La Rochelle

If you ever go to La Rochelle use the first rainy day to take a tour of the aquarium. And if you ever go to La Rochelle's aquarium, make sure you bring a pack lunch, a flask of coffee, and a bottle or two of water. Take the whole day to see everything, there is just so much. But it's a pity that such a magnificent attraction offers nothing by way of sustenance to its visitors. When you're hungry and thirsty it gets hard to stay interested.

But the aquarium is just one of La Rochelle's attractions. There is the maritime museum, there are those famous towers, there is the old city itself, and while we were there they were giving tours of the Aluminium 100 plus footer, “Tara”. A sailing boat built for arctic exploration, that had been deliberately sailed into the Arctic ice, and had crossed the north pole; or within a few miles of it; on the iceflow. The same boat had previously belonged to Sir Peter Blake, on which he'd met his fate at the hands of pirates in the Amazon.

For the boating enthusiast there is more. Not a mile down the road is Minimes, whose three thousand berth marina makes it a boat slum of biblical proportions, but with that comes an abundance of chandlers, boat builders, and marine suppliers of about every ilk.

But for me, the centre piece of this beautiful French city are the towers at the entrance to the old port, or Vieux Port. Both my previous visits to La Rochelle were by road, and from the first time I saw these magnificent structures it became a life's ambition to skipper my own boat between them. And so, on Friday the 27^th June 2008 I fulfilled this ambition.

We spent our first night in the Vieux Port, right in the heart of La Rochelle's tourist area. Surrounded on three sides by the bars and cafés, with their tables sprawling out onto the footpaths. We were just far enough away for the noise for it to be only a slight intrusion. However, we were planning to stay for a few days, so when the next day Christian, the port Captain, offered us a berth in the quieter Bassin des Chalutiers Ancien, we took it. Here, just a hundred yards from the centre was a practically empty marina with berthing spaces substantially more generous than even Dun Laoghaire's. Later we found out that this ancient trawlers basin had just reopened a few days before after a marina revamp.

Chalutiers would fill up while we were there, but initially we shared it with a couple of English motor boats, a couple of unoccupied sailing boats, “Tara”, and “Kondor”, from the National Yacht Club in Dun Laoghaire. Needless to say the Paddys weren't long getting together. I lost count of the number of crew on Kondor, but all I had to remember was the skipper's name was “Dermot” and everyone else was called “Joe”, with or without the “e” depending on gender.

With so few boats, and such large berthing spaces it was perfect to go practicing our marina manouvering, but somehow there was always something else to do, and then the place was full.

We spent longer than intended in La Rochelle on account of essential repairs, but this was no hardship, and we made full value of our time there.

On the 9^th July we left La Rochelle with bruised wallets having replaced the fridge. This was not foremost on our minds. Next stop Spain, across the Bay of Biscay, with its fearsome reputation for sudden storms and mountainous seas. It would prove an eventful trip.

Copyright © Pat Egan, 2008, All rights reserved.

Vannes & the Morbihan

The city of Vannes proclaims itself capital of the Morbihan, and dates back to Roman times. The Morbihan itself is an inland sea, about twice the size of Dublin Bay, with hundreds of Islands. A number of rivers flow into this sea, and these, combined with the narrow exit into the Bay of Biscay, lead to exciting currents of up to ten knots.

Entering we rode the incoming tide, just a few hundred yards as far as Ile Longue, and there we dropped our anchor for lunch and a lazy evening playing cards and monopoly. I was to be reminded of my inexperience the next day when we planned to go the rest of the way up to Vannes. I had been aware of the strong currents at the entrance, but for some reason it hadn't dawned on me that these went pretty much all the way up to Vannes.

So Thursday morning, we weighed anchor, and as I tidied up the bow of the boat, still snug in the anchorage, I caught sight of a sailing boat heading out of the Morbihan at what appeared to be an unnatural pace. As I watched another boat went racing by, followed by several more. They were going at at least 15 knots. Now these sailing boats just don't go that fast. The penny dropped, the current, and it was going the wrong way! We picked up a mooring buoy, played cards again until lunch, and took the afternoon tide up to Vannes.

The marina in Vannes is right in the heart of the old town. They need lock gates to ensure that there is sufficient water there to keep the boats afloat, so going in or getting out is restricted to around high tide. There is a road bridge, which is swung open to allow the boats in. When we went through, having queued with a dozen other boats, avoiding a collision was something of a challenge. The bridge operator was calling something to us : “deux cent dix-neuf” he repeated, our berth had been assigned. We were lucky, just two minutes walk from the town centre, yet far enough back down river to dull the town noises.

It was here in Vannes that we were to have our first visitors, Bill and Rita. Now Rita's boating ambitions don't go beyond drinks in the cockpit whilst firmly secured in the marina. However, these she fulfilled in some style, arriving not just with the champagne, but laden with chocolates and other gifts. The weather was perfect, we had two evenings sipping our pre-dinner champagne, sheltering from the hot continental sun under Aragorn's bimini.

Walking through Vannes' narrow streets, with the upper floors of the buildings tiered out over our heads, I found myself instinctively walking close in to the sides for fear of what might be coming from the windows above. It was amazing to wander through street after street of houses built hundreds of years ago, with the original wood still in the exterior walls.

Vannes was also Matthew's departure point. On Monday Bill and Rita took him to the airport in La Rochelle on the next leg of their own journey. Catherine and I took an evening walk down the river to reccy the lock gates and the swing bridge in our own time.

The next morning we left Vannes with the ebb tide, the massive current sent us racing through the Morbihan and flushed us into the Bay of Biscay. Without Matthew now, from here on there would be just the two of us.

Copyright © Pat Egan, 2008, All rights reserved.

Work, Work, Work!

“Your website hasn't been updated .... As you have so much time on your hands you should be able to update it more often.” Or “How is your extended holiday going .... all that lounging in the sun.” It's a common thread in the emails I have been receiving, and it's one that invokes a sense of indignation.

My reply is along the lines;

“We have had about as much time available as we had on the days immediately before our departure. The to do list goes on for 2 pages, and gets longer every day. We usually get to bed about midnight, rise about 8, and start working at 9. Recently we found a Carrefoure (big supermarket, think Cornelscourt times ten) - and spent 2 hours there, mostly noting what they have rather than buying the few bits that we got - and then had to carry everything home on our bikes. Before that I had to fix a puncture on my bike & Catherine's needed a bit of adjustment. Getting internet access is a daily challenge. I've been spending an hour or so every day trying to track down someone that can fix the fridge, or fit a new one. I am still working on fittings to attach the Dinghy to the back of the boat.

“We're enjoying it, and certainly not complaining, but "As you have so much time on your hands you should be able to update it more often" is a bit wide of the mark. And absolutely I am not looking for sympathy. If you're going to have an enforced stay somewhere, La Rochelle in June sure knocks the socks off rainy Dublin”.

We met an English couple on their boat here and they told us that they'd stopped here on their way south, but a succession of domestic issues brought them back to England repeatedly, until it was too late in the year and the weather was too bad. Three years later they're still here, and they're not complaining either. La Rochelle is the sort of place you could hang up your boots in for quite a while, but three years is not on our plan.

Then we went up the mast to change a light, and in the process managed to break 2 winches (long story), we're still waiting for the replacement parts. When I say "we" - I was up there for half an hour and came down knackered and in need of fresh underwear, it's sixty foot up a narrow pole. When I got down I realised I'd put the trilight on back to front. Catherine went up the second time, and in doing so elevated herself to Ellen MacArthur heights in the eyes of the entire marina.

The fridge is proving an interesting problem, I have been told quite emphatically that there is only one company in La Rochelle that can fix fridges, and I have found them both! One has told me that mine has to be replaced, the other is due in the morning, so we'll see. If what the first chap told me is borne out, I have a dilemna. Should we stay in La Rochelle for a third week and get the type of fridge we were going to upgrade to anyway? On the surface that seems like the right idea. But it will mean another week's marina charges plus a lift out, which between them cover the cost of the common or garden version, and then there's the further week's delay. In the meantime, the compressor is located under the floor of the cockpit locker, so I have ropes, buckets, anchors, and various other junk strewn around the deck to keep it accessible to the repairmen.

On the plus side I have, I think, sorted out my davits. As I type the dinghy is suspended from the stern. I'll see how it works when we go to sea. In addition, we have made quite a dent in the to do list, to such an extent that I am down to the things that will have to wait until the Algarve, and the chicken list.

So perhaps I will have some time on my hands to update the website after all .... Naww, I'll just spend my time lounging in the sun.

Copyright © Pat Egan 2008, all rights reserved.

One for Ireland

The Irish flag that Aragorn wears on her transom is a just bit bigger than those of our Eurpean neighbours that we have been meeting as we make our way towards the Algarve. Probably coming from a small country has something to do with it, but I think it's more to emphasize that we are not British.

Now anchorages, even crowded ones, are quiet places, with not much going on. The highlight of activity in a whole morning may be the arrival or departure of a boat. Therefore all eyes in a crowded anchorage are drawn to such an event. Whether they are or not, you certainly feel like they are when you make a mess of a things.

The technique of sailing off an anchor without resort to engine had been explained to me, and it seemed straightforward enough, but I had never done it. Basically, the anchor holds you into the wind, just perfect for hoisting your mainsail, then you simply tack up to the anchor, with the crew on the bow hauling in as you go.

We spent the night among the Glenan Islands off the coast of Brittany, not much more than a few metres above sea level at their highest points, and hardly enough land between the lot of them to make a decent farm. But they are a popular place to anchor, and even in early June there were at least twenty other boats around us.

So, amidst the seasoned mariners of Europe, this novice skipper decided to have a go. It worked a dream. Catherine, Matthew and I raised our main, took Aragorn quitely up to her anchor, hauled in, made secure, unfurled the genoa and sailed through the other boats out of the archipelago without polluting the atmosphere with an ounce of diesel fumes. Proud of our achievement, and conscious of neighbouring boats and our oversized Irish flag, I indulged out loud “that's one for Ireland”.

Picking up moorings can also be a tricky business. Invariably one member of the crew ends up hanging over the bow in an undignified position trying simultaneously to get a line on the mooring and relay steering instructions back to the helm, and to do all that without descending into panic. Fortunately for us Aragorn came equiped with a gizmo for this very purpose, and Catherine has mastered it's use.

The following evening we arrived in Sauzon, a picturesque fishing village in Belle Ile, where, once again there was a crowd of boats as we picked up a visitors' mooring. I took the wheel and Catherine went to the bow, where she calmly tapped the buoy with the gizmo and coolly retrieved the line, now looped through the buoy. We sat down to relax for the evening, and again I indulged proudly, “that's another one for Ireland”.

Overnight the wind changed, the swell got up, and it became uncomfortable. We'd learned from our time in the Scillys, so first thing in the morning we moved to an anchorage on the other side of the island. We arrived to join the one other boat that was there ahead of us in the narrow bay. Forgetting to prepare the halyard I told Matthew to drop the main, the line promply snagged, and our half raised main flapped wildly while we sorted it out. Then, deploying the anchor I made the trip line too short, making it impossible for the anchor to set. We carreened in astern towards our anxious new neighbours, before realising the mistake and regaining control.

We reset the anchor, correctly this time, and sat down to take in our new surroundings. I made no comment, then or since, about our contribution to Ireland.

Copyright © Pat Egan 2008, all rights reserved.

Concarneau

We spent six days in Concarneau. At first, the exitement of landfall in a new country, and a town with plenty for the visitor to do and see, kept us busy for a while. We also had to do some exploring; where's the nearest supermarket; where can we get internet access; where's the launderette; etc.

The detailed description of Concarneau I will leave for the tourist books, but the dominant feature is its walled Old Town, complete with moat and its own dragon. Having arrived after a two day sail from the Scillys on Saturday evening, we rose late on Sunday, had brunch al fresco in a Creperie on the harbour, and spent the day wandering about town.

I was a bit disappointed by how commercialised the old town was, however it was a fantastic place to visit, small enough to explore in an afternoon, a browse through the shops followed by a walk around the ramparts. Of course the modern town spread itself out all around the harbour, but was more functional than interesting.

After a couple of days, the state of our accommodation on the boat was getting to us. We put off further tourist attractions until we got it sorted. It took a few days, but gradually the piles of clothes, shoes, boat equipment, food, books, toys, etc., found places for themselves around Aragorn's capacious lockers.

Then there were the jobs to do. There was the domestic stuff, shopping, launderette, and clean up the boat. The foldy-up Brompton bicycles got their first outings, and were a big help with the shopping. Then there was the maintenance tasks, Mount the EPIRB, an emergency device that announces we're in trouble and gives our position; Mount the replacement fire extinguishers; Sort out the cockpit locker; Find appropriate stowage for the two dinghies, don't ask why we have two; Fix this light, that light; Repair cockpit floor; for every item we crossed off the to do list two more seemed to appear.

Speaking of dinghies, I had davits made to suspend the dinghy off Aragorn's stern, but I had to rig its lines. I thought this was a simple task, but it would take until La Rochelle and several days of trial and error to arrive at a solution that I was prepared to go to sea with.

We gave my nephew Matthew chores to do in the morning, and once completed we packed him off to talk to the natives in an attempt to improve his French for his Leaving Cert. next year. Well, he got a few swims in and made progress reading his novel aswell. But it was good to have a fit young man to help with some of the heavy lifting.

We left Concarneau the following Friday morning, and sailed the ten miles to the Glenan Islands for a night on the anchor. Our St Christopher medals were working overtime, as about half way we were met by a fishing boat with no one at the helm, I left it late to react, thinking he was about to change course, and we had a close one. The skipper replied to my protest with a half apologetic Gallic shrug.

The Glenans, which lent their name to the world wide sailing schools, are a busy spot. We went ashore for lunch, but the only restaurant was booked out, and the only bar didn't serve food. We settled for a walk and dined on Aragorn's provisions. Tomorrow, Ile de Groix.

Copyright © Pat Egan 2008, all rights reserved.

And We're Off

So, we're underway. And a fine start we got for it too. Of course, you can't have everything, the way the weather was, nice and calm, meant that we didn't get much sailing in, so thump, thump, thump we went down the Irish coast under engine. First stop the Isles of Scilly, previous ideas about going direct to La Coruna scotched, don't want to put ourselves off on the first leg.

The boat was a mess. We had our stuff piled high in the salon and the cabins, much the same way as the stuff we were leaving behind had been piled high in Catherine's mother's. There was room to sleep, room at the nav table & just about room to cook in the galley. We'll sort it in Scilly.

I set the watch to four hours on, four hours off. Catherine and I working opposite, and Matthew, my nephew, not yet experienced enough to do his own watch overlapped my last two hours and Catherine's first.

That first night underway we passed Tuskar. As we trundled ever southward I savoured it's light as it faded below the horizon, with a small lump in my throat I realised this would be my last glimpse of Ireland for some time.

I wanted to arrive in daylight, so, leaving as we did at lunchtime Saturday our choices were to make sure we arrived Sunday evening by using the engine, or to sail whenever we possibly could and arrive Monday morning, slowing down if necessary. We chose the latter, and arrived into Hughtown at 8 a.m. Monday.

I think Hughtown is the largest town in the Isles of Scilly, but it can hardly have a population of more than a few hundred. It is on St Mary's Island, and its natural harbour, like every harbour and anchorage in the Scillys is sheltered from only certain wind directions. We spent two nights on a mooring there, hoping the wind would change direction as forecast. It was impossible to do any work, sorting our stuff out with the swell rolling us about.

Showers were available ashore, for a pound a go. Glynn, the harbourmaster lamented to me that he was sure that boats were stopping overnight on his moorings and not paying the £16 a night due. I wanted to tell him that he was giving poor value, but thought better of it.

The third night we anchored off St Agnes island nearby, this time with the land between us and the wind, and got ourselves our first decent night's sleep since we left Ireland.

This was also our first opportunity to get the new Rocna anchor wet, Given that Aragorn already had three anchors when we bought her, this fourth did seem something of an extravagance. However, if the manufacturers claims hold true; and so far they have; then it was a worthwhile investment. Paddy Boyd who supplied it also went the extra mile to modify my bow roller to hold its unusual shape.

Then, Thursday morning it was up anchor and point at France. We still had our stuff piled around the boat. I doubted it would all fit in the lockers. Once in France we'd get on a nice comfy marina & we'd be sorted in no time.

The crossing was another relatively easy one for us. As we planned to make our first continental landfall in Concarneau, we had about the same distance to cover as Dublin to Scilly. The weather was benign, we put a precautionary reef in for night time sailing, which was just as well as the wind got up a bit, and though we could have sailed unreefed, the off watch might not have slept as well.

Having left after breakfast I planned to arrive in Concarneau in daylight on Saturday evening, this shouldn't be too much of a problem as long as we didn't dawdle. So the rule was simple, if we weren't getting 5 knots under sail, turn on the engine and get 6.

Like in the Scillys, it was overcast for most of the trip. As we were making our final approach into Concarneau the sun made an appearance. Even at seven in the evening, it was hot, not like a fine Irish Summer's day, but the aggressive heat of continental sunshine. We took out the suncream. Nous sommes arrivé.

Copyright © Pat Egan 2008, all rights reserved.

Going, going, gone!

Friday 9^th May – The big clear out

Rent a van day. Catherine's brother Paul is over from England, he's there to drive the Transit, but a fine strong back on him for shifting furniture. We send a full load to Catherine's mother.

Saturday 10^th May – The Even bigger clear out

And an even bigger furniture removals van to take the rest of our furniture to the auctions. It also takes a full load.

The house is pretty bare now, some furniture still left, the good stuff that is staying with the lease, and the "stuff" the auctions wouldn't take, to tide the people over until their own furniture arrives.

Tuesday 19^th, we sell the car, phew, that's our going away money. We had to drop the price big time, but, well, they were nice people and I hope that get great value from it.

We still have the '94 Peugot to get us around, it's a banger, and Catherine's afraid of being stopped in it, but it gets us there.

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More old accounts and papers keep showing up for shredding.

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Friday 23^rd May

Lunch with my Godfathner and his wife in Hartley's. They gave us St Christopher medals, one each for Catherine, myself, and Aragorn. I can assure you Tim and Blathnaid, that we have each worn our medals at all time since, and so far, he's been on the job!

Saturday 24^th May – Drinks in the club.

Ger can't come, she's put out her back and can hardly move, but would we like the loan of her car?, since she can't drive either. Yes please.

Leaving drinks in the Dun Laoghaire Motor yacht club. Scheduled departure next weekend, but people suggesting they wave us off from the end of the pier. What time they want to know. Catherine advises everyone that we don't know when exactly we'll get away. Noon on Saturday the 31^st I tell them all confidently, and train is rolling.

Thursday 29^th May - All hands on deck!

Forgive the nautical pun, but Catherine's mother & sister are recruited for final clear out & cleanup duties as that train comes at us at full speed. My brother Lorcan is dragged along too, ferrying "stuff" up to Catherine's mother's house along with Erland who moved "stuff" to the dump and the boat.

Must be out of the house today, the lease starts tomorrow, however we have negotiated that we can stay 'til 3 p.m. tomorrow to complete clean up.

But those last few bits and pieces have become a mountain. Lorcan's trailer is creaking at the seams, and hardly a dent in the mountain.

Niceties are out the window. Take it with us, store it, give it away, dump it, just decide!!!

In the midst of all the mayhem Natalie showed up to take the '94 Peugot, and even pay us money for it.

Friday 30^th May

CHOO CHOOO! Dump everything in the back lane. We've been offloading "stuff" for months, how have we still got so much "stuff". Grab it, sprint down the garden, dump it in the lane, sprint back, grab something else. Be out by 3 o'clock! That train is rocket propelled!

Did I mention the window cleaner is coming this morning?

Twenty to three, a girl from the letting agent rings for our status, it's the third time today. “Tight” I tell her, but I think it will be a while before she forgives me for the rest.

Five to three, I ring the agent, “we're out” I proclaim in exhausted and triumphant relief, but don't quite receive the accolade I feel we're entitled to.

Phew! Alas, no time to relax. Friday afternoon, and it's the June bank holiday weekend, gotta to get to the bank, the chandlers, and fix up with the marina, all before close of business. Then there's the small mountain of "stuff" in the back lane. Lorcan's going to need a bigger trailer.

Speaking of Dun Laoghaire marina, hats off to all there for looking after Aragorn and us for the year we spent there.

Five o'clock, I am ravenous. An all day breakfast for two in Dun Laoghaire shopping centre. We can't afford the time, what lunatic committed us to depart Dun Laoghaire harbour at 12 noon tomorrow!! But we haven't had a bite since 7 a.m., not even a cup of tea, the body is starting to demand its share of the spoils of today's minor victories.

There's a few calls to be made. Tom in SOLAS, among others, a detail about the new liferaft. “How's it going” he asks, I sigh and babble something about a rocket propelled steam train. “You can borrow my truck if you like” he says cheerily, I'll be out your way in an hour or so. It didn't sink in, “thanks, I might take you up on that”, I replied. 15 minutes later I ring back, “please, please, please, yes, can I borrow your truck”.

Catherine fills Ger's car with that part of the “stuff” mountain destined for the boat, I go off to collect Tom's truck, wouldn't you know, Friday evening, it's country music with T R Dallas on RTE, all I am missing is my Yorkee bar.

I return to the back lane. Marianne, my bemused neighbour, brings me in for a cuppa before she and her young son Timothy help load the truck. Catherine returns from the boat just as we're done. The truck takes the bulk of the load, the rest fits into Ger's car. Then off to Catherine's mother's in convoy.

It is not until both truck and car are unloaded that I notice the effects of the last month's transfer of “stuff” into Agnes's and Margot's home, especially the succession of car and trailer loads just dumped into any available space over the past few days. It is now 11 o'clock at night, and their house more resembles Buckley's Auction rooms than someone's home. There is room in the attic, where most of it is destined for, but there's a day's work in getting it all up there.

The triumph of reality over determination is complete, we negotiate a one day extension of our truck and car loans, we text everyone in our phones' address books to announce the postponement of our departure, and we sleep the sleep of the just.

Saturday 31^st May

So not exiting Dun Laoghaire harbour in the beautiful sunshine of this Saturday morning, but stripped to my shorts in the sauna like attic, packing away “stuff”. There was delph, china, crystal, magazines, clothes, books, but mostly it was just “stuff”, and Agnes's generous attic swallowed it all up.

By evening we were done, now it was just a case of returning borrowed vehicles, a bit of shopping and a well earned meal in La Strada, where Faycal the chef presented us with an Algerian courtesy flag for when we get that far. Courtesy indeed, the flag is bigger than some of our sails.

Sunday, 1^st June

After an early start, we filled up with diesel, and walked up to Dun Laoghaire to meet up for final farewells and coffee in “It's a Bagel”. Then back to the boat and cast our lines, just one day and a few minutes behind schedule, giving friends and family time to walk to the end of the pier to wave us off.

I had one last indulgence up my sleeve, one which I had not even told Catherine of, and as we hooted our fog horns and waved at everyone as we were exiting the harbour I bellowed out my carefully planned spontaneous rendition of “California Here I Come”.

So thank you Agnes and Margot for all your hard work cleaningour house, and letting us turn yours into a storage depot. Thank you Paul and Lorcan and Erland for moving all that “stuff”, Thank you Ger and Tom for the loans of your respective vehicles, Thank you Tim and Blathnaid for your thoughtful gift, and thanks to everyone who gave us presents, even though we told you not to!! Thank you Marianne and Timothy for the cuppa and the help loading the truck, thank you Anthony and Seamus and Brian for all the work on the boat. A special thank you to Sean and Paul D, for the mentoring and help with the boat. And thank you to all at Dun Laoghnaire Marina, and everyone else that was such a big help to us. Finally and sincerely, sorry to Frank and Angela and anyone else who's number was not in my phones' address books, who had a wasted walk down the pier on Saturday.

Copyright © Pat Egan 2008, all rights reserved.