Birds, Beasts and Blustering Blows
The sky is on fire
We left Nice and leap frogged down the coast for a few days before ducking into Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer in Camargue. The predicted weather for the next several days looked really bad and this seemed like a good place to spend a week, if need be.
We arrived at the La Gardian (meaning cowboy) Marina on a windy afternoon. After radioing the office we were given a slip number but no one came out onto the dock to wave us in as was typical. We found our slip and immediately noticed that this mooring would be brand new to us.
The usual Med moor is where you use stern lines to tie up perpendicular to the quay or pontoon, and either an anchor or a laid mooring line from the bow holds the boat secure. Our usual routine when docking is Tom backs up (usually between other boats) to the dock, I tie off the stern (often someone is there to catch the lines) and then pick up a ‘lazy line’ which is a lightweight rope attached to a heavier mooring line that’s anchored to the seafloor. I simply pick up the lazy line hanging from the dock and walk it forward, pulling up the heavier mooring line as I go, and then secure the line to the cleat on the bow.
Here, instead of laid mooring lines they have pilings. We would need to back between two concrete pilings, one on each side, and I would have to lasso each of them as we drifted past, quickly tying them off. Then, I would need to move aft and secure the stern lines to the dock as we usually do though without anyone to catch them. We discussed a plan as I scampered around attaching ropes and fenders where I thought I would need them. Our slip was located down the first fairway just inside the breakwater, towards the end of the long dock. There was a large steel motor yacht parked in one adjacent slip and a low slung steel work boat parked on the other side. We also had a cross wind so keeping the boat between the pilings without hitting them, nor the other boats, would be tricky. We had made a couple of passes at it when, thankfully, someone showed up. On our next attempt I managed to lasso both pilings while also jamming a portable fender at the waterline between us and the corroded edge of one of the pilings. Next, the dockhand jumped onto the low slung workboat next to us and grabbed one of my stern lines, looped it around a cleat on the pontoon, and promptly disappeared before I could thank him. Oh well, at least we were in the slip and could readjust as needed.
Our slip is on the far side of the larger black boat, the second space in from the left.
We wiggled in and set about adjusting our position; close enough to the pontoon for the passerelle so we could disembark, properly spacing the fenders between the other boats, adjusting the lines around the pilings, then adding spring lines with shock absorbers from the stern to the pontoon. An hour later we were finally settled and ready for a wander down the beach before the sun went down.
An alluring part of the Provençal landscape is the wetlands area where the Rhône River meets the Mediterranean Sea, known as the Camargue. Now classified as a French Nature Reserve—it is home to a vibrant ecosystem of short grasses, tall reeds, migrating birds, wild horses and large bulls. As we wandered around we found a trail bordering the wetlands just behind the village. It’s a very distinct landscape, the southern French wetlands, and as we strolled back towards the marina I found especially fascinating this strangely shaped dwelling, I later learned is known as the cabane de Camargue or the Camargue hut.
This hut was used by fishers, ranchers, hunters, shepherds, and farmers. Its shape was adapted to the local climate. The dwellings are low to the ground due to the violence of the mistral, the region’s fierce, fast-moving wind that regularly sweeps unimpeded across the flat marshes. The roof is made from reeds - cheap material that can be found in abundance in these boggy regions, and is woven together with wire. Once the roofing is finished, a cement-lime mortar is spread over the peak and around the conical, windward, north end. Finally, either a bull's horns (thought to repel lightning) or an angled cross-bar is attached to the peak which, in severe winds, is used to attach a rope that is then secured to a rock on the ground.
Vincent van Gogh, Cabanes blanches aux Saintes-Maries
[Three white cottages in Saintes-Maries], 1888.
“…Van Gogh pictured the homes rising organically, almost like plants, out of the wild landscape. In his colorful portrait of three huts from Saintes Maries-de-la-Mer, one of the coastal villages in the Camargue, Van Gogh set the homes against a sky of deep and vibrant blue, the kind of atmosphere typically created by the cloud-chasing gusts of the mistral...”
by Catherine T. Dunlop
The next morning the sky was on fire and it was cool and overcast. We walked into town to get the lay of the land and it happened to be market day so we picked up some fruit and veggies. By the time we’d returned to Meraki the storm we’d been expecting had arrived. We checked the lines and fenders and settled in. Little did we know what was in store.
Waves crashing over the green channel marker - 30+ft above sea level.
Throughout the evening the Marin wind, as it’s called in the Gulf of Lyon, brought warm moist air from the southeast. It generated heavy swells with high-breaking waves that struck the breakwater in front of us and crashed over the top. We tried to relax - to no avail, the roaring sound could not be muffled and the boat creaked incessantly as it shifted side to side. At some point just after sundown, I’m not sure if we first heard it or felt it, but we both leaped to our feet and ran out into the dark rain with our headlamps. Our windward bow line was hanging in the water - somehow disconnected from its piling! In fact, the steel work boat next to us was also untethered, having lost its line to the piling we shared. We radioed the marina to inform them that the adjacent boat was swinging loose, and set about pulling up our own line so we could re-secure it. HOLY CRAP - it had been sheared in two! Evidently the cleat on the side of the piling was completely rusted and as Meraki rocked back and forth on the taut line, the cleat had been slowly sawing through it. To make matters worse - we had no extra rope, we’d used them all as spring lines in the back. We would have to cut out the damaged lengths and tie the remaining two ends together…and then hope for the best. To resolve the chafing issue we grabbed some chunks of water hose we had leftover, fed a thin feeder cord through the hose, taped it to the mooring line and between the two of us, managed to yank and pull the line up through the water hose. Now to try to lasso the piling. Let me just say it’s quite difficult to throw a rope directly into 40+ knot winds! Several attempts later and we finally encircled the piling and maneuvered the hose to line up with the rusty cleat so we would have a chafe guard. The line was now quite short, we’d cut out the worn bits in the middle and tied a big knot in it - we had just barely enough length to cleat off.
Not unexpectedly, neither of us slept through the night and as soon as the chandler was open the next morning we were at his door for more rope. We also bought wire reinforced tubing that slipped easily over it. I won’t bore you with the details of the long hours spent redoing all 10 of our lines. In the end we had four in the front of the boat; two tied to each piling, and six aft including the spring lines. Just as we were finishing up, the crew from the neighboring work boat arrived. The marina folks had never showed up during the blustery night to re-tie it so they were clearly perplexed as to why their boat was swinging loose. I explained as best I could (my French is about as good as my Serbian!) and moments later they had exited the marina.
At least some folks were enjoying the conditions.
We had a day of somewhat calmer weather and tried to catch up on sleep, but a far worse storm was expected at any time. The storms over the next few days were seriously intense. So much so that one of the navigational channel-markers broke loose and ended up on the beach! I believe this storm is called a Sirocco - these cyclones generally come from the Sahara and can reach hurricane speeds (we monitored speeds up to 50 knots). They are frequent, especially at season changes in spring and autumn, and cause gales in the Mediterranean that bring warm wet weather to southern Europe. A Sirocco usually carries dust from the Sahara and is often accompanied by heavy rain for several days. Meraki was completely covered with a reddish mud by the time the wind slowed and we reemerged from the cabin. She’s never been so filthy!
Over the course of the next few days each of us would check outside every time we awakened in the night, often discovering the bow lines were riding up on the pilings and threatening to slip off again. Each morning we would brainstorm modifications and the procedural steps necessary to accomplish the alteration before donning all our gear and setting about readjusting the angle or position of the lines (a two person job that ultimately resulted in me straining my intercostal muscles) and then hoping against all odds that it would be an improvement. We lost yet another mooring line which was also sheared in two, but in the end we did come up with a cobbled together solution that held for a few days. To be honest though, by then it was clear the situation was getting to us. The Sirocco is commonly perceived as causing unease and an irritable mood in people. I can attest to the validity of this perception!
Our planned 5-7 day layover here would be extended - and possibly doubled. It was going to take the seas several more days to settle down after all of what just blew through. With winds now down to around 20 knots, a working solution to detaching lines, and desperately needing to get out, we decided to take the bikes and ride out to the Ornithological Park within the Camargue Regional Nature Reserve. This unique landscape is made up of rich plains and vast salt marshes and is a perfect place for herds of wild horses, cattle, and a multitude of birds.
The Camargue bulls are now primarily raised for what’s known as the "Course Camarguaise", a popular event where the horns of the bull are decorated with rosettes, tassels and ribbons and challengers try to retrieve the decorations. The technique involves running towards the bull, getting as close to its head as possible in order to grab the decorations with a small forked hook and then race away as the bull charges after you. In order to succeed, the challenger must first tire the bull out, which involves repeatedly racing past it and then throwing themselves several feet in the air over the barriers in order to escape the sharp horns. Occasionally the bulls also jump over the barriers, making for an even more dramatic show. Unlike the Spanish bullfights, there is no bloodshed and instead of the matadors being the stars of the show, here it is the bulls that are revered and the fame and glory goes to the farm that raised them rather than the contestants.
We rode out of town past farm after farm of black bulls and white horses. The origins of the Camargue horse are uncertain, but it is considered to be one of the oldest breeds in the world, having existed in this region of France for thousands of years. The colts are brown when they’re born, and when they are four or five years-old they turn white. Wild herds still exist in the area, while other Camargue horses thrive in a semi-wild state where their original lifestyle is maintained as much as possible. They are kept in expansive fenced rangeland, often with no barns or stables, they sleep in the fields, eat whatever is growing, and handle reproduction on their own. This horse’s sturdy build, endurance, and ability to subsist on scarce forage made it a symbol of resilience and remains integrally linked with the people of Camargue who continue to farm the harsh wetlands today.
It was a pleasant ride to the park which is located on a migratory corridor and the habitat offers an ideal resting place for more than 350 species of birds. It includes nearly150 acres of protected marshland and four miles of trails which bring you right up to the waters edge. The Greater Flamingos have made the reed marshes and ponds here their home. It’s one of the only places in the world where they have returned to lay eggs annually for well over 50 years. They are a pale blush pink color which comes from the mollusks, plankton, tiny fish and algae they eat. The Greater Flamingo is the most common and widespread of the species and is also the largest, standing around 1.5 meters (5 feet) tall. They sleep upright on one or two legs with their heads hidden under a wing.
I dare you to watch without grinning! (sound on)
And they are so clumsy when they take flight. Because of their size they must run across the surface of the pond for several meters in order to get airborne. Their underwings are an unexpected bright vermilion color with black tips. I watched for what seemed like hours - there were so many of them and I was completely mesmerized. Between there ungainly lift-off and their hilarious head wagging, honking and strutting, I could not stop laughing!
We also saw dozens of white egrets, blue herons, gulls, terns, ducks and little songbirds flitting through the trees and shrubs. But nothing brought tears of joy to my eyes like the flamingos. This little excursion proved to be the balm I needed. The bike ride unwound all the stress and tension I’d been holding and these comical, Dr. Suess-like birds provided much needed belly laughs and an emotional release.
We would remain here in Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer for several more days as the seas become less violent. It has been a turbulent ride of late. I understand now that every situation we find ourselves in, not only at sea but also close inshore, involves a myriad of factors. Balancing these variables takes fortitude, tenacity and thinking outside the box. And a little humor is always a good thing - even if it still hurts to laugh!
For all my Foodie friends — we found a hole-in-the-wall café that we may have returned to four times!
Note: photo captions will not appear if viewing on a cell phone.