One bright, sunny day last January, while I sat gazing out over the ocean across Chalong Bay, a journalist friend appeared with an offer to join a sponsor's boat for the five-day Phang Nga Bay Regatta. What luck! I packed my bags immediately.

That first night, the Yacht Haven party opened with a swing. Good food, great music, raving on the bar … By the end of the evening, various sailor girls swung from wooden chandeliers back and forth across the room with cocktails in hand while the crowd ducked in unison.

Next morning, with novice sailing enthusiasts aboard, we approached the regatta start point. A dinghy raced toward us to evacuate an already seasick photographer who'd just announced his imminent departure. Without lifejacket, he leapt into the waiting arms of some other media folk, looking forlorn as the rescue boat zoomed away.

After four hours of struggling against the tide in an upwind beat, we gave in and retired from the race as the wind dropped dramatically to half a knot. As our boat approached the entrance channel between Koh Yao Noi and Yao Yai, the depth sounder plunged to zero. We bobbed around and watched with amusement as two other boats ignored our cries and jammed into the seabed, sending their crew lurching onto the deck.

Our crew missed the start of the race by a long shot, the following morning, after a late-night Yao Noi party. With a newly press ganged crew member aboard, we spent a pleasant day cruising south of the beautiful Koh Hong Islands and across to the spectacular idyll of Railay Beach, near Ao Nang, in Krabi. Upon anchoring, our American skip-per issued these instructions: "I wann everyone aon the boaat at 7 ae em… Or I leave without ya."

Following a relaxed presentation party beside spectacular cliffs tower-ing into the starry night, two of us eloped by longtail boat to whoop it up in Ao Nang. We lost each other while bar hopping. Oblivious to the fact that longtail drivers eventually go home to bed, I later realized I was stranded and I negotiated a room.

It was 6.18am. After the threat from the skipper that he would leave regardless at 7.00am, how was I to get back to the boat? With the James Bond theme beginning to play in my head, I peered at the light from one solitary longtail returning from a night's fishing. How lucky! I waded out to greet the driver. "Pom dongan bai lieow rua bai krap," I told him. (Later that day I discovered I'd said: "I want to go … and have already gone! to the sailboat … Please.")

The son of the driver laughed. His father smiled, nodded and took my 190 baht, all the money I had. Heading around the rock-face at Ton Sai, with the Bond theme now in full swing, I could see my journalist friend also approaching in her own longtail, looking like a movie star, complete with headscarf and sunglasses. My lost drinking buddy was perched on the bow waiting to greet us. The three of us jumped up and down in sheer delight that we'd all made it before 7.00am. Our elation was to be short lived.

We'd lost most of our journalist crew-mates through the night. They'd jumped ship to board Beyond Rotto. Itching for copy, the deserters went searching for action, cohorting with other serious racing sailors and the various boyfriends who crewed onboard.

Down on the start line, I felt impending doom as I stared at the stern of La Samudra. We were only two boat lengths away as I screamed to the skipper that this was the last boat we wanted to hit. "We're gonna have our start; we're entitled to our start," he replied. Off we went, cutting confidently into the start line, the Skipper gritting his teeth then grinning inanely as our sheets lifted. But, horror of horrors, I looked up at the sails: they were fluttering. Yes, we'd stalled!

Cloaked, scythe in hand, the Grim Reaper tapped me on the shoulder. The skipper and I eyed each other angrily. I was furious. All he could do, as I pointed out how we'd just made ourselves the embarrassment of the entire event, was pull apart my sailing career. I told the Reaper we'd have to meet at a later date, as I was otherwise engaged. His chilling "see you soon" was nothing compared to the announcement from the committee boat: "Aries, Aries. Get out the way."

The ghost ships of the regatta — the rest of the fleet — silently passed by, Rhythm Stick, La Samudra, Hocux Pocux 2, Pytheas Aura and all the others. No one said a word until my media friend put it all back into perspective: "Um ... Er … Wasn't it rather good of the start boat to ask us to kindly move out of the way," she stammered.

"They didn't call us," I replied. "It went out on channel 72 — it was announced to the whole fleet."

We fell into inconsolable laughter.

Powering up the sails, we eventually got underway, rather than in the way, and I was relieved to finally be away from the racing class. Following a great sail to Phi Phi Island, we anchored on the far side of the bay. The mooring position was a committee decision, since it would offer shelter from the wind (which unfortunately later shifted 180 degrees).

Incredibly, at the Phi Phi party, little was said about our start incident, and there was no announcement from the podium that all aboard Aries would be buried to the neck on the beach for the tide and crabs to finish us off. With the weather worsening, some crews made it back to their boats, but many were beached, either sleeping in dinghies or, as the notorious Sharpie managed to do after finding a mate soundly asleep with fellow competitors, bedded down in a massage parlour. "Bad wind," exclaimed the kindly hostess. "Maybe your friend stay here. Many men from boat here. You maybe stay too."

Next morning all the boats made it away from Phi Phi incident free, and we had a perfect start, turning 45 degrees to the line at exactly the same time as the rest of our class. In blue skies and near perfect conditions, the sight of all the spinnakers ballooning out was a photo-grapher's dream, and the sail back to Ao Chalong was simply superb. We surfed the whole way home with exhilarating gusts up to 30 knots, which the boat just managed to cope with.

At the Koh Kai first gate, our sailing skills were tested as the yacht lurched and lulled in the shadow of the wind. A shimmer on the sea followed by a gust slammed into Aries, and we roared away with almost perfect trim, since moments before we'd let the sails out slightly. This roaring continued all the way back to Ao Chalong. The boat was pushed to the limit in 16 to 19 knots of wind and gusts to 30.

It took a few moments to work out that the surf was passing between the two hulls of a catamaran, as we roller-coastered up and down the waves. I couldn't hide my satisfaction at storming past a multi-hull. This was probably sailing at its best, and comments in other articles have suggested that this was one of the fastest runs back from Phi Phi to Chalong that the event can remember. It was certainly one of the best sailing days I've ever had.

I wouldn't have missed the fun of this regatta for the world.