the island where we spent the night. After a walk on the island the following morning it was time to catch the tide and journey on.

Anchoring in a channel causes a unique problem; the tide flows first in one direction and then the other as the tide changes, no problem until you introduce some wind. When the wind blows the boat has as tussle with the elements between lying into the wind or into the tide if the direction differs which can result in an uncomfortable motion in the boat. To combat this we put out a second anchor from the stern to hold the boat pointing in line with the tidal flow; any uncomfortable swell is then taken on the bow or the stern rather than the side which would cause the boat to roll. Upon leaving I went to retrieve the stern anchor by hand but it was firmly dug into the sand, I would have to use the main winch on the front of the boat. I tied a buoy to the end of the anchor rope and let it go to be retrieved once the main bow anchor was up. Main anchor up I drove the boat round and picked up the buoy and the end of the stern anchor rope but before I knew it the rope was under the boat because the wind was pushing me one way and the tide the other. With a rope under the boat I couldn't use the engine for fear of wrapping the rope around the propeller. The rocks were 100 yards away and the tide was pushing me towards them. I waited as the pulling of the boat freed the anchor from the sea bed but I then did not have enough sea room to retrieve it before being on the rocks, now less than 50 yards away. We had to move quickly. I retied the buoy to the anchor rope and threw it back into the water; the boat drifted off the rope and we were able to motor away to safety. So far so good but I still hadn't got my anchor! No problem, I would jump in the dinghy and retrieve it by hand whilst Melanie motored round a safe distance away.

5 minutes later with the anchor safely in the dinghy I turned round to see Melanie 300 yards away and drifting slowly away in what was now quite a significant wind. Was she abandoning me? I waved, she waved back. Hmm. I waved again and indicated to come and get me. This time, instead of waving back, up came two crossed arms. Ok, she had a problem. Oh dear, she was a fair way away and drifting further. Well, I had two oars and my back was strong once upon a time at least, I rowed like a demon! Happily I was catching her up.

Climbing aboard Melanie explained that she could not steer because her rudder was stuck. Happily it was just a bit of lack of experience. In fact the rudder was fully over already, it didn't turn the boat because there wasn't enough boat speed to create the flow over the rudders to allow them to steer. All she had to do was speed up but she wasn't to know that – you live and learn! Poor Melanie was a little stressed having been left in charge of an unfamiliar boat that wouldn't do what she wanted it to whilst drifting away from her husband in the process. A little chocolate and relaxation was called for!

A cracking sail (to windward again of course but at least on the tidal conveyor belt) took us to Brignogan. We had blue skies the following day; Melanie wanted a day of 'r and r' – a 'girlie day' as she called it (baking and painting her nails!), I jumped on my bike and headed back to explore Roscoff.

We all know it as the ferry port from Plymouth but in fact it is a delightful old town untroubled by modern shipping; the ferry port is a couple of miles round the corner using the Roscoff name as it is the nearest town.

Roscoff became very wealthy in the 17^th century on the back of the smuggling trade, mostly booze to Cornwall; the English import duties were so high illegal import was rife.

The other thing to come out of Roscoff was the archetypal image of the Frenchie on his bicycle loaded with strings of onions. This is the onion growing region of France. In the mid 18^th century an entrepreneurial Frenchman took a boat to Plymouth armed with thousands of onions and a few men to tout them round the streets to the English housewife. They became very popular and were nicknamed 'Johnnies' by the housewives; the trade spread over the next hundred years as the Johnies took to their bicycles.

There seems to me to be a connection here. Our parents generation knew contraceptives as French Letters which then became a rubber Johny – a connection? – I wonder!

When I arrived tired back at the boat I was treated to the fruits of Melanie labour. A wonderful banana cake, baked in a small gas oven with no temperature gauge, pretty good going!

The perfect sail

Melanie and I escaped the rain and jumped on a ferry to Guernsey on Saturday morning. It was a 3 hour trip on the fast ferry with little woody in his travel box on the car deck. Once back on the boat we planned to sail over to the nearby island of Herm in the afternoon for a lobster dinner and head to the north coast of Brittany the following day. However, with sailing, flexibility is always the key! It was a beautiful blue sky day with a lovely northerly breeze, just perfect for a trip to France. The forecast for Sunday had deteriorated to a rainy day with the wind shifting to the south; it would be a hard sail into the wind and rain.

It would be a bit of a rush and a long evening but something of a no brainer – off to France we would go!

Two hours after arriving in Guernsey we were fuelled, watered, victualled and off on the 50 mile voyage to France– croissant in the morning!

We were doing a cracking 6 knots occasionally pushing up to 7 (its amazing how excited we sailors can get about touching a speed marginally slower than I can run!) Wind, sunshine and a pleasant sea – marvellous!

Having missed our lobster dinner Melanie had stocked up on some wonderful goodies for our tea as we sliced through the water towards France. The brie, pate, strawberries and cherries tasting even better when eaten at an angle of 20 degrees!

As the sun dropped low onto the western horizon a spectacular full moon rose in the east, the moon path glittering on the water as the sky darkened.

 There are few more exhilarating feelings than listening to the sound of the hull swooshing through the water watching night settle over the sea as the sails push you towards your destination.

An inky blackness settled over the water disturbed only by the odd wave broken either by the wind or the passing of Moondances' hull. 

By 9 o'clock the crew were below on standby!

The only life was a few gannets resting on the water, disturbed by our headlong rush towards them and looking very spooky as they flew off into the night lit up only by the light of the moon.

The first lights of France appeared at about 11 o'clock, the blinking of the lighthouses warning sailors of the approach of this treacherous rock strewn coast. Much of the danger has gone nowadays as we know exactly where we are, a little boat marching over a screen showing a highly accurate map; a far cry from the guessing game of years gone by.

By midnight I was approaching the first of many green and red winking lights marking the way into the Treguier river. As I rounded the second channel marker I was startled by a sudden 'phwooosh'; I looked forward just in time to see the beautiful dark shape of a very large dolphin as it arched gracefully into my bow wave. Unable to see where the dolphin had gone it startled me several more times as it popped up again and again out of the water over the next half hour.

Gliding silently up the channel I was flanked by miriad darkened shapes looking for all the world like anchored ghost ships; these were the ragged rocky edges of this coastline rising 20 or 30' straight out of the water that make it so treacherous; there were of course just as many rocks that did not quite make it out of the water but sat just under the surface ready to rip the belly out of any unsuspecting ship that strayed off course.

By 1 o'clock we were safely inside the mouth of the river and found a quiet spot to drop the anchor and turn in for the night.

After a late breakfast on Sunday morning we motored the last few miles up river to the ancient town of Treguier. Leaving the boat in the local marina we set off on our bikes to explore; before you could say Scooby-Doo Woody had morphed from sea dog to bike dog! He seemed to enjoy sitting in the basket on the back of the bike with his ears blowing in the wind.

We were soon on the opposite side of the Treguier peninsular and looking out to see at the red granite rocks that had formed my ghost ships the night before.

Having left the bikes to take Woody for a walk Melanie stopped for a touch of yoga!

This coast is known locally as 'Le Cote d'Amor' (without the 'u' as in love), something perhaps to do with flying deer?

On Monday it rained, and rained and rained - a good day to get the boat sorted out.

The Channel Islands

Sark is a pretty island with much less German concrete. It is small, taking only a few hours to walk round. We then sailed over to its even smaller neighbour, Herm.

We have had a problem with our sink on board and, unable to find the blockage in the piping under the sink, I wanted to put the boat on a beach to dry out so I could take apart the fitting that goes through the hull through which the sink drains to see if the blockage was there. We dropped anchor in 2m of water and were high and dry 2 hours later. I dismantled said fitting to find no blockage but there was a mangled seal – oh dear. I had an hour before the water came back in and a fitting that goes right through the hull with a dodgy seal! I put it all back together and hoped. An hour later my workmanship was put to the test. We didn't sink but there was water weeping through the fitting. Humph. I certainly wasn't going to get a seal on Herm and more worryingly probably not on Guernsey on a bank holiday weekend and I was off home on Monday afternoon.

The tide was now in so there was nothing I could do for the time being. We went ashore and walked round the very lovely little island of Herm in just under two hours. On the way back we spotted some strange looking structures on the beach; they turned out to belong to a small oyster farm, the oysters being grown in bags set on steel frames that covered and uncovered with the tide.

We stayed overnight in the anchorage, the next low tide being at 6.30 am- an early start for me! With the bits of fitting in my hand again I swopped a couple of seals round so at least the damaged one was outermost and did my best with a tube of silicone to repair the damaged seal. Put it all back together, put the kettle on and hope.

By 8am were were float and – success!! No leaks; thank goodness for that!

We set off for Guernsey, just a few miles over the water from Herm.

Guernsey is a delightful island. Lots of pretty little lanes, wild flowers and clearly an affluent place – all the tax dodgers I think! There is also still a lot of German concrete here but some how less obtrusive. Nonetheless I am surprised that they haven't got rid of this unpleasant reminder of the occupation.

Sadly the once prolific tomato and flower industry has dies a death. As we cycled round the island we passed countless empty and dilapidated greenhouses.








The largest of the Channel Islands, Guernsey is still not big but has quite a population at 60,000; a circumnavigation on our bikes was only 30 miles.

On Monday we left the boat in St Peter Port, the capital of Guernsey. Melanie and I will be back in about three weeks time to head south to Brittany, down the French coast and on to Northern Spain.

Off again, heading for the sun

Moondance spent the winter on the hard at Northshore in Chichester where she was built 10 years ago. I took her to get some work done on her rudders which turned into rather more than I had bargained for! When the boat was out of the water the yard noticed a wobble in the lifting keel which turned out to be a worn bearing in the keel lifting mechanism. The fix -  remove the entire keel mechanism  to replace one bearing and put it all back together again, a pretty major job! It all took a lot longer than expected and it became touch and go whether she would be ready for departure day. Still, after a bit of stress and a big hole in my pocket she was ready for launch day at the beginning of May.

It did allow for the opportunity of a couple of good photos of the keel mechanism, with the keel down and on the right the keel raised.

 













Melanie and I had a lovely long weekend with Tim and his girlfriend Lucy sailing on the Solent.

I planned to head south this year , over to Brittany , down the french coast and on to Spain and Portugal. Melanie is joining me for most of the adventure this year but my friend and becoming long standing sailing partner Mike is joining me for at the first stretch.

Mike and I left Chichester on a beautiful sunny evening on Monday 23 May for the 70 mile crossing to Cherbourg on the Normandy peninsular of France. It was an uneventful crossing; light winds at times meant motoring for about 2/3rds of the trip but we did get to Cherbourg in time for croissants for breakfast! However, there was one thing Mike just had to do before getting the croissant – test the pleasures a quick dip in Cherbourg harbour! It is a big step down from the boat to the marina pontoon and in his enthusiasm to get to the boulangerie he stumbled as he stepped down, fell forward, executed a perfect roll and plopped into the drink on the far side of the pontoon! Torn between looking after the boat whilst rolling around laughing and leaving the boat unsecured to help Mike, Mike won the day and I leapt down to help hoik him out, somewhat bedraggled but no worse for wear. Being Mike he was soon laughing about it!

After drying Mike out we spent the day exploring Cherbourg and doing some investigation into the next adventure, a trip to the Normandy beaches. We found the railway station and went to buy the tickets for tomorrows trip. We tackled an automatic ticket machine, muddling through with our school boy french only to find that the train we wanted, whilst on the screen, didn't seem for sale. The ticket office solved our problem – of course, this is France, the trains were on strike! They strike so often that there is a law insisting they provide a minimal service when on strike so the country doesn't regularly grind to a halt so we got the only train available, somewhat earlier.

Wednesday dawned a sunny windy day for an early start to catch the train, an hour to Bayeaux of tapestry fame. What a beautiful town, lovely old cobbled streets and a spectacular cathedral. Then of course I had to see the tapestry (Mike had visited some years earlier). The tapestry is 70 metres long (and about 1/2m high). Made in England shortly after the battle , it depicts the Norman invasion by William conqueror. King Edward  of England who was getting on a bit, wanted to name his cousin William, Duke of Normandy as his successor. Edward sent his brother in law Harold to tell William. There were a few shenanigans on the way but Harold did his stuff and returned to England. Edward soon died but rather than wave the Frenchie in through the gates of London Harold decided he fancied the top job and crowned himself king of England in stead. William took umbrage at this and put a force together in France to claim his rightful place on the thrown of England. Over they came and had the well known punch up at Hastings in the summer of 1066 where Harold was famously killed by an arrow in his eye. The whole story is beautifully told in simple Loweryesque (is that a word?) style in the tapestry. At sometime a century or two after its manufacture the tapestry found its way to Bayeaux, lucky for the frogs who now charge £6 a look from a huge line of visitors throughout the year!

Touristy bit done we jumped on our bikes and headed North to Aramanche and Sword beach, the western most of the 3 beaches stormed by the British on D Day.

Today it is just a beach, not awfully big, about half a mile long. Huge concrete pontoons built in England were floated across the channel to build a big semi circular harbour known as a Mulberry harbour. Although now resting on the bottom, these still stand testament to man's ability to fashion nature to meet his needs. If you look out across the bay you can just make out the remaining pontoons forming a semi circle; one of them settled much closer to shore.

We cannot begin to understand the horrors faced by the 10,000 young men who stormed that beach all those years ago but close your eyes and you can imagine a vast array of ships large and small and the beach covered in ant like figures fighting their way up the beach. The Germans built what was known as the Atlantic Wall from Norway to Spain, a line of concrete and guns to defend against this day. Much of the concrete has been removed but there are many war artifacts dotted around to help imagine the scene.

From Sword beach we headed west the 10 miles to Omaha, the first of the American beaches. There are of course a lot of museums and artifacts but the beach lies still and undisturbed today, the only sign of what happened 70 years ago being a monument to the young Americans who died here rising out of the sand.



Their bodies lie a mile or so along the coast in a beautifully kept cemetery – some corner of a foreign field that is forever….

It was a fabulously successful invasion, meticulously planned over many months. Even the death toll was regarded as a success. The Americans copped it worst; 70,000 men landed on D Day with 6,500 casualties (killed and wounded). Of the 81,000 Brits and Canadians who landed there was only an incredible 3,300 casualties.

Back on the bikes for a few more miles to the station home where we sank a cold beer to congratulate ourselves on clocking nearly 50 miles and a train back to the boat.

More sun and more wind (unexpectedly behind us joy of joys!), on Thursday we headed for Alderney, the northern most of the Channel Islands. In the pub when we got in we met a potting fisherman for an interesting chat and the promise of some crab if we met him tomorrow.

The island is one huge fortress; forts that we guessed are from the Napoleonic wars dot the coast line interspersed with vast numbers of concrete German bunkers and gun emplacements. One in particular rises from a hill to be a terrible blot on the landscape. I am surprised that the locals have not removed these continual reminders of a bad part of island history. Alderney was evacuated in 1940 a week before it was invaded by Germany. 3000 civilian prisoners brought over from Europe built all the defences, 700 of them died.

All this German concrete and a tough environment for anything to grow well gives the island a rather drab feel. We did have a nice and somewhat unusual bike ride round the island, a grand total of 11 miles (its not a very big island), partly along the coastal path!

We met up with our fisherman friend and got 4 fine looking crabs, still live and kicking. A couple of mackerel caught on the trip south to the island of Sark made for a wonderfully fish dinner.

The last leg

From Edam we headed further south stopping at another pretty town called Monnikendam (everything here is to be called something....dam, guess why!!) Somewhat confusingly a dyke is both a dam and a ditch but a dam is a dam! Ashore, we stumbled across the back entrance to a smoke house and wandered in!.

 These are smoked Mackerel, there were also sardines and of course the famous Dutch eels.

The eels are fresh water eels from the lake we are sailing on (the Zuider Zee as was); with a simple break of the head and a pull back they are gutted, all by hand!

Melanie was due to come out on Friday afternoon so we got into Amsterdam in good time on Thursday, and I met Melanie at the station on Friday afternoon. We had a lovely evening wandering the canals then on Saturday the weather arrived. 50 mph winds, rain, more wind and more rain to be precise!

Melanie and I gave up trying to see Amsterdam after lunch as it reached its peak and hunkered down in the boat whilst everywhere took a beating. The weather had passed by Sunday morning but it had left its mark; there were trees down all over the place. This silver VW won't be going anywhere anytime soon!

Everywhere in Holland does bikes on a big scale – here’s the station bike rack!

Bikes are one thing Amsterdam does on a big scale, the other is the evil weed, Marijuana. Now you would be perfectly entitled to think that this photo is of a coffee shop, it even says on the shop front and indeed you would be, well, part right.

The clue is in the coded name - coffee shop as opposed to café. Coffee shop is code for a place to get your weed, in pretty well any shape or form you could want it. Smoke it, eat it in several pleasant forms, chocolate brownie or cookies being the most common, or drink it as tea and perhaps you can actually get coffee too, with or without Marijuana!
Marijuana is legal in Holland and it is everywhere. I don’t actually think the Dutch are a bunch of dope heads, I think it is mostly tourist that come here for the wine , the women and the weed! You smell the coffee shops long before you see them. Melanie and I reckoned you get you first whiff at 30 yards and there is only one door. I think you’d be pretty high just sitting inside one watching the world go by!
Melanie went home on Sunday and my cousin Rob arrived to sail the last homeward leg.

Unfortunately the weather was to dog us for the next 3 days. We did manage to get out of Amsterdam and motor down the North Sea Canal to a marina on the North Sea but there we stayed. The wind was forecast to drop and veer to the North West, perfect for our run home but it was a long time coming as it obstinately sat at a south-westerly force 6 to 7  - beating into that is a step too far on the comfort scale!
The wind did finally do its stuff and on Thursday morning after 3 frustrating days waiting we were off down the North Sea bound for Dover where I was going to leave the boat for a few weeks. 

On route we heard from Robs wife Helen that there was big trouble at Dover with the migrant problem and the roads were very bad so, after an overnight stop in Newhaven after 36 hours at sea we pushed on to Chichester. It was a delightful run along the south coast with great views of the South Downs as we coasted past the old Victorian seaside towns of Hastings, Eastbourne and Brighton. We even did a spot of fishing with some success I might add!

We had  a lovely last evening in Chichester harbour where Helen and my Mum came to join us for dinner on the boat and that brought my sailing adventure to an end for this year.



Next year I hope to sail down to Cornwall and out to the Scilly Isles, across to the Channel islands and then on to Brittany and down the coast of France. After 4 years sailing in chilly northern latitudes I am looking forward to some warmth!

Thanks for reading and before you go, could I please ask for your help? I have had a staggering number of hits on my blog, over 7000 to date. I am intrigued to see who is reading it. Just below here you will see a box inviting you to comment. Please put you name in here (even if I know that you follow the blog) and click publish. Thus, when I look at the comments in a months time I can see who is reading it. If I don't know you, please tell me a bit about yourself and what you like about the blog! Many thanks.
If you are interested, Yachting Monthly are publishing an article I wrote about the Swedish leg of our trip, coming out I think in October and they have asked me to write about Poland from this years trip.
Bye for now
Jeff