Liz is usually up first so that by the time I arrive on deck, coffee and breakfast are on the cockpit table. Today is no exception and already the sun is up and climbing into a cloudless blue sky. The same as yesterday. A launch comes chugging through the lines of mooring buoys with a Frenchman playing the first few bars of the Marseillaise on a kiddy’s plastic cornet and offering to sell us fresh croissants, bread, the day’s newspapers - and to take away our rubbish. We stupidly declined the newspaper forgetting that it is the easy way to get an idea of the weather for the next few days. Still, we learn as we go along. 

I said we learnt as we went along and we were about to learn another lesson. After breakfast, a swim and a shower it was decided to top up the water tanks and buy a few more fresh provisions before we took off down the west coast. Ten o'clock in the morning seems to be the time when all the yachts in the marina decide to leave, those on the mooring buoys go in for water and the mainland ferry arrives. Our plan was to go stern on to the Accueil, fill up with water and then send a shore party shopping. I know it was a good plan because everybody else was trying the same thing at the same place at the same time. All was well, despite the swell, until I took my eyes off the pontoon to help another boat and we were bounced against the wall losing a couple of inches of gel coat off the stern. Next time do as the locals do, have two lines ashore and leave the engine in forward.

Our first trip down the west coast of Corsica was the 27nM from Calvi to Girolata which is described in the pilot as “not good holding” and through which the day trip boats motor at full throttle causing fun and games with their wash. Still the distance was about right for a day sail and we had to get used to continental ways sometime and Girolata sounded interesting and beautiful.

The wind was light from the west and so after a lot of discussion we decide to hoist the 0.75oz spinnaker for the first time. The 0.75oz was chosen because it is the only one. I was explaining to Jonathan and Les that I would have to buy a reaching strut to keep the pole off the forestay when reaching in a blow when Liz solved the problem- no spinnakers in a blow! The snuffing line had taken a turn around the sail but this was soon sorted out in good Brandy Bottle fashion and we spent the day sailing lazily down the coast wondering what to have for lunch and writing more limericks.

Highlight of the day was sailing inside the Ile de Gargalu. The passage is 10 metres wide with 3 metres depth and high volcanic rocks on both sides. To port was La Scandola Nature Reserve and to starboard Ile de Gargalu. The Reserve does allow yachtsmen to land but restricts their activities and even the local fishermen have agreed not to work the area. After the Gargalu Passage the coastline has small bays in the rock often only big enough for one boat and since there is nothing ashore but nature we began to realise that this may be a better bet than Girolata just over 5nM away. Every little inlet seemed to have a yacht at anchor and the prospect of a night away from any town overcame my caution and we reversed into a small bay 2nM short of Girolata.

Jonathan let go the anchor in 9m of water and it pulled Compromis up with a jerk. Les put on his hat and Tevas, joined 4 mooring lines together and rowed off to secure the stern to the rocks.The committee decided to put out a second anchor lest we may drag in this 3kts of wind and be dashed on the rocks!

The crew of the yacht Compromis,

Were as brave and as bold as can be,

But when mooring the boat

In a cove quite remote

The anchors they used numbered three!

Secured for the night Jonathan and Les took to the water in search of adventure and soon Jonathan surfaced and reported that he had found a purple and yellow Moray eel living in a crevice in the rocks. Les dived and confirmed the sighting but frankly I can't see Les approaching anything that might eat him. Jonathan said that the white noise we could hear under water was the sound of sea urchins munching on the rocks. Who’s to know but it was a wonderful swim.  Les was true to his word and had not touched a drop all trip but now he broke that pledge and had a glass of Veuve Clicquot to celebrate our arrival in Corsica and the first spinnaker set. I felt guilty putting temptation in his way but he could have gone below and cried instead. 

Volcanic rock surrounded the anchorage on three sides with the exit to the sea on the fourth. The brown red rock appeared to have set in an instant from a molten toffee mass spitting bubbles of gas rather like those mud geysers. The gas bubbles pock marked the rock face with shallow caves that I like to think were once inhabited by hermits contemplating the mysteries of the Universe. The lips of the caves were overhung with gargoyles and other strange shapes that grew and changed shape as the sun went down.

My crab and pineapple starter didn't really work. I blamed the inferior brand of crab meat but it was largely down to my puritanical need to use up the left over pineapple from Calvi in whatever silly way possible. Jonathan's salad served along with penne pasta and sun dried tomatoes more than made up for it.

We blew out the candle after dinner and the rock faces were jet black, the sky ablaze with stars stretched between them. I cuddled Liz and used two soup plates to illustrate the shape of a galaxy and thus explain the Milky Way. Why does she glaze over when I get scientific? Many of the shooting stars had persistent, very bright tails and distinct glowing heads. Les wanted to move lest a meteorite fall on us. The satellites stood out as rapidly moving stars. One lit up the sky with a brilliant two second burst of light due I supposed to the perfect alignment of the sun, the satellite and ourselves. Liz was glazing over again. Shooting Star Bay was a magical place.

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