We came back on Marcita after a week off, and it was wonderful to find her sitting there quietly waiting for the return trip.
Three days later we think the Gulf must want to be rid of us, because we've had downwind sailing now for 3 days in a row. First we floated down from Vannes, out into the bay and back into Crouesty on Monday. Neaps and wind with tide, so no dramatic tidal tango. So nice was it that we reached up and down the bay for an hour just for the pleasure of a perfect wind on a sunny afternoon.

Then yesterday we had a NE 4 to take us NW to Lorient, and we were roaring along at 5.5 to 6 kn, shirts off in an attempt to achieve that youthful honey bloom. As if. Passing yachties averted their gaze.

Now today we have a dead run to Loctudy, and as I write the asymmetric is goosewinged and we are floating along in a F3. Marcita is gurgling pleasurably, and occasionally hissing if we try a spot of surfing.

The pic shows the island of Houat, pronounced Hwat. And yes we wrote the lymerics, and no I'm not going to put them on the blog, but you can hear them if you buy me a pint at the Butt and Oyster later on. Houat and Hoedic are just opposite the gulf, tiny islands with tiny hamlets on them. (They breed them for the RSC apparently.) We moored there briefly for lunch on our way, but so lethargic is this downwind lark that we couldn't even raise the strength to blow up the rubber duck and row ashore. We waved amiably.

I seem to be short of crew for next week, so if you're reading this and fancy a few days of glorious sailing and French food, text me on 07762 725 645. We're hoping to reach Brest by the weekend (June 6-7) and you'd be welcome even if you haven't done much sailing. It will be the North Coast of Brittany and the Channel Islands.

A bientot.

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I've just remembered a giggle episode. In French on the VHF you say 'a' and 'du' for the boat names, so for example 'a Caressa Caressa du Marcita, Marcita'.

So If your boat name's Bidou, as one is in the Morbihan, you have to say 'a XXX XXX du Bidou Bidou'. And boy did he enjoy that joke.

It's the nautical version of

'To do is to be' J J Rousseau
'To be is to do' J P Sartre
'Dobedobedo' Frank Sinatra

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Day 4 and Parade of sail.

This morning we raced out of the river, and we were doing terribly, late start, lack of grip, generally poor show. But when we got out into the bay we did better, again taking advantage of an apparent wrong direction of the tide. So we finished somewhere in the middle.

But the afternoon was unforgettable. We had a parade of sail from out in the bay, through the narrows at Port Navalo and up to Vannes. All ten flotillas in procession, some 800 boats, with the large 3 masters dotted along the line. Wherever you looked, the horizon had sails in front of it, and the only plastic to be seen was on the boats that had come out to watch. In the tidal swirls we had the by now habitual sideways and backwards pushes, but for several hours we were just sailing along beside extraordinary wooden boats of every conceivable description, with jokes and compliments being exchanged as we were in such close quarters. The pic doesn't begin to do justice to the joy of it all. I really felt amazed that after all the difficulties, and so many miles, here we were at the heart of a spectacle that had spectators hanging from every rock along the way. Marcita was absolutely in her element, and loving every minute of it.

Then in the evening we were entertained aboard Chiranga, the Dutch boat belonging to the Commodore of the Welsh flotilla, thanked the organisers, and promised to be back in 2 years.

So that's it. Worth every penny and every heartache.

I'm off for a week, and will then blog sporadically as I bring her home.

Bonjour a tous.

P.S. The link that Martin mentions below to some great photos and a video of the week is:
http://www.semainedugolfe.fr/?mod=phototheque&action=lister
or just click on the bottom one of the 3 links on the right

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Day 3.
Today was extraordinary. We left Le Bono in a still dawn in no wind, and amazingly we were first over the start line. The whole fleet drifted silently down with spinnakers struggling to fill, the smaller boats having the advantage of lightness. Then out into the bay where the wind filled in a bit and we were leading both Pen Duicks 2 and 5, Eric Tabarly's boats. (Moitessier's boat Joshua is also racing here, as well as 2 8ms and some huge ketches and schooners, and because of flukey winds, absurd tidal streams and the complete unpredictability of everything we are frequently to be found leading any of these). Because we had been so handsomely entertained the night before we hadn't consulted the tidal atlas which sent everybody in one direction on the last upwind leg. We had lost ground on the leg before so decided to be contrary and hold in to the shore. When we found ourselves completely alone we wondered if we'd missed a mark and consulted the atlas which told us that we should have had a knot against us. But we didn't. We had a knot with us, and it lifted us handsomely over the line after only the much bigger boats.

But the afternoon was the fun bit. The wind was less than 3 kn, and we made a bad spinnaker start. Once in the Golfe no boat had enough way to counteract the tidal whirls, and boats were sailing backwards, sideways, twirling round, completely out of control. Some were even sailing sideways at 5 kns and crashing into a boat behind which was travelling forwards at almost the same speed. Complete madness.
We were fending off and gybing and putting up sails and taking them down, when we saw Dorothy, an engineless English boat of great antiquity and beauty apparently being hurled backwards onto the rocks by the tide. So we motored over with the offer of a tow only to see her dive back into the main current completely unconcerned. But we had to retire, which wasn't too bad as we were doing terribly.

But it's all too beautiful for words, the sun is blazing when the wind stops, and if the definition of a gentleman is someone who can play the accordion but doesn't, then by that definition there aren't many gentlemen in the Morbihan as every second person is either playing the accordion or the bagpipes.

The pic shows an 8m belonging to the president of the sailing club, which is moored in a secluded little bay below his house on the bank. A demain

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Day 2.

Today we raced out into the bay in the morning, the new spinnaker and Genoa doing a roaring trade, and amazingly held our own against the competition thanks to a huge wind shift in our favour coming up to the line. We must have finished somewhere around 15th overall.
In the afternoon we raced up the Auray river to Le Bono, where a huge village party was centred on the harbour. Irish music, food courtesy of the village, and a massive festive atmosphere. Although the winds were light Marcita sped up the river and took the huge tidal swirls that greet you at the top of each island as an invitation to do a little pirouette. Again not disgraceful, but we don't get the placings at the end of each day.

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Today we were welcomed on the Ile d'Arz, where we were swept by a 3 kn tide. We all anchored in the bay and were fed paella while some reasonably dodgy bagpipe and accordion music filled the air. We met the Commodore of the Welsh flotilla of which we are a part, except that we haven't managed to find a Welsh courtesy flag, took a delightful walk through the village, and looked out in astonishment at a bay filled with a hundred or so wooden lovelies. The pic shows a row of dinghies pulled up on the beach, but then we had to tack back through the narrow channels, avoiding the rocks and shallows that cause one grief. When I broke out the tin whistle later that evening, an eccentric Frenchman in the next boat broke out some spoons to accompany me. I complimented him on the spoons, and he merely shrugged and said that they were the wrong spoons and he'd left his best ones at home

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