Ushant! The very name was enough to cause dread to the ancient mariner. Called Île ďOuessant by the French, it is a rocky island twelve miles off the north-west corner of France. Just 3 miles long, it sticks out into the Atlantic right in the path of ships heading for the English Channel. Busy shipping lanes, sudden fogs, frequent gales, deadly reefs, Atlantic swells and tide races that can reach 9 knots contribute to its notorious reputation. Today there are six major lighthouses to guard it, the thickest concentration anywhere in the world. Créac'h, Nividic, La Jument, Kéréon, Men Karn, Le Stiff: these are the subjects of the most famous storm photographs. Even so, the seas around are still littered with shipwrecks, new as well as old.

The island has only one tiny drying harbour, Lampaul. The anchorage in the bay outside the harbour is open to the south-west, the direction of the prevailing wind and ocean swell, so it is rarely possible to visit. But for once settled weather with good visibility and a moderate north-easterly wind was forecast for the next few days, so we thought we might take the opportunity to look in. Even so, Ushant still managed to live up to its fearsome reputation.

The tide and the wind were behind us, and the sunshine warm, as we sailed towards the south-west until we could make out Ushant's northern sentinel, the huge twin tower of Le Stiff, in the distance. We decided that we would round the island on its north-west side, despite the warning in the pilot book about the dangerous Keller reef that juts a long way out to the west, with overfalls. For one thing we have never seen this side - not that we did. More practically, on the south-east side we were at risk of being swept straight past the island, since rounding at the southern corner to get into Lampaul Bay would mean facing a tide of 4 knots. Moreover, on the north-west side you can at least turn away out into the Atlantic if there are problems, admittedly into the exceptionally busy Traffic Separation Scheme that yachts are advised not to enter. The south-east side means passing through the Fromveur, a narrow funnel of a channel with rocks on either side.

As we approached within two miles, Le Stiff was beginning to look misty, and then abruptly it had vanished. We were surrounded by a wall of fog so thick that we could barely make out the sea a couple of boat lengths away. At the same time the wind freshened from moderate force 4 to strong force 6, which combined with a 2 knot tide was sweeping us blind towards the Keller reef.

Lampaul bay's guardian reefs, Nividic to the west ...
(note the fog bank behind)

... and La Jument to the east.

Twenty years ago this situation would have given us no choice - get out of there, quick. But with modern GPS to pinpoint our position, radar to show the whereabouts of land, an accurate echo-sounder for depth, and a detailed chart, we thought we would risk continuing in the hope the fog would clear. Even so it was a nervous business. We could hear the waves breaking hard on the Keller reef, but saw nothing. The nearby Créac'h foghorn boomed out a warning. Then we changed course more southerly, cautiously heading for the end of the rocky ledges marking the way into Lampaul Bay. The island rises so steeply that any depth less than 50 meters could mean we were dangerously close to the rocks, and we wondered whether we dare risk turning into the hidden bay. Then suddenly Lyn saw Nividic lighthouse marking the end of the ledge, and beyond it, land. The fog had ended as abruptly as it began. It was a great relief to be able to see where we were going, as we motored against the wind into the bay. The handful of mooring buoys were occupied by French yachts, so we dropped our anchor in a patch of sand close to the harbour and took a good hold, while the wind blew itself out overnight.

When we awoke next morning the fog had clamped down again, and the shore had utterly vanished. At midday it lifted to leave brilliant sunshine. We rowed the dinghy into the tiny harbour and visited Lampaul for a few essential supplies and an ice-cream. The village was full of tourists. The island itself is quite similar to the Scillies, but bleaker with few trees. A large, packed graveyard in the centre of the village is a reminder of its reputation.

Sentinel anchored in Lampaul Bay

Lampaul harbour (high tide)

Then it was off again, drifting out of the bay with the tide in light breezes. A moment of tension as we got too close to the reef off La Jument, the water welling up around us as the depth sounder dived. Five miles clear, and yet again Ushant was swallowed up by the fog. But for us it was sunshine all the way south.