It's Sunday, and like every Sunday since the start of the Vendée Globe, the ritual of writing comes knocking on the door of my boat to try to put the unspeakable on paper. Today, it takes the form of a maxim, taught during my very first sailing in an Imoca, by a famous diehard from Finistère, who is definitely not ready to give up the position of leader of “drifting” boats: a certain Jean Le Cam.
Les « Lecameries »
“A successful maneuver is a worry-free maneuver,” he kept telling me! An adage whose meaning came to its climax last night! I tell myself that this Jean still has a sense of the phrase. So, rather than telling you about the relationship of sharing that we have built in recent years while preparing my project alongside him, I preferred to tell you about my night by distilling all the little “Lecameries” heard over the past three years around the corner. a sea trip, a Sunday at the construction site, or an impromptu dinner!
It's 11:12 p.m. UT: the wind has eased slightly, the sea seems passable to me, the air is warm and therefore less dense than in winter… So, I tell myself that I could perhaps hold my large spinnaker from 360 m² to head straight towards the Cape of Good Hope.
Because if the main thing is to arrive, you also sometimes have to know how to take measured risks, because performance is adaptation to changing situations!
“Yakinkin the Rintintins, you send your Pépin, but if you do the kéké, it's guaranteed to be a slap in the face! » So I visualize my maneuver, and since before starting a file, it is necessary to have completed it on paper, I write down in my little notebook each step of the future procedure to which I am going to tackle meticulously. The devil is in the details, so I try to think of everything.
It's night. My headlamp screwed on my head, I repeat each gesture before realizing it: 39 minutes pass. The big spinnaker is in the air. Benjamin sent the glitch. The operation is a success: a successful maneuver is indeed a worry-free maneuver. I immediately prepare the lowering line around the winch, just in case, and because one maneuver is finished when the next one is prepared. And there you have it, the story is in the ass of the donkey and we don't talk about it anymore!
“Only one step away from being familiar with bullshit”
During the night, the wind rises. There are 20 knots, phases at 22-24 knots. This is what we call in ocean racing jargon: “Top of the range”. Basically, understand that we are one step away from coming to terms with bullshit. That's when anxiety sets in, it's worse than fear. Because fear pushes us to act when anxiety paralyzes.
I'm sitting at the chart table, ready to jump into my cockpit to shock a sheet or correct the course in the event of a surge. Of course I'm not going to wait until I'm in my underwear to tighten my buttocks. I scrutinize the slightest gust, the slightest tiny strengthening of the wind which would remind me that if it's too hot potato, send you your little “gennak” editor's note: gennaker, headsail) and, forward the whiting!
I spend my night observing the clouds, downloading satellite images in order to detect the slightest danger. I'm on the edge but in balance, I'm picking up miles on the road, gradually widening the gap with my direct competitors. I convince myself that those who do like everyone else have simply been lazy enough to form their own opinion without forgetting that it is easy to be a shooting star but that the difficulty is to shine for a long time.
And then the hours go by. Surprisingly, human beings get used to everything. And since pessimism is the mood and optimism the will, I understand that the boat is balanced, that the spinnaker does not slam, that Théophile (editor's note: the name of his boat) goes quickly without leaving any feathers. So, when the boat is working without suffering, the sailor can go and rest. And since happiness is when the troubles rest, at that moment, it is urgent not to wake them up, I finish typing these few lines which are intended for you. I too will try to go, for a few hours I hope, to join the arms of Morpheus.
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