The Channel Islands: Guernsey and Herm – two very different neighbours

After four days, we left the harbour of Saint Helier. Sark is already visible ahead, some fourteen nautical miles away, when we encounter the swell from the west once more. At half past seven in the evening, we are sailing under a grey sky to the south of the ‘Blanchard’ eastern buoy. Sark’s steep coastline lay ahead; the sea was choppy, at times deceptively smooth, at others churning. The current has to flow round the island here and creates tidal rips and robberies, ominous wavy lines on the nautical chart, pulling us first in one direction, then in another. At last, La Grève de la Ville opens up before us – our destination for the night.

A night in the shelter of Sark

A bay could hardly be more inhospitable; rocky, sheer cliffs that seem to reach up to the sky, no way to go ashore except via a path carved into the rock that zigzags upwards, recognisable by the dinghies leaning against the cliff face well above the high-water mark. For there are boats here, and buoys. Five or six sailing yachts, though only three of them have crews on board, along with a few small fishing boats. Also at anchor is a trawler converted into an expedition vessel. Like a white swallow’s nest, the Point Robert lighthouse, with its retaining wall, clings to the steep southern slope.

The first three mooring lines we head for are marked ‘Keep off’; only the fourth seems to be for guests – or perhaps the sign has simply disappeared. Soon the slimy mooring line at the bow is secured. What a setting all around us – the end of the world! How does this fit in with Tom Cunliffe’s rapturous elegy? Sark may be a feudal state, but it is nonetheless so Elysian “that one can sit in the sun and ponder what might have gone wrong with the rest of the world”, writes the author of our sailing guide.

Everything you need to know about the Gulf of Saint-Malo:

• France: A hidden gem in the Gulf of Saint-Malo – the Îles Chausey
• The Isle of Jersey – a little world of its own
• Guernsey and Herm – two very different neighbours
• The Isle of Alderney – a taste of the Caribbean in the English Channel

All right, the island really can’t be blamed for this. When it’s pitch black outside, the yachts’ anchor lights trace wavering paths; the night has swallowed up all form. The only fixed point in this wild void is the flash of the lighthouse.

What a night… What does Cunliffe say about La Grève de la Ville? “Don’t expect complete tranquillity, because you’re bound to be rocked about a bit.” A bit. You really can’t get any more British understatement than that. The current and the swell – and perhaps the wind further out too – mean that we’re being tossed about in all directions on our mooring line. We do manage to sleep, but only to be woken up again and again throughout the night by a sudden jolt or a wave crashing against the boat.

Next destination: Saint Peter Port, Guernsey

We’re feeling pretty knackered as yet another grey and dreary morning dawns. The other guests have long since made a beeline for the exit, and the shore leave we’d actually planned – or rather, hoped for – is immediately called off in these conditions. We’d much rather spend more time in Saint Peter Port than climb up that sheer cliff face just to end up standing on some windy plateau under a low sky. Will we get a second chance to visit Sark tomorrow morning on the other side of the island, before we carry on to Alderney? It’s possible, though plenty of rain is forecast for today and tomorrow. And the experience doesn’t need to be quite that ‘tropical’. At 8.25 am, we cast off from the buoy; the slimy line disappears into the depths.

To the north, we sail round the island, with the Corbée du Nez lighthouse on the port side, and then across the Big Russell to the west – the strait that separates Sark from its smaller neighbour, Herm. The current is negligible now, just before high tide; only the westerly wind is blowing against us. However, due to the narrow channel of about three nautical miles between the islands, the waves remain moderate. Although Herm is smaller than Sark, if you include the surrounding plateau and all the islands and rocks, it is actually larger – at least in terms of the total area of the archipelago.

Passing the north cardinal buoy ‘Fourquies’, we reach the entrance to the Percée Passage, which runs south of Herm through this shallow, rocky stretch. Things are about to get much calmer. We already have the Q flag flying on board – a flag that all vessels must fly until they have cleared customs in the Bailiwick of Guernsey. The Jersey guest flag has given way to that of Guernsey.

Clearing in at Victoria Marina

A good half an hour later, the moment has arrived; the piers of Saint Peter Port, with their flashing lights, lie ahead of us, with the imposing Castle Cornet to the left. As we approach the entrance to Victoria Marina, the now-familiar light signal greets us: green, green, white – entry permitted, but caution: oncoming traffic! Here, too, a boat comes out to meet us and directs us to a berth just to the left of the sills, alongside the floating jetty.

We’re handed a clear plastic bag containing an island brochure and the customs form. We fill it in and pop it into one of the yellow customs postboxes lining the harbour basin. The good thing is that, as Alderney is also part of the Bailiwick of Guernsey, we won’t need to go through the formalities there again later.

Guernsey, at last. Even if it is raining. Unlike Saint Helier, Saint Peter Port has a proper waterfront with old façades, plus a church and a few other, more unassuming towers. Two pubs are already visible: Albion House and the Ship and Crown. Here, too, the harbour is divided into sections, although the individual areas are not as clearly separated from one another as in Saint Helier. Overall, the town seems livelier and more significant even at first glance, even though Guernsey is smaller than Jersey.

Gunpowder smoke at lunchtime: Castle Cornet

We can’t expect any sunshine today; the only question is how much it will rain. That makes a visit to Castle Cornet a good idea, especially as I’ve already skipped Elizabeth Castle in Saint Helier. Another advantage is that you’ll keep your feet dry here, as the short walk takes you along the Esplanade and then across the wide Castle Pier straight to the main entrance of the fortress. No fewer than four museums are housed in the various buildings within the thick walls, all with a military theme, ranging from the English Civil War to the Cold War.

It’s a stroke of luck that I hadn’t planned at all: I’ll arrive just in time for the noon gun, …to fire the midday cannon, which used to be an important time signal. The procedure: An artilleryman in a red tunic marches up, alone but with all the more impressive sideburns to make up for it; he prepares the heavy 36-pounder with its primer and charge and glances at his open pocket watch – until, without further warning, there’s a proper bang. The gunpowder smoke clears, and so does the soldier, only to march up again shortly afterwards – for photos.

Saint Peter Port – the heart of Guernsey

The old town of Saint Peter Port has a more upmarket feel than Saint Helier and, with its boutiques and cafés lining the High Street, seems tailor-made for cruise passengers. The alleyways are winding and twisting, leading up and down. I buy myself a sandwich – coronation chicken – and I want to settle down comfortably on a bench in front of the North Esplanade. But the seagulls are obviously even hungrier than I am and are trying to snatch my sandwich. There’s only one thing for it: to make a run for it.

On board, we’re making plans for the next day. There won’t be another visit to Sark; it’s not worth it in this weather. It’s a shame – that means we’ve had to write off the island, which is supposed to be the most beautiful one here. Instead, we’re staying for a second night, as originally planned. We’ve got some free time, which I intend to use for a detour to Herm, the neighbouring island which, although even smaller, is closer by.

Mind you, by ferry, not under our own steam. You could also drop anchor there, but only around high tide. There are no mooring posts. In the evening, our crew of three heads to the Ship & Crown, where, on the first floor right by the window, we at least have a theoretical view across the harbour, whilst the rain lashes against the panes in thick sheets as dusk falls.

By ferry to Herm: at one with nature

After a long morning, I set off for the ferry quay, where the ‘Herm Trident’ sets sail. The crossing to Herm is supposed to take twenty minutes; that’s about right, until we disembark at the Rosaire Steps. We head up the stone steps, along dirt tracks; a quad bike comes towards me, then another. Quite a lot of traffic for an island with no cars. The lush vegetation hints at a subtropical atmosphere – in proper summer weather, that is.

The White House Hotel, too, has a distinctly colonial style and is flanked by palm trees. The Ship Inn, on the other hand, is painted blue, as is the signpost in front of it, which points to all corners of the islet, barely two kilometres long. This is also where the actual harbour is located, now completely dry, with a landing craft and high walls, and the beach behind it. A light drizzle sets in; it suits the overhanging greenery on the steep path up to Manor Village.

But first, an arrow points to the right, where a narrow path leads into the primeval forest: Zen Garden. I don’t hesitate for long and soon come to a small, gently sloping clearing with a stream murmuring alongside it. Blue and white flowers on either side, with wet, glistening ferns in between. And then a torii, the gate of a Japanese shrine. Behind it lies a rock garden filled with lilies. Just a few more steps to a bench. I sit down, close my eyes for a moment and feel the raindrops on my face.

Back to the main path and up to the old island administrator’s farmstead; a beautiful stained-glass window and a sense of greater tranquillity in St Tugual’s Chapel, which was built here a thousand years ago. More drizzle and a monochrome panorama with Guernsey and Saint Peter Port in the dark background. I’m glad I’ve got my poncho. But Herm is beautiful, very beautiful, even now. A real gem. Somehow, that term fits here. There isn’t enough time left for Shell Beach and Alderney Point, though; if I miss this ferry, I’ll have to stay on the island. Although, that would be something! I turn left in the dunes by the dolmens, heading back to the ferry. Suddenly, a break in the clouds appears from somewhere, bathing Herm in warm light for a few minutes and making the colours glow. Have I somehow earned this?

Everything you need to know about the Gulf of Saint-Malo:

• France: A hidden gem in the Gulf of Saint-Malo – the Îles Chausey
• The Isle of Jersey – a little world of its own
• Guernsey and Herm – two very different neighbours
• The Isle of Alderney – a taste of the Caribbean in the English Channel