A strong wind, three reefs in the mainsail, the tiny "storm jib" out and a cloudless day: we had another depression of the Far South ahead of us. I still have a few pictures like this and memories galore. Memories of wonderful sailing in perfect harmony with what is perhaps the last authentic space of freedom of our planet. A sea zone to be turned into a sanctuary as quickly as possible! Photo Yvan Griboval - OceanoScientific

I am writing this text in Cartagena, Spain, where we are making a port call until Saturday, 27 May, due to good progress in the timetable for the end of our expedition, while waiting to reach Monaco at on the scheduled time and date, covering the 570 nautical (1,000 km) on the direct route we still have to cover. Crossing the Equator, passing the Doldrums and sailing back up the North Atlantic from Rio de Janeiro (Brazil) all took less time than we imagined. We covered 5,810 nautical miles (11,000 km) in just 28 days, at an average of 207.5 nautical miles (385 km) per day at 8.65 knots. Not bad for a small sixteen-meter sailboat, is it?

Today*, Boogaloo has clocked up 34,406 nautical miles (64,000 km) on the meter since leaving Monaco. Which for me means 55,482 nautical miles (103,000 km) since I put my oilskins back on to take the helm of Boogaloo in the autumn of 2013, after more than thirty years of abstinence from ocean sailing. Even sailing of any kind. God, that was long! Why? I still wonder...

At this point, my most prevalent feeling is Pride. While retaining the humility of seafarers and the modesty of those who always reach for the horizon, and the sky beyond. The route to the Future lying ahead is still long, wide and unforeseen...

First, the personal pride of having made the dream come true of the teenager that I was in 1972, at fifteen, when I read and read again "The Long Way" by Bernard Moitessier, when I too made a commitment to sail around the world single-handed, and round Cape Horn alone. Forty-five years later, I made my dream come true. How obstinate a Norman with Viking blood can be! During the journey, perhaps I became a little adolescent again, in the secrecy of single-handed sailing, but which was never marked by loneliness. I communed with what is most profound in a human being, what can be felt only with the heart, what you seek after your willpower has been exhausted. Was it my soul? No, for I also had my boat, the ocean, the birds of the Far South. So I was never alone.

Secondly, the professional pride in completing this innovative oceanographic expedition inspired by Albert 1, Prince of Monaco after I read "The Career of a Navigator" a dozen years ago; imagining that a sailor of the 21st century could probably be as useful to the international scientific community as was a seaman of the 19th, with the same objective: to search, to see, and say. The three foundation-stones of the Future. They always have been and always will be so, transmitted from one generation to the next by the power of passion.

In the sixty days I spent sailing the 40th Southern Parallel, I successfully completed the first-ever survey of oceanographic data at the Air-Sea interface in the Antarctic Circumpolar Current, rounding the three major capes, those of Good Hope (South Africa), Leeuwin (Australia), and the Horn (Chile),  without creating any CO2 emissions or waste.

Next, the pride of a seafarer in completing this round the world tour without any damage, "without having to take out the tool box", as Michel Desjoyeaux says in such cases. The random breakdowns of the automatic pilots which occurred had nothing to do with the sailor, whether in terms of preparation or use. Zero damage, at least between Monaco and Cartagena, including rounding the Horn. But the risk of damage, whether minor or major, still faces the bow of Boogaloo during the 600 to 800 nautical miles that I will be actually sailing in the next few days, depending on how the wind blows towards the end of our journey. At sea the risks are not related to the distance travelled, but with that that remains to be travelled. That pride will only be fully expressed - at least I hope - in Monaco, once we have landed. It is important to maintain the humility that befits sailors who respect the laws of the sea to finish our ocean-going journey.

Then there is the pride of the former professional competitor that I was until the late 80's. On many occasions I have helmed Boogaloo as if I really was in a race, pursued by a pack of aggressive competitors or chasing a leader who had broken away from them. It was the case all along the way. Whether for fun near the Canaries; in trying not to lose the good weather conditions as we approached South Africa; to avoid being swallowed by the dead calms of an anticyclone in the Indian Ocean; in the strong wind to escape a depression that was too deep and threatening in the Pacific; just for fun when the autopilots had broken down; or to play with the Azores High in less than ten knots of a wind with which I couldn't afford to lose contact under any pretext, even if it meant sleeping like a competitor in the Solitaire du Figaro the single-handed event, but for a non-stop leg lasting ten days and nights...

There was only one problem in all of this. Only one. The way I puffed and panted in trying to hoist the sails and the reefs of the mainsail, bent over the winch column trying to catch my breath, feeling my heartbeat race and wondering how far it would go or last. Under these conditions, I kept motivating myself by saying: "Stop complaining, keep turning the crank and think of the competitors of the Vendée Globe and how much bigger and heavier their mainsails are than yours!"

Then, forty-eight hours ago, I contacted two of our loyal Official Suppliers and partners for the expedition: our sail-maker North Sails France and our equipment manufacturer Harken France. In fact, the mainsail of 115 square meters of Boogaloo, made with materials (SRP 95) are less sophisticated than the high-tech mainsails (3DI Endurance) of the last Vendée Globe, which weigh 130 kilos with their polyester slats. Compare that with the 80 kg of the mainsails of 155 square meters equipped with carbon slats of the IMOCA 60 prototypes. As for the winches (capstans) which are used to hoist the mainsail up the mast, those of the prototypes for the long looped bowline have a down-drive system which means the seafarer benefits from the better gearing. In short, I have lost any complex I may have had in that respect. So I will continue to puff and pant until Monaco!

Finally, the pride also of being a reporter on the open sea. In all, I shall have written a little more than fifty lengthy newsletters, half of which have been sent to my young supporters in the primary schools of Monaco (Ecole de la Condamine), Cabourg (Ecole Saint-Louis) and Ouistreham (Ecole Jean Charcot). I have tried to convey the emotion, to express my admiration for the immense sea zone, which I dearly wish would be turned into a sanctuary as soon as possible. I have tried to make their elders believe, but above all to help schoolchildren of seven to ten years of age understand that the ocean is a living heritage we need to preserve. And understand that the effort to preserve the Ocean can only begin on land. I have also tried to make the children dream, so that they learn to want and are prepared to fight to reach for the horizon, for the sky, with their will and abnegation alone. The only wealth we have as human beings lies in ourselves and in our dreams. We have to cultivate that wealth and those dreams until they come true. So, with the precious assistance of their teachers, if I have succeeded in transmitting my passion for going beyond one's limits to at least one of those attentive children, I shall have accomplished a little better my God-given task as an elder.

Now, all I have to do is to learn to live among landlubbers again. It's not as simple as it sounds! To mitigate the effort, there is no miracle: all I need to do is prepare for the next OceanoScientific expedition in the Far South, with a new boat, as soon as possible. This is my life, and it still contains so many questions...

* I finished writing this text on Wednesday May 24, it was translated into English and prepared on Thursday, before being published on the association's website (www.oceanoscientific.org) and transmitted to subscribers on Friday morning, 26 May.

This is the Great Albatross with whom I spoke, Lord of the Skies, the supreme representative of the People of the Far South. It is also the finest picture from my expedition, a photo neither retouched nor cropped, the result of countless hours of observation attempting to understand the flight of his Lordship before immortalizing him at the precise moment when his incredible balancing act seems to defy the law of gravity... and he is looking right at me.

Photo Yvan Griboval - OceanoScientific

HE was the Great Albatross, Lord of the Skies, Supreme Representative of the People of the Far South, including all living beings of the sea and the air in the region between the fortieth and the sixtieth Southern Parallel outside any country's territorial waters. Where the Antarctic Circumpolar Current streams on forever. Where we successfully completed the OceanoScientific Expedition: the first-ever survey by sail of oceanographic data collected at the Air-Sea interface rounding the three major capes, that of Good Hope (South Africa), Leeuwin (Australia) and the Horn (Chile), leaving no CO2 or waste, during sixty days of single-handed sailing in the Roaring Forties and the Furious Fifties. Henceforth my home country.

ME is the kid who spent his best years on the foreshore at Saint-Valéry-en-Caux (Normandy), before becoming a sailor-racer, sailor-journalist, sailor-entrepreneur, then sailor-explorer; rather rebellious and ill at ease on land, but in such harmony with the Ocean on a sailboat; always best when off the beaten path, the only one that's worth anything in my eyes; endowed with a strong will to do the impossible, always with humility and abnegation, for, whatever we do, whether we succeed or fail, our only wealth is ourselves and our dreams. "For what is a man, what has he got? If not himself, then he has naught, to say the things he truly feels", sang Frank Sinatra (My Way).

HE: "Why are you crying?"

ME: "..."

HE: "Why are you crying, white man on the grey sailboat?"

ME: "Because in a day or two I'll be rounding Cape Horn ..."

HE: "Dumbo, on the contrary you should be happy. You've sailed smoothly through the Far South - I've been watching you carefully - and rounding the celebrated cape is the culmination of your voyage. Surely you must be relieved... "

ME: "Well no, that's just the problem, I'm not relieved, I'm not relieved at all!"

HE: "... .."

ME: "I have just realized that once I've rounded Cape Horn I will have to leave the Far South. And I don't know if I'll ever come back.

I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave at all!

And if I come back, in what state would I find it?

I suffer too much when I return to Saint-Valery-en-Caux and I know the sea has been emptied of the fish it had in my childhood, when I find the foreshore has lost most of the life that fascinated the kid on the shingle that I then was. The environment has suffered so much that I feel like a stranger in a strange land, a tourist, when my soul has its roots there. I don't want that to happen here, which is why I'm crying.

And our children? Have you thought about our children? What will we leave them of the Far South that has still been largely untouched, even if the consequences of climate change can already be felt?

You're bothering me. Go and fly somewhere else, leave me with my sorrows. Leave me alone!"

HE: "Hey, what's with the anger? Calm down, okay? If you used your common sense for a moment, you'd be rejoicing instead of whining like a wimp."

ME: "..."

HE: "I saw you fighting in the raging sea and the roaring wind, but you were at ease, in osmosis with your grey sailboat, never giving up, neither weak nor overconfident. And now you're leaving her beaten?

I'm going to show you a way other than resignation, I'm going to give you an important role that will bind you forever to the Far South, I'm going to entrust you with a decisive task for the future of my people."

ME: "..."

HE: "First, I hereby name you Ambassador for life of the Far South in the name of my people, the living beings of the sea and the air. The Far South is now your home country; you will represent it until the end of your days. Be proud of it, do it honour."

ME: "Okay, thank you, and...?"

HE: "Now, as our official representative, I hereby entrust you with a task that has a beginning and will never end. Remember it always.

The beginning is you must carry a message to the only person on this planet in whom my people have confidence.

What will never end is that I hereby entrust you with raising an immense army of goodwill worldwide, dedicated to serving the work of that man with respect for his destiny and his deep convictions."

ME: "Why not... Who is he?"

HE: "What a sap you are! Think for a second. You don't want me to draw you a sheep, as well do you?"

ME: "It could be His Serene Highness the Prince Sovereign Albert II of Monaco. That makes sense to me."

HE: "Of course it's him, the Prince of the Oceans. Like Albert 1, his ancestor was the Prince Navigator, the Prince Savant. "

ME: "Okay, but raising an immense army of goodwill on such a small territory doesn't make sense."

HE: "Is it the air of the open sea that's chilling your neurons? Rather than say anything, look at Pope Francis. With the Vatican, does he not have a smaller territory than the Principality of Monaco? And he doesn't even have a seafront open to the wide world. But He is the supreme guide of the greatest army of goodwill in your world of earthlings. The Christian faith has brought them together. The Pope is strengthened by the trust we all have in him to defend some basic values.

Why should the Prince of the Oceans not have the same supreme power? We must help him, by placing ourselves at his disposal with humility so that he can intensify his efforts so that my people not only survive but peacefully develop for centuries to come.

That is what you must say to him, that is what you have to work for with all your heart, with as much willpower as you used to sail single-handed to my home, in the Far South."

ME: "I understand, but the Prince of Monaco already has his own foundation, which has already been working well for many years. He has carried out and is carrying out decisive actions for the protection of the ocean and biodiversity. He takes part in many international conferences where his voice is heard. He also supports many actions undertaken by various associations and foundations whose work all helps to safeguard the Ocean. What more can we ask of him? It's not that easy..."

HE: "I know it isn't easy, and I know his true value, since the Prince of the Oceans is precisely the person in whom we have the greatest confidence. But at the current rate, those who look at the Far South whether to rape and pillage its flora, its fauna, or the seabed, have an open road in front of them, what am I saying, an open highway!

The power of money, that of the oil and fishing industry lobbies, especially when we are going to have to feed and nurture not just seven or eight billion earthlings but ten or more, will sweep away all your highly respectable but slow-moving work in one fell swoop. Profit will prevail, as always, over respect for Nature, despite the honesty and goodwill of its ardent defenders.

Has that not been so ever since the fifteenth century? Ever since you earthlings started plundering the resources of the planet, using sailing ships to conquer new lands only to ransom them, new peoples only to enslave them, often on the pretext of "evangelization". In fact, your only purpose was to trade their natural wealth for your profit, without any regard for the origins of that wealth.

So if the Prince of the Oceans does not succeed in achieving what my people in the Far South calls for and what I call the Monaco Protocol, we shall not survive and all your past efforts will be swept away as a cold front scatters the foam of breakers."

ME: "I acknowledge that it is legitimate for the Prince Sovereign Albert II to be at the head of this immense army of goodwill, as you say, if indeed he wants to be. But why him rather than someone else? Leonardo Di Caprio, for example? "

HE: "For three good reasons, for heaven's sake!

First he is a Head of State. He is respected and his status as Head of State will not be called into question in five years when some election or other redistributes the cards, or rather interferes with the game and ends up leading people to their loss in the name of democracy - a word that fills people's mouths until they choke on it.

As Head of State, he has access to other Heads of State. He speaks to the head of China who is making enormous efforts to reduce his country's pollution output, for example. He can also tap the shoulder of the man who shouts and points at people and wears red ties waving his straw-coloured hair that's never out of place, the man who does not laugh and now dominates the World with his incomprehensible tweets. He can talk to him in person about the necessary sanctuarization of that region of the seas where absolute freedom must not result in the possibility to do anything and everything, but in doing nothing at all, to respect its authenticity and safeguard it forever. His power of conviction is strong enough to decide the President of the United States to ratify the Monaco Protocol. Trust me.

Then, unlike other Heads of State, the Prince of the Oceans is fortunate in not having to undergo any pressure from his counterparts. He is not embroiled in a form of diplomacy where every act must be compensated for, where everything is negotiated, where nothing is free. Furthermore, in his country he does not have an oil industry, atomic power plants or obsolete factories which require compromises that mortgage the future to maintain the precariousness of a present condemned to doom. It is an invaluable force. It is one of his major assets.

Finally, he is in a position of strength in relation to any other personality, especially those in the arts or the media, stars of cinema or song. The latter can express themselves and give the impression that they are advancing the world. Although I do not at all question the honesty or the sincerity of their commitment. But their foundations are fragile.

Imagine, and this is pure fiction of course, that a film actor known internationally and far from being at the end of his career, is a little too active in defending a cause that harms the interests of a lobby as powerful as that of energy (oil) or weapons (satellites). I bet they would soon find themselves accused of tax evasion, or a sex scandal, or consuming and trafficking in narcotics. No matter whether it is true or false. A star is so fragile! Unlike a head of state whom no vote can overthrow and who does not lend the flank to any pressure capable of turning the favourable opinion of the widest international public against him.

That is why we consider the Prince of the Oceans to be our Messiah, why we believe in Him.

This is what you have to talk with him and why he has to be convinced he must step up speed in his action in favour of the ocean. Not by working twice as much as he already does with passion, but by gathering around him millions and millions of wishers of goodwill throughout the world.

The Prince of the Oceans has the charisma to successfully take on this role. Don't wait!

ME: "Millions and millions, isn't that a little over the top...?"

HE: "Man of little faith, what are you saying? How in 1988 did Jacques-Yves Cousteau - for a long time Director of the Oceanographic Institute of Monaco, Foundation Albert 1, Prince of Monaco - collect 2.5 million signatures in no time, without the support of social networks we have today? In so doing, he succeeded in preventing the draft Wellington Protocol providing for the opening of Antarctica to mining from being adopted."

ME: "Which resulted in the adoption of the Madrid Protocol three years later, in 1991. An agreement that strengthened the Antarctic Treaty (concerning everything south of the 60th Parallel, including the Southern Ocean) of 1 December 1959, which came into force on 23 June 1961. It protects the environment and has made Antarctica a nature reserve dedicated to Peace and Science. The protocol was extended to further protect nature in 2002.

We can also welcome the 2016 agreements in favour of the sanctuarization of the Ross Sea, for which HSH Prince Albert II effectively used all his influence and incredible energy. It was a great success, everyone knows that.

We are also very much looking forward to the discussions scheduled for 8 June in New York as part of World Oceans Day, which the Ocean and Climate Plateform - of which OceanoScientific has been a member since its inception - will be attending in strength in the coming weeks.

Couldn't we be satisfied with that and not try to do otherwise?"

HE: "You think you're on vacation? Or in early retirement, maybe? You're not going to give up and let others do all the work for the Ocean?

You have to understand that everything that has been done up to today is commendable. All the actions of the associations, foundations and personalities committed to the Ocean have resulted in tangible progress that is to be welcomed. That is an acknowledged fact. They are to be congratulated!

But we must do more. What I call the Monaco Protocol is precisely that: to sanctuarize the space between the fortieth and the sixtieth parallel south outside territorial waters, by enacting rigorous rules of use and virtuous behaviour in the region.

We must act with due diligence, because as long as that area of the seas is not yet too coveted by pressure from population growth and the scarcity of natural resources, accelerated by climate change, there is a real chance the Monaco Protocol can succeed.

Your task therefore is to serve the Prince of the Oceans to help him with all your will and energy to accomplish this work, His work."

ME: "But it's going to take years, it's a huge job!"

HE: "Think five years and it will take ten. Maybe more. But what is ten years to build the work of a lifetime? To guarantee for future generations that the Far South will forever remain the sea of freedom, of authenticity that will be their greatest wealth?

ME: "….."

HE: "From now on you know with what your days and nights will be occupied from the moment you reach land. Until you come back to me to report on the progress in your task. Until the Protocol of Monacois widely ratified.

For now, you may round the Horn with ease and I will make your sailing back up the Atlantic towards Monaco easier for you.

For the Mediterranean, I do not know. There are many seas which, although forming part of the Ocean, have versatile moods. I cannot foresee the fate which our cousin of those beautiful beaches has reserved for you. But you're used to her and you'll do the best you can...

What do you say?"

ME: "I promise you: I will come back."

​

* I finished writing this text on Wednesday May 17; it was translated into English and prepared on Thursday, then published on the association's website (www.oceanoscientific.org) and transmitted to subscribers on Friday morning, 19 May.

I had never seen such a phenomenon! Crossing a region of ​​the South Pacific where the fluorescence rate was very high with a bloom of plankton, the transom was covered with algae that grew at an incredible speed, despite air and water temperatures that were only about ten degrees Celsius. Photo Yvan Griboval - OceanoScientific

By day I avoid the interior. Most of the time I am sitting naked on the deck-house in the shadow of the mainsail in the current of warm air between the solent jib and the main sail. I spend my time watching a juvenile Red-Footed Booby with its bright grey-bronze plumage that has been accompanying us for several days now. It hunts the flying fish frightened from the waves by Boogaloo's bow. And it's having a difficult time, poor thing. The flying fish are astonishing agile in the air, giving it a hard time! But it doesn't give up. It must be really hungry. I encourage it with a "come on!", and for the moment all I've received as a mark of gratitude for my support as a well-meaning observer are a few droppings on the deck of Boogaloo.

At night, I sleep a total of four to five hours in several short periods, lying on the floor of the cockpit where I've laid out the mattress of the chart table seat, falling asleep while contemplating the starry sky. There's no doubt about it, people born in Normandy are not designed for tropical temperatures! So I'm writing this little note in the relative freshness of the sunset, installed in the pilot house of the cockpit. I'll be more talkative next week, I promise.

In particular I'll tell you, after consulting our router Christian Dumard, whether we have opted to bypass the Azores High by the east and tack towards Morocco leaving the Canaries to port; or if we're going to skirt right round the islands to the West to seek the southernmost Springtime lows and reach the sea lanes with the trade winds en route for Gibraltar. For the moment I am tacking, trying to make the most of the masses of clouds, like an attentive racer in a regatta on Quiberon Bay one Easter weekend.

We have to choose the best options, make the right decision as to the route taken, because we have an appointment for Friday, June 2 at 10:00 at the Yacht Club de Monaco with HSH Prince Albert II; with those whom I love, including Cecile my wife, who keeps permanent watch over this adventure, as well as our equally impatient triplets; with my closest friends and the loyal partners of this OceanoScientific Expedition, so it is out of the question for me to miss the tide... even in the Mediterranean!

​

* I am writing this newsletter on Wednesday. It is translated and prepared on Thursday, and then published on the association's website (www.oceanoscientific.org) and sent to subscribers on Friday morning.

Being forced to make a port call for technical reasons is an affront to any seafarer, and even worse for a single-handed sailor. My first two port calls, at Cartagena in Spain and Cape Town in South Africa, were motivated by the need to solve errors made by service providers of the OSC System (scientific equipment designed to collect data at the ocean-atmosphere interface) despite all my efforts to avoid this type of hassle. My single-handed sailor's honor was intact, for nothing on board Boogaloo would have otherwise forced me into port. I would have continued my journey without approaching land from the day of my departure from Monaco last November 17.

On Monday, April 3, at the end of the day, there I was, overwhelmed by doubt and a sense of guilt more than rational thought, alone with my reproaches at the helm of my boat with no automatic pilot. The main autopilot and the auxiliary system were both out of order. Forcing me to make a port call. Montevideo was abeam on the port side. Rio de Janeiro was further away, but straight ahead. On the advice of Christian Dumard, our router, I headed for Rio, where one of my best friends lives. I had not seen him in about seven years. To see him again was a pleasure for the man in me, a meager consolation for the sailor. My pride was pricked by not being able to solve a problem when I couldn't even find the cause.

So I redoubled my efforts to sail Boogaloo to port safe and sound. I wanted the nine-day haul to be exemplary in every respect. I organized myself, I defined a schedule and made a point of honour of doing better than sticking to it every day. It was no longer a question of objectives, but pure obstinacy. I would helm up to 16 hours in a row, reminding myself that at the age of 25 I was capable of helming during a race for nearly 24 hours without letting up, concentrated from the first to the last minute, driven by such a will to win it was more animal than human, success taunting me at the tip of the bow. It was up to me to do the same, so that my behumbling by the Ocean would turn into triumph and leave no bitter taste. Wrath would be my watchword! There would always be time to analyze the reasons for the breakdowns... and draw conclusions.

Those nine days turned out to be even more intense than I expected. The communion with my boat was total, even stronger than in the Far South. At least different. It was awesome, often enjoyable. It was difficult, especially at first, to tack in an anticyclone that looked like the cold front of a depression - another thing I didn't understand, by the way - into a wind of 25 to 30 knots and a choppy, breaking sea with a powerful opposing current.

Then it seemed more like the ultimate ride, by day and by night under the stars bright, as the moon rose fuller and fuller. In the middle of the night I stopped Boogaloo, with no foresail, the mainsail tucked flat at the end of the track, the helm slightly off-centre ready to tack. My boat stopped between 20 and 40 degrees facing the wind, gently riding the two to three meter-high slopes of waves driven by the trade winds, leaving me to sleep like a dormouse, proud of my sailor's work accomplished. Then I set off again three or four hours before dawn. During the day, on the good advice of Christian Courtin-Clarins and thanks to his "skincare kit for adult adventurers" (I'll get back to that, thank you Christian!) I protected myself from the sun with oilskins, boots and sunglasses, with only the tip of my nose and the top of my cheeks covered with Clarins cream (Sun Wrinkle Control Cream for Face SPF 50+, Very High Protection). Which prevented sunburn and dry skin, two real problems in ocean sailing. I kept several layers of polar fleece under the oilskins and the heavy socks for the Far South despite the high temperatures, because a slight error in my diet made me exceptionally chilly. As for the packets of seawater hitting me in the face, I accumulated about as many waves as Boogaloo exploded into them with her all-conquering bows. Nine days of sailing sport in "Performance" mode: at top speed, again at top speed and more if possible. A hundred and twenty magical hours at the helm. It was g-r-e-a-t!

The best was the Tuesday before my arrival in Rio de Janeiro. Having decided to stop at a specific spot, I spent the night in the middle of cargo ships adrift, as if there was a car park in the middle of the ocean. We were drifting together, all driven towards the coast, lying about 180 nautical miles away, by 1.5 to 2 knots of favorable current, in a driving trade wind blowing at around 25 knots, on a chaotic, disorderly sea.

At daybreak I passed through an area where strange-looking cargo ships had been converted into what I suspect are wreck oil rigs, like the one at the bottom of the page. It was the best-looking of those I observed for several hours, some of which looked more like garbage bins than oil platforms compliant with every safety standard. As a former journalist who scrupulously measures the weight of each word, reporting only facts that are proven and checked, I do not wish to go too far today. But my instinct prompts me to believe that a genuine scandal is developing off the coast of Brazil. As soon as I get back to land, I will carry out an investigation about it, because if what I think is happening turns out to be true, the threat to the marine environment is appalling! But the slump in oil prices and the consequences for Brazil, as well as the causes of the tsunami of corruption at the highest level of the state under Lula's presidency, incite me give credit to what I imagine to be oil rig wrecks to be discarded after use, in Brazilian territorial waters or just outside, where the pirates risk little or nothing.

It was April 11, a breezy Tuesday, under a torrid sun, without the slightest shadow of a cloud on 360° of the horizon.

The wind gradually strengthened at daybreak. I was sailing with one reef on the mainsail and the solent (jib) out, the largest sail flat in front of the mast. In the middle of the morning, the wind was stronger than fifteen knots and slowly growing stronger as the sun rose in the sky. The trade wind was sharp. Normally, that is to say with the automatic pilot on, I would replace the solent jib by the staysail, the flying jib used for any kind of wind. The objective was to ensure a surface speed of between twelve and fourteen knots, without pushing it. I was driven by a simple thought: "Now that I'm at the helm, if I were in a crewed race, what would I do?". "I'd put my foot down, wouldn't I!" So I left the solent jib where it was and kept the staysail wisely rolled. Full speed ahead!

At 85 degrees of the actual wind, Boogaloo was completely keeled (the hydraulic steering keel is tilted to the maximum in the wind to compensate for the effect of the wind in the sails which makes the sailboat sway or tilt) to gain power. I completely lowered the centreboard trunk so that the boat rested on it and stabilized its longitudinal course. I used one of my favorite settings at this speed, spiraling the sails for maximum power at their base, so that the air escapes without straining at the top, to avoid pitching and too much listing. Boogaloowas bewitched. She handled perfectly. I only moved the helm a few centimeters. I didn't even need to face the waves to start surfing. We were planing non-stop. Listing as much as possible, stanchions deep in the water, naturally weighted by the bilge, my sixteen-meter Kiddo was skimming along as if on parade. The wind stabilized between 19.5 and 20 knots at the most. For more than four hours the speedometer never displayed less than sixteen knots. We topped the fun at 22 knots, two knots higher than the actual wind speed. I had never succeeded that in a wind strength of that kind. The only downside is that we were being pushed by close to three knots of current. Boogaloo's historic performance left no trace on the map, where we were only credited with a meager average speed of 13-14 knots over the nine days. But what fun we both had!

The links between the yacht clubs of Monaco and Rio de Janeiro made my port call even nicer thanks to the friendly attentions of Aloysio M. Teixeira, the owner of the superb Copacabana Praia Hotel, ideally located in the Francisco Otaviano street that connects Copacabana to Ipanema, where Maxime and I stayed. I shall also be meeting Aloysio early in July at the Yacht Club de Monaco, where he will be staying at the invitation of his friend Pierre Dhainaut and of Bernard d'Alessandri, Secretary General of the fine Monegasque club.

We were also warmly welcomed in the Iate Clube do Rio de Janeiro by Vice-Commodore Vicente Arruda Filho (pictured above). On the advice of my old friend of nearly forty years, Didier Kelly, whom I unfortunately was unable to see in Rio, we were given technical assistance by Carlos Raposo, the partner of the famous Olympic champion Eduardo "Edu" Penido and by Alison, his assistant - who should not be challenged in using the "coffee grinder" (the double-handled crank that is used to operate the two main winches on board), because the chap has muscles and energy to spare. Impressive!

Thanks to Philippe Roger (SkySat) and Cécile d'Estais-Griboval, my wife and the lookout for our expedition, everything had been taken care of before I reached Rio to find someone who could solve our automatic pilot problems. Which is how Igor F. Stelli, a native Argentinian, Brazilian by marriage, and his assistant both arrived. In short: EXACTLY the people we needed. In a hard day's work, followed by a half day of tests and adjustments at sea, Igor identified the problems, and then solved them using the equipment entrusted to Maxime by Philippe Roger. Even some long-standing problems were repaired on the weathervanes which were then re-calibrated to perfection. In short, in addition to Philippe Roger in France, I can no longer imagine managing the electronics on-board a sailing boat without the assistance of Igor and his troop, wherever I am on the planet!

It turned out the problem was caused from the motor on the main pilot, even though it had been changed before I left Monaco by one of the best specialists in Brittany in on-board electronics. The brushes "stuck" and the motor suddenly stopped for no particular reason other than its own failure, and then did not restart. Or restarted without any explanation, only to block a few minutes later. The other problem, on the backup pilot, was a slightly damaged wire at the inlet to the rudder angle sensor. These two totally random failures were absolutely impossible to detect at sea, and even less so by a single-handed sailor.

My sailor's honor was intact and in the end I gained a multi-brand specialist who doesn't arrive on board and start by denigrating the work carried out by his predecessors and then obviously want to leave as quickly as possible. My thanks go to you too, Igor, for coming back between a plane at 2:00 am and another at 10:00 am to reconnect the weather vanes and check one last time that the pilots were in working order. I promise, the next I time I make a port call in Salvador de Bahia where you live, we'll go and listen to the Bossa Nova together and taste the different types of caipirinha ...

* I am writing this newsletter on Wednesday. It is translated and prepared on Thursday, and then published on the association's website (www.oceanoscientific.org) and sent to subscribers on Friday morning.

On Saturday 22 April in the early afternoon in the bay of Rio de Janeiro, Yvan Griboval set to sea again in a light wind under a leaden sky. A fair wind was waiting in the middle of the following night as he set course for the Equator and his return to the Northern Hemisphere, en route for Monaco, his final destination. 

Photo Maxime Dreno - OceanoScientific

Four difficulties lie ahead of him before he ends his single-handed journey. First, he must cross the Doldrums, that inhospitable tropical zone of the Atlantic Ocean frequently interspersed with dead calms and violent squalls. The biggest hurdle then involves bypassing the high-pressure area around St. Helena by making a large loop westwards, with strong winds, but also risks of dead calm. Unless a hypothetical passage opens up to the east. The third difficulty is the approach to Europe before entering the Straits of Gibraltar. The end of his navigation in the Atlantic is likely to be heading into the wind, and may even require tacking, and breaking seas. Finally, before enjoying a chilled glass of Moët et Chandon champagne on the pontoon of honour of the YCM, he will have to cope with the changing moods of the Mediterranean, with the dead calms and high winds of late spring.

In short, another forty days of work as a seafarer. Not necessarily the simplest part of this round-the-world trip. Fortunately, Christian Dumard, the attentive router, scrutinizes the weather and helps Yvan find the best course for the final straight... which is not straight at all!

Wednesday 5 April 2017

2016-2017 Expedition

Newsletter #21

37°37' South- 39°97' West

Port call in Rio

On Sunday, 2 April 2017, sailing single-handed the 16-meter OceanoScientific Explorer "Boogaloo", Yvan Griboval successfully completed the first campaign ever conducted to collect oceanographic data at the Air-Sea interface in the Antarctic Circumpolar Current, rounding all three capes of Good Hope (South Africa), Leeuwin (Australia), and the Horn (Chile), without creating any CO2 emissions or waste. The resulting new information is intended for the international scientific community in charge of studying the causes and consequences of climate change with Ifremer, the French Research Institute for Exploitation of the Sea, Météo-France, the French national meteorological service, and the CNRS, the French National Centre for Scientific Research.

On Sunday, April 2 at 21:20 UT (11:20 p.m. in Paris), in crossing the 40th Southern Parallel on his route from and to Monaco, Yvan Griboval completed the oceanographic mission he began on 1 February at 7:26 UT when he entered the Roaring Forties, after sixty days of sailing single-handed between 40° South and 56° South, including rounding Cape Horn on Sunday, March 26.

Yvan Griboval, who is expected to reach Monaco in mid-May, said: "I am extremely proud to have achieved this oceanographic campaign under sail, without causing any pollution, in order to observe a region of the seas that has been seldom explored if at all. This expedition is the result of ten years of work, in particular to develop the OSC System, a unique set of equipment for the collection and automatic transmission of scientific data."

"Over and above the oceanographic mission itself and the sporting challenge of sailing around the world single-handed, I consider it essential to observe and then report on the Ocean, so that a much wider public can realize the vital need to preserve it."

"I am returning to land driven by my absolute determination to make every effort to ensure the deep-sea desert lying between the 40th and 60th Southern parallels is preserved from overfishing, or any other form of exploitation of the ocean floor. It is imperative that this wonderful part of the Planet, where life is still developing – as should be the case everywhere on Earth – as it was hundreds if not thousands of years ago, be finally sanctified."

"We have a duty to our children and the future generations to leave them at least this part of the Globe totally preserved from the looting and pillage that Humankind has carried out everywhere else. The 21st Century must be one of respect for Nature, to prevent the worst from happening and begin the Renaissance of our natural environment, starting with the Ocean, which represents 70.8% of planet Earth."

This expedition, organized by the OceanoScientific philanthropic association of general interest for the benefit of the international scientific community, is supported and supervised by Ifremer, the French Research Institute for Exploitation of the Sea, Météo-France, the French national meteorological service, and the CNRS, the French National Centre for Scientific Research. It is sponsored by the Intergovernmental Oceanographic Commission of UNESCO (IOC-UNESCO) with the support of the WMO-IOC Joint Technical Commission for Oceanography and Marine Meteorology in-situ Observing Programmes Support Centre (JCOMMOPS), and Mercator Océan. It is supported by the Institut Océanographique, Foundation Albert I, Prince of Monaco; by the Prince Albert II of Monaco Foundation and by the Yacht Club de Monaco, with the encouragement of the Scientific Center of Monaco (CSM).

While preparing this expedition over the years, I imagined I would sail between the capes of Good Hope and the Horn at an average speed of ten knots, without attempting to break any sports record. In addition, in the 59 days since I left Cape Town, I have never checked what the situation was in that respect. I even feared that my senatorial speed in the Far South in the Indian Ocean had put paid to that desire. In fact, I have travelled 15,110 nautical miles (28,000 km) from Cape Town to Cape Horn in exactly 59 days 4 hours and 50 minutes, at an average speed of 10.63 knots. This illustrates the fact that Boogaloo, even with only four sails used (the mainsail, solent (jib), staysail (small jib) and ORC jib (storm jib), is a fine boat capable of superb, swift tracks. Hats off Kiddo!

Freedom - The strongest permanent feeling when sailing in the Far South is one of total, infinite freedom. So much stronger than sailing the Atlantic where the landmarks are close by. Where the choice of sea route is dictated by the land. To be avoided or reached. In the combined deep-sea desert of the Indian and the Pacific Oceans, there are no constraints other than those I freely impose upon myself. Free to go, free to do, free to think, free to believe. FREE.

Obviously, you have to contend with the sea and wind at all times, and adapt the boat to its environment. But those constraints never affect that freedom. Only my acts to remain in harmony with this world, which can be welcoming or humiliating. Those acts are a personal choice, not one imposed by the sea or wind or a third party. Because the elements are not what decide how I feel. In agreement or disagreement with the ocean. I decide myself, by adopting the appropriate attitude or not. We are only strangers in these strange seas. You have to act with great humility to taste true Liberty. Freedom is a state of mind, one neither acquired nor ensured. It is not enough to sail South below the 40th parallel. Freedom is won by dint of respect for this fantastic environment. Out of want as well. And willpower, without a doubt.

In this region of the seas in the Far South, more than anywhere else, you are responsible for yourself, and yourself alone. The Others can do nothing for you or to you: neither good nor bad; neither help nor hinder you. That is true Liberty.

Now I understand better and differently what Bernard Moitessier said in "La longue route" (Editions Arthaud - 1971): "A boat is freedom, not only the means to an end". Of course, it is the boat that lets me enjoy this seaborne freedom. But you do not cross the Far South like any other sea. I have always been struck by the stories of ocean racers who were in these seas or returned from them, and described them as hell. It is because they had a purpose other than sailing to be one with the Ocean. The Far South for them was only a requisite stretch of the course. They missed the main thing. Too bad for them. As for me, to paraphrase Sartre, if "Hell is other people", I'm not in the Ocean, I'm at home!

Life - When passing the Kerguelen Islands, and seeing the huge algae that had risen from the ocean deep, I realized that I was in a world that was probably identical in every respect to the one which preceded us hundreds, thousands, millions of years ago. A world that has never changed at these latitudes.

Life is teeming in every direction. The birds first of all. In 59 days, there has not been a single day in which I have not been accompanied by all kinds of birds. Albatrosses of course, but many other species that fly and fish so far from land near Boogaloo, naturally considering us to be part of the landscape as if we had always been there. I have been impressed by the amount of krill, the tiny shrimp that swim on the surface and are washed up on deck with every breaker. Even the squid get stuck on board in the ropes, thrown up by the passing sea.

The Ocean makes algae grow everywhere on board, despite the low temperature. Boogaloo's transom, rudder-heads and hydro-generator pedestals have become abstract works of art with the dominant greens and browns of the all-pervasive algae. Life goes on at full speed, all-conquering, unconstrained.

I set out on this expedition as an oceanographic first, with the desire to return to the Indian Ocean, discover the Pacific Ocean, live free for a few months in a world where I can dare to be me.

Now, I am returning with a different feeling, a deep rage burning inside, moving me beyond reason: we cannot deliver the Far South into the hands of the powers of money; we cannot allow this world to be plundered like the rest of our planet has increasingly been since the sixteenth century. That must not be!

I am returning to land to bring this simple message with all the energy drawn from more than sixty days of communion with the Southern Ocean. I am returning to Monaco to convey to those concerned what the Great Albatross told me in the name of the People of the Far South. He appointed Ambassador of the deep-sea desert, and I swore to him that I would return, because that is my native land.

Power- In the Far South, the only gentleness lies in the flight of the albatross making arabesques in the breeze, playing with the draughts of air like a pianist with her right hand to illustrate the chords that shake your very soul. I think of Hélène Grimaud and her moving performance of a concerto by Sergueï Vassilievitch Rachmaninoff. Without any music on board - I, who love music so much, do not want to be disturbed in any way in the attention I pay to my boat - I can still hear the impassioned, soaring play of my favourite pianist while watching the birds gracefully swing to the swell. What magic ... Hélène has her wolves, I have my albatrosses. It’s the same fight for life.

Everything else is merely power. Violence sometimes. Often. The force of the wind, the energy of the waves, the brutality of the breakers, the sudden weather that accompanies the cold fronts at the height of a depression ... All of it. Everything is unlimited power. Many times I and the boat have been shaken beyond reason, laid low. Just to show who's the boss in these troubled waters. Just to remind us that we must never forget the deep humility befitting these regions of the seas. At all times, we must remember that we are merely tolerated in this environment that has remained unchanged for centuries on end. No sense of conquering, no small-time triumph, and even less a sense of victory. We are Nothing faced with the Ocean. And that is the one and only Truth.

Beauty- It is impossible for me to find the words to describe everything I have seen. Like the colours of the sky at sunset, with no Pantone equivalent. In the Far South, everything is unique all day, every day. It is a pure, fascinating beauty, without the presence of any human beings to disturb the light and colours. I accept the selfishness with which I tell myself that I can keep all these millions of amazing reflections deep in my brain, deep in my heart, and will only be able to share a handful of photographs on arrival. It's a luxury I offer myself, and myself alone, I must admit.

The great advantage of sailing single-handed in the Far South is the ability to continuously pay attention the environment: 100% attentive. And what an environment! I am fully aware of the fabulous opportunity I have been given to sail for 59 days and more (I still have another week of navigating below the 40th southern parallel), and thank the Ocean for allowing me to mark her dark surface with the impassioned, admirative wake in white of my boat.

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* I am writing this newsletter on Wednesday morning. It is translated and prepared on Thursday, and then published on the association's website (www.oceanoscientific.org) and sent to subscribers on Friday morning.

In thick fog, with seawater at 5° and knowing from satellite images over the last few months that the procession of icebergs floating north-east is not far removed from my present course in the South Atlantic, I keep an eye out in the surrounding grey, just in case, but without any real conviction. Photo Yvan Griboval - OceanoScientific

It is reassuring, at a time when our everyday lives are invaded by easy, unorganized images, when exchanges between people can be summed up in clusters of 140 signs that evaporate into nothing as they fuel the busy buzz of rumour, to see that it is by reading books, adventure stories, good old heavy tomes that smell of paper, hard or paperbacks you can enjoy for several days on end and happily reread, that dreams are born and passions enflamed.

If I’m to believe what my parents told me, I was attracted by the ocean the very first time I saw it. It was on the pier of Dieppe. Aged only a few months old, I wriggled in my mother's arms, holding out my hands to the horizon, grousing because I was unable to escape the bosom of motherly protection. Ever since I've been able to think, I have always had one goal and one alone: to sail the sea. But it was reading "La Longue Route" by Bernard Moitessier in 1972 which marked me to the point where I determined with an unshakeable will that I would also sail single-handed around the world via the three Capes, brave every tempest without knowing if I'd survive, I too would round Cape Horn!

Joshua Slocum (1844 - 1909) sailed single-handed around the world after more than 30 years of service in the merchant navy, first as a sixteen-year old cabin boy, later to become a captain of schooners. He was bored by retirement and set sail at the age of 51 for his fantastic journey from East to West from 1895 to 1898. On his return, he told of his tales, and wrote about them. After reading his book "Sailing Alone Around the World" and captivated by the account, Jack London contacted him, and then decided in turn to embark on a world tour by sail, weighing anchor in 1907 on the Snark. After 18 months and for various reasons, Jack London stopped his round-the-world expedition. But he told of his tales, and wrote about them. Bernard Moitessier (1925 - 1994), marked by his readings of London's books gave his first boat, a junk, the name of the Snarkin reference and tribute to the writer who paved the way for his own adventures. Just as in 1960 Jean Knocker named the ketch he designed and had built at the Méta shipyards in Saône-et-Loire Joshua.  For he too had read "Sailing Alone Around the World" and from it drew the energy needed to head out for the horizon.

Another book behind the long way taken by Bernard Moitessier. After sailing double-handed with his wife Françoise aboard  Joshua from Polynesia to Spain via Cape Horn, in so doing establishing the record for the longest nonstop passage by a yacht in history in 126 days (1965-1966), he recounted his adventures in the book entitled "Cap Horn à la voile". But harried, under stress by his publisher who wanted at all costs to have the book printed for the Paris Boat Show, Bernard Moitessier botched his work as a writer to meet the deadline. The publisher was delighted, and sales of the book were good. But Bernard Moitessier was upset and cursed himself for acting that way, for not writing well. He even became deeply depressed. In order to redeem himself in his own eyes, he decided to undertake a "gigantic crossing". To tell of his tales, and write about them.

This time, no doubt about it, Bernard Moitessier was going to take his time! Having completed his long way, in 1969 he sent his manuscript to Jacques Arthaud (the father of Florence), whose primary characteristic was not patience, one year behind the publishing schedule set by Arthaud Editions. "La Longue route" was printed in 1971, just in time for the 1972 Paris Boat Show. The success was immediate. Over a hundred thousand copies were sold, including the one that was given me by Pierre Landau, my godfather.

Part Two, after rounding The Horn: Friday, 31 March.

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* I am writing this newsletter on Wednesday morning. It is translated and prepared on Thursday, and then published on the association's website (www.oceanoscientific.org) and sent to subscribers on Friday morning.

It is impossible to show in a picture what you see, what you sense on the ocean. Here we are in the midst of a squall of incredible violence, the wind has stabilized at 43-45 knots, and I estimate the wave around two hundred meters behind Boogaloo to be more than six meters high. You wouldn't think so, would you? 

Photo Yvan Griboval - OceanoScientific