Postcards from Leonie - August 2013
Postcards from Leonie - August 2013
It’s 1.30am and the alarm is buzzing, although we are both already awake.
For eight years, my husband Carl and I have been itching to leave Dartmouth on a long term cruise around the Mediterranean via Paris and the French waterways and today is the start of our long-awaited voyage.
At last, on a clear, starry night in the middle of May, we were ready to cross the Channel to our first port of call, Guernsey, in our yacht Leonie, a 35ft Arthur Robb Lion Class built in 1953.
We slipped out of our home port, away from family and friends, saying a special goodbye to Carl’s mum and dad whose ashes are buried at St Petrox Church. As we did, a shooting star arced above the river mouth, which we took to be a good omen.
Our emotions rippled with excitement and nerves. We were about to live the dream, but ahead, for 12-hours, lay the longest trip we had ever made in Leonie.
It wasn’t long before a pale salmon-pink light illuminated the eastern skies, and three hours later our Devon shoreline vanished from the horizon.
We breezed across the Channel - well, motored across as the winds were light and we wanted to reach Guernsey by 5pm.
We easily navigated the first shipping lane, but the second was busier with a long ribbon of tankers and container ships snaking their way up the channel in a seemingly endless convoy.
Our hearts raced when the oil alarm buzzed after Carl cranked up the engine, aiming for a gap between two huge vessels.
This alarm has a habit of going off, seemingly for no reason as the dials do not reflect any problems. But at this moment in time, with a container looming, it was quite unnerving. We slowed down and motored behind the ship instead.
After a long and at times bitterly cold crossing, peppered with lots of snacks and hot drinks, we finally sighted the low lying island of Guernsey.
It was another three hours before we arrived at St Peter Port, exhausted but happy to have reached our destination.
Waking to a sun drenched morning, cold damp England felt a long way away. We motored Leonie into the inner harbour – she was the only classic yacht in sight.
After three days exploring the charms of Guernsey, we set off for Cherbourg on a cloudy, breezy day. We sailed the seven hour voyage, whizzing through the Alderney Races with Leonie reaching speeds of 10knots as the racing tides pushed her forward at great speed.
I took the helm for the long run into Cherbourg and we flew into the outer harbour at an exhilarating pace, excited to be in France.
The next morning, after breakfast ashore (coffee and croissant of course), we began a four-hour motorsail round the anchorage outside Saint Vaast-la-Hougue.
There was nothing but the flat empty sea between the horizon and the distant smudge of land, but a couple of British ‘gin palaces’ still decided to charge past us within a few metres, cheerfully waving as they unwittingly causing Leonie to violently rock and roll in their wake.
Hundreds of gannets flew overhead to their roosting ground at the old fort opposite the anchorage. All was peaceful until 12.30am when a land-based foghorn blared out at 30-second intervals until dawn – despite the fact there was no fog!
Keen to reach the mouth of the River Seine and pretty Honfleur, we pushed on to Ouistreham, 70 miles away, the following day.
The nine hour passage was marked by a little bird, a swift perhaps, resting on Leonie’s mast for some respite during its migration north.
After a long run into Ouistreham, we motored into a huge lock and onto the peaceful visitors’ mooring area.
High winds left us stranded in Ouistreham for three days. We spent the days exploring the town, doing laundry, restocking our larder and unsuccessfully attempting to fix the oil alarm problem.
The passage to Honfleur was the worst 25 nautical miles of the whole trip. The wind blew stronger than forecast and we were motor-sailing east against a fierce easterly wind. The swell was horrible.
I was sick and scared, rendered utterly useless, while Carl was at the helm getting absolutely soaked in our open cockpit. We had too much sail up and were being thrown all over the place. The sail needed reefing but I was too frightened to do it, or take the helm.
Carl did brilliantly, he pretty much got us to the Seine singlehandedly in such awful conditions. All I was able to do was to tell him where we were on the GPS as his glasses were too wet to see the screen.
Miraculously, the sun came out as we reached the Seine, the wind dropped and the sea state calmed. Carl was able to sail right up to Honfleur’s lock. It was an emotional arrival. It had been our dream to come here for eight years and we had finally made it.
We spent a lovely three days moored in Honfleur’s inner harbour, surrounded by cobbled streets, medieval buildings, cafes and tourists.
The day we left forecast rain, but it didn’t look too bad when we woke at 5.30am so we decided to press ahead up the Seine to Rouen.
It takes 12 hours for a boat of our engine size to reach Rouen. We battled against the tide for three hours in the rain. We put one of our big beach umbrellas up in the cockpit, bought for shade and shelter, but we still got wet as our so-called waterproof trousers leaked.
While Carl helmed, I went below to make a ‘spag bol’ for our tea. Eventually, the tide turned and slackened and the sun came out. Our speed picked up tremendously and we took turns helming. The big commercial barges started appearing, but we easily kept out of their way.
We motored through a particularly pretty stretch of sweeping river bends framed by high tree-covered hills dotted with chateaus’ and the air full of bird-song.
Reaching Rouen, we tied up to a mooring outside the centre. We are taking our mast with us through the waterways, so the following day motored round to the yard where a crane lowered the mast onto crutches Carl made in Dartmouth.
It took us another six days to reach Paris, motoring against a strong current.
Days on board were spent sharing the helming, idly gliding past the river banks, pointing out the herons, arctic terns and the odd flash of a kingfisher weaving through the foliage. Nights were tucked up in mostly free municipal stops in tranquil villages, bustling towns and even an old sand pit.
Entering the middle of Paris on a lively Saturday afternoon was thrilling; what a fantastic way to arrive. People smiled and waved in greeting from the majestic bridges as we motored past the Eiffel Tower, snapping photos of Leonie as she travelled upstream in the wake of a glut of tourist boats plying up and down the Seine.
Paris looked beautiful as the sun glinted on its magnificent golden-stoned edifices. After mooring in the Paris Arsenal, not far from the Notre Dame, we looked forward to spending a few days exploring this fascinating city before embarking on the second part of our voyage – travelling through the French waterways via the Marne, Saone and Rhone Rivers en-route to the Mediterranean.
First Published August 2013 By The Dart
