The planets, on occasion, line up to make something special. And so it proved for this year’s Drheam Cup (the French open offshore Grand Prix).

Some 120 craft, ranging from 21ft Minis to large multihulls and just about everything in between, took part. This was an interesting menu that showed the course’s ability to accommodate a broad variety of performance yachts. The race was also designed to ensure the fleet finished in unison to create a spectacle worthy of the many French fans.

Ours, the multihull class, turned out to be a four-day 800-mile race that took us round Wolf Rock out into the Atlantic and then deep into the Bay of Biscay before finishing in Lorient. There is some gravity to this race as many of the entries use it as a qualifier for the Route du Rhum.

The next planet to line up was the weather as it threw just about everything it had at us to make a fun, challenging and ever-changing pace. A frisson of excitement swept through the crew as we rumbled across the Channel on a Brittany Ferry. Our glassy passage, coloured by a colourful sunset, gave little indication of the tectonic plates that were easing into conflict.

A dominant high to the north was to be challenged by an area of low pressure created by a blazing sun heating up Europe. The two looked like they would contact and stretch into a standoff corridor of high winds down the Channel. Or so we hoped as we turned in for a final good sleep.

DMS Vinyl, a Dazcat 1495, was already in Cherbourg thanks to competing in the RORC Cowes to St Malo race. Worked up by a busy race programme, she had melded into a tight, happy and fast entity and we were hungry for our first long offshore race.

The final planet in the line-up, particularly for me, was the addition of Raphaël Dinelli. We had met 30 years ago during the Vendée Globe when I had plucked him from a liferaft. To once again race together would be a joy. If two old sea dogs could wag their tails then this would be the time.

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On arrival at Cherbourg, we immediately kicked into chaotic overdrive. The race committee had brought the start forward and our meticulous pre-race plans were blown away by a worsening forecast. The first waypoint off Portland was moved into the Atlantic. We were to throw ourselves into the corridor of compressed easterlies, strap down and ride the beast.

A start with 120 boats is always exciting but if you add tide to the mix and then throw in a strong gusty tailwind you have a memorable experience. We soon settled into a routine and started to effortlessly eat up the miles as only a multihull can.

We were soon overrun by the Class 40 fleet which charged through in a spectacle of spray. To see these boats planing in confused seas was breathtaking – autopilots have come a long way.

That night the seas built and as Wolf Rock flashed ahead and the sun rose behind us Raphaël, our mad Frenchman, whooped as we hit a prolonged 24.5-knot surf. It was the first time we had asked this of DMS and she handled it with aplomb.

As the winds increased further we searched the sail plan for a combination that was both fast and safe. We ran two watches of three with Dave Summers, the owner, hunched over the routing software and keeping us fed. He’s Cornish and there’s nothing like a hot pasty at 0300 as you screech down a wave.

The seas were now proper ocean swells with breaking crests and we were alarmed to see the waypoint on top of a large sea mount. It called for a gybe and if the seas mounted further it would be more than lively. We waited for a lull in the wind and gap in the waves, everyone on heightened alert. DMS spun on her axis and in a flash went from surfing to being battered.

DMS once again showed what she was made of. We helmed through and rounded the big lumps as best we could but waves sweeping the deck became commonplace. Graeme was thrown across the boat and injured his neck. We were one down, but pushing hard.

Suddenly we sailed out of the compression zone, everything eased and phase two enveloped the fleet – light airs, thunder storms and a very tactical hue for the final two days.

We came second to Minor Swing, who had given us an amazing minute-by-minute race from Cherbourg. It was a race to remember and with a crew I would sail to the ends of the earth with.

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