Ad Lib 70

The latest and most radical of the Ultim trimaran tribe streaks by. Gitana 18's foils vapourising the blue seas above which she soars. A fledgling, launched on Valentine's Day.

For now, her flight is faltering. She rises and falls like an LA lowrider 'cruising' on a Saturday night. So radical are her foil, rudder and rig designs, that a summer-long tune up will be required, to ready her for October's Route du Rhum. 

Stargazer stole out of Concarneau by the light of a sickle moon. The skies still studded with stars. Six knots of breeze ruffle smooth waters.

Gently they belly Stargazer's cruising chute. Magically conjouring silent motion.

Dawn breaks. Drying dew drops from the decks.

Stargazer clears the point, at Trevignon. Her skipper bears off, onto the rhumb line. Heading east toward an ascending sun. Groix visible, off the port bow, by breakfast.

Soon Stargazer is beneath the tall cliffs of the craggy, emerald topped, island. For the tide has turned fair and the heat of the day is fanning a sea breeze into action.

Gitana 18 taxis for takeoff. Out on commissioning manoeuvres, from Lorient La Base. Sensing, like Stargazer, the promise in the day's forecast.

White horses begin to prance. Stargazer's speed rises, to the low seven's of knots. Her skipper debates whether it is wise (for the health of the sail) to continue to carry the cruising chute. Deciding that this ride is too much fun to miss.

One gybe carries us through the Teignouse pass. Its stubby light tower guides us clear of the pinnacles and outcrops. Which litter this short cut through the midpoint of the Quiberon peninsula. Stargazer surfs on a rising swell, topping eight knots.

We race toward La Trinite. Armel Tripon (he who  commissioned Sam Manuard to bring the scow bow to the IMOCA class in 2020 - thus issuing in a new design era) rockets out of the entrance. 

Stargazer's skipper scrambles about her foredeck, as soon as we come under the lee of La Trinite's welcoming headland. Dowsing sails, throwing out fenders, readying lines.

Armel fast disappears into the seagoing playground of Quiberon Bay. A warm sun beams upon the crew lining his rail. A jolie-brise sings in the rigging. Spray flies, swell pumps. It is the stuff of sailors' dreams.