SAILING MAREDA: Sailing Brittany

Showing posts with label Sailing Brittany. Show all posts

Thursday, 17 November 2016

Photo Friday: Full Moon Fever

This week's super moon brought super tides, ideal for clam digging. In principle. After scratching around in the mud for 30 minutes only to come up with 9 clams, I took out my camera and started hunting other prey. (Sorry if this post takes time to load...I forgot to compress the size for the web and ran out of time.. er, um, well, was lazy...).

Super moon with telephone wire. (pitfalls of suburban nature photography)

The Brent Geese are on their post-nuptial migration and have settled into Brittany this month in one deafening, hungry mass. This collective honeymoon trip begins in the arctic and Siberia, advances to Denmark and Germany in September, then moves on to Brittany and finally to the Arcachon Basin near Bordeaux as their final wintering spot.

My 10-year old version of Photoshop finally died and I'm now playing with GIMP. Couldn't resist infra-rouge geese.

A couple of swans were trying to hold their own in the mass of geese, while the local gulls clearly decided to vacate the area until the tourist riff-raff set off again for warmer climes. The winds for the next week will be blustery and from the south, so the geese will likely hang around for awhile longer until the wind turns favorable for a tailwind ride down the coast, just like retired sailors waiting for a weather window.

With Patrick's persistence, "we" managed to get enough clams for a meal. (To be fair, I only ate my 9 clams...).

Brittany Daydreaming

The grey days of the Breton fall have arrived. After a week of savoring the changing light, warm cozy clothes, and hot drinks, we have begun dreaming of the warm sunny days in the Med that await us next year. I've started this planning exercise by reading blogs of friends who have already sailed in the area, and I have to admit that the tales of over-crowded, noisy, weather-exposed areas has us scrambling to find the quiet hideaways off the beaten path (they do exist, right?). But as we all know, sailing in the Med is not about sailing; it's about cultural visits, warm weather, and turquoise waters. Ah, warm turquoise waters....

In the meantime, here are some photos from beautiful Brittany in the fall.

Deep breathing and Green Tea Time

I had a mild anxiety attack a few days ago. I did something I really shouldn’t have. I looked at the calendar. In two weeks, we’ll be “on hold” waiting for a weather window to cross the 360 miles of the Bay of Biscay from Brittany to La Coruna, Spain. Two weeks?! But we’ve only had ONE shakedown cruise! And with everything else we have to take care of, we’ve only got one more 2-day test cruise planned before Mareda goes to the boatyard for a few cosmetic touch-ups. This means we’ll head across one of the roughest patches of water in the Atlantic without having ever left the confines of our own bay this season.

Last week's beaching in Sauzon. Not very useful for a Biscay crossing, but fun.

Okay… deep breathing and green tea time. (And if you haven’t already done so, you can check out Little Cunning Plan’s A to Z blog challenge from sailing psycho-analyst Melissa, focusing on anxiety from a sailing perspective.) Reality check: We sailed Mareda almost 1500 nautical miles last year in some rough areas and came through it all with only good memories. We’ve already done 2 Biscay crossings in an older and smaller boat, just the two of us, with no reliable auto-pilot and hand-steering around the clock. This time, we’ll have 1 or 2 crew members along for the ride and the boat is fully loaded with new electronics and a strong auto-pilot. Our previous crossings were only 2 days / 1 night. This time we’ll have 3-4 days and at least 3 nights, but again, we’ve got good experienced crew this time, too.

Two thoughts now keep me from sliding back into a new anxiety attack: 1) No one can force us to go if we’re really not ready. How simple was that??? And 2) as strange as it sounds, I’m trying to appreciate these anxious moments. How often do you choose to do something outside your comfort zone? I was thinking about our possible post-sailing projects: biking across Europe or cruising the canals of Europe. While they are interesting and worthy goals, they don’t send my heart racing. There’s just not much adventure or “unknown” involved. Maybe this Biscay crossing is the last time in my life I’ll choose to do something that scares me a little bit. That’s worth savoring, as odd as it may sound.

Shakedown 2016: Intentional Grounding

Unlike in American football, intentional grounding in Brittany boating is a good thing. In fact, it is a very good thing that saved us a lot of headaches this week. Shakedown 2016 got off to a bad start. We chose to leave the river by the lock on Thursday at high tide…as did more than 50 other boaters. This was a long holiday weekend in France and the weather was beautiful. Boats were crammed into every conceivable patch of water in the lock and there was much crunching and cursing heard from our safe distance outside the lock. The lock keeper finally signaled that it wasn’t possible to fit us all in, so we returned to our slip to come up with a Plan B.

There was another lock 2 hours later, but with the falling tide we would not have had enough water to make it out of the river. We opted for the lock the following morning at 8 a.m. and calculated that we could a) make it out of the river with enough water under the keel and b) sail 38 miles to Sauzon, a drying harbour on Belle Ile, with enough water to enter the drying harbour while it was still wet.

Sauzon Harbour, Belle Ile en Mer, Brittany, France.

Sauzon harbour entrance from the inside at low tide.

Sauzon up river.

Staying the night in Arzal was not such a bad thing, and I remembered my own advice from last year: make sure your first night on the boat is in your home port because you WILL forget things. Patrick hopped in the car and dashed off to retrieve a few essentials we had inadvertently left behind. Freshly armed with all we needed, now including the tv remote and the salad spinner, we were ready for adventure!

Friday: 8 a.m. lock passage, few boats, no problems. No wind but strong current in the river, making 7 knots with only 1500 rpms on the motor. Hoisted the mainsail for the first time since rigging it. All well. Exited river, tested vhf radio at its longest distance (about 25 miles): loud and clear. After 2 hours, wind picked up to 20 knots with gusts on a beam reach. Put a reef in the sail and rolled the genoa 1/4^th. Reef points along leech down to the boom were a little bit too far forward, leaving a small pocket in the sail. Note: move those back asap. Light rain, swell 1-2 meters on the beam. Pull out rain clothes, cool weather gear. Rigged boom brake. Things tossed around inside boat. Museum putty things back into place. Lunchtime: cooking at an angle, clamps in place. Tested new “Mareda” embossed thermos mugs for hot soup. (Thanks Mel!) Boat is too damn fast! Ahead of schedule and not enough water in the drying harbour to enter. Practice tacking and jibing for 30 minutes while the tide rises. Hailed port office on the vhf: clear to enter. Lifted keel and entered drying harbour. Tied up to fore and aft mooring buoys next to friends from Vannes: “Welcome to Paradise!” Club atmosphere among lifting keel boaters; sundowners with friends as the sun and tide set. Touchdown at 9 p.m., very gentle, only slight creaking as Mareda settles on the hard sand for the night. A quick look at the deep-draft boats in the outer harbour, rafted up 4 and 5 deep, their masts like windshield wipers sweeping back and forth… we feel snug and smug as we prepare for a quiet night.

High and dry, ready for a calm night.

Saturday: learn that clam digging has been banned for the week all around Belle Ile because of 7 cases of hepatitis. Walk (!) over to the bar at low tide for a coffee and to obtain the wireless internet code. Walk back to boat and test wireless antenna. (excellent signal strength). Cool rainy day, took the bus to the center of the island to our favourite all-you-can-eat buffet restaurant to console ourselves for the lack of clams. Hitchhike back to port. (thank you, nice young man working at a local creperie for the summer…). Work on the boat: move the reef points back, tie-wrap all shackles to avoid the pins backing out with strain and vibration, wash hull at low tide. Whiskey, left-over paella for dinner, reading, early to bed.

Morning coffee in the drying harbour, Sauzon.

Sunday: saved dinghy from certain violent death. We had been warned but were surprised at how fast the tide rises here. As the water comes back into a drying harbour, dinghies tied up behind boats ALWAYS find their way under the boat. As the water rises, the dinghy gets trapped under the boat and will eventually explode from the pressure. Patrick was in charge of keeping an eye on it, but the internet worked so well, he was completely absorbed. I was taking a nap, but awoke to the lilting “plook plook plook” of water lapping against the hull. “Pat, has the tide risen already?” “Um… yes.” “And is the dinghy okay?” “Um…I don’t see it…”. It was stuck BUT GOOD. The water was waist deep. Neither of us had swimsuits on board so early in the season. I remembered we had our shorty wetsuits and quickly pulled one on and jumped in the water. I thought I would simply slip my hand into the dinghy and let out some of the air, but it was so tightly pressed against the hull that I couldn’t get my hand in. I gave several adrenaline-inspired tugs and it finally popped out, half-full of water. Next time, we’ll tie it up on the dinghy davits even when the tide is out.

No, the water wasn't THAT cold... he's just holding up his pants.

At high tide late in the afternoon, we headed out of Sauzon to try our luck with a spot in the tiny port of Hoedic Island (5 boat slips). The wind was stiff and on a close reach; impossible to make the passage through the islands without quick-tacking among the rocks. As we approached, the wind died down and the current was stronger than the wind, making sailing in the area a bit precarious. The Hoedic harbour master gave us one of the local fishermen’s slips for the night. More local sailing friends showed up and we enjoyed drinks together on Mareda. We hadn’t been to Hoedic in over a year because there is never enough space for everyone. To our happy surprise, we noticed that they have now added a series of mooring buoys in a small area of the beach that will now be a “drying harbour” for lifting keels! We’ll be back.

The last ones to go.

Monday: Our lifting keel allowed us to leave Hoedic at low tide so that we could make it back into our home river with the rising tide and a lock that was not too late in the evening. We had a fabulous 18-mile sail back to the river, with winds of 18 knots on a beam reach with a large swell that allowed us to surf at more than 8 knots.

Things we did not test: reef points 2 and 3, and the anchor. We’ve got around 20 more days before we start looking for a weather window for the 3-day crossing to Spain, and I’m hoping to get some good sailing days in before we go. We’ve got some small repairs to be carried out by the boat yard and some family commitments to deal with, so the timing is starting to get tight. Stay tuned !

Quiberon's Wild Coast, Unchained

The first big storm of winter hit southern Brittany today with recorded gusts of 146 km / hr (91 mph, 79 knots!). Patrick and I ventured out to the Wild Coast (Cote Sauvage) near our home to watch the spectacle. We waited till the wind was a more manageable 75 km / hr (40 knots), but taking photos was still difficult - impossible to steady the camera and sea foam blowing everywhere. We're very happy Mareda is safely tucked away on her cradle (facing the wind !).

Grib files showing 40 knots sustained winds for the next 24 hours or so...

Sea foam plasters the rocks and flies through the air

The Sea, Otherwise

We’ve just discovered that enjoying the sea doesn’t have to stop when the boat is put up for the winter. For the first time since moving to the Morbihan Gulf in Brittany, we went clam digging with some other hibernating sailors. It was a cool drizzly day and I hesitated taking my camera, thinking that the photos would only show grey tones (which is a way of avoiding the use of the now ruined phrase “shades of gray”). I was pleasantly surprised with both the subtle colors and textures of the shoreline as well as the three handfuls of clams we found. The Brent geese were on their post-nuptial migration from Scandinavia to their wintering grounds, which range from Brittany down to the Arcachon basin near Bordeaux depending on winter conditions. My guide book says they rarely fly in V-shapes, but we were given quite a show…which was particularly tricky to catch with my camera in the rain. This little outing opened our eyes to new ways of enjoying the sea in winter, and we are eagerly awaiting the next large tidal coefficients to try our hand at fishing for razor clams.

The road to Tascon island, only passable at low tide.

Who says Brent Geese don't migrate in V-formations?

The mighty hunter.

Mareda, Winterized.

Winterizing a boat is never fun. It’s a psychological punch in the stomach that tells you that you won’t be sailing again for a very long time, and it can also be stressful because you’re never quite sure you’re doing things correctly, especially if this is the first time winterizing a new boat.

One of our manias during the winterizing process is to take pictures of everything: what did it look like before we untied that knot? removed that shackle? unzipped that zip? Here is a list of what we did and what a winterized Mareda looks like.

Mareda, "naked like a worm" as Patrick says.

Stern-to-dock berthing to point Mareda's nose to the southwest from whence come our worst storms.

Removed the genoa and main sail. Fold and put into sail sacks for storage at home in a dry place.
Filled up the gas tank and added an anti-bacterial product to avoid bacterial growth.
Emptied the water tanks. Added ~ 50 cl of white vinegar to each tank with about 2 liters of water, ran the pump to pull the vinegar water through all the faucets, and let sit over night. Pumped tanks dry and left faucets in the open position.
Off-loaded the outboard motor and took to the mechanic for regular maintenance.
Cleaned and vasalined the toilet pump assembly.
Shut off cooking gas; off-loaded gas containers.
Set out 2 chemical dehumidifiers.
Off-loaded all food items, foul weather gear, boots, life vests, and remaining bits of clothing still on board.
Off-loaded all books, documents, and electronic devices not fixed to the boat.
Off-loaded emergency offshore kit (flares, etc) and grab-bag.
Off-loaded all tools (amazing how they can rust just from being in contact with marine air.)
Off-loaded bedding cushions, turned saloon cushions on end for maximum air circulation.
Off-loaded the life lines, rinsed with fresh water, dried, stored.
Off-loaded the dodger, bimini, and lazy bag. Dodger and bimini need small repairs.
Covered winches.
Rinsed boat with fresh water, rinsed the anchor and chain well. Put the anchor inside the anchor locker.
Opened all cabinets, refrigerator compartment, storage areas and lifted up all the floor boards.
Greased the through-hull valves.
Stored spinnaker pole inside boat.
Locked compartment containing the life raft.
Turned the solar panels to a vertical position to discourage birds from hanging out. We leave them operational to keep the batteries charged.

Is it still BLING ?

We’re buying some wheel covers and a cover for the cockpit table / chart plotter. In mid-January (on our wedding anniversary no less…) we’ll pull Mareda out of the water for 3 months of drying out. We’ll pressure wash the bottom and winterize the motor once she’s high and dry.

Now we have 5 months to organize all that stuff piled up in the garage waiting to be taken back on board in April. (No pictures of that one !)

Cruising Stats 2015

We’ve been home for 5 days now and I have just managed to dig a path through the mountain of laundry and sailing gear to my computer. With a well-deserved rest period at hand, I started looking at our cruising data in the log book and piecing together some statistics, highlights and lowlights of our 2015 maiden voyage on Mareda.

Mareda in Derrible Bay, Sark.

Nautical miles covered: 1430

Number of days at sea: 149

Number of those days actually sailing: 67

Number of hours motoring: 162

Number of different ports or moorings visited: 51

Number of friends sailing with us at various times: 9

Highlights:

Friends who joined us, ranging from 2 days to 2.5 weeks. (ALL are welcomed back !)
Our first intentional beaching and full dry-out (Batz island).
The Channel Islands, especially Sark, which was new to us.
Brittany north coast: Ploumanac’h, Tregastel, Batz island, Brehat island.
Learning to filet mackerel for sushi
Discovering Mareda – stable, secure, fast, comfortable, and the lifting keel is priceless !
No surprise storms for the first time in 2 years !! Either we’re getting smarter, or luckier, or it’s simply that having a bigger heavier boat dampens out a lot of the rough stuff we experienced with Spray.

Lowlights:

Emergency return home for Patrick to have a strange carcinoma-like growth removed from his leg. All is well but he has to have check-ups every 6 months for the next 5 years. Not easy for vagabonds...
Family health problems that made us feel like we were marooned on the dark side of the moon.
Bad weather in northern France and our subsequent decision to abandon the Cornish coast and the Scilly Islands.
Very poor internet in most ports. I think this is owing to the fact that more people are accessing the wireless internet from their boats and the signal strength can't keep up with demand.

Sunrise on the mud, Batz island.

Things that broke / needed adjustment

Genoa furler: impossible to furl by hand in rough winds. We eliminated one of the guides for the furler line leading back to the cockpit, which reduced the angle of the line and makes it possible to furl easily by hand in calm winds. When the wind is rough, we still have to use the winch, though. Other SO 379 owners tell us they do the same.

One of the genoa sheet travelers had to be replaced after a mysterious thumb-sized pit developed.

The mainsail developed several small rips and tears around the battens, which weren’t tightened down appropriately by the shipyard.

The mainsheet downhaul was located too far aft on the boom and rubbed a hole in the cockpit dodger when we were close-hauled. We re-positioned the traveler sheet and used black Gorilla tape to cover the worn spot.

The spinnaker pole end fittings froze up (corrosion).

One of the latches on the swim platform broke. Now that it’s fixed, the swim platform in the up-and-locked position pushes too tightly on the cover to the life raft compartment and has rubbed some nasty streaks in the gel coat.

The wireless internet antenna brackets rusted.

The steering wheel pinion system was misaligned (made “clunk” noises in two places).

One of the solar panels stopped working after a soldered connection broke free.

We have a mystery leak in the refrigerator. When we defrost, the water ends up under the sink floorboards instead of being led away to the bilges.

One of the saloon cushions developed a tear on the underside because the Velcro pads are badly aligned.

Patrick has almost perfected his gel coat repair techniques after patching a very embarrassing and deep scratch along the hull.

Having dove under the boat to check things out from time to time, I know there is a golf-ball sized chunk missing from the leading edge of the keel from where we banged into the sill leaving the port of Guernsey. The lights were green indicating 2 meters of water. “No problem” I thought. It was only after the bang that I remembered that our draft is 2.25 meters with the keel fully down. The keel did its job: it lifted and we slid on by, but not without leaving a chunk behind. The keel is some sort of composite material and we’ll have the boatyard fix this once Mareda is pulled out of the water this winter.

We’re waiting for a sunny windless day to remove the sails, but as such days are few and far between, we’ll have to tackle the job come –what-may in the next week or two. I’ll be happy for it to be done but I still am having a hard time accepting that we’re really done for the season !

Dangling Dinghy.

Homeward Bound 2015

Sailing from Oleron was like being the ball in a pinball machine as the winds turned every day to a different cardinal point. Our options were to zigzag with the prevailing winds or wait stubbornly until a steady wind from a good direction blew our way. As the season draws to a close and we have to start paying attention to the calendar, we decided to make a series of small hops from Oleron to Bourgenay and then almost due west to Yeu island flying the gennaker.

A sunset sail to Bourgenay, arriving 1 hour after dark. The deck lights work well !

The spinnaker halyard got away from us leaving Oleron. The only thing we could do was turn around in the water a few times to get it to wrap itself around the backstay. It held up under 2 meter swells and 20 knot winds.

Yeu island is one of our favourite spots on the French Atlantic coast and we had it entirely to ourselves… not a single other visiting yacht in port the day we arrived ! We rented bikes and enjoyed stretching our legs along the south coast and the old chateau.

A favorite picnic spot on the south coast of Yeu.

The chateau from the sunny side.

After two days on the island the winds and tides made it possible for us to make a 43 mile trek to Piriac, the last port in the Quiberon bay before heading into the Vilaine river and our home port of Arzal.

Heading to Arzal in the cold rain. Time to call it quits.

Morning raindrops in our cabin. Really time to call it quits...

Over the last few weeks, the cooler weather has led to condensation in the mornings and a feeling that all our clothes and bedsheets are wet. We have 2 heating systems (one hot / dry air fan and one oil-bath radiator) and they keep things cozy, but they’re just no good at drying out clothes folded and closed up in cabinets or closets. On our last morning in Piriac, we were woken up by cold drops of condensation raining down on us, convincing us that it was really time to call it quits for the year and head home.

Mareda is tied up on an offshore floating dock in the Vilaine river, waiting for the sails, dodger and bimini to be removed before really snuggling down for the winter. We’ll pull her out of the water from mid-January to mid-April. I guess the good news is that I’m too exhausted to be sad after the last 2 days of moving. The house is littered with bags and boxes of damp clothes and equipment needing to be washed, dried, and stored, so we’ll stay busy for quite awhile. And tomorrow we head out to our local boat show to see if we can buy even more boat stuff at good prices, so we don’t feel too land-bound just yet.

The Morbihan Gulf

We're pinned down at Yeu Island with screeching winds and big seas, but we have good internet for once. Here are some photos from the Morbihan Gulf to go with the post "Continuing Education", where I realized we have few photos of our home waters. This is only a small selection of the beautiful scenes in the gulf. I hope we can explore a bit more in late fall / early winter before the season is over.