Jottings on a sail by I Maciver I had to be in France in May as I was finally, after sixteen years, placing our holiday home in Brittany on the market after much restoration. A friend, Neil, who for the moment is based in France, left Australia about twelve years ago. He is in the process of sailing his 40ft Ketch, single handedly, and at a leisurely pace, around the world and he kindly invited me on a cruise. Neil intended to sail the yacht from the River Vilaine, where he had Scarlet moored to the Scilly Isles and on to the Isle of Man in order to watch the TT Motorcycle races live. A fellow biking enthusiast, Neil had earlier taken his Honda Pan European touring motorcycle from Scotland, where his mother lives to his girlfriend's house in France. Coincidently I have exactly the same model in my own collection and used it out there for a spell, the weather being much more conducive to the sport. Another motive that Neil had for sailing out of France for a little while was in order to comply with French regulations that prevent foreign boats from staying in their waters for more than eighteen months at a time. Now, it was total madness for me to accept his invitation as I had to get the Chateau ready for sale (several rooms still needed decorating), complete the book I was writing and get it printed, finish off the temple (folly) we were building and complete the preparations for our Clan Gathering at Strathendry, and all before mid-June. However I could not resist a “wee adventure” in between, thinking that I could always “bail out early” and “abandon ship “ if time was of the essence. Two or three weeks before we left on the voyage Neil and Sarah invited me down to the quaint little town, La Roche Bernard, on the Villaine where the “Scarlet” was to come ashore for some maintenance work prior to the voyage. I travelled down to the marina with Ryan and was surprised when Neil informed us we were going to sail about eight miles up the river to the yard where he had arranged to do the work. It was the most beautiful cruise on flat water in glorious sunshine, passing wildlife and admiring the boats coming down river and enjoying the tremendous scenery. As we were arriving at the destination, Sarah told us that there was a boat jumble event at the quay that day and there would be plenty of spectators about. Neil expertly steered Scarlet towards the waiting hydraulic boat hoist as a sizable crowd gathered to see if he would manage the tricky manoeuvre without mishap (no pressure!). However, all was well and Scarlet was pulled clear up to her temporary home at the yard. Neil, who is an expert trained engineer, later removed and overhauled the engine, while Sarah worked on the steel hull of the yacht. Neil’s younger brother, Chris who works at the Australian Antarctic Research Station was flying over to join us on the voyage. On the weekend we were due to leave, we discovered that a Regatta on the river was planned. Scarlet was now moored in the centre of the river after her “big splash”. It was now in an excellent spot to view the classic wooden vessels sailing up to the anchorages near the two small villages situated at either side of the river. There were musical entertainments and markets with plenty of food and refreshment stalls and we, like many other visitors, crossed the river in our tender to take in and compare the various events. At midnight a terrific fireworks display was planned, the missiles taking off from pontoons moored on the river. As one of the pontoons was only about a hundred yards from Scarlet we had a grandstand view of the spectacular pyrotechnics which carried on for about fifteen minutes. The next day, Sarah departed early and the three of us prepared Scarlet for the cruise down the river to the barrage where locks open periodically to allow vessels to proceed to sea. The sun was shining in clear blue skies as we slipped past sleepy villages and under suspension bridges, the cool morning breeze wafting us along at a rate of knots. As we approached the barrage (the river is tidal) we noticed that we were very fortunate as the locks were just opening and we joined the queue of boats leaving the river. We emerged at the other side at low tide and followed the other yachts down the narrow channel leading to the Atlantic. With the jib sail hoisted and the genoa full we barrelled along at seven knots up the estuary towards the large marina at Port du Crouesty on the Atlantic coast near the Gulf of Morbihan. There we hoped to get our passports stamped and the leaving papers endorsed allowing us to navigate to the Isles of Scilly. However, it was not to be–although we managed to arrive in good time to see the Harbour master, we were informed that we could not “check-out” of France from Crouesty and we would need to travel to the nearest designated Port at Lorient, where we could have our paperwork completed in order to leave legally. As it was getting late and the forecast showed the winds would be against us, we decided to spend the weekend at the marina. The following afternoon I decided to stretch my legs and go for a stroll to the local village. I passed an aerial print showing the marina, village and islands in the Gulf beyond. It didn’t look too far, so I left the hamlet behind and walked north into the countryside. It was another glorious day and as I crested the brae of the hill, in front of me was spread out myriad wooded islands, some with houses, like diamonds cast upon a sparkling azure sea. I made my way down to the coast where I spent an hour or so sitting in the sun enjoying the panorama. I noticed that there was a steady stream of walkers along the coastal path and it dawned on me that, if I followed this path, it would probably round the headland and eventually I would come back to the marina. It was a glorious walk, albeit several miles, past small sandy coves, Caledonian Pine trees gracing the banks of the Gulf. As I came to the narrow entrance to the lagoon I noticed the tide was racing in at the far side of the channel at about ten or twelve knots. However, at my side the waters were desperately trying to escape until eddies and whirlpools eventually drove the froth back. A tricky entrance to the Gulf for any sailing boat!! I had a little paddle in the cool waters to ease my feet and eventually, as I had hoped, the path curled its way back to Crouesty. The following day we navigated past a few islands and made our way north, motoring most of the time, as the winds were negligible and blowing against us, however the seas were flat, once again and the sun was shining. The weather was so good throughout our cruise the “order of dress” was shorts and T shirts. We entered the bay past the Citadel at Port Louis, a Napoleonic Fort which is now a particularly impressive naval museum. As we entered the marina my mind returned seventeen years to when we abruptly ended our voyage from Scotland in our motor-sailer, the Elgin Dragon and began our “French adventure”. At any rate I could not believe the changes–the marina was now about three times larger with a new extensive floating stone breakwater in place stretching almost to the 2nd WW Submarine pens. These docks where the Nazi fleet of U-boats were housed and repaired were constructed by the Germans in “bombproof” double layered eight feet thick, reinforced concrete with a six foot gap between to take the energy out of any direct hit. The huge complex is now utilised as a museum and still has a U-boat present as one of the exhibits. At the entrance to the marina is situated Villa Margaret, the wartime headquarters of Admiral Karl Donitz who was later named “Fuhrer” for a few days following Hitler’s death. From here he directed and organised the feared “wolfpacks” in the Battle of the Atlantic and there still remains a concrete pillbox in the gardens of the Chateau. We still found it very difficult to discover where we had to go to get our passports stamped and the marina staff could not help us. We began to wonder whether Brexit had something to do with our bureaucratic difficulties. Anyway Chris eventually managed to trace the address of the Customs Office on the internet. We took the tender across the river the next day and walked about four miles into an industrial area where we found the building which was locked up. Strolling down to the end of the street we cornered a lady who was leaving out of a back door. To cut a long story short, we eventually got to speak to the right officer who stamped our passports but did not know where we could get the boat papers stamped. Later we talked to a marina executive who thought we might have to sail to Brest or Roscoff to get Scarlet “released”. The following day we motored out of the marina and were thinking of making for the Scillies and see if we could get the boat’s papers regularised there when we were overtaken by a large Custom’s Cutter. They told us to cut our engine and launched a Rib with six or seven “gun toting” officers who boarded Scarlet. “Empty your pockets”--”Where have you come from?”--”Where are you going to?” “Have you any drugs on board?”--”Have you a large amount of cash on board?” IF ONLY!! They then spent an hour searching every crevice in the boat. Once their paperwork was completed they were more relaxed and advised us to make for Brest to get Scarlet’s papers stamped. The only female officer in the team approached me and said “you look very like a friend of mine”. My repost–”so there is another good looking guy out there”. They all had a good laugh and departed. The Elgin Dragon was also raided by customs years ago, when we made to leave. However, I thought that was because we had inadvertently forgotten to get our passports stamped at Le Conquet. However, making for Brest, we now realised that all these delays meant that there was no way we would be able to sail to the Isle of Man in time to see the TT Races. However, our mood improved as we passed the beautiful Isle de Groix, which reputedly has the only sandy beach in Europe that is in the shape of an inverted crescent. We came across a pod of dolphins who were swimming, jumping and riding the bow wave of Scarlet –it was magical just watching them! Neil decided we were going to turn off the engine and sail despite the winds being against us and so all four sails were hoisted and we tacked out into the Bay of Biscay towards Spain in increasingly choppy waters. During this long passage Neil regaled us with stories of his exploits while he was sailing in the “tropics”. After many adventures narrowly avoiding pirates in Indonesia and Borneo he made for the Philippines. He met a fellow yachty, a German who was sailing in the same area with his girlfriend. He told Neil that they had a shotgun on board in order to deter the pirates who have operated in the east for generations. I reminded Neil that some of the most notorious pirates in the past came from Scotland– Capt Kidd, John Gow, Andrew Barton etc. Later Neil heard that while the German was sailing in the Philippines a pirate boat approached his yacht and his girlfriend fired a warning shot to try and scare them off. Tragically the pirates then shot her dead, kidnapped him and a few months afterwards his body was found, he had been decapitated. This incident did not appear to deter Neil continuing to sail in these beautiful but dangerous waters. A few months later President Duterte came to power in the Philippines with a mandate to tackle the drug dealers and pirates. Just then Neil took a diversion from his planned route. He found a beautiful creek up a river delta to moor Scarlet and “went native” for a few weeks living off coconuts and mangoes with the hospitable natives. The “balloon had gone up” in Manila, however, when the authorities were informed that it was possible that the Scarlet, another foreign boat, was missing and presumed abducted by pirates. The Australian Government was informed and they were on the point of sending Marshals to Manila when Neil turned up. Senior Filipino military and government figures quizzed Neil on his movements before finally being satisfied that no illicit activity had taken place. He sailed on to India buying and riding an old Royal Enfield bullet motorcycle in order to explore however he was finally stymied when he was confined in South Africa by the covid pandemic after rounding the Cape of Good Hope As soon as he could he was off again crossing the Atlantic, landing at Saint Helena where he saw Napoleon’s “house”. Neil eventually left the “Scarlet” at the Azores in order to fly into Brittany and meet up with his long suffering girlfriend, Sarah. During the Spring, Neil had flown back to the Azores and sailed his yacht into La Roche Bernard situated in the River Vilaine. We tacked back towards Brest and thirty hours later we passed a naval frigate as we entered the channel to the harbour. A helicopter flew low over Scarlet displaying a large sign (upside down and in French) CHANGE COURSE! A few minutes later we understood why. A French nuclear submarine escorted by four tenders was progressing slowly out to sea. We tied up at the visitor’s berth at the marina and went ashore. The WW2 Submarine pens here have been upgraded and are now used by the French navy. The next day as Neil and Chris tried to find the office that would sign-off on Scarlet leaving while I visited the naval museum situated in the old Chateau at the entrance to the River Penfeld. Later, I spent an enjoyable afternoon sunbathing on the grassy bastion overlooking the harbour and the Chateau. Eventually we despaired of finding anyone who could release Scarlet so set sail for Blighty. We passed Le Conquet, a small village with a medieval Tower house perched on a rock by the pier, similar in style to our Scottish fortalices. This was where we first landed in France when we arrived in the Elgin Dragon seventeen years ago. As we proceeded into the channel a thick sea mist came down. The English Channel is the busiest seaway in the world with many large tankers which would be sailing across our path. I remember crossing at night in our vessel with a metal box hoisted to the top of the mast in order to try to increase our radar signature. The huge container ships often have difficulty in spotting small yachts and it is not the first time a small boat has been hit and sunk without trace. Deeming it too dangerous to continue, our Captain made the decision to return to the north Breton coast. A few hours later we entered the haven of Aber Wrac'h, a small picturesque fishing village. The following day was clear and ideal for sailing and with all four sails hoisted we made good progress crossing the hundred miles in around twenty hours. We came across another pod of dolphins surfing the bow wave of Scarlet. Neil told me that in the tropics he had been sitting at the front of the bowsprit when he came upon dolphins. They not only leaped out of the water but turned their heads to take a look at him as they passed. We managed to negotiate the convoys of container ships, in clear weather, which are bringing consumer goods into Europe from the East. Eventually Scarlet glided into Falmouth, an “olde worlde'' port on the south coast of Cornwall. I left the brothers, who managed to get Scarlet stamped into the UK allowing them to return legally to France for another eighteen months. I then had to employ “trains, planes and automobiles” in order to return to Strathendry in time for the Clan Gathering. Although we did not make it to the TT Races, there is always next year– one of my ambitions has always been to ride to the Island and the Races on my old Triumph 600 TT motorcycle!!

The castle is the venue for gatherings etc. Some details can be found here.