CRUISING IN THE CAMARGUE
Peter and Jane Cumberlidge receive a late- summer request that would simply be ridiculous to refuse
Peter Cumberlidge enjoys a late season cruise on a Linssen GS34.9 charter vessel
As the long hot summer of 2018 drew to a close, Jane and I knew we didn’t want the sunshine to stop. A spell in the warm south was needed and an unexpected phone call came to the rescue. Our friend Steve Adams, from the waterways hire company France Afloat, asked if we could deliver a Linssen Grand Sturdy 34.9AC from Beaucaire near the River Rhône to its charter base at Capestang on the Canal du Midi, passing through the fascinating salt-lakes of the Camargue. We could indeed.
Soon afterwards we were boarding a comfortable Brittany Ferry at Portsmouth, bound not for St Malo but Bilbao on the north Spanish coast. After a hectic few months we needed some pampering and a relaxed Biscay crossing seemed the ideal way to start this late season jaunt. From Bilbao it’s an easy drive east to Beaucaire, leaving the Pyrenees to starboard and the rolling hills of Haut Languedoc to port.
We arrived on a balmy evening to find our Linssen waiting patiently at a colourful quay, opposite a handy brasserie. James Briggs, our long time crew and bon vivant, treated us to drinks and dinner on the terrace a few steps from the boat. So our autumn cruise started in style and continued in much the same vein. In a week or so, our trusty ship would be available for anyone to charter from France Afloat’s Capestang base.
BEAUCA I R E A N D T H E RHÔNE
The mighty River Rhône rises in Switzerland, flows through Lake Geneva, joins the Saône at Lyon and then glides south for over 300 navigable kilometres towards the Mediterranean. Large commercial barges use the Rhône, passing through massive locks which dwarf pleasure boats but are easy to negotiate.
Near the sea the river disperses into a vast delta of wetlands, the west part of which forms the Camargue – a legendary region of coastal salt-lakes (étangs) untouched by the outside world. The Camargue is known for its sleek white horses, stocky black bulls and flocks of wading flamingos that can suddenly lift off in a magical pink haze. Cruising towards the Midi, we’d be exploring the maze of linked étangs and secret channels that wind through this beautiful landscape.
Beaucaire lies on the west side of the Rhône and was once connected to it by a lock. Now the lock is derelict and this old barge port is a delightful cul-de-sac reached by a minor tributary of the river and the east section of the Canal du Rhône à Sète.
Our autumn cruise started in style and continued in much the same vein
On our first morning the sun lit the mellow stone buildings along the quays, where a market was in full swing. Jane and James went shopping while I pottered aboard, finding my way round the boat and yarning with passers-by.
Before lunch we parked our car at the bureau du port and arranged with Didier, the helpful and genial harbourmaster, for the marina footbridge to be lifted. Sliding easily through, we set off along the leafy Canal du Rhône à Sète, bound for the historic walled town of Aigues-mortes.
INTO THE CAM ARGUE
Beaucaire soon vanished astern as we followed the sleepy, rather jungly waterway along the west fringes of the delta. Herons stood absolutely still on the banks and vivid blue kingfishers flashed past. I was hoping for a crocodile or two, but we did see several beavers crossing ahead, their noses just above the water. This intra-coastal canal was opened in 1834, strategically linking the seaport of Sète, the Canal du Midi and the Rhône through France’s second largest lake – the salt water Étang de Thau. Sailing barges once ghosted through here, carrying diverse cargoes of salt, wine, munitions and even livestock by a safe inland route.
The canal’s only lock is completely automatic. About 100m before the gates I nudged our bow towards the north bank, where a rod hangs down from a gantry. An anticlockwise twist starts the process and we saw machinery moving on the gates as the lock emptied to let us in. A second rod inside the lock shut the gates behind us and the chamber started to fill. We rose about four metres, which curiously took us to sea level, a puzzling fact I never quite understood.
Reaching St Gilles village, we stopped for the night at its welcoming quay, with water and electricity to hand. Our restaurant that evening was the convivial L’atelier des Halles, a little way back on Rue Victor Hugo. Foie gras was the star, delicious with the local Muscat de Frontignan sweet wine.
DOWN TO AIGUES- MORT E S
Beyond St Gilles our modest canal widened into a grand corridor which can carry powerful commercial barges. On either side were miles of wetlands and heath, with spires marking scattered hamlets. Soon we passed some white horses roaming wild, the traditional mount of the Camargue ‘cowboys’ who herd bulls for the popular Course Camarguaise – bull chases in which the men are rarely injured and the bull never killed.
In the salt lakes near Gallician, Jane spotted our first flamingos – flamants roses – those engaging pink wading birds with long spindly legs, swan-like necks and an almost balletic posture while they scoop the shallows for fish.
A left fork leads to Aigues-mortes and from far off you see the town’s famous Constance Tower on the flat horizon. This tall, ‘pepper pot’ memorial is part of Aigues-mortes’ magnificent 13th-century
citadel built by King Louis IX, an imposing stronghold which is almost a logo for the Camargue. At a distance the medieval bastions seem to shimmer like a mirage in the southern heat.
We followed a slow hotel barge into Aigues-mortes and our engine was virtually inaudible on deck as we idled past all kinds of moored boats. Some were almost derelict, but others were impeccably maintained, especially the full-length, ex-working barges converted into desirable houseboats. In the harbour we turned past a railway bridge and moored below Constance Tower, just to say we’d been there. Later, an obliging harbourmaster found us a quiet, secluded pontoon at the seaward end of the basin. James went foraging ashore and we dined on meltingly tender fillet steak, helped along by a soft Montcalm red from a nearby vineyard. Evening light in Aigues-mortes glows on the citadel walls and our bridge deck was perfect for watching the sunset. In autumn, when the weather is not too hot, this is surely one of the finest
harbours in France.
A GLIMPSE OF THE SEA
From Aigues-mortes a five-kilometre canal leads to the Mediterranean and the fishing port of Le Grau-du-roi. We followed this channel early next morning with étangs on the north side and salt-pans – Les Salins du Midi – on the south. Beyond Les Salins lay the sunny vineyards of Domaine de Jarras-listel, where some of our favourite rosés – Listel Gris – are produced. You don’t see these light sandy wines in England, but we always stock up in France.
A bridge leads into Grau-du-roi, where we entered a marina to starboard. From here it’s an easy stroll to the outer harbour where fishing boats raft alongside quays lined with cafés, restaurants and seafood stalls. This is a lively theatre when the boats are in and locals gather to buy fish direct from the crews.
Wandering out to the jutting piers, we at last saw the real Mediterranean, enticingly blue and alive with boats even in early October. To the south-west lay Port Camargue, the largest marina on the French Med coast. To the north we could see the strange pyramid-shaped apartments at La Grande Motte resort, defiantly contemporary in the 1960s but now mellowed like aging hippies.
OUT IN THE WILDS
Cruising back through Aigues-mortes, we kept left to rejoin the Canal du Rhône à Sète and headed west under a clear blue sky. Now the glittering waterway shaved just inland from La Grande Motte along a narrow coastal strip, with lakes to starboard and the sea sometimes only half a kilometre to port. There were signs of serious investment in new barge quays and we met laden péniches pushing east towards the Rhône. Yet our canal so close to the sea felt way out in the wilds and we relished the sense of space in this amazing natural park.
In the pilot book Jane had identified what looked like a peaceful overnight berth opposite a small island in the Étang de l’arnel, and she couldn’t have chosen a better spot. Rounding a slight bend we saw a rustic staging on the north bank, just before a floating footbridge linking the mainland shore to a ruined abbey near the coast. The staging was made for our Linssen and the setting idyllic. The bridge was a typically French and highly practical contraption. The whole span swung open on demand, powered by an outboard motor on its south side! Walkers and
Lingering in Sète, we got to know cafés, shops, and a supermarket that sold red wine draught if you took along a jerry can
cyclists crossed until sunset and then the scene was still. We dined alfresco on deck, a splendid bistro terrace in the soft sea air.
TOWARD SS È TE
Our Grand Sturdy 34.9AC would be compact for more than three, but was easy to manoeuvre with her single-prop swing and both bow and stern thrusters. The Volvo Penta D2-75 diesel was whisper quiet, almost like an electric drive at modest speeds. A Linssen’s great advantage for charter holidays is looking like a proper motor yacht, not a hire boat. The elegant Dutch lines turn heads and we were often photographed.
Leaving our hideaway next morning, we slipped past the bridge with hardly a ripple, leaving a flotilla of ducks undisturbed. Our next town was Frontignan, where a low road bridge only opens twice a day. We were aiming for the 16:00 lift and our trip along the low-banked canal was utterly soothing, with étangs and flamingos both sides and stunning views inland to the Gardiole hills.
The approaches to Frontignan are shallow but well buoyed and we crept up the harbour to a quay below the bridge. Frontignan is known for its sweet Muscat wines, whose grapes thrive on reliable sunshine and regular wafts of damp sea air. The hills protect the vines from northerlies. The resulting golden elixir is luxurious served chilled as an aperitif and drinks well with foie gras or Roquefort cheese. Expensive in England, Frontignan costs six or seven euros a bottle locally and we bought a case here to take home.
The hydraulic bridge lifted on time and we passed through an attractive yacht basin and out past some drab industrial outskirts lined with oil tanks. It was now only a few kilometres to the relatively exposed waters of the Étang de Thau, where we’d planned to turn left into Sète. However, with a strong northerly mistral forecast next day we decided to cross the lake that evening and tuck into Marseillan harbour at its far west end.
I have fond memories of Sète. Years ago we spent a cruising Christmas here and on Christmas Day it was over 20° as we joined an international drinks gathering of liveaboards, luxuriating in southern warmth while England was smothered in frost and fog. Lingering in Sète, we got to know the local shops, cheap cafés and a supermarket that sold red wine draught if you took along a plastic jerrycan.
ACROSS THE É TANG
This impressive salt water lake is 18 kilometres long east to west and up to four kilometres wide, large enough for stiff winds to raise a malevolent chop. The north side is packed with oyster beds and the navigable channel from our canal exit to Marseillan leads out between two low promontories guarded by beacon towers. Then you curve west to follow the southern edge of vast hectares of racks where deep-cupped Bouzigues oysters thrive in the lagoon. Bouzigues have a tangy salt water freshness with distinctive nutty highlights.
Pushing out into the étang we passed several sailing yachts and waved to a larger Linssen heading in towards Sète. The hazardous racks were clearly marked on our guide and we skirted half a kilometre off, gradually curving south of west towards the far end of the lake. Narrow channels lead between each huge rectangle of beds towards picturesque shellfish harbours on the north shore. The south shore is littered with sandbanks, but our fairway had four to six metres depth until the shallower west corner. A moderate breeze gave life to our passage, so wine
bottles and a fruit bowl had to be stowed. Halfway across, we steered for a humped hill near Agde, not far into the Canal du Midi.
MARSEILLAN
Marseillan’s entrance was difficult to see against the low light, but then masts came into focus and we jinked behind a detached breakwater, hung a right past the marina and pulled alongside a charming cobbled quay ahead of a smart barge yacht, with water and electricity next to us. Marseillan was a gem. I’d never been here before and the harbour was just finishing a three-year renovation. The buildings are traditionally Midi and the quays pedestrian-only with plenty of restaurants. In early October the place was calm and relaxing.
The village has excellent food shops and a sturdy bell tower once used as a coastal lookout. On the west quay is a visitor centre for Noilly Prat, the classic French vermouth in a ‘gin-andFrench’ martini. Noilly has been produced in Marseillan since 1813 and was once shipped out in barges.
INTO THE MIDI
The mistral was gusting hard next morning as we left to cross the short stretch of étang and enter the Canal du Midi. Outside Marseillan the northerly was howling across the lake, which was seething with whitecaps. The first lock was tricky to negotiate in the savage crosswind, so beyond it we tucked alongside for the afternoon to let the mistral blow out.
Capestang was now 45km away, with plenty of interest to come. Soon we passed the historic circular lock at Agde, a unique canal crossroads where you can leave by the south gate to reach the Mediterranean or go straight on towards Bordeaux and the Atlantic.
At Villeneuve-lès-béziers we moored beneath plane trees where tiny lizards scampered on the bank and cicadas sang their music of the Midi. At Béziers itself we crossed a river aqueduct with views back to the ancient city walls. Then we climbed nearly 14 metres through a six-lock staircase at Fonserannes, active work with dramatic cascading inflows as the lock-keepers worked two chambers at a time. For our last night we were out in remote country, looking across vineyards to a hilltop village and beyond towards the Espinouse mountains.
The morning run to Capestang was particularly lovely, through shady plane tree reaches and the pretty village of Poilhès where several British boats have found an enviable base. The foothills of the Pyrenees loomed ahead, a romantic sight as we snaked around bends into Capestang. A berth was reserved for us next to the France Afloat office and Ludovic Le Cam welcomed us alongside with a beaming smile. Warm sunshine continued to the end, even for our return Biscay crossing, and we reached Devon with our winter batteries fully charged.