The morning before we were to depart for my wife's parents in Finisterre, Brittany, I looked out of the window to be greeted by the most snow I’d seen for a couple of years or more. I wasn’t overly impressed as the thought of driving a full-laden car with yak on the roof, my wife and children aboard in the projected heavy winds was cause enough for concern without this to contend with as well.
Out the back of the house was the same kind of weather
I was forced to enlist some aid in clearing the snow
That done, I dropped the P15 at a friend’s house and persuaded him to give me a hand loading the Trident onto the car that night. Normally I load alone but the yak was doubling as a roofbox, carrying my kayaking clothing, rods, C-Tug and assorted paraphernalia inside the hull.
The alarm went at 02:30 and my first thoughts were to see if the snow had in fact dispersed as some felt it might. No such luck, more had fallen.
We left an hour later to drive the 160-odd miles down to Dover amid more snow flurries on roads that the local council had not yet bothered to grit – a couple of inches at least covered the tarmac and so the first 15 or so miles took almost an hour – at which point we ran out of snow! It appeared to have been very localised and I was rather relieved as the ferry was at 09:20 and we’d not have made it had we had these conditions much further. We duly arrived.
While waiting I recalled from my other interest an occurrence here at Dover on 5th November 1942 when F/O Johnny Wells and Canadian W/O ‘Joe’ Spallin were scrambled from Manston to intercept a Dornier bombing Deal. Weather was 10/10ths cloud at 600ft and it was raining. Over Deal they were told to follow the coast to Dungeness. F/O Wells flew offshore, skirting Dover and patrolling up and down the coast. Reports came through that an aircraft had crashed into the sea at Dover after colliding with a balloon cable, which turned out to be Spallin’s Typhoon. The balloons were invisible in those weather conditions and attempting to cut across Dover W/O Spallin hit them. Nothing was found except a patch of oil.
I digress as usual. We were travelling with Sea France and took the MV Berlioz across. A quality boat, as good as any and with plenty of facilities onboard. Having a kayak slung onto the roof added no extra to the cost of the crossing and for £66 return the four of us went over for what I call very good value although the coffee was overpriced and crap. The crossing was smooth enough despite the strong winds and unloading was quick. So, off we trundled – speeding being out of the question with a full load, kayak and the steep hills around Calais.
And down through north-western France we went. We chose the Route National down to Abbeville rather than the Autoroute and although we had good roads and a clear run I think the Peage would have saved us time. We used the Peage for the rest of the run to Caen and frankly the quality of the roads is way superior to the UK and actually worth paying for. It was rather fun crossing the two big bridges near Le Havre (where my Great Grandfather landed on the SS Indian with the rest of the 16th Lancers from the Curragh in August 1914) and I must confess to being somewhat concerned at crossing the Pont du Normandie in such winds with the Trident on top but it must have been in the right direction because we didn’t feel the effects at all. Cracking view of the Seine from there!
We drove all day and into the evening, stopping regularly along the way before reaching the area of Barrage de la Rance. Here we had directions to my wife’s sisters place and we followed them assiduously until we got lost. The third time my wife read/translated them all became clear – the directions were written as if we were coming from St Malo rather than the way we came, via Dinan! That realised we made short work of the remaining kilometres and arrived to Kronenbourg, vin rouge and hors d’ouevres. 500 miles driven and the kayak had remained solidly in place.
The next day dawned bloody miserable and hungover! I went out to the supermarket to see the fish counter and was impressed as ever – the Bretons really know how to stock a fish counter. Decent Bass, cracking Bream, loads of Gurnards, the freshest mackerel I’ve seen on sale, squid, prawns, live crabs and lobsters, shellfish and even pike – at 20 euro’s a kilo this was 25% higher than Bass!
I left the shop and went looking for a possible launch site. I found a beautiful sandy bay with parking, slipway and clear water but didn’t get the opportunity to launch. I went back to the shop later and bought some bait though (mackerel, squid, mussel and clam) as my brother-in-law and I had decided to go fishing off the rocks the following morning. In the meantime, however, we had a delivery of some huge crabs in need of cooking for dejeuner – and bloody delicious they were too!
This one fancied me
We got up after a late night of crabs and booze at 6:30 French time. That’s 5:30 real time, and had a quick coffee before heading to the rocks on the coast. We had a couple of hours until high tide and scrambled over a geologists wet dream to our chosen spot. 20 minutes later we moved higher and rearwards, and again soon after that – the tidal range was pretty impressive. Paulo lost a fair bit of tackle but I got off with just a couple of hooks left embedded in rocks. My camera sadly was embedded back at the house so I didn’t get any pics. Our position now becoming untenable we headed around the head of the peninsula from behind and tried a calmer spot. To no avail. A cracking morning, great weather and clear skies, and I saw my home of two years (on and off) the MV Bretagne sail past en-route to St Malo. We left without a bite and then discovered that we now had to cross a gulley that had filled with water with one rock visible between the water rushing through from either side from each wave. It was all rather exciting and we made it across after a while. Then back home, shower, load the cars up and head west to Dirinon, close to Brest, for the rest of the holiday. Another 150 miles.
I didn’t get out that afternoon, nor the following day which was blowing a gale and, as the expression goes: ‘Il pleur comme une vache qui p1sse’. I was getting somewhat restless by now as it had been two weeks since I’d been on the yak and I needed a fix so I prepared my match rod and light coarse reel ready for a session on l’Etang de Roual – a lake a mile away that holds Trout (Truite), Stickleback (Epinoche) and Bullhead (Chabot). I stayed off the heaviest of the drinking that night and with dinner finished just before midnight left a shutter open so the sunrise would wake me at a reasonable time…
…It did. I got up nice and early in both French and English times and smuggled my bag out of the room. I was relieved to see that I had brought cag and trousers as well as full drysuit as the latter would have been overkill. A quick coffee and I snuck out andf set off on the right (wrong) side of the road. The sun was coming up and being such a scenic area I felt obliged to take a few snaps.
Unloading by the roadside down a grass slope I went and parked the car in a more suitable area. The yak is a couple of hundred metres away along the right bank.
They even had a board giving info on what species were there:
I then ensured luck and success by preparing my boots with the usual dog sh!t!
Swearing did not ensue as I was laughing my head off at the perfect addition to the tale! I launched, trolling a 1-inch long Salmo lure in a firetiger pattern (that I never thought I’d get around to using).
I was enjoying paddling around and not in too much of a hurry. Mist was still coming off the water and the sun was coming up. One chap was casting a fly without much success but he looked like he was enjoying himself.
I found a reasonable spot to cast and retrieve. Nothing. I tried elsewhere with the same lack of response. I saw a few fish rise or boil here and there – some good ones too – but the artificals were not doing anything. I drifted, casting, down the lake without a tap. I figured a change of tackle and tactics was in order and paddled back to the car.
I chose a 4bb waggler and size 12 hook. Using my knife I turned leaves in the undergrowth (too many roots and very clay-like soil made digging impossible) and managed to find one solitary worm. I stuck it in my pocket and headed back up the other end of the lake.
I tied off to some branches from a fallen tree and stuck the worm on the hook with around 2ft of line below and cast out. Immediately a small Brown Trout (Truite Fario in French) jumped out a couple of feet to my port side. Holding the rod I lit up a cheap Marlboro and waited. It didn’t take long – half-smoked the float went down.
I struck into the fish and it took off.
It was a strong fish with plenty of energy and it took line against the drag. A flash of its flanks showed it to be a nice sized Rainbow Trout (Truite Arc-en-Ciel) and I played it for quite a while as it didn’t tire and didn’t want to be knocked on the head but after a while the first happened and I got it within reach. Taking yhold either side of its head I lifted it into the yak. It was missing one pectoral fin but was otherwise in superb condition and had the hook at the back of its mouth.
Unhooked I took a good look before dispatching it and popping it into the catbag.
I recast but with only a tiny bit of worm left I decided to go and look for some more in the swampy undergrowth. I soon found a few tin y ones and figured that together I’d have enough to attract a second fish and set off for another spot. Tying off to a sunken tree I heard “Monsieur, S’il vous plait”. It sounded like my presence was required and I untied and headed into the bank to be nicked for poaching!! A family tradition, poaching, with anything being fair game over the past generations from fish to rabbits, pheasants, antelope and even crocodiles so I knew my Grandfathers were both probably looking down on me and chuckling.
Coming in I greeted the gentleman with a bonjour, shook his hand and said – in French – to please speak slowly as I was English and I only spoke some French. He in turn showed me his ‘Garde du Peche’ badge and said he knew as he had seen the car. What transpired next was a pretty good chat as I was able to understand most of what he said without him hitting me. He asked for my ID and said he wasn’t going to charge me as it was my first infraction. I played dumb about the licence requirement and it worked. I look dumb and so have always got away with things abroad. I went to look for my UK licence but sunk to my thigh down a hole and got a wet foot without finding it. He took my rod and I paddled back to the car past the smirking fly-fishermen on the bank who were just jealous because they were a bunch of collaborating blankers.
I grabbed the licence and then found my driving licence. He looked at both and gave my rod back. We chatted some more and I souvenired him my UK licence which was going to expire before I came home – he was well chuffed and gave me his address so I could write to him! He then said I could carry on fishing if I liked as he had seen me now but not with the kayak – a 50:50 result as I can’t be arsed to fish from the bank and we had a big family lunch planned instead so I loaded up and escaped, laughing.
I got back home, walked in with the fish in my hand andeveryone was amazed -especially my wife who only ever see’s me bring home sea fish and can’t understand why I put Bream, Pike etc back I the water. The stunned silence when I said I’d been nicked and the laughter when I revealed the full story was a classic moment.
The next day was my birthday and it was reasonable weather too. However, instead of fishing I’d planned to take my children to Oceanopolis – a big aquarium and marine centre in Brest. A superb place, it is divided into polar, temperate and tropical environments and had everything from jellyfish to sand tigers – and pouting for those amongst us who see nothing else. It was an impressive place and we enjoyed the day. I took a bunch of pics of course:
One for Boogaloo
One for Starvinmarvin
and a photo of my recent quarry – the elusive Stickleback:
The following day was fishing time. I’d finally be able to launch in the sea and chose a likely spot from the charts. Initially it varied between sun and showers but looked as though it’d improve shortly – and it did; by the time I got on the water it was sunny although very windy – 15-20mph. My first choice of a launch point was about 400 metres above the waterline and would have needed abseiling gear to get down.
It was also very rough water due to the wind direction (as was every bit of water I’d found that was accessible on the northern side of the tip). I didn’t feel the need to fish in that so carried on
And on
And on
I had to go to the south of the peninsula chosen (Pointe de Armorique) to stay out of the worst of the wind but still ended up with some swell that kept lifting the rod tips.
Getting down to the sea was a nightmare and I drove miles and miles around the area without finding a route down to the water. In the end I took a chance on a steep muddy track and it wasn’t until halfway down that it occurred to me that this was slightly silly – if I couldn’t get out or turn at the bottom I was going to be in trouble. Still, fortune smiles on the brave and stupid and sure enough I was out and into a little village.
I was still not able to access the bloody water though but fortunately I was able to get onto a road that did a bit further east, with a 50 metre walk to the water and ample parking.
I launched at Auberlach from the slipway at the side of the breakwater wall. I’d found the place by chance and much trial and error but recognised it as somewhere we’d enjoyed a picnic of ‘fruits de mer’ last time I’d been over. A beautiful bay with clear water, broken shell and stone under foot and plenty of small fishing boats anchored up. An old boy who looked like a typical French fisherman wandered past me and down the slipway where he got into his rowing boat and headed out as I unloaded.
Fishing 1/0 hooks on one rod (2 hook flapper rig) with manky bait that was starting to pong and a 2 hook flapper with a 4/0 pennel on the bottom (a mackerel fillet) and a 2/0 on top (mackerel strip) I trolled a lure out for about ¼ mile into 26ft of French water. Tieing off to a buoy 300 metres from the floating Gendarmes I tossed my lines in, lit up my last cigarette (couldn’t find a Tabac on the way) and sat back to wait. It was nice here.
Got some weed
I waited for an hour or more and tried anther spot, tieing up to a pontoon. With the same result.
I moved again and tied off to what I assume was either a floating fish farm or mussel farm or something in 30ft and tried again.
I didn’t get so much as a nibble and, hooking up on a rope and losing a rig I decided to pack it in and go elsewhere. Beaching, I couldn’t get over how clear the water was compared the stirred up soup off Lowestoft.
I drove around for a bit, through Daoulas and on around the backroads until I came across another launch point (with no name) near Logonna-Daoulas. I had a walk around – a cacking spot with stony beach and rock formations, sandy cliffs etc. really nice. I picked some oysters and limpets to use as bait and unloaded the yak.
A nice easy launch, I paddled out to some buoys a few hundred yards out and tied off to the correct one
The view was good and I was in around 20-30ft of water – my finder was out of action though so I couldn’t be sure.
I had oyster on one rod, mackerel and limpet on the other, both with two-hook flappers. It was a bit choppier out here and some of the swells were up to about 3 feet high. It was an odd swell as well and not as comfortable as normal. Still, I was out and hopeful and it was a pleasant day.
I fished for a couple of hours in the same spot and didn’t get so much as a bite. Having blanked I decided enough was enough and came in, the sea flattening out to a millpond again as soon as I got closer inshore:
I’d blanked – and gloriously! I loaded up and went off for a drive about and to look for other launch points. I came up to a place I’d spent many afternoons chasing mullet with Eloise a couple of years back
The tide was perfect but the fish were nowhere to be seen – too early for them I guess. Still, great memories, we’d had great fun failing to hook them when she was three. I went to get back in the car and spotted something near the door – didn’t get me this time:
Off I went and as it was such a pleasant day I decided to snap the local gothic church while driving
and then the countryside leading to the turning to the in-laws house.
The following day was my father-in-laws birthday and I decided that with such a wealth of seafood available to make a slap-up lunch of Prawn Bisque, Prawns, Oysters, Moules Mariniere and Spider crab. These had to be bought though but still went down a treat – the bisque being absolutely top-notch. A handy tip for those with a large bag of prawns – don’t bin the shells and heads because you’re missing something really special.
My finder was on the blink. I think it was the battery that was giving me problems, not holding a charge. I fiddled around in the morning and got it going but alas it wouldn’t come on when I got to the water. I had to fish relatively blind but as I was going for a precise location anywhere along the harbour wall I figured I’d be fine.
I loaded up, got my kit on and headed off to Leclerc to buy a mackerel for bait. I figured that one would be enough on current catch data and it’d give me enough for a ¾ flapper on the conger rod (12-25lb 10ft rod, Charter special 2000LD and 50lb braid with one of the recently acquired conger traces off eBay that is a rustable hook and a nylon covered wire trace) and some strips on a two hook flapper. That done I headed off over the Pont d’Iroise that spans the river Elorn and the beginnings of the Rade de Brest – destination Jetee Ouest, the west side of the main harbour which contained an aircraft carrier and some other grey vessels. It’s a military port.
It took a while to get through Brest and I found the slipway marked on the chart. It was great – I could reverse right down to the water, then park the car for free about 300 metres away. Lovely. I unloaded and parked before heading back to the yak. The water was clear and calm, conditions were 16 degrees, sunny and with almost no wind. Perfect. Tide was just about down so I was in time for the slack too – apparently when the conger do the conger.
There was a guy snorkelling and I took care not to run him down as I launched and paddled out.
This side of the harbour features the Arsenal des Quatre Pompes – a French naval base that my father-in-law served at in the sixties and which used to be the U-Boat pens during the war.
Pens, blockhouses and loads of pockmarks from attacks by both light and heavy weapons serve as a reminder of its past and I recalled a previous visit to Kerfautras Cemetery in Brest where I found, by chance, the grave of a VC winner, Flying Officer Kenneth Campbell.
London Gazette, 13 March 1942. Over Brest Harbour, France, 6 April 1941, Flying Officer Kenneth Campbell, 22 Squadron, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve.
“In recognition of most conspicuous bravery. This officer was the pilot of a Beaufort aircraft of Coastal Command which was detailed to attack an enemy battle cruiser in Brest Harbour at first light on the morning of 6th April 1941. The aircraft did not return but it is known that a torpedo attack was carried out with the utmost daring. The battle cruiser was secured alongside the wall on the north shore of the harbour, protected by a stone mole bending around it from the west. On rising ground behind the ship stood protective batteries of guns. Other batteries were clustered thickly round the two arms of land which encircle the outer harbour. In this outer harbour near the mole were moored three heavily-armed anti-aircraft ships, guarding the battle cruiser. Even if an aircraft succeeded in penetrating these formidable defences, it would be almost impossible, after delivering a low-level attack, to avoid crashing into the rising ground beyond. This was well known to Flying Officer Campbell who, despising the heavy odds, went cheerfully and resolutely to the task. He ran the gauntlet of the defences. Coming in at almost sea level, he passed the anti-aircraft ships at less than mast-height in the very mouths of their guns and skimming over the mole launched a torpedo at point-blank range. The battle cruiser was severely damaged below the water-line and was obliged to return to the dock whence she had come only the day before. By pressing home his attack at close quarters in the face of withering fire on a course fraught with extreme peril, Flying Officer Campbell displayed valour of the highest order.”
The Gneisenau was out of action for nine months.
I didn’t realise this at the time – I was three days short of being there on the 67th anniversary of this raid. I wish I had known.
I anchored up and got as close in as I deemed suitable. Down went the rods and I waited a while before checking them – d**n, snagged. I fiddled around and got the conger rod free and dropped it down elsewhere. Ten minutes later the flapper rod was snagged and I had to break out. I didn’t bother to re-rig it and just sat down to wait on the conger rod.
It was quite pleasant waiting.
After a while I decided to lift the rod and have a look. Bugger me, snagged again.
Or was I?
Houston, we have lift off. The line was not snagged, it was heavy, but not snagged. It was also not quite staying still. As I applied more pressure and started to haul it up it started to move around a bit, pulling strongly at a steady rate. I upped the drag and started heaving. This was answered with shaking – like a dog with a newspaper when you grab hold of it – in bursts. I kept the pressure on and kept hauling – I was in about 20ft of water and the line was about 30 yards off my bow. This felt rather nice – in fact it felt like the largest fish I’d hooked into since my last shark in South Africa in December 1997 (a gully shark brought in, unhooked, released from a small boat with 3 people on, at night and after a couple of tins of a cracking cider they have out there).
For a couple of minutes I played it and hauled it up but…snap.
The rocks and wreckage scattered around came into contact with the braid and I lost it. d**n! (Note to self – get some 100lb fluorocarbon as a leader for conger.) That was the last of the bait too and I didn’t want to go home.
I paddled in, took the smaller stuff of the kayak, dragged it up the beach out of harms way and in view of the people working on their boats and headed for a supermarket, eventually finding one and getting another big mackerel to use.
I paddled back out, dropped another flapper down and settled back for my afternoon nap (now a thing of the past sadly!)
I dunno, it was at least half an hour if not an hour that I spent dozing and just when my dream was getting exciting I woke up with a start. That’s what happens when you’re married – it’s such a shock to the system when such exciting occurrences happen you perk up immediately and when they’re dreams it wakes you up. How unfair is that?
Anyway, I closed my eyes again, snapped a pic as an example, and had a few more minutes before reeling in to check my bait.
Snagged. Big time. I couldn’t break out and had to cut loose. I was freelining which meant the minimum of things to snag but the rocks were just too much to contend with in certain areas. I tried again with my last half mackerel flapper and after a couple of drops the same thing happened – I broke out of this one. Time was getting on by now and I decided to call it a day and head in, having had a glorious afternoon and a taste of conger. I also had lovely pink arms that are now turning a lovely shade of brown. The fishing over for the trip I felt a bit disappointed at the lack of fish and decent weather but at least I got out a few times somewhere new and had a good time.
We left the next morning at 11. We drove through France right up to Calais. Late afternoon I made a detour near Bayeux in Normandy to the cemetery at Bazenville. I was going to visit a grave:
2nd Battalion, the Essex Regiment was part of 56th Infantry Brigade. As part of 50th (Northumbrian) Infantry Division, they landed in Normandy with the first wave on the first day of the invasion, 6th June 1944, D-Day. Their disembarkation point was King Sector, Gold Beach, the first troops landing at around 07:35 hours. Divisional objectives were to establish a beachhead between Arromanches and Ver-sur-Mer and then head south towards Route National 13, the road linking Caen and Bayeux, supported by 8th Armoured Brigade and linking up with Canadian troops on Juno Beach south of Tierceville. The Brigade objective was Bayeux and beyond to the Drome river. 2nd Essex advanced on the Brigades left and met 'light enemy forces' on the way to St Sulpice. They stopped for the night around Sommervieu, 3 miles and four or five hours from the beach. Bayeux was liberated the following day.
On 10th June each regiment of 7th Armoured Division had an Infantry battalion placed under their command, 2nd Essex and 5th Royal Tank Regiment being placed under the command of 22nd Cavalry Brigade for the right flank of the attack on Tilly-sur-Seulles.
The following day 5th Royal Tank Regiment advanced through Bernieres, where they lost one tank, then across flat, open fields towards Lingevres. An anti-tank gun opened fire from a large orchard on the north-west outskirts of Lingevres, destroying two Cromwell tanks and a Firefly. I Company of 1st Rifle Brigade assaulted the wood, being ambushed after about 300 yards, one Section being attacked by 40 Germans and being failing to knock out a tank positioned here, which accounted for two of those from 5th Royal Tank regiment, who subsequently withdrew having lost eight men killed, and two wounded. With the withdrawal of the infantry, 2nd Essex were now brought into the attack at 18:00 from around Juaye Mondraye behind a creeping barrage. By 19:15 they were in a poor defensive position, occupying a forward slope, the wood unable to resist tank attack and they were heavily counter-attacked by flame-throwing Half-Track's and tanks. 2nd Essex held firm, though suffering 150 casualties, including 15 killed. They were withdrawn the following morning. This was the first big battle of the battalion during the Normandy campaign and the Germans faced the attack here with the Panzer Lehr Division, who had taken up a defensive position between La Belle-Epine and Tilly-sur-Seulles. John apparently died of wounds, presumably following this engagement. Lingevres, less than 6 miles from the landing beaches, was finally taken on 14th June.
14664004 Private John Alfred Allen, aged 18, of 2nd Battalion, the Essex Regiment, lies in grave VI.J.8, Ryes War Memorial, Bazenville in Normandy, France, amongst the 652 Commonwealth burials in the cemetery, situated 8 miles east of Bayeux inland from the beachhead at Arromanches.
John Allen was my grandfather’s cousin.
Next stop was Bayeux again for something to stop the luggage rattling. We soon found that 4 crates of wine was sufficient to do this and continued on our merry way. We crossed the Pont du Normandie again, this time during a beautiful pink sunset that silhouetted the docks against a hazy sky and was reflected in the flat calm waters of the Seine’s mouth. The reflection of the moon could be said to have been ‘In Seine’. We continued and with stops etc the drive to our hotel in Calais ended up as a 13 hour drag, we crawled in at midnight.
Arriving at the ferry terminal next morning we got through check in etc and were then told that it was too late to board the ship and were instead re-directed to the P&O ferry that was leaving next. Though the play room was not as good the coffee was far better and large cups were available. Costa coffee – it costa lot but was worth every penny in contrast with the muck on the way out.
Docking around 90 minutes later we drove through Dover hoping to spy Lozz in order to ponce another coffee but missed him and drove home instead, getting back at 2pm having driven a total of 1608 miles, almost entirely with a Trident on the roof and with it staying firmly in position the entire time. Good roof box that.
