‘We rounded a dirty sand dune called Cape Trafalgar’ The Rock loomed through a Levanterdriven haze, a brooding rampart behind which lay a cornucopia of Mediterranean promise. We wanted it astern, we were sick of the Atlantic, or more accurately, sick of the easterly winds which had dogged us ever since rounding Cape St. Vincent.
The trouble was, we had been forced to motor Snatch, the Swan 48 we were delivering from the Solent to Gibraltar, ever since leaving Portugal’s West coast because the boat’s massive racing mainsail had only two reefing points and, devoid of a third, was being overpowered in strong headwinds.
Since David Smith, co-owner, dropped his partner, Adrian Lower, a gynaecologist and rear-commodore of RORC, at Sagres, on the tip of Portugal to fly home for…
