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 I
have always thought that black coffee, at night
when the first light of dawn was faintly breaking, had a different taste.
One of adventure and exception … And it is indeed the case this
morning. We are wrapped up from head to foot – the thermometer isn’t
overly optimistic – and we’re not alone. A glance behind is
enough to make out an Austrian bright red anorak. For the time being,
there’s no wind. Well, not too much … I feel like a fisherman
from the Île de Sein… Obviously a good imagination helps!
All lights on, we leave this friendly port, followed right behind by “Ayrolle”,
and, progressing gently, we head towards what we think is the Tourelle
Roquerols, twinkling in the distance, towards Bouzigues. After twenty
minutes or so, we notice a number of things: we are first-rate sailors
and heading in the right direction! We are right in the middle of the
lake and, for the time being, the water is relatively still. We make our
way between dark blue grey and light blue grey, past the oyster farms,
followed by “Ayrolle”, whose crew has stayed inside. Admittedly
it’s warmer inside, but I find we can see better up here, even though
we’re not yet into summer. And since we’re on a Flying Bridge,
we should make the most of it!
 The
sky is turning pink and we can see the layouts of the farms better as
we sail past some distance away. An hour and a quarter later, before Marseillan,
“Ayrolle” sounds its horn at us and the whole family waves.
They’re off to visit the town of Master Pierre, the Harlequin miller
from the 17th century, the town of Noilly-Prat.
But for us, the cruise continues. The white and red Onglous lighthouse,
at the entrance of the Canal du Midi, is in sight. It’s a place
requiring prudence. You have to head to the right of the lighthouse, even
if you can’t see anything at first glance. It’s only during
the last few metres that the jetty, at the water’s edge, comes into
sight.
 
Campignol enters the Canal at a slower pace, via the little port, behind
a house boat who pipped us at the post and speeds on in front of us. Someone
comes out of the port house and shouts at us. From the bridge, I explain
to him that we are the slower boat, and that it was the other one that
caused the waves rocking the sailing boats. He apologises, but the harm
is done. Speaking too soon is not a sign of wisdom. And yet, in a place
like this, serenity should reign.
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J-F
Macaigne
