“Dangerous currents! Very rough seas!” warns the nautical chart ahead of the Passage du Fromveur, that notorious strait south-east of Île d’Ouessant. Coming from the east, a long Atlantic swell can treat sailors to a thrilling ride on the open sea. In the Fromveur, however, the passage narrows between Ouessant to the north and the many small islands to the south.
And what rises so steeply and high out of the water is the extension of what lies in wait beneath the surface: countless rocks and shoals over which vast volumes of water flow, twice a day from east to west, and from west to east. ‘Whoever encounters the Fromveur encounters fear’ is the wisdom handed down to this day, not only by Breton seafarers.
Mysterious Island
It is not least descriptions such as these that continue to shape the reputation of Île d’Ouessant to this day: aloof, wild and dangerous. But also: steeped in legend, mysterious. It fits seamlessly into the ranks of those places, steeped in countless myths for centuries, that leave sailors awestruck and speechless: the dreaded Cape Horn, the ferociously churning Moskenstraumen off the Lofoten Islands, the virtually inaccessible Easter Island, or even the Northeast and Northwest Passages in the Arctic latitudes, which even today can only be navigated on rare occasions.
Few sailors dare to set sail for these and similar destinations. However, those who rise to the challenge are often rewarded with a unique experience that resonates for a lifetime. All those vague myths suddenly give way to real impressions, experiences and encounters. They make you forget the hardships of the journey.
The same applies to the Île d’Ouessant, a place with a very special charm. It is the island of sailing records, the Lighthouses, the women. This little island of delicately rugged charm on the edge of the Bay of Biscay, with a veranda overlooking the Atlantic – it must be discovered and conquered with care. “The particular treachery of this strait lies in the fact that, in addition to the tidal current and the wind, the swell from the Atlantic also comes into play. When a long-standing, high swell from the north-west rolls in and the ebb current – and possibly the wind as well – are working against it, it can become truly dangerous,” says Wilfried Krusekopf, describing the Fromveur.
The German has been living and sailing in Brittany for decades; he is the author of specialist nautical books and guidebooks to sailing areas, and a recognised expert in tidal navigation. “But you need the ebb current if you’re coming from the east and want to pass through here,” he says. “If you’re sailing against the current, however, you might even be overtaken by a buoy – provided it’s visible. Thick fog is also quite common.” A journey of a good five nautical miles through the strait can then turn into a tedious and uncomfortable ordeal.
But when the tide and weather are right and a window opens for the passage, when the current and wind are flowing in the same direction and the Atlantic isn’t just rolling the aftermath of the last storm into the strait, then it’s proper fun. Then the short leg becomes a brisk yet harmless episode – like in a lively whirlpool, where tidal rapids propel the boat over the seabed to astonishing heights and huge eddies make the compass needle spin.
Stop at Baie de Lampaul
Before you know it, you’ve reached your destination, the Île d’Ouessant, and the boat glides into the Baie de Lampaul, the sheltered bay to the west. A huge rock rises up, standing alone in the middle of the bay. Mooring buoys are in place for tying up; there is no marina. Cormorants guard the entrance. Occasionally, even dolphins find their way into the bay.
The same goes for the Atlantic swell. Although fairly well sheltered from the wind, a steady swell rolls in from the open sea. The yachts’ masts dance a ballet in a haphazard choreography. Some sailors are simply seeking shelter from a storm here, whilst others are looking for a peaceful night’s rest after having crossed the Bay of Biscay. You can tell from the look on some of their faces what they’ve been through as they hastily moor their boats, somewhat awkwardly and exhausted, before collapsing into their berths.
The island’s shore isn’t far away by dinghy; at high tide, you can simply head straight across, but at low tide it’s best to stick to the buoy-marked channel if you want your dinghy to last. A staircase at the old jetty, gnawed away by seawater, serves as both a step and a cleat.
Next door, in the small fishing harbour, boats lie on dry land, each tethered to the steep coastline by a long rope. At low tide, rusty ladders lead far down to the water’s edge. Boats tethered by a rope are the local alternative to elaborate harbours. Even in a relatively mild summer, one can imagine just how little one needs to mind heights, the cold, the wet and the waves to make one’s way to one’s boat day in, day out and set sail.
Visiting the island’s capital
In the island’s capital, Lampaul, the houses stand close together on hills with narrow streets. They are built from the grey granite on which they stand, colourfully framed by hydrangeas and asters, St John’s wort and lilies. Tourists linger in small shops and bistros, taking in the street life or the coastal views. Sturdy, down-to-earth waiters with Nordic charm serve oysters and mussels, beer, wine and cheese. The village church watches over it all, almost majestically.
The cliffs are just a few steps away from the village. Viewed from the sea, they appear rather rocky and sparsely vegetated. However, walks take you alternately over karst rock and soft greenery, interspersed with flowering heather, thick grass and all manner of wild herbs. The vegetation bends low in the wind; trees grow almost exclusively in gardens. Some paths run narrowly along steep cliffs, whilst others cross meadows and entire fields full of ferns.
Changeable weather constantly offers new sights: subdued in the gloomy light, the landscape on land bursts into a riot of colour the moment the sun breaks through, even if only for a brief instant. The water in the bay then turns deep green, with azure and turquoise hues at the edge. The high coastline also offers views into the distance – to the north, out into the vast expanse, and to the south across the strait and the offshore islets as far as the mainland.
It is hard to imagine that, right up until the 1980s, shipping traffic between northern and southern Europe passed through this strait. It was no doubt not least the accident involving the oil tanker ‘Amoco Cadiz’ – which ran aground on a rock east of Ouessant during a storm and caused an oil spill of colossal proportions – that led to a rethink. The island itself and the surrounding marine area are now a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. Traffic separation zones and shipping lanes run at a safe distance from large seaweed beds and the habitats of dolphins and seabirds.
The role of women
Small settlements with equally small farmsteads characterise the island’s interior. The ruins of old, stone cottages bear witness to how hard life once was in the very place where holidaymakers now come to relax. The former fields are surrounded by rough walls; the wind probably never allowed a single seed to lie still long enough to germinate. It was the women of Ouessant who tilled these fields. Their husbands often went to sea for years at a time. It must also have been the women who painted the windows and doors of the houses a fresh blue. Everywhere, they stand out against the grey-brown stone of the old buildings: sea, sky and rock united in the façades.
But there was also the message: ‘Return!’ For blue symbolises Mary, the patron saint of seafarers. Many men remained at sea nonetheless. Small wax crosses were then buried in their place. ‘Proella – back to shore’ was the name given to these tokens of mourning, which found their place in a mausoleum in the cemetery, barely taller than the crosses surrounding it. Some are said to date back as far as the 13th century.
One of the oldest lighthouses: Phare du Stiff
Viewed from the sea, the north-eastern coastline is the most impressive. It rises high and steep. Perched atop it is the charming Phare du Stiff, Ouessant’s oldest lighthouse. On the cliffs stands a solitary house that looks as though it’s about to plunge into the depths. Below, mooring buoys lie in the bay, right next to the ferry terminal. The terminal goes to great lengths to conceal the island’s charm. A concrete terminal, a few scattered houses and plenty of storage space exude pure practicality. Shiploads of day-trippers are disembarked; they quickly spread out across the island on foot or by bike, and return to the mainland from here in the evening.
Port d’Arlan – for a perfect day out
But just beyond the next headland, a single cardinal buoy further on and a short way off the Fromveur, Port d’Arlan is already aglow with all the vibrant colours a perfect day’s holiday needs. A wide beach, with a single mooring buoy in front of it. If you arrive in good time, you’ll have a thoroughly secluded spot for the night; there are no neighbours, and anchoring is prohibited. At low tide, rocks and seaweed are exposed, opening up the way to another beach. Anyone who dozes off here will have to wait until the next low tide. It’s correspondingly quiet.
The western end of the island, on the other hand, offers a landscape of pure drama. There, tall, pointed cliffs rise up from the sea in a strikingly rugged manner. Much must have meandered millions of years ago, when the rock strata folded diagonally towards the sky. It is a good 2,000 miles from here to Newfoundland. The sea can gather, rise and swell, only to crash against the shore with all its might. The sea and the island vie for the title of the most rugged beauty in Finistère, the ‘end of the world’, as it was called by those who could not yet know any better.
Lighthouses as signposts
The sails gliding past in the distance look tiny; skippers keep a respectful distance. Many ships and their crews have met a tragic end here, on the western tip of France, at the entrance to the English Channel. To prevent this, the Phare du Créac’h stands high above the roaring spectacle, as straight as a arrow and striped like a Breton shirt.
As a popular backdrop for family photos, it is also known as the ‘Eiffel Tower of Île d’Ouessant’. Its beam reaches 32 miles out across the sea – further than any other lighthouse in Europe. Alongside it, there are four other lighthouses that guide seafarers around the island and its treacherous shoals – a remarkable concentration of light, even for Brittany. Where, if not here, is it worth taking a closer look at the history of night-time navigation?
Inside the Phare du Créac’h is a fascinating museum. Through fire baskets, oil lamps and man-sized, meticulously polished Fresnel lenses, it illustrates in fast-forward the development of the light’s range over the centuries. At first, it shone from the towers of abbeys and churches; later, from towers on land; and finally, at sea.
Why some lighthouses were described as ‘hell’
The church towers were meant to reach close to the heavens; within them, monks lit fires to guide seafarers on their way. Service in the towers was less convenient, as they were built far out to sea on rocks off the coast and could only be reached by boat. The dangerous commute alone made frequent shift changes impossible. So the keepers remained alone for weeks on end with their lenses and lanterns, amidst alcove beds and cupboards, awkwardly fitted into the circular space, a table, a chair. They kept watch, carried out repairs and communicated with the outside world by radio, whilst the surf gnawed at the base of the tower and gusts of wind whistled around the masonry. It is hardly surprising that these towers at sea were called ‘Hell’ by their inhabitants, those on uninhabited islands ‘Purgatory’, and those on the mainland ‘Paradise’. The career ladder led from the former to the latter.
The La Jument lighthouse, situated just under a mile off the coast, is also one such ‘hell’. It nearly proved fatal for its keeper, Théodore Malgorn. When he heard the roar of a helicopter in December 1989, he stepped outside the tower. Behind him, a huge wave crashed against the tower, breaking white and foaming like angel’s wings. The photographer in the helicopter, Jean Guichard, pressed the shutter at precisely that moment and took the photograph of his life, whilst below, the lighthouse keeper unwittingly risked his own.
Significance for sailors
An imaginary line connects the Phare du Créac’h with Lizard Point Lighthouse in the south of England – to the east lies the English Channel, to the west the open sea; a historic boundary. Atlantic and round-the-world sailing races start and finish here, as do record attempts by individual sailors or crews. There is hardly a report on new records in which the name Ouessant – or Ushant, its English equivalent – does not appear. The World Sailing Speed Record Council (WSSRC) acts as the guardian of time.
Anyone wishing to have a record officially recognised must register with the Council. The Council measures the start and finish times of the record-breaking sailors from a disused semaphore – a signalling device – situated below the lighthouse. For a long time, this was done accurately and in person. None other than the chairman, Claude Breton, would then set off from Brest for the island. He had to be on time, but the record-breakers didn’t always make it easy for him, as they were getting faster and faster. So he sometimes had to make a rather spontaneous trip to Île d’Ouessant whenever another record contender was racing towards the finish line. It didn’t matter whether a flight was available or he had to board the ferry in a storm: the time was recorded.
This is no longer the case today. “The competing yachts have become larger and much faster, and it has become dangerous for the boats and their crews to get too close to the island – particularly in the rough weather conditions required for a fast start,” reports John Reed of the WSSRC. With the introduction of improved trackers, it was therefore decided that the yachts could start further out in safer waters, and that the time would be determined using data from the yacht tracker and the WSSRC black box.
That does not detract from the island’s significance. Ellen MacArthur She aptly described it after her gruelling solo round-the-world sailing record in 2005: “There are two things I remember in particular. Firstly, I smelled land for the first time, which felt strange after such a long time. And secondly, I saw the light off Ushant, shining on the horizon. I thought: ‘That means land, that means Europe, that means home.’ That was the first time I really relaxed.”
Serene tranquillity amidst nautical superlatives. Whether after 40 days or more at sea, cheering at the finish line with the world in your wake, exhausted after crossing the Bay of Biscay, seeking shelter from a storm, or simply sailing happily on holiday: Ouessant turns on the lights and welcomes you with Breton nonchalance. After all, the island knows what it can be like out there.
Information about the area: Île d’Ouessant
The Celts and Romans once landed on the coast of Ouessant. Today, holidaymakers – and long-distance sailors – come here.
The island of Ouessant (Breton: ‘Enez Eusa’, English: ‘Ushant’) is part of Brittany; it lies a good ten nautical miles off the coast at the northern edge of the Bay of Biscay. The westernmost settlement in France – apart from the overseas departments – marks, like the Isles of Scilly on the opposite British side, the western entrance to the English Channel.
Celts, Romans and Christians all found their way here. They left their mark on the language and culture, as they did throughout Brittany (Breton: Breizh): Christian crosses stand outside churches, whilst triskeles can be seen everywhere else. These swirl-shaped, three-armed crosses symbolise the three elements – earth, fire and water – the Celtic heritage of the Bretons.
Whilst the inhabitants used to make a living from fishing, seafaring, smuggling and agriculture, today it is mainly tourism and the service sector that provide a modest livelihood. Most holidaymakers visit the island for just a day; there is little accommodation available. The population is steadily declining; whilst there were just under 2,000 people in 1968, around 800 now live here – in the summer. Many spend the winter on the mainland.
Sailors can moor their yachts to mooring buoys in Baie de Lampaul and the bay near the ferry terminal. The island does not have a marina. Provisions can be bought in the shops in Lampaul, the island’s main town. There are also a number of lovely bistros and good restaurants there.
Hell, Purgatory and Paradise: the lighthouses
The island is of outstanding importance to seafaring – formerly as an often tragic obstacle, today as a navigational aid by day and by night. A number of serious shipwrecks in the dangerous and heavily trafficked waters off Ouessant led to the construction of several lighthouses. These are scattered around the island and remain in service to this day.
The Brightest
Créac’h Lighthouse (Ushant Lighthouse), built in 1863. The lighthouse with the greatest range in Europe. The first visible beacon from the Bay of Biscay and the most important landmark for entering the English Channel. Light height: 70 m, range: 32 sm
The Most Famous
Jument Lighthouse, built on a rock off the coast from 1904 onwards, and in operation since 1911. The reason for its construction was a shipwreck on the cliffs off Ouessant in 1896, which claimed 243 lives and left just three survivors. This is also where the famous photograph of the lighthouse keeper was taken, with the waves crashing violently behind him. Light height: 36 m, range: 10 sm
The Eldest
Stiff Lighthouse, built between 1695 and 1700. The oldest lighthouse on the French side of the English Channel. Next to it, a transmission mast is used to monitor all maritime traffic in the region. Light height: 85 m, range: 24 sm The Phare de Kéréon, the longest-manned lighthouse, built on a rock at the Passage du Fromveur from 1907, has been in operation since 1916. Known as the ‘Tower of Hell’, it was inhabited by a keeper until 2004. Light height: 38 m, range: 17 sm
The Most Unusual
Nividic Lighthouse, built out at sea between 1912 and 1936. It ceased operation after just four years and has only been back in service since the 1950s. Initially, the lighthouse keeper reached the tower via a cable car; later on, he used a helicopter. Light height: 28 m, range: 10 sm
Ursula Meer
Redakteurin Panorama und Reise