Isn’t it always a brilliant idea to kick off your first departure in months with an overnight passage?
As I mentioned in my last article, I was eager to leave the Camargue and the Mistral region as quickly as possible. Getting stuck there for weeks—or worse, facing brutal weather—wasn’t exactly part of my plan.
We set off in light winds, which soon faded to nothing, leaving us drifting. And then, just before sunset, the wind picked up—strong. At the same time, the autopilot failed, and with a nasty swell rolling in from behind, I couldn’t get the Windpilot to function properly.
I had never used it in truly rough conditions before and wasn’t sure how it would handle the relentless washing-machine waves. Rather than risk it, I made the call: we would hand-steer through the night.
Oh boy, was I tired.
With no moon, it was pitch black. The only thing visible was an approaching thunderstorm—a sight that immediately put me on edge. I had learned my lesson in St. Tropez years ago when I misjudged a storm, and I wasn’t about to make that mistake again. That’s why I didn’t want to rely on the Windpilot. I needed at least one of us awake at all times, ready to react.
In the end, nothing too dramatic happened—just flashes of lightning in the distance and some insane, torrential rain in the middle of the night. Steering felt more like guesswork; honestly, Santana could have been a submarine for all I knew.
By the next day, we finally reached the other side and found a somewhat protected anchorage—at least for a moment. The forecast was already warning us: more nasty weather was on its way.
I’ll leave that, for the next episode.
Until then, take care and all the best, Floh