Brittany's Pink Granite Coast

Allow me to begin this post with a lament: I’ve been forced to accept that I don’t have the patience or skills to be a photo-journalist, and even in the informal realm of the personal blog, I am woefully inadequate for the task of describing the beauty of the “Granite Rose” coastline of Brittany.  At times, it’s so frustrating that I think I shouldn’t even try, damning the place with faint praise, etc.

Testing the (cold) waters in Ploumanac'h.

We’re currently anchored off the south coast of Brehat Island, one of the jewels of this coastline.  One could walk along its narrow lanes taking photos of one breathtaking scene after another: charming cottages and gardens in full bloom, old stone manors perched on cliffs overlooking the sea, quaint churchyards, old stone walls that wind like scaly serpents through farmland dotted with grazing cattle the same color as the reddish-pink granite along the coast.

West coast of Brehat Island

One of many manors of Brehat.

Dinghy with motor baptism at Brehat.

A local farmer's stand using the honor system:  take what you want, leave your money in the drop-box.

Mooring off Guerzido beach, Brehat.

Rose Granite at the northern tip of Brehat.

The Paon lighthouse, northern Brehat.

One could.  But one doesn’t.  At least this one doesn’t.  After 15 minutes, I realized that the camera was constantly between me and reality, which I found that a bit pathetic, and I had to force myself to put away the camera (okay, it obviously popped out again from time to time, but I can assure you, the above photos are only a measly overview).  How can I enjoy the splendour of the place and at the same time transmit it to friends and family back home?  I can’t, at least not with the time or energy I have at present to contribute to the task.

And with that as an introduction, here are a few photos of our last week of travels, from Trebeurden, Ploughmanac’h, Port Blanc, and Brehat Island.  On the night we arrived in Ploughmanac’h (Ploo-man-ac) we were treated to a fireworks display.  The next morning we learned that Ploughmanac’h had been voted “most beautiful village of France 2015.”  In keeping with my lament theme, I have no pictures of the village since we never actually made it that far.  The port areas were cute and touristy, but the reason Plougmanac’h is so spectacular is the coastline, and I have quite a few photos of that. 

Ploumanac'h panorama (I think if you click on the image you can get a larger version... still new at this.)

Entrance of Ploumanac'h channel.

Trebeurden

Trebeurden port.

Port Blanc entrance (yes, there's an entrance, right between those big rocks...)

As far as actual sailing goes, we haven’t done much of that lately.  There’s been no wind for the last week, so we’ve been taking it slow, motor-sailing in 10-15 mile hops, enjoying the scenery.  The light winds will stay with us for another few days at least, and a Brittany heat wave is predicted for mid-week (that means low 80s).  We may celebrate and put up the bimini !

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High and Dry on Batz Island

We beached ! 

The anchorage was a bit crowded (a weekend in June on a “must visit” island) and we re-anchored 3 times before deciding where to settle for our first beaching, or drying out.  We arrived at high tide with 8 meters of water, and as the tide went out, we settled into the hard sand / mud mix.  

When we arrived...

...and the next morning...

I worried that we would swing with the incoming tide and end up too close to the beach incline or too close to the small fishing boats next to us, but the anchorage was so well protected that we barely budged.  As Mareda settled, she creaked and cracked intermittently like an old house on a hot day, but the second beaching was quieter… or maybe we were just used to it and slept through it.

With a bit of water remaining from an outgoing tide, we pumped up the dinghy and rowed ashore.  The problem with rowing ashore in an outgoing tide is that you have to wait until the water comes back again to get back to the boat.  We visited Batz for over 6 hours.  We walked all over the island.  Twice.  And had a long boozy lunch.  And waited some more.  We walked out to Mareda but the mud became ankle deep and we had to turn back.  Trying to haul a dinghy back to the boat over the mud would have been quite a spectacle for the tourists sipping drinks on the terrace.

Another beaching discovery:  if you want to flush the toilet, you have to add water from your freshwater tank or think ahead and have a bucket of seawater handy.  The sea-water intake for the toilet is also high and dry.

We’re still in a state of wonder with our new boat and everything she can do.  Having a lifting keel changes everything and opens up so many more anchorage options, especially here in Brittany.  We’re eager to give it another go!

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Inside Mareda at Lands End

Greetings from Aber Wrac’h on the northwestern tip of Finistere, or Lands End in French.  We’ve had a beautiful couple of days sailing around the tip of Brittany, including two tricky tidal passages (Raz de Sein and Four Channel) that were unbelievably smooth.  

Local tradition says that when you round the Raz de Sein and align two light houses (the Plate and the Vielle), you take a swig of rum.  Not ones to snub tradition, we had rum from Guadaloupe ready and waiting.

almost aligned...

lined up

 

aaaaaand swig !

On the day we rounded the Raz de Sein, the French marine traffic control reminded sailors in the area to make way for the Solitaire de Figaro race.  I quickly jotted down the latitude and longitude positions and estimated that they were a few miles west of us.  I couldn’t see them but when I looked at the Automatic Identification System (AIS) on the chart plotter, it wasn’t hard to tell where they were.    

anyone seen the Solitaire de Figaro around here?  (That's us in the Raz de Sein)

We’re really thrilled with the boat, inside and out.  The performance and stability of the boat are really impressive.  With the currents in the Four Channel, we hit 8.9 knots with just the mainsail and the genoa.   

It has taken us awhile to post photos of the interior of Mareda, since I was waiting to have everything neat and tidy.  I realized after 2 weeks of living aboard that things will never be as photogenic as I would like, so without further delay, here is the interior on an ordinary day.

The interior is comfortable, spacious, and chic.  It’s hard to refer to such interior spaces as the galley, or the head, or the cabins.  On Mareda, we have a kitchen, a bathroom, and bedrooms.  The “water closet” part of the bathroom is as big as our wc at home.  The two bedrooms have real mattresses, not foam pads.  We have more hanging space on the boat that in our home bedroom.  The refrigerator capacity is as big as our home frige.  We love having hot water on demand.  We also love our black water tank (means we don’t have to use the public toilets in port anymore).  Patrick’s “home-boat cinema” is impressive, and although we said we never listen to music in the cockpit while underway, we tried out the sound system on the water yesterday and it rocks !  On a sunny day, the solar panels charge enough for the navigation system, the auto pilot, and the refrigerator.  The table in the salon (er, uh…living room) is huge.  We have tons of storage space, although much of that space is underneath the salon seating area cushions and getting to things can be a bit of a chore.

So far, our only complaint about the interior is that the water pump is LOUD.  I don’t know if that’s normal.  We’ll have it checked out at the end of the season.  We’re still having a bit of a problem with our genoa furler.  We can furl it without the winch when there’s no strain on it, but when we want to partially roll it up during high winds, even if we let the sheets out fully, there’s still too much stress on the sail to get it to furl without using the winch.  That’s not great during a stiff breeze.  We’ve put in a call to the boatyard to see if we can have someone look at that along the way in the next week.

Tomorrow we’re headed off to Batz Island where we MAY attempt our first drying-out (echouage) with Mareda.  Unfortunately, we’ll touch down at 11:30 pm and lift off at 6:30 pm, so I’ll have to be really motivated to get out and photograph the event.

Internet is LOWSY and the blog will be delayed by a week or more as I try to catch up when we DO get a good connection.  More updates coming over the next 24 hours while we have a decent connection...

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The first week

Our first week on Mareda has been chaotic, as expected.  With no time to write a coherent missive, here is a list of happenings:

Mareda in Locmiquelic, Lorient

The first time I tried to plug in to shore power, I dropped the electrical adapter in the water and it sank like a rock.  As soon as the horror wore off, I realized it had “SPRAY” marked on it.  Mareda claims her territory.

We realized after our first night on board that we had lots of storage space for clothes, but they were mostly closets rather than shelves.  We didn’t have enough hangers. Return home to buy electrical adapters and get more hangers. 

Seen around Vannes: A traditional Sinagot.

The genoa furler was impossible to roll in without using the winch.  After several calls and photos with Jeanneau, we tried to minimize the angles between the furler, the pulllies, and the winch, with only moderate success.  Epiphany:  what if the halyard is simply winched up too tightly?  Bingo.  Problem resolved.

The gennaker is great fun !  After a few tests, we found that the best way to roll it up cleanly is to sail on a broad reach and hide the gennaker behind the mainsail, then let off on the halyard a bit.  It rolls up like a tight sausage.  We still have a problem with the breaking pulley that is supposed to only allow the furling line to operate in one direction (so that it doesn’t unroll while you’re trying to roll it up).  Forgot to take pictures… next time.

The gennaker !  Ice blue and fire-engine red.

The swing keel hums and buzzes when sailing close-hauled at more than 5 knots.  Other swing keel owners tell us that this is normal. 

The boat is HIGH in the water !!  That’s great while sailing, but in port we’ve got a lot of area for the wind to push us around, which makes things a bit tricky to dock.  And we also learned that it’s best to have the keel down as far as possible for manoeuvres, otherwise you slip sideways all too easily.

I really appreciate the “german” winch system.  We still have to think ahead when we tack or jibe, but the manoeuvres will become automatic with time.  It’s great to have all the controls near the helmsman.  The lines, however, end up becoming a pile of spaghetti if you aren’t vigilant. 

The B&G electronic system (Zeus and Triton) are excellent, too.  We haven’t fully exploited all the gadgets available, but it’s really a luxury.

And the interior is so luxurious it’s almost ridiculous.  We’re a bit embarrassed.  People stare at Mareda when we come into port (just when we’re getting ready for manoeuvres we haven’t mastered).  The downside of all this bling is that it also attracts unwanted attention.  In Vannes, we had a 1 liter glass beer bottle hurled at us.  Pictures as soon as we have time to arrange everything ! 

The lazy bag is not as big as we thought /  hoped, or maybe it’s that the sail is new and stiff.  It’s so high that it’s hard for me to stow it by myself.

Patrick cracked his laptop computer screen and is having psychological difficulties coping without a computer.  We’ll head back to Lorient to repair it before going any further.

And we had our first “too full” incident with the black water (toilet) tank.  The 80-liter capacity goes quickly with 4 people !  The leak was smelly and no fun to clean, just in case you think it’s all bling bling and glamour out here…

Stuck on Groix Island by a gale for THREE days.  But there are worse places to be stuck.

Picnic at St Nicolas, Groix island.

St Nicolas at low tide.

Hiking around St Nic.

We sailed Mareda from Groix to Lorient (7 miles) with 20 knots in the nose and gusts to 25.  With only 1 reef in the main and the genoa at 60% she performed beautifully.  She heeled over onto her chine and didn’t budge.  When the gusts hit, the sails strain but the boat stays steady and the double-rudder system means you’ve always got one well down in the water and you always have good control.  

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Splashdown !

Aaaaaand Splashdown !

No time to chat.  Leaving for 6 months in 48 hours (?!)  Or maybe not...

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Calendar Constipation

We’re experiencing a peculiar form of constipation caused by having too much to do and not being able to do any of it. Quite uncomfortable ! 

With less than a week to splash-down, the boatyard has to finish the electronics, put up sails, run the lines in the mast and boom, install some cleats, tighten and tune the rigging, prepare the anchor and chain, and add some hardware for my boom break.  There’s nothing we can do to speed up the process, although we bug them with telephone calls or impromptu visits every day whilst trying to stay out of the way so they can do their work. 

The good news is that Patrick found a Rocna anchor in France after being told that ours wouldn’t arrive until after August. We also began commissioning the new Yamaha outboard motor by running it for an hour in our special homemade “outboard test tank”.

New outboard motor, or new trash-can punch mixer ?

In the meantime, we’re making / revising / losing / remaking lists of things to do, packing, trying to get the yard ready for 6 months of abandonment, and scouring the camping stores for those all-important cruising items:  a 12 volt wet-dry handy vac (hand vacuum cleaner) and a stove-top toaster.

We’re also trying to get organized for a 6-month departure 24 hours after the boat is in the water.  This is called calendar diarrhea and typically follows calendar constipation.  We aren’t going to head off for wilds unknown with a new boat, but we are planning on casting off and turning circles in our bay until we feel comfortable enough to start our trek north.  There are a lot of new gadgets on the boat to come to grips with, including the swing keel, the Code D sail, and a “German” mainsheet system where the genoa and mainsheet downhaul share the same winch in front of each helm station.  We’re told that we’ll love this system once we get used to it, but I’m still trying to figure out the choreography required for gybing. 

We are supposed to be in St Malo by the 2^nd of July for our niece’s wedding, but Patrick has agreed that if we feel too rushed, we’ll just leave the boat wherever we happened to be and try to get to the wedding by train or bus.  I *hate* calendars of any sort when cruising.      

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Cockpit Updates

The dodger, bimini, and arch are in place !  With one week left to go, the final installations are coming together.  I'm still not convinced that it will all be done on time (electronics, sails, solar panels, etc) but the progress is impressive nonetheless.

Every time we walk away from the boat, Patrick just shakes his head and says, "Wow, it's big.  Really big.  And WIDE."  Mareda is only 1.24 meters longer than Spray but that's enough to make us a bit anxious about handling her.  I keep reminding him that Mareda has the same sail area as Spray and weighs 3 tonnes more, so she should be much more docile than Spray was.  Still, the first time out with Mareda is going to be nerve-racking !  (*fact check*:  The genoa on Spray is the same size as Mareda's, but Mareda's mainsail is 35 m2 while Spray's is 27 m2.  That'll give us some extra push for those extra 3 tonnes.)

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Ode to my new hose

Patrick thinks I have an abnormal, possibly psycho-sexual fixation over our new boat hose.  But he does admit that it’s pretty dang nifty.

A normal 25 meter boat hose is a robust type of garden hose rolled up on a spool in a plastic case.  It’s heavy, takes up a lot of space, and costs about $100.  As we browsed the boating, camping, and gardening stores looking for alternatives, we stumbled upon the Pocket Hose Ultra II:  30 meters of light-weight compact hose that (they say) is exceptionally robust.  The casing is a type of nylon / teflon textile made to resist abrasion and UV rays.  The interior is a sort of plastic webbing that shrinks when not under pressure and expands as the water enters.  It’s springy like a bungee cord.

I put it to the test this afternoon and was thrilled with it.  (Patrick says “overly thrilled.”)  I was worried that it wouldn't shrink back down after inflating, but it did.  Okay, it’s true, I couldn't get it back in the original box, but I had a handy mesh bag laying around that was just the perfect size for it.  

Inflated

Deflated !

And in the bag ...

Did I mention it’s light?  I can hold it up with 1 finger !  I also didn't measure it to make sure it extended to the full 30 meters, but the little section I held in my hand expanded at least 3 times its length.  All this for $65.  I’ll let you know how it fares over the next few months as we put it to the real test.

And while I was making an inventory of all our equipment, I realized with horror that we were missing two essential elements for any adventure involving mechanical parts:  WD-40 and Duct Tape !  Yikes !! Back to the store…

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Departure Looms

The launch date has been set, lists have been made to organize every waking minute of our last days, and mounds of equipment are piled up in the garage waiting to find their place on Mareda. 

A small selection of equipment waiting patiently for the move to Mareda.

The reality of it all hit me this morning as I looked up the times for the bridge openings to leave Vannes.  And then what?  Where will we spend our first day sailing, our first night on Mareda?  Should we head to one of our favorite hide-away anchorages in the gulf, or should we go directly to a port in case we discover some problem? 

We’ll need some space and calm for the commissioning process:  getting to know the ropes (literally), how to use the swing keel, the electronics, the navigation systems, calibrating the anemometer and the depth sounder, swinging the compass, christening the boat and imploring Neptune to grant us safe passage in his realm.  The last time we did this, we have to first "de-name" the boat, then request a new name from Neptune, and then, in the interest of Franco-American cooperation, cut the magical serpent that followed in our wake.  With so many rituals and potential for error, it's hard to know if we did everything right.  This time should be much simpler.  

Then there are the more subtle processes of getting to know a new boat:  calibrating my own internal sensors to distinguish the normal noises from strange ones, and understanding her movements and reactions to swell and tide, particular to each boat.  With Spray, I could wake up from a sound sleep as she began to shift slightly with the slack tide.  A quick look at the clock would confirm my internal one.  I don’t remember how long it took to establish that link, but I do remember quite a few nights of hashed sleep.  Patrick remembers them, too, although not so fondly.  I would bound out of bed to check the hour, the tide tables, and have a look around on the deck to see how the boat was swinging on the anchor or mooring buoy.  He would wake up with a start. “What’s happening?!”  After a few nights, the only thing his internal sensors needed to tell him was that his wife was up to her nightly antics.  He quickly learned to just sleep through it all, knowing I would wake him up if ever there was a real need.

Enough procrastination for one day… the garage awaits !  10 days left till splashdown !

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Farewell Spray

Spray has been sold.  No exclamation points, no champagne corks flying.  There is a saying that a boat owner only knows two days of joy: the day he buys the boat and the day he sells it.  It’s just not true. 

It’s not that I’m overly sentimental about Spray.  In fact, I just don’t feel much of anything except relief that the process of selling her is over and a lingering sense of responsibility to hand her over to her new owners in good condition.    

In a rare moment of sitting idly over coffee this morning, Patrick and I reminisced about all our adventures with Spray.  While we are thrilled at the prospect of a new boat, we realize how important it was for our education to start out with an old boat.  After 3 years and nearly 4500 miles under the keel, there’s not much about basic boat maintenance that we don’t know how to handle now.  Electricity, plumbing, diesel engine maintenance, mystery leaks, epoxies and general repairs of all sorts no longer frighten us the way they did in the beginning.  If we’d had a new boat from the beginning, I dare say we’d still be anxious about our ability to manage a boat.

That said, we fully intend to savor our graduation from “Boat Maintenance School” and enjoy the relative pleasures of sailing a new boat where repairs should be minimal.  (Remind me I said that in a few months…).    

Spray by numbers:

Bought: June 2012  Sold: May 2015

4450 nautical miles in 2.5 years of sailing from the Channel Islands to the northwest tip of Spain. 

264 days sailing (5 over-night sails)

3 countries visited (France, England, Spain)

Euros invested in upgrades and maintenance: way too many !

Cost of a solid education in boats, a sense of accomplishment, and the strong desire to continue the sailing life:  priceless.

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