Dispatches

and the Mistral had been screaming for about a week solid. Roaring down the Rhone Valley and descending with fury on the marina we were hunkered down on L’Ile, a 60’ cutter of uncertain pedigree, back to the UK. The Mistral made life impossible and at one point was so strong that I was almost blown out of the harbour at Le Brusc in the dinghy I was rowing across to buy some pastries. All the while we worked on this decrepit yacht while the wind howled balefully in the rigging. Finally, a morning dawned calm and sparkling with the joy of spring. It was time to leave. As we motored out of the marina, an engineer from the yard sprinted down the pontoons shouting ‘Capitaine! CAPITAINE ! Only use the engine going in and out of harbour!’ Jesus… what did he know that we didn’t? We hurried on, keen to get away from the malignant fury of the Mistral. By evening it had set in again and we were running before a heavy gale. I was put on watch and wrestled with a steering 60’ yacht being driven hard. Below, things were not going well; the boat leaked like a sieve and a quick glance showed the floorboards awash. It was going to be a long trip…