I woke up and unzipped my tent to see my surroundings, having arrived in darkness. The sun burnt off the morning haze and I walked up to the lighthouse, lizards scampering off the path into a crisp bed of dried leaves. From the lighthouse, I could see waves heading in the right direction and was excited at the prospect of another day of downwind.

Two kayakers were on the beach and a man moored his motorboat against the pier. I asked them for water, having run out. Leaving at 13.30, it was downwind from the off. Lovely clean waves that weren’t too big meaning I could catch them with little effort. The paddling:surfing ratio was at its best. Lots of yachts were on the water, tacking across my course, and I enjoyed timing my run to avoid collision, waving as I went by.

My blood sugars were falling and I was out of water so I stopped at La Tour Fondue where there was a 17th century Fort. After five bananas, an orange and a baguette I was ready to go!

The waves got even better and I decided to head for île du Levant for the night. Looking at the satellite map to find a suitable camp spot, I thought it was being slow to load. I then realised it was pixilated because the island was a military training area. Not wishing to become part of some kind of beach landing exercise, I turned towards the nearer island, Port-Cros.

The island looked like my dream tropical island, more at home in the Pacific. A lush green canopy extended right to the jagged cliffs and the coast was full of secret coves. I came into a sheltered inlet just as the sun was setting. There was no beach, but a thick bed of driftwood and wood shavings, built up from many layers of storm debris. Sadly lots of plastic too.