The regatta was cancelled before it started. What Jannes Llull made of it: a spontaneous 1,000 nautical mile qualification for the Mini Transat. He wrote down his experiences for YACHT. They deal with hacking waves behind Cap Corse, an electrical problem that had him tearing his hair out and valuable insights that brought the newcomer closer to his big goal of the Mini Transat 2027.
1000 nautical mile qualifier instead of first solo regatta
"It was actually supposed to be my first solo regatta. Instead, I was on the Flixbus to Genoa when the rumour started doing the rounds: the regatta had been cancelled. The organisers had forgotten to organise trackers. Ten boats that had travelled from all over Europe were in Genoa for a regatta that wasn't going to take place.
Instead of starting the return journey, I took advantage of the situation. The time was kept free, the boat was in Genoa, and the 1000 nautical mile qualification for the Mini Transat is flexible in terms of time. So I applied for my own route with the Classe Mini at short notice. Start in Genoa, finish in Sanary-sur-Mer and receive confirmation on the same day as I set off. Just in time, as always.
The boat was fully loaded. I had actually packed for a regatta, with everything that was supposed to stay on land still on board. Running gear, a spare GPS that hadn't yet been installed, stuff in every corner. Never sailed so heavy before. But off we go.
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From doldrums to chopping waves
The first three days go well. A lot of calm, but the atmosphere on board is relaxed. I have eggs, a bucket of fruit and plenty of snacks. You could call it luxury food for a mini 6.50. The route leads down the Italian coast, over to the Corsican coast, then up to Cap Corse and then the first real test begins.
The forecast had predicted 20 to 25 knots. What greeted me behind the cape was 25 knots with gusts of up to 35, plus a current running against the wind. The result: a wave, short and steep, over two metres high, a choppy wave like I've never seen before. Anything but fun on the cross.
When the electrics go on strike
In addition, a USB cable gets wet in the boat. Nothing charges any more. No barometer, no headlamps, no mobile phone, no laptop, no weather report - with 850 nautical miles to go. I turn round. Behind the cape is a small anchorage, sheltered, at least on the chart. In reality, the sandy bottom is full of algae and it takes ages for the anchor to hold.
Two o'clock in the morning, four hours' sleep, then I try to repair the cable. What I don't realise straight away is that I'm using the wrong spray can. Instead of contact spray, Teflon spray ends up on all the plugs. Two days later, I notice the white film over everything. Both cans are white, both look similar.
You only do it wrong once.
This applies to the qualification for the Mini-Transat 2027
- If you want to take part in the Mini Transat in 2027, you have to sail 1,000 nautical miles solo non-stop.
- In addition, 1,500 nautical miles must be demonstrated in mini regattas.
- The qualification must take place in the same mini with which the Transat is sailed.
- It is already official for the 2027 edition: the Mini Transat will run from La Rochelle to Salvador de Bahia.
"Harder to digest than the wind"
I'm at anchor for 20 hours. Mentally, I'm at the end. In hindsight, the station seems almost ridiculous, but to be honest, I was on the verge of just driving into the harbour. The harbour was right in front of me, the jetty within my grasp. I had missed the weather window I had picked out for the crossing to Mallorca. The routings jumped from nine days to fourteen or fifteen. That was harder to digest than the wind.
At some point, the cable is halfway working again. I plug everything in, charge the important devices and drive on. I use my mobile phone as sparingly as possible, briefly switch it on, load the weather report and switch it off again. The nights are bright enough to do without the headlamp.
More about Jannes Llull and his Mini Transat project you will find here.
What follows are two days of calm in the open sea, somewhere off Corsica. 0.7 knots of wind. 60 nautical miles in two days. Not a single boat far and wide, no container ship, no fisherman, nothing. But dolphins. I try to accept that. Eventually I succeed. When it arrives, I start tidying up the boat: I patch a small hole in the jib, foil parts of the cockpit, repair the spinnaker. One day I just work because there's something to do and I can't do anything else.
The miles tumble with the wind
As soon as I reach the height of Sardinia, the wind comes up. At last. Ten, then fifteen knots, 36 hours of spinnaker and suddenly the world is a different place. Tuna. Barracudas. A kind of swordfish jumping out of the water next to the bow. Turtles. Shortly before reaching Mallorca, I even dive under the boat to retrieve a metal spoon that had become wedged in the keel box and was vibrating against my keel the whole time. In the middle of the sea, in the clear blue void, under my own boat. A strange, beautiful experience.
Off the Spanish coast, shortly after sunset, spinnaker set, ten knots of wind, a fountain of water in front of the sun. Fin whales. That was a real moment. And then I accidentally sail onto a beach in 5 knots of wind on the cross. I fell asleep, didn't hear the alarm clock, the boat turns automatically thanks to the keel being keeled and I'm off again. Land in front of me, sea behind me, next to me an elderly gentleman who calmly continues his swim. Some moments can't be planned.
Mental hurdles and important lessons learnt
The last 100 nautical miles are tough again. The weather forecast changes overnight, the expected westerly wind doesn't materialise. Instead: two hours of wind from one direction, then calm, then wind from the other direction. All sails are used at some point: genack, spinnaker, storm spinnaker, only main and jib. I arrive in Sanary on the morning of 29 May. 14 days, 3.7 knots average speed, 1170 nautical miles. Qualifier passed.
What remains? Above all: you have to learn to let go of routines. Don't ignore the weather forecast, but stop linking your mood to it. When the countdown jumps from nine to fourteen days and you ask yourself every evening "when will I finally get there", that's the most exhausting thing, not the doldrums themselves.
And the most relaxing part was the time without reception. Five days between Corsica and Minorca, two and a half between Mallorca and Spain were the calmest parts of the whole passage. You just sail.
The weather will be what it will be. You can no longer recalculate it.
The Mini Transat will be fifteen to twenty days in the Atlantic, without weather service, without internet. The qualifying was the best preparation for it without planning it that way, not because the conditions were the same or there was a lot of wind, but because it was mentally demanding.
