An inaugural rally that blends pumpfoiling and a good ol’ fashioned roadtrip, connecting some of Switzerland’s most picturesque alpine lakes, surrounded by lush forestry is – by pretty much any measure – a weekend well spent. So heads up to all the bakeries in the region – there’s every chance that this won’t be the last.
Words: Steeve Fleury
On the last weekend of August, a team of ten fearless pumpfoilers met up in the rain on a Saturday morning, 900 metres above sea level, for the very first Foilhumence – a rally that mixes pumping and road-tripping to celebrate the start of the winter season, discover new spots, and, above all, share good times between some very passionate riders.
The sky darkened as the weekend approached, and the wind had blown hard the day before. Everyone had made the most of an unforgettable Friday on Lake Geneva – downwind pump, downwind SUP, wing – and after that, everyone was feeling relaxed.
The mist and Breton-style drizzle gave the Jura Mountains a mysterious atmosphere. After half an hour driving between the pines, we reached the first spot: Lac Saint-Point. It took courage to pull on a 3/2 after long months in boardshorts, and setting up your foil in the rain is always a double-edged sword – either you’re stoked or you’re suffering. As for the pontoon… well, let’s just say it was a low one, with slippery boards and a few bits of metal to keep an eye on.
A few minutes later, facing a flat stretch of water reflecting the clouds above, we heard the first “plif, plat, plouf”. Whaoooo! Some were flying quickly while others took a little longer to find their balance. On paper, the spot looked good, but we hadn’t counted on the aquatic plants – and they’re not light around here. Some even claimed they were spiky. After more than an hour of flying, the café terrace finally announced that its tables were dry and it was time for coffee. Everyone was relieved to have finished the session, but no one would call it unforgettable.
The organizers chimed in: “Hey guys, if we want to stay on schedule, we need to get moving.” Jérôme had found the only bakery around, so those who needed to stock up had their moment.
The convoy set off again, winding through breathtaking landscapes, lit up here and there by rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds and lighting the faces behind the wheels. At the bend of a village, two ski jumps came into view – and competitors mid-flight in the European Summer Nordic Combined Championships. “In summer? Really?” It was surreal, but fascinating. We would all have loved to stop and watch, but time was tight – this was, after all, a stage rally, and we had a schedule to keep.
We entered an open valley running along a cliff marking the border between Switzerland and France – a place where, during the Second World War, some risked their lives disguised as smugglers to exchange information and save others.
In the middle of the valley lay two lakes, Lac des Mortes and Bellfontaine. According to Jérôme – the only one who actually lives in this region, and who has built winches to make the most of these shallow stretches of water where there’s often no dock to start from – neither lake had ever seen a foil before. Perfect.
Except that, as we discovered, the site had just been designated a Natura 2000 reserve, and navigation was strictly forbidden. We took a look – it was magnificent – but after thinking it over, we decided that nature deserved the respect it had been allocated. So we happily enjoyed our sandwiches in a gravel car park, sheltered from the rain, under our open tailgates. Some started a long-distance pétanque match to entertain the group, and the laughter kept coming.
“Alright, enough hanging around – let’s go check out the last lake of the day, where we can foil till we drop. It’s our friend from the Jura’s home spot!” The road climbed, twisted, descended, turned again, and climbed once more through the pines. It was beautiful. Then we followed our guide down a small track that ran along the lake, about ten meters above the water. Suddenly, below us, two fallen pines and a tiny platform marked the target for this stage of the trip.
My phone started vibrating. It was “Nelson and Montfort” – nicknames borrowed from a famous French sports commentator, and perfect for two riders who never stopped commenting – who had gotten lost buying sparkling water. Reading a map being far too much effort, they preferred to go modern and share their GPS location. Apparently, their Friday night had been a long one.
The sun broke through, and the first riders decided to SUP foil while we set up two winches. The platform was beautifully simple: a chopped pine trunk, a V-shaped base, and four screws – but it turned out to be one of the coolest we’ve ever foiled from. One by one, the pumpers took turns while others flew by on their SUPs. The twin winches, linked for more power, launched strapped riders high into the air.
What an atmosphere there was in this valley bordered by conifers – a true little corner of paradise. The water came alive as everyone tried to give their best, pushing their limits to make the moment count.
A few clicks of the camera later, and a few hours gone, we were full of joy. That evening, the restaurant was waiting for us. A proper French dinner – amuse-bouche, starter, main, dessert, coffee – before setting up camp for the night. Some still had to find a roof, or rather a van roof, to crawl under. Others wrestled with the modern tech of their electric vans that opened, closed, and lit up on their own. In the end, everyone drifted off to sleep with foil-filled dreams.
💎 Premium Content Ahead! 💎 *You will receive our weekly Friday Pump newsletter, plus the latest features, gear tests and giveaway announcements. Easy, like Sunday morning The sun had barely risen when we climbed out of our four-wheeled night boxes. In less time than it takes to fold down a van roof, the road was calling again. A few toothbrush strokes later, we turned the keys, ready to roll and glide over the Sunday morning tarmac. Some had headed home the night before, but for the rest, the adventure continued. We followed a winding road with gently cambered bends through an immense forest. The rally spirit took hold, and I couldn’t resist accelerating, grinning as I overtook a few slower vans with swaying loads. At the exit of a sharp hairpin, we saw the shimmering surface that would host our next session. After a quick stop at the village bakery, we reached a parking area with a beach – complete with lifeguard, pontoon, and pedal boat rentals. Apparently, there were local pumpers here. In no time, we set up the gear, installed the winches, and headed for the rental pontoon. We met three locals and started riding. The pontoon was really low, so everyone had to adjust their technique, but soon all were managing their starts, and the show began – much to the delight of the walkers along the turquoise waters of Lac de Clairvaux. The sun was shining, and comments flew across the lake and shoreline: “Look, Dad!”, “Hey Mum, did you see that?”, “Go on, show off!”, “Wow, look at the height he’s getting with that winch!”. It was pure joy to see skilled pumpers putting on a show. Everyone was grinning, relaxed, and having fun without worrying about performance. We were running late but still took the time for a mint tea with Moroccan pastries on the bistro terrace, warmly greeting the locals who were finally getting in the water. “Respect, guys,” someone said. “It’s always inspiring to see people my parents’ age taking on the challenge of pumping.” The Final Stage “Gentlemen, restart your engines – we’re heading to Lac des Rousses for the last stage!” The funny thing is, the lake is only about 30km from our home spot, but no one had ever been there. On the road, I found myself thinking about what this rally had meant – the joy it brought, the encounters, the shared moments, and the beauty of this weekend. The freedom to foil without pressure, without overthinking, without theories about stab angles or flight optimization… just simple happiness. My legs were tired, and suddenly, there it was – the last lake. The final pontoon was another challenge: weeds to the left, ropes to the right, and a body that was saying, “Come on, can we go home yet?” One last push, and we were flying again – between an inflatable boat, a pedalo, and a sailboat. After about ten flights, we came down from our foils, hugged, and agreed that it had been a truly special moment – suspended in time. Horns honked as we parted ways, each heading home with a head full of memories, a little stronger from the experience, and with new appreciation for every kind of start – high, low, and everything in between.
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