Luciole Blog

Cruise back to Auxerre

We left Auxerre on October 27th, and 90 days later, on January 24th, we arrived back.

Of those 90 days, we spent 80 in the shipyard, where we had work done on the hull to improve and protect it for the long term—mostly sacrificial wear plates. We also upgraded the steering system, carried out major work on the fuel tanks and removed some long standing dents from the bow. The journey home took 10 days.

Initially, we planned to leave on January 10th, but heavy rainfall had made the Seine’s currents far too strong for her single 120HP engine. So, we endured several frustrating days in the shipyard, obsessively watching river levels and flow rates online while anxiously checking the weather forecast. Eventually, on the 14th, although the river levels had dropped slightly, they remained high, but we decided to commit, and set out.

Heading south back to Auxerre meant traveling against the current, which flows from south to north. We crawled along, the engine blaring at nearly maximum revs all day. In narrow sections, where the current was strongest, we barely moved, making better progress on the wider stretches where the current is slower. That day, we covered 42 km (26 miles) and stopped just above the lock of Vives Eaux, near the city of Melun. Relieved, not just because we had made it, but because we had survived. The anxiety of an engine failure was intense, a log through the propeller could stall the engine. Fortunately, we had completely refurbished the drive system and engine last year, leaving them as good as new, which provided some reassurance.

Our next challenge was Melun, here the river narrows as it funnels through the city, curving through a section with three bridges. The entrance is initially blind, and heavily laden freight barges barrel downstream with the current. They’re used to it, but they don’t expect an old girl like ours struggling against the flow. My dad had reminded me several times that slower boats had been run down in the past.

Frustratingly, but also fortunately, the next day—Wednesday, January 15th—was fogged out, allowing the flow rates to reduce more. The large boats, equipped with radar and thousands of horsepower, continued on, but we took the opportunity to head into Paris for the evening. It was a stark contrast to the shipyard and the Seine; we stood by the wall near Notre Dame, watching the river flow hurtling past.

The following day, the current had eased slightly. We cruised through Melun, timing it well—just before we entered the narrow section, a fully laden barge flew out of the blind bend. It took us over 20 minutes to cover the 1 km (0.62 miles) through the city, fighting the strong currents, requiring constant steering adjustments and full concentration. That day, we pushed 30 km (18 miles) upstream to Sainte-Mammes. The Seine’s long, sweeping bends seemed to stretch on forever; we spent over an hour turning right, the next hour turning left, hugging the bank where the current was weaker, all while bracing for the possibility of a massive barge appearing around the bend, which they do. Fortunately we have a system that tells us the distance and bearing to other boats, they can also see us, ish.

Next came the transition from the wide Seine to the River Yonne. The Seine’s challenges lie in its freight traffic and sheer size, but I quickly learned that the Yonne is simply terrifying. Its currents are strong, sandbanks shift unpredictably, and eddies form below the weirs and in front of the locks—chaotic whirlpools resembling the gates of hell for the inexperienced (i.e., me). Since the Yonne was closed at weekends, we went home, giving the currents and temperatures more time to drop. Penny was to miss the next week, due to other business commitments, leaving deckhand Cailan, host Ebba and myself to finish the trip.

Some Background on the Yonne
The Yonne River has long been vital, connecting Burgundy to Paris and historically supplying the capital with materials like wood, stone, gravel, sand, grain, and, of course, wine. In the mid-1800s, dams were built to regulate its flow, improving navigation and flood control to protect Paris. At each dam, a lock was installed—26 in total. Below the dams, the water becomes extremely turbulent, and the Luciole bounces around. The river sometimes reverses on itself in swirling eddies, making entry into the locks unpredictable, ever-changing and simply terrifying.

We set off in freezing temperatures. One last enormous lock on the Seine, and then onto the River Yonne, as the fog closed in, visibility became 300m at best, but we had continued. My dad had warned me about the first three locks countless times. Here, the eddy swirls, reversing the current and accelerating the boat forward, simultaneously pushing the boat towards the bank, before pulling it back toward the weir at the last moment. To make matters worse, because of the boat’s length, the bow gets pulled while the stern gets pushed, amplifying the problem. It's a battle not to enter the lock sideways, this is managed in the set up, choosing the line to take, but the problem of unpredictability, means you only know you have under or over estimated the eddying currents when it's too late. You must commit, or you don't stand a chance.

So, expectedly, I hit the jetty sticking out from the lock—starboard side on. The currents were too strong, I lacked experience on the Yonne, and above all else, Luciole doesn’t have a bow thruster. The lock keeper shrugged and suggested I use more speed, he'd seen it numerous times. Fortunately it was only superficial. Deckhand Cailan, prepared for the second lock, round two, dropped a well-timed fender, saving me more embarrassment. We were all grateful to moor safely for the night, heading inside to thaw out. The MVP of the trip, Cailan, cooked a mega curry. That night, I lay awake, mentally rehearsing how to enter these damn locks.

The next day, the sun shone, and the temperature rose just enough — we needed it. We made great progress, didn't hit anything, covering a huge distance as Cailan and I took turns steering, leaving the last of the freight behind. We dodged log after tree, that floated downstream in the aftermath of the floods. The locks and their entrances, clogged with debris, hadn’t been used all winter. The lock keepers were happy to see us, and kind—one even brought us fresh bread, and all greeted us with smiles. That night, we stopped in Montereau, just short of Auxerre. Only two more locks to go...

Penny joined us for the last day and final short stretch. In the shipyard, we had spent around €25,000 replacing part of the bow to remove years of dents. So, at the penultimate lock, I hit it—way harder than I’ve ever hit a lock before. With an audience, no less. Fortunately, Cailan managed to get a fender in, but I still put a dent in it. Gutted. In my defence, the dam had been damaged in the floods, and unbeknownst to me, the eddy was particularly strong, I didn't stand a chance. But I got humbled.

Finally, we cruised into Auxerre, back on our mooring beneath the cathedral—90 days later, as if nothing had changed. Just a little dented from the experience, and in need of a few days to warm up.

I’m glad we’re on the Nivernais, the canal we know and love. A big thank you to all that have taken part in this journey; Tim, Robin, James, Cailan, Ebba and Penny.