48 22.669N 004 29.212W
Brest

We had some entente cordiale and some discordiale this morning. We were in Audierne, planning to leave at 0630 to take the Raz de Sein at the time recommended in Reeds, when a reasonably amiable piece of French tupperware rafted up outside us. We explained that we were leaving at 0630, but they assured us that they were also taking the Raz and that the right time to leave was 0730, HW+4, which seemed to us to leave too little water in the channel out.

So instead of insisting on our time, I agreed, fretted all night about going aground, and then started making leaving noises at 0700. They were great, slipped their lines, led us out with 1m under our keel, and we were off. Goosewinged Genoa lollop to the point, (beating the French easily because they didn't have a pole and had to gybe down) flopped round the point with hardly any tidal effects, avoiding all of the 5 enormous lighthouses, and we'd sailed round, just.

At that point the wind turned cold, the skies clouded over, and the whole scene assumed that milky grey haze which is so frequent in North Brittany. As if to bring home to us that the sunny south was a memory, and we should break out the sweaters and foulies which we haven't touched for a month. Don't want to go north.

The pic is of dawn this morning in Audierne. Lovely place, which I've now been to often enough to be on first name terms with the moustachioed proprietor of the internet café. I suppose we are quite good if occasional customers.

In Brest with us qre Fawn of Chichester, a Welsh boat that was in the Gulf with us, and 2 of the Vendee Globe boats. Difficult for a fair weather bimbler like me to imagine how such a vast beast can be handled by one person.

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Audierne.

Still lucky with the wind. Barrelling along today at over 6 kn in a NE 4/5 on a beam reach. Cruising like this when the wind is good is hypnotic. We get through about one chart a day, and one section of Reeds a week. Get up, breakfast, sail, lunch, sail, snooze, sail, arrive, berth. The next thing is usually paying at the Capitainerie, but as we've been guests of the Semaine du Golfe we haven't had to pay for the last month. May not have to tonight if the Harbour Master doesn't show up. Then passage plan for next day, beer, supper, take some advice from South Coast Brit yachtie types with blue ensigns, posh accents and bored wives, bed and start again tomorrow. We never take a day off unless the wind or sea state is hopeless.

Tomorrow is the Raz de Sein which we got a bit wrong on the way down, but we have to get there at 0915 precisely or the whirlpool of fate will swallow us up.

The pic shows the new clubhouse for the French section of the CSC. It has its own vineyard, vegetable garden and orchard, plus a sheltered mooring for the new 12m yawl we will be getting for next season. Book early to avoid disappointment.

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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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