In the air, there is already a hint of the smell of land. There are gulls, venturing out to sea, the flickering lights of fleets of fishing boats from Spain. Yesterday there were the cargo vessels in the shipping lane off Cape Finisterre on their way up past Ushant.
The dawn of the final day. Your final moments alone with your boat, a demanding companion, who has been the focus of attention and with whom you have shared all these experiences at sea. She has taken you around the world: a capsule, which enabled you to see some faraway places. The first boat approaches. They must have set out early from les Sables, in spite of the waves and sea conditions and seasickness. You wave, shout to each other a few polite words. Then there is silence. Respectful silence from all those aboard, who are staring at you and can finally see for themselves what they imagined from your words, and photos and your trace on the charts.
You don’t feel like talking yet. It will take time to get out of this cocoon of solitude. So many things to say and so many others that cannot be explained. You watch each other like spectators, unable to grasp what is happening. They keep watching and appear worried wanting to know whether this extraordinary experience has changed you. Other boats draw near. More greetings. Yes, all is well. I’m back with you. Just leave me the time to step ashore. The coast appears out of the mist. You had a picture on your mind for three months and now the voyage is coming to an end. Soon, the boat will be stationary like an inert object. The sound of the water will be replaced by the sounds found ashore. From being a sea creature, you once again return to being a land creature.
Over the final miles, you re-experience three months at sea, as if there was on one side an open infinite space and on the other the confined conditions on land. A film shown again with flashback imagery. The albatross a few days after Cape Horn. Intuitively, you knew it would be the last. He accompanied you northwards towards warmer climes. One morning he circled around the mast and you just knew he was about to go. You waved as if saying farewell to that world. A wild world, where you discovered yourself and the difficulties and need to surpass yourself day after day and week after week. A timeless moment where you were at one with this life alone that you had willingly chosen. Out there you did everything for yourself with the unique goal of reaching Cape Horn, the Everest of the voyage. So those giant wings stopping it from walking were like yours. You won your challenge. You can be proud, pleased, and confident and move on to other dreams.
Now you need to learn how to walk again and leave behind this world of being alone and doing everything by yourself. It’s not easy. Some were never able to take this on. Bernard Moitessier preferred to continue his long route from Cape Horn to Tahiti without turning left back up to Europe and modern civilisation. Others retired to a life on the seas like Jon Sanders, who went around alone three times in a row, spending almost 420 days at sea.
Getting back to land means moving away from what you were used to at sea. Alone, you organised your life, as you wished. Now as part of a society, you have to fit back in. You have to learn to sleep at night. Maybe a short nap at the weekend or during the holidays. But the one and a half hour sleeps whenever you want are over. That way of sleeping in cycles was quite practical. A few warning yawns, the need to rub your eyes and the time has come. Sleep. Now. You lie down. You glide slowly into a deep sleep like a diver plunging into the sea. A ten minute break from the depth of your sleep, just enough time to recover from your physical tiredness. Then, it’s the climb back into consciousness, stopping at stages. Here the stage is the dream phase or paradoxal sleep. You dream of winning or of something else. Indeed, in your sub conscious, anything is possible, the best and the worst, without you even knowing about it. It’s a way of eliminating stress and « defragmenting » your brain. You keep what is important and throw the rest away. Then, it’s time to wake up. You don’t feel like you have really slept, but you have recovered.
These request stops are now behind you and it’s back to stress and unusual conditions. But this is the way we survived before. Imagine thousands of years ago. Back in the cave. Danger. Attacks by animals or the enemies. Permanent stress. Not more than 1.5 h of sleep and shutting off everything was the rule for survival. Shorter sleeps and you were too tired. Longer sleeps and you risked being killed. This structure remains within us and we can call on it when necessary.
So during the Vendée Globe, you find this habit again and when the stress is too much, you use a concentrated version. A dive into the depths of sleep. Weighed down by tiredness you easily succumb. Ten minutes of deep sleep to recover before shooting back up to the surface again. No time now for dreaming and memories. In a quarter of an hour, it is all over. There is nothing exceptional about sleeping so little. You just need to be tired or stressed. It’s what happens when you pull over to the side of the road and feel like drifting off. A quick snooze that rarely lasts more than one cycle.
Going back to the roots is so easy and useful at sea, but you will pay the price back on land. It will take you time to get the clocks straight and to sleep for four or five cycles in a row without waking each time. It may take days or weeks. The return to civilisation and the ability to get back to the rhythm imposed on you by daily living takes some time.
Dr Jean-Yves Chauve