Friday, May 18th Sailly Laurette to Bray sur Somme

Trip 12 Kms. Departure 11am locks 1 of 13

A short but again a scenic delight of a trip today. We left unsure of our destination but I was keen to investigate the capital of fishing on the Somme at Bray. The fluvial showed a side stream right into the village but also showed a red cross at the entrance with warnings of depths of less than 1meter. This would preclude me from going so at the first lock, I asked advice of our eclusier who had been looking after us for the last two locks and seemed a thoroughly decent chap. "mais oui Monsieur, pas de problem Le port c'est tres bien pour votre bateau mais avant vous aller je telephone." after a brief call he exclaimed 1 meter 50 cms. We left the lock and I was still a little unsure.

Unusual for the fluvials to be wrong but these guys know their river. We passed a fairly mundane etang skirting the river, there must have been 60 pecheurs drowning the small lake in ground bait and bobbing brightly coloured floats. No more than 5 yards apart this was a serious competition. Many were adorned in the green uniform of team Somme. I drifted past praying for the engines to be quieter as I was sure I would soon be turned on with a 60 pecheurs chorus of shhhhh. Needn't have worried, they were far too focused to take mind of Doucette's passing.

We just cannot stop ourselves keep taking pictures of the river but it just does that to you. Every turn warrants a "are you 'avin a larf".

 

We drifted along and to my horror our way ahead seemed blocked by a newly fallen tree. As we rounded the bend a tad more, I realised it was an optical illusion and there was at least 15 ft to get through. Argh, hope that bank has good depth. Certain muscles tweaked as I slowed the approach but the skipper nestled us through and the moment had passed.

 

The next bend revealed tosser number 2 of the trip. 100 yards in front a young pecheurs with his adoring wife watching intently from the comfort of the Citroen sat with his extended pole bridging the river just meters short of the far bank. As I always, I slowed to a couple of knots well in time and in accordance with the polite best practice to which I adhere and have enjoyed many merci salutations resultingly. My bow gently moved onward and still the pecheurs eyes never left his float. This was getting rediculous was he expecting me to stop completely, his lady just gazed at him, she also appearing oblivious to our approach. Had he had a nibble? I was preparing to give him a blast as I had nowhere to go and had crept to within 10feet. Sod him I thought I will open her up, at that very moment the monster of a pole lifted imperiously into the air. Up and up it went and to my incredulity the pecheur looked up and sneered a bonjour at me. His line had missed me by inches, I promise you. No need young man. I retained my dignity and responded likewise followed by an under the breath "tosser"!

We reached the point of decision. The river signs pointed right but there was a cutting searching into the woods and a small rotting sign advertising "port du braye s Somme"

I slowed to a crawl, glanced Nervously at the red cross on the fluvial but turned Doucettes bow left. I posted the crew forward to keep a wary eye. This was uncharted waters as far as I was concerned. We had 3 Kms to reach the village.

It was African queen stuff as the river narrowed dramatically and weaved its way through woods on one side and wetlands on the other only separated from the channel by rotting tree stakes poking out of the still water. There were further streams cutting off and on one occasion it was very difficult to know which way to turn as there was no signs but fortunately on rounding the bend a lone pecheur in a small punt waved and confirmed I was ok for the port. It was a spectacular reach and soon we were bordered by large etangs with signage advising of carp lake, tench lake, no kill in this lake, each was surrounded with little green igloos.

The port was charted as being just before the village on the stbd side. We spied the village and the large campsite on the port side. I also spotted a large 33 ft beneteau motor cruiser alongside the bank with 2 smaller craft tied alongside it on the port side. Comforting. I drifted past searching for a port. We came to the village slipway. 2 families were feeding the bleached white goose and a dozen ducks. I asked if the port was further on. Suddenly laughter and then waving arms and arrete Monsieur. I turned Doucette in her own length apparently just yards short of 1ft of water. We crept back past the line of seated fisherman whose surprised faces on our arrival and recent passing were now fully understood. An aged gentlemen came out, I asked him about the port. He pointed at the beneteau. C'est la Monsieur. The port was very well disguised with bushes growing out of the quay and climbing up the side of the beneteau. You have enough water here.

He was pointing at a gap between a long line of tiny dinghy 's and punts tethered to a disintegrating and overgrown wooden bank with tree stumps holding the bank in. Suddenly others arrived and after much fussing by the skipper we were safely moored and staked securely. Large hammers had been produced and a cordial welcome had been achieved.

Yet again it had been a short but memorable journey and I was delighted that we had made the decision to try it.

Late evening we strolled into the village. The elderly chap had advised us of a shoppy in the village. No surprise there I thought but it turned out to be the name of a supermarket chain. Interesting brainstorming at that inaugural meeting of the founders, I pondered. Found a cracking merlot though to enhance our evening BBQ of steak rabbit and spicy chicken thighs, potato wedges and collettes must have salad whilst admiring the view form the poop.

Weather a lovely sunny day for the most part.