#1 2011-09-25 10:32:09

Sue_Doyle
Member
Registered: 2006-02-28
Posts: 10

QUE SERA’s Summer Cruise 2007 (V30)

Que Sera’s Summer Cruise 2007
by Sue Doyle

I hadn’t intended to write up my summer cruise this year. I was so disappointed that the awful weather meant that I didn’t make my objective of La Rochelle. However reading that no one had entered a log for the Cruising Log competition and as I enjoy reading of other people’s trips, I thought I’d better have a go at producing something!

On Thursday 24th May we set off into a lovely evening, slowly beating down the West Solent to a moon and starlight anchorage at Newtown Creek. We were- me, the boat and my first week’s crew, Mike.

Friday afternoon we anchored in Studland Bay but by 22.00 the wind had picked up so much that a quiet night’s sleep seemed unlikely. So we up-anchored and  headed into Poole Harbour on the ebbing tide. Creeping down a steadily shallowing South Deep with Mike holding the torch, I peered at the chart for the light characteristics of each beacon and wondered if I was wise but soon we were anchored off Goater Point and slept beautifully.

Up at six the next day, we set off with one reef in and hammered around the inshore passage to Weymouth. The sun shone, the sea was flat and a ground speed of 9.8kts was amazing as we rounded the headlands. We had three hours where we averaged seven knots, wow, never done that before!

We saw a Frances 26 “Alouette” sailing in the bay and thought good, there are probably a lot of boats in Weymouth at the Victoria Association rally.

Sadly when we rafted alongside “Jenter” we learned that there were just the two of us! Alouette had been heading away. Still we had a convivial evening out and several more get together’s while we waited out a two day gale…..a taste of things to come! The manic goings on of the Weymouth Trawler race and Birdman displays were a bit of a consolation though.

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A Brixham Trawler

The crossing of Lyme Bay to Brixham turned out to be a brisk beat against a SW  F5/6 and the waves coming over the bow got in through a leak I had been unable to trace and soaked my sleeping bag and clothes. It took £10 in the laundrette to put things right and after that I had to live with a horrible cluster of black bin liners. I decided that after this trip something drastic had to be done to sort it.

Anchoring below the Anchorstone in the Dart a few days later took several goes. The pool was so steep sided we tried about three times before I was happy with our position. We would anchor in 5m then swing between 1m and 15m. The reward for our persistence was two seals cavorting around the boat.

My crew left on the steam train the next day, June 1st, and I availed myself of the free town showers and topped up with supplies. In the afternoon I had a walk around Dittisham and checked that the free showers in the nearby park were still operational.  Other facilities were more expensive - £1.60 to disembark from my dinghy at the Greenway steps, but I enjoyed my sunny walk amongst the trees of Agatha Christie’s estate.

Three nights at anchor higher up the Dart at Sharpham Reach followed, with a delicious lunch when I visited the Sharpham Vineyard and a high tide exploration of the lovely riverside village of Stoke Gabriel.

Salcombe was next but almost proved my undoing. I anchored in my usual place up at Frogmore Creek and a couple of days later I set off to explore some of the footpaths along its shores. Along the foreshore near the start of the path I slipped on the seaweed and wrenched my ankle badly. After half an hour recovering, I crawled back to my dinghy, clambered aboard Que Sera somehow and collapsed in the cockpit. During the night my foot burned like fire and I expected to have to ask the harbour master to get me to a hospital, secure the boat and junk my trip.

However in the morning the pain had eased a little. (NB it still hurts now in November!) There was no wind so I thought I could probably motor to Plymouth where my family could help me. Once there I anchored in Barn Pool overnight then in the morning crossed to Mayflower Marina to book work on my autohelm socket.

I wandered up and down the Tamar for a few days but couldn’t walk ashore at all because of my foot and frankly the grotty weather wasn’t tempting.

I anchored at Cothele but on a single anchor this year. It worked out OK except once the keel caught on the mud as the tide came up. She began to lean but the wash of a passing motor boat happily washed her off. I visited family.

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Old lime kiln at Cothele

Later while my boat was worked on I met up with several other single handers in the launderette and we boat visited in the rain. Sally and dog Dougall were singlehanding a new Contessa 32 and we met up several times as we all headed west.

On June 18th Chris, my new crew, arrived but gales were still preventing a cross channel trip so we went up to the Dandy Hole, a normally peaceful anchorage. However we had two waves of 30 black- clad, machine gun totting marines arrive in RIBS and disappear into the trees. Two larger military craft came in and anchored nearby. In the morning a helicopter made at least eight low passes starting a 6am! That and a dinghy rescue for a neighbouring boat made it an exciting stay.

Further gales were forecast, my crew’s wife visited us on the quay at Cothele, in heaving rain. Down the river at Weir Quay waves of a foot and a half high swished through the moorings and boats tossed to their buoys – including surprise, surprise “Sixthsense” a boat from Ashlett, my sailing club. Deciding to forgo that discomfort we went round the corner to anchor in Pentille reach and spent two peaceful days albeit with pouring rain.

After a night at Jubilee Pontoon, the 12 hrs free facility at Saltash, and a top up of supplies, we sailed out into Plymouth Sound to practise putting in a third reef and to let my crew Chris renew his acquaintance with the Que Sera’s bits and pieces.

On Saturday 23rd June we set off to cross channel. However the wind was not as forecast and it looked like a beat to France. This was not what I wanted. By the time a second reef was called for I was sick and decided to abort and head for Fowey instead. There to our surprise we met Sally again. I recovered, and a drink or three at the yacht club together ensured a sound nights sleep. More gales, days of boat visiting, cream teas, strolls to Menabilly and various churches followed.

Then a break in the weather and in company with Sally, we made a quick F5/6 trip to Falmouth. There followed twelve days waiting for a forecast good enough to cross channel. There was no where else to go. At least from here it was only 97 miles to L’Aberwrac’h . More gales, museum visits, bus trips and boat visiting to others waiting variously for France or the Scillies.

I went to the hospital to have my foot checked out (an avulsion fracture - treat like a sprain). We dried the boat out on an old quay up Lamouth Creek and gave her a scrub and generally tried to keep ourselves amused.

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Dried out at Lamouth Creek

Interestingly the best moules of the whole trip were from Truro museum – moules with coriander sauce – delicious. And did you know you can get pasties with chicken and asparagus, Thai salmon, spicy chickpea, curried parsnip, chocolate and banana, to name a few.

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Saturday 7th July was nice! We were going to try the Helford but went to France instead! At last! We sailed and motored from 11am through to about 8am the next morning.

We had a few moments of confusion at our landfall when we were looking hard for the Libenter cardinal buoy but saw several white flashing lights which were not on the chart. These eventually turned out to be big wind generators on a hill whose turning blades were catching the rising sun!

The L’Aberwrac’h estuary was beautiful, full of small sand fringed islands and islets rather reminiscent of the Scillies, a wonderful place to explore in a sailing dinghy.

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Island near L'Aberwrac'h

More poor weather meant a two day wait until we could tackle the Chanel du Four. The various forecasts conflicted so we picked the best one and got a westerly F2 down past the interesting lighthouses, marks and a rugged coast and into the huge Brest marina. On the way out of L’Aberwrac’h it was really exciting to see Tui coming in! (Another Victoria 30 and a club member) What a shame we couldn’t stop and meet up.

I left for a week back in Southampton then came back to find Chris had had a good time in the Rade but with mixed weather.

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Vauban fort at Cameret

Cameret was the next point of call and we enjoyed looking at a Vauban fort glowing pink in the fading light. Then it was off down the Raz de Sein. We tried flying the cruising chute as we left Cameret but there was not enough wind to keep it up. So we motored past the succession of ragged islands across the Baie du Douarnenez, down past the Raz’s jagged rocks into the port of St Evette until the tide gave us access to Audierne.

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La Viette and La PLate in the Raz de Sein

The harbour master whistled to get our attention then sang the song “Que Sera” as we came in and he pointed out our berth. We spent three days here visiting the beach, the markets, riding bikes into the countryside, and taking the dinghy up the river to Port Croix.  We went to a festival where there was singing, cider, crepes, frites and grilled sardines. A Breton piper played down the pontoon in the evening.

We had a horrible trip to Loctudy, motoring into a headwind round a lumpy Pointe de Penmarc’h. I couldn’t even get very excited about a huge sunfish off the point until it was all over. It was a relief as we slowly came off the wind and could use the staysail and made 5kts with it alone. Getting in at 9pm we could only find space on the outside of the wavebreak and spent an uncomfortable night. The next day the Biscay forecast was F8/9 so we stayed put!

The local fish market gave a display of fish preparation which took our interest despite the language difficulty. A skate and a dogfish were gutted and sliced by shy local fishermen and at the end we were each handed a tray of langoustines, yum! We availed ourselves of the free bikes from the Capitanarie and cycled to the supermarket, wobbling back loaded down with fresh veg and a bottle or two of cider. Next day we took the ferry across the harbour entrance to the Ile d’ Tudy and walked along the vast beach front towards Benodet and then came back through the houses. I have to say most of the Brittany houses were pretty boring, all characterless white, chalet bungalows. Many of the old buildings too had been restored beyond all sense of time.

The fish were very noisy during the night, bumping and chewing against the hull.

We set off into a grey day for our trip to the Ile de Groix. It’s always so much easier finding your way out of a place than the slightly anxious time coming in, so we had leisure to admire the black and white chequered lighthouse called Les Perdrix, at the entrance to Lochtudy. The Brittany coast is peppered with unique lighthouses.

It got pretty windy once out of the shelter of the bay and we had two reefs and the staysail for the five hours to the little island’s Port Tudy averaging six knots. We saw nothing of our surroundings in the grey mist, none of the nearby islands but happily the harbour walls appeared where they were supposed to and a girl in a dory met us.

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Ile de Tudy

She told us we would have to stay in the outer harbour as the marina and inner harbour were full. She helped us tie fore and aft to large buoys and as we tidied up we watched in amazement as more and more yachts arrived and were packed into the harbour. We had a boat rafted either side of us, five moored up behind with more on buoys to the side. Then a large ferry moored to the wall. No chance of leaving in a hurry then!

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Ok. Who wants to leave?

Later we saw notices of a yacht rally of 170 boats which meant a rolling closure of ports from Tudy to southwards. Imagine arriving to be faced unexpectedly with that!

Next day another fast reach in gloom took us to Belle Ile and it’s port Le Palais.

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Vauban's fort in Belle Ile

Tucking in under the looming walls of another Vauban fort we kept our eyes peeled for the large ferries which have priority as they manoeuvre in the tight confines of the harbour. We went through to the inner harbour, a sort of canalised area packed with boats and rafted fourth boat out.

Apparently when it is really busy you could walk from one side to the other on the boats. We were staying for several days to do chores (first find the supermarket, bank and laundrette) and to explore. The circular bus trips one to the south and one to the north showed a landscape fairly similar to the mainland – small fields with scrubby edges but with the added beauty of golden beaches and rocky seascapes.

In the evening we dressed up for a concert in the fort. It was a little “soiree” with about 50 people sat around the grand piano. We enjoyed hearing young lady pianist, violinist and singer then a trio of violinist and older male, cellist and oboe players. These appeared to be the teachers of the youngsters. It was very atmospheric in the vast, timber roofed stone hall. On exploring the fort in the morning I was impressed by the wonderful view from the top out to the Quiberon Bay and the islands of Houat and Hoedic which we didn’t see on the way in as it was so misty, by the gardens which took the starkness out of the 40’ stone walls, and the maze of dungeons, holes and cellars. Tucked away in unexpected places were sculptures like a lifesize black plywood car up on a roof, a baby with a horse in it’s mouth, and a cobweb of wires filling a room.

After a lovely sunny sail into a bay full of yachts we negotiated our way into La Trinite sur Mer. It was packed and we ended up rafted on a wavebreak hoping the wind didn’t go SE, but we enjoyed another festival that evening. We were getting the hang of this and went straight to the ticket queue then off to get our plates of moules and frites. Yet another male voice choir singing incomprehensible chansons was a bit tedious though.

We were here to fulfil Chris’s ambition to see the Carnac alignments. The what??

The petit train took us out into the countryside and along the three kilometres of standing stones set in about thirteen rows and older than Stonehenge. At various places there were other features, menhirs- larger stones, dolmens- burial chambers and towers.

The next day we hired bikes and had another more leisurely look and found the great menhir deep in the piney woods with their dappled shade. We cycled back along a country road and found the Chapelle Madeleine a small, ancient church which was looked after by the local people and opened between 4-7 every Thursday!

Responding to a brisk knock on the coach roof the next day I was taken aback to see two uniformed officers, the Customs were paying a visit. After a brief flurry of being all fingers and thumbs I found what they wanted to see – our passports and the boat’s SSR papers. A little white card he said helpfully as I fumbled through the wrong folder. When all was well he proffered a receipt and advised I keep it as it could be useful next time customs come aboard. Well that was a first!

A little boat repair was due and while Chris rewired the autohelm I strengthened the bearers to the hatch cover to the engine seacock. Then off to the challenging entrance to the Golfe du Morbihan. We whooshed and rolled at speed (9.5kts) past Port Navalo and the islands of Longue, Gavarinis and Jument then out into the open area near Ile aux Moines. We dropped anchor in the bay near another English long keeler with an anxious lady aboard who told us how strong and swirly the tides were and watched us surreptitiously all day.

Cycling the island roads the next day with many others tourists, we saw more menhirs, cromlecks and dolmens and viewed the wealth of small anchorages amongst further islands. As the wind was forecast to go northwest we moved round to the east side of the only other publicly accessible island, the Ile des Artz.  We began our interest in the day signals exhibited by boats. Most of the British boats showed a black ball at anchor but with about 30 yachts in the anchorage only three of us used a light at night. We watched one poor soul trying to anchor. He put down the hook innumerable times all over the anchorage but was never happy with it. We couldn’t really tell what the problem was as it looked a very easy place to us. Possibly he never put out enough chain. Eventually he gave up and found a vacant buoy.

The village was old, small and pretty with a bit of character in its minute gardens inside stone walls - a lot like St Agnes in the Scillies. I had a walk from coast to coast and out to the ferry terminal at the north end which was heaving with people.  I walked round the more peaceful coast path of the eastern shore and enjoyed the sight of five white ibis flying overhead and I met a young man picking samphire. This is a small, almost translucent saltmarsh plant and to prepare it he said he boiled it for ten minutes, interesting, I must try it.

When the Ile de Artz anchorage looked like being exposed to an easterly, we headed for the Conleau narrows in the north east of the inland sea but it was solid with moorings (and ferries and swimmers!)  so squeezing back out we headed up the canal entrance to nearby Vannes, a beautiful old town with ancient buildings and lovely floral displays. Our one and only spell of hot weather began. We had three days! I even put up an awning to shade the cockpit.

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Timber framed houses in old Vannes

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Flowers and the Flying Ferret, Vannes

From our finger berth right in the town I explored the inevitable market then took the petit train around the medieval buildings, the old wash houses and shops. The Halle de Lice held colourful piles of beautiful fresh fish and shellfish of all descriptions, mountains of aubergine, courgettes, vine tomatoes, curly lettuce and onions, and the aroma of nectarines, peaches, figs and apples filled the air. And the multitude of different cheeses, of sausages, of breads! It was hard not to over do the victualing ship!!

The city fathers were busy building an underground car park right on the edge of the marina. It was to be on three levels and their hole was already 17m deep – funding from the EEC!

We enjoyed drinks with our neighbours, an English couple and their daughter who were exploring the Golfe in their little Winkle Brig, having trailed it from the UK and we went to a piano recital in a converted church.
   
After another overnight anchorage off the south of the Ile de Moines we took the last of the ebb to motor cautiously back round the top of

Jument up between Berder and Gavarnis where my back transit was lost in the trees, to the Ile de Radenec, where I went briefly, but heartstoppingly aground then out by the Grande Vezid and into the R Auray, George Millar’s “Oyster River”. We couldn’t make Auray town until the next day and as all the buoys up near Bono were full and the pilot said there was no room to anchor here, we did a rather unconventional tie up to a very long trot line. Next morning up on the flood to Auray we saw there was quite a bit of room to anchor after all, enough for five or six boats.

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Moored to trots in Auray

Old Auray was charming and new Auray at the top of a steep hill had all the conveniences of a town, once you negotiated a way through the inevitable market tat of North African handicrafts, Indian bags, duck and olive patterned fabrics, heaped bras and jewellery. We had fun following the ‘flying ferret’ the symbol of the area represented in brass buttons set into the pavements. I did another petit train ride but it was not good weather to be out. The rain was almost horizontal and the passengers all hunched into the middle as much as possible and we pulled macs around ourselves and wished to be home.

This was as far as we were to go. The delay at the start and the commitment to friends joining us in Brest at the end on the month meant we should begin to wend our way back.

So on August 8th we sailed for Port Haliguen on the Quiberon peninsula. It was busy, Que Sera became second boat out in a raft of five with six rafted front and back. My enjoyment of watching three beautiful, feisty lizards on the rock embankments of the marina were tempered by thoughts of the next morning’s challenge to roust out three French boats so we could leave at eight o’clock for Lorient.

At 7.30 I knocked on three coach roofs and in my best French “nous partir huit heure s’il vous plait”. I persisted and with 30 minutes to move lines and boats and about twelve people helping we left at eight o’clock. Chris said he reckoned they were impressed we actually achieved it.

Sailing first down wind with the chute up we got through the Passage de Teignouse at the end of the Quiberon peninsula, then we turned east and had to motor a while.

As the wind filled in from ahead we got the big yellow ghoster up for the first time of the trip. Unusually I had left my mobile phone on and to my surprise it rang. Ghoster up, helm in one hand, phone in the other I took a call from my son recently arrived in Singapore, pretty incredible technology.

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The ghoster

Lorient was the most expensive marina yet at 25 euros but there were free bikes, free internet and a lady came down to the boat to take our morning croissant order. A RIB delivered our laundry too!

We were here to take in the Interceltic Festival. Scotland was in focus this year and we sat and listened to two sets of gaelic songs, then it was dance time!

If you have ever danced the Strip the Willow you will know it’s more of an extreme, endurance sport than a dance and with the organiser’s determination to get everyone in the marquee involved, ie 40 plus couples, this was it, with bells on. As we got to the end of the set either Chris was kicked or something gave way and he limped off in agony. I grabbed a young French bystander who vainly said he’d never danced before and off we went again. This time by the end of the set I was on my knees and gave up and my partner having got into the swing of it by now eagerly looked for another partner.  I found Chris bruised and battered and we limped off to find crepes and cider and talked rugby to a French family on the long communal table.    

Chris being hors de combat, he rested up while I took the bus to the local Le Clerk and topped up the supplies. I eventually found the bus stop back. So in the afternoon I borrowed a bike and wandered through the suburbs to a lovely little beach and had a swim to chill out.

The weather was due to deteriorate (well I never!) so we planned to hide up the River Odet. We stayed overnight in Concarneau, rather exposed marina in Benodet Bay, the size and quantity of the snubbers on the local boats confirmed it’s vulnerability to SW winds but the seafood in town was the best ever, the oysters and langoustines, yum. The dessert I had was Dessert La Fay du Granny (guesses on a postcard to…..)

After a foray around my third Vauban fort we had an incident with the fresh water tanks. They leaked into the lockers and we spent the next weeks variously pumping out, drying, patching, filling, re pumping, drying, patching until at last with five patches we had the port tank at least usable. The starboard one we had to seal off and give up on- another winter job.

As we motored up the Odet we had 3-4 knots of tide with us and sometimes slid sideways round the corners. The river was deep and rocky so we noted possible mooring buoys on the pilot chart just in case our hidden anchorage was occupied by the intrepid French. I made a handbreak turn just as the Anse de St Cadou opened up and we swooshed through the narrow entrance avoiding a “rocky shelf to the south side and an isolated rock to the north side” into a wood fringed pool. We were in luck, only one other yacht was in there. We anchored where we had 1m at low water and sat there for three days and nights while the gales raged overhead. It was a beautiful spot. I saw a red squirrel in the trees. We tried to dry out on the inside (water tanks) and keep the water out from the outside – constant pouring rain.

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Secret anchorage

Leaving the Odet on August 16th we beat up the Penmarc’h peninsula then turned sharply to surf down into the small port of Le Guilvinec. We moored to a small pontoon beyond all the fishing boats and found from our French neighbours that it seemed to be free. We then had another go at the water tanks.

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Le Guilvinec

The next day we had a good sail to Audierne and on the Sunday walked or limped up river to the delightful little village of Port Croix. I saw a large green lizard sunning itself in the hedge with the smaller wall lizard resting its chin on it’s larger cousin’s back. We discussed with our neighbours the weather forecast for the trip up the Raz. It gave F3 in the morning and F5 in the afternoon. Both NW so on the nose unfortunately. I decided we would get up early and leave as soon as there was enough water, motor as fast as possible to get the last of the flood up the Raz.

We were then turning east into Douarnenez Bay so the wind would then be behind us. They opted for catching the full flood starting at 3pm as they were heading further north. I often wonder how they made out. At 6.30am it was darker than I anticipated but we crept out of the harbour almost 3 hours before HW, skimming the sand bar. Outside the visibility in drizzle was very poor and as we got close to the passage the lighthouses and marks appeared and disappeared in the murk. The Raz was lumpy but OK then as we turned east, just using the foresail, the wind slowly strengthened. We could see nothing of the land around the bay. We surfed down towards Douarnenez, slowly winding the yankee away as we did so.

The wind by now was at least F6. As we saw into the harbour my first thought was” good the visitor’s pontoon is empty” then “oh heck! the visitor’s pontoon is empty”. Everyone had bailed out. We tied up to it using all the fenders we had. I put two bow lines on as I thought my usual one was at risk of breaking. The bowsprit was dipping under and I asked Chris to keep the engine running and do the best he could to protect Que Sera while I took the pilot book and dashed into the Capitanerie to ask if there was somewhere safe we could go. As we wanted to go inside to Port Rhu when the sill dropped at 8pm, she offered us a berth alongside another English yacht, Saecwen, which was in a bit more shelter.

We got there safely and rafted up but the wind got up to gale force and there was no chance to leave our mooring when the sill opened.

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After the gale, Douarnenez

We doubled ropes and put out all fenders and stuck it out. By morning the wind came more north east and so we got some shelter from the island. With a line to our neighbour’s dinghy, and both going hard astern I got off our mooring and we made our way into the shelter of Port Rhu.

The renowned Douarnenez boat collection on the water was a little in need of tlc but the indoor museum was excellent. I especially liked the video clips of people making or using the boats on display and having to walk through a huge sardine can to access the sardine exhibit. Sad though to think that the now empty Douarnenez Bay was once full of fishing boats and millions of sardines.

It was time to head back to Cameret and on to Brest marina.

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Port Launay, below Chateaulin

Marian and Christine arrived excited and ready for their holiday. We somehow managed to stow all the kit and on the 27th August headed through the Rade de Brest and up the River Aulne to Chateaulin. We met up with some fierce gusts blowing down river and picking our way over the shallows was quite nerve wracking in places. We locked into the Nante canal and put up the cockpit tent to have somewhere to put the kit bags.

The “facilities”  in the small town at the limit of navigation were free, which was just as well as the shower turned out to be inside a quarter sized portacabin dumped on the grass verge beside the canal, the restaurants were good though.

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Guilly Glaz lock, River Aulne

The next day we left our mooring to get the lock as soon as it opened so we could get past the river shallow bits on the rising tide. We hoped to anchor in the river and at about 7pm we began trying to find a sheltered spot. This was really difficult. The gusts were strong and unpredictable and theoretically sheltered banks turned out to be not so. The side creeks were full of moorings and we started looking at mooring buoys too but they were in too shallow or looked too insubstantial. Eventually we went back up to a place near Kergadlen which I had tried earlier, where a stream had created a shallow shelf in the deep fast river. It had looked a bit too open on the first examination but we put down the hook and in fact had a lovely peaceful night in which to admire the full moon and stars.

During the next morning’s gusty sail to Cameret Christine was thrilled with the 7.3 knots she achieved, then on the 30th we moved on, up a lumpy Chenal du Four and back into L’Aberwrac’h.

My new crew wanted to explore Falmouth next so when we went to bed the plan was to cross back to there. However the 5.20am shipping forecast gave North Westerlies so it was to be Plymouth instead. We left at 8am and during that night’s passage we got headed for a while and I thought we were more likely to end up in Dartmouth but as dawn came we had made the Eddystone Light. We covered the 110 miles in 24hours, not bad. I had not managed to have my “100 days at sea” party but never mind, a meal out in the Barbican that evening did the job. Chris was whisked off home by his wife and us ladies explored the Tamar. I loved showing off my favourite “home” river and Que Sera anchored again at Pentille and the Dandy Hole. The sun shone!

I’ll skip the highlights of doing it all under sail at Cawsand, one crew falling in the water transferring from shore to dinghy at Newton Ferrers, the harbour master giving us a free ride to town from Frogmoor Creek and shower tokens each, not to mention being entertained by a boat to tractor-bucket transfer of a load of kids in Salcombe.

Between Salcombe and Brixham the tiller pilot packed up. I took it apart and a mangled o ring and bit of broken plastic fell out. I put it back together and it worked again! (The crew were impressed but I knew better.)

We arrived in Brixham where we moored outside of Ibis, a “restoration project” which didn’t do much good for my fenders but they had a lovely baby. Chris and his wife cooked us our first Sunday Roast for ages then my crew left.

The next day I left early for Weymouth, the next for Poole and I arrived in Newtown Creek in the Solent on the 11th September.

On Wednesday 12th September Que Sera was back in her creek. It was a beautiful day and lovely to be welcomed back.

Home safely but fingers crossed for better weather next year.

1,297 miles in 111 days.

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