The view
It was at the end of January, beginning of February, I finished my big training navigation and I arrived near Lorient. I still had to go around the Ile de Groix, to pass the pointe de Pen-Men. A very violent squall then caught up with me. I didn't see it coming. The weather had been sunny until then, but suddenly it got darker; suddenly it was half dark! The sea, which used to be a little white with little sheep, became covered with a foam so white... And the boat accelerated like a madman. The driving rain formed in front of me like a curtain. Spray came in very fast and hit the roof hard. I had only water in front of me... The rain and foam seemed to melt into each other. I couldn't really see anything anymore! There was no visibility ahead, so I was in danger of a collision at any moment. My field of vision to go around the Isle of Groix, which I was close to at the time, was very limited. I was panic-stricken, my heart was beating so fast: my boat and I were in danger, really. And then I looked for the right solution to decelerate: I hesitated between reefing the foil and rolling my headsail. In both cases, it was going to take me some time... But I didn't have much time, because the wind was pushing me ashore! In the end, I preferred to try to roll it up, but it wasn't easy as the sheets were getting tangled up in my sail... especially as a lot of complicated things happened to me during this squall! In short, at the same time as I was acting, I was thinking and looking for an escape route so that my boat didn't go into the rocks off Lorient. In the end I managed to roll my sail three-quarters of the way. Having finally managed to get my boat to slow down, I prepared for a possible gybe. I'd considered all the possible consequences... but in my eyes it was still the best thing to consider! When I looked behind me, I saw the horizon lighten: I was finally getting away from the squalls!
The touch
In the old configuration of my boat, when I was at the helm with one hand, I could put the other on the roof. I could feel under my fingers the roughness of the anti-slip, the vertical surface... but also the whole boat! In my hand I had the whole hull and deck in my hand. And the whole thing resonated in my fingers and palm. It helped me to steer. I had the impression that I understood the movements of my IMOCA even better: from the roof to the helm, I was transmitting my sensations, almost directly!
Hearing
In 2019, my IMOCA MACSF has been fitted with foils. I participated, following its release, in the Azimuth Challenge in Lorient. That's when I realised that both foils whistled a lot when the boat accelerated. A kind of very intense sound vibration that made me think of a real siren. You could hear it from far away! It broke my ears, it hit my eardrums. Anyway, it covered all the noises, including the words. We couldn't hear each other anymore. My partner and I would put our mouths and ears together to talk to each other. On board was Ronan, our mediator. On the first evening, I found myself in the forepeak of the boat to pump the water from the bottom. It was dark and I was very concentrated on handling the bilge pump. Suddenly I heard a man's voice, but I couldn't understand what was being said. It scared me... especially since I couldn't tell where it came from! It was so muffled by the vibrations of the boat, and so lost in a heap of other noises... I had to look up and look around to find out where it came from. And my gaze fell on Ronan who was, in fact, only fifty centimetres from me! He was just shouting at me, ironically, that it's very quiet where I was..
Taste
I remember, during a mini deckchair, a long time ago, in the Bay of Biscay, a big storm. I was at the helm and I had already been receiving violent spray in my face for many hours and days. Eventually the salt got into my mouth, and I couldn't help it: I didn't mind the lingering salty taste, but as it accumulated inside my lips, it swelled them, gradually numbing them until it almost anaesthetised them. I no longer felt any taste. And it took me several days after arrival to gradually regain the taste.
The sense of smell
I was at the helm, at night, whipped by spray that hit the deck and the cap, powerfully. All of a sudden I smelled a very strong smell of very fresh fish! Right next to it, a flying fish had just landed. I let go of the helm, switched on the automatic pilot and melted over the fish and threw it back into the water. Not so easy as they're very smooth fish, and that night this one was still very much alive! The smell isn't so unpleasant at the bottom, it's just that it's particularly intense..
What about fear?
It's night, it's 3:00 in the morning. I'm running the Route du Rhum. Thirty knots of wind. Quite a big sea: a swell with waves of five or six metres. I'm sailing close-hauled. Suddenly my boat veers off course. And it takes me half an hour of effort to redirect her towards her initial course, to the west. I think I'm out of the woods this time. That's when I hear a very violent cracking sound... It seems to come from the sky, from above anyway. I guess almost instantly, instinctively, that I've just dismasted the mast! In the middle of a storm, on a moonless night with no stars, all hidden by the clouds, I only discover the damage by the halo of light generated by my forehead: no more than a metre around me! In the dark, I can see the luminescent stripes running along the mast shining... which are then almost horizontal. Just like the mast! It's in three pieces, one of which remains on deck whilst the other two are in the water, held by the mainsail, which is itself half divided between sea and deck. It's a sight that grabs me and forces me to react immediately: I decide to cut all the shrouds to tilt the whole mast in the waves. Otherwise, there's a risk of continuing to bang against the hull, smashing it and eventually sinking the boat. With a hacksaw and a knife in my hands, I'm cutting one by one the shrouds, halyards, electric cables... It's still very dark and my headlamp doesn't shine bright enough for me to know exactly where I'm positioned... So every time a link breaks, I hope I'm on the right side: if I'm not, I can be taken out to sea with the rest of the mast! That would be the worst thing that could happen to me: being dragged towards the bottom. When the mast finally and fortunately without me out of the boat, the highest spreader and its shadow rise, sag, to the rhythm of the waves, in front of me. I then have this frightening vision of a sea monster, reminiscent perhaps of my childhood, which stands out from the darkness of the night. I remember a monumental shiver! Fear invades me. It is in the cabin that I take refuge, to let this moment go by: there, I end up smiling at this monster, and at myself, afraid that I was! Then I went out again to finish the job... I thought I'd finished it during the night, but the next morning, the boat was dragging along: the mast was still attached to it. The sea, with its five or six metre waves, was swaying me. I had to go to the bow to saw off the last link that still connected my boat to its mast. It was no easy task on a wet deck where there wasn't a single stanchion left... I crawled up. And, like a starfish, I lay down completely, to lower my centre of gravity as much as possible. As soon as I saw a wave coming, I backed up and hung on to avoid going with it. Then, when it had passed, I would move forward and get back to work! For twenty minutes I played this dangerous game with the sea. And at the same time I wondered what would happen when I released the mast, which was held by an extremely tight link, and to which I was very close. It went well! When everything gave way, I felt underneath me that my boat was finally freeing itself from this floating anchor. I quickly turned back to get to safety.
