The following is reprinted from
the Hobie Hotline (The HobieCat magazine, no
longer issued) May/June 1987
Editor's Note. The HOTLINE is printing
the following story for two reasons. First, it
is a remarkable adventure, one
of the most incredible journeys ever attempted on a
Hobie Cat and we would be remiss
by not including it. We hope you enjoy it and thrill
with the sailors and their amazing
achievement, a milestone in ocean crossings.
Secondly, it is also a warning.
Hobie Cat and the HOTLINE do not endorse offshore
Hobie sailing. Hobie Cats were
made to sail within sight of land whether in the ocean
or on a lake. Some specially controlled
events such as the Hog's Breath 1000 include
offshore sailing, but the safety
measures are extraordinary. Tony Laurent, profiled in
the January/February 1987 issue,
is one of the most experienced Hobie sailors in the
world. Daniel Pradel is a seasoned
French sailor and veteran of many races, including a
lot of Hobie sailing experience.
The two men thought they were prepared. We hope
others who may be planning such
adventures take note.
By Noelle Duck
_________________________________________________________
Both passionate sailors had already gathered in victories and
trophies. But they
dreamed of the impossible: traversing the Atlantic Ocean from Dakar,
Senegal on
Africa’s west coast, to Pointe a Pitre, Guadeloupe, part of the French
Antilles in the
Caribbean. An Atlantic crossing is always a touch and go affair in
a sailboat, but Tony
Laurent and Daniel Pradel were going to try the journey on a Hobie
18 Magnum. They
left Dakar on November 12, 1986 at 8:30 in the morning. On a peaceful,
windy Sunday
18 days later, a local sailor, Mr. Guegen, was doing some chores on
his boat in the
Basse Terre Marina on Guadeloupe when he spotted two exhausted sailors
gliding into
port. The impending arrival of the team had been announced by French
Overseas
Radio, so Guegen knew who the two were.
"You want some help?" he asked with concern.
''We’re bloody hungry." was the weak reply
With that exchange, the two sailors had completed what many thought
to be
impossible. They had traversed the Atlantic on an open, 18-foot catamaran.
But the
price they paid was great. Laurent and Pradel had often thought about
crossing the
Atlantic on a Hobie Cat separately Then, one July night, Laurent told
Pradel he had a
"crazy project" to talk about. Pradel replied that he, too, had been
thinking of
something crazy After deciding who was to speak first, only two words
were said:
"Atlantic Ocean." They decided on late autumn and chose the course
from Senegal to
the French West Indies, a route that had the reputation of being "easy,"
a route
American slave ships travelled in the 17th and 18th centuries because
fresh trade winds
and calm waters made the going fast and uneventful. "Once you have
passed the Cape
Verde Islands, you'll see that the sea becomes peaceful and that it
will rock you to your
destination," said their friends. By the time Pradel and Laurent were
making final
preparations on their boat, which rested on the beach of N'Gor at Dakar,
they were
dreaming of the sweet regularity of the trades, still mild at this
time of year, that were
to push them all the way to Guadeloupe.
On the beach at the Meridien Hotel of N'Gor, the Fujicolor as
the boat had been
christened in honor of the trek's chief sponsor, had become a major
attraction. The
crossbars had been set, the wings had been placed and the double-layer
trampoline,
which would sandwich the bag of plastic-coated maps, was stretched
between the
hulls. They raised the mast, fixed the shrouds and backstays and tied
the ARGOS
beacon, an emergency locator, to the back of the trampoline. They fixed
an inflatable
mattress across the boat along with a plastic sheet to be used for
the protection of the
sailor at rest. As they readied themselves, tourists snapped photos
and asked dozens of
questions. Most centred on the Seagold desalinator the pair had bought
from Pierre
Fehlmann, the winner on uncorrected time, of the last Around the World
race. They
explained that the machine could produce six liters of fresh water
in only one hour by
pumping sea water through it.
At 8:30 on the morning of November 12, Laurent and Pradel arrived
at their boat and
were greeted by the staff and guests of the Meridien. They stuffed
their water tight
bags with food and placed them in the hulls. The food included a high-energy
mix of
cereals, dry fruit, cream and honey; bags of a protein drink; some
cheese, a Morroccan
rice dish called couscous, a little bread, butter and even some
red wine. The sextant,
the two VHF radios in plastic cases, the cigarettes and lighters and
other equipment
were placed in another bag and attached to the trampoline opposite
the inflatable
mattress. Laurent and Pradel donned their equipment slowly and quietly
to the sound
of the beating waves. Polar underwear, dry suits with neoprene necks,
ankles and
wrists, were soon snug. Next, they slipped into their trapeze harnesses,
life vests and
neoprene boots and their sunglasses and gloves. Pradel asked for someone
to help
carry the boat to the water and 20 people volunteered, lifting the
cat on their shoulders
and walking down the beach in a slow procession. Just when the hulls
touched the
water, a fishing boat began to leave. It would show them the way through
the reef. The
team waved a rapid au revoir and jumped aboard. Laurent took the tiller;
Pradel
sheeted in. They were gone.
"The third night passed the Cape Verde Islands," relates Laurent,
"we realized that
our project was going to be much more difficult than we had thought.
I began to
understand that it would be torture, but it was impossible to go back.
The sea was
incredibly strong and there was no chance of returning. But then, we
had never even
thought about abandoning. When we left the beach at N'Gor, the sea
immediately
became very strong. We met strong winds, high, but negotiable waves
and heavy
swells caused by the north wind. During the first night, the waves
came from all
directions. Steering was difficult. The night was so black that we
could not see the
bows three meters in front of us. A lot of concentration was required
to feel from
where the next weird wave would arrive. We saw a cargo ship far away
and I directed
the beam of my flashlight onto the sail. This was the only boat
we were to see during
the entire passage. Aside from that ship we saw an old drifting can;
that's it.
"We tried everything to sleep," says Laurent. "We changed the
position of the
mattress so that we could put our heads under the shelter. Impossible.
After three
nights we were so fatigued that we fell asleep in spite of everything
but we were at the
extreme limit of exhaustion. Each time a wave came over, the one at
rest was drowned
under a meter of water. This lasted several seconds. At the end of
the first week, we
got upright without really waking up and held onto the shrouds, searching
for air. Even
between the waves, we had the feeling of being in a drum with people
beating on it.
The heavily loaded trampoline was so near to the water surface that
the sea was
beating from above and below with incredible power. Meanwhile, followers
in France
and in Guadeloupe followed the progress of the boat by tracking the
ARGOS signal
sent out by the team's beacon. Supporters estimated their speed at
seven knots, slow
for il the Hobiel8 and two seasoned sailors. What they discovered
was that a week of
heavy storm activity in the North Atlantic was driving large swells
into the small
catamaran nearly 2,000 miles away. "in waves that never seemed to end,
we passed a
sort of tropical tornado," says Laurent. "it was a black cloud like
ink above a white
column that rose above the sea. When night came, I asked Daniel not
to sleep. The
first wave ran toward us, and I've never seen a bigger one. It had
to have been more
than ten meters. The wind increased to 60 knots and we hauled
down all the sails.
Despite that, the boat was surfing like crazy. I couldn't control it
anymore. When we
saw this, we just said 'Looks like this will be the toughest night.'
"During the storm a
wave struck and I got up but was still under water. In fact, the whole
boat was under
two meters of water for about ten seconds. When I emerged, I
shouted at Daniel but
got nothing. I thought he was swept away! But the noise ,, was so intense
that even
though he was I just a few feet away from me, he couldn't hear. Even
he, on top of the
Magnum I wings, had a hard time keeping his head above water. After
that, when it
would happen again, our only check was OK?' and when the other replied
OK,' one
could go back to sleep. The next day, there was no wind at all, but
the waves were still
there. In the morning I could not wake Daniel. He was dreaming of having
break fast
on the terrace of a bistro at Toulon.
Two Hundred Pumps for One Glass of Water
We talked a lot about food," continues Laurent. "We were always hungry.
Then we
discovered another problem: thirst. Pumping the desalinator took superhuman
efforts.
On the beach at N'Gor, we described to our fans what the Seagold could
do. While it
was true that the water was good, Daniel had to pump 200 times to squeeze
the
equivalent of one glass of water out of it. Each time, we had to take
the daggerboard
out of the windward hull, install the filter in the daggerboard case,
put the outlet tube
into the mouth of the one to drink, then start pumping. We had two
glasses of water
per day, one in the morning and one in the evening and that amounted
to 800 pump
strokes. On top of that we had to use fresh water to dissolve the Substi
500, a highly
enriched protein powder. We had five bags a day of that. "Daniel pumped
for the
whole passage. I tried it once but it was too tough for me and I told
him I was going to
give up drinking. He waited several hours. I gritted my teeth and he
finally went on
passing me the tube."
But while Pradel was left to do most of the water pumping, Laurent
tackled the tough
job of driving the boat. "We were always in danger of capsizing even
when we reefed
the main and rolled the jib," says Pradel. "That would have been a
catastrophe; our
boat was overloaded with 100 kilos of tools, equipment, food and instruments.
Even
without the load we had some difficulties in our righting tests in
the smooth waters of
the Bay of Hyeres in France. There were a couple of times in the 9
Atlantic when we
both thought "This is the end."
Laurent agrees that the sea had become their enemy. "From the
beginning, we
encountered only a stormy, disordered sea that pushed the boat in all
directions. The
noise was very loud and the absence of any rhythm prevented us from
getting
accustomed to it. The nights were the toughest moments. When I saw
twilight arrive at
about six, it was like a nightmare repeating itself. I was not keen
to go through what I
did the night before. Daniel, who needs 12 hours of sleep a day on
land, whereas I
need very few, was better off during the nights. We learned a lot from
each other.
Because of our spirit for survival, we never lost hope. When I saw
Daniel looking wild
after he missed an object, could not co-ordinate his movements, did
not understand
what I was telling him, or when he had problems moving on the trampoline,
I reduced
the speed of the boat and waited for him to come back to reality. 'At
the beginning we
were both sea sick. He was a little worse off than me; I had a fixed
scopoderm behind
my ear-a gadget that proved pretty effective. Daniel let me steer and
that reduced the
sickness since I had to concentrate on things other than the nausea.
He stayed on the
trampoline operating the desalinator, preparing the meals, controlling
the sails. He took
care of me. I tried to do the same for him, so I steered hours and
hours as best I
could."
Food also presented unexpected problems for the pair. According
to Laurent, both
men were reluctant to eat the food concentrates from the tubes and
the slabs of high
energy cereal mix. Still, says Laurent, ‘After four days on the water,
our revulsion
against the food out of the tubes was gone, but it was dangerous preparing
it. We first
had to find the pliers in the bag attached to the trampoline. When
we opened the bag,
the waves flooded it with water. When we closed it again, we had to
open the hull
covers - between waves and had to find the food. Then we had to close
the hulls, put
the pliers back and finally pump the water for the Substi 500. We had
three flavors:
coffee, vegetable and vanilla. We never had enough water, so the drinks
were always
too strong and made us nauseous, although the vanilla flavor wasn't
too bad. If you
had the chance to grab one, the feast began. "Even dissolving the food
was a problem.
We had shakers with us with screw-on covers and we had glued straps
to them, but
they were torn off despite the reputation of the glue we had used.
I lost one after the
other, washed away by the waves while we ate and when we lost the last
one, it was a
catastrophe. Fortunately, Daniel had a stroke of genius. We took the
case of a
flashlight (which was supposedly waterproof but failed anyway) and
poured the
powder and water into that. We stirred with our fingers and ate. After
a few minutes,
we could actually feel the energy circulating through our bodies."
But this renewed
energy wasn't enough. In fact, the two were only taking in about 500
calories a day.
Malnutrition, exhaustion and constant submersion in salt water all
worked against
them. Every time a small cut, scrape or abrasion scarred their skin,
salt water was able
to enter. Soon it was infected. The constant exposure to salt water
led to ulcers on
ankles, feet and hands that also became infected. "Physically,
our biggest problem was
the fact that we were just always soaked," says Laurent. "Everything
except our
watches and the Maglite was inundated. After two days, we tried the
VHF radios.
They were already rusty. One day after the start, Daniel tried to fetch
a cigarette, but a
steep wave arrived at the same moment he opened the bag and flooded
the lighters.
This wasn't a big tragedy since the next day, a wave washed all our
cigarettes
overboard anyway. "When we each took our turn to sleep on the trampoline,
we
would take off our KWay overalls from Helly-Hansen - which were quite
practical
with their zippers everywhere, then our polar underwear, and we would
wring out the
water. When we pulled them on again, we thought it was sheer luxury.
We had
abandoned the dry suits long before because it was impossible to wear
neoprene in
such conditions; our ankles and wrists would just balloon. Our boots
were also thrown
over board because the volume of our feet had doubled and the neoprene
prevented
our skin from breathing. Our feet became covered with ulcers which
proved worse
than ankles, there was doubt that his feet could be saved. Five days
later back in
France, a skin graft was successful and his feet began to heal.
Laurent, although not as severely burned, was also racked with
pain. His feeling had
come back as well. He did however, manage a breakfast consisting of
a steak,
tomatoes, two bowls of cornflakes with lots of sugar, six yogurts,
a complete
camembert cheese, four slices of bread and butter, croissants, other
French breakfast I
cakes and a platter of fruit. Still, he could not move his limbs without
extreme pain %I:
and as the blood continued to return, the pain increased. Unfortunately
for Laurent, his
sailing idol, Mike Birch who had participated in the Route de Ruhm
race and who had
helped plot their positions during the final days with his ARGOS beacon,
refused to
come to the Meridien Hotel at Saint Francois, to salute them. "To shake
hands with
him would help me more than all this medicine," said Laurent. Still,
congratulatory
letters, telegrams and phone calls from Europe and North America poured
in by the
dozens. Fujicolor waited calmly on the beach, almost mocking the sailors.
It was
untouched by the ordeal. Nothing was broken and it exhibited very little
wear despite
the bashing. Even the sails, prepared by Neil Pryde in the colors of
the French and
Australian flags, were in excel- lent condition. Sailors even took
the boat out to play in
the surf while Laurent and Pradel were attempting to recover.
The two drew several
lessons from their crossing The first, according to Laurent, is that
"Nobody should
ever try a crazy thing like that; if we had known how tough it would
be, we never
would have started." The second was the mutual respect needed for a
crew, or anyone,
to survive a long ordeal. "When I think of Daniel clinging to the trampoline,
his hands
and feet in the sea water. During the last few days, I couldn't prevent
myself from
trembling and I hid myself when I had to vomit after seeing Daniel's
feet. "Finally, on
the night of Saturday, December 6, we got the feeling that we were
nearing land. We
could smell flowers and trees. We could see lights and cliffs. It was
La Dominique, but
we did not know that yet. We just spent the night on the leeward side
of the island
enjoying the stillness. We were very happy. It was the end and we knew
that we had
succeeded although we didn't know exactly where we were because it
was next to
impossible to tell our position with the sextant; we were too low on
the water, and we
bounced around too much. Finally, on Sunday morning, we arrived in
Guadeloupe.
When the two sailed into the marina, it turned out that they needed
a lot more help
than food alone could provide. They had to be carried to a small restaurant,
the Royal,
where a doctor was summoned to apply first aid to their wounds while
they stuffed
themselves with their first full meal since the beginning of their
journey. Pradel's feet,
which had seldom been atop the wings and were always submerged
in salt water, were
just tattered flesh. The skin was torn away over most of their surface.
Laurent had
deep wounds and scars over his butt and thighs as well as craters on
his feet a
millimetre deep. Both men's hands were covered with wounds that had
crusted and
would not heal. Each cut, which never had a chance to dry and heal
properly, was
infected. Their circulation suffered the effects of blockage due to
sitting and crouching
in one position for hours on end and their hips and knees were paralyzed.
Every
movement brought tears to their eyes, but the worst wasn't over. They
were almost in
a state of shock. With their eyes glazed and the circulation problems
preventing any
feeling in their lower extremities, the pain was not nearly a horrible
state, I remember
that never as bad as it would become. Later in the evening of their
first day on land,
Pradel was wheeled to a restaurant to have dinner with friends while
Laurent slept in
his hotel room. Pradel's meal consisted of two large steaks, a plate
of vegetables,
noodles and six large pieces of cake. Then he too retired for the evening.
The next day, both men could barely move. Pradel, despite being
given tranquilizers,
was tortured by the dressings on his feet, which began to come back
to life during the
night. Tears welled in his eyes for three hours. Groggy, he kept asking
for someone to
help him. Finally, when he managed to fall asleep, he felt himself
aboard the boat,
unable to stop the rolling movement or the hammering of the waves in
his ears. In his
dream he stretched his hand for a tool and some food only to have the
waves wash
them away. With infected third degree burns over his feet and during
the whole trip did
he once complain."
Pradel also appreciated Laurent. "Tony is a much better driver
than I am. I don't know
anybody else who's able to steer 18 hours a day in such high, vicious
waves." Finally,
the two learned that even if the boat, rigging and the sails were able
to stand up to the
punishment, the critical points such as clothing and survival equipment
need a lot more
preparation and careful thought. Improvements need to be made.
Naturally, the first few days after landing, both said they would
never try such a feat
again. But Pradel, who is mounting a Tornado effort for the 1988 Olympics,
began to
state that he wanted to sail in the 1987 single-hand Figaro race and
Laurent began to
talk of racing Formula 40 catamarans in offshore grand prix events.
Despite their injuries, the sea had not lost it's allure.
Return
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