falmouth to Brittany
The rocky Breton coastline can appear challenging, but study the charts and tidal atlas and it can be a calm sail, says Jason Lawrence
Our guide to crossing the Western Approaches
How do you measure sailing experience? For most of us it will be harbours visited and miles logged. But there’s more to it than just numbers; certain stretches of water pose unique challenges and their reputations hold a strange power in the minds of all who set sail.
Completing one of these passages is an initiation, a rite of passage, that engenders the respect of others and a new self-confidence. With a nod to the 1980s YM book, Classic Passages, the Royal Cruising Club Pilotage Foundation and Imray have collated some of the milestone passages through and around British waters that should be on every cruising sailor’s to-do list. So how many have you done? This article is from the series Rites of Passage, commissioned by Yachting Monthly, the Royal Cruising Club Pilotage Foundation and Imray, which will be available as a book in 2020.
Thoughts of new lands beyond the distant horizon are pretty appealing. It’s one thing to mosey down the south coast experiencing slight variations of a familiar theme, quite another to make landfall in a completely different country. Such a passage always feels rewarding, with the expectation of new exploration and cultural delectation beyond.
My destination was L’aber Wrac’h, 90-odd miles from Falmouth, the gateway to the Chenal du Four. At a speed of 6 knots it looked likely to take around 15 hours. Having looked at the charts and read the pilot the entrance looked tricky, with leading lines, marks to make, and narrow channels through a mass of rocks, with disaster waiting on the slightest mistake. Sitting in Falmouth it looked daunting. How much did I really want to go to L’aber Wrac’h? On arrival I would definitely want the assistance of daylight, and with French time being BST +1 hour I would also want plenty of time to secure my S&S 35 Slamat safely alongside before securing myself a table in a nearby restaurant. So, assuming I hoped to arrive at 1600 BST, I would need to leave Falmouth by 0100. The tide would be flooding, and in the forecasted easterly winds I could expect wind against tide and a lumpy sea, but that was as it was. With the alarm set for midnight I set out for dinner ashore — fish and chips at the Harbour Lights.
I was on the northern wharf of Falmouth Haven Marina, and with many moored boats close by it would require a careful exit from the berth, but the wind was light in the protection of the harbour. After making coffee I slowly sprung the bows off and tiptoed through the moorings to the clearer water of the channel out to Carrick Roads. Motoring gently, I raised the main with one reef in. With a good Force 4 I had no need to be overburdened.
I had noted a number of fishing buoys in the western entrance, so I chose to sail down the main channel and out past St Anthony Head to ensure no
I could now look forward to short day passages, interesting navigation and remote anchorages
early calamity. Once we were into the wind and swell Slamat was quite lively, so I shortened the headsail to ease the motion and settled down to navigate past various obstructions; a charted tidal power obstruction and some anchored shipping.
By 0130 we were clear ahead, out past the 50m contour, and the seas moderated to a comfortable 1-1.5m with the wind from the east at 14 knots. We were close hauled, but making 175º and on course for L’aber Wrac’h. With the Lizard Point light over my right shoulder we were free of the lee shore and I was happy with our progress, clocking over 6 knots. By 0500 we were crossing the west-going shipping, and there were plenty of working fishing boats to keep me busy. I was glad of the AIS to help make sense of them all.
Time for a coffee, then dawn! And with the wind backing I could crack off, reducing the heel and improving comfort. The wind vane was working well, so with a clear horizon I settled down for a short nap. By 0800 the wind had eased and backed further, so I shook out the reef and we pushed on, making over 7 knots and bettering our average.
Now over halfway, we were making very good progress. The sun had come out, the water a jade green, and with the wind on the beam we were having a great sail. We were starting to see some eastbound shipping, which we expected to see more of. There were little clusters of fishing boats but nothing too concerning, so it was time for some ship’s lunch; bread, pâté, cheese, cold meats and pickles... lovely.
Early afternoon saw conditions change. The wind was increasing and with the tide setting to the east again the sea was getting up. It was now blowing Force 5 and quite lumpy. I put in a reef and approached the coast with caution. The French coast is littered with rocks but the dangers are well marked, it’s just a case of finding the right beacon. By 1400, with 20 odd miles to go, I could clearly see a large obelisk on the horizon. I took this to be the light tower Île Vierge, and I knew that L’aber Wrac’h entrance was about 3 miles to the west. The first
I put in a reef and approached the coast with caution
mark I was looking for was the Libenter westerly cardinal mark. I found it and left it to port, giving the outlying rocks to the north a good berth. In the lee of the rocks, the seas quickly moderated. Despite my earlier anxieties, the entrance was actually quite straightforward. From Libenter it was just a question of following the Grand Chenal leading marks in on about 100ºt to Plate port hand beacon, and then turning south-east down the broad, well-marked channel to the marina.
It was now blowing 25 knots, so I rounded up and dropped the main early. I planned on an inside berth on the visitors’ pontoon, facing upriver and east-south-east into the wind. This would be port side to, but meant turning around in the restricted space inside the marina and my Volvo engine kicks to starboard. With much throttle and tiller movement I managed to push the bows round into the wind and gently glide alongside and at 1700 BST I turned off the engine, very happy to be safely tucked up in L’aber Wrac’h. We had covered 101 miles on the GPS over some 16.5 hours dock to dock.
There is something elemental about West Brittany, with her rugged granite coastline and strong tides. Ashore, there is a distinct village feel, far removed from the beaten track, centred around sailing and the sea, good food and its production. I could now look forward to short day passages, interesting navigation, and remote anchorages, interspersed with town marinas where I would dust off my French and break out the euros.
It was time to freshen up and then head out for dinner: ‘Une douzaine d’huîtres, salade de Chèvre et un petit café noir s’il vous plaît!’