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While Escoffier and le Cam are joking with President Emmanuel Macron via video link as if they’re on a father-and-son trip off the coast of Brittany, the man from Hamburg is reporting in an interview: “That was close! I don’t think Kevin has realised yet just how lucky he was. He was practically as good as dead when he climbed into his life raft.”

In the Southern Ocean, Herrmann is suffering more and more in the rough swell, the strong, squalling wind, and under the limitations of his boat. “Gritting my teeth when the boat crashes into crossed seas. The nosedive after the surf at 27 knots.” The feeling is “like being in free fall.”

He is torn between his sporting goals and the maxim of just finishing in one piece. “One moment caution has the upper hand, and five minutes later the desire not to lose a single mile.”

An unimaginable inner struggle being played out far from civilisation. And only a third of the race has run.

Boris Herrmann reports that right from the start he never really got into a flow, as he now reflects on his experiences in the living room of the old holiday home in Longeville-sur-Mer. First the storms in the North Atlantic, then a technical problem in the St. Helena High when he had to climb the mast, then Kevin Escoffier’s accident – “there was always something.”

After Cape Horn and a series of smaller accidents, any one of which could have meant the end of his race, he takes stock dejectedly. He was caught in a negative spiral, he reckons. Having fallen to 11th place, he seems exhausted, his voice is husky. Another emotional low that he’s sharing with the world.

Some observers are beginning to suspect that he lacks the toughness, the unbending will. This is how he describes himself after the finish: “I’m not a rock-solid type like Thomas Ruyant, who simply never has any doubts,” says Boris Herrmann.

But this is far too self-critical. This son of Oldenburg is well able give his all to get something done. He has vast experience, more than most of his competitors. He never gives up. And the thing that he’s unaware of when he’s alone on board in the raw, bare cockpit of his boat, not unlike a space capsule: other skippers who conceal their doubts and periods of vulnerability from the world are no less exhausted before the return leg in the Atlantic. Many of them keep secret the damage to their boats until the finish, only sending videos containing no hints of technical problems, in which they demonstrate how strong they are.

However, the reality is that the Antarctic Ocean is hard on everybody. The ultimate winner, Yannick Bestaven, in a daring move off Cape Horn loses his pulpit and damages his foresail furling almost beyond repair. Jean le Cam, the old hand with five races under his belt, is struggling with serious structural damage to the bow area of his boat. He has to saw off parts of his ballast tank to have enough material for the repairs. At the finish, he admits: “I’ve been in many difficult situations, but this time it was unbearable. It’s practically a miracle that I’m here today. It’s unbelievable. This Vendée Globe was truly sick.”

Initially recognised only by a few as a strength of the German Vendée novice, his prudence and foresight are ultimately revealed to be Boris Herrmann’s trump on the way back in the South Atlantic.

He conserved his Seaexplorer – Yacht Club de Monaco throughout the race up to now, maintaining her capability at 100 per cent. Now is the moment to attack from the rear of the leading group, and he can do it.

His caution in the Southern Ocean suddenly no longer seems fearful, but rather far-sighted, clever, consistent. It may be that he was lucky that on two occasions, in the Pacific and off the coast of Brazil, favourable weather conditions enabled him to rejoin the leaders. But luck is also a part of this race.

And so, from the latitude of Récife onwards he’s actually in the running for victory, logging the highest day’s run multiple times in the south-east trade wind, and on 15 January, when his time credit for the rescue of Kevin Escoffier is deducted, he becomes the virtual leader for the first time. A sensation in slow motion, as there are still a good 3,500 sea miles before his bow – an entire Transat Jacques Vabre race, only in reverse.

A KIND OF HOME RUN

“Like most sailors, I’m superstitious. I don’t talk about winning,” he says, playing it down. But others are not so reserved: Jérémie Beyou, the foundered favourite struggling in the middle of the field, sees him as a promising candidate for the win; also Yannick Bestaven, who long held the lead.

And the world looks on. Every day, Boris Herrmann features more prominently in the media. Frankfurter Allgemeine, Tagesspiegel, Süddeutsche, Bild – everywhere reports are popping up about this curious, gruelling regatta. Even Le Figaro has him, the non-Frenchman, on its cover. And in the organisers’ daily Vendée live feeds on YouTube, the German, who speaks French and English fluently, has become a popular regular guest. The man from Hamburg joins the local heroes with the highest viewing figures.

Now it pays off that from the very start he has been sending long, authentic videos from on board every day, and that he grants every interview request. His team manager, Holly Cova, a tirelessly cheerful lawyer whose iPhone is permanently connected to a power bank that could start a small car because of the enormous pressure of demand, orchestrates the constantly growing media hullabaloo from Hamburg. She expertly schedules for her skipper, whom everyone wants to see now, the video conferences with sponsors, journalists and climate researchers. While others increasingly isolate themselves in the final stretch of the Vendée Globe, four days before the finish Boris Herrmann is chatting on Zoom with 7,200 fans.

At one point he’s asked whether this isn’t draining his energy unnecessarily. “I sometimes experience loneliness,” he explains. So it’s good to talk with other people. During the race, “a lot of stress and pressure and internal distress builds up. To get rid of this, talking to a camera can help. For me the camera is like a friend that I’m telling things to.” If this were an obligation, where he would be trying to look good all the time, he wouldn’t do it. His approach is completely different. “I don’t think about how I am perceived. I just start talking.”