After four days, we have left the harbour of Saint Helier. Sark can already be seen ahead and is still about fourteen nautical miles away when we hit the swell from the west again. At half past seven in the evening, under a grey sky, we are south of the east buoy "Blanchard". Sark's steep coastline lies ahead, the sea is choppy, sometimes deceptively smooth, sometimes choppy. The current has to go around the island and generate tide rips and overfallsominous wavy lines on the nautical chart that tug us in one direction and then the other. Finally, La Grève de la Ville opens up in front of us, our destination for the night.
A night in the shelter of Sark
A bay can't really get much more forbidding than this; rocky, steep shores that feel as if they are as high as the sky, no possibility of landing except for a path in the rock that zigzags upwards, recognisable by the dinghies leaning against the wall far above the high water mark. Because there are boats here, and buoys. Five or six sailing yachts, but only three of them with crews on board, a few small fishing boats. Plus a trawler converted into an expedition ship at anchor. The Point Robert lighthouse with its enclosing wall clings to the steep slope to the south like a white swallow's nest.
The first three murings we head for are labelled "Keep off", only the fourth seems to be for guests - or the writing has simply disappeared. Soon the slimy mooring line at the bow is covered. What a backdrop 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 still so elysian "that you can sit in the sun and ponder what has gone wrong with the rest of the world", writes the author of our cruising guide.
All about the Gulf of St Malo:
- France: Insider tip in the Gulf of Saint-Malo - the Îles Chausey
- Island of Jersey - a small world of its own
- Guernsey and Herm - two unequal neighbours
- Island of Alderney - Caribbean flair on the English Channel
Okay, the island really can't help these conditions. When it's pitch black outside, the anchor lights of the yachts are staggering, the night has swallowed up every form. The only fixed point in this wild nothingness is the flash of the lighthouse.
What a night... What does Cunliffe write about La Grève de la Ville? "Don't expect complete peace and quiet, because you'll definitely roll a little". Something. More British understatement is really not possible. The current and swell - and perhaps the wind further out - ensure that we move in all directions on the mooring line. We sleep, but only to be woken again and again during the night by a sudden jolt or wave.
Next destination: Saint Peter Port, Guernsey
We feel correspondingly exhausted as the morning dawns once again grey and cloudy. The other guests have long since left and the planned, or rather hoped-for, shore leave is cancelled in these conditions. We'd rather spend more time in Saint Peter Port than climb up the steep cliff here, only 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 continuing on to Alderney? Could be, but there's plenty of rain forecast for today and tomorrow. And the experience doesn't have to be that "tropical" after all. At 8.25 a.m. we part company with the buoy and the slimy line disappears into the depths.
We round the island to the north, with the Corbée du Nez beacon on our port side, and then cross the Big Russell to the west, the sound that separates Sark from its smaller neighbour Herm. The current is now negligible just before high tide, with only the westerly wind pushing against us. However, due to the small sea space between the islands of around three nautical miles, the waves are limited. Although Herm is smaller than Sark if you include the surrounding plateau and all the islands and rocks, it is larger - at least in terms of the total area of the archipelago.
With the north cardinal buoy "Fourquies" we reach the entrance to the Percée Pass, which leads south of Herm through this flat and rocky area. It soon becomes much quieter. The Q flag, which all vehicles that have not yet cleared into the Bailiwick of Guernsey must fly, is already fluttering on board. The guest flag of Jersey has given way to that of Guernsey.
Clearing in at Victoria Marina
A good half hour later, the time has come; the piers of Saint Peter Port with their flashing lights lie ahead of us, the mighty Castle Cornet to the left. From the entrance to Victoria Marina, the familiar light signal shines towards us: Green, green, white - entry permitted, but watch out: oncoming traffic! Here, too, a boat welcomes us and shows us a place just to the left of the sill, alongside the floating jetty.
We are handed a transparent bag containing a brochure about the island and the customs form. We fill it in and drop it in one of the yellow customs letterboxes along the harbour basin. The good news: as Alderney is also part of the Bailiwick of Guernsey, we don't have to repeat the formalities there later.
Guernsey, at last. Albeit in the rain. In contrast to Saint Helier, Saint Peter Port has a proper waterfront with old façades, a church and a few more inconspicuous towers. Two pubs are already visible: Albion House and Ship and Crown. The harbour is also divided up here, but the individual areas are not as clearly separated from each other as in Saint Helier. Overall, the town seems livelier and more important at first glance, even though Guernsey is smaller than Jersey.
Gunpowder vapour for lunch: Castle Cornet
The sun is no longer expected today, the only question is how much it will rain. A visit to Castle Cornet is a good idea, especially as I've already done without Elizabeth Castle in Saint Helier. Another advantage: you can keep your feet dry here, as the short walk leads along the esplanade and then over the wide Castle Pier directly to the main entrance of the fortress. Four museums are housed in the various buildings inside the thick walls, all with a military theme, from the English Civil War to the Cold War.
It fits, which I hadn't planned for: I arrive on time for the noon gun, This was an important time signal in the past. The procedure: An artilleryman in a red coat marches up, alone, but with an all the more impressive moustache, prepares the heavy 36-pounder with fuse and charge and looks at the opened pocket watch - until there is a loud bang without further warning. The gunpowder vapour dissipates, as 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 is more chic than Saint Helier and, with its boutiques and cafés around the High Street, seems to have been made just for cruise passengers. The alleyways are winding, winding, up and down. I buy myself a sandwich - coronation chicken - and want to treat myself to a cosy sandwich on a bench in front of the North Esplanade. But the seagulls are obviously even hungrier than me and try to steal my sandwich. There's only one thing to do: escape.
Plans are made on board 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's the end of the island, which is supposed to be the most beautiful here. Instead, we stay a second night, as originally planned. Time at leisure, which I want to use instead for a detour to Herm, the smaller but closer neighbouring island.
But by ferry, not on your own keel. You could also anchor there, but only around high tide. There are no murings. In the evening, our crew of three is drawn to the Ship & Crown, where we have at least a theoretical view of the harbour from the first floor window, while the rain pours down in thick veils against the windows as dusk falls.
By ferry to Herm: at one with nature
After a long morning, I make my way to the ferry quaywhere the "Herm Trident" departs. The crossing to Herm is supposed to take twenty minutes, which is about right until we land at the Rosaire Steps. We go up the stone steps, along country lanes, a quad bike comes towards me, then another. Quite a lot of traffic for an island without cars. The lush vegetation gives a hint of subtropical flair - in real summer weather.
The White House Hotel also has a lot of colonial style, 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 ends of the barely two-kilometre-long island. This is also where the actual harbour is located, now completely dry, with a landing craft and high walls, with the beach behind it. A fine rain sets in, matching 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 jungle: Zen Garden. I don't hesitate for long and arrive at a small, ascending clearing, along which a stream murmurs. Blue and white flowers on either side, with wet, shiny ferns in between. And then a torii, the gate of a Japanese shrine. A rock garden with lilies opens up behind it. A few more steps to a bench. I sit down, close my eyes for a moment and feel the drops on my face.
Back to the main path and up to the island administrator's old farm, a beautiful stained glass window and more silence in St Tugual's Chapel, 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 of my poncho. But Herm is beautiful, very beautiful, even now. A real gem. Somehow that term fits here. But there's not enough time for Shell Beach and Alderney Point, so if I miss this ferry, I'll have to stay on the island. Although, that would be something! Turn left in the dunes by the dolmens, back to the ferry. A hole in the clouds comes from somewhere, bathing Herm in warm light for a few minutes and making the colours glow. Have I somehow earned this?
All about the Gulf of St Malo:
- France: Insider tip in the Gulf of Saint-Malo - the Îles Chausey
- Island of Jersey - a small world of its own
- Guernsey and Herm - two unequal neighbours
- Island of Alderney - Caribbean flair on the English Channel
