We motored in light breeze until first light when we put the main up with the first reef in, and pulled the jib out, setting a course for “Calanque Sormiou” 107 NM distant, as the crow flies. The wind soon filled in to 15 knots then built to 20 by mid morning and it was fantastic sailing, reaching between 120 and 140 degree’s and averaging mid 8 knots, then increasing to steady 9’s and, later in the afternoon in a brisk 26-28 knots, saw 11.8 . We had the opportunity to practice jibing several times and Todd tweaked the sails and played with the wind angles. As far a sea life goes we saw a few dolphin from afar, one ocean sunfish / Mola Mola (whose gelatinous side lying bulk and floppy fin never really look like a fish to me), and a couple of sea birds. Boat traffic was thickest with fishing trawlers, fast-moving tankers and power boats, the odd sail boat early on, and more traffic as we were nearing land again in the late afternoon, about 14 hours later. Our typical routine is to get going, get the sails up and set a course, have breakfast, and then a loose nap/off watch schedule. I like Todd to get as much rest as possible when things are calm as invariably they don’t stay that way for long. It is also our preference to leave early and arrive in daylight to an unknown destination, so you aren’t wombling around in the dark when you are tired.. This was actually my first sailing experience on our catamaran, (after a short test sail last summer), and it was really comfortable. I didn’t have any difficulty with the motion and it was relatively easy to move around the boat. ( Our old boat had the head all the way forwards in the V berth area, and on a beam reach being on the loo was like riding a bronco ! It bucked and twisted and I would leave a trail of foul weather gear on my way there, which Todd would then hand back one article at a time while I shivered in the fresh air of the cockpit after getting a bit sea-sick down below). Not so the catamaran, very civilized it was! We did have to wear our foul weather jackets until late morning though, as it was surprisingly chilly in the wind.
After traversing the Gulfe du Leon, our intended anchorage was in a steep-sided rocky “Calanque” which was behind “Ile Riou” with a series of awash rocks we would need to avoid.
This is all fine and dandy, but the sailors among us know that it is very hard to distinguish islands and rocks that are close to mainland until you are fairly close in, and this was our initial approach. Still, rocks above water are less bothersome than reefs you can’t see, so we proceeded on the intended course until the rocks at the eastern end of the island became clear. It was nice to get behind the point and into calmer water so we could drop the main and set about finding the gap in the cliff face that would (hopefully) turn into a reasonably sized and protected anchorage in Calanque Sormiou. The gap eventually presented itself and turned into a decent sized opening into a long bay which terminated on a sandy beach.
There was a buoyed off area for swimming, another set of buoy’s further out indicating the no anchor zone, small holiday homes/cabins and a small boat harbor on starboard, and a series of pretty uninspired buildings at the head of the bay…and the astounding sound of crickets. After we set the anchor it was time for a swim and a beer! Alas, the water was a frigid 62 degree’s!! What the heck, this was the Med still right? It didn’t require full submersion to cool off, and the water was ridiculously clear. While enjoying the scenery from the cockpit we noticed a runner in black shorts and running shoes, jogging along a goat path around the steep-sided hill which was a bit unexpected.
The wind died off a bit that evening but started gusting into the 30’s the next day which was Bastille day. It was a pretty busy place with day tripper boats and small rental speed boats starting to arrive at 9 am, and they came and went all day until about 6.30 pm. A few other sail boats showed up and we got to observe the anchoring antic’s of the French which was done at high speeds and minimal scope judging by all the dragging and re-anchoring we observed. In fairness though the Posidonia (sea grass) is hard to penetrate, so if your anchor doesn’t land in a lucky patch of sand it won’t stay put. Everyone left by sunset and we had a rare evening with the anchorage to ourselves, which we had heard was highly unlikely once the August “vacance”arrived. It was still windy on the 15 th, and we saw one of the inflatables from the beach go out and return towing an overturned dinghy. It was way too windy for small craft to be out and about. One of the things we had noticed culturally, was that nobody told anyone else what they should or shouldn’t be doing. You want to rent a small boat and go out in big wind? Here’s your life jacket. You want to anchor on top of another boat, nobody stands on the deck and yells at you because you might cause a collision or wrap another anchor, versus the potential of a problem being enough to cause an exchange of words. It was a bit disconcerting to us, as we like enough sea room to have a clear exit strategy, but for the French, it’s not a problem until it’s a problem. A very laissez-faire attitude which we were finding both good and slightly uncomfortable.
We knocked out some boat projects and did a clean up the next day, then launched the dinghy as wind was down to low 20’s, and toured the bay. I put my snorkel and mask on and periodically leaned over the side and with bum up and head down, had a look around. Clear and cold water, minimal plant life,small fish, no predators to be seen. Cool eroded limestone shapes and large boulders were strewn around the coastline, with caves and deep inlets here and there. We came across one cormorant on a white washed rock, and some old rusted steel rings and stakes in a few places which might have been a nod to earlier smuggling activity (we liked to imagine)..