July 27, 2019
And so began our sail out of Cassis and towards our next port of call in St. Tropez. We sailed along the Provencal coast, past Toulon, Hyeres and its neighbouring islands. We considered stopping off for a night on the island of Poqueroles, as we’d heard good things and it looked lovely as we sailed along its coast, but we were both eager to get to St. Tropez ahead of this potential storm. So we stuck to the plan and sailed on past. It would only be a quick day sail back to Poqueroles if we decided we wanted to check it out later. As we turned up the French coast towards the Gulf of St. Tropez, we were now properly in mega-yacht territory and with it, a total disregard for collision regulations. The international collision regulations delineate that if a sailing vessel and a power vessel are potentially on a collision course, the sailing vessel is considered the "stand on" vessel, and it's her duty to maintain her course and speed, while the motor yacht is the "give-way" vessel who must alter course to avoid collision. In our experience, motor yachts just don't give a shit about these regulations and instead do what they please, speeding past at harrowing speeds and not altering course a degree to account for any other vessel in their path. Despite being the stand on vessel, we had to alter course more than a few times along this stretch of water to avoid the large motor yachts that came zipping by, sending Florence lurching in their wake. Thanks guys! Have a wanky day!
We navigated around the cardinal marks along the entrance to the Gulf of St. Tropez, keeping well off the rocks that jut out from the coast. We rounded the entrance to the gulf and turned into our destination of the Bay of Canebiers. It was as stunning as we had imagined - a large bay, well-protected from all sides except perhaps the northeast, with a coastline dotted with the most stunning French villas you’ve ever seen. Definitely the high rent district. Despite the ostentatious wealth, the bay still managed to be picturesque and charming. We were well-ensconced in her by about 7:30 PM, before darkness began to fall, and we began tootling around in search of a good spot in between the super yachts to drop the hook.
It's always a bit of a mystery when first entering a bay what the lay of the land will be, so it's worth doing a lap to get as much reconnaissance as you can before committing to an anchorage. You need to keep in mind potentially shelving depths that, hazardous rocks beneath the surface, and, importantly in this bay's case, the location of other yachts. We were by no means the only boat trying to take advantage of Canebiers' charms, and the mega-yachts typically take pole position. And not to be underestimated is the seabed upon which you are likely anchoring. There is definitely a hierarchy of what constitutes good holding versus bad. Mud is considered the best, followed by sand. Sea grass is tricky, as in the Med it is really thick and protected by authorities, so holding is questionable and you will likely be told off or fined if you stray onto it. And at the bottom of the hierarchy are rocks - you want to avoid anchoring on a rocky seabed if at all possible. It can be a bit of a gamble, as unless the water is relatively shallow and there is clear sand beneath you, you don't definitively know what you are anchoring on. That's why even after you’ve dug, stress-testing the anchor with some reverse revs on the engine and diving on it is always a good idea. We ended up choosing a spot on the western side of the bay that seemed to have sufficient depth and where the bottom appeared to be mud and weed. We nosed in behind a mega yacht called Skat owned by the dude who invented Microsoft Office - the yacht that spreadsheets built. It looked like an enormous old military tanker of some sort, 71 meters long and 5 stories high, complete with a helipad. Well done, sir. We dropped the hook and seemed to hold, although we couldn’t see the bottom. After diving on it, Stephen reported that we were definitely on thick sea grass and that he couldn’t see the anchor through it. We had already reversed on the anchor pretty aggressively and hadn't moved, so we figured as it was 8 PM and we were tired, we would leave it for the night and reassess tomorrow.
After the long sail, I was weary and a bit dehydrated, so I decamped to our cabin and just lay in front of the fan for about 30 minutes. When showered and ready to head to land in search of some refreshment, I was surprised when I popped back out on deck and realised Florence was not pointing in the same direction as the other boats. If a boat is held on anchor, it should point into the wind, so normally in an anchorage you will see most boats pointing in the same direction. Ours strangely was pointing the other way. Odd. I pointed this out to Stephen, and we had a think. Neither of us was completely comfortable leaving the boat for dinner - while we didn't seem to be moving, something just didn’t feel right. We decided to reverse on the anchor again to see if the chain grumbled, which is a sign you are dragging. I went to the helm and gave Florence a decent amount of reverse revs, while Stephen stood at the bow with his foot on the anchor chain. Sure enough, the chain started grumbling and we began moving backwards to the point where the depth gauge jumped from 7 meters down to 2. We were definitely not dug and risked drifting onto the rocks. Thank goodness we felt something was off! It was the first time I had experienced what our instructor Hozza had described as the anchoring gut-check: he explained that anchoring is more of an art than a science and that after a while, you just get a feel for it and your gut will tell you if you are properly dug or not. My gut had told me something was off, and low and behold it certainly was. If we had gone ashore, we would have likely returned from dinner to find our boat on the rocks - great for drinks, not for boats. And that would have been the tragic end to this adventure, and this blog. I'm still holding out hope I don't have to write a post with that ending...
We didn’t panic but also didn’t waste time, as we were nearly on the rocks and darkness was falling fast. We got the anchor up quickly and moved deeper into the bay in search of better holding. Once in the middle, we tried again, and this time we dug. We seemed to be in mud rather than weed, which should provide solid holding. Something about the way the anchor dug this time just felt right - again, perhaps more of an art than a science? By this time, it was getting quite late and we didn't have the energy to go all the way into town, which was a dinghy ride then a 15-20 minute walk. We were still keen to get off the boat, but perhaps not too far given our near drag. We noticed some warm, twinkling lights coming from a little beach on the west side of the bay so decided to take our chances on that. At this point, we had no food left on the boat, so unless we wanted peanut butter on crackers for dinner, following these lights was worth a shot.
We dinghied to the beach and were pleasantly surprised to find one of the most idyllic settings we'd ever seen. The beach had a lovely little restaurant with tables in the sand, a gorgeous bar, and the smell of barbecued fish and meat wafting over the water. Mine! Though the restaurant seemed full, they were able to squeeze us in, and we happily collapsed into a couple wooden chairs with our feet in the sand and a cocktail list in hand. We were surrounded by what looked to be very well-heeled, older French couples. It seems the upper crust of St. Tropez have discovered this spot - there were definitely a lot of jewellery, watches, and botox on display. We enjoyed BBQ steak, tuna, and a bottle of dry white as we watched the lights flickering across the bay. We decided that given our somewhat pressed schedule thus far and the fact that Canebiers is supposed to provide somewhat all around shelter, we would slow the pace a bit and give ourselves 10 days or so to relax and enjoy St. Tropez. I, for one, was excited to get the opportunity to dig into this place a little more and to not stress about immediately moving on to the next destination. As interesting as our travels had been so far, it's hard to get a real sense of a place in only a handful of days.
The following morning, we found a small stretch of beach where it seemed we could leave the dinghy, and we began our hike into the old town of St. Tropez. It was a lovely commute. The hike took us along the cliffs and beaches lining the bay, through this bizarre little cemetery that sat up on a bluff looking out at the sea, and down a hill that popped us right into the narrow, winding streets of the old town. St. Tropez old town is incredibly charming. It stretches over a hill that slopes down to the harbour and is full of rambling streets lined with old buildings with blue wooden shutters. There is no rhyme or reason to the streets, but part of the charm is just wandering aimlessly and letting the twists and turns lead you where they will. The town is so small that you are never really lost, and you are likely to discover a new hidden gem around every corner. This is my favourite way to explore a new place. No agenda - just get lost and find your way again as you bob and weave. Eventually all roads lead down to the marina, which is decidedly less quaint but definitely a scene, with numerous lively bars lining the quai and an impressive lineup of super yachts the scale of which boggle the mind. The largest in the marina at the time was this gaudy, gold monstrosity apparently belonging to Nicole Kidman. I'll have to pay her a visit later - I have a sneaking suspicion we'll be mates and she'll invite me to stay for a while ;) After our lazy meander, we found a sidewalk cafe with only a handful of tables where we happily took a load off in the shade. We ordered some mussels and frites and discussed the things we wanted to do during our stay. We planned to spend the next day wandering around the town and to check out the citadel and the art museum before meeting a couple friends from London who happened to be in town for dinner at a cabaret-type restaurant on the waterfront. The day after that, we booked a table for lunch at a famous beach club called Club 55, a proper St. Tropez institution that has perhaps become overhyped and too popular for its own good, but we figured when in Rome :) What a lovely little itinerary for our first few days in this beautiful place.
A wise man once said, if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. Perhaps the Big Guy had heard us mapping out our itinerary, because the following morning, things took a turn for the worse. As we got ready to go ashore to tackle our day, we rechecked the weather to discovered the forecast had deteriorated significantly. We were catching the edges of a massive storm that was whipping down the Gulf of Lyon and across the southern coast of France. The fierce thunderstorms that previously looked as if they would pass to the the north of us now seemed they would be sweeping through the Gulf of St. Tropez. We just hoped that our bay would provide some decent shelter from the 50-knot winds blowing along the coast of France, if not from the thunder and lightning. Suffice it to say, we would not be leaving the boat until the thunderstorms blew through. We put our computers, phones, etc. in the microwave in case of a lightning strike, put the keys in the ignition in case we needed to up anchor quickly, and monitored the anchor chain as we watched the sky turn ominous shades of grey and black. We could see the storm creeping across the bay closer to our boat. Eventually, we seemed to catch the lip of it, and it blew through fast and fierce. Thankfully, it was short-lived. We were wet and rattled by the time it blew over, but Florence was fine, and the storm seemed to have passed. We foolishly thought that we had seen the worst of it and decided to go ashore to take advantage of whatever portion of the day we had left. We assumed we had time for a walk into town and a quick drink before meeting our friends for dinner. No sooner had we gotten into town and found a perch at the only bar on the quai that wasn’t astronomically overpriced (think EUR19 for a beer), we realised the error of our ways, The black clouds that looked as if they were slinking off came rolling in again. It was clear we had only experienced the storm teaser, and the worst was yet to come. And it was coming fast! We immediately began sprinting for the boat but realised after only a few paces that we wouldn't make it in time. Thunder clapped and the skies opened in what is perhaps the most biblical rainstorm I’ve ever experienced. Within minutes, the streets of the old town were transformed into rivers of water gushing down the slopes. We were wading in water up to our shins trying to find shelter, as there was no way we'd get back to the boat in this mess. We ducked into a little cafe and stood under the awning as the storm raged. The wind was howling and lightning threatened the whole sky. We just prayed that our anchor would hold and that the lightning would avoid our mast. When the rain began to let up, two very wet and frazzled sailors rushed back along the path to retrieve the dinghy and were incredibly relieved to see Florence still bobbing where we had left her. It seems mud is really is good holding after all! We dinghied back to the boat, cancelled dinner with our friends, and hunkered down for what would be a long and fierce remainder of the storm.
The next wave of it came crashing in about an hour later, with more thunder and lighting than the previous bout. We huddled below deck, knowing at this stage there was nothing we could do but monitor our anchor and wait it out. We let out another 20 meters of anchor chain and triple-checked that our anchor alarm was still on. I forced Stephen to watch a few episodes of Sex and the City in a desperate attempt to get our minds off the fact that we were sitting ducks in the middle of a fierce electrical storm on a floating piece of fibreglass with a 70-foot aluminium pole pointing straight into the sky. The fact that Stephen didn't put up a fight is an indication of just how eager he was for a distraction as well, even if it came in the form of watching four women bitch about their sex lives over cocktails. We didn't sleep much that night and instead just watched the hours slip by, hoping the blow would let up soon. By daylight, the rain had stopped, but as with any low pressure weather system, once the cold front had passed, the wind really picked up. This next phase was potentially more unsettling than the thunderstorms, as the winds were kicking up to 40-50 knots, even in our semi-protected anchorage. So much for lunch at Club 55 today! We would NOT be leaving the boat. The winds were forecast to keep whipping through for the next 30 hours before finally letting up, so it appeared we would be riding it out on the boat for the foreseeable future. We spent the day checking our anchor religiously while getting creative with what to eat. We hadn’t planned on needing food on the boat this weekend so were thankful for all that leftover dry pasta from our Biscay crossing. We spent the day with pits in our stomach, watching our taut anchor chain strain with every big gust. We decided to do an anchor watch system that night, as the winds had not calmed down. Thus far, our anchor hadn’t budged, but we felt it prudent to have someone awake and monitoring in case we became unhooked. After another nearly sleepless night, we were relieved the following morning when the winds had eased slightly. They were still strong, but not as gusty as before, and by about 11 AM, it seemed the system had finally blown through. What a mess that was!
Florence had survived the storm like a champ though, and we lovingly dubber her anchor the Big Gripper, as it had held us firmly in place through 40 very uncomfortable hours. That was by far the scariest weather we had encountered yet. We both gave Florence a kiss on her teak deck for taking good care of us, let our family and friends know we were safe, and collapsed below deck. And that is an example of how best laid plans go out the window when Mother Nature comes calling!
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