POOH BEAR REPORT - December 2000
The French Canals - Part 4

Starting:  The Tunnels of the San Quentin Canal, France, 15 September 2000
Ending:  London, England. 16 October 2000
=========================================================================

We had found the canals and towns in the north of France much more beautiful 
than we had expected and we would have liked to see a bit more and move at a 
more leisurely pace.  But, regrettably, Mother Nature had a schedule for us, 
and we were pressed to get on towards Calais.

Part 3 concluded with Pooh Bear leaving San Quentin to tackle two tunnels, 
the second being the 6 km long "le Gran Souterrain".

The Tunnels
Since Paris, the land had been fairly flat and the locks, almost all fully 
automated and unmanned, were of a moderate 3 to 4 meter rise.  But just north 
of St. Quentin the canal crosses two ranges of low mountains (maybe high 
hills); the height and grade being too great for locks to be practical.  
Instead, the canal bores straight through both mountains.  Until this point, 
the "vignette" we bought for $130 way back in Arles (southern France) paid 
for the use of all canals and locks.  But the tunnels required a separate fee 
and it was at the locks in St. Quentin that we paid this fee; a modest $19.  
Up several locks and around a bend was the entrance to the short tunnel with 
a green light showing.  This was our practice tunnel; 1.1 km (0.6 miles) 
long, absolutely straight with the far opening visible.  To starboard was a 
narrow tow path and to port was the arching stone tunnel wall.  The waterway 
width was only a little over 16 feet, leaving about 2-1/2' on each side of 
Pooh.  Obviously a no passing zone. Fluorescent lights overhead, a few not 
working, provided just enough light to steer by.  We chugged along at about 2 
knots, Judy steering.  Steering was not difficult, but the fear of wandering 
even a little and scrapping Pooh along the rocks made it a bit tension 
filled.  

Twenty minutes later we emerged into the bright sunshine, blinking like a 
couple of moles.  Two kilometers later we stopped on the bank near the 
entrance to "le Gran Souterrain", the Big Tunnel.  No more practice.  This 
was the real thing.  The Big Tunnel was to be quite different.  Instead of 
motoring through, convoys twice daily formd up at each entrance, tie head to 
tail, and are towed through the tunnel by an electric tug.  Towing was
started more than one hundred years ago when horse drawn barges gave way to 
engine power.  The tunnel, more than 6 km long (about 4 miles) and without 
ventilation would have become choked with exhaust fumes if each barge used 
their own engine.  The record convoy was 73 vessels.  As we were told by the 
lockmaster at St. Quentin, we would be second in a convoy of only two.  Yes, 
two.  Exactly on time, the southbound convoy electric tug, powered from 
overhead wires, emerged from the tunnel.  It was a convoy of one, a converted 
peniche.  The two kids aboard said, "spooky".  The mother said, "damp and 
cold".  

Not quite knowing the procedure, we stood around until a man came back and 
carried our two tow lines up to the stern of the peniche, shore lines were 
cast off, the tow lines tightened and we were underway, sort of.  We had 
about a hundred yards to get our tow line lengths adjusted so we did not 
shear to port or starboard and we were in the tunnel.  Inside, it was exactly 
like our "practice tunnel" except for two things.  At 6 km long, even though 
perfectly straight, there was only total blackness at the far end.  And we 
felt not in control.  No matter what happened, we could not slow down, only 
steer to stay away from the rock walls.  After getting the two tow lines 
precisely adjusted, steering was easy and we had no real problems.  The 
peniche ahead could not say the same thing.  He tended to work to port.  If 
the skipper did not catch it soon enough, the bow would start scrapping down 
the wall.  Any attempt to steer off the wall would cause the stern to swing 
into the wall with a terrible grinding sound.  Then his only option, would be 
to start the engine and use the prop wash over the rudder to work off.  At 
one point it looked as if things might be getting out of hand and we started 
our engine and I was ready to cut our beautiful 80 feet long 3/4" tow lines.  
But, thankfully it never came to that.  Judy and I alternated steering as the 
concentration required was very tiring.  Our speed varied from about 1.1 to 
1.6 knots and a little over two hours after entering "le Gran Souterrain" we 
emerged, the peniche skipper dropped our two lines and we were once more "in 
control", tunnel veterans, with no damage to Pooh Bear.

As a post script, we had the pleasure of transiting the tunnel in the final 
year of the electric tug.  Starting 2001, vessels will still be grouped, but
each will proceed the length of the tunnel under their own power.  The 
dramatic drop in commercial traffic plus the boring of several ventilation 
shafts, has made the electric tug unnecessary.  I also, could not help but 
ponder how almost 200 years ago, such tunnels could be dug, and dug arrow 
straight, starting and ending exactly where desired and absolutely level.  
Amazing!

The day was made even more memorable by a seemingly trivial event in the big 
scheme of things  An hour and a half after leaving "le Gran Souterrian" we 
stopped on the town quay at Honnecourt and, with rain and wind pounding 
outside, I beat Judy at Scrabble.  The first and only time!

Cambrai and Avocette
We could now count on the fingers of one hand the days to Calais.  
Nevertheless, Cambrai seemed an interesting town and even though only noon, 
we pulled into the unusual little marina, found some space, and walked into 
town.  What a delightful walk we had around the main part of town.  We 
visited the massive cathedral (or maybe it was a church), had an excellent 
pizza lunch at Chez Pino, and were back on Pooh in 2-1/2 hours.  By then the 
Capitain was back from lunch and I attempted to ask him how much we owed for 
our stay.  Not understanding my limited French, he took me to Avocette, a 
beautiful green 70' canal boat taking on drinking water.  Turns out the owner 
and his wife were English who spoke good French.  That marked the beginning 
of a new friendship and we continued on to Calais, pretty much together.  
(By-the-way, there was no charge for our dockage,)

The Great Smoked Garlic Buy
Avocette was a rarity; a new canal boat.  Humph and Wendy had it built only a 
year before and it was as beautiful topside as below.  Luxurious is the only 
way to describe the accommodations.  It was instant friendship and they
seemed to know everybody and everything up and down the canals.  We both 
fitted, just, into a lock north of Cambria, and Humph jumped ashore, the lock 
keeper came out and they embraced.  For 15 minutes, all lock activity stopped 
while they talked.  In the end, the Great Garlic buy was consummated.  It 
included us.  As a result Judy bought more smoked garlic than I though we 
would use in a year and Pooh's cabin smelled of garlic for weeks.

The Grand Gabarit 
On the day of our stop at Cambria, we were steadily going down and we passed 
through thirteen locks dropping us 94 feet closer to sea level.  The last one 
marked the end of the "French Canals" and we entered a totally different 
waterway; a waterway of commercial ships and industry, a waterway of big 
locks - Le Gran Gabarit. Once again, the waterway was wide, deep and 
straight.  We could blow the soot our of the Perkins and run 5.5 to 6 knots 
and we could steer by Autopilot.   Instead of encountering a commercial 
vessel once a day we encountered several each hour.  We had waits for the 
locks, but one turned out serendipitous.  We and Avocette had parted ways 
when they turned off to do some shopping and as we waited for a lock, 
Avocette arrived.  We stayed together from there on to Calais. 

Lock Excitement #1
Earlier that same day, for the first time, we were locked in with two loaded 
peniches behind us.  There were some tense moments when the skipper of the 
peniche astern became engrossed in conversation with the peniche alongside 
him and drifted forward.  When he was less than a foot astern, our cries 
attracted his attention.  The locks were longer, wider and higher than any we 
had seen since the Rhone.  One was 45 feet, but descending had little 
turbulence and no difficulty.  Also, we were "old hands" now.

Lock Excitement #2
It was in one of automated locks of the Grand Gabarit that we had the only 
really dangerous incident of the entire trip.  We had entered a lock with 
Avocette in the lead and, when both boats had tied to starboard, activated 
the automatic sequence.  We descended about 3 meters and the locks opened.  
Avocette dropped her lines and motored out, but, fearing some prop wash, we 
held our lines until Avocette cleared the lock gates.  As we motored towards 
the open gates I remembered those sensors at the that detect when a vessel 
had entered and exited the lock basin.  I had assumed it kept count of the 
vessels entering and vessels leaving, but suddenly I wondered.  I firewalled 
the throttle and yelled for Judy to watch for the "in motion" light on the 
gates.  Just a moment after I felt we were committed (you don't stop 12 tons 
quickly), Judy yelled that the light was on and the gates were closing.  We 
shot through with less than a foot between the closing gates and Pooh's 
sides.   A truly frightening experience..    

The Home Stretch
Even had we wanted to, there could have been no more casual bank stops, noon 
or night.  The banks were lined with rock boulders to resist the wash of the 
large, fast tugs and barges.   But thanks to Avocette we tucked into a tiny 
side channel tied side by side the last night before Calais.  Then one more 
long day's run to Calais, over 80 km, with some interesting final hours.  A 
few miles before Dunkerque, we turned off the big waterway into the Canal du 
Calais, small and winding and reminiscent of the earlier canals of Central 
France.  However, at one point a policeman on shore flagged us down and 
explained that divers ahead were investigating a submerged object.  We were 
to wait.  Shortly, he came back and explained the object was an automobile, 
but if we held the right bank closely, we could pass safely.  We speculated 
it was probably a car stolen for a joy ride and dumped.

This final section of the canal has a reputation for being choked with 
chickweed late in the season and indeed it was. As far as we could see, it 
was a carpet of green, solid enough to walk on, or so it seemed.  However, 
Avocette was in the lead and left a clear path for us to follow.  What that 
really meant was Avocette churned up the water forcing the chick deep where 
our water intake would sucked it up.  Our filter filtered properly and 
neither Pooh Bear or Avocette had any problem.  But not so lucky was Emma 
Lou, a small English sailboat we had first met in Paris.  We overtook them 
limping along at a fraction of a knot with a clogged cooling water input 
line.  Avocette took them in tow all the way through all the opening bridges 
leading into Calais.  

Calais
Great tidal ranges all along the coast of Brittany (NW France) and east along 
both sides od the English Channel dictate some unusual arrangements for the 
harbors.  Calais has a typical tidal range of 20 feet making even floating 
docks impractical in an ungated marina.  Therefore, the marina is behind a 
gate and opens only one and one-half hours before and one hour after high 
water.  This means you can only enter or leave the marina during this 2-1/2 
hour period twice a day.  And as the tide is about 50 minutes later each day, 
so the opening times moves later each day.  We arrived too late to make the 
afternoon lock and gate opening, so all three boats tied off to a wall in the 
middle of the town of Calais and had a party.  

The following afternoon (none of us being inclined to get up at 0300) we all 
moved through the final locks, passed through the inner harbor and into the 
marina, so ending our trip through the "French Canals".  We left Le 
Grau-du-Roi on the Med on 17th of July and arrived in Calais Marina on the 
20th of September.  In those 66 days we traveled 959 km (530 miles), were up 
and down a few hundred feet several times and negotiated 240 locks.  We saw 
so many beautiful scenes, enjoyed so many peaceful stops, and met so many 
friendly people, it would take a far longer report than this just to list 
them all.  This also marked the fulfillment of a dream of mine since I was a 
teenager.

The Rest of the Story
But, hold it folks, the story is not quite over yet.  We had reached Calais, 
but we were still to cross the English Channel, a waterway traversed by 700 
ships each 24 hours.  And we were still to travel 40 miles up the Thames 
River to Pooh Bear's winter home.  And believe me, there are still a few 
stories to tell of those final 25 days. 

The Transformation
For almost three months Pooh had been strictly a motorboat, with the mast, 
boom, radar support, and wind generator pole lashed together and supported by 
wooden trestles.  We were so eager to restore Pooh to a sailing vessel that 
we spent my birthday re-stepping the mast, a bigger job than anticipated 
inspite of the assistance of the marina and its crane.  We had anticipated 
five to seven days for the restoration and we took all of that and a little 
more.  In that week, we enjoyed warm weather with some sun and moderate 
southerly winds.  Our plan was to hope the Autumnal Gales were late and we 
could leave Calais near the end of September.  We initially planned to cross 
the Channel to Dover, those white cliffs visible only 18 miles away.  Take 
note that even such a short trip was not to be simple.  First we could only 
leave the marina in that hour or so each side of high tide.  But, for 
crossing the channel to Dover, we really needed a SW flowing tidal stream.  
For this combination we would need to leave the marina near high water, take 
a mooring in the inner harbor for 6 hours, then depart.  But as the time of 
high water worked around this would have meant a night crossing.

We had one opportunity to leave with winds forecast to be SW force 5 to 6 (20 
- 25 knots) for 12 hours, then building, but the forecast did not seem real 
solid and, with Pooh untried since re-rigging.  I was chicken and we waited 
for both lighter winds and a longer window.  Maybe a big mistake.
.  
Oh, How the Winds Doth Blow
For the next 18 days we had a succession of gales.  The forecast and weather 
map, posted each morning at the marina office, would tantalize us with a not 
too distant SW force 3 to 4, but within 24 hours the revised forecast would 
be totally different.  A series of very deep lows swept up the channel.  Even 
more discouraging was the wind direction.  It became locked in at northwest, 
with an occasional 6 hours of southwest, then back to northwest.  Need I 
mention, our course out of Calais was to be northwest.  Gales reaching wind 
forces 8 to 10 were common, one reached 11.  That is 35 to 45 and even 55 
knots sustained with gusts half again more. As one gale approached, the 
barometer dropped at an alarming rate of 5 millibars an hour reaching the 
lowest barometer reading I have seen: 964 millibars (28.46").  In the 
tropics, such a reading would mean a hurricane, but in the more northerly 
latitudes it only meant 60 knots of wind.  Seas of 15 to 18 feet were common. 
 A couple of times, even the cross channel ferries stopped running.  And I'm 
not talking about little ferries.  I'm talking about full size ships - 450' 
long ships.     

The City of Calais
While day after day the winds did howl, it was not all bad.  We got to 
explore Calais and found it a very pleasant city.  Strangely enough, it was a 
very English place for two reasons.  Firstly, in 1347 the English laid siege 
to Calais, eventually capturing it.  The English continued to occupy it for 
many years until they returned to the French as part of some treaty.  
Secondly, many ferries each day run between Calais and English ports, 
carrying 12 million passengers a year.  Why such a number?  England is very 
expensive and many Brits come across from Dover, load up the boot (the trunk) 
of their car with wine at a fraction of the English price, then return in the 
afternoon to England.  With the European Community, it is almost as easy to 
travel between countries as it is for Americans to travel between states.

That number of travelers explains the arrival and departure of a ship sized 
ferry every 15 to 45 minutes.  They have bow and stern thrusters and dock, 
undock and turn 180 degrees in the inner harbor almost as easily as we do it 
with Pooh Bear.  Red, green and amber lights control the arrival of small 
boat traffic between movements of the big guys..    

We made almost daily trips into town.  There was history everywhere mixed 
with the modern.  
There were moderately priced restaurants and an English Pub that served a 
super English Breakfast, so life was not all bad.  And the continued delays 
were made palatable by a daily run for some of the best croissants I ever 
tasted.  I became really hooked.

Dark Days and the French Customs
Suddenly a great dark cloud descended on our cruise.  At 1500 on the 2 of 
October, I was aboard alone, there came a rap on the hull.  We were boarded 
by three customs officers from Dunkerque.  Initially, I had no concerns, 
thinking were not in violation of any EU laws (as they were being enforced).  
They were very polite and courteous, but by the time Judy returned, I could 
see a problem.  We had indeed been in EU waters for more than six months, but 
we understood that it was only being enforce at 18 months and besides it did 
not apply to boats built before 1985 (Spain didn't care, just come and 
enjoy).  After four hours, Judy and I were driven to the Custom's office to 
complete the "seizure" of Pooh Bear.  Eventually, a value on Pooh Bear was 
set that we accepted (considerably less than its market value).  We were 
assessed a Value Added Tax of 19.6% of the "accepted value" plus a fine of 
30% of the VAT.  We had ten days in which to make the payment.  At midnight, 
nine hours after it started, we were returned to town where we started trying 
every way to get a large amount of cash.  I was only interested in paying the 
money, getting Pooh "released" and getting out of France.  Thanks to the 
modern technology of the ATM and a sizable amount of emergency cash in a 
brokerage account, eighteen hours later we had the total amount in French 
Francs.  We met with customs and, after three more hours of paper work and 
multiple countings of the money, Pooh Bear was "VAT Paid".   Having been 
"legally Imported" into the EU, she was released and we were free to leave 
France.  But we would be taking more memories than we had expected to.

Across the Channel
Quite suddenly, the weather forecast took a major turn for the good.  
Mid-morning on the 14th we motored through the marina gates and the inner 
harbor, got a green light and departed France.  Having no desire to cross the 
shipping lanes at night, we had a week earlier decided our destination would 
be Ramsgate, north and east of Dover.  The flooding tidal stream carried us 
sideways at 2 to 3 knots in exactly the direction we wanted to go.  While we 
had sails up, there was little wind and we motored the entire 30 miles.  
Crossing first the east-bound, then the west-bound lanes, gave us the feeling 
a turtle crossing an interstate must have.  At one point we had eight ships 
visible in the west-bound lane alone.  Visibility was about three miles, and 
by the time we could see a ship, it was already set whether it would pass 
ahead or astern.  Visually and on radar, we took bearings, bearings and more 
bearings and as it turned out, we had to change course only one time.  We 
worked the tidal stream data quite properly and well before dark the buoys 
leading into Ramsgate appeared as predicted.  

Ramsgate was nearly empty, it being quite late in the season.  We thought the 
price might have been reduced as a result, but not so.  We went out to hit an 
ATM for some English currency, enjoyed Fish & Chips and a good nights sleep.  
The following morning we timed our departure to minimize the foul tide, but 
provide a good ride 30 miles across the drying sand banks of the Thames 
Estuary.  And we had a wonderful sail, the first since leaving the Balearic 
Islands in the Mediterranean in June.  We chose the shortest path going south 
of Margate Sands with the tidal streaming boosting our speed over the bottom 
to more than 8 knots.  With both GPS and an occasional buoy to confirm our 
navigation, we felt confident of our position.  Yet a troubling thought was 
that, with almost no land in sight as we passed, in only three hours there 
would be sand visible only a hundred yards to the north and in six hours that 
sand would be ten feet above the sea!  Hook Spit, marked by two buoys only a 
hundred yards apart, defined the only break in Margate Sands.  As we passed 
through, we had to alter course by 40 degrees to offset the tidal stream 
north of the sands.  Just before dark we secured to the All Tide float at 
Queenborough and went ashore for a meal at a "real English Pub".  We returned 
to find the muddy shore, 50 yards distant at high tide, had extended to 
within 7 yards of Pooh; and low tide was yet to come!  

Up the Thames to London 
Life around the sea in this part of the world revolves around the tides.  At 
0800 on 16 October we cast off from the Queenborough float with only a hint 
that daylight might be coming.  But the darkness was not jus the result of 
the early hour.  A steady drizzle was falling from heavy clouds and a fog 
limited visibility to around a mile.  But it was go then or maybe wait for 
many days.  The current table predicted a perfect fair tidal current to carry 
us the entire 40 miles to London.  But, already a strong, on the nose, 
westerly wind was blowing.  Except for rain and drizzle and fog and a 20 knot 
head wind and the current changing to fair more than an hour later than 
predicted, and big ships looming unexpectedly out of the fog, it was an 
uneventful trip to London.  We averaged 6.5 knots inspite of the strong head 
wind.  

Like many marinas in big tidal areas, St. Katharine Yacht Haven has locks 
that operate only near high water.  Our timing was spot on.  We topped up our 
fuel tanks at the Thames Fueler, moored in the middle of the Thames, and had 
but a 10 minute wait before entering the lock.  Being veterans of over 240 
locks, we won't speak of the show we put on coming into the St. Katharine 
lock.   But no damage, other than to the skipper's pride, was done.  An hour 
later, Pooh Bear was in her winter home in the middle of London with the 
Tower of London and Tower Bridge only a hundred yards away.

That's All Folks
In the Fifth Month of the First Year of the Third Millennium, should we and 
Pooh Bear survive the London winter weather, we expect to explore the south 
and west coast of England and Wales and some of Ireland.  Maybe we make it to 
Scotland, maybe we don't.  If we don't, maybe the following year.  Only those 
who read the next Adventures of Pooh Bear will know. 


Bob & Judy   (aboard s/v Pooh Bear at St. Katharine Haven, London, England)
W5TFY@amsat.org