Page 101: 1978-81, various cruises

The crossing leaves me indifferent, I sleep. The 2 captains, Yves the real captain, promised to wake me up when we arrived at Rouzic Island, one of the Seven Islands off Ploumanac, which is the kingdom of birds.
At their signal of sea sickness, we are very close to the island. I am first reached by the volume of sound, it is a jassement, a dizziness of chattering of volatiles that invade you completely. For the eyes, I have the impression that a whole section of mountain is covered with white flowers, the density is homogeneous at any point of the slope – but I open the eyes better, they are birds. I pass the binoculars – they are crazy of Bassan (we had found one in our garden in Vierville, he seemed very sick); The top of their heads is yellow and full of softness, the rest is white and full of grace. We tried in vain to wet near this island, the anchorage (a box badly moored, remained in our fingers) was not easy. We left – in a certain direction under the wind, we were coming up with smells of chicken. Yes, the bird also has its aroma. The same evening we moat near the island of Bréhat so, the next Thursday 10 August, we are ready to leave for the island of Jersey that we expect to reach in one day.
I am still living in sea sickness; I sleep with a bottle.
In the afternoon Jersey is reached. We moor in Portelet Bay, in a Mediterranean landscape that reminds me of Corsica. We land and walk to St Aubin, by its hygienic character, give everyone an excellent tone.
Water is transparent, air soft, English calm.
We decide to wet in St Hélier to find the comfort of a water free from whirlpool and enjoy comforting showers. Moreover, this will allow us to be the next day of the attack for smuggling.
Friday 11We travel in the pedestrian streets. I violent Yves to buy a knitting "Guernsey" to the study cut and the sober style. (The "Jerney" have a ridiculous anchor in knitting decor) For me it is a lambswool... and then Yves does not resist a radio device... and Claude to a short of the Indian army...
Claude brings back on board lamb chops whose flavor is unrivalled.

Saturday 12The island tower has been decided, our roots will be all around Jersey. The island is soft – there is a courteous art of living, both comfortable and austere. We moor in Gorey built at the foot of the Orgueil Mount. Yves phone from a slot cabin. A well-lined house along the port. It is noon, the demon of action takes over the captains, it is necessary to sail, the weather is favorable, the sea is still, very pale. The engine is useful to go to the Archipelago of the Crehou. The islands are emerging, the captains do some tricky tricks to find the passes, and the main island appears. A dozen small houses are close around the pike. They are small houses, simple, functional, inhabited by strong seamen who love fishing and frugal life. They are summer homes, a return to natural life. Costauds are passing on this island (plus a big one), they came in kayaks – map and compass fixed on the woods of the kayak – from Jersey through Granville and Port-Bail. They are 20th century Vikings. I saw a young gull on this island that, in the colour of a scoundrel, called his mother who replied from the sky but dared not approach because I was bothering her. The kayaks left, fast and joyful; they were not afraid of them.
The sea remained calm and pale, covered by currents of course.
We find a shelter in Rozel in East Jersey. It is in the evening, the front port is on the coloured shore by the sunset of green and brown and yellow. A kite is very high in the sky. A castle a little crazy on the top of the hill to the north.
On Sunday, Yves sailed on the port alone at 7am. He thought about the currents, there is wind, it's time to leave if he wants to go around the island from the north. There is indeed little shelter; the coast is steep, the boat is working well.
West of the island I sleep. We anchor in Ste Brelade. Excursions in the hinterland domesticated by English gardens open to all, neat public parks, unimaginable in France. Captains bathe; I bring them a boiling tea on the beach – I saw the English wearing their trays, I did like them, it's very British.

In the evening in St Hélier we celebrate Claude's 47th birthday and our 24th birthday – to the health of our children. In the evening a text from the Bible d'Elie reminds us that he found God neither in the thunderstorm nor in the earthquakes but in the whisper of the wind. But Elijah was alone and sought.