May 8: Jersey Island: Sea Kayaking/Ouaisné Bay

Previous: May 7

Today we traveled to the mysteriously named "Ouaisné" Bay, pronounced "way-nay" and meaning an anchorage, which is appropriate; it's a beautiful open bay about a 20-minute bus ride west of St. Helier on Jersey's southwest coast. It was a beautiful, sunny day, with mostly gentle winds, which meant the water wouldn't be too cold despite a nominal temperature of around 10°C. (That's dramatic foreshadowing, kids! Don't change the channel!)

Because we're relying on the bus system to get around the island, we needed to get an early start so we'd arrive in time for our kayak tour of the bay. Rather than waiting to our usual breakfast time of 8 AM, we snuck into the breakfast room and made up bowls of cereal. By the time we were working on our cereal, our host Elena had heard us and came down. In her best grandmotherly fashion, she refused to take no for an answer and insisted on frying up eggs, brewing coffee, and bringing a plate of sliced tomatoes and cucumbers. (She also keeps sneaking into our room and making the bed, even though we've told her it's not necessary.)

Our goal was to go sea kayaking in Ouaisné Bay, led by Derek (sp?), the husband of Trudy, our guide from yesterday. Because the other people with reservations had postponed their kayak tour (they were delayed by problems with their ferry to Jersey), we got a private tour, which was quite a treat. Derek was just as much fun and just as full of knowledge as his wife, and an excellent kayak instructor. He kitted us out with wet suit overall going to mid-chest, a rugged jacket over the top, and rock-climbing helments in case we tipped a boat and hit one of the many rocks projecting from the sea or lurking just below the surface. He helped us polish up our strokes and maneuvering skills, then off we went.

We spent about 2 hours on the water, hugging the the island's coast under steep cliffs rising (guesstimate) up to 100 m above the sea as we moved progressively south towards the English Channel where it borders France in the region near the famous sea port of St. Malo. We learned a lot about the pre-history of the area, including extensive inhabitation by Neandertal peoples, not to mention the centuries-long maneuvering by the French and English crowns over who would own the islands. The English won, among other things because they were happy to support the island's many privateers (the polite word for "state-sponsored pirate") and the smugglers who replaced them between the frequent French–English wars.

Unfortunately, to paraphrase Chekhov, if there's cold water on the mantelpiece in act I, it must assuredly be used by act II. I was so busy enjoying the cliffs and Derek's narration that I hit a submerged rock, and when I leaned out to push my boat off the rock, the boat slipped off the rock and I overbalanced, tipped the boat, and ended up in the water. Derek immediately came to my aid and talked me through the process of re-entering the boat. I swallowed a mouthful of sea water (yes, it's salty!) but other than a wounded ego, all was well. I've been saying for a long time I should get some proper training in how to get back into a tipped boat. Resolution complete! But I'll clearly need more practice is paying attention to my surroundings whilst on the water.

Derek stopped our tour in a small seemingly sheltered stretch of coast maybe 50 m wide whose entire slope up to the edge of the high-tide level was filled with rounded rocks ranging in size from about cantelope size down to pebbles, all neatly rounded by being banged together by wind and wave. If you looked closer (which was whey we stopped), it was clear that the larger ones were concentrated near the low-tide line and smaller ones were concentrated closer to the high-water line. If I heard him right, this is called a "storm bay" because the rocks are sorted into distinct size classes by the force of wind and water during a storm. If one is planning to spend a night ashore, it should not be in such a place, as you can get clobbered by windblown and water-borne rocks.

When we were done kayaking, we returned to our launch beach and chatted a while as we attempted to extricate ourselves from the enthusiastic clutch of the wet suits, which probably would have given an octopus a run for its money. Those suits cling tight!

We stopped for luch at Timbers, a beach-side food shack. I had a really nice chicken and bacon sandwich on focaccia with nicely spicy sauce, and Shoshanna had a spinach falafel burger. A really nice way to recharge after good hard work in the fresh sea air.

From Timbers, we walked northwest along the coastline, towards St. Brélade Bay, which begins at some nebulous point where Ouaisné Bay ends. It's a beautiful sandy coastline with a nice onshore wind and a distinct tropical vibe, including wall to wall hotels atop the raised area above the beach. The bay ends on the beach below St. Brélade's church and cemetery, which are definitely worth a lock. It's a pleasant church with a fascinating "rough" stone ceiling that looks almost like it's melting and dripping rocks instead of neatly plastered. On a board inside the door, there's a list of rectors going back to 1296 and Shoshanna found paintings from 1375 and 1425.

By then, we were pretty pooped from exertion and sun, and decided to head home. Fortunately, there's a bus stop right across from the church, so we only had a wait of about 10 minutes for the next bus. Apparently we arrived during rush hour, as the bus filled rapidly, with many seniors who were also exploring. ("But you are seniors," you might protest. No, my dear: we are young seniors, which is a very different thing.) A couple recognized us from the morning bus, and we swapped stories of the day's finds.

We made it back to St. Helier without any excitement, and decided to walk back through the shopping area. Shoshanna's still in search of the perfect backpack, and wanted to check out a local store that seemed promising, but it had moved since Auntie Google had recorded its location, and we couldn't initially find it. Serendipitously, we stumbled across the store further down the street from the nominal location. Sadly, no backpack that would suit. If backpacks were stacks of mattresses with a single pea tucked beneath the lowest one, Shoshanna would be the princess who could not sleep atop the mattresses until the pea was removed. The quest continues!

We were peckish by the time we'd done with the shopping, so we stopped at JAC Café again for a broiled salmon bowl, with rice, avocado, pickled ginger, and cucumber. I was parched, a condition swiftly remedied by another Camden Works IPA while Shoshanna tried a Stinky Bay IPA. (Yes, that rhymes.) Tasty! Once done, we heroically struggled past the local ice cream and treat shop, cruelly placed right on our route home from JAC and made it back to Franklyn House for a much-needed shower and to put our feet up and get caught up with blogging. Tomorrow, Liberation Day on the island!

Too tired to deal with photos tohight, but will try to do them tomorrow.

Next: May 9