Scuppered?
Sorry for the radio silence. A cat got my tongue. And the internet is switched off in this town for Mardi gras festival. Just back online now!
Before leaving Brest we got the news that the insurance doesn’t cover us to cross the Bay of Biscay. And we are unable to find out exactly where the bay starts and finishes in legal terms so we can avoid it. Which is currently stalling our passage.
WTF. You might ask. I did. WTF!!!!!!!
Without, at the very least, crew insurance we can’t sail. Half the crew are employees and the rest of us our trainees so technically this is a workplace and thus we must have insurance should the worst happen.
The issue is that the Bay of Biscay is a dangerous place and most insurers put clauses in their marine insurance for yachts and ships excluding passage in the Bay of Biscay during the winter months.
We left Brest 3 days ago. The crew agreed that if we were waiting to renegotiate insurance the least we could do in the meantime was go sailing and celebrate Mardi Gras. So we loaded a cargo of wine and set out into the sunshine to skirt the coast of Brittany and head for Douarnenez, a rowdy little fishing port 3 hours sailing south of Brest.
We hoisted the sails after rounding the headland. This time we learnt how to use the winch to hoist the mainsail. The winch was formally a winch from a mine shaft in wales and is very heavy duty. It has an iron handle either side of the mast. However it is painfully slow to operate and I think I prefer the group hoisting with the ropes and the pins.
With the sails up all the problems we have faced melt away. For awhile….
We arrived in Douarnenez and moored up next to fishing boats and trawlers on the quayside. We had to keep checking the mooring lines to adjust the ropes with the tide. And our route off the boat was by a very narrow slippery ladder.
After a quick dinner of rice and satay curry we prepared ourselves for the circus of Douarnenez. Liberal amounts of face paints and eyeliner were applied. And a moderate amount of glitter.
It took some work to find the festivities. We stumbled across some pink pigs and a couple of transvestites that pointed us in the right direction. The bars were filled with throngs of men dressed as women and women dressed as men along with a heavy dose of Pirates.
Cripes have I travelled back to Dalston I wondered?
Much dancing and chanting ensued. Antoine, our crazy frenchman, stripped off and wandered around just in board shorts, bare feet and with a towel around his neck.
I learnt a number of rousing french songs and danced a number of jigs. We finally stumbled back to the boat around 3am to find it was high tide and the boat was several metres out from the quay. Having to take a huge leaps to get back on board. Nothing like a fraction of mild peril at 3 in the morning.
The next day pretty much nothing happened. Spirits were at an all time low. No news about insurance. No idea whether we are going anywhere. Stranded in the doldrums…
Yesterday was not much different. I tried to find an internet cafe. Went for a walk. Moped around with Martina and Antje. Made some flapjacks.
We toasted to ‘low morale’ at lunch and did some work on the RIB (our inflatable safety boat).
At 6.30pm yesterday Laurance, our Captain, returned to the boat with news that the insurance may be sorted. We are waiting for a call…
So that is where we are at. Once again.
Not the end of our tale I hope.






Tallowing the mast protects it from the elements and preserves the wood preventing it from splitting. Gradually I applied a thick layer around a metre high section of the mast swinging around to reach each side. The mast has a diameter of about 50 cm.



















