Flotsam & Jetsam: High tide in France

Sam Smith - News of record high tides at Mont Saint Michel and elsewhere along the English Channel brought to mind when, in 1958, I sailed along the Brittany coast, where boats carried a sturdy post to use as a prop when the forty-foot tide goes out and you were left with just your keel sitting on the sand. Some of my letters home remain:

 Upon my arrival here in St. Briac, the du Bels immediately made me feel right at home. The first day I was here I went out for a sail with Jean-Claude on the boat of a friend of his, Jean-Pierre Alyar. The two of us and another friend took off the next day for a three day cruise to the Isles of Chaussey which are France's answer to the Channel Islands. The boat was a 36' sloop that sleeps four very comfortably. Chaussey is a place that is very striking with wonderful rocks, great expanses of sand and crevettes by the millions. There is a hotel, so to speak, on the Grand Ile, but on the whole it has a very isolated atmosphere....

The curate appeared from time to time complete in beard and high boots to go fishing in his boat. His church stands high on a hill and on the night of the 15th of August it was an extraordinary experience to sit in the cockpit of our boat and watch the religious procession move slowly from the church down among the rocks to the dock where a brightly lit fishing smack waited. All the time, the members of the procession were singing or chanting and when they reached the dock, the smack moved out into the harbor, fired off a red and a green flare, and then the procession headed back to the dock.

The next night there was dancing as someone on one of the boats had brought a portable phonograph. There must have been a dozen or more cruisers in that weekend and only one motorboat among them. . .

When we left for Chaussey, Jean-Claude and Jean-Pierre had lent their 20-foot sloop (the boat belongs to Jean-Pierre but was loaned to Jean-Claude for the summer) to a friend. The day after we returned, the boat had not come back from the sail the day before. It was not to be found at any of the ports along the coast. On board were a Swedish girl and the son of the owner of a store at Dinard. It was not late in that day that a report came over the radio that a boat answering perfectly to the description of the Derby had been found under full sail by Jersey with no one aboard. In the cabin were found the clothes of the boy and the girl and a watch.

The answer was obvious but astonishing. During the flat calm of the day before the two must have decided to go swimming, leaving the boat unattended. The boat than departed, leaving them to drown.

The Derby was taken as a prize of the sea and will have to be retrieved by legal proceedings. Both Jean-Pierre and Jean-Claude are desolate, the more because they are both excellent sailors and such an accident seems so unnecessary. . .


One day, Jean-Claude, his cousin Alain and myself went to visit Fort de la Laffe near Cape Frehal. This old structure, which has guarded the coast for 300 years, sits on an incredibly lonely and windy point. The guide spoke a patois that was difficult even for Jean-Claude and Alain to understand. He was one of those types who gives a tone of urgent credibility to his voice.

The fort was used in the making of the film, The Vikings, and it couldn't have been designed better for the purpose. There were two moats to fall into, two doors to batter down, tiny stairs to have sword fights on, gaping rock crevasses with a raging sea to drown in. And the fort is rugged enough so it managed to withstand both the English and Kirk Douglas.

The evenings have been spent in part at a very pleasant dancing place near the du Bels. The atmosphere is perfect and everyone has been very friendly to me. I also went to a surprise party for a girl who Alain and Jean-Claude knew. Her parents raise chickens and we drank, ate chicken, danced, ate chicken, talked, and ate chicken until 3 am.

I've manage to read about 200 pages in French since I've been at St. Briac which is slightly better than what my summer average would be in English. Tuesday morning when I arrived at the du Bels, Jean-Claude said that Jean-Pierre Allard had invited us to go again on a cruise. This time, the itinerary extended out as far as Guernsey, and I had my gear ready in a little under five minutes. Besides Jean-Pierre, Jean--Claude and myself were two older guys, both who had been the in the merchant marine, so it was as good a combination as you could want. Their wives accompanied us while we bought such items as one dozen bottles of red wine (only a French boat of 36' would have three wine cellars), huge loaves of bread etc.

We got under sail around six in the evening. Moving down the Rance to Dinard we stopped by a friend's boat to borrow a jib to use as an extra sail. Fortunately, the wind was in the right direction and we could hoist the jib as a head sail mounted high on the forestay as well as the spinnaker (known as a spi here), jib, and mainsail. Every sail carried well and by 10:30-11 pm we arrived safely at Chaussey. Being nighttime and low tide we couldn't put the ship to ground and had to remain in the channel which was quite a roll hole.

The next morning we set sail for the northern exit of the island which becomes a desert of sand at low tide. The wind dead behind us, fresh all day, we raised Jersey by early afternoon. Since we were entering English soil, we hoisted a British flag on our starboard yardarm, the yellow "all the crew is in good health" flag on the port, and sailed into the harbor. As we entered we were hailed by the question "Ou devenez-vous?" in a strong British accent that greatly amused my French ship mates. The pleasant equality of the law forces HM Customs to greet 36-footers as well 36-thousand tonners and after their inspection we were ready for a somewhat late lunch and visit aboard the Crazy Cloud, which lay in tandem with us, two boats in towards the dock.

On board were M. & Mde Burseaux plus Phillip Anselle among others. Their boat is extremely spacious and well fitted out, besides being quite fast. Along about 7 pm, a 70' British yawl came into port and made fast between us and the dock. As she came in complete with a paid crew of three, a motorboat started in reverse from nearby. Before the yawl could do anything, they had collided. Fortunately damage was slight and from the yawl came the gruff voice of the owner: "A bit of a damned fool, aren't you, old chap?"

I was happy to turn the tables for a change and do some translating. I was well used, as the guys wanted sweaters, cigarettes and whiskey, all things that bring Frenchmen to Jersey.

When we returned, the Jersey lifeboat had pulled alongside of us and the mechanic invited us aboard for a look-see. It was very impressive to see a piece of machinery so beautifully designed for one purpose. There in a piece of wood and steel scarcely more than 30' long was the potential of saving up to 120 lives. And being a British lifeboat it even had a tea cooker under one of the thwarts.

We left the interesting island of Jersey for the even more interesting island of Guernsey. More interesting because of a more pleasant harbor, more curious streets and more interesting places to see. It was not long after we left Jersey that all the heavens opened up with tons of rain, but only a slight wind. On top of this we had a wonderful display of nature's own son et lumiere until mid-day. The storm passed, the sun came out, and the wind dropped even further. But the English Channel was living up to its reputation, and the sea rolled the boat up and down a good ten feet making it impossible to hold what wind there was in the sails. A short distance off to port a small English sloop would ride high for a moment and then disappear in the trough leaving only the mast in view like the periscope of a gigantic submarine. Two miles astern a large boat sported a blue spinnaker as it edged up on us, riding with some breeze we could not find. One by one we took in the sails -- the headsail, the jib and finally the main -- leaving only the spinnaker to carry us inch by inch towards Guernsey. With a heavy roll, the heavy sails are worthless, the boom just slats from side to side. Only the spinnaker would carry well and we moved with the silence that a calm at sea brings. But after an hour or so, even that wouldn't hold and we were forced to enter Guernsey under power. . .

We were due at the French isle of Bréhat at 8 pm the next evening. A quick computing of the current situation told us that we would never make it if we left the next morning. So at 1 am we hoisted our anchor, cleared the harbor and headed for France. The sea was dead calm and it was necessary once again to use the motor. Jean-Claude and I sacked out first, and a little after four the others woke us so we could take over. Topside there was nothing to see but the tall light off les Roches Douves, beckoning with that quiet insistence that is part of the character of lighthouses. The dull monotone of our motor answered the beckoning, and there being nothing that we could add to this dialogue, we sat silently awaiting for dawn. It arrived as les Roches Douves pass quietly off our port beam. By coincidence, almost immediately after we had passed, the light was turned off for the day as if to say, "I've done all I can for you, stranger."

With no landmarks to guide us, we turned to the compass and the rest of our trick was spent steering towards that ever distant line where gray sky meet gray sea. By 9 am it was time to go back to the sack. When I woke at noon, both the mainsail and jib were up and drawing. The gray sky and see had disappeared and in their place the island of Bréhat, with the mainland close behind, relaxed in a sunlit sea.