This week’s episode of the Spray Logs reminds us that
Halloween will soon be upon us. As we
approached the island of Houat, the wind died and a wall of cold fog moved in
from the east, blending the horizon and the water into one seamless smoke
screen and reducing our world to the size of a… well, a 10 meter Dehler 34, to
be precise.
 |
| Visibility < 100 meters |
We reduced speed and strained our eyes, searching for
any feature that might assure us that the world beyond the bow was still there. Trying to keep a compass heading when there
is no horizon to indicate motion became difficult and we began helplessly weaving
back and forth. In the heightened
tension, I fully expected to glimpse the Mary
Celeste come drifting dead ahead at any minute.
We turned to our autopilot and navigation software for
comfort. Patrick told me to duck below
and get the fog horn. This is a small
plastic trumpet used to signal one’s existence to other ships in such cases,
and we dutifully gave a couple of blasts every few minutes. A rather ridiculous sound resembling that of
a cheap party horn served to reduce the tension, which, truth-be-told, is
probably the horn’s most useful feature.
 |
| The fog horn. |
Our navigation program told us that the island was only
½ mile ahead and yet we still had no indication of the high rocks that should
be rapidly approaching. Our plan had
been to head to a mooring area on the south side of the island to shelter us
from the northern winds predicted for the evening. But that route involves wiggling one’s way
through a maze of rocks and sand bars.
We juggled our options. We could
change course and head towards the port of Houat where we could grab a mooring
buoy at the entrance to the port. But
the buoys aren’t marked on the navigation software or charts, and neither are
other boats. The lack of visibility
would make this option more dangerous than confronting the labyrinth of rocks that
were at least clearly marked on the charts.
It was also a route we’d taken many times and we knew there was a large
flat beach just after the first set of obstacles where we could always drop
anchor if things got too hairy.
 |
| Our track, blindfolded. |
With me down below calling out course changes and
Patrick manning the auto-pilot controls, we made our way slowly along, passing
first Er Yoc’h, the 23 meter high
rock (never saw it), sliding around the only-slightly-submerged rocks Bonen ar Rade and the isolated danger
buoy Men er Houteliguet, which we
managed to vaguely identify at 150 meters.
We made a wide slow swing around the Begs (Tost, Creiz, Pell), not forgetting Er Gadoerec a Vez along the way, and lined up to pull up to our
mooring ground. As we did, the wind
picked up and slowly pushed the fog to the south east, giving us reasonably
good visibility as we set the anchor. By
the time the motor was cut, the sun was out, birds were zooming around merrily
and fish were jumping (mullet, we were later told). All of nature seemed to be saying “trick or
treat !”. We promptly treated ourselves
to a bottle of rosé.
 |
| Treat after trick. |
After this harrowing beginning, the next 3 days were, literally,
smooth sailing. We tried to squeeze in
to the port of Hoedic to take on water (after last week’s gaffe with the watercow) but found 4 boats waiting for 5 places already occupied. As the weather and wind were perfect, we
decided to head over to the Quiberon peninsula to the port of Haliguen, not
known for anything more enticing than a large visitors’ dock with water and
electricity. After tying up, we bumped
into a friend from Vannes who was there alone in his 9 meter motor yacht. He has sailed in this area for over 30 years,
and we spent a lovely evening grilling him about favourite mooring spots in the
bay and gulf.
The next day, a moderate gale was predicted for the
evening so we decided to go together to our friend’s favourite mooring spot in
the gulf, which he assured us was sheltered from winds from any direction. We had passed this idyllic spot before with
other people’s boats, but didn’t dare take Spray this far up into the river because
of the narrow and shallow channels all around.
Having a guide lead us through and up to deep-water mooring buoys was an
opportunity not to be missed. It was,
quite simply, the calmest mooring location we have ever experienced in almost 10
years of sailing in this area. And one
of the most beautiful. The wind was, so
they say, blowing about 45 km/hr (25-30 mph), but our wind turbine didn’t even
budge. The water was oily smooth and we
slept in complete silence.
 |
| Our new favorite mooring spot in the gulf. |
And of course I have absolutely no intention of
telling anyone where it is. Foggy
memory, indeed.
