‘Belvoir in Herm looked for all the world like a brochure shot for some Caribbean resort’: Chartering in Jersey

Jersey hotelier Malcom Lewis is promising to put the sparkle back into boating holidays. Editor Hugo tried his luxury hotel and charter package aboard Lewis’ Princess 42, Fizz Too

Strange as it may seem, not everyone enjoys sleeping on a boat. The sound of water lapping against the hull and the gentle tug of the anchor chain may act like a sedative for experienced boaters but for those less accustomed to it, they can also be a recipe for broken nights and sleep-deprived days.

But what if you could spend the daytime exploring one of the UK’s finest cruising grounds on a modern 42ft motor yacht and the nights in a lavish 5-star hotel?

That’s the ‘best of both worlds’ premise being offered by Malcolm and Patricia Lewis, the owners of Longueville Manor hotel and Fizz Too, a Princess 42 flybridge cruiser based in St Helier, Jersey.

Keen boaters themselves, they originally bought Fizz Too as a private escape from the 24/7 job of running a hotel but decided to extend that pleasure to their guests after realising what a unique proposition it offered. It’s now available for day charter around the Channel Islands exclusively to guests of Longueville Manor, complete with professional skipper and crew.

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Jersey Royals

My wife, Rebecca, and I were lucky enough to experience this once before back in 2016, and 10 years on, Malcolm and Patricia kindly invited us back for a second round, not least because there was only so much we could cover the first time round. It took us all of a nanosecond to accept, given how quick and easy it is to fly to Jersey from almost anywherein the UK, including Southampton Airport, which is conveniently located just down the road from our home.

So rapid was the hop across the Channel on Loganair’s 8.30am flight (complete with Tunnocks caramel wafers for that authentic Scottish touch), that we’d landed before our room was ready.

Thankfully, Longueville’s preferred VIP transfer service – a retired Portuguese footballer married to a Glaswegian nurse with an accent that drifted between the two – killed a few minutes with an impromptu tour of St Helier. Fully appraised of who owned what, how much it was worth and every celebrity he’d ever met, we arrived at the hotel feeling like minor royalty ourselves.

The hotel’s welcoming committee did an equally fine job of maintaining the illusion, greeting us by name and ushering us to a table by the pool for fresh coffee and pastries while our luggage was whisked away to an embarrassingly large suite, complete with its own patio garden and a bath big enough to swim in.

Given the many pleasures on offer within Longueville Manor’s extensive grounds, including a spa, tennis court, wine tasting room and world-class restaurant, most ‘normal’ guests would spend a day or two settling in and exploring the local environs but we were keen to get afloat straight away.

Last time we were here, Fizz Too’s go-to skipper, Ben Dandridge, took us on a whistlestop tour of Les Minquiers, the Écréhous and the Îles Chausey, as well as a circumnavigation of Jersey itself. This time we were hoping to explore some of the smaller islands such as Herm, Sark, Jethou and Brecqhou.

Island Life

It may have been ten years since our last trip but Ben greeted us like old friends, recalling only too well the trouble I‘d had maintaining a smile for the camera after leaping into the sea in early May when it was still properly cold. This time it was the end of May, summer had arrived early, the water looked positively balmy and if the shock still proved too much for me, at least Rebecca had recently completed her CPR training!

One thing hadn’t changed, however, and that was the size of the picnic the hotel’s kitchen had prepared for us – clearly someone must have told them the England Rugby team were joining us for lunch. I did my best to look aghast at the number of cool bags being hefted on board but I was, of course, secretly delighted.

Lunch would have to wait, however, there was cruising to be done and because we were doing things by the book, first we had to clear customs in Guernsey. Yes, you read that right the first time, even though both Jersey and Guernsey are Crown Dependencies and part of the same Common Travel Area, they are entirely separate Bailiwicks with their own governing bodies, taxes and customs.

Herm and Sark being part of the Bailiwick of Guernsey, we were legally required to clear customs in Guernsey before visiting them. On the plus side, it would give Becca and I the chance to explore St Peter Port while Ben took care of the paperwork.

After firing up Fizz Too’s pair of Volvo Penta D6s, we pottered out of St Helier harbour and headed west along the south coast of Jersey.With the tide near the peak of its vast 12m range, concealing many of the rocks and reefs that litter these shores, Jersey’s coastline looked almost benign in its late spring attire of lush green hills and amber coloured cliffs splashed with streaks of pink sea thrift as random and vivid as any Jackson Pollock painting.

Guernsey Jumpers

Passing Corbière lighthouse on our starboard beam, we struck out across the 25nm of English Channel separating Jersey from Guernsey, eyes peeled for the dolphins and bluefin tuna which now frequent these waters.

No luck this time but just over an hour later, we berthed on a visitor’s pontoon in St Peter Port marina and wandered up the long access ramp to town.

With its cobbled streets, tiered terraces and vibrant mix of shops, cafes, pubs and restaurants, St Peter Port feels more like a thriving seaside town than the offshore financial hub it’s known for due to its low tax regime.

We spent a happy hour soaking up the vibes before returning to the boat, where a feast of epic proportions had been laid out in the saloon. Loading our plates like students at an all-you-can-eat buffet, we piled them high with lobster, crab, prawns, chicken and ham, leaving just enough room for Jersey Royal potato salad and one or two lettuce leaves picked from the hotel’s kitchen garden that morning.

Staggering up to the flybridge with our haul, Ben deftly manoeuvred the boat out of the marina and along the coast to Fermain Bay so we could eat in the more tranquil surroundings of this wonderfully sheltered cove.

Fully sated and leftovers stowed, we motored across the short strait to Herm; Ben deftly picking his way through a line of rocks emerging from the retreating tide like the plates on a dinosaur’s back to reach the small landing stage on the west side of the island, where the ferry docks.

Stopping just long enough for Becca and I to disembark, he left us to explore the island on foot while he went in search of a safe spot to anchor.

No Place Like Herm

Like all the Channel Islands, Herm has its own distinct character. Protected from the trappings of the modern world, it’s like stepping back in time to a quieter way of life.

We sauntered up a sandy track to the White House Hotel, with its rooms kept devoid of televisions and clocks, past the long defunct dry-stone prison cell to Fisherman’s Beach, where the fleet now lay aground at jaunty angles. Oyster catchers patrolled its drying sands, shrieking in protest at our intrusion.

Heading back inland along fern-lined tracks, their fronds interspersed with explosions of blue agapanthus and giant prehistoric flax plants, it felt like we’d stumbled through a portal to an entirely different millennium. Only the occasional signpost gave the game away, at least until we emerged at Shell Beach on the other side of the island where rows of rental kayaks and a colourful café awaited the invasion of summer holiday day-trippers.

At this time of year, in late May, we still had the place to ourselves, marvelling at the miles of white sand and the gem-like clarity of the water.

Pausing only to admire the views, we tracked back to the harbour via the island’s east coast path, which skirts Belvoir Beach. We decided to return to
this gorgeous cove by boat the next day, when sunnier skies promised even richer rewards.

Safely back on board, we tucked into bowls of plump strawberies and cream flecked with vanilla seeds as we motored past Jethou en route back to Jersey and the comforts of our emperor-sized suite.

Up with the Sark

The following morning, feeling uncommonly well rested, we were delighted to learn that Malcolm and Patricia had decided to join us on board. With the sun on our backs and a gentle swell to waft us along, the chat flowed almost as easily as the waves beneath our hull. Before we knew it we were back in Herm, nosing into Belvoir Beach, anchor at the ready.

With just one other boat already in situ and water so clear we could see the bottom some 6m below, I urged Ben to nudge ever further into the bay’s turquoise embrace. He pushed in as far as he safely could, then dropped the hook while I readied myself for a trip ashore in the tender to capture the scene on camera. From the cliffs overlooking the bay, it looked for all the world like a brochure shot for some Caribbean resort.

The only things missing were the palm trees and rum cocktails, although I swear I heard the sound of a champagne cork popping on the flybridge. Sure enough, by the time I returned, the empty bottle told its own story – we were all on holiday after all.

Buoyed by such a fine start, we upped anchor and headed across to Sark to see more of these islands’ many treasures. The reason Ben had stayed well clear of the drink became clear as he picked his way through various rocky outcrops, pointed the bow at a frighteningly narrow gap between Sark and neighbouring Brecqhou, and kept the throttles pinned to counter the swirling effect of the tide.

With a collective intake of breath, we squeezed through the gap and emerged the other side like Jason and the Argonauts passing through the mythical Clashing Rocks.

If that was Ben’s first challenge, landing us safely on Sark’s equally unforgiving granite quay was a close second. Opting for a helicopter-style touch-and-go landing, he nudged alongside the stone steps while the four of us hopped ashore.

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Gold Standard

With no cars on the island and no sign of the tractor and trailer that hauls day-trippers up the steep incline to The Avenue, a small parade of pubs, cafes and shops at the top of the hill, we made the most of the climb to work up an appetite for lunch.

An acquaintance of Malcolm, whom we bumped into half way up (it’s that kind of place), sang the praises of a newly opened café/delicatessen called The Sark Yard.

Lured in by the promise of freshly caught crab, we plonked ourselves down at an outdoor table and asked one of the equally sunny ladies running it to bring us whatever she recommended. She returned ten minutes later with cardboard lunch boxes bursting with fresh seafood, asparagus spears and Sark Royal potatoes swimming in melted butter – the perfect meal for the perfect occasion.

My memory of the walk back down the hill seems to have faded in the warm glow of a mild food coma but I do recall the clip-clop of passing hooves as one of the pony and traps – the only other form of public transport on the island – passed us by.

Our bucket list of Channel Island experiences was rapidly being ticked off but one item was still outstanding, a dip in those tantalisingly clear waters. We decided to save that for the journey home, stopping off at Beauport Beach in Jersey on the way back to St Helier.

By the time we arrived the sun had dipped a little lower in the sky, lighting up the rocky stack in the centre of the bay like a pillar of gold. Plunging into the still blue water, the smile on my face was as genuine as the generosity of our hosts.

Back at Longueville Manor, we toasted the end of a very memorable weekend with a long gin and tonic at the bar followed by a meltingly tender Chateaubriand steak in the hotel’s restaurant and a selection from its legendary cheese trolley. Later on, we collapsed into our indecently large bed.

Enveloped by oceans of crisp white linen and a cloud of down-filled duvet, I drifted off to sleep wondering if spending the night on a boat would ever feel quite the same again.

Costs

Rooms at Longueville Manor start at £300 per night in September for a standard double or £550 for a junior suite. Fizz Too is available for charter from £2,000 for a full day, including RYA-approved skipper, crew, 3.5 hours engine time, lobster salad, champagne, wine and beer.

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