Day One:

We had an afternoon race in the bay in 15 kn of wind, and although we couldn't get Marcita to go as fast as we felt she should with very experienced racing crew, which we have, we had a glorious sail. We came in last by 20 minutes but achieved 25th out of 34 on adjusted time. The spinnaker leg was a sight to see, with the larger boats appearing to lift off under their huge brightly coloured kites. Wonderful.

Then in the evening we drifted up the river to an achorage on a bend, where we were fed langoustines, cheese and Sauvignon by the hospitable organisers. The family of classics resting upriver after a strenuous afternoon looked serene, and as the dusk stole the colour from the scene, even the array of greys, on the water and in the sky, were beguiling. We spent a convivial night there, rafted next to Auk, a friendly ketch from Poole, that we've met here before.

When we arrived, Dave Priddle, her owner, had refused Pen Duick, the iconic queen of the Britanny classic fleet, and the winner of the concours d'elegance, to raft up beside him, because he was reserving the space for us. We were suitably grateful, when he said:

'I don't think she's wood. Her hull's faired too smooth.'
'She's the most famous boat in France, and Tabarly started the whole thing, and anyway, she's a Fife, so she must be wood.'
'Look at that fairing, wood doesn't get that smooth, I bet you it's GRP.'

We took this as a joke, until meeting one of the crew later that night, who admitted that Tabarly's solution to many rotten planks that he couldn't afford to replace was to encase the hull in glass. We were gobsmacked. But it doesn't alter the fact that she's the most incredibly beautiful boat, and instantly recognisable as a Fife gaffer.

We slept deeply. The dawn was silent, all but one of the yachts having gone back to the marina, but we enjoyed the most peaceful sunrise, watching a heron waiting for his breakfast while we ate ours.