Thursday 22 December 2011

Disaster at Sea


Windless Braye Harbour

Braye harbour on Alderney is gently coming to life. There’s no hurry. The tide won’t turn south through the Alderney Race until mid-morning. That’s what we’re all waiting for. After five days of Bank Holiday rain and gales we all independently had the same idea in the early hours of yesterday morning: Trust the forecast. Make a break out from the South Coast harbours and anchorages that we’ve been sheltering in. Head out across the Channel bound for the Brittany ports. It was a good decision. A collection of boats converged on Braye yesterday afternoon after a sun and spray drenched reach across the Channel in 25 knots of breeze. Their crews arrived tired and fulfilled. Crews now happily stretched out in the morning sun eating a leisurely breakfast and waiting for the tide.



“Mingarry” a, bigger, sister ship to Stargazer slips her mooring ahead of us and gently motors past.

“Hello Stargazer. Do you remember us?” they hail

“ Yes, Trebeurden last year wasn’t it? Where are you headed this time?” I call back

“ Yes Trebeurden. St Peter Port and then west round the Corner hopefully. How about you?” comes the reply.

As the boats separate I raise my voice to shout back “St Helier probably.” We wave au revoir – until the next time.



I slip the mooring line and take Stargazer out to the fairway under engine. The moorings are tightly packed and the wind is light and fluky. There’s too much to go wrong to sail off. We sail out of the harbour to make up for it though. Up goes the mainsail followed by our orange and blue cruising chute. Oh for a picture of us gliding out over a turquoise sea, our white hull and orange sail set off by the grey black of the stone and the cloudless powder blue sky!

Le Quenard


There’s still some westbound tide running in the Swinge outside the breakwater. We hang suspended between powder blue sky and turquoise water, sometimes gaining a little on the black and white salt cellar of Le Quenard lighthouse, sometimes losing a little. The tide turns and we’re off, sucked down into the Alderney Race. Our tide driven motion puts a breeze across the sails and they belly satisfyingly. Stargazer heels, comes alive, her helm tugs in my hand and the bow wave gurgles her delight. In no time, it seems, we’re abeam La Corbiere at the south west tip of Jersey. That’s our turning point for St. Helier our planned stop for tonight.



Do you know? I really can’t feel enthusiastic about heading into St Helier. It’s too soon to end this magical sail. I want a night in a proper rocky, rural harbour not in a city centre marina. The forecast is for a big blow tomorrow anyway. I need to be happy to stay put where ever we end up tonight. I want to keep sailing. I’ve just had five days sat around weather bound on this cruise already. A third of my precious, much looked forward to, holiday gone! Let’s take a look at the tides: I reckon that if we keep this pace up and carry the southbound tide to the bottom of the Minquiers we could be in St Cast by 23.00. Hopefully there’ll be a bit of twilight to see us in. If not I’m sure I stuck some waypoints down when I visited the harbour while it was being built last year. There’s probably a sketch chart in the new edition of Reed’s Almanac that I’ve got aboard too.


Reaching south under cruising chute

It feels like a good decision. Actually, I think I know deep down that I’ve just told myself what I wanted to hear. I know we’ll lose the tide before we’re past the Minquiers. I know the wind will ease. I know we’ll arrive after dark. I hope for enough of a glow from the lights ashore to grope our way in. Actually it’s a bad decision! I don’t admit any of this to myself though so I enjoy the continuation of a glorious sail. The sea is a deeper blue now, ruffled by the breeze, a slight swell mounding up as the water climbs gently up over the Minquiers reefs lying unseen below the surface to port. The sails are starting to slat as the swell rolls under us. The breeze is easing as the afternoon turns to evening. I slacken the sheets, halyards, outhaul to belly the sails more and help them to embrace the frail breeze. Seems like a good moment to cook supper. I eat a Stilton and Broccoli quiche in the cockpit watching the sunset and wash it down with some strong black coffee. The view intensifies the flavours. It’s a fantastic gourmet delight. Food always tastes better at sea!



The breeze comes round astern and increases. I hand the chute and pole out the jib. Stargazer rolls down the swell. The chuckle of the bow wave is back and the deck drains are gurgling merrily. That’s the sound Stargazer makes when she’s back up to six knots and enjoying herself. Dusk is inexorably falling now. Cap Frehel, with its two towers on top making it look like a sea snail crawling towards us, is a grey brown blur on the horizon. A small white sail is beating out flashing pink in the last of the sun’s rays as it pitches in the swell. It’s time to switch our navigation light on. In we run. The chart plotter says seven miles to go. No sign of those waypoints that I thought I’d put in to mark the harbour entrance though. Never mind. We’ll soon be in. Darkness falls. We’re heading into blackness. We’re on a dead run under poled genoa making seven knots. St Cast, I now discover on checking, is not in my new edition of Reeds. It’s not on my charts either; it’s too newly built for that. I carry on. That’s a bad decision! That’s a really bad decision! At least I drop the pole and furl the genoa though. Our blind rush through the dark onto an unlit lee shore slows to five knots.



In hindsight my two best options would have been either to lie off Cap Frehel until moonrise or to head up and sail the fifteen or so miles east to the Grand Jardin lighthouse marking the entrance to St Malo for which I was carrying full charts. I did neither. I’m going to blame tiredness and not a land lubberly “run to schedule” mentality for what happened next. Maybe it was a mix of the two!



As I steer Stargazer through the darkness the bit I remember most about St Cast entrance from our last visit is that the only hazard in the bay is the Bourdinot Rocks. They lie just east of the Pointe de St Cast and are lit. Soon I pick up the flash of their beacon on the port bow – just where it should be. I confirm their location relative to our position using the chart plotter. The brightness of the chart plotter blinds my night vision. I switch it to “night” mode. It’s a bit hard to read like that but I’ve got my night vision back. That’s a disastrous decision! We sail on keeping the Bourdinot Rocks well off to port to be on the safe side. I’m starting to see some red and green flashes ahead too. They are just where I’d expect the fairway approach buoys to be. We stand on in. I lose sight of the green flashing light. It must be behind a wave. It’ll reappear. It doesn’t reappear. I can still see the red one though. Keep on going. That’s the second disastrous decision! If I can’t see the light it’s behind something solid. My tired land lubber brain isn’t thinking about that though. Its thinking about a good night’s sleep securely tied up alongside. It’s just after midnight.

Point de St Cast


The wind is still driving us in from dead astern and we’re running in under the mainsail at five knots. The sea is very flat now. The sigh and swish of the swell has been swallowed up by the silence and the dark of the night. It’s been replaced with gentle a sucking and seething sound. A soothing swoosh like waves caressing pebbles on the shore. There’s a smell of seaweed coming from the blackness ahead. SOUNDS LIKE WAVES CARESSING PEBBLES ON THE SHORE! SMELLS LIKE SEAWEED!  I put the helm hard over. I control the gybe racing style, sheeting the boom over and surging it out as it whips over me as I stand crouched in the cockpit. Stargazer heels and rounds up, turning in her tracks. As she turns the beam of our stern-light picks out grey rock. Never mind trying to miss the Bourdinot Rocks. I’ve come within metres of sailing Stargazer onto the Pointe de St Cast instead. I switch the plotter back to “day” mode. The familiar look to the chart returns. It shows our course track arcing across the north-west tip of Pointe de St Cast.


Thankful to be alongside next morning

I stand back out to sea sobered. Glad to be alive. Glad to still have Stargazer afloat beneath me.
I round up and drop the mainsail. Slowly, carefully we turn under engine, pick up the red and green flashes of the fairway buoys. I keep both visible, one on each side of our bow. I’m so thankful, so very thankful.

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