First Dice Destination – La Vigne

44:39.592N 1:08.964W

In the Reeds Almanac, the approach to the Bassin D’Arcachon is described thus…

In any wind, the sea breaks on the shifting sand banks between Cap Ferret and Wharf del la Salie, but the channel buoys can be seen between the breakers (not as fearsome as it sounds)

Not as fearsome… Well, that depends on your point of view! Actually, I arrived in very calm weather but even so, the Atlantic swell was breaking either side of the narrow channel. I really can’t imagine how terrifying it must be in rough weather! It’s very well marked though (by day) and although, looking from the fairway buoy, it’s not immediately clear how to negotiate the breaking waves, the channel found a route around Cap Ferret and into the sheltered inner harbour area. Sailing on up the ‘river’, I was struck by the private properties that hug the shoreline. There’s obviously no shortage of wealth here but unlike, say, Sandbanks in Poole, there’s no flamboyant and tasteless status symbols to be found. The ‘villa’ style houses are discretely tucked away behind modest gardens from where the private slipways draw the focus to small powerboats, catamaran dinghies or classic yachts. Sailing, or at least boating, is clearly a discerning passion here and it’s not difficult to see why. So, the dice clearly said “go to La Vigne” and almost exactly four days after leaving Portsmouth, I arrived at a mooring in La Vigne. The last thing I really wanted to do was to inflate the dinghy and take the ‘ships papers’ to the Capitainerie that night but for the record, I did try radioing my arrival to the marina office. Unfortunately for him, and perhaps fortunately for me, I couldn’t make myself understood and decided instead that for the sake of Anglo-Franco relations and to avoid having to quarantine myself, I should perhaps shower first! That done, it wasn’t until the following morning that I finally went ashore determined to discover the mysteries of La Vigne. And they will remain mysteries for no sooner had I made myself understood at the Capitainerie, I was told “Non, non, non, c’est toute privé. C’est ne pas possible. C’est trop grand et… “. Now, my French isn’t great but as I understood it, I’d tied up to a privately owned mooring clearly used by one of these pompous, superficially rich bastards to moor his pointless stink-boat designed to look like a Nike training shoe! Me… Fickle?

A short motor around the corner to Port D’Arcachon and I am guaranteed a warm welcome. I duly radioed my imminent arrival and was told to raft up on the end of ‘E’ pontoon. Being single-handed, it was with much relief that I spotted a chap sanding the hull of his steel yacht Old Drifter and fearing that my French would let me down, I indicated my intention to come alongside with much pointing and hopeful raising of eyebrows.

“Non, non, c’est ne pas possible…”

Then, upon spotting the red ensign flying from Canasta’s stern, the chap, who I now know to be called ‘John’, with a perfect Oxford English accent as if taking the piss said something like…

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry but that just isn’t going to be possible…”

“Ah, you’re English” I asked

“No, I’m not but I really must apologise… there seems to have been a mistake. I regret that you must find another place to tie up” he replied with an anxious tone.

Slightly embarrassed by his obvious concern that I had been inconvenienced, I urged him not to worry. I would just ask the Harbour Master to find another spot.

“Yes of course, but it really isn’t the way I would want to greet our overseas guests… Perhaps you will allow me to share a little whisky with you?”

So that’s where I am now. No, not drinking whisky with John but rafted next door in Port D’Arcachon – and very nice it is too…. More later.

Rob Clark

W2N Global Ltd.

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