THE CHANNEL ISLANDS

Our resident cruising expert spent the summer months exploring the quiet coves and beautiful bays of the laid-back channel islands

Our resident cruising expert spends a glorious summer aboard his Princess Ytene, exploring the secluded coves, golden beaches and quaint harbours of the Channel Islands

Our summer cruise with Ytene this year was distinctly laid-back and highly enjoyable, despite some dodgy weather. For holiday boating we like to dispense with schedules as far as possible and potter from one haven to another as the mood dictates. I never mind how far we get or don’t get, so we opted for a leisurely circuit of the Channel Islands, with time for visiting relatives and friends along the way. Savouring old haunts is always attractive and these rocky, tideswept cruising grounds take some beating for interest and variety.

Our perambulation started conveniently from the Brittany coast near Saint-malo, avoiding the uncertainty of Channel crossings at either end. We took in all the islands except Alderney, anchoring in beautiful bays and swimming off white sandy beaches in clear turquoise water. We dined well on local seafood and started with a full cellar of French wines. It was all pretty damned good.

OUR BRITTANY BASE

Ytene’s home base is the sleepy rural marina at Plouër-sur-rance, six miles inland from Saint-malo. Her berth looks across one of the finest rivers in France, the views always changing with the tides. Peaceful Plouër is difficult to leave, not least because there are many like-minded boat crews to natter with. Just walking up to the showers can take an hour, and you may never get there.

But Jane and I did at last cast off and meander down the Rance past timeless Breton villages and gracious manor houses with lawns sloping to the water. Ytene (pronounced It-eeny) seemed pleased to be underway and it was good to hear the crackly exhausts of her trusty Ford Mermaids. A Princess 33 of a certain age, she is not very fast and rather unflashy, but has given much pleasure over the years.

There’s a secret anchorage down near Saint-malo where we always spend the first and last nights of a trip. Pouring evening drinks in this magical spot is what cruising is all about.

AROUND LES MINQUIERS

The forecast promised light to moderate north-westerlies with a smooth to slight sea. The day after looked more boisterous though, so we decided to push up towards Guernsey, with a lunch stop at Beau Port on Jersey’s south-west tip. To leave the Rance, you lock out through a hydro-electric barrage that’s generated sustainable energy for Saint-malo since 1966, the world’s first tidal power station.

Emerging into the estuary, you drop down between the traditional resort of Dinard to port and Saint-malo’s old walled town to

We plunged in for a swim, chilly at first but warmer near the beach. Lunching in the cockpit, we watched locals follow the cliff path down to the beckoning sand

starboard, both very striking in the morning light. Dinard has a wide bay packed with moorings and fringed with intriguing Belle Époque villas. Then you pass a golden beach overlooked by holiday hotels and a glitzy casino. Saint-malo is a classic North Brittany image – tall stone houses with steep pitched roofs peeping out from stone ramparts built to keep out the English!

We carried the ebb past a tangle of rocks, beacons and buoys, swung to port at Grand Jardin lighthouse and came out by the west passage. Then I opened up and steadied on track for the buoy guarding the south-west fringes of Plateau des Minquiers, a vast expanse of reefs, drying heads and islets. It was a sparkling morning, good to be alive and at sea. The long straight edge of Cap Fréhel was etched against a blue sky, gradually fading as we drew offshore.

There was a wind-over-tide tumble off the SW Minquiers as we turned north towards the next corner buoy. Soon we saw the pencil line of Jersey’s long south coast, with a tiny white gleam where La Corbière lighthouse caught the sun. Jane held this on the port bow as Ytene headed for the pleasurable Riviera anchorage at Beau Port.

Jersey for lunch

Beau Port is a Jersey gem, easy to enter and sheltered in even a brisk north-westerly. The anchorage is a small cove on the west side of the much wider St Brelade’s Bay, whose crescent beach gleamed a welcome as we approached. Two crucial drying rocks to avoid showed up on the plotter. Beau Port was heavenly, the offshore wind passing over Mont Fiquet to leave the cove quiet and still.

We plunged in for a swim, chilly at first but warmer near the beach. Lunching in the cockpit, we watched locals follow the cliff path down to the beckoning sand. This stretch of coast has a prosperous grandeur and we eyed up some fabulous houses perched above St Brelade’s Bay, amongst the cream of Jersey’s desirable real estate.

Beau Port to Petit Port

Later we nudged out of Beau Port and west towards La Corbière lighthouse, dramatic on its craggy islet. The wind had softened, but the sea here is usually confused as tidal streams mingle. Drying reefs lurk up to half a mile off La Corbière so we curved well out before tracking towards Guernsey. This passage is always fascinating because of how the Channel Islands shift perspective as you cruise north.

Sark’s mysterious profile loomed fine to starboard as we passed Jersey’s long west coast beach, popular with surfers in onshore blows. Guernsey gradually sharpened ahead and then, shyly at first, Herm and Jethou lifted in a vague smudge which soon became two distinct shadows. Once abreast of Jersey’s Grosnez Point, you see the straggling jagged tail of the Paternosters to the east. This unique pattern of islands turns like a kaleidoscope as you power through, looking benign, moody or hostile depending on the weather.

Rather than head straight for Saint Peter Port, we fell off a touch towards Petit Port, one of Guernsey’s magnificent south coast bays. Just west of Jerbourg Point, Petit Port is fairly snug in winds with plenty of north in them. I thought we’d have supper here and then hop round to Peter Port for the night. We anchored off a gradually

shelving beach in the north-east corner, inside a large rock called Mouillère. The high cliffs feel slightly Mediterranean when the sea is a deep summer blue. Renoir visited Guernsey in 1883 and painted bold landscapes of Petit Port that echo the south of France.

Ytene lay quietly as the sun dipped and we tucked into juicy, lightly sautéed veal escalopes, a treat from the butcher in Plouër village. A sliver of Roquefort cheese and then French chocolate mousse completed an elegantly simple feast in memorable surroundings.

GUERNSEY INTERLUDE

Saint Peter Port is a delight when early sunshine streams in over Herm and Jethou to warm the colourful town stacked up from the waterfront. Not quite English, a little bit French, Guernsey’s capital looks exotic from seaward, its ornate towers and jumbled buildings reminiscent of some colonial outpost in a faraway land.

Boating visitors enjoy coming here. You can berth in Victoria Marina near the town, or stay out on the pool pontoons and walk ashore to Crown Pier. I like the pool because you can watch all the harbour comings and goings – ferries from England and France, launches from Herm and Sark, and supply boats for the smaller islands of Jethou and Brecqhou. Cruise ships lie off the entrance, their tenders shuttling passengers to and fro.

While Saint Peter Port abounds in restaurants, food shops near the harbour have been eroded by out-of-town supermarkets. But don’t miss Surf and Turf on Albert Pier, selling fish and Guernsey meat. We bought cooked crabs to eat on board and they usually have lobster.

Jane’s sister Fran and her husband John Elliott live in the south of Guernsey at St Pierre du Bois, so we had a lively dinner and a comfortable night ashore with them, leaving Ytene safely tucked up on her pontoon. John is a Guernsey man and has been boating all his life, and he and Fran own Minstrel, a 34ft sailing yacht. John also part-owns a Humber 5.6m RIB with two friends and he suggested a high-speed foray next day to explore some of the channels around Herm. The picnic hamper details were soon agreed and we looked forward to an informative jaunt with a master of local pilotage.

OUT TO THE HUMPS

RIBS are ideal for local cruising hereabouts. At slack water, John took us up to L’ancresse Bay, a splendid anchorage at the north end of Guernsey which is particularly easy to reach from Beaucette Marina. Leave there an hour after high water and turn hard left around the shore for just over a mile. On a calm summer’s day, L’ancresse is enchanting as the ebb exposes a dazzling beach. The coast is tranquil open heath and you’re likely to have the bay to yourself.

Then John whizzed us across the Little Russel to an intricate rocky passage north of Herm, following natural leading marks to an extraordinary tidal anchorage known as the Humps. You can see this horseshoe pool on Admiralty charts 807 and 808, though few visitors venture in here. At low water, grassy islets merge to enclose a fantastic lagoon with a white sandy bottom and delicate fronds of sea grass. Now the Humps were completely deserted, apart from a seal who popped his head up as we anchored. An escapist’s paradise for a while, until the encircling granite submerges again beneath the fast-rising tide.

PUFFIN BAY

Next morning Jane and I got Ytene under way again, filled up with good-value diesel and crossed to Herm by the much used Alligande Passage. Turning inside Jethou we saw the enviable house on this idyllic retreat, which has two smaller cottages, a landing jetty and a tough Lochin workboat on a mooring.

Rounding the south tip of Herm we followed the east coast to Puffin Bay, just beyond an islet called Selle Rocque. Most boats carry on to Belvoir or Shell Bays, but Puffin is quieter and you can lie well in towards the beach. In fact, we had this wonderful inlet to ourselves and swam in luxurious seclusion. More pristine white sand appeared as the tide fell away. We saw walkers on Herm’s cliff path, but you can’t easily scramble down to this beach, so Puffin is one of our favourites.

ACROSS TO HAVRE GOSSELIN

In the late afternoon, we left Puffin Bay and nosed into Belvoir Bay and Shell Bay before crossing the wide Big Russel towards the west side of Sark. With the stream still running south, I held our course up towards Brecqhou, a small, windswept island only just separated from Sark by the narrow Gouliot Pass. The Big Russel is a commanding strait and spring tides pour through in a chaos of overfalls and swirling slicks. Even now, we splashed through eerie patches of tumbling water.

Closing with Brecqhou, we had a grandstand view of the huge, almost surreal mock Gothic castle built here by the Barclay brothers after they acquired the 80-acre island in 1993. They also transformed

its landscape, creating windbreaks for luxuriant gardens which have sizeable carp lakes and impressive sweeps of greensward. Curving south of Brecqhou past a stark private harbour, we tucked into Havre Gosselin, a spectacular cleft in the Sark cliffs with sturdy moorings. The silence seemed intense when the engines stopped, but then we heard gulls far above and the persistent wash of swell lapping the cliffs.

Gosselin has a basic stone landing from where a steep path winds up to a prominent stone monument and thence, past a picturesque duck pond, to the village. But it was a bit rolly for clambering ashore and we lazed on board in the evening sun, sipping cold rosé wine and watching a sparrow hawk hovering overhead with sinister intent. It was too uneasy for staying overnight, but the swell would probably quieten down at low water and I can never resist this lonely anchorage, which is pitch black as night falls except for any moon or stars.

Ashore on sark

Early next morning, we slipped through the Gouliot Pass at slack water and skirted the north tip of Sark to Grève de la Ville, an attractive east coast bay with moorings north of Point Robert lighthouse. Here we were protected from westerly swell and Ytene lay quietly while we breakfasted in the sun. It would be safe to leave the boat here for a while, so we rowed ashore and lifted the dinghy well up the rough stone steps.

As with most of Sark’s lofty rugged coast, there is no sign of

The Big Russel is a commanding strait and spring tides pour through in a chaos of overfalls and swirling slicks

habitation from Grève de la Ville until you have climbed up a zig-zag path to the plateau. We emerged opposite a field near a cluster of houses, where we knocked on a door to see an old sailing friend, Jo Birch, who was brought up on Sark and much later returned to live here. A yachtswoman of worldwide experience, Jo still goes cruising with her family, but now spends much of her summer looking after the glorious Seigneurie Gardens, a civilised oasis of calm attached to the rambling 17th-century manor house owned by the Seigneur, the island’s hereditary ruler.

A stroll around these immaculate walled grounds is a must when you visit Sark. Jo guided us through the Millennium rose garden, a prolific vegetable area and a Victorian vinery. Sark itself is soothing, but its Seigneurie Gardens are out of this world.

We were soon joined by James Briggs, our long-standing cruising comrade who has shared many watery adventures with us. James and his father originally bought Ytene in 1979 and she was moored in Saint Peter Port for many years. James lives on Sark and was to join us for the next leg down to the east side of Jersey. So on the island’s dusty, rather Wild West main street, we shopped at Food Stop, the excellent general store, and trekked back down to sea level.

A TOUCH OF FOG

Now with three aboard, Ytene threaded Sark’s various east coast rocks, curved out to the Blanchard buoy and set off towards Jersey’s north-east corner. It seemed a perfect motor boating afternoon, with a glassy sea and fluffy white clouds. Yet the forecast had warned us about creeping fog and when we were about halfway, a line of white vapour appeared to the west. Soon, the south end of Sark was enveloped in murk and then the whole island vanished. I opened the throttles to a brisk gallop, closing more quickly with Jersey’s imposing north coast.

But the fog stayed away and we nudged into pretty Rozel bay, with its miniature drying harbour and neat row of cottages. Turning the corner at La Coupe Point, we saw the familiar massive breakwater jutting out nearly half a mile, built by the British Admiralty in the last days of sail. Never used in anger, it shelters my favourite Jersey hideaway – St Catherine’s Bay.

ST CATHERINE’S BAY

Turning into St Catherine’s, we were pleased to see that nothing had changed on this charming part of Jersey’s coastline. There’s room to drop your hook, but we picked up a strong-looking mooring. Ashore, you can land at a stone slip, where the Breakwater Café does crab sandwiches and opens at 9am for a full English. Nearby, St Catherine’s Sailing Club runs dinghy races in the bay.

This restful place is perfect for just sitting and watching. Canoes paddle about and small fishing boats come and go. RIBS whizz out to the Écréhou archipelago. The anchorage looks south to the spectacular Mont Orgueil castle at Gorey harbour. The head of the bay is pleasantly rural with some discreet old-money houses among the trees. We spent two relaxing days here, dropping James ashore to catch a bus into St Helier and ferries back to Sark. He went to school on Jersey, so this was home territory.

Then Jane and I took Ytene down to Gorey harbour to fill up with red diesel ready for returning to Saint-malo, perhaps via Granville. Not quite yet though. The wind should veer northerly tomorrow, so we could run to another lazy St Catherine’s day, especially after a Gorey fisherman sold us a handsome lobster for folding money. A classy seafood supper coming up, with a cool bottle of our ship’s Touraine Sauvignon to help it along.

This restful place is perfect for just sitting and watching. Small fishing boats come and go, and RIBS whizz out to the Écrehou archipelago