[story time] The day I dismasted on a Route du Rhum boat

October 4, 2014, 7:30 AM, I’m at Orly airport and about to experience an exceptional day!

The employee I was at the time had been invited by a partner who sponsors a skipper who would be taking part in the famous Route du Rhum a month later.

The plan: flight to Lorient, a day at sea, and a train ride back in the evening.

There were seven of us in total: one of my colleagues came along, two people from the partner company inviting us, two people from one of their major clients, and the skipper!

After breakfast upon arriving in Lorient, we met the skipper, who showed us his boat (a Class40 for those in the know). Everything was thought out down to the smallest detail for the three weeks he planned to take to reach Pointe-à-Pitre from Saint-Malo. As a low-budget contender, it was a lot of improvisation. He was proud to show us his brand-new, custom-made mattress, which he had managed to design thanks to a partner.

Since we were all technical profiles (in IT, not sailing), he spent a while answering our questions about his ultra-modern onboard computer. He explained that weather models were very effective and helped avoid nasty surprises.

The skipper asked if we got seasick. As I had never had the chance to sail on a boat like this, I said I didn’t know and was given a seasickness pill.

We set sail. The weather was ideal, and I was impressed by the speed that this “small” boat (12 meters) could reach solely by the force of the wind. The sensations are incredible when the boat heels to pick up speed.

The skipper then offered to let us take turns at the helm. It was while I was at the helm that the wind picked up a bit. There was a screen to show the speed, and we hit the highest speeds of the day.

Suddenly, without my noticing any change, the skipper asked me rather curtly to hand over the helm. He was suddenly much more focused than he had been. After a few minutes, he asked us to go into the cockpit.

Tension rose all at once; the skipper went back and forth between the helm and the cockpit to check the weather map on his onboard computer. We tried to make ourselves small to avoid disturbing his maneuvers, but we could see him getting more and more drenched each time he appeared. From the cockpit, we had no idea what was going on, but the noise was deafening.

All of a sudden, we heard a huge crack, followed by a wrenching “and shiiiiit, f***!!!!!!!!!!”. After a few moments of silence, the skipper reappeared, ashen-faced, and announced, “we’ve just dismasted.”“.

For him, it was a disaster; losing a mast 30 days before the start jeopardized his chances of being on the starting line. What’s more, unlucky as he was, he had been forced to withdraw four years earlier after being hit by a fishing boat…

He explained that we were safe, the boat couldn’t sink, and that we’d have to be patient until help arrived. In the meantime, it was going to be pretty unpleasant; without sails, the boat was like a wooden shell, and it was likely to rock.

Sure enough, as time passed, my fellow sufferers turned paler and paler. Eventually, they all threw up their breakfasts. Not me, though—I had taken the precaution of swallowing a pill 😀

We heard the radio, and it was a bit apocalyptic. An Optimist competition was taking place nearby, and about twenty competitors were in the water. A sudden, unexpected strong wind had caught many off guard, a sign that weather models aren’t so infallible after all…

A customs launch arrived and offered the skipper its assistance. He hesitated a bit, unsure how to try to save his sail. Meanwhile, the customs boat circled around us and eventually grew impatient. The decision was made to evacuate us from the boat. The customs launch’s zodiac came to pick us up. As the sea was still quite rough, the customs officers were tense, and I recall one of them grabbing my arm, seeing my hesitant approach, to pull me aboard.

We boarded the customs launch. The skipper stayed behind to handle the rest, which involved being towed back to port. The customs officers gently poked fun at us when we explained that we were “Parisian tourists” discovering sea outings. They brought out a baguette and some saucisson to comfort us, and we had a great time chatting with them.

The return trip was very slow to minimize the risk of further damage to the boat. As we neared the port, an officer filled out a form and asked me for the boat’s dimensions. I had no idea! It was a form to bill the skipper for the intervention. I don’t remember the amount but do recall being surprised at how small it was. After all, this involved a launch with a crew of about fifteen, for several hours!

Arriving at the port, we finished this day at sea again on the customs zodiac. At that moment, we were overtaken by a Macif boat with François Gabart on board ! At the time, he was a real star (he still is) because he had just won the Vendée Globe a year earlier (he is still the youngest winner, at 29). He would also win the Route du Rhum in his category a few weeks later.

What an adventure!

As we’re barely back on dry land, the news is already in the regional daily Ouest France.

While we were with the customs officers, the skipper managed to make a few phone calls and got confirmation that he could have a brand new mast in time.

In the end, he did take the start and fulfilled his dream by crossing the finish line in 19 days, finishing 14th in his category.

A bit embarrassed about having put us through his ordeal (no need to be!), the partner invited us for the start of the Route du Rhum a month later. He had rented a boat that was ahead of the starting line and we were able to admire all the competitors as they passed us one by one. Yet another incredible experience!