The view
My best memory of this point of view goes back to early June 2019, during the Solitaire du Figaro. Setting out from Nantes, I arrived, with a light wind, with a view of the south-west coast of Ireland, near Kinsale, the port of arrival. I still have to round the mythical Fastnet lighthouse. It's a first for me... which has undoubtedly contributed to my appreciation of the place! Anyway, I finally leave it to starboard and then I glide downwind towards Kinsale. I've been sailing for three or four days now. It's dawn and the sun already shines brightly on the rather wild landscape in front of me: under the sky, intense green meadows, supported by high brown and grey stone cliffs, then the sea, which is very blue at that moment. And on top, to make this vision even more beautiful, dolphins in numbers offering me a nautical ballet! And then, there are also the accompanying boats and the media, which are getting closer. At that moment, I admit it, I'm almost jubilant: I'm in second place, with a big lead over the other competitors, at least five hours ... it's just incredible for me that rank! And, most certainly, this excitement has only embellished what I had in my eyes ..
The touch
In good weather, when the sailing conditions are good and the deck is dry, I enjoy being barefoot. First of all, I can feel the gelcoat, the anti-slip on the surface... And then, in fact, my whole boat under the soles of my feet! Being barefoot allows me to have a pleasant contact with the boat, and even to be able to manoeuvre it well. I can feel its movements, I can feel the hull moving underneath me. In any case, more so than with big, heavy boots! It's a feeling of lightness that I also feel, while at the same time having the impression of being anchored in the boat thanks to my feet: the balance on a boat comes from them of course. And often from a hand as well, it's true, which clings to the shrouds or the lines! And through which you can also feel the boat from elsewhere. Sometimes even from a little too close, when a rope slips between our hands..
Hearing
When my boat, with the autopilot engaged because I'm at rest in the cabin, is sailing fast downwind, going up and down on the waves and therefore constantly accelerating and decelerating, that's when I'm most likely to run off course. And it's at times like that that I probably use this sense of hearing the most. Of course, I can take a look at the screens, but I'm above all intensely connected to my boat through... my ears! At the sound of the water against the hull, I estimate its speed. I feel if it is fluid, as expected, or if it comes from a tension, an abnormal behaviour... I put in relation in this analysis - which looks more like reflexes after all! -In this analysis - which is more like reflexes after all! - I relate my own position in relation to the boat's trim, which changes according to the waves hitting the hull. I feel the movements of the boat directly in my body. All of this, even if it's quite complex at first sight, really helps me to assess whether everything's OK or whether I'm on the verge of going off course! At times like that, which are quite stressful, but where I'm still supposed to be resting, there's another noise which gives me information about my navigation. It's the sound of the small electric motor which powers the autopilot. It operates a jack that is used to push or pull the helm. When it squeaks, I know whether it's forcing or not... and so the course is held normally or not! It's a sum of little pieces of sound information of this kind which allows me to know what's happening outside..
Taste
It's a sense I don't ask for much in a race. What matters to me then is performance, much more than life on board and its level of comfort. As a general rule, I don't care a lot about what I eat. There is one thing I do enjoy, though, and that's dark chocolate... with hazelnuts, it's even better! I eat two bars in three or four days when I'm snacking. I nibble in two situations, which are a bit opposite to each other, to tell the truth. Either the boat takes up a lot of my energy and takes up a lot of my time, so I don't have the chance to prepare a meal for myself... and so I have to nibble to stay in shape. Here it's banana, energy bar, in short everything I can stow in the end pockets nearby. Either way, the sailing conditions are much cooler, and I allow myself to take some time for myself. Nibbling is a bit of a treat, and for me it's often a little square of chocolate... I'm also taking advantage of these moments when everything's going well to prepare myself a real meal. The most tempting for me: a piece of meat, and cheese with, if the departure is not too far, a good piece of bread, still fresh, with seeds or dried fruit moreau! In fact, during these calm periods, it's a kind of virtuous circle that takes place: the pleasure of tasting and the pleasure of sailing efficiently feed each other! Of course, after a few days at sea, I can't have everything I want: on long races, there's a moment when I find myself lacking, really, fresh produce, fruit or vegetables, it doesn't really matter, as it's this feeling of freshness that I'm looking for... without finding it!
The sense of smell
This year, in 2019, in August, I ran the Douarnenez Courses Solo Gijon. When I arrived, after three or four days at sea, in this Spanish and quite hilly bay of Gijon, I felt very strongly the land, with mountains, woods, quarries ... The wind that came from there probably intensified this feeling. Just like the warm air I felt on my face.
What about fear?
Fear panics, the fear that makes you lose your way, I don't think I've ever felt it before. On the other hand, the fear of breaking your boat, yes, of course! I remember, during the Solitaire du Figaro last June, I experienced a moment like that. I was off Ushant...and sleeping in the cabin. Suddenly I was woken up - you never sleep soundly! - by a deaf mermaid. I jumped out, of course. As soon as I saw the lights of the fishing boat coming under my jib, I was already throwing myself on the autopilot to disengage it and push the helm to the maximum. For a moment I saw the fishermen, who were wide awake, on the deck of their trawler... And they weren't far away at all, I could smell the strong smell of fish! Once I'd avoided the shock, I readjusted the boat again. And I went over the scene in my head again, trying to estimate how many metres I'd gone from the trawler, considering what would have happened if I hadn't reacted... Because a steel fishing boat, as strong as this one, doesn't suck much compared to a composite boat like mine... There would have been breakage on my side, for sure, probably even to the point of pushing me to abandonment!
