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The Isles of Scilly, those wild, verdant, heavenly little pearls in the far west of English Cornwall, are just a handful of miles away: a short crossing of the English Channel and you're there!
But that's without taking into account the vagaries of the weather: low-pressure trains, fog banks and the vagaries of the swell. While they may seem geographically close, certain low-pressure passages can sometimes make them inaccessible, even during the summer season.
Position yourself as close as possible to the road
Last year, when we left Lorient harbour, we positioned our yacht in Aber Wrach harbour, "just opposite". But the weather configuration didn't guarantee that we'd be able to make a round trip, "watch in hand", in the 15 days we had available. Missed, maybe next summer...
This year, it seems that Éole took pity on us by granting us a breath of north-easterly wind in mid-May. This light breeze enabled us to set sail from Lorient, bound for the Glénan archipelago.
The sails billow, the hull loosens from the keel, the rigging stretches and the stomachs gently settle. The very next day, a boulevard - or rather, a freeway - opens up towards the Raz de Sein. Even the dolphins are there, at the crossroads of the Pointe de Penmarch'.
The sunset over the Tevennec lighthouse is divinely incandescent, while three mackerel offer themselves to our trolling line between the piles of peas at the tip of Pen Hir. Shortly afterwards, our anchor sinks in front of Camaret beach. We're now on the starting line.
We could also have chosen a position on the island of Ouessant, but given the forecast wind conditions, Camaret seemed a good compromise.
Barely enough time to appreciate our stopover in Finistère before it's time to set sail again and stow our mooring lines and fenders deep in the boot: life from anchorage to anchorage awaits us at the end of this cross-Channel trip.
A bubbling channel
Gliding along on a motorized mirror, we set off towards Pointe Saint Mathieu. We enter the bubbling Le Four channel with a tidal coefficient of only 50. It's a bumpy ride in all directions, but we're making 7 knots on the bottom. Once out, we set a course of 330°, deliberately a little more easterly and closer to the wind so as to be able to gain heading later on.
A rail passage that requires constant attention
As we enter the first part of the rail, all our attention turns to port and we watch for ships "climbing" towards the Channel, but nothing.
In the intermediate zone between the ascending and descending rails, a mist slowly but surely settles in. More or less thick here, a little more there, its density plays gently with our nerves, especially when we reach the descending part of the rail. The mist becomes as opaque as it is disturbing.
On board, no one speaks. Our eyes scan the grey area between the surface of the water and the fog. What if a mastodon, its bow already dark and immense, suddenly tore the horizon? But nothing. More fear than harm, it will be a rail without cargo.
Once off the track, a few miles away in the transom, we can see two immense steel cathedrals passing in the distance through the mist...
Luminescent night
Often, as if by magic, the very end of the evening sees the sky lighten and give way to a sunset blending parma and orange. A curious petrel approaches several times, hovering in slow motion, staring at me with its sharp eye. Gannets circle majestically, playing with the softening breeze. It's nearly 11 p.m., night is falling, and I'm off to the bunting, relieved by the captain who takes the first watch.
2am, it's my turn to watch. A few fishing boat lights glow in the distance. A nearly full moon reigns in the starry sky, and the constellations surrounding it are mysteriously bewitching company. The surface of the water also glows with the luminescence of plankton, haloing the hull in a wave of phosphorescent bow - a true spectacle, courtesy of nature. Around 4 a.m., dawn infuses its pastel hues as the breeze softens. In fact, in Scilly, daytime temperatures are sometimes equal to nighttime...
A Mediterranean landing
Around 8:30 am, although the air is cool, a dazzling sun warms the cockpit.
Intense luminosity, combined with an azure sky, gives us the impression of floating above the clouds. Shrouds of mist move across the surface, masking the Isles of Scilly, which should already be appearing ahead of us. They're just waiting to be seen... for a coffee.
Gentle anchoring
And then the coasts of the first islands start to take shape, Saint Agnes & Gugh on the port side and Saint Mary in the bow. The captain has opted for a landing at Porth Cressa, on the island of Saint Mary.
The large beach that opens its arms to us is poorly paved on its eastern side, and we slalom between the dozen or so sailboats already at anchor to find the ideal spot. When a spot becomes available, we take it and anchor some twenty meters of chain.
The temperature is almost Mediterranean, the water turquoise and the location calimissime. Happy to have arrived, we're now looking forward to exploring this promising archipelago.
