Home waters: From Brittany to Holyhead
When Alan Burns decided it was time to bring his boat home from France, the passage provided the best and worst sailing has to offer
Alan Burns’ voyage home from France provided the best and worst sailing can offer
I t was time for a change. My wife Sheila and I wanted to return to our favourite sailing area on the Clyde, having enjoyed cruising in South Brittany since 2009. The mooring for our Bavaria 34 Saloma at Foleux was very economical but even so, the time and cost of getting to Brittany could not be justified for two three-week holidays each year. It was time to sail home.
Luckily, sailing friends Nigel and Sarah Robinson volunteered to accompany me for the first two weeks of the trip, as Sheila, who was supervising building work at home, was unable to join me. I reckoned two weeks would be plenty of time to sail to Saint-Malo, and visit many places I had never seen, before hopping across the Channel. It was also a convenient ferry port that my sons could arrive at, from where we could visit the Channel Islands followed by a crossing to Plymouth. They would then depart home to Liverpool and my other crew Peter and Glenn, who I had met in our local pub, would arrive from Yorkshire for the final leg north.
With provisioning done, we locked out of Foleux and decided to push on to Port Tudy on Île de Groix. After motorsailing initially, the wind filled in and we enjoyed a cracking reach, at times over seven knots, arriving off Port Tudy by 1730. The high point of our day was being passed by the Paprec racing trimaran, which was almost airborne.
At Le Guilvinec the surf on the rocks as we approached suggest that you may think twice about making this your landfall in heavy weather, but obviously the fishing fleet
use it daily. The size and number of trawlers left a lasting impression as they are in such contrast to the decline of our fishing industry at home. From there, we passed the spectacular rocks of Pointe du Raz and through the Raz de Sein at low water and made for Camaret, where we refuelled before sailing on to L’Aber Wrac’h.
Saturday had to be a big day as we wanted to get to Tréguier. We managed to leave at 0620, very early for us, but it soon became obvious that we would not make it and our alternative of Perros-Guirec would not open its lock gate until 2030. With time to spare we entered the beautiful bay surrounded by sandy beaches at Tregastel Plage.
Now I have to make a confession, as at the time we thought we were entering the approaches to Perros-Guirec – a way off from Trégastel. I prefer to enter waypoints as ‘Go to Cursor’. This works very well when I am the only person using the chartplotter but on this occasion there was more than one set of fingers pushing the buttons and between us we managed to place our destination waypoint near to the wrong green buoy. Despite this, Trégastel turned out to be a wonderfully peaceful mistake while waiting for the tide.
On the next leg to Saint-QuayPortrieux, tiresomely under engine again, we were joined by a very tired racing pigeon. He stayed with us for the rest of the day, but we learned that if you give a pigeon plenty to drink it will mess all over your cockpit!
Saint-Quay-Portrieux has a great marina and a wonderful town. The weather took a turn for the worse with high winds forecast for the rest of the week and so it was time to take stock and reconsider our passage plan.
I reorganised to collect my sons by car from Saint-Malo on Sunday morning 14 June, which left plenty of time to get the car back to Nigel and Sarah for their own journey home.
We left Saint-Quay-Portrieux on Monday morning and headed for Guernsey. With the wind light and from the north-east we were motor-sailing again. Not too far out, we came across a small fishing fleet that was trawling across our course. To sail clear of the area would have involved a long detour so I decided to continue through the fleet, steering to pass clear behind each vessel and its gear. This was working well until the engine groaned and the boat slowed. We had picked up something on the prop. I knocked the engine into neutral and took stock of our situation. The wind was light so we would struggle to keep clear of the closing fishing boats. I engaged gear and tried first slow ahead and then slow
reverse and although there was some vibration we were able to manoeuvre. Whatever we had picked up, the rope cutter was doing its job and as we cleared the fishing fleet the vibration reduced. It later turned out to be not a fishing net but a nylon sack, with a neat hole cut in it by the rope cutter.
On the south coast of Guernsey we found reasonable shelter but had to anchor in 13 metres to keep us clear of the rocky shoreline. On the Tuesday morning we were enjoying warm sunshine but no wind so we motored across to Sark and dropped our anchor in eight metres at La Grande Grève, close under the causeway between Sark and Little Sark. This is a magical spot with a white sandy beach and access up a very steep set of steps to the causeway. It is delightful, and almost deserted; you feel as if you have gone back in time and nothing is in a hurry except the very large tides, which are in evidence at the harbours on the east side of the island.
It was so hot that when we returned to the boat I was encouraged to take a swim, albeit with a shorty wetsuit. A few beers and the odd gin and tonic later, we remembered that we had only 40cm under the keel at low water. It seemed prudent to move out into deeper water before settling in for the night. I was on the helm and we moved out a fair distance but I did not redo the tidal calculations on the basis that we were all right with the lunchtime low. With the added safety margin of moving further out, what could go wrong?
It was a wonderful summer evening and we enjoyed a great meal cooked by Gary and consumed with the obligatory bottle of wine followed by a small malt to round off the evening. We retired happy with not a breath of wind or a ripple on the water.
In the early hours of the morning I awoke as Saloma fell over. She did it ever so gently but this was not supposed to happen! We would not be able to get off into deeper water. By now we were all awake and in mild panic. We checked we had not dragged and we checked with our head torches and searchlight that we were on a sandy bottom. I shut off the seacocks on the starboard side as we heeled to starboard and removed the floorboards to monitor any possible leakage at the keel bolts. I then switched on the chartplotter and checked how long it would be to Low Water and how much further Saloma would have to drop. We were going to have to wait 45 minutes to Low Water so there was nothing else we could do except put the kettle on and keep a careful eye on the tip of our rudder.
Having done everything we could think of, our thoughts turned to what had happened. Saloma has a very large bulb at the base of her keel and she had balanced on it. As she is stern-heavy she sat back on her broad aft section, until the water level had fallen enough for that balance to be lost. The tidal data confirmed that the overnight tide was lower than the lunch tide by some 20cm and the barometer had risen quickly, resulting in a much bigger difference than I
‘ I awoke as the boat fell over. This was not supposed to happen!’
had anticipated. I should have checked the depth of water at the time we re-anchored, rather than taking such a casual approach. Once upright we returned to our bunks where I had time to contemplate the ribbing I was likely to get from Gary and Simon.
Once in St Peter Port, the forecast for the Channel for Thursday foretold fog but overnight on Wednesday the wind would be stronger and we thought the visibility would be better. We wanted to sail for Salcombe and, as we have radar and AIS and had crossed in poor visibility before, we felt that we were capable of staying out of trouble. We left the shelter of Guernsey at 1900. The wind increased and veered north-west and with the east going tide we were struggling to keep clear of the traffic separation zone. The visibility was bad; the radar showed a ship inside one mile, but we could see nothing. At this point the AIS decided to stop functioning. A wise man would probably have turned back, but we still had the radar and the belief that we could keep ourselves out of trouble.
On our approach to the shipping lanes we took care to adjust our speed to pass close behind two approaching ships. The first passed clear ahead by one mile and we had adjusted our speed to allow the second ship to do likewise. I was at the chart table monitoring the ship's progress when she made a sudden turn to starboard and headed straight for us. Our engine was ticking over while we waited for the ship to pass clear ahead. I called up to Simon to open the throttle and get as much speed as possible on our current course. I watched on the radar as the ship crossed close astern. On deck, Simon could see her port light way above him.
This was the second time I had crossed the Channel in very poor visibility and this was the second time I had been too close to a ship to claim that all was well. If we had been less diligent we could have been run down.
The rest of our 75-mile passage to Salcombe was a hard slog to windward but as dawn broke and the sky cleared we ended with a fantastic beat, arriving at the bar at low water. Although I knew the bar from a visit here in 2008 we dropped sail and motored in slowly but never found less than 1.4 meters under the keel. We were given a great welcome by the harbourmaster who appreciated that we had just completed a difficult crossing and kindly invited us to tie up at the town pontoon. ‘Don’t rush, lads, we’re not very busy so just take your time’, he said. We tied up and opened three cold beers; the sun was shining and England felt good.
Saturday was to be our last day sailing together and although the wind was on the nose we opted for a long starboard tack out to sea and hung on long enough to be able to tack for Plymouth and free off a little. We could see other boats doing
what we had been doing for weeks, motor-sailing along the coast. With the wind a steady 15 to 18 knots off the land, giving us a kind sea, we arrived at Plymouth before them despite the extra distance sailed. The thought crossed my mind that maybe we could have sailed further and used the engine less. The shortest distance is not always the quickest route.
We had reserved a berth at Queen Anne’s Battery and after refuelling we were given directions to our berth. Before we had tied off our lines we were greeted by marina staff proffering bottles of cold beer. When asked what the occasion was we were told they were celebrating Father’s Day but had started a day early.
Sunday was Father’s Day and my sons gave me a card and a rather nice bottle of 47 per cent gin from Guernsey. I opened the card, the front of which read, ‘To the dad who can do anything’, and on the inside they had written, ‘Except park a boat’. Underneath was a little drawing of Saloma heeled over with her keel on the bottom. I knew I was never going to live it down and they had used the first opportunity to rub it in. It was a nice occasion on which to end our sail together, something we had not done since they were in their teens.
We said our goodbyes about midday and I had two hours to provision
Saloma before my Yorkshiremen arrived. Peter and Glenn got in midafternoon and were immediately greeted by the same marina staff handing out free beer for Father’s Day. I suggested that tomorrow could be a simple daysail of about 40 miles to the Helford River. We had never sailed together before, I wanted to see how we got on before planning further.
We left Plymouth at 0930 and picked up a visitors’ buoy on the Helford at 1630, as close to the Shipwright’s Arms as possible. I checked Reeds Almanac to see the best way to tackle Land’s End, which recommended we be off the Runnel Stone two hours before High Water Dover. We actually arrived at 1330 but had no problem with the tide. We stayed so close to the rocks that we could see holidaymakers at the Minack open-air theatre at Porthcurno and on the beach at Sennen Cove. At 1600 we left the coast, steering northeast for the 68 miles to Lundy Island.
On my watch from midnight I had been accompanied for some time by a pod of playful dolphins. I was so distracted by their antics that I didn't see a pair of pot markers. These were the only objects we saw on the crossing to Lundy and were in 55 metres of water. Saloma just headed straight between them as if entering a farm gate and both disappeared instantly. This was followed by a horrible change in engine note, but the rope cutter did its job and the debris was left for the next unsuspecting mariner. I assume the pot markers had simply floated out into the Bristol Channel.
As the dawn broke we were approaching Lundy in a flat calm. I had long wanted to visit the island and as we had plenty of time and fair conditions we could afford to stop. We spent Wednesday walking the island’s coast as far as Middle Wall, visiting the lighthouse and the quirky building that serves as café, bar and library.
From Lundy we carried the tide all the way to St David’s Head and then on to Fishguard, arriving just on High Water. We could
not find anywhere with enough depth close in, other than in the fairway, so anchored just off the headland at Castle Point. The long dinghy run ashore was made worthwhile by the warm welcome at Fishguard Sailing Club and the wonderful fish and chips, though these required a long walk up a very steep hill to the town.
Heading north, we had a boisterous sail and when we arrived at Pwllheli with 65 miles logged, it was blowing hard and I was struggling to spot the way in. As luck would have it a yacht appeared outbound from the entrance and I was able to watch her leave before making my approach.
For the final leg of the trip on Saturday, the wind was over 20 knots, gusting nearer 30 and blowing from the west. We were slamming into big seas off the headlands and I realised that my decision to go into Pwllheli had been a mistake. I should have gone from Fishguard through Bardsey Sound and into Porth Dinllaen.
Conditions improved as we turned further north into Bardsey Sound and we had a fantastic sail up to Holyhead. As we reached around North Stack we were in double figures with a peak of 11.6 knots as Saloma surfed the waves.
Peter and Glenn are ex-firemen, recently retired, and I have to say that they were a pleasure to sail with. We laughed for a week; we never had a disagreement, despite me being a Lancastrian and they from Yorkshire.
Holyhead was to offer up one final surprise, however. It was their summer regatta weekend and they had organised a band with everyone in party mood. Many sailors and friends from my own Liverpool Yacht Club were there and it felt as if we were getting a right welcome home, even though it wasn’t really for us.
Our meal in the club’s restaurant rounded off what had been a very enjoyable four weeks of sailing with the best of company and I extend my thanks to Nigel and Sarah, my sons Gary and Simon and the Yorkshire contingent Peter and Glenn. We had covered the best part of 800 miles.