Laying up maybe...

I've been thinking about the winter. There was a time I thought I'd just sit it out, lay out a new bower and batten down the hatches. The Odet is a beautiful river but lonely and sometimes the idea of having to launch the punt to do anything is daunting. I have the crew to think of too. We had a conference around the saloon table, all low lights and steaming mugs but the vote was, let's semi lay up. Stay afloat but somewhere safe, convenient, with showers and shops and bars. I am a bit anti marina in outlook but am coming around to the idea of being able to walk on and off the deck with dry feet having luxuriated in a hot tub for an hour and not have diluted my JD with a ton of rain.

Now, marinas come in shapes and sizes. Years ago you could moor up on anyones beach, having bargained a reasonable rent over a beer. Not so today. England is just too expensive for an old buccaneer, by-lawed and privatised but France is a more appealing. There are no moorings above the bridge where we've been at anchor for months, and downstream is, frankly, too crowded and you're always on show. Especially as they'd put our cutter, pretty as she is, where every Tom, Dick and Pierre can gawp at us. Not our style. Not after the Robinson Crusoe season we've had upstream, where we'd occasionally raise a hand to passing steamers or visiting birds of passage. Down the coast just a bit, at the head of a deep-set bay, is a modern marina, a hop and skip from the centre ville where moule frites and muscadet are a plenty. I contacted the man at La Foret Fouesnante and decided to give it a go. We can always move on, or come back if we want. Easy in a boat, with no deadlines, commitments or contingencies.

Come the day, as the green tide began to turn the bows upstream, we backed the jib, handed the big hook and swung downstream. I patted the tiller and squinted up the mast. Come on Promise, my girl, I thought, Lets go a roving...