...................................................................................
St Tropez was, as always, full of charm and grace.  The quayside promenade thronged with the Beautiful People, draped in the latest fashions sashaying carelessly amongst the lesser mortals, the men arrogantly aloof and the women wearing the required sexy sulky pout (that, lets face it, only French women can pull off).  Crowds gathered, bands played, oversized ice-creams melted in the sun, running down the hands of laughing children to drip on the pavement adding a festive sprinkling to the great piles of dog shit that litter the whole of France.  Everybody smiled.
 
Ranged around the circular harbour were the finest of the World's classic sailing yachts.  Worth millions of pounds each, they were a symphony of polished brass and gleaming varnish.  Restored by private owners, each yacht represented the pinnacle of design from an era where yachting was an exclusive sport reserved for the very wealthy.  Individually any one of the yachts on display would attract a crowd of admirers in any port in the World; together they overloaded the senses so that it became difficult to focus on any one yacht amongst the myriad examples on display.
 
Some of the yachts demanded attention, at 200' the gaff schooner ‘Elennora' dominated the scene looking the epitome of an ocean going classic.  The two gaff cutters both named ‘Moonbeam' were not only beautiful but carried with them a reputation for driving hard and winning races. 
 
However the yacht that was attracting much of the attention was the new kid on the block.  At only 126' and with a low flush deck her hull didn't stand out amongst the other yachts and she could have been easily missed if it were not for her colossal boom which extended well beyond her transom, beyond the reach of the other rigs around her and eventually ended overhanging the main road.  The sight of this mass of wood, ropes and sail hanging overhead like the Sword of Damocles brought people up short and forced them to acknowledge the yacht that it belonged to.  If that wasn't enough, although only in her first season the yacht had already established herself as being the one to beat.
 
‘Mariquita' looked exactly like what she was, a classic racing cutter.  Built in 1911 for no other purpose than to win races she was, even by the standards of the day, sparsely fitted out below with no compromise made for comfort over speed.  Only four yachts of her class were ever made and Mariquita was the only one to be restored.  In truth she was nothing more than a large day sailer designed for calm waters and light winds.  In such conditions she was almost supernaturally fast.
 
It was therefore somewhat unfortunate that the literal translation of Mariquita was ‘gay-boy'.
 
The crew on board were proud of the yacht but also slightly disillusioned.  They had been doing the classic boat racing circuit for three months now and had looked forward to racing with the other yachts, unfortunately the weather had been fine with light to moderate winds and so they had not seen another boat except at the start line.  In such conditions Mariquita quite simply walked away from the competition to such a degree that she would soon be out of sight of the rest of the fleet.  She had taken line honours in almost every race, however her handicap was so great that she was still down in the league tables. 
 
Into this scene of wealth and beauty entered the hero of our piece, a quiet unassuming young lad, possessed of an inner grace, style and raw sexual magnetism so at one with the ethos of St Tropez that he appeared as if a local (an illusion spoilt only by his atrocious grasp of the French language).  New crew on Mariquita he was apprehensive about his ability to make a meaningful contribution to the yacht's sailing ability.  

The first race was in conditions ideally suited to Mariquita's design, light airs and calm seas.  Our hero was quickly delighted to discover how Mariquita accelerated to the slightest breeze.  In pre-race conditions where other yachts could not make sufficient headway to maintain steerage, Mariquita was already doing 5 knots.  Even when hove-to under main and jib she still made 4 kts to windward.  When endowed with full sail Mariquita went to hull speed in moments and an aggressive battle was fought at the starting line.  Once clear Mariquita shot away from the fleet and was gone.  In order to win on handicap Mariquita needed to cross the finish line at least 30 minutes before the next yacht, an enormous advantage required over only a two-hour course.  To the cheers of the crowds lining the foreshore Mariquita romped home 31 minutes ahead of her nearest rival.  Day one - line honours and first on handicap.
 
The following dawn broke grey and overcast, a strong wind had come up during the night and it continued to blow hard rattling the flags that lined the seawall and sending the yacht halyards tapping on the masts.  The wind had raised a short sea and steep swell of the kind particular to the Mediterranean. 
 
The Mistral had come.
 
Tensions aboard Mariquita were high, not only was this bigger seas and more wind than the yacht and crew had encountered before but for the first time the owners were due onboard for the races.  The skipper was concerned about placing the yacht in the close quarters situations, which had developed during the previous days start, when the owners were present.  A decision was made to start late and Mariquita was last over the line.  The weather now favoured the big yachts and Elennora bashed her way to windward in conditions she was born to.  The wind pressed Mariquita over and with each wave green water surged on board sweeping the crew from their feet.  With no side rails or bulwarks there was a very real danger of losing someone overboard, not only would that be potentially fatal for the sailor involved but, more seriously, the yacht would be disqualified.  Following a tack, our hero was trying to attach the running backstays to the main shrouds when Mariquita again buried herself in a large sea, the force of water swept him from the yacht and as Mariquita righted herself he was left hanging half overboard surrounded by an awful lot of nothing to hold.  Similar events occurred to other crewmembers as Mariquita slammed and plunged her way up wind.  All the crew on board could feel that the yacht wasn't being sailed right, sheets were hauled too tight and to much weather helm was being carried. Mariquita was over pressed but the skipper refused to crack off at all.  Tired, wet and beaten Mariquita crossed the line in sixth place.
 
The Mistral blew all that night and by morning had increased in force building up the seas and swell.  The day was an optional race day, just the big yachts, no handicaps, first round the buoys and home.
The crew of Mariquita were determined to win this race and had argued the need to crack off in the big seas with the skipper into the night.  A further argument had been put forward that the yacht required an aggressive start in order to win and that the yacht must be sailed to the point of breaking, or if need be beyond, to ensure that she would win.  This argument was presented by the owners who pointed out that they had a spare rig ready to go if this one broke, so she was to be sailed hard.  Good tactics saw Mariquita first over the line, but she was quickly overhauled by Elennora and Moonbeam.  Sailing lower and freer Mariquita was back on form and gave chase, her leeward decks continually swept with solid green water.  Rearing skyward she would throw spray the length of her deck then plunge her bow deep into the next sea, but with the sheets eased no longer were the seas stopping her and she raced, rail down, determined to catch the larger boats.  One, two, three, the marks were rounded and still Mariquita chased, until at the last buoy she took the lead.  A gap opened quickly between Elennora while they struggled to get their downwind sails deployed.  To starboard Moonbeam suddenly slowed, she appeared to be having trouble with her spinnaker, in fact it was later learnt that she had pushed too hard and had sprung a plank.  She was sinking.  Mariquita held her lead but Elennora was catching quickly and it would be a close run to the finish.   From the deck of Mariquita the sight of Elennora bearing down under full sail dominated the view astern.   With Elennora less than 100' astern Mariquita crossed the finish line and took the gun.  She had raced and won in conditions for which she had never been designed and had never encountered since her re-launch.  As they finished each yacht pulled alongside and gave three cheers to the Mariquita.  It was a good day.
 
But still the Mistral blew.  The next day was back to racing with a handicap and the weather was still against the Mariquita and in favour of the bigger yachts.  Moonbeam was no longer a threat as she sat in the harbour with emergency pumps while she waited for a slot in the dry dock.  Elennora was after blood for her defeat the previous day and was across the line first.  But Mariquita had the measure of the conditions and although she shipped the seas green aboard and her crew were washed around the decks she leapt across the waves and soon led the fleet around the course.  After a close race it was once again Mariquita who took the gun.  Day four - line honours and third on handicap.
 
Overnight the wind dropped and, in that peculiar manner of the Med where the seas are almost exclusively wind driven, the waves disappeared.  The last day of racing and the conditions were once again in Mariquita's favour.  An easy start was made when Mariquita went left in defiance of the rest of the fleet and her lead quickly opened until once again she had left the fleet so far astern that they were barely visible.  The sun sparkled on the water and Mariquita foamed along at hull speed, her decks (and crew) dry and warm.  At the third mark the race officials announced that they were shortening the course and Mariquita again took line honours.  To prove that she could have done it anyway the Mariquita raised her spinnaker and ran goose-winged to the last buoy her long boom skimming inches above the water.  She carried the wind home with her and was again greeted by cheers from the foreshore crowds.
Day five - line honours and second on handicap.
 
And then it was over.
 
But they wanted to know if he'd like to return and race again next year.
 
Wild horses mate, wild horses.
...........................................................................