Optimist, 420 and Hobie Cat 16, this native of Saint-Jean-de-Luz first sailed on small boats. But from the age of 16, he broadened his horizons... and after a course in a Mini 6.50, at almost 40 years of age in 2018, it was on his 12.40 m sailing boat Chocolats Paries-Coriolis Composites, that in Class 40, he finished 10th in the Route du Rhum!
The view
I remember one day, at sea, I saw something really improbable... I was coming from Portugal, and I had reached Cape Finistère. I was taking my morning watch. Above the sea, very dark, the gray sky looking very busy. The sun, in an orange halo, rose timidly. Its rays grazed the surface of the water... and that's when I saw a white spot. As a reflex, I steered the boat... and watched. What a surprise when I realized what it was all about: a big, immaculate fridge was just floating there! I really wondered how it got there! It was last July, during the Class 40 race Les Sables-Horta-Les Sables, when I was at the end of my watch - and a bit tired, I admit! We were heading towards the Azores, and we were crossing an area known to be a whale sanctuary... But, even knowing that, I can tell you that when I suddenly saw the back of one of them appear, and really right next to me, I was more than surprised! I only saw her back, and very stealthily, but it was already three metres by one... and it made me imagine how much mass there was underwater! It was a super intense encounter, also because I told myself that I'd come very close to the collision... Another memory came back to me. 2011: I'm racing my first single-handed transatlantic race in 6.50. I've just passed through the Doldrums, this equatorial transition zone between the two hemispheres, which is renowned for the extreme sailing conditions that reign there. All of a sudden I can see the sea surface becoming iridescent. By reflex, I think of shoals. But in the middle of the Atlantic... I quickly realised it was a sperm whale. A sperm whale, which, like a dolphin - but less reassuring! - was playing with my boat. Suddenly he dived a little deeper... and I saw him pass under my boat, between the rudder and the keel. That's when you really realise that a 6.50m is very small, and that a sperm whale is just huge: it was twice the size of the boat! I thought it was going to break everything. I think I screamed in fear. Just one scream, and then I insulted him profusely. He left, without turning around!
The touch
I answer without hesitation: hands! Not because they're the main organ of touch... but because they give us a hard time on board. After a night's watch, under difficult conditions, they were often swollen, injected with blood and therefore painful. All the more so as when we're manoeuvring, we don't spare them any more! The recipe is often an ointment. It was ErwanTabarly, Eric's nephew, who told me the real solution: put some cream on your hands and put on a pair of dry gloves. In short, with this kind of poultice on the skin, in the morning, no more pain in sight! I do it regularly now, for 20 minutes when I get up, with a pair of gloves that I keep dry. I have another habit concerning touch. Now it's on my face! Often, when we're at sea, everything is wet, I mean, inside too. So, to fall asleep better, I just find myself a small square of smooth, dry cloth, a piece of fleece for example, and I slip it under my cheek. It's a bit like a child's cuddly toy, actually! This feeling of softness that brings a hint of serenity too is so nice in the middle of a race and its twists and turns... I focus on this fragment, and immediately I feel great!
Hearing
I came back from my first solo deckchair, a bit frustrated... From a musical point of view anyway! I would have liked to be able to listen to it outside, at full volume, but I didn't have the really adequate sound system. So, for my second solo transat, I equipped myself better. But, in fact, every time I put on loud music played in any wind outside, I found that it added to the noise... So, finally, I found myself putting on headphones, to hear the music, without it shouting in my ears, and to attenuate outside noises such as the wind in the rigging, the hull pounding in the waves, the waves breaking... I choose the type of music according to my environment: in very calm weather conditions, soft music; in more dynamic sailing, more fishing music! Of course, I'm no longer a music lover when it's stormy: what I listen to above all else at that moment is my boat! I think about it: if there's one noise I hate, it's the sound of thunder... it puts me in a state of tension, almost phobic!
Taste
This sense of smell is important on board, because it conveys pleasure... chocolate-related for me! Of course with the sponsor I have, I'm overjoyed. What I like best are the roasted almonds with a hint of Espelette chilli pepper. It gives me energy too! On the savoury side, I'm lucky enough to have a talented butcher near my home in the Basque Country who vacuum-packs his Bayonne Ham or dried lomo for me. I enjoy them during small aperitifs that I sometimes save for myself, like a Sunday meal. Of course, I miss the cold beer... No fresh beer or alcohol on board! There's also the freeze-dried Chinese soup which delights my palate: during the races, the beef noodles seem like a feast to me, or almost! Only when I'm at sea, I'll say that, because when I'm ashore, I'm much less of a fan! I remember, during the first week of the Route du Rhum, when I had very bad weather (55 knots, 8 m of waves), preparing two bags for dinner... a delight in this context!
The sense of smell
First there's my own smell: after a week in a dry suit, not really airy... It's mine, so I put up with it and live with it! Well almost, because one day, I thought it was really me who gave off a nauseating smell. It was during my first single-handed transatlantic crossing: every time I went into the cabin I smelt a fishy smell... I imagined it was coming from me, I also thought it was perhaps normal after a certain number of days at sea... But how could I have thought that about me?! I washed myself in seawater and went back to the cabin clean. But, once again, this smell... In fact, I found it afterwards, it was a flying fish that was drying out all the time on top of the cabin, hidden in my halyards, in the end yawn! I remember a different smell, not so much more raging. It was on the tenth or twelfth day of a race, I don't remember which one, I passed in the wake of a cargo ship. It's already far away, but the smell of it... It made me think a bit too much about the smell of car exhausts, especially the urbanised earth. Fortunately, the earth can have other scents: when you reach archipelagos, like the Canary Islands, Madeira or the West Indies, and for days you've only smelled the sea, you're delighted, olfactorily!
What about fear?
I don't think I'm really scared at sea: I'm hyper concentrated and in the event of damage, immediately in action. The day the whale passed under my boat, yes, I can admit it, the adrenaline went up high and fast! Probably because I couldn't control anything, and because in the event of a shock, I was heading for some very big trouble... I remember freezing, right on deck, the helm in hand... waiting for the next moment, the catastrophic one, I mean! But he never came. And the next thing I knew, I was blowing deep, still stunned. An hour before, with one of the competitors, on the radio, we said to each other that we hadn't seen any animal and that it was a shame... And two hours after the whale, I saw two killer whales in the distance. Needless to say, I didn't want them to come and play with me as well!
