Wednesday 30th June.
We got up and having had a quick breakfast, set about tidying the boat up. We needed to be away from La Rochelle by 11 a.m. in order to get to Rochefort on the tide and make the very limited 'gate in' there, at about 4 p.m. We left the bikes strapped to the shrouds, rather than stowed in pieces, as we expected that they would be useful at Rochfort. When we were ready, we left our berth and went onto the fuelling berth. JP went up to pay for the extra night, and to get someone to help us, as our credit card won't work in any of these machines, even though it has a chip and pin. When all was done, we left the marina rather late at 11.30 but not disastrously so. This could easily be made up as there was a nice fresh wind. We found away out through the various optimist fleets, and set a course for a waypoint off the Ile d'Aix. Later, when JP managed to find out why the inverter was not working and what was disconnected on the computer, we found we had strayed through two exclusion areas without incurring any bullet holes in the sail. We left La Rochelle in company with a French boat called Henri….. that we had helped onto the fuelling berth, and although we were going quite a bit faster, he intercepted us by going inside the Ile d'Aix, while we went outside. We followed him up the river, and although we had our jib still set and engine going fairly hard, we never caught him up in the 13 miles to Rochfort. Going up river, the land on either side was very flat, and mostly had reeds growing by the banks. There were many fishing pontoons, built on each side of the river. They each had a little hut, a sort of jib crane, from which was suspended a four cornered net with a frame to keep it spread out.
It seemed that the method of fishing was to lower the net into the water, wait a while, and hope that when it was raised a fish would be trapped in the net. We never saw one caught, but imagined that this was a restful way to spend the afternoon, away from 'er indoors, and could occasionally provide some supper. JP was intrigued with the gates that led onto each pontoon, some with barbed wire over. Presumably these were to keep 'er aforesaid at arms length while negotiating with 'er on the side. We had seen a similar method of fishing practiced on La Villaine, but mostly in this case from boats with a jib at the stern. Nearing Rochfort, we first passed under the new road bridge, and then under the 'transbordeur' bridge. This is the last of its type in France, and has been preserved as a museum piece. It has a beam that spans between two towers, 45 metres above the river. Suspended from a trolley on the beam is a platform, large enough to take several vehicles and passengers across the river. Soon after we had passed underneath, the barriers were lowered, and it crept out across the river. We arrived at Rochfort early on the tide, and found space on the waiting pontoon outside the basin. A very friendly chap, who proved to be the capitaine du Port, took our lines and explained where we could berth. After much frothing as the water level in the basin was raised to meet the new spring tide, the gate was eventually opened and boats streamed out. Then it was our turn to enter, and make a neat approach in a space barely able to take us with the dinghy on davits. There was a fresh wind blowing, and although we had lines ashore bow and stern, we were blowing back onto the pulpit of the boat behind, modifying the attitude of his navigation lights to which JP was oblivious. However, seeing the need for a pretty rapid application of a spring, JP resorted to shouting at Mo (and in a moment of stress, coming out with 'Ruth' - a name only ever used at such stressful moments in the past!). Monsieur capitaine insisted that the berthing charge should be based on the length of the boat, which JP had understated anyway, rather than the overall length. We were going to have an early supper, but Mo needed some anti-stress juice. We took the juice while the Breton sausages were cooking in the oven, so by the time supper was over we were definitely benign, and Mo judged incapable of riding our bikes. We set off for a walk around the town, and JP insisted on going to a bar in the almost deserted main square where we thought crepe, but he had profiteroles and Mo had fruit salad. We returned via the gardens near the Corderie Royale (a rather elegant rope factory built by Louis XVI). And so immediately to bed..
We had set the alarm for 0730 because we wanted to make the best of our day in Rochfort. We got up, abluted, and had breakfast so that we were ready to leave with sandwiches packed in our rucksack by 0930. As recommended in the pilot guide, we set out for Tonnay-Charente, and JP was gratified to find the sign for the town quite soon in our ride. He was distraught when kilometres later, it seemed, there was a sign to the town centre some distance further away! In the town centre, we followed the signs to the Pont Suspendu.. and unfortunately we found ourselves having to walk up the hill, JP's chain having fallen off again. The suspension bridge was out of commission apart from walkers and bikes, having been built in 1887? Metal sheeting had been placed over much of the wooden surface, presumably because it was not in great shape. We cycled over, and down the other side. In the next village, we asked a council worker how to get to the 'Transbordeur' and he gave us some excellent directions. The ride took us through some lovely countryside, and eventually we reached Echillais where there were signs to the bridge. Fortunately we arrived just before 1130, and were able to summon the driver of the platform to come over from the other side and fetch us before his two hour lunch break at 1200. It was tremendous value at 1 Euro each, with only the two of us on there! Once over, we stopped for our picnic lunch at a picnic table, with ducks, geese and chickens all around. After lunch, we took the Chemin de Charente cycle route, which followed the river upstream. Eventually, we came to two dry docks. The second of these was covered in a scaffolding and a plastic tent, and was where they are building a replica of the French frigate Hermione. She was built in the 18th century, and carried La Fayette across to play hookie with Washington, and so ensure that the British were kicked out of the USA. She eventually ran onto the La Four rocks off Croisic and was lost, due to a navigational error, having had several successful campaigns. We locked up our bikes, and paid our 6 Euros each to see the work. Unfortunately the chaps were on their lunch break, and we noticed that they were using electric and other modern tools. The keel was laid in 1997, and it is planned that she will be floated out of the dock in 2007, by which time they will have had to build a lock gate and channel to get her into the river! 300 craftsmen built the original in 6 months. We returned past the Corderie Royale, a magnificent rope factory ordered by Louis XVI, part of which is now a smart hotel, and the 'rope walk' that appeared to consist of a sailing boat mast, but was closed for lunch also. That was all we had time for, but Rochfort offers a number of interesting museums, gardens, etc. and you could easily spend several days here. On return to the boat, we had the second half of our lunch, and then gathered the other haversack and granny trolley to go to the supermarket. The Lidl at limited choice, but really cheap wine, and fruit and veg. We eventually got through the checkout, after watching them dismantle several tills because of a fault in their credit clearance system. While Mo dealt with the shopping, JP started to prepare the boat for casting off. This was fortunately complete by the time the capitaine came by to check we wanted to leave, and estimated that the lock would open in only 10 minutes, not the hour we were expecting! As no one else seemed to be moving, we left the berth without problems, slipping our shortened lines as we did so. We turned around and then hovered by the gate until we got the green light. Coming out of the river, we met one large ship coming upriver, that JP failed to notice as he was admiring the Corderie from the river.
Later we were overtaken by three large ships going down river, the first just after we had passed the transbordeur bridge. The tide was still flooding at first, but soon picked up in our direction. The bar was not nearly as fierce as we were led to believe by the pilot book, that indicated it should only be taken on the flood, and so we got out of the river without incident, and anchored off Ile d'Oleron near Boyardville. Fort Boyard, built to keep the British out of the estuary, was 2 miles outside us. Mo cooked a light supper of omelette, having refused to cook the pork chops and veg owing to the late hour and her desire to reduce her weight below her target. However, the omelette, which was extremely tasty, was washed down with a bottle of burgundy from the Lidl. We tackled this journal until the computer ran out of battery and shut itself down.
When we had anchored the wind was fairly fresh, but we seemed to be quite comfortable. During the night a scend or sea built up coming from the outside and around the island, causing us to roll, and the boat became quite noisy. Mo tackled the empty bottles that decided to break free in the cockpit, and closed down the hatches when we were hit by a thunderstorm. JP made various attempts to reduce the creaking of ropes, but left the main sheet loose so that the boom broke free from its lashing and got him out of bed yet again. Not surprisingly, we had a late start to the morning, with further rain coming through at breakfast time. Afterwards, we set off from our anchorage for the Ile d'Aix, and decided to settle if possible for the anchorage off the main slipway, rather than one round the back of the island. This was good for convenience, as we wanted to go ashore to have a look around, but we were not aware of the frequent ferry service to the mainland, nor that we had anchored directly on their route into the slipway! They soon let us know, by belting past at full steam. We dropped the dinghy in the water before having a bite to eat for lunch, then set off for the shore, finding a ring above the water on the opposite side of the slip. The island has a fortified town, or rather had, with moats and drawbridges at every gate. It was of course to keep the British out, but was in fact used by us to hold Napoleon Bonaparte before shipping him off to exile in St Helena.
Today, as all the ferries show, it is a bit of a grockle trap, with horse and cart transportation for the visitors, similar to Sark in the channel islands, cycle hire, and all manner of temptations right off the ferry! Sadly it was not nearly as beautiful as Houat. We got back to the dinghy to find our bowline just under water, so the timing was good. We returned to Fuga, and cooked some pork cutlets on the Mean Lean Grilling Machine that Mike and Lisa gave us, powered courtesy the generator. Having digested this, we made ready to set off. JP's quick calculation was that our destination, Archachon, was about 80 miles away, and the wind was favourable for a quick passage. He hoped just to make it in time to cross the bar soon after high water. The first part of our passage was to beat our way north west out of the bay formed by the Ile d'Oleron. There were 3 wrecks shown on the chart impaled on the beacon marking rocks off the Pointe de Chassiron, and we now understand why they were there! A very strong tide was setting us across the rocks, but as we were motorsailing to make good the 12 miles as soon as possible, they presented us with no problems. The sea, however, was very confused and uncomfortable, as is the way with all such points and promontories where currents meet. It was some time before we reached deeper water, clear of all the confusion, and were able to make sail properly. JP then retired below, leaving Mo with the objective of reaching the estuary to the Gironde, some 25 miles south. In the event, she surpassed herself, and stuck it out for a further hour.
JP got up, set up a waypoint for Arcachon, made a small adjustment in course, and settled down to an extremely fast sail south. The wind was blowing from the west about Force 5, although currently the wind instrument was suffering from some uninformed button pressing, (our instruction book being written in dutch) and was telling us all sorts of porkies. So we had a beam reach, and Fuga was bouncing along with one reef at about 7.5 knots. However, the sail was extremely boring, punctuated only by boats with yellow flashing lights. At first JP thought these were bouys or guardboats associated with the firing ranges that stretch for 90 miles down this bit of the coast, but on close encounter with one discovered that they were fishing boats. Presumably the yellow lights were to ward off over-enthusiastic marksmen. At the point where the waypoint went in to the plotter, JP realised he had been confused, or the victim of his own optimism. There were then about 65 miles to the bar at Archachon, and that was after the 40 we had already covered! He managed to keep up his enthusiasm though, by misremembering the High Water time at Archachon, that he had noted in the log, as 0900 instead of 0700, so that he still hoped to make the bar on time! Mo came up for a further trick and we had breakfast. Half the contents of the fridge spilled out onto the floor, when JP went for the milk. One look at the bar, when we finally got there at 1030, with the rollers coming in and breaking along its length, was enough to suggest caution, and so the arithmetic was checked and the pilots consulted anew. Over the bar, a mist of salt spray obscured the view, and continuous breakers interrupted the view of the amazing Pyla sand dune, 103 metres high, behind. We realised that we had to wait for 5 hours until 1545 before we dare cross, and even then it was not the ideal time! As we experimented with heaving-to, we were joined by another yacht who seemed convinced by the same arguments. We ate lunch, we sunbathed, but generally did very little. About an hour before the appointed time, a fishing boat came to join the other yacht, but interestingly enough, he too hung around until at about 1530, the yacht followed the fishing boat in. We were already in the process of coming in from a position a couple of miles off, and noticed that as we came in the breakers were visibly reducing with the increased height of water and tide, such that Mo was unable to get a photo of the port hand red buoy getting tossed about in the surf. The way in was quite lengthy, during which we ran along behind the sand bar, past people engaged in various mad sports, fishing, complementing the hang gliders who were jumping off the Dune de Pyla on our starboard side. The channel opened up into a vast water sports emporium, (where oyster culture permitted) with people engaged in everything imaginable, and thousands of moored boats along what passed for channels. We were reliant on the computer for a detailed chart, which was necessary as there was an absence of any channel markings. We lost our nerve as we suddenly started to run out of water, and took the sails down so that we could allow the computer to play tracker and take us in to our selected anchorage. We were grateful that we were not meeting Ian and Christine tonight! We had a couple of drinks in the cockpit, followed by supper of Mosoulet downstairs. JP immediately collapsed into a deep sleep and Mo left him to it while she read in the cockpit. JP finally awoke, as she was getting desperate to go to bed, and promptly set about updating the web site, finishing just after midnight.
We awoke rather late to the cacophony of power boats and jet-skis as they passed as by. When we finally got up, Mo rejuvenated the remains of a loaf of French bread and we enjoyed boiled eggs in the cockpit, before setting about our tasks. The toilet pump motor had been getting more and more problematic, although Mo had found that a good sharp tap was often as effective in overcoming the dead spot as dis-assembling it to rotate the shaft manually. Mo was also concerned that the so-called 'Joker valve' was not doing its job of keeping the ejected content from running back. JP decided that in view of impending visitors, he would try once more to improve it's performance and reliability, and replaced the joker valve with a spare from Phil and Francis's parcel. The motor then came off, was taken to pieces, the commutator cleaned afresh, and high spots on the brushes were taken off. For good measure, JP applied some rust treatment and Hammerite to the exterior, to make it look prettier. Mo meanwhile busied herself with matters domestic, mainly washing, but no doubt also being creative in the galley. We then set about tidying up. We needed to clear the Rompatorium (guest cabin) for Ian and Christine, and this was currently a pile of bike parts, pillows, and other junk. The chart storage had fallen to pieces when we had pulled the workstation out to get at the fuel tank, and charts had been strewn about. We sorted the various mouldy Spanish charts that Mike had given us from Jemmana. Having been around the world and survived a 360 roll, these were slightly mouldy and interspersed with charts of the Atlantic, Pacific, Caribbean and New Zealand. We stored the latter, together with charts that we had used to bring us here from the UK, under the bunks in the rear cabin, retaining those that would be immediately useful to us in the chart storage, which we repaired with some bigger and better screws than the two tiny ones that Dehler had seen fit to use. The junk in the rear cabin was re-stowed, the bike frames packed in the half finished bag intended for one, two wheels secreted in the cockpit locker, and the other two wrapped up in an old sheet. We vacuumed up the sand that had fallen off the bikes, and finally we felt able to receive visitors. We had hoped to go ashore to have a look around, as we thought we were in the vicinity of an attractive port written up in the pilot book. You could not tell because there was simply a continuous line of moorings about four or five trots wide separating us from the shore. Outside us, there was plenty of water before the oyster beds that mostly covered at high tide, leaving the odd stick out of the water, but we were constantly being rocked by passers by who insisted on passing at high speed within a boat's length of us. However, it was now really too late and we were too tired, so we settled for a game of Scrabble after supper.
We had had breakfast when the phone rang. It was Ian, saying that they were on their way over, estimating an hour and a half. We picked the anchor up, rather slowly, as the vegetation that we had seen drifing up and down in the fairly fast tide had wrapped itself around the anchor chain and had to be removed as the chain was recovered. We set up a route on the computer, and made good progress with the ebb until we reached the bottom of our channel, when we had to turn towards Arcachon. Crossing over and going close inshore amongst more moored boats, we still had 2 knots against us, so were making slow progress when Ian rang again to say they had arrived. We asked them to pick up some bread, milk and salad dressing for us, while we made our way to the marina. There JP found a berth, and went to the office to negotiate for the night. Ian and Christine arrived with Ella, their dog, along with the shopping and various goodies, including some Clairet, some Champagne and a lovely strawberry tart. Having consumed the Clairet and a bottle of Gros Plant from the Fuga cellar, we decided to motor over to Cap Feret to anchor for lunch. There was very little wind now, from the North East, and it occasionally drizzled, but we were able to enjoy lunch in the cockpit. Ella was perhaps in need of some relief, so we lowered the dinghy and put the small outboard on for the short trip to the shore. We first of all landed on a sandbank, but realised that in view of the rising tide this was probably a mistake, so moved to a slip way where we left the dinghy on its anchor. We walked to a couple of vantage points over the entrance, then sat down at a beach café for a pleasant coffee before returning to the dinghy. Back at the marina, we enjoyed the bubbly before getting into the dinghy to take a short cut to the town and find a restaurant. We chose practically the first place we came to, offering a four course meal for 16€. It was a family run place, very welcoming to us and most importantly to Ella, who received her drink before we did ours. The fish soup was very good, as was the remainder of the meal. On return to the boat, we downloaded the photos of the bar that we had taken, only to find that the camera must have been on a manual setting and the photos were over exposed to the point of uselessness. The camera had only recovered after the video clip that Mo had been persuaded to take on the way in. And so to bed!
We had a leisurely breakfast, so it was mid-morning before Ian and Christine took their leave. It was wet and miserable, otherwise Chris was going to suggest a drive around the area. We could not leave Arcachon until evening, as it was recommended to cross the bar on the last of the flood. The weather forecast in the Marina office looked very poor for the next day, although it looked ok initially. JP was keen to get out while the going was good, there having been offshore winds for a couple of days. We checked the France Meteo forecasts on the navtex, which seemed reasonably innocuous, and when the British chaps on the boat next door checked the BBC shipping forecast in the evening, they were suggesting cyclonic, then 5-6 from the west, which would have been near ideal. We had supper of spaghetti bolognaise and got ready for going to sea. Mo made up sandwiches while JP did the deckwork to prepare for hoisting the dinghy and we re-stowed the bikes in the aft cabin. Just ten minutes after our planned departure of 1930, we cast off. Visibility wasn't great, so we could not get good photos of the Pyla sandune to replace the ones we lost, but we were able to see the bouys through the entrance. They also showed up well on the radar, but according to the computer we were tracking across the sand bar. This was obviously due to the shifting of the sands, as the GPS had placed us on the next door hammerhead (J instead of I) back at the marina. We were still within sight of the ARC bouy off the entrance when CROSS-Etel broadcast a warning of gusting wind to F7 in the Gironde and Charente areas. While this was not in itself worrying, JP contacted them on the VHF to clarify where it applied and also to check that Landes range was not operating. There were obvious language difficulties, but initially CROSS-Etel said rather firmly that we should return into Arcachon. This was hardly now possible, as we were well beyond the recommended entrance time, and the ebb would be in full swing. Besides which, JP did not fancy getting stuck in there if there was going to be weather about. Etel finally agreed that we were south of the area where the gusts were expected, and we continued on our way. We set a course higher than the rhumb line in case the wind shifted later. We also needed to clear the firing range, 45 miles offshore, before 0800 in the morning. JP went below for a rest, and briefly Mo was able to turn the engine off and had a good sail, calling JP up to put a reef in the main in case the wind rose any further beyond the 13 knots apparent from the North.
JP came up and Mo went below at about 0100, but soon enough the wind died down again (now coming from dead astern). The wind continued from a north easterly direction, shifting about a bit, but never more than about 8 or 10 knots apparent. At one point it backed around towards the west briefly, before veering back again to the east. Ahead we could see an electric storm lighting up the sky, and the odd distant fork of lightning going down to the sea, but we couldn't hear any thunder. The glass was dropping quite dramatically, and by 0300 heavy rain had set in, obscuring the radar completely. The rain continued to come in bursts, but now we seemed to be in the thick of the lightning, and the forks seemed more threatening as they grew closer and we could hear the thunderclaps. By now there was little useful wind, and we were motoring. At about 0600, it was just beginning to get light, when we seemed to get through the eye of the storm, and the wind immediately began to get up from the south-west. JP called Mo up, to help take in the second reef and to reduce the jib to a small handkerchief. It was not long before the sea began to get up, and we decided to take the main down completely. Even the jib became too much, and we wound that in and for a while lay ahull, feeling somewhat worried and miserable. JP was kicking himself for taking an unnecessary risk with the weather, and thought that Mo might refuse to go to sea again! Even now, we still had no warning from the Navtex other than repeats of the one the previous evening. The forecast put out by France Meteo at 2100 last evening had still not been broadcast (and even this did not give a gale in our area). Between 0830 and 0930, we had tracked about 3 miles south east, and JP realised that this gave Fuga a strictly limited lifespan, as there were no ports of refuge there. The seas were enormous and irregular, and there was little hope of sailing, so we put the engine on and tried to motor into the seas, getting thrown off more often than not, and then having to claw back up to windward. At one point, we found a coaster bearing down on our port side, and not knowing whether he had seen us we went off on the other tack for a while, until he altered course to avoid us. In this way we managed to make a course crab-wise across the seas, and we found that with luck we would be able to make Fuentarrabia which looked as if it would offer a lee on the entrance. By 1420, the wind was dropping and the glass was on the rise. We could see the mountains on the Spanish coast, and soon afterwards we were able to set some jib and make good a course for Cabo Higuer. At 1810 we dropped anchor near the moorings outside the 'Port of Refuge', relieved to be safe and secure. We had lost a bar from the bimini that was still erected (and deflecting rain) before the gale hit us, but apparently no other damage.
The toilet was giving further trouble. This time it proved to be the fuse that had blown when the motor was stalled. JP resolved to finally complete the rewiring, so that the wiring to the toilet was protected by a fused lead off the main distribution panel, removing the leads taken directly off the batteries. The generator refused to start. So we decided to enter the marina on the Spanish side of the river, (confusingly, this is more usually known as Hondarribia, but first did a recce of the 'Port of Refuge' that now appears to be exclusively a fishing port. We also went up river, past the French marina, and returned as we reached the runway of the airport.
As we were looking for a berth, we were met by Sue and Robert off Serendipity, who helped us make fast. JP went to work on the toilet and Mo did some washing. The weather was fairly poor, with strong gusts coming across and the occasional rain shower. Sue and Robert had invited us for a drink at 1900, and it was getting on when JP decided to go to check in and met Spanish officialdom in the shape of the lady in reception, who ticked JP off for not requesting permission to enter the marina by VHF, and did not like the SSR registration document! We changed and went along to Serendipity, where we enjoyed a couple of hours discussion: Sue and Robert have been cruising mainly in this area for a number of years and it was useful to have their input. Afterwards, JP found the fuse blown in the toilet, and also the reason for the water leakage from the toilet, while Mo prepared an omelette for supper. The shore power was off, but he failed to sort this out, and Mo suggested it was time we packed it in for the night. He sent an e-mail to Debbie to suggest a tentative plan for their visit next week.
The shore power was easily resolved, as the breaker had simply tripped for some reason. Such is the power of daylight and a night's rest. Mo had not slept well, and had been up with the rain in the night, so lay in for a short while. After breakfast, JP went back to her nibs and paid for two nights, third night free in the marina, as this was little different from the weekly rate. He completed bringing this narrative up to date, and then set about looking for the generator problem. There was quite a bit of diesel mixed with water swilling about in the bilges and underneath the engine, so the first job was to clear out all the oily water and get the place fit to work on. JP decided first to check the water separator and filter of the main engine, and as there was some gunge in this, he took it off and cleaned it out. It took a while as screwing it back on with the rubber gaskets in the right place eluded him until he called in Mo to operate the spanner while he held the glass in place. Then the air had to be bleeded out of the system. Nervous of breaking the glass again, it took some time before the filter was sufficiently airtight to achieve any success. The engine started, then stopped again, and further bleeding was necessary before it ran true. At first, JP was hopeful when he found a fuse lying on the floor after removing the generator cover, but replacing this made no difference. However, we noticed that we could not hear the fuel pump running, and this proved to be the case, even though the voltage was there alright.
We went out with the granny trolley to look for wine as we had asked Sue and Robert back for a drink. We were beginning to get worried, when we spied what might be a supermarket. This proved to be a bit of a tardis, and had a surprising range of stuff. Sufficient to say, we picked up wine and some eggs and milk, and set off back as the boat was still all in pieces, and as we had run out of water, JP connected up the hose. Within a short while, it looked respectable, and Mo used copious orange-scented polish to mask the smell of diesel. Sue and Robert helped us kill two bottles of Rioja, and then left for the Fisherwomen's restaurant, while Mo cooked up one of Christine's courgettes with stuffing.
JP started the day by removing the depth/speed repeater instrument from the helm's panel, since it had failed during the night of the thunder storm. Having taken the back off, there was water inside and evidence of water damage. After cleaning and drying the printed circuit board, finishing off with a wipe over with meths, the instrument sprang back into life. The main reason for the water getting in was a broken plastic spigot into which one of the screws fixing the back on should have been fastened, so this was duly put back with araldite. Mo found that the toilet had packed up yet again, and JP soon found there was no voltage at the toilet end, and had eliminated the fuse there. However, the new fuse at the chart workstation was inaccessible, hidden behind the panel, so more than fed up with the saga, he gave up on this for the time being. In order to allow the bilges to dry out completely, we decided to lift the floor panels while we were out, and to our horror found that there was even more water swilling about than before. Suddenly, the possible cause dawned on us: it was not sea water, but must be related to filling the fresh water tanks, there being no other possible explanation! We pumped and dried the bilges yet again - the bilge pumps being useless for this purpose as it requires tons of water, rather than buckets full, for them to be effective. At this point, we got the bikes out and put them together. JP tried to adjust his gears to stop them slipping, but did not really understand what he was doing. We then set off for the airport, to enquire about car hire, and then returned via the old town. This is very attractive, being in the old Basque style, and hardly commercialised at all. There are a number of hotels, including a Parador in a massive fort-like building. We took some photos, but the camera ran out of battery, so we returned to the boat for lunch feeling virtuous, as we had avoided a drink at an outside bar. After lunch, we rode to the ferry steps, and locked our bikes up while we went across the river to Hendaye, which is in France. JP cashed his prescription for his gout from the doctor in Concarneau a second time, as he had been having trouble with his right foot and toe again. Hendaye is an attractive sea-side town, and very commercialised, in contrast to Hondarribia. We found the chandlers and picked up some heavier fuses for the toilet, along with some other bits and pieces. Mo was not sure that we would get value for money from a Basque courtesy flag, but JP prevailed and bought one, as the almanac suggests not flying the Spanish flag in the Basque country. When we returned to the boat, JP addressed the toilet fuse, and realised he had wired to one of the auxiliary breakers on the main switch panel, rather than the distribution point. No fuse had blown, but the breaker had tripped without us realising! JP made good, and replaced the panel yet again. Mo suggested we look for the water leak, and as it was not where the fill pipe attached to the tank, we looked elsewhere. JP realised almost immediately that there was evidence of leakage where the water level sender entered the tank: when he had had this out he seems to have replaced it cross-threaded. However, it also seemed to be cracked, as a section of the moulding into which the O-ring was set, broke off almost immediately and disappeared into the depths of the boat. The only way to get the O-ring supported, it seemed, was to build it up again using fibreglass, and so JP started on this straight away. We had supper, again using Christine's courgettes and beans. The Spanish crew of the boat that had come in next door was extremely noisy, playing a radio loudly on deck, and talking loudly. Mo went to bed and read, while JP sent Peter and Debbie an update on the car hire situation. We had decided that a family size car would be prohibitively expensive over one or two days, availability was uncertain, so it seemed more sensible for us to take Fuga west to Bilbao to meet up with them there. JP then re-assembled the instrument glued during the morning, instituting a search for the 'Creeping Crack Cure' with which he wanted to seal the gasket (eventually tracked to the shelf in the cockpit locker). Once assembled, JP went to test the instrument again, and found that now none of the instruments were working! As a result, he then found that the Tricolour, certainly known to be alright on the night of the storm, was no longer working. Co-incidentally perhaps, he also found that the Sea-Me radar transponder, also at the mast head, was no longer working. Rattled by all this, and wondering whether we had had some sort of electrical strike during the storm, he wanted his test meter, but found that one of the leads was jammed behind the panel under the chart table. In taking the panel off again, he released the test lead, but also found a wire hanging loose with a broken connector clip. This replaced, the instruments sprang back into life. JP decided to quit while he was ahead, and joined Mo in bed, probably well past midnight.