The Translémanique is a solo race that involves sailing a round trip across Lake Geneva, starting in Geneva (to put it simply, it's like the Bol d'Or but as a solo race).

This year, just over 100 participants lined up at the starting line, including three boats from LUC Voile! Felix, Loïc, and Lennard set out on this wonderful adventure and are here to tell you all about their regatta!

After a wonderful night on the boat on Friday evening and some croissants for a delicious breakfast, it was time to check the boat one last time and head out onto the water. A nice breeze was on the way.

After setting off from the French side with a good headwind, I decide to cross the lake. I’m pretty much on my own, but I manage to stay focused. As the breeze picked up, I took in a reef. Sailing close-hauled, we made our way up to the exit of the small lake. That’s when I started passing other Surprises and realized I wasn’t off to a bad start after all. We sailed along the Swiss coast and began heading for Le Bouveret below the Lavaux region. I stay patient with the sail change and watch others try to hoist the spinnaker, but the angle is too close for the wind strength, which allows me to gain a few meters. Around 5:30 p.m., I passed the Bouveret mark in 5th–10th place. Pretty quickly, I decided to head up toward Lausanne so I could hoist the spinnaker sooner. Near Pully, I hoisted the spinnaker, but the angle and wind pressure forced me to lower it fairly early. A mistake during the spinnaker-stripping maneuver made the operation quite dangerous, but after the third attempt, I managed to get it under control—though unfortunately, I’d lost quite a bit of ground in the process. I almost fell overboard and it took me a little while to recover from that adventure. I hoisted the small spinnaker again and headed toward Yvoire. With a nighttime run under spinnaker through some nice waves, we finished this beautiful tour of the lake. It was another great experience, and I learned a lot. Despite that mishap at the start of the return leg, I finished in 13th place. See you next time!

A great translem is forecast, with a nice breeze that should allow the best competitors to circle the lake in about ten hours.

I want to have as much fun as possible and meet as many people as possible, so I’m making the most of the briefing. And then, as usual, I’m not daring enough, so I decide to go all out: top-of-the-mast mainsail, genoa, and full spinnaker. :)

And if I had to do it all over again, I’d do the same thing—except for the reefing, which is super quick to set and release after trying it once before the race. As for the little gear details, I figure it’ll be fine. I usually overdo it, so this time I’m going to scale back a little. Well, I’ll be! What a great idea! 

Between the mainsail cleat that pops out when sailing close-hauled, the spinnaker sheets that are 1 meter too short to lower the spinnaker from the cockpit, the reefing line that I hadn’t figured out how to set quickly, the backstay cover that gave out along the way, and the gear I’d meticulously stowed away but hadn’t taken the time to memorize where I’d put it—there was plenty of action!

In the end, I sailed most of the way upwind with the mainsail sheet in my hand in direct contact—it really works the muscles. No reefing, and I kept getting knocked off the helm during gusts. The boat was heeling over too much, and I couldn’t see a single starboard-side boat that I was about to collide with—a bit of a scare. The patata sheath snapped, and I found myself with 3mm of Dyneema to wrap around three fingers and pull while closing my eyes. I can’t find my red headlamp, which is stowed in the storage compartment by the companionway, so I end up using the backup one, which doesn’t have a red light and is blinding. With the sheets too short, I had to re-rig the spinnaker four or five times at night, stressed that I might have done it wrong. Then, due to a lack of practice, I wound the spinnaker around the forestay, and I saw part of my paycheck floating in the wind ahead of me… Well… If I haven’t managed to get it out by the time I reach the finish line, I’ll drop anchor with the spinnaker tangled in the forestay right after crossing the line. In any case, I’ve learned how to untangle the spinnaker from the forestay and even how to gybe in strong winds without getting the spinnaker caught in the forestay now.

In short, from a racing standpoint, it wasn't great at all, but from a sailing standpoint, it was fantastic—absolutely magnificent. We were making great progress, especially once we were under the full spinnaker in the small lake, with gusts reaching 11–12 kts.

So I’ll end up in 16th place (in the middle of the pack) and will have learned a lot from this experience.

Thank you to LUC Voile for letting me participate in this race and for supporting me.

One day to go, Friday afternoon, departure of the transport flight:

The trip from Vidy to Geneva looks like it’ll be a quick one. A steady 20-knot bise is blowing out there. Perfect conditions for a fast downwind run under spinnaker, almost in a straight line. The two of us are sailing the boat to get in one last bit of practice and prepare for the next day, with similar conditions forecast. The first gybe under spinnaker goes well despite the wind and waves. The second one, not so much. The boat ended up on its side and the spinnaker wrapped around the forestay. Luckily, there were two of us. We arrived in Geneva, feeling a little intimidated about the next day.

D-0, Saturday morning at 8 a.m., wake-up:

After a good night’s sleep on the boat, it’s time to finish getting the boat ready. Final adjustments to the rigging, one last check to make sure everything is in place, and off we go to leave the harbor. I set off under the genoa and the mainsail set high. There’s a steady 17 knots or so at the starting line, and the wind seems to be picking up the further we head into the small lake. A first warning signal sounds—10 minutes before the start. I reverse one last time to clear off any seaweed and focus. A second signal sounds, 5 minutes before the start. I position myself on the right side of the line. One final signal, and the race begins. The 108 registered boats set off toward Le Bouveret.

The start isn’t easy. There are a lot of boats all over the place, and even though we’re tacking back and forth downwind to check on the boats to starboard, it’s not always easy to see everyone. The wind picks up as expected as the fleet gets closer to Yvoire. I move the genoa cars back, trim everything as tight as I can, and adjust the angle using the car. I’m making good headway compared to the boats right next to me, and the end of the small lake is already coming into view. It’s time to make a decision. Cross over to the Swiss coast or stay relatively close to the French coast and try to slip underneath. I choose the second option, and as soon as the wind drops too much, I jibe to catch the bise. Off the coast of Évian, the bise dies down significantly, and it takes me a while to get out of it. Eventually, I find myself almost at the Swiss coast, hoping this choice will pay off later by letting me sail back down under spinnaker toward Le Bouveret. Unfortunately, the bise isn’t blowing from its usual direction, and the wind angle is too sharp. I try to hoist the spinnaker anyway, but I’m not heading anywhere near where I want to go, so I lower it quickly.

I finally arrive at Le Bouveret at the same time as Chinook, the boat that was right in front of me before it took the Swiss coast route. So, nothing gained, nothing lost. The bow of the boat is now pointing toward Geneva, and the sun is getting lower and lower. The start of the leg is too sharp to hope to hoist the spinnaker, so I stay a little above the fleet without heading off alone toward the Swiss coast, hoping to hoist it before they do and slip past them.

It’s near Sciez that I’m able to hoist the spinnaker, just before sunset so I don’t have to perform the maneuver in the dark. Everything’s going well, and I try to stay close to the wind to avoid having to gybe too much (bad memories from the day before are still fresh in my mind). I’m now gliding along at 11–12 knots toward my destination when suddenly—*SNAP*—I see the spinnaker fall in front of the boat. My first instinct is to check the halyard; it’s come out of the cleat. I manage to grab it just in time and can hoist it right back up. More of a scare than anything, in the end. No damage to the halyard, and I didn’t drag the spinnaker along the bottom. I continue on my way with a bit of caution when, after a short while, the spinnaker falls again. This time it’s dark, and as I try to hoist the spinnaker again, it swings back and forth across the boom and just barely avoids tearing. Once again, it was more of a scare than anything serious. This time, however, I clip the halyard to another cleat that was still free on the piano. No more halyard issues after that. As the time to gybe approached, I decided to play it safe. I let the spinnaker flap in the wind during the maneuver so I wouldn’t end up on the roof. The wind remained strong, and with nightfall, I found myself completely alone. Since the tracking hadn’t been working from the start, I had no idea where my competitors were. After four gybes, I began to see the lights of the marina in the distance, and that’s when the final challenge presented itself: finding the finish line. Using the nightclub on the lakefront not far from the marina as a landmark, I finally spot the finish buoy. Fatigue starts to set in, and the post-race pasta dish sends me straight to bed.

In the end, I finished in a surprising 15th place (out of 41 finishers), and I’m happy with my performance. I could have taken more risks and tried to make a move, especially under spinnaker, but I wasn’t comfortable enough in those conditions, so no regrets. Who knows, maybe next year I’ll be able to take more chances…

Thank you once again to our partners: UNIL-EPFL University Sports / City of Lausanne / Delta Network