at you with rapidly increasing velocity. Twenty knots flashes by on the
log, followed almost immediately by 25. Thirty knots barely registers
as you begin to appreciate that the numbers on the screen aren’t just
blurred because the wind is wringing tears from the corners of your
eyes. They really are moving too fast to keep track of.
The steering is electronic, and very, very light. Somewhere around the
mid-30-knot mark I thought it might be time to see what she could do.
Amid the 2- to 3-foot seas raised by an offshore afternoon breeze in the
Baie de Cannes, I soon realized that I could have benefited from more
familiarization time with the boat, preferably at dawn on a mirror-calm
sea with nobody watching. As it was, the combination of my efforts to
discover what I could about its handling qualities while maintaining at
least the illusion of control, together with the steep chop and the hull’s
tenacious grip on the water, meant that the forces acting on the boat and
its occupants were many and various. It probably gave my passengers
more of a workout than they were expecting. Driving upwind was of
course the sternest test, and for the good of our physical and mental
well-being I did find it necessary to throttle back. It’s no offshore deep-V,
but this modified-V, with 16 degrees of transom deadrise, is a very good
hull. On every other point of sail the boat attacked the seas with puppy-
ish enthusiasm. I enjoyed it, too. And somewhat to my surprise, in spite
of that hip ax-bow that looks like it belongs on a submarine, the forward
sections of the hull did a good job. I had imagined lashing sheets of salt
spray turning my notes to pulp, but we stayed dry. The automatic trim
on the Bravo Three drives might also have had something to do with it.
Steering a steady course once more, the moment came to explore
what lay beyond 3500 rpm. Even heading downwind, which was the
only practical option, I was reminded how offshore racing is a young
man’s game as the flesh on my face took on a life of its own. Thirty-
five knots arrived and departed in the first second, and then the GPS
was suggesting 40. The number wasn’t changing with quite its earlier
rapidity, but it was clear that there was more to come. It eventually
settled on just over 42 knots, and we all beamed at each other.
A faint ripping noise, just discernible through the buffeting gale,
was followed by an instantaneously strange stroboscopic effect. The
sky seemed to switch off for a millisecond as one of the big forward
cushions flashed over our heads and came down in the sea some way
astern. At the same moment the other one reared up and dumped
itself into the cockpit with us. Examination of its remnants revealed
that the plastic spring clips were blameless, and even the stitching
had refused to submit to the gale howling over the foredeck. It was
the fabric itself, sturdy enough by the look of it, which had given up
the struggle, rent asunder like soggy newsprint.
“Nooooo!” Elisa howled. “We have a helicopter photo shoot this
evening!” As we rolled slowly back through the waves to retrieve the
waterlogged upholstery, I told her not to worry. If ever there was a
job for Photoshop, this was it. U
Invictus Yacht, +39 0961 020388; invictusyacht.com
52 POWER & MOTORYACHT / JUNE 2017 WWW.PMYMAG.COM
Think of the Invictus 370GT as a
“dayboat plus,” with forward
sunpads for days, a helm that lets
you share in the fun (left), plus a
sleek master (below), and some
guest quarters to open up cruising
possibilities (below right).