Paimpol to Ile de Brehat – Into the Silent Water

Thanks David.

Earlyish start in walking shoes, wrapping up the tent and persuading the campsite to hold a lot of my gear whilst I walk around the Ile de Brehat. I turned right from the campsite down to the coastal path and was rewarded with some lovely views and no rain. Out to sea….

…..and in towards Paimpol.

A brisk walk and I was enjoying it. The route took me by footpaths to the centre of town and to the cafe where I had two coffees yesterday. And I had two today. Nothing like familiarity. So I said to the barman ‘ Hello gorgeous’. 

This is a proper, lock-gate controlled dock, and I should know. I worked in one for seven years. The tidal range here is massive, up to 13 metres, hence the vast expanse of land exposed at low tide.  The rock work needed to support the floating dock was apparent looking back towards Paimpol port.

I was heading due north to Arcouest, at the tip of the peninsula, where there is a small passenger ferry service to the Island. As I walked further, the sea to my right came into view, and as the tide was going out, more and more granite outcrops were exposed. There’s no sight like a field of wheat waving in the… waving in….. Manuel!

It didn’t take too long to cover the journey to Arcouest and the views were certainly worth it. Including these two of the island across the water. And in the second one you’ll see two ferries making off, which meant I had to wait an hour. Nice place to wait.

And then the ferry comes in and loads up. It’s still exciting even at 65. Errr 58?

No traffic on the island, apart from the odd tractor, so folk carry their worldly goods over on hand trolleys.

Rocks everywhere. I was stood next to a yachtsman going over and he says you need to know every single rock of this coast to navigate safely. With the tide well out the disembarkation point was nearly a kilometre from the high tide alternative.

What a lovely spot.

And how rich must the local landed gentry be. To be honest it was thronged with tourists. God knows what it must be like in August. So that detracts from the value. There are 400 inhabitants in winter, rising to 5,000 in August plus hundreds of day trippers. But it’s still beautiful.

I went into the small square on the east coast, described as the Bourg, the town, and then toured round to the campsite, which was all but empty. I camped on top of the hill and got an early night after a dinner I brought over from the mainland. Perrfick. Half bottle of wine. All things in moderation my dears.

It was a bit eerie in the night. Unusual noises and a voice calling my mum’s name. Ah well. There’s more than we know so turn over Smiffy and get some sleep.

Night night.