Île Raguenes, barely an island at all, only ever cut off at the top of the tide, slipped slowly by to starboard as the gentle north-westerly breeze filled the little lug sail on Lazy Daze. Weaving through the moorings huddled in the island's shelter from the frequent westerly, Lazy Daze and I headed out to sea on this beautiful evening. Keeping clear of the island, and there were rocky shallows thereabouts, I headed for the cardinal perch which marked the extent of the reefs jealously guarding the island. There is a magical quality to evening sailing. Just a couple of days before, my son had accompanied me on his very first trip out in Lazy Daze on another short evening sail, and wanted all future sails with me to be evening sails.

Beyond the perch was a mixed picture: to the east, the open sea looked calm and inviting, but to the west, where a channel ran about half a mile between Île Raguenes and another island, Île Verte, it was a little choppier. I concluded that there must be a little wind-against-tide. I wanted to circumnavigate the island and return to my starting point, and I didn't want to be battling against a stronger ebbing tide in the channel on my return, so I decided to go with the channel first.

Almost immediately after passing the perch, the sea got a little choppier. Once clear of the perch, I turned to windward to beat down the channel, Lazy Daze's fine bow slicing through the waves with little fuss, laughing them off with a gentle trickling sound along her clinkered sides. It became more choppy in the middle of the channel and toward the shores of Île Verte, and given that the wind was so light, only just enough to allow me to make progress against these waves, I wondered how much of this was wind-against-tide, and how much was thrown up just by the current's action on the sea bed. Some of the waves were surprisingly large, perhaps a metre or more, and some appeared to be standing waves, some with little breakers on them. It was a little unnerving as I wasn't completely sure of the capabilities of my new little boat, but she coped without a ruffle, hardly shipping a drop of water. I was glad to have taken this route round Île Verte, as I think it would have been uncomfortable to have that sea behind me, with Lazy Daze's unboomed sail flogging about.

Lazy Daze is a little clinker ply boat (though perhaps glued-lapstrake would be a more accurate term) of just over ten feet. She is an Iain Oughtred design known as a 'Puffin', related to his Acorn series, but designed to be much more burdensome and stable, able to carry sail more comfortably. She carries an unstayed rig with just a single standing-lug mainsail. I finished building her this year and had only taken her out once, briefly, at the Hoylake DCA meet, before bringing her to Brittany. The reason for building her was that I needed something to carry on the car roof rack whilst towing the family caravan. I could have just acquired a second-hand Mirror, but I wanted to build a boat, and once that desire begins to bite, there's nothing else for it. She's turned out to be a lovely little boat who turns heads wherever she goes, with comments such as 'Joli bateau!' It is often said that even a short sail in a small boat can become a good little adventure, and while I have not had opportunity to make any extended cruises in her, the short sails I've had have been a delight. As I sail her more and get to know her characteristics, I am gaining more confidence in her and learning her ways. One of her endearing characteristics being the lovely chuckling sound she makes at her bow, and the way she cuts through waves, rather than slamming them, a characteristic that was welcome as we negotiated the more energetic waves passing Île Verte.

Getting to the rocky western side of the island, I steered well clear in case the wind and waves pushed me too close. This meant staying close hauled, and I was aware that I might be pinching a bit, and maybe not making as much way to windward as I wanted, but Lazy Daze kept in her track and we cleared the rocks by a comfortable margin. On the western edge of Île Verte, there is a large prominent rock, almost like a stack, crowded with noisy sea birds, and as I came closer, their cries provided a lovely sound-track to the already dreamy scene.

Sailing past the south side meant sailing downwind, but that uncomfortable chop had largely disappeared and it was a gentle sail past the southern rocks. To make better way on the run with Lazy Daze's unboomed mainsail, I tied a loop in the mainsheet by the clew, slipped an oar through and poled it out. Sailing along the southern shore of the island, it seemed surprisingly long. When approaching from the north, the island appears much smaller, but sailing past the south side meant a longer than expected sail, extended by the reef reaching a long and thin finger to the east. Still, it was very pleasant, watching the sun set and the birds bicker, and looking into the sea which appeared black now, with no sunlight being refracted through the depths.

Turning north again for the last leg of the journey, the wind dropped and Lazy Daze, true to her name, ghosted along with no desire to hurry. I tried to judge her speed by watching floating debris pass by on the glassy surface. We were only edging along very slowly at this point, and the promising catspaws up ahead were only to provide a brief increase in speed. Before reaching the cardinal perch again, the wind dropped completely, and I decided that now would be as good a time as any to test her rowing ability. Being such a small boat, she was easy to move along at a reasonable pace. Not being an experienced rower, I have little to compare her with but we moved along effortlessly for the last half mile or so.

The sun had set by the time I pulled her out of the water, and I looked out over this little bit of Brittany. This has to be the best time to be in such a place, at a time when there are fewer people about, when sounds are muted, when the light in the sky and its reflection in the sea contrasts luminously with the darkening land. This was only a short sail, lasting just a couple of hours, rounding an island just a mile offshore. But to sail at this time, and to arrive back at your port in the welcoming twilight, content that your boat, built over many hours, is doing her job as you hoped and has looked after you well, is surely a gift from the gods.