I woke to the sound of drizzle on my tent, the first of this trip. The streets of Trebeurden were deserted, I passed just one person on my way to the boulangerie. The cheery weekend vibe was gone, Monday now.

Coming from my right-hand side, the swell built as I paddled out of Trebeurden. Breaking waves rumbled around me and I enjoyed a game of timing to dodge them. Gannets and Shearwaters accompanied me, swooping low, skimming the surface of waves.

As I approached Roscoff I heard the engine of a trawler before I spotted it. It was followed by a big catamaran under engine, lurching ungainly, its hulls caught between waves. I let them pass and then had to decide which side of an island (Ti Saozn) to go. I ignored the cardinal markers and committed to the more direct outer passage. Turning back against the breaking swell would be difficult now and for a moment I worried a reef would spring into view, blocking my path.

I got past unscathed and once in the harbour, the waves died. Roscoff looked unwelcoming and grey, the sky and sea grey too. I paddled on and the swell built again, still coming from my right-hand side. I surfed into Amiets beach to finish the day. No one was at the nautical centre so I set up camp outside it on the sand. 

On this grey day, with few people about, I felt detached somewhat. I laughed because as much as I tried, I couldn’t understand this feeling. I think it’s because travelling like this, I’m just a passer-by, getting a snapshot of life as everything around me rolls on. I’m free and it feels like I’m watching a film as everything goes on outside of my control. Normally, I try to direct the film, so it feels like I’m part of it.