This was the year when even people in rich western countries couldn’t avoid the climate crisis: the hottest summer in human history caused havoc across the northern hemisphere, from heatwaves and wildfires to floods. Cruising from southern England to southern Brittany in August, we were on the edge of the action but climate breakdown still shaped almost every day we sailed.

Just reaching France at the beginning of August was the first challenge. On the Wednesday we were due to set out from Plymouth, the Met Office forecast for the Channel read, “Severe Gale Force 9 veering westerly and decreasing Force 8 imminent”.

We couldn’t delay too long, not just because we didn’t want to miss the Paimpol festival but because an even bigger storm was forecast for Friday and Saturday: storm Antoni, the first storm of the year fierce enough to be given a name by the UK Met Office. Atlantic storms are supposed to come in autumn, but this was the first week of August. We set off in the early hours of Thursday and had a difficult crossing through the big swell left by the first storm and the strengthening winds of Antoni.

The gale passed north of Brittany but unsettled the weather for more than a week. Heading west along the Brittany coast after a joyous three days at the Paimpol festival, we spent three days bedevilled by fog as warm moist air brought from the Tropics by the storms settled over the cooler sea.

Fortunately, the cloud lifted in the evening on the second day as we groped our way through the rocks off Roscoff so we could see to enter the marina. At least there had been enough wind for us to sail most of the way through the murk.

Next morning, the fog thinned enough to let us navigate the narrow channel between Roscoff and the Île de Batz which was an enjoyable challenge.

We spent the rest of that day motoring through fog with the wind too light and too directly ahead of us to sail. However, clear sky did open up in the evening after we berthed in L’ AberWrac’h and we watched the sail cargo vessel De Gallant sail into the river against a magnificent golden sunset.

The weather is supposed to change when you pass the Pointe du Raz. It’s the dividing line between northern Brittany, which catches the edge of the Atlantic depressions heading for Iceland and Norway that bring the UK’s summer cloud and rain, and southern Brittany, which usually enjoys summer highs over the Bay of Biscay.

And so it did, for an afternoon. Facing a gentle southerly breeze, we motored across the Bay of Douarnenez to be sure of reaching the treacherous Raz de Sein, the narrow passage between the point and the Île de Sein, during its half-hour of slack water in the afternoon. Even then, the water was churning enough to show how dangerous this passage would be with a tide running and stronger winds.

Once through the turbulence, the sun shone from a blue sky and a gentle southwesterly took us to an anchorage at Sainte Evette off Audierne.

And that was that. The next day, rain beat down and mist closed in. We tacked down the coast of the bay of Audierne for five hours, sailing more than 20 miles to cover little more than 10 over the ground, and had to put the motor on to round the Pointe de Penmarc’h safely.

Once we turned east, the rain eased and we had the wind over our shoulders so we were able to sail most of the 25 miles to Concarneau, straining to see buoys through the mist. Visibility was so poor on the final stretch, though, that we took the sails down three miles from Concarneau and motored.

We had promised ourselves a shower and a fine restaurant meal to recover. But when we arrived, so many other boats were sheltering from the weather in the marina that we were put on a mooring buoy a mile away.

We blew up the dinghy, still determined to go ashore, but then the dinghy engine wouldn’t start: I had failed to drain the fuel when I put it away at the end of last season and the carburettor was clogged with residues left by the evaporating petrol. I can’t blame that on climate change.

We moved to the marina the next morning, a high pressure system pushed across the Bay of Biscay and I baked on Guiding Star for the next week in 35-degree heat while waiting for new crew to arrive. I even managed yoga on the pontoon with a view of the mediaeval Ville Close, the original walled town of Concarneau which fills an island in the river.

So all ended well. But global heating is wrecking our climate, and wet and windy summer holidays will be the least of our problems.