We left Treguier after planning our
passage to Trebeurden meticulously.
Although it is only 30 miles, there are numerous things to make it
interesting. First is that the tide
runs diagonally through the marina at a fair lick, so you can only leave 30 mins
either side of slack water. Next,
you need to get the fair tide out of the river and along the coast. Then, you must avoid the Sept Illes and
various other rocks along the route. The sea kicks up (as we found to our cost)
between the mainland and Sept Illes, making life quite uncomfortable. Then, entry to Trebeurden is completely
exposed to the West, and cannot be entered for 3 hrs either side of Low
Water. What fun! Good revision of all that Yachtmaster
theory I did and never used 12 years ago.
It was all timed to perfection, and
going well until we hit the rough stuff through the Sept Illes channel. We were earlier than planned due to more
current than expected, and the ebb tide ran into the Atlantic swell coming in
from the West. This is the first
time we’ve really encountered Atlantic swell – it’s majestic stuff even here
where the wave height is no more than 1m.
The distance between crests is huge, and the waves come over so slowly
that they are almost imperceptible – until you add in a wavetrain from a
different direction, when it all gets lumpy. This one lurched Nutmeg from side to
side quite violently and unfortunately “mal de mer” got the better of Jemima and
Sarah. At one point they were both
being sick out of each side of the cockpit! Nice. Fortunately they both immediately felt
better and the sea calmed as we turned South towards Trebeurden.
As we arrived, the wind dropped and
we noticed a few local boats anchored off a lovely sandy beach on a tiny islet
opposite Trebeurden (Ar Gouredec), so we figured, given we needed to wait for
the sill to open into the marina anyway, that we would anchor off, pump the
dinghy up, and head to the beach, so, conning the boat in on the depth sounder
(we didn’t have a large-scale chart) we anchored off and went ashore to one of
the nicest beaches we’ve been to.
Lovely sand and rocks. The
girls were, as usual, in seventh heaven and paddled and ran about.
Ar Gouredec, nr
The rocks were literally covered in
mussels so, after checking that it was OK in Pidgin French with a local who was
collecting them in a bucket, we filled the kid’s buckets with the biggest
mussels we could find and, as the tide started to cover the beach, headed back
to Nutmeg and headed into the marina which by now was accessible.
The girls washing their babies. Nutmeg in
On entering the marina, a youth in a
dory told us to find a space bows-to on the first pontoon. We raised our eyebrows at the lack of
space but nevertheless this was the only option. We then had one of the most stressy
berthing experiences so far. Having
scouted for a space from outside the marina sill, we came in, motored up the
very narrow channel, to find that the space we thought was there was actually
not. So, against the wind, we had
to reverse back up the channel (it was too narrow to turn in – if you had swung
a cat it would have scratched the boats on either side) which we managed
successfully – God knows how.
We then spotted a space and managed
to execute a neat 3-point turn with no more than 10cm clearance on bow and stern
(I kid you not) and came in.
Several Brits came to our assistance, which was kind and also necessary
because we then realised there was half a knot of tide taking us away from the
pontoon. We got warps on and
winched ourselves into the pontoon but unfortunately scratched the bow against a
ladder on the way, which was annoying.
I got on my high horse and galloped off to the Capitainerie to give them
my views on berthing arrangements, but was quickly unseated by the simple fact
that there was no-one around at all, despite signs saying they should be
open. Time to chill out and
remember we are not in the Solent
Sarah cooked the moules (which were
polished off by the resident piglets quick smart) and we