L'Aber Wrac'h.

We'd spent most of yesterday at 45 degrees, and whenever I pass a ship like the one in the pic, I wish I was on a boat that doesn't heel so much. Auk's owner claims you can leave a glass on a varnished table when close hauled and it won't move.

Our problem for tomorrow is crossing the Channel. The forecast is NE 3/4 for two days, and Plymouth, where we want to go, is too close to the wind to be pleasant, so we're going to try for Falmouth. But with leeway and downwind tides, I bet we'll end up beating. And the traffic. And the swell. The only way to go sailing is to wait for the wind. But we can't.

This morning a little chain of yellow-sailed tiny dinghies like optimists was towed out into the river. The children on board were all 8 - 10, giggling, and the procession looked like a duck with her ducklings. Because the children round here all start sailing at that age, it's no surprise that the Bretons breed so many great ocean single-handers.

Wish little Marcita well amongst the supertankers during the night.