Brittany Day Trips: The Ile d'Ouessant

Day trips: Île d’Ouessant, Brittany

Posted on June 8 2006 by Englebert Norris

After the Avignon fiasco, Bob and I were paired up as co-drivers on an urgent widgets delivery via the Channel port of Brest. Because we drove through the night, largely in silence, we were able to make it to Brest with half a day to spare. That left us with ample time to visit the tiny Ile d'Ouessant; a lonely windswept rock barely nine miles from the mainland, situated amidst the giant waves and blistering gales which thrash the Brittany coastline.

Bob wasn't keen because the weather had taken a turn for the worse but I was determined not to miss the chance of visiting Ouessant where the sound of the waves crashing against the granite cliffs has been likened to a thunderclap from hell. A distinctly appropriate analogy given that the force of the water splits rocks and scatters the debris across the island's stony beaches.

I reminded Bob that several French directors have chosen the island as a backdrop for movies about tempestuous love affairs because they considered that the wildness of the surroundings provided a perfect setting for turbulent and uncontrolled passion. So perhaps the place might be a bit more exciting than we had first thought.

I also told him that Ouessant marks the north-westernmost point of France where the Atlantic cuts into the English Channel. Being a born pessimist he seemed more interested in the countless wrecks which have been smashed against its cliffs, rocks and reefs. Nevertheless, having stimulated some interest, it was a simple matter to tempt his gloomy nature by describing how tragic mariners have drowned while anxiously searching for the island's lighthouses which illuminate the world's busiest sea route.

Creac’h lighthouse

We docked at Lampaul, the island's only town, in blustery conditions and within a few minutes we had both regretted starting out on the 3km walk to the magnificent Creac’h lighthouse on the eastern Ponte de Pern. It was drizzling when we left the port but a kilometre along the narrow lane the heavens opened and we were both drenched. Bob started swearing and huddled under a wall which did him no good at all as the wind suddenly shifted direction causing him to be soaked a second time by some particularly vicious Atlantic spray. In the end we were both rescued by a passing islander, Thierry, who offered to drive us to the Creac'h.

© sylvaincambon - FOTOLIA

Thierry told us that the Creac'h Lighthouse is the most powerful beacon in the world. The present structure dates from 1862 but the technology is state of the art and the beam can be seen from more than one hundred miles away. He seemed particularly anxious to warn us against attempting the hike in bad weather which I found rather annoying since we'd already discovered that for ourselves. In fact Bob went so far as to accuse Thierry of "taking the piss" which might explain why he didn't stick around to give us a lift back to Lampaul.

Upon arriving a local municipal guide congratulated us on making the trip in such severe weather and suggested that we might like to visit the island's other three lighthouses: the Ar-Men and the Kereon which are bolted to the seabed and which can only be reached by motor launch and the Nividic which is situated on the extreme westerly point of the island and which can only be reached by a creaking cable car hoisted over jagged cliffs and swirling wash. I politely declined the offer in perfect French while Bob could manage nothing more than a few grunts and nods.

Drummond Castle

Our guide Philippe explained that in spite of the lighthouses the island's reefs are as treacherous as ever. He told us how the Amoco Cadiz ran ground in the seventies and described the historic wrecks scattered across the ocean floor ranging from Roman barges to Victorian steamers

Knowing Bob's morbid nature and wanting to keep him in a reasonable frame of mind, I translated into English Philippe's dramatic account of the loss of the famous passenger liner the "Drummond Castle". The ship was apparently blown onto the cliffs in 1896 while it was en route to Southampton from Cape Town. It sank with the loss of four hundred lives and there were only three survivors. This story of how so many tragic souls had drowned seemed to perk Bob up a bit although he was distinctly unimpressed by the local women who had manned the lifeboats that night and who were later feted by the London press as national heroes.

"What for saving 3 out of 400" he remarked. That's not even 1%".

When Philippe explained how Queen Victoria had expressed her admiration by donating funds for the island's church where many a drowned Englishman has since been laid to rest, Bob made some crude remark about how tax payer's money shouldn't be wasted on building churches for underperforming frogs. Fortunately Philippe didn't understand English or at least not the sort Bob speaks.

Local Rivalries

Having spent some time on the Isle of Wight, I was quite interested by the way in which the islanders are slandered by the mainlanders. Although I hadn't wanted to press the point Bob was insistent, demanding that I ask Phillippe whether they are all in-bred and backward and do unspeakable things to the famous dwarf black sheep who huddle together in the island's wind-swept fields.

I raised the point in a tactful manner and Phillippe didn't seem at all offended. He explained that like most local rivalries this one dates back centuries and probably originated with the settlement of the island by Sicilian fishermen during the Middle Ages. It seems that the mainlanders never forgave the intrusion although there may be another reason for their hostility: the island has long been a source of recruits for the French navy, leaving its women to build the sea defences and man the boats and lighthouses. Phillippe thought that this might have inspired a rather aggressive misogyny.

"So there aren't any sheepshaggers?" Bob asked.

"No of course not " I replied.

But upon being pressed I had to agree that if there were any sheepshaggers, the municipal guide was hardly going to admit it. However, I also pointed out that this was an entirely irrelevant consideration since the stories were so obviously spiteful and malicious that there was absolutely no possibility of them having any grain of truth.