Time and Tide....Sailing the Northern Coast of Brittany, France September 2017

     

It was already mid-September.  Warm, golden days passed into gray days of drizzle and rain. Temperatures veered from toasty and sunny to chilly dampness. S/Y Atlantis, a Van de Stadt 38’, is wintering in Morlaix, on the northern coast of Brittany, France. I joined my friend Arne for the last sail of the season along the coast of France, on the English Channel.

The northern coast of Brittany is a picturesque summer resort area, with buff sandy beaches and sea-rounded granite outcroppings lining the coast.  By sea it has a rough reputation; one of strong tides varying several meters from high to low, sudden fog, powerful swirling currents and rocks, now visible, now submerged. The infamous Alderney Race, with its treacherous eddies, standing waves, and 7 knot currents is here.  Sailors must study the pilot books carefully and consult the tide tables to know when to leave and arrive, and where to anchor without ending up heeled over high and dry.

The marina in Morlaix is centrally located in the old town, well up the Morlaix River from the coast.  It is protected by a small lock, which retains the outflowing river water about a meter higher than the 5-7 meter high tide, providing a fresh water environment of consistent depth.  Usually the lock opens 90 minutes before high tide and one hour after, and only during daylight hours.  In this way, boats coming up the river and going down can run with the tide, and the river channel is at its deepest for safer navigation.  It is an inexpensive home port, costing only about 1500€ per year, including power, water, and facilities.

Morlaix downtown, seen from the viaduct. The marina is in the distance.

Morlaix's famous viaduct, built of stone in the 1860's . Trains go across the top and the lower bridge is pedestrian.

I had a few days to explore the town before our trip; we were waiting for the high tide to occur in the morning hours. Morlaix was a prosperous trading center in the 16-19th century, and there are many half-timbered buildings in a wonderful state of preservation.  

Renaissance half-timbered building on the market square in Morlaix.

There are lush plantings of flowers, the streets are lined with stylish shops and bakeries, brasseries and pubs to enjoy a glass of wine and slices of the dried sausages typical of the area, flavored with seasonal ingredients such as figs, hazelnuts, mushrooms, and duck. 

A display of a butcher's window... in a knitting shop. All the meats are knitted!

I was astonished to see scallop-shaped trail markers...a branch of the Camino de Santiago runs through here!

Arne needed to go to Dinan to buy a Walker Bay 8’ sailing dinghy, to enable him to explore more of the bays and estuaries of Brittany without risk to Atlantis. He had considered sailing Atlantis there to collect the dinghy, but the low-water depth of the river marina there was 1.6m, too shallow for his boat. We drove a rented van to Dinan, a UNESCO world heritage site and the best preserved medieval town in France, about two hours away. 

The city center of Old Dinan.  Wonderful.

Walking along the old city walls, still intact after 700 years.
Dinan is also of a route to the Camino de Santiago.

Eye candy everywhere you look in picturesque Dinan.

We loaded the little boat into the van, and the sellers invited us to park at their home, near the town center, while we explored. The sun shone on the ancient slate roofs and intact medieval city walls of the half-timbered town. We snacked on gallette de saucisse, a local specialty, a buckwheat crepe enfolding a pork sausage slow-grilled to caramelized perfection.

Galletes de Saucisse, buckwheat crepes with grilled sausage.
Buckwheat is a typical Breton food.

Back at the boat, we made plans to sail west along the coast of Brittany. I had much to learn about the great tides and currents that flow through the English Channel between the Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea. Arne was a patient explainer and helped me grasp the lessons. It is necessary to time your passages to coincide with the tide, wherever you are heading. Heading west, you travel with the falling tide; heading east, run with the rising tide. Sailing against the tide and currents is mostly futile and can be dangerous. Arne told me about the Rule of Twelfths; the tide runs the strongest during the third and fourth hours between slack high and slack low.  I learned about spring tides, the highest (and lowest) tides which occur just after the full moon and new moon; and neap tides, the tides with least variation between high and low, which occur with the half moon.  I studied the pilot books and tide tables.  The best references for the coast of France are the indispensable “Bloc Marine 2017-Manche Atlantique”, (Figaro Nautisme, 30 €) containing charts, harbor and channel pilot information, tides and currents, and much more; and the “Shell Channel Pilot”, by Tom Cunliffe, (Imray, 8^TH ed., 35£). Along with studying the pilot books, be sure to talk with experienced local sailors about conditions; local knowledge is valuable.

We needed to depart Morlaix through the lock, for the 08:00 opening, one hour after high tide.  We followed a trusted friend of Arne’s with a draft of 2.4 meters who knew the area well; Atlantis draws 1.6m.  The Morlaix river is buoyed, then there’s a segment with transit markers, then it’s buoyed again at the mouth. While appearing wide, the meandering channel is quite narrow.  Arne kept a sharp eye on the depth gauge.

 The sections marked by transits can be a bit tricky, since the markers are set on land, sometimes partially obscured by bushes. We passed by pastureland and fields smelling of sweetly of hay and cattle, past an elegant chateau.  Oyster farms became numerous.  As we approached the mouth of the river, the buoys fanned out into dozens marking several channels, and large cardinal markers hove into view.  Chateau Thaureau came into view, an imposing stone fortress looming in the middle of the channel, guarding against Cornish raiders in centuries past.

Chateau Thaureau, not really a chateau but a fortress.

We turned west and threaded our way through the channel between the mainland and Ile de Batz, using a series of massive cardinal markers to keep within the channel.  I had to remain vigilant at the helm because the Lateral A buoyage scheme is in effect in Europe, generally the opposite of the Lateral B system in use in North American waters.  Thus “Red on Right Going Out” became my mantra.

A cardinal marker. You pass it to the direction it indicates.
If it's north, pass to the north of it.

Camera shy Arne and me.

Tidal turbulence rocked Atlantis at unexpected moments. Once past the island in open water, we raised the sails, heading west with the tide and a 1.5 knot current on a beam reach.  With wind blowing 12 meters per second per Atlantis’ instrument panel (I had to convert that to ~23 knots), we surged along briskly covering 42 miles, to the port of Aber Wrac’h.  Arne opted to take the short cut, a narrow channel wending through granite rocks and granite islets. Proceeding slowly to avoid a notorious reef, we carefully navigated the cut, saving three miles and more daylight.  The rockbound river mouth and the village of Aber Wrac’h were the setting for daring rescues during WWII.  On black moonless nights, in small wooden boats, the French resistance threaded their way through the dangerous rocks and currents to rendezvous with waiting British gunboats, delivering downed British airmen from capture by the Nazis.   Today Aber Wrac’h is designated as a “24-hour harbor”, meaning that there are no restrictions due to tidal conditions with regard to entering; it’s safe to enter 24 hours a day.  We entered on the high tide and moored on the outer guest pontoon at the well-kept modern marina, for 33 € a day.

Check out the high water mark....7 meters above where this boat is floating.

   The little town itself is not impressive at first, but it grows on you. The short main street had a strip of cafes, most of which close early in the evening in the fall.   We went exploring and discovered a pretty trail along the river. Hydrangeas blossomed in colorful clumps, bushes of fuchsia overflowed over stone walls, and wild hazel and chestnut trees sprinkled the path with savory nuts.  The tide was low now, and we walked down over the mud flats to have a look at oyster cultivation; baskets of maturing oysters upon racks submerged at all but low tide.  Traditional oyster boats, like skipjacks with their tanbark sails, were dragging for oysters back and forth at the river mouth.

A traditional oyster boat.

 Back in the village, a school combining academic learning with sailing adjourned for daily sailing lessons, lively children clad in wetsuits handling their dinghies like old pros. No wonder so many champion sailors hail from Brittany! 

The young sailors at the focus school beng towed out by the dinghy for their daily race.

 We paused at a café to enjoy the daily special, a platter of raw oysters and a glass of house white for 7.50 €.

Briny, sweet oysters.  The best Ive ever eaten.

Back the boat, Arne rode his bike to buy groceries and I walked up to the historic semaphore station, overlooking the lighthouse at Isle Vierge, the tallest in Europe.  The views on this golden afternoon were breathtaking.

Beautiful views from the semaphore station.

Such amazing hydrangeas!

The tide range here is over seven meters! The pontoons at the marina float with the tides; the long gangway from the pontoon to the stone quay went from nearly flush at high tide to dropping at a 40° angle at low.  Anchored boats which floated peacefully at high tide were grounded at crazy angles when the tide is out. 

Anther view of low tide. 

We departed at noon the next day, heading east to Roscoff with the incoming tide.   It was a lovely sunny day with a gentle breeze on the quarter and we ran easily under the genoa with the tidal current at 7 knots. After a beautiful 32-mile sail, we approached Roscoff and again were buffeted by conflicting river and tidal currents at the mouth of the river. We were in time to get a slip in the modern Port Bloscon Marina, a 24-hour port.   Arne used prop walk to help bring the boat alongside, since the tidal currents sometimes swirl in the marina as well. 

Ile de Batz

The tide is out.

The next day we walked the mile into the old town of Roscoff and took the ferry over to visit Ile de Batz. This gem of an island is a relaxed holiday destination and former pirate stronghold. There are no cars, and cobbled streets merge with sandy footpaths.  The tide was low and Arne was scouting for anchorages that might be suitable Atlantis in the future. We walked past the lighthouse, picking blackberries along the way.  We studied the rocks and cardinal markers that line this channel, looking at them from a very different angle.

The lighthouse at Ile de Batz

Rare sighting....a local fisherman.

Morning dawned rainy. Intermittent drizzle bathed the lush hydrangeas, but I managed to stay dry while exploring the old town of Roscoff, the Renaissance bell tower and merchants’ homes, quaint shops, and celebration of the harvest of its famous rose-colored onions.

The rainy streets of Roscoff.

The warm , inviting bakeries of Roscoff.

In the early-mid 20th c, the "Onion Johnnies" of Roscoff rode their bikes all over Britain,
as far north as the Scottish highlands selling the famous rose-colored onions. 

Everyone loves sardines!

A renaissance door, so low you have to crouch to go through .  Easy to defend.

We cast off at 18:30, allotting an hour and a half to run the ten miles to the river mouth and up the river with the tide to make the last opening of the lock in Morlaix at 20:00.  There was no wind, and a sea mist rising.   We motored out, through swirling tidal turbulence and past the the concrete channel marker buoy named "Pot de Beurre" with the current pushing hard against it. The rising tide swept us eastward.  I followed the channel markers in, remembering to keep green to the right. The entry of the Morlaix river is wide and deep, but the twisting navigable channel narrowed and Arne took the helm. Following the buoys, range markers, and depth gauge is critical. As we entered the river, the water was flat, but the boat rolled from side to side, powerful eddies and currents pushed us vigorously without warning.  The dusk gathered. Perhaps we had underestimated the time it would take to get up river!  Arne pushed as fast as he dared to reach the locks in time.  It got darker, the river narrowed, we had 0.5 meter under the keel at one point.  We arrived at twilight with minutes to spare, to find eight other boats waiting to get in after this glorious weekend.  We moved to the front of the lock on the port side, slipped our lines around the vertical lock chains, and up came the water. Pulling into the slip at last and grateful for a safe trip, we moored Atlantis for her long winter’s nap. 

More baked delights, My favorites are the
 Far Breton, custardy bars studded with prunes.
There was a line and the whole store was sold out by noon.

On my last day Arne rigged the cockpit tent to prepare Atlantis for the winter. At 48°N latitude, it won’t snow much due to the warmth of the Gulf Stream, but all winter it will rain. He suggested that I ride the bike up the road to Dourduff sur Mer. .I pedaled past sweet smelling fields and forests as the autumn leaves turned golden-brown.  The sleepy little village of Dourduff is picturesque, with oysters for a theme. Huitres, oysters, were advertised on waterfront sheds. I rode through the hamlet looking at the flat-decked oyster boats and frames stacked neatly near the beach, then stopped for coffee at the Port Café. I detoured along a pretty path through the woods following a branch of the Morlaix River.  Chestnuts were falling and I filled my pockets with them.

 

It started to sprinkle, and I pedaled back ahead of the autumn rain. Arne had just finished his projects. Down in the galley I roasted the chestnuts on the hotplate and we enjoyed them with the last of the red wine.  My visit had come an end, the last sail of summer is done, and Arne is already planning next summer’s voyages in the Baltic.

Huitres.....oysters

Dourduff sur Mer.

From the woodland trail, an old stone gate to the river bank.

The trail strewn with chestnuts

 

Merci pour le amite et le voyage!!

                                                HOW TO READ THE TIDES OF FRANCE

 The French tide table for Morlaix indicates P.M.  which indicates the time which “high tide” (pleine mer) occurs.  Sometimes there are two high tides during daylight hours. Next appears “Coeff.”, a coefficient which indicates the variation between high and low tide of the tide as influenced by the position of the moon and sun relative to the earth. On Wednesday, Sept 20 (Mercredi 20) it was the autumnal equinox, so the coefficient of 99 was pretty high; the coefficient ranges from 20 to 120.  It is higher on spring tides during full and new moons, when the moon and sun are aligned with the earth and their gravitational pulls are combined.  The coefficient is lower in neap tides, reflecting the lowest variation between high and low tides, when sun and moon are perpendicular to the earth and their gravitational pulls conflict, occurring during in the first and third quarters of the lunar cycle.  Lastly, “Eclussage” means “Locking”, and indicates when the locks will be opened.  Leaving an hour or so before slack high tide gives us the greatest chance of navigating the deeper channel in the twisting Morlaix river without going aground.