July 20, 2019
Today’s crossing will take us from Barcelona, up the section of the Spanish coast called the Costa Brava, then across the notoriously tricky Gulf of Lyon and into Cassis, which is an old Provencal fishing village just east of Marseille. The total journey is about 180 nautical miles, which we estimate should take us around 30 hours. This will be the longest passage we have done just the 2 of us. We had done careful weather routing prior to departure, as the Gulf of Lyon can apparently experience very high winds that whip down the gulf from the Pyrenees and can come quickly and many hours before predicted. So we had received stern advice to give ourselves a wide window through the gulf on either side of an expected blow. We spent the morning ticking off our final pre-departure errands: fill the boat with water and food, check out of the marina, and of course rush back to Katie and Theo’s because somebody carelessly left all of their beloved hats on a shelf (I'll give you a hint - it wasn’t Stephen). Once back aboard, we checked the weather one final time, reviewed our passage plan, and started prepping the lines to shove off. Leaving a pontoon is always an iterative process, as you need to take into consideration wind, current, and the proximity of other boats to determine which lines to slip first and last. We firstly set our stern line to slip, as this would be the final line securing us to the dock. Setting a line to slip allows you to remove it while on the boat so that you don’t need assistance from the shore when departing. Then we engaged the engine forward and steered Florence slightly towards dock to remove the tension on the bowline before we set that line to slip as well. We put her into neutral and removed both her spring lines, which attach to Florence’s mid-section. I was at the helm, while Stephen removed the bow line then walked back and at my command slipped the stern line as I engaged forward, allowing us to slip smoothy away from the pontoon. We avoided the boat to our port and turned Florence out towards the mouth of the marina. It was satisfying being able to safely leave the marina without any outside assistance. Despite the inconspicuous arrival and that mystery with our lines being shuffled around, Port Forum ended up being not a bad little marina in Barcelona, and good value for the area.
As we rounded the breakwater, we immediately felt the wind whipping up. We knew the wind was meant to be strong for the first part of our journey before dying a complete death in the evening, so we wanted to get the sails up and fast to take advantage. Unfortunately the troubles with the in-mast furling on our mainsail continued, and it was more finicky than ever. We aren’t sure what is causing the issue: Is the sail getting wrinkled inside the mast? Are the battens twisted and somehow getting stuck? It took us about 15 minutes of making slight adjustments, inching the sail out and back in a bit whenever she got snagged, but eventually with a good deal of patience we got the full sail out. We took out the whole genoa as well to give ourselves maximum sail area and coasted along on a beautiful broad reach for the first part of our sail, making between 8 and 10 knots, which is pretty damn quick for a heavy boat this size. Stephen and I had some dinner together on deck - my famous cold peanut and sesame noodles that I made WAY too much of. I could see Stephen flagging ever more as I kept refilling his bowl (I guess there is such a thing as too much of a good thing?). Stephen then tried to get some rest while I took first watch from 6-10 PM. Costa Brava I discovered is decidedly more charming than Costa del Sol, at least from my vantage point a few miles off the coast. The landscape is quite hilly, dotted with a series of hillside and harbour towns. I watched a lovely sunset while I reset the sails now that the wind was struggling to stay above 7 knots and was backing on us. I finally made it to the end of Anna Karenina on Audible, which had been a bit of a labour of love. I’d really enjoyed the book, but after 40+ hours of listening to the narrator Maggie Gyllenhaal attempting to pronounce long Russian names while I tried to keep all the characters straight (every female character is referred to as either Princess or Countess and too many of the male lead characters are named Alexi), I was ready to move onto something else. I’ve found audio books absolutely brilliant for passage-making, as when on watch you obviously can’t be reading, but you also don’t want to just stare at the black water for hours on end. Audiobooks are a great solution to allow you to rip through a book while also staying alert on watch. Though perhaps I’ll choose a slightly shorter one next time...
Back on watch from 2-6 AM, I drank a bucket of coffee and ate way too much granola in an attempt to stay alert. I find the middle of the night watch to be the most difficult to keep those eyelids up, so caffeine and sugar get generous airtime for me. It was a nice change when I started to hear French voices over the maritime radio after having heard only Spanish for the past few weeks. We must be getting closer! Unfortunately around 3 AM, the wind died a quicker death than forecast, and I had no choice but to turn on the motor. Also, a thick fog rolled in around the same time, and I couldn’t see a thing. So I glued my eyes to the radar screen, keeping an eye out for any colourful blob that might indicate a ship out there without Automatic Identification System (AIS) software. The only worry on my watch was a boat I spotted on radar without AIS that was moving too fast to be a sailboat or a fishing vessel and was not keeping a terribly steady heading. I used the target tracking system on radar to try to figure out if we were on a collision course, but that system isn’t nearly as accurate as AIS, as the radar only sweeps intermittently, hence giving rough and often wildly swinging speeds and headings of other vessels. Our closet point of approach to this vessel kept jumping from 2 miles to less than 500 feet, which didn’t inspire confidence as to what the boat was actually doing. I decided to wake Stephen up so he could be on deck looking for their navigation lights if we could see them, while I monitored radar below and altered course 15 degrees to port to be safe. Stephen and I have a firm agreement that whenever either of us is unsure of something when on solo watch, we won’t hesitate to wake the other person. Safely takes priority over sleep! Although the fog was way too thick to distinguish their lights, the vessel appeared to be keeping a steadier course, and it seemed we would pass it on our starboard side about 1 mile away. We suspected the boat might be up to some dodgy activity, as a boat going that fast without AIS in the middle of the night in thick fog indicates someone who probably doesn’t want to be seen. We were headed close to Marseille, which is still a prominent entry point into Europe for illegal drugs, but who knows? We were just happy the boat had moved on past us without incident.
Our night sail continued without a breath of wind. So much for the threat of gales whipping down from the Pyrenees! We may actually have welcomed some of those about now. The early morning hours were like sailing on glass. At least the fog had cleared by about 8 AM, which made the passage less nervey. We enjoyed a couple hours of pale sunshine until the fog rolled back in thick and fast around 10 AM. Back on radar watch! This was getting a bit tedious. The fog did clear in time for us to see the impressively steep cliffs and calanques of Cassis and the surrounding areas as we neared our destination. This area of Provence is known for having the steepest cliffs on the coast, which are marked by these dramatic inlets cutting into their sides called calanques. There are apparently some very cool anchorages in these calanques and some beautiful hikes around them that are meant to be a highlight of any visit to Cassis. These cliff faces made for a stunning backdrop as we sailed closer to our destination. After 30 hours at sea, we were excited to get to Cassis and to step foot on French soil.
Having researched exactly where we wanted to drop the hook in the Baie de Cassis, we were somewhat perturbed to find that the area designated in the pilot books as the best place to anchor had been roped off in its entirety as an enormous no-wake zone. The marina itself was too small to fit a boat of our size and draft (plus marinas generally suck - they are more often than not crowded, hot, smelly, and expensive), so we had to think on our feet to find another place to safely drop the hook. We saw some boats anchored a ways off in the other half of the bay, so we headed that way in search of sand. Knowing of the potentially steep fines imposed if you are caught with even a piece of your anchor or chain on the protected seagrass, we were keen to avoid it at all costs, though it’s often hard to tell beyond a certain depth what your anchor is actually lying on. We tootled around for some time before finding a spot where there looked to be enough depth and sand to drop the hook. We attempted to dig but realised after setting the anchor and diving on that the end of our chain was banging against some sharp rocks. That didn’t seem ideal, so we upped anchor and tried again. On this next attempt, our anchor very nearly snagged an unmarked and submerged mooring, and only by rapidly aborting at the last minute did we avoid getting our anchor wrapped around it, which would have been a bitch to untangle, and I’m honestly not sure how we would have gone about it - we're still learning to problem-solve on the fly! OK, stay calm - third time is the charm (please, God). We decided to move to a deeper and less crowded part of the bay where the sand seemed more prevalent. One of the joys of having a lot of anchor chain is that you can afford to anchor in deeper areas where smaller boats can’t go. On third attempt, we seemed to have dug our hook successfully in sand, with no pesky seagrass or rocks encroaching and far enough away from other boats not to be too worried about our swing circle or other boats tripping our anchor. Stephen dove on the anchor again and confirmed it was well-dug, so after taking transits (finding two or more landmarks that line up with one another to help you determine if your position relative to the land has changed), we were confident we were finally set in a position we would be comfortable for the night Phew! Anchoring really does require patience and perseverance (two things that are often in short supply at the end of a long passage), as if you get it wrong, you are at risk of ruining your boat real quick if the anchor drags unnoticed. Advice we’d received from experienced sailors was to anchor as if you are staying for a week, even if you are staying for an hour. Words to live by. We changed out of our passage gear (i.e., grubby, sweaty clothes covered in sunscreen) and into something a little more appropriate for our first foray ashore in Provence.
It was a seriously long dinghy ride from our anchorage to the harbour, given the massive no-wake zone we had to traverse around. As we approached the breakwater into the harbour, we encountered some really confused water, and I very nearly fell in at one point (which would have put a quite literal damper on the evening). Once inside the breakwater, we got our first taste of Cassis, which was a picturesque little village built around a harbour filled with small boats, with dozens of colourful buildings lining the quai. Numerous restaurants with large patios spilled out onto the sidewalks. The waterfront was perhaps a bit crowded and touristy, but it was still charming nonetheless and definitely felt tres francais. We tied up the dinghy somewhere illegal I’m sure, and hopped ashore in search of some much needed relaxation over our first glass of Provencal wine. It’s funny, after being ashore maybe 60 seconds, Stephen and I had already seen about 12 signs declaring something or other “interdit” - forbidden. The French do love a rule, it seems. We decided to just assume that whatever we wanted to do on land would likely be, strictly speaking, “interdit,” and we’d just have to roll with it. Hey, I was still technically travelling illegally at this stage given my thwarted efforts at “checking in” in Spain, so I was starting to feel at ease being on the wrong side of Johnny Law (not really though - I’m unfortunately a nervous person and was anxious to attempt to check in properly to France the following morning).
Though the restaurants along the quai were all a bit similar and invariably overpriced, they all still looked pretty damn good to Florence’s hungry and weary crew. We found a perch on a little balcony overlooking the harbour and the dramatic chateau that sits high above the town. I was craving traditional French fish stew that is served with garlic toasts and a sauce called rouille (think gobs and gobs of a mayonnaise-like substance), while Stephen had some delicious loup de mer with garlic sauce. We sat back and just let the sleepiness, relief, and satisfaction of having made safe landfall in France spill over us. Despite having previously lived in France for 6 months and having travelled to various places around the country, I’d never been to Provence before. Clearly this is was as good an excuse as any to indulge in as much Provencal rose as possible.
Post dinner, after a leisurely walk up and down the quai, passage exhaustion really started to set in, so we dinghied back to Florence. On approach in the pitch black anchorage, we were thankful we’d remembered to turn on Flo's anchor light and a saloon light to help us identify her in darkness. It’s not a good feeling when you reach the shore, intending to have a relaxing evening, only to remember you forgot to turn the damn anchor light on and you have to turn back ASAP to rectify the situation. We fell asleep listening to the loud and rhythmic thrumming of the cicadas reverberating from the trees shore, excited to see what else Cassis has to offer tomorrow. Vive la France!
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