The Défi is the dream of many windsurfers. 1200 participants, one goal: to get through in one piece! Two Bavarian hobby surfers, Andreas Dachsberger and Michael Bürger, were there and report on the race of their lives.
Another 1200 kilometres to Gruissan. With the trailer in tow, that means a 17-hour journey. My back rejoices in joyful anticipation, next to me Mike begins to snore softly. Défi Wind 2022 - why would two ordinary family men at the end of their prime do something like this to themselves?
Flashback: 32 years ago, I rode my first endurance race - the legendary Ledge to Lancelin on the west coast of Australia. The start was lousy, and the success was manageable. But if you start at the back of the slow racers, you can overtake for an hour. What fun, I was blown away. The decision was quickly made to surf the most important long-distance races at least once in my life: the One Hour on Lake Garda, the Down Wind Dash in Langebaan/South Africa, the Island Marathon on Lake Chiemsee - and the Défi Wind in Gruissan/France. Corona robbed me of the Défi opportunity for two years, but it should work out in 2022. The fun is greater when you're travelling with friends - of course. But who of my surfing mates, who don't give a damn about regattas, can be motivated?
Firstly, there's Mike from Tegernsee, 55 years old, civil engineer, married, two children, absolutely obsessed with surfing. What speaks in his favour: He's always in a good mood, ready for extra miles. What speaks against him: He can do the foil jibe! And unfortunately I can't. Then there's Mirko from Tegernsee, 51 years old, sound engineer. What speaks in his favour: He's even better than Mike. What speaks against him: He looks like Robby Naish in his prime. We're only third choice with the ladies. Then there's Jonas, 25 years old, a physics graduate. He holds the speed record on Lake Tegernsee. What speaks in his favour: super nice, can do just about anything, lets old men text him (although he would know better himself). What speaks against him: He drives me into the ground. So I go on an animation tour: "Défi is cool, I'll pay for the petrol, you have to have surfed at least once in your life, I'll organise the flat, blah, blah, blah." Jonas is the first to wave me off, he has to be texted all over at university. Then Mirko turns me down. Regatta is just too hectic for him. But Mike gives me the yes-word - hardly hesitates at all - and proposes.
Small cutlery wanted
Just two weeks after the start of registration, 800 places are already gone. The fun doesn't come cheap. An entry fee of 150 euros is due immediately. On top of this comes a French racing licence with insurance and a medical certificate confirming that you are physically fit to take part in windsurfing regattas. In total, almost 200 euros are on the clock. Mike and I set the alarm clock and are among the first to have our registration confirmed. Brilliant.
Now it's time to prepare. Physically, mentally, family-wise, professionally and in terms of equipment. We've both been surfing for 40 years. We know where to screw in the base plate. But we are light wind surfers. 17 knots is a storm on Lake Tegernsee. But the Défi only starts from 20 knots - so we can safely leave our 10-knot light wind wisps at home. Where can we get material suitable for the Défi? Mike is the first to find it. His mate Lines has everything his heart desires (including a 98 litre RRD rocket and Mach 2 sails from Severne in mini sizes). I go shopping. Idea: I call my favourite manufacturer GunSails and give them the unique opportunity to support the winner of the Défi 2022. Apparently Thorsten, who is responsible for marketing at GunSails, is trained in dealing with megalomaniacs. He is totally friendly and offers me conditions that are roughly equivalent to the Christmas discount.
Steeled bodies
Physically, we are perfectly equipped. If there is an individual classification for ageing, Bavarian beer belly carriers, we will roll up the field from behind. But is our stamina good enough for 40 kilometres of strong winds in a row? Do we want to risk not crossing the finish line until nightfall? No, this is about the honour of the Upper Bavarian mountain surfers! So it's time to tone up the old muscles. Mike can do yoga! And I'm the second chairman of the Reichersbeuern ski club. That gives me the key to the gym. A sophisticated fitness programme is designed to get our office chair arses in shape. Running and swimming sessions provide the necessary stamina. Three times a week in the gym plus additional sport is the plan. Attitude is everything - unfortunately. We kept to the planned training programme in the gym. But a month, not a week.
Road Trippin'
Far too few surfing days later, it's off to Gruissan. It's crazy what today's contenders for victory have to lug around: In total, we have six boards, eight booms, eight sails, eight masts, loads of fins, four neos, helmets, impact protection waistcoats and countless small items. Everything is stowed in my surf trailer. Food, clothes, sleeping bags and cuddly toys go into my estate car. Gruissan is a cosy little town with all the infrastructure a surfer needs. Supermarket, petrol station, restaurants, leisure park with pirate swing and water slide. There is also a castle, a harbour and countless holiday homes. A ghost town in winter, a holiday metropolis in summer. Between Gruissan and the sea are numerous ponds where salt is extracted and kiters are allowed to play. Gruissan Plage is located directly by the sea, like an outpost on the beach.
Due to the difference in pressure between the cold Pyrenees shining in the distance (there was still snow on the peaks at the time of the Défi) and the warming Mediterranean (25 degrees air during the Défi), this breath of the gods hisses from the land onto the open sea, often at over 40 knots. During the Défi, over 150 trained water rescuers are out on their jet skis and inflatable boats to get you out if need be. That's good to know, because the Algerian flag flies on the nearest shore. Because I originally didn't know whether anyone would accompany me to the Défi and I'm a bit of a cheapskate, I had booked a tiny one-bedroom flat on the outskirts of Gruissan. When Mike offered to come with me to the Défi, I stayed in the apartment - it said "for 2 people" in the brochure. It didn't say that the second person had to sleep on the floor next to the couch. Check the Windfinder! God loves us! We can check the situation thoroughly first and train for three days - if the forecast is right. And it's right, because Windfinder is always right!
Preparation is...
... half the life. Get up at 6.00 a.m. - bakery - breakfast - and off you go. The earlier you arrive, the better the parking space for your car and equipment trailer. Gruissan Plage has four large car parks - if you have to park in the last one, it's up to a ten-minute walk to the beach. It takes 20 minutes to walk if you have to turn round again - stress! The morning of the first day of the regatta is dedicated to checking in. Everyone gets the famous Défi bag with a numbered shirt (including printed first and last name!) and the responder. The organisers use this item to check that everyone has returned safely to land after each race. Checking in and out is therefore the first Défi obligation.
Before the race starts, everything about the race is explained to us on the big stage. My bald head glows helplessly in the sun. Philip Köster stands next to me and calmly explains where the toilets are. Hats off to him. Alongside the German champion, virtually the entire PWA World Cup squad has stopped off at the Défi. Guys like Jordy Vonk and Maciek Rutkowski run in front of you at every turn. Starting here is a bit like amateur skiers taking part in the Kitzbühel Hahnenkamm race and competing against Marcel Hirscher. It's madness.
The countdown is on
The countdown to the first race begins. One hour to go and Mike and I can finally show what Bavaria is all about. Of course, we've forgotten our responders on the car. Stress! Which sail to choose? Worldcupper and muscle man Taty Frans chooses a 4.7. He has no idea. My beloved wind finder clearly says that the wind will drop to 19 knots for an hour at the start. And what the windfinder says is always right! I pull my Gun GSR 6.4 out of my bag and imagine everyone crying, bobbing around with small sails, and me racing away from the field. Mike, meanwhile, goes for a pee of fear and opts for his tried-and-tested 4.5 sail.
Ten minutes to go until the start. Mike and I drag our equipment to the water. Beach start. The first gust immediately rips the rig out of my hand. Never mind - I wanted to go the other way anyway. At the start, I take it close and see the famous start boat rushing in from downwind. I cross the start line in second row. When I reappear after one of my most catapulting catapults, the wind has flung my equipment a good 20 metres downwind. Out of the corner of my eye, I see 1200 windsurfers disappear in the direction of Port-la-Nouvelle. Never mind. I'll catch you all. When the gale ruins my water start for the fourth time, I start to doubt Windfinder. No chance. In the meantime, I've drifted another 100 metres. I humbly raise my arms in surrender.
A water rescue inflatable boat immediately shoots in my direction. My rescue angels ask me to release the base plate. We are now 300 metres from the shore and the sea is getting rougher. The young Frenchman at the helm steers the boat so that his older colleague can hoist my board into the boat. I am allowed to sit next to the helm and am asked every three seconds if everything is OK. The older rescuer now pulls my rig onto the boat - or rather: he tries to. 6.4 m² at 40 knots should not be underestimated. As soon as the top of the mast is raised slightly, my intrepid lifesaver goes overboard with a perfect backloop. I want to help, but I have to keep sitting down. The helmsman asks if I'm OK. Yes - but your sailor and my rig are sinking! I have to keep sitting down. The rescuer swimming in the water is pulled into the boat by his mate. He has lost a shoe, but not his good humour.
Mike performed superbly. With his 80 slalom board and a 4.5 wave sail, he didn't get off to the best possible start, but made up hundreds of places on the course. Place 480 out of 1290 participants! The honour of the Oberland is saved. Well done! I still have to take the path of shame to the check-out. The race was won by Antoine Albeau - but the best performance was undoubtedly delivered by my saviours: thanks, guys! Mike takes pity on me and takes over the kitchen for today. 500 grams of spaghetti carbonara and a litre of red wine later, we collapse onto our cosy sofa bed.
Small rolls
The next day begins like the last one ended. It chopped along at 35 knots. Skippers meeting at 9.30 am. It's pretty hectic with a spaghetti belly and red wine head. I dutifully put on my 4.7 Gun Torro - I can't afford another total failure. Mike takes his 4.5 again. Then the start. Mike sees the start boat live up the line for the first time. I go for a swim in front of the small harbour, which I calculate is five minutes away from the start line. Total wind cover in combination with too-bad-to-fail. "Yay Andi, you're doing great!" Ten minutes and two sheet starts later, I set off in pursuit of the field. Just wait - disaster always comes from behind! But that's where it stays today. I choose the 150-metre jibe past the buoy variant. Turn round in the standing area and, after a neat water start, give a wide berth to the 150 jokers who have arranged to meet at the buoy for a mass swim.
The advantage of a bad start? You can overtake all the time.
Things are going well on the track. My equipment gives everything and helps me to keep up with the pace of the back of the field despite being overweight. If you deduct a quarter of an hour's start swim and my jibe standing times, I could have been 735th - but "hätt' i, war i, dat i" as we say in Bavaria. Mike finishes an excellent 524th and pops the corks. Out of the wetsuits, eating biscuits, drinking Coca-Cola and water like cows and snoring in the car for an hour - life can be so beautiful.
The next skippers meeting is at 14:00. Same sail size, same chance. The 4.7 pulls cleanly at 35 knots. Overtake and let overtake. I slowly work my way through the back rows. It's great fun - and in the end I improve my position to 702nd. Mike gets stuck at the start, but is again much faster than me. 434th place, the best position ever achieved by a Tegernsee resident at Défi 2022. Check out and dismantle. You can see similar expressions on everyone's faces in the paddock. Happy smiles with a hint of total exhaustion. 80 kilometres at 35 knots leave no one untouched.
Tonight we have arranged to meet Michi from Munich for dinner. He's a really fast guy who rides in the top 400. He's about our age and this is his umpteenth time at the Défi. Michi knows exactly what he wants and realises it meticulously. He got hold of the only pitch with natural grass, discussed the advantages of his boards with Patrik Diethelm and always knows exactly when, where and which party is on. He willingly introduces us to the last secrets of the Défi. We are told to avoid beer. It's better in Bavaria and far too expensive here. Instead, he recommends the local wine, of which he offers us a whole lot. Wine to quench our thirst - a great idea that I will still remember the next morning. But what sets Michi apart from all the other Défi participants in my eyes: He is the only starter who starts the race with a Rolex instead of a regatta watch. With a real one! All respect.
The next morning is no time for rest. Another blue sky, another 25 degrees and another wind that blows sand into our eyes. My French neighbour says that the wind is still strong today, but not quite as strong. I don't really care what the wind finder says. I grab the 6.4 Gun GSR. Attack! Mike shakes his head pityingly and takes his 4.5 again. As always, the start is a disaster. After an extensive body wash before the harbour, I look after the field once again and set off on the chase in a subdued mood. And that's when it happens! The wind collapses! Maybe 18 knots - that's what they call a lull in Gruissan! Half the field stops planing. I whip off. For the first time in my life. I'm planing and the others are standing still. Geeeiiiil.
In the second half of the first beat, the Tramontana reconsiders - and the lull is over. 30 knots. But I'm between 100th and 200th place at the first buoy - what a feeling. Heading back to Gruissan. Wow - the top of my sail twists away the hammer gusts and my board flies over the small waves with a wild staccato. Tak, tak, tak, tak. My whole body vibrates. So much so that it knocks my contact lens out! Bloody hell. I have a decrepit 4.5 dioptres and now have to rely more on my ears than my eyes - in the midst of a horde of wild adrenaline surfers thundering across the water at 60 kilometres an hour. Not pleasant. But somehow I manage to hold my position and initiate the next jibe.
Tak, tak, tak, tak. My whole body vibrates. So much that it knocks my contact lens out!
Bang - the pulley of the trim system breaks on the outhaul with a loud bang. Normally I hold back on criticising the material. I learnt that in my youth regatta days. I spend fifteen minutes swearing and diving, unthreading the outhaul rope and tying it somehow so that the rig can survive the next 20 kilometres. It does, but the top spot is gone. After crossing the finish line, I want to cry - or send a letter bomb to the manufacturer of the reel. But on the way to the shore, I realise that it doesn't really matter which position I finish in. The feeling of having flown past hundreds of racers in 30 knots, sunshine and turquoise water can never be taken away, regardless of whether I finish 200th or 800th. Mike is faster than me again - the title of fastest man from Tegernsee 2022 is as good as in his pocket.
A votre santé!
I actually swore I'd never look at the wind finder again - but the forecast for the last day is so clear that we're confident we won't have to race again. Party today, sleep in tomorrow! We had skipped the parties so far for fitness reasons. We were lying on the mat with cramps while the paddock was buzzing. Today has to be different. We leave the car at home in anticipation of an evening full of fun. Rock music, a great atmosphere and plenty of beer - Bavarian hearts, what more could you want? And they're all there: Ben Proffitt, Ben Severne, Maciek Rutkowski... Excuse me, may I have an autograph for my grandma? Her name is Helga, just kidding!
We get out of bed two hours after the scheduled skippers' meeting on Sunday and hand in our responders around midday. Incidentally, the Défi Wind 2022 was won by Nicolas Goyard, the miracle foiler. I think he sealed the fin's demise in racing with this victory. Speedkini winner Andy Laufer finished a magnificent 37th. Michi, the Rolex Rider, is a fantastic 426. Mike, the cannon from Tegernsee, a much-acclaimed 533rd, and I have to admit to my wife that I'm the slowest 718 I know. Anyway, it was the race of my life!
Text: Andreas Dachsberger
