The various attempts to break the record and to carry off the Jules Verne Trophy represent just as many ocean adventures that deserve to be told here.
Severe damage or overly long delays have often brought the momentums of Captains Courageous to standstills. Other skippers have succeeded in finishing their world tours… But not quickly enough to beat the established record.
These performances – the stories of men, women and their boats – will be recounted in these pages.
Almost ten years after his inaugural record, spurred on by Olivier de Kersauson’s performance in 1997, Bruno Peyron set off once again against Phileas Fogg’s watch. Thirteen sailors on board Orange maxi-catamaran would not be too many to thrash out this world tour. The weather was ruthless. The boat was close to breaking apart. The story of a hard-earned record… Ultimately won by sang-froid and tenacity.
On 2 March 2002, the day on which Orange set off on the Jules Verne Trophy circuit, nothing heralded a comfortable victory. Bruno Peyron’s twelve men were worried. Already tested. Their maxi-catamaran’s masthead had broken after thirty minutes of sailing, on 14 February, during a first departure. Orange had just spent a dozen days in the good hands of the Multiplast yard in Vannes, for hasty repairs.
They could no longer afford to lose any more time. Rare are the optimal weather slots for reaching the equator and attempting a circumnavigation via the three capes in the best-possible conditions. The Great South is more navigable during the southern summer– winter in the northern hemisphere. Outside this period, setting a sailing speed record in these latitudes is highly unlikely.
Orange, 33 meters, was a new incarnation of the former Innovation Explorer, already victorious on an itinerary similar to that covered by the Jules Verne. In 2001, it had carried Loïck Peyron to second place in The Race, a circumnavigation event launched by his elder brother. But on board, even if the boat inspired confidence, everyone knew only too well that she needed pampering. As Orange crossed the starting line off Brest, whipping by at 20 knots, the wind northeasterly on a choppy sea, the eyes of all thirteen sailors were riveted on the masthead.
On the eve of this second departure, the crew learned that Geronimo, Kersauson’s trimaran, had turned around just after crossing the equator, due to rudder damage. “The Admiral” who had wanted to beat his own record had no choice but to abandon the race.
Gently to the equator
Heading for the equator, Orange maintained its average speed of 20 knots with a north-northeasterly wind that soon blew in the back axis of its trajectory.
Slowed down 80 miles (148 km) from this first geographical mark, the maxi-catamaran left untouched the Ushant-equator reference time recorded by ENZA New Zealand, skippered by Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston in 1994.
When Orange entered the South Atlantic on the morning of 10 March, 7 days and 22 hours after crossing the Jules Verne Trophy’s starting line, Bruno Peyron was moved by memories of Peter Blake. The skipper from New Zealand had died tragically in 2001, in these same latitudes.
The South Atlantic barrier
On 11 March, Orange sailed along the South American coast and attempted to go westwards to bypass the St. Helena High. But the high-pressure zone stretched right up the South Atlantic, blocking the sailors’ way. “The anticyclone is swelling up more and more and is closing the door on us from east to west,” warned Gilles Chiorri. “We’re going to use up our first jokers on this first real ordeal…”
At 29°18 south, the Orange crew hoped to get their vessel to pick up speed and veer northward. But on 15 March, Philippe Péché, while inspecting the boat at the start of his shift, noticed a shiny object on the net: it was the mainsail’s headboard! The nine men on duty got busy on the repairs. And five hours later, by the time that the headboard car was fixed, the window for the highly anticipated exit from the anticyclone was shut.
The only option in the face of this South Atlantic barrage remained passing through the oceanic ridge: tackling the calm by cutting through, direction east-southeast, the center of the high pressures, while strong westerly winds blustered around 40° south.
On 21 March, after 18 days, 18 hours and 40 minutes at sea, in conditions hostile to navigational exploits, Orange set the Ushant – Cape of Good Hope benchmark time. It thus beat, by 23 hours and 13 minutes, the record set by ENZA in 1994, and came three days ahead of the time notched up by Sport-Elec in 1997.
The entrance into the Indian Ocean, at 39° south, set the tone for the rest of the course. “The sea was absolutely terrible last night,” reported Bruno on 22 March. “We’ve had 45 knots of wind since last night!” And those 45 knots (83 km/h) would whip up to 55 knots (102 km/h) the next day. Orange surfed at almost 40 knots. And even bare-poled, it continued at 20 knots!
Éric Mas, an analyst at Météo Consult, summed up the situation: “Behind Orange, a vast high-pressure zone is generating south winds. Impossible to go down, especially due to the sea’s unruly state. In front is a “wall” of depressions whose evolution at Orange’s latitude does not augur well for the next 24 hours.”
While the wind turned more favorable as of 28 March, the sea was not yet entirely in sync with the direction required by the boat. “With 25 knots and choppy seas, Orange is hitting it hard,” recounted Peyron. It was impossible to step things up without the risk of the boat blowing apart.
Even tamed, the maxi-catamaran persisted in covering 500 miles (926 km) per day. But disturbing damage was the price to pay for this speed – the breaking of two mainsail boards, delamination of part of the hull’s aft beam, and cracking of two bulkheads in the wave-impact zone – and the crew embarked on a huge slalom to find the ideal weather system. “We must be at our third system since the Cape of Good Hope,” sighed Hervé Jan, on 30 March.
Once again, despite adverse sailing conditions, Orange pocketed a reference time: Ushant-Cape Leeuwin, in the south of Australia, in 29 days, 07 hours and 22 minutes. Peyron’s crew had more than a day’s advance on the holder of the Jules Verne Trophy.
On 5 April, shortly after crossing the anti-meridian at 53° south, Orange managed to change direction to head for the Great South. Now it needed to find a passage to avoid a calm zone between 50° and 60° south. In the north, the winds would be uncooperative: a wicked tropical low was forecast. The maxi-catamaran finally managed to pass below, downwind, using strong westerly winds that encouraged a cracking pace, boosted by a long swell.
The rediscovered headiness of fast speed and straight tracks – directly to the Horn – was interrupted by a cry of alarm on 10 April: “Iceberg straight ahead!” Through the fog, Philippe Péché, on the tiller, made out 3 miles (5 km) ahead, a block of ice the size of a cargo ship. Under staysail and single-reefed main, the maxi-catamaran was headed straight for it. The radar unnervingly tripped out at the same moment.
Yet it was not the Great South icebergs that would stop Orange, but the tropical low that arrested the attention of all hands on board during this crossing of the South Pacific. On 12 April, at 57° south, the low “bounced the boat from wave to wave and risked breaking something,” said Bruno Peyron. The mainsail was lowered, the gennaker rolled up and tucked away, the storm jib hoisted. “It’s a bit of a shame that our version of the Pacific Express is ending this way,” regretted the skipper. “But we’re here to bring back the Jules Verne Trophy and nothing else!”
Bruno Peyron’s choice to play the card of prudence since the start of the trip paid off. On 13 April, with four days on Olivier de Kersauson’s passage in 1996, the Orange crew crossed, in rainy conditions, the longitude of the last major cape marking the Jules Verne Trophy, the formidable Horn.
The Pacific Ocean was crossed in a record time: 12 days, 19 hours and 30 minutes. There were days in which Orange covered over 600 miles (1111 km) and it reached a peak of 39.7 knots. “She’s still intact after 42 difficult days at sea,” rejoiced the skipper.
The trip up the Atlantic forced the Orange crew to confront a new weather phenomenon: the complicated crossing of an anticyclone, with the threat of a violent low. Over eight days, Orange traced a long eastward trajectory, far more easterly than those followed by Jules Verne competitors at the time. The usual route was lengthened by 23%. But the low was well and truly avoided, and its 60-knot (111 km/h) winds skirted by 20 miles (37 km). The shortest way through the anticyclone was taken. On 22 April, Orange met the southeasterly trade winds that would carry it to the mouth of the Doldrums.
The passage of the equator, two days later, was the occasion on which Bruno Peyron announced much less encouraging news: “The titanium ball, 12 cm in diameter, that supports the 1,200 kg of the mast and rigging, with compression sometimes equal to over 60 tons, has cracked in its lower part around 170°. If it breaks, the mast will fall.”
The skipper decided to pursue the adventure nonetheless. The weather was hopeful. But if the boat were to return to Brest in one piece, it would now be necessary to avoid sailing into headwinds or against the swell at any cost. The crew also counted on chance and on bringers of luck including the sailors’ allies… “Tell our Marseilles friends to light a candle to the Holy Mother for the foot of our mast!” urged Bruno Peyron, during his radio séance on 26 April.
Did the patron saint of Marseille, Orange’s host port, hear the skipper’s request? The boat persevered, clocking up 460 miles (851 km) per day, and headed due north towards the Azores, avoiding the Azores High by the west. It even shortened the route followed in 1997 by Olivier de Kersauson.
Sailors, to the polls!
On land, another duel was being fought out: the French presidential election. On Sunday 5 May, Jacques Chirac was up against the far-right candidate, in the second and final round of the elections. French people made their resistance of extremism known in the streets. “As sailors, lovers of nature and freedom, we can only add a little strength to those who’ve been in the streets in recent days… We’re doing everything we can to be in Brest on Sunday to be able to go and vote,” promised Bruno Peyron.
On 4 May, only the final stretch remained. Orange cavorted, destination Ushant, at 25 knots, on port tack, under full main and solent.
On the previous day, there had been one last fright: the large gennaker had exploded into bits.
On the night between 4 and 5 May, a final meteorological test arose: the maxi-catamaran was trapped in calm seas 150 miles (277 km) from the final point of its world tour.
The thirteen Orange crewmembers had set off concerned about the masthead, and returned preoccupied with the mast’s foot… But it was a quasi-unscathed boat that crossed the finish line of the Jules Verne Trophy on 5 May, at 16 hours, 13 minutes, 45 seconds. Over 64 days, 08 hours, 37 minutes and 24 seconds, Bruno Peyron and his crew had never yielded to doubt. At an average of 18.15 knots, they established a new benchmark time for the Ushant – Ushant itinerary via the 3 major capes, in other words 28,035 miles (52,000 km). They improved on Olivier de Kersauson’s previous record by 7 days, 5 hours, 44 minutes and 44 seconds.
The last word goes to the skipper from Brittany: “Orange has just turned a fine sporting page. To succeed a venture such as the Jules Verne Trophy, it’s necessary to have a good team, a good boat, and to know how to preserve it. Bruno Peyron succeeded in doing this. The 27-meter era is over. This is the start of a new competition and it’s here to stay for a long time.”
The various attempts to break the record and to carry off the Jules Verne Trophy represent just as many ocean adventures that deserve to be told here.
Severe damage or overly long delays have often brought the momentums of Captains Courageous to standstills. Other skippers have succeeded in finishing their world tours… But not quickly enough to beat the established record.
These performances – the stories of men, women and their boats – will be recounted in these pages.
The various attempts to break the record and to carry off the Jules Verne Trophy represent just as many ocean adventures that deserve to be told here.
Severe damage or overly long delays have often brought the momentums of Captains Courageous to standstills. Other skippers have succeeded in finishing their world tours… But not quickly enough to beat the established record.
These performances – the stories of men, women and their boats – will be recounted in these pages.
The various attempts to break the record and to carry off the Jules Verne Trophy represent just as many ocean adventures that deserve to be told here.
Severe damage or overly long delays have often brought the momentums of Captains Courageous to standstills. Other skippers have succeeded in finishing their world tours… But not quickly enough to beat the established record.
These performances – the stories of men, women and their boats – will be recounted in these pages.
It was Olivier de Kersauson’s sixth attempt. The man from Brittany was bent on setting a new world record for speed – even at the risk of seeing Sport-Elec, his gigantic trimaran, trapped by deadly ice in the Great South. With passion and persistence, he led his crew to follow the trail of Peter Blake, determined to take the title off the last winner of the Jules Verne Trophy.
So should he turn around? Olivier de Kersauson, riveted to the chart table, lit up a cigarette with the stub of the one he had just finished. Inside the captain’s mind, a storm was raging. Outside, the sea was absolutely calm, more or less flat – and this was the way it had been ever since the boat left Ushant on 8 March 1997 at 17 hours and 37 minutes.
Kersauson had been waiting for this day for over two years. Two months earlier, on a first attempt in 1997, he had turned back when he was near Cape Town. At that time, Sport-Elec, his 27-meter-long trimaran, was four days behind his virtual competitor, ENZA New Zealand, winner of the Jules Verne Trophy in 1994(1)(1)In 1994, Olivier de Kersauson, on board the Lyonnaise des Eaux Dumez, crossed the Jules Verne Trophy arrival line, only 2 days and 6 hours after ENZA…. It was impossible, in those conditions, to beat the record established by Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston.
“Great disappointment”
Taking advantage of a brief slot when the weather was on their side, the Sport-Elec crew had just set off. But this time, if Kersauson decided to return to Ushant because of poor weather conditions, the boat would stay moored. It was already very late in the season to embark on a new attempt. The southern winter made it practically impossible to follow the optimal route that hugged the Antarctic continent. The time that had so far been lost in the North Atlantic already bode for more darkness, cold, ice, and danger by the time that they reached the Great South.
On the other side of the Atlantic, from his cottage in Maine, Bob Rice was deciphering the weather signals for the Sport-Elec crew. Olivier de Kersauson was in contact daily with this exemplary route planner who had guided Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston to their record in 1994. There was nothing encouraging about Bob’s prognostics: not a single breath of wind was expected for several days to come. “The only depression within a 1,000 mile radius was in my head,” Olivier de Kersauson later recalled(2)(2)Olivier de Kersauson, Tous les océans du monde, 71j, 14h, 22’, 8’’, Le Cherche Midi, 1997.. Already, his boat lagged behind ENZA by 1,088 miles (2,014 km).
Yves Pouillaude, Hervé Jan, Didier Gainette, Thomas Coville, Michel Bothuon and Marc Le Fur scrutinized the reactions of their captain who had turned mute.
Kersauson shot a telex to his base: “Great disappointment: we’re stuck in terrible weather and I’m afraid that we’ll make the same notoriously bad time as on our first descent / It’s enough to do your head in / Still, things could be much worse / Long live motorboats.”
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First record
Sport-Elec crossed the equator on 20 March, at 18 hours and 23 minutes, after eleven days at sea… and finally came across some wind. The lead of the Jules Verne Trophy holder began to diminish. At around Cape Town, Sport-Elec had only gained 200 miles (370 km) on his first attempt of the year, but the lag behind ENZA was now only 580 miles (1,074 km).
When Olivier de Kersauson’s trimaran entered the Forties after 18 days of sailing, ENZA-in-1994 was still ahead of Sport-Elec-in-1997…
Olivier de Kersauson could nonetheless still rejoice in a first record at the Cape of Good Hope: a time of 10 days, 13 hours and 27 minutes for the equator-Good Hope leg.
As soon as the trimaran entered the Indian Ocean, the crew adopted a medium gennaker and a tall mainsail, in a westerly flow of 20 to 30 knots. The boat kept up a fine average of 18 knots. “Going any faster in these conditions would be perilous,” commented Kersauson. The crew started to allow itself to believe that it had a chance at the Jules Verne Trophy. Whenever they changed shifts, the same burning question was asked: how much time have we taken off ENZA? How fast?
The phantom of ENZA
Sport-Elec sped ahead with the westerly wind, darting across the Indian Ocean 430 miles (800 km) further south compared to the route traced by Blake and Knox-Johnston in 1994. The New Zealand catamaran was now only 68 miles (125 km) ahead. “The ghost of ENZA, our virtual competitor, seemed to be in view… If only we could see the boat,” remarked Kersauson.
Sport-Elec roared with the shock of waves crashing over its hull. Icy wind squealed through its rigging. On board, the men kept silent most of the time. Harnessed to the deck, bundled up in their sodden oilskins, stoic when their faces were sloshed by gallons of 2°C seawater, some were experiencing the Great South for the first time. The wind persisted in staying over 35 knots (64 km/h). Inside the boat, everything was drenched and frozen. “I’ve always hated the Indian Ocean,” said Olivier de Kersauson. “Dominique Guillet died there, Deroux as well. Between 80° and 110° East, we’re massacred in the Indian.”
At 51°South and 112°East, the Sport-Elec crew spotted the first icebergs.
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Neck-and-neck
The Cape Leeuwin longitude was crossed on 8 April 1997 at 7 hours, 7 minutes and 3 seconds. Yet another record(3)(3)Cape of Good Hope-Cape Leeuwin in 8 days, 23 hours, 17 minutes and 3 seconds.. Sport-Elec was going faster and faster, and finally left the ghost of ENZA behind it. But not for long.
Seawater invaded the slipway and drowned the motor. The power generator was beginning to falter. Without electronics, communication with Bob Rice was no longer possible, and without routing, it was impossible to contemplate the next 15 days that they would remain in the high latitudes. Kersauson was champing at the bit. Yves Pouillaude, his second, finished repairs after three days plunged in the boat’s mechanics.
The trimaran regained its spot in front of ENZA while rounding New Zealand. The longitude of Stewart Island was crossed with a ten-hour lead on Blake and Knox-Johnston.
To the ice!
Since the descent from the South Atlantic, the weather had alternated between calm spells, contrary winds and violent squalls, but no major phenomenon had impeded the trimaran’s progress. Sport-Elec’s speed remained constant, at between 18 and 20 knots.
But soon a tropical depression blocked its way. It was necessary to go further south to avoid the storm that threatened to be a violent one. Skirting around it via the north would considerably lengthen the course, and amount to giving up the trophy. Bob Rice made it clear: there was only one solution, “to go to the ice.”
Kersauson had not shaken the memory of the float of his trimaran Charal, mutilated by a growler(4)(4)A growler is a block of ice floating between two bodies of water, far smaller than an iceberg, undetectable by radars, and difficult to see with the naked eye. during his first – aborted – attempt at the circumnavigation speed record four years earlier. “Boys, till now, we’ve been playing small-time,” warned the skipper. “Now we’re going to start on the real adventure. We’re not just racing around the world now, we’re going to the real danger.” No objections came from his crew. Their captain was secretly touched. Happy to see, at this stage of the adventure, how his men had become one, with one another and with the boat.
Hervé Jan, Thomas Coville and Marc Le Fur. Archives Rivacom
“It’s crazy, sometimes we have the impression that ENZA is here behind us,” reported Kersauson. “Then we realize that we’re alone, far from everything in the middle of the largest deserted stretch in the world. And in a field of mines or rather icebergs.”
Every hour, Sport-Elec would come across a block of ice as big as a building. It was impossible to go further north where an easterly wind would compromise the trimaran’s progress. But Bob Rice issued the order to go up when Kersauson led his men to the edge of the Southern Ocean, at 60°, 61° South. The authorized limit was 59° South. At this latitude, the water is at 3°C, any further south, growlers take twice as long to melt.
After three weeks in the Great South, the weather was good, the boat slid along on the surf… It was tempting to stick to the Southern Ocean and thus shorten the world tour. But the icy prison was closing in. It was time to head northeast, towards Horn.
Horn by night
Several days of storm and easterly wind combined to create a disturbed sea as they approached the cape. West southwesterly winds at 25 knots (46 km/h) blew in the opposite direction from the sea. The sea was choppy, treacherous. The wind offered no respite. For four days, Sport-Elec kept on jibing(5)(5)Change in tack (side from which the yacht receives wind) via tailwind., every four hours, and at this speed lost 130 miles (240 km) per day on the planned route.
On the night of 24 April, the trimaran rounded the Horn, 33 hours ahead of its virtual rival. The boat, in the axis of the sea and the wind, glided on at 26 knots.
The flash from the Cabo de Hornos lighthouse was the first light to be sighted by the crew in 30 days, signaling the first land since the Tristan da Cunha islands in the southern Atlantic. “A show of courage and a fine lesson.” The message was signed Peter Blake. Another telex arrived on board, from Éric Tabarly: “You’ve offered us a spectacle of another world that will remain in sailing annals.”
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Sudden death
But the race was not yet over. A large anticyclone blocked the Atlantic while the risk of a depression hovered in the south. There was no time to go eastwards towards Africa, to take advantage of the trade winds at the exit of the climb up to the equator. Sport-Elec had to hug the Falklands and then move up to Brazil on the western fringe of a small depression from Argentina… at the risk of finding itself caught between the coast and this depression. The miles ahead of ENZA, gained so bitterly in the Great South, would potentially be lost in no time at all.
The option that they took – the only possible one – proved to pay off initially. Kersauson soon announced 800 miles (1,481 km) and two days ahead of the record.
It was at this very moment that the board computer reserved for navigation succumbed to a sudden death. Kersauson came close to having a stroke. Yves Pouillaude knuckled down to implementing a plan B.
Apocalypse
The obligatory climb up along the South American coast brought Sport-Elec up against wavelets. The boat “stayed put,” the bow rising and falling against the sea. The rigging suffered, the men as well.
Off Uruguay, the wind suddenly shifted to 55 knots, then 60 knots (111 km/h). An apocalyptic storm swooped down on the exhausted crew. “We’re hauling everything down, MERDE!!!!” screamed Kersauson. Despite sailing with only a mast, Sport-Elec continued to speed on at 30 knots.
Back to calmness and wavelets on 1 May. The atmosphere remained highly charged. “We’ve been sailing on cobblestones for 3 days / No more storms, no sea either / We’re gliding, not quickly, not very high / ’Cos there’s no wind either / We’re tetchy on board / Fatigue,” admitted Kersauson by telex. ENZA was now only 500 miles (926 km) behind them.
Sport-Elec finally escaped the stillness of the Saint Helena High on 2 May, and began to gulp up miles running downwind. On 6 May, Kersauson’s crew crossed the equator for the second time at the 28°35 West longitude, snapping up two new records along the way(6)(6)Ushant-Equator (return) in 58 days, 13 hours and 39 minutes; and Cape Horn-Equator in 11 days, 20 hours and 41 minutes.. Yet the skipper from Brittany steered clear of crying victory.
“Good boating”
Sport-Elec extended its stay in the Doldrums – to such an extent that Kersauson saw the trophy slipping away from him. “Never mind,” he said, also quoting Tabarly: “We’ve done some good boating.” That was all that mattered.
Higher up, the Azores High formed an impassable barrier. ENZA had sailed far west of the European coastline to avoid it, but Kersauson preferred to head straight for France, at the risk of having to sail close-hauled in the north-northeasterly trade winds. Or approach the heart of the high.
But the skipper could breathe easy again on 14 May: his trimaran finally exited the calm waters, leaving the Azores islands on the port side. The boat’s average speed jumped up to 17 knots. With a three-day lead on Blake and Knox-Johnston’s performance, Kersauson and his men were now certain of taking out the Jules Verne Trophy.
The arrival was laborious. There was no final straight for Sport-Elec but tacking up to Ushant where the downdraft of a spring tide welcomed the trimaran. Sport-Elec’s crewmembers crossed the finishing line on the morning of 19 May 1997, at 08 hours, 59 minutes and 39 seconds, with the wind at 15 knots (27 km/h). The Jules Verne Trophy was theirs(7)(7). All the boats in the world seemed to have agreed to meet to celebrate their return. Olivier de Kersauson fondly took in the string of wild islands, the bluish rock of a jagged coast, his sun-bathed Brittany. As Yves Pouillaude said jokingly: “Now we can lose our mast.”
Forced to abandon their attempt in 1993, Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston were back to try their hand at the Jules Verne Trophy in 1994. Their catamaran, ENZA New Zealand was now rated the world’s largest racing sailboat. On board this new prototype, with a crew of eight, Blake and Knox-Johnston prepared to set a new record for the Jules Verne Trophy.
A 35-knot (65km/h) northerly wind was beating up foam off Ushant, on 16 January 1994(8)(8)Beyond Jules Verne, circling the world in a record-breaking 74 days, Robin Knox-Johnston, Hodder and Stoughton, 1995.. Peter Blake was at the helm. At his side, Robin Knox-Johnston was smiling despite the cold and sea spray. At 14 hours and 5 seconds, the catamaran ENZA New Zealand had just crossed the starting line of the Jules Verne Trophy, its mainsail reefed and its genoa maximized, flirting with a speed of 20 knots.
Already, the memory of ENZA painfully heading back towards South Africa was distant. Yet it was less than a year ago that the New Zealander catamaran, 26 days into its Jules Verne Trophy assault, had collided with an unidentified floating object. The dual of the giants being played out on water from Ushuant came to a brutal end at the time.
Bruno Peyron, on board Commodore Explorer, would continue on his way to snatch the round-the-world record at 79 days, 5 hours, 15 minutes, 56 seconds… And to carry off the Trophy.
“Unfinished business”
Six months after this forced surrender, the CEO of ENZA(9)(9)The ENZA logo, redesigned for the Jules Verne Trophy. made an announcement at the general assembly: “We have got unfinished business; we’ve got the equipment and the crew, and we certainly have the will to finish the job.”
This year again, they would not be the only ones taking up the challenge. Olivier de Kersauson was back, on the trimaran Lyonnaise des Eaux Dumez, also amongst the world’s biggest multihulls.
ENZA New Zealand Route, map included in the 1994 press pack.
Leading the way to the equator
ENZA set the tone from the very first day, covering 411 miles (761 km) in the space of 24 hours, at an average of 17.5 knots. The Gulf of Gascony was crossed in a single day. Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston kept up the pace.
Lyonnaise des Eaux Dumez was spotted from time to time shortly after the departure, but Olivier de Kersauson kept silent most of the time, only giving his adversary a few scanty clues on his progress.
The trimaran of “ODK” reached the equator around nine hours after ENZA. Ahead of schedule, Blake and Knox-Johnston reached this first major geographical landmark after 7 days, 4 hours and 24 minutes at sea – in other words 39 hours less than Bruno Peyron in 1993.
For it was primarily this virtual competitor who preoccupied the New Zealander and the Brit. The distances covered by ENZA and the boat’s average speed, were continually compared with the past exploits of the first holder of the Jules Verne Trophy.
The potentially delicate Doldrums were passed through smoothly. This zone of temperamental winds near the equator was crossed at a speed of 8 to 14 knots. ENZA was 15 to 20 % quicker than in the previous year, rejoiced skipper Peter Blake.
To reach the south seas, Blake and Knox-Johnston traced a westward curve – a strategy that was the opposite of the one they had followed in 1993 to go around St Helena High, the main obstacle on this leg of the trip, where they had found themselves becalmed.
With a broad reach thanks to the southeast trade winds off the Brazilian coast, ENZA was still ahead of its target time despite alternate squalls and calmness that slowed down its progression.
On 27 January, from land, Bruno Peyron expressed his confidence for his challengers: “The weather forecast is exceptional. St Helena High is well positionned. They just have to sail straight south before turning left as soon as they reach the Roaring Forties.”
Peyron’s calculations proved optimistic. At 33° 28 south and 29° 23 west, ENZA fell under the influence of St Helena. “Our current speed is 1.4 knots and the mainsail is crashing about with nothing to fill it, declared Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston in a telex from 29 January. “It is extremely frustrating to see all our good progress being dissipated, but there is nothing we can do except persevere.”
Barry MacKay took advantage of the calmness to inspect the boat’s hulls – a whale had crashed against the starboard a few days previously – and Don Wright climbed the mast to inspect the rigging and gear up for the Roaring Forties.
“This things you put in drinks…”
Albatrosses soon welcomed ENZA to the Great South. “We’ll go to 45°South before leveling off. It’s getting colder and bumpier by the hour but anything is preferable to sitting in light airs and watching you competition get away from you,” warned Peter Blake, on 3 February.
Going down south also helped to reduce the distance for getting around Antarctica. On the other hand, the risk of growlers or other icebergs springs up whenever the water temperature drops below 2°C. Just as sailors traditionally avoid pronouncing the word “rabbit” while at sea, the word “iceberg” was banned from the catamaran. “Peter, have you seen one of these things you put in drinks to cool them ?”, the question would come from the HQ of ENZA New Zealand.
On 5 February, ENZA went across the longitude of the Cape of Good Hope(11)(11)Ushuant-Cape of Good Hope: 19 days, 17 hours, 53 minutes and 9 seconds., with a day’s lead on the record holder. A west-southwest wind was blowing, revving up to 40 knots (74 km/h) and stirring 10-meter-high waves. “We’re going like a train,” reported Peter Blake, “It’s wet, sunny, cool and windy and one heck of a ride. The boat is more like a submarine than a yacht most of the time and nobody has had much sleep in the last 48 hours. But we are doing very good miles and once we are through this particular system, we should be in for some real, pleasant Southern Ocean sligh rides for a change. ”
Angus in the mine, Blake in bed
Three days later, the skipper was more keyed up: “We had an incident.” ENZA had just had a close call and almost capsized. The boat “went down the mine” and “ploughed,” plunging the bow of the floats underwater, transitioning from 25 to 0 knots in just a few seconds. The off-duty crew-members were ejected from their bunks. Angus Buchanan, the youngest crew-member, who was at the helm, earned the nickname of “the miner.” As he was also the doctor on board, it was he who massaged a worked-up Peter Blake, bedridden due to backache caused by the jolt.
This incident proved to the ENZA’s skippers the utility of an eight-person-strong crew. Even with one quarter of the team down, there was no slacking of pace.
The catamaran’s performance was no longer affected by the bad weather. Since entering the Indian Ocean, the boat’s average speed had gone up to 16.57 knots. ENZA extended its lead over its phantom competitor, Commodore Explorer, and left Lyonnaise des Eaux Dumez, its direct adversary, over 1,400 miles (2,592 km) behind.
“Be careful boys,” advised Florence Arthaud over the radio. The co-founder of the Jules Verne Trophy had come to encourage the Anglo-Saxon team: “We’re crossing our fingers and thinking of you. But don’t go too fast all the same – we’re counting on trying our luck after you!”
On 21 February, at 59°43 south and 175°53 east, ENZA finally managed to head east. Sailing along the bottom of the world, the catamaran skipped along at an average of 20 knots, destination Cape Horn. On the previous day, Southern Lights had pierced through the night. “A good omen for the rugby,” hoped the English on board. On land, the Five Nations Championship was being played out.
At sea, the duel with Olivier de Kersauson picked up again. While the low latitudes in which ENZA was sailing meant that the longitudes were being swallowed up more quickly, the winds accompanying the boat were irregular. Four successive lows blocked the Kiwi catamaran in the south while the French trimaran, sailing further north, pulled off better averages.
On board ENZA, living conditions were rough at 61° south. Inside, the heating had broken down. On the deck, water froze in bottles. “It’s nice or penguins but not for humans,” commented Peter Blake.
A watchman was permanently stationed at the boat’s bow. The Kiwi skipper would later tell of coming across “great cathedrals of sculpted ice”. “Some of which we measured by sextant to be a mile across and as much as 200ft high”, said Peter Blake.
The return of Kersauson
45th day of sailing. After the agony of the Pacific Ocean, it was a northeasterly storm that would again test the crew and the boat as they approached Cape Horn. The rigging was malingering, the genoa was torn: ENZA was taken off course to allow for emergency repairs. Precious miles were lost.
On 5 March, Peter Blake finally went around Cape Horn, for the fifth time, after 48 days at sea. On board, only two crew-members were seeing the Horn for the first time.
ENZA left the Pacific with a five-day lead on Commodore Explorer. But Kersauson was close behind. Twenty-six hours after Blake and Knox-Johnston, he also cleared Drake’s passage.
The trip up the Atlantic, along the coast of Brazil, had penalized Bruno Peyron and his crew. Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston chose to travel further east. The intention was to avoid head wind and a close-hauled ascent, hard-going for a racing catamaran. ENZA’s average speed fell to 8 knots. The two skippers would have to wait 10 days to see if their option paid off. On 14 March, at 25°51 south and 23°54 west, ENZA finally found the southeast trade winds on its course.
Trailing behind for 50 days, Lyonnaise des Eaux Dumez suddenly emerged at the same latitude… But the French crew had three fewer men than their opponents. Fatigue would soon reap its effects.
And those on board ENZA were also impatient to arrive.
“The convergence zone(12)(12)Intertropical Convergence Zone or Doldrums. currently is a 2 degrees north so tonight and tomorrow are going to be very interesting for La Lyonnaise. We seem to have got away. All the signs are good but we’ve still got our finger crossed !” wrote Peter Blake in a morning telex, on 21 March. The conducive weather conditions at the exit of the Doldrums also worked to the advantage of Lyonnaise des Eaux Dumez.
2,208 miles (4,089 km) from the arrival, on 24 March, ENZA had to keep up an average of over 7.5 knots if its skippers were to take the Trophy off Bruno Peyron. Given the speed that had been maintained from the start, it was doable. But weather is not always predictable. And the Azores High is a major obstacle that needs to skirted in the northern hemisphere, at the risk of being stuck with an immobilized boat a few thousand miles from Ushant. The thing was, there were only 12 days 6 hours and 15 minutes left for Blake and Knox Johnston to win their wager.
On 27 March, Olivier de Kersauson broke his silence: Lyonnaise des Eaux Dumez, 640 miles (1,185 km) behind ENZA, at 32°27 north and 48°35 west, had suffered rigging damage and was slowed down by the weak winds generated by the Azores High.
The New Zealander catamaran also struggled with these weather conditions, dropping down to 5 knots, before picking up speed again, still far ahead of the French.
Two days from arriving, it was tempting to release the “big cat” and let ENZA hurtle to victory. But the two skippers remained prudent. The boat was tired, the men as well.
The last miles were grueling, the sea was choppy, the wind climbed to 70 knots (129 km/h) off Brittany. “As bad as Cap Horn,” Blake would remark later. ENZA rushed on and threatened to capsize. It was necessary to drop hawsers behind them to keep control of the boat.
Again tossed by a storm off Ushant, the crew-members of ENZA New Zealand crossed the finish line of the Jules Verne Trophy on 1 April 1994, recording a time of 74 days, 22 hours, 17 minutes and 22 seconds for its circumnavigation. Bruno Peyron’s record had been beaten by almost 5 days.
“ENZA New Zealand is a remarkable vessel, ad it was a fantastic learning curve in seamanship,” declared Peter Blake to the press. “With a new boat and a bit of luck a 67-days circumnavigation is possible,” foretold the Kiwi skipper, before adding: “But it won’t be me.”
Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston had attained their objective. They were already dreaming of other challenges.
But Olivier de Kersauson hadn’t yet spoken his last word.
On board the Commodore Explorer, the biggest catamaran of its generation, Bruno Peyron opened the way with a supreme circumnavigation in under 80 days. No one had ever attempted the adventure, even less so on such a vessel. Peyron and his four-man crew took up Phileas Fogg’s challenge(13)(13)Collector pin !. In their way stood impressive rivals and the extreme conditions of the globe’s fiercest seas.
Ushant, on Saturday 30 January 1993. At 14 hours, two minutes and 27 seconds, under full main and solent jib, Commodore Explorer crossed the starting line… With a seven-hour delay. Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston, on board their catamaran ENZA New Zealand, had left in the early morning, also on the hunt for the Jules Verne Trophy. This postponed departure would offer Bruno Peyron and his crew a magnificent opportunity to exceed themselves. They needed to catch up with the Kiwis. “We’ve attacked our journey like a gigantic regatta rather than a long-haul rally,” declared Bruno by radio on 2 February.
The two competitors were also on the heels of Olivier de Kersauzon, who had embarked on his circumnavigation five days earlier, on board the trimaran Charal. “Kersau” wasn’t one to bend to his chums’ games. He set his own rules. He was running outside the Trophy. But “the Admiral” was determined to go under 80 days and to snatch up the record.
Just as determined, Bruno Peyron showed great prudence nonetheless. How would a gigantic catamaran behave in the ocean and in the high-latitude weather? Commodore Explorer was the “world-toured” ex-Jet Services(14)(14) In 1993, at the time when Bruno Peyron purchased it, Jet Services V was the fastest catamaran in the world, with an Atlantic crossing record of 6 days and 13 hours., measuring 26 meters. A “wind-making machine,” tailor-made for racing but very difficult to brake and… more stable upside down than right-way up. The architect of the “blue rocket” designed the floats as two survival packs where the crew could spend a month if ever the boat capsized.
For Bruno Peyron, the Jules Verne Trophy was a research field for constructing a “catamaran for the year 2000,” 40 meters long in his dreams. He admitted that his only goal was to return to Ushant after scoring the best time and beating the established record – the very accessible one set by Titouan Lamazou who tied up his world tour, singlehandedly on a monohull, in 109 days. And also to bring the boat – and above all his men! – back home!
“There aren’t five too many of us to do the daily chores,” confided Bruno Peyron, just four days after casting off. “We tend to run Commodore Explorer in the way that we would for a Grand Prix, that ordinarily ‘consumes’ about ten big lads.” Meanwhile, ENZA carried a crew of seven, so while adding to the weight, the men were less worn by effort. In the dual between the two catamarans, Commodore Explorer quickly took the lead on the Atlantic.
While Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston hugged the African coast, Bruno Peyron traced a far more westward curve, in search of east wind. The blue catamaran soon scampered southwards, with a beam wind, at 20 knots, its favorite speed. The Commodore boys, now in the lead, crossed the Doldrums(15)(15)The Intertropical Convergence Zone, or “the Doldrums,” is a cloudy zone near the Equator, characterized by an extremely capricious wind system, varying from dead calm to sudden gusts at over 30 knots (55 km/h).. without much difficulty. On 9 February, Peyron’s Magic Team crossed the Equator, swiping its first record(16)(16)English Channel – Equator in 8 days, 19 hours, 25 minutes and 45 seconds..
Since leaving Brest, the vessel’s chart reader had been on the blink. The SSB radio link was not always reliable. Bruno Peyron had to trust in his intuition and could only rely on written forecasts, received daily by telex. As the crew approached the Great South, Météo France announced storm winds of up to 50 knots (92 km/h) – only to be expected in the Roaring Forties that Commodore Explorer was sailing through on 17 February. The thing was, an ice alert was also issued early on by Kersauson, who at that point was only 450 miles (830 km) ahead. A drifting growler had just ripped into one of Charal’s floats and the boat was forced to abandon the competition. Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Jonhston continued eastwards on their way, paying heed not to venture beyond the 38th parallel. Despite the prospect of a minefield, Peyron, still in the lead, was trying to gain yet more time and headed a few degrees south… Too far south. “It’s an initiation to Hell. Brutal. Violent. Powerful. Outrageous! There are no specific adjectives for describing what’s happening here at the moment,” wrote Bruno Peyron about his 42° south experience. “We’ve changed scales and changed planets. Commodore Explorer is without a doubt the biggest catamaran, but here it just doesn’t exist… We almost capsized…” Colossal waves opened up gulfs under the Commodore Explorer, speeding along at 30 knots in the tempest. Peyron’s men struggled for forty hours in their attempt to keep the monster under control. These experienced sailors had never seen such a violent sea. The barepoled boat pulled through without major damage. A miracle. But for the crew, the ordeal was grueling, and they’d take a few weeks to get over it.
Alone in the running
As the boat rounded the Cape of Good Hope on 22 February, Bruno Peyron allowed himself to believe in the Trophy once again. After the shocking introduction to the Forties, and despite the need of a few repairs along the way, Commodore Explorer had swallowed up the miles – 466 miles (863 km) on 25 February – stealing those that again had been lost in ENZA’s favor. The regatta of the giants continued unabated.
But on 27 February, the New Zealander catamaran collided with an unidentified floating object. The blow was fatal: Blake and Robin in turn abandoned the race and headed for South Africa. Commodore Explorer nearly joined them. The day before, a particularly violent wave abeam struck the starboard side. Repairs lasted all night long before the leak was finally plugged up.
After 33 days, 8 hours and 46 minutes at sea, the last catamaran in the running crossed, at 50° south, the longitude of Cape Leeuwin, off Australia. A never-seen record that Bruno Peyron’s HQ rates as following the trail of the great nineteenth-century clippers.
The weather was milder as they entered the Pacific. At an average speed of 16 knots, Commodore Explorer approached the continent of Antarctica by a few more degrees, drawing near to 56° south, the longitude of Cape Horn. The next ordeal.
The “Horn wrecks”
“We’re still upright,” wrote Bruno Peyron in his logbook on 22 March, “and yet with 45 knots of south wind against us as we approach Cape Horn, they say this is only the case 10 % of the time…” Two lows had turned up in the zone, and the slot of passable weather was narrow and inconstant. Caught up by gusts at 70 knots (130 km/h), Commodore Explorer, threatened with explosion in full flight, sailed ahull(17)(17)Crossing wind and waves with sails furled.. “Inside, we’re getting everything ready for the possibility of capsizing,” described the skipper. “We’re drifting at 4 knots towards the coast. We’re less than 100 miles (185 km) from the coast. Not good.”
This caused more of a fright than real damage… Once again, the boat and the men clung on. On 25 March, thanks to a “lull” – winds at 45 knots (83 km/h) – and after 53 days of sailing, they finally went round Cape Horn.
The challenge also provided an opportunity to test new embedded technologies. On board and on land, cheers met the new prowess: a photo of the “Horn wrecks” was transmitted to Paris by satellite(18)(18)! To find out everything on the Commodore Explorer, French fans could also consult their Minitel (a pre-Web online service accessible through phone lines)…
Farewell, Trophy?
Once Cape Horn was behind them, there remained 9,000 miles (16,668 km) before reaching Ushant, in other words the last third of the itinerary. If Commodore Explorer was to pass the finishing line in time, before 21 April, it would have to keep up an average of 14.5 knots. But the catamaran, designed for speeding downwind, resisted high performance when going upwind. Yet the return to the Atlantic began with around ten days of sailing close-hauled upwind, up to the northern point of Brazil. After Brazil, bypassing of the Azores High by the west would lengthen the course. On 10 April, Commodore Explorer, surging once again at 17 knots, collided against two whales. On 16 April, a wooden ball crushed the stem. The boat took blow after blow, the crew tried to keep their spirits up when the average daily speed fell to 4 knots. Three days before the arrival, the skipper still doubted his capacity to win Phileas Fogg’s bet. As misfortunes arose and needed to be kept at a distance, Peyron repeated over and over: “It’s not a priority.”
Hope reemerged on 17 April: Commodore Explorer made one last sprint. At an average of 21 knots, it gulped up 507 miles (938 km) in a single day. Nothing could stop in any longer, not even the final storm that met the boys as they approached Brittany.
On 20 April 1993, the blue catamaran went over the finishing line of the Jules Verne Trophy, under the monumental Créach’, the western lighthouse of Ushant. Bruno Peyron’s Magic Team pulverized the circumnavigation speed record… and won the wager in 79 days, 6 hours, 15 minutes and 56 seconds(19)(19). Peter Blake and Robin Knox-Johnston had already decided to do better. Olivier de Kersauzon was also preparing his revenge…
The various attempts to break the record and to carry off the Jules Verne Trophy represent just as many ocean adventures that deserve to be told here.
Severe damage or overly long delays have often brought the momentums of Captains Courageous to standstills. Other skippers have succeeded in finishing their world tours… But not quickly enough to beat the established record.
These performances – the stories of men, women and their boats – will be recounted in these pages.
Come back soon!
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© Photo Gilles Martin-Raget
© Photo Gilles Martin-Raget
© Photo Gilles Martin-Raget
© Photo Gilles Martin-Raget
Archives Rivacom 
© Photo Christian Février
Archives Rivacom
Hervé Jan, Thomas Coville and Marc Le Fur. Archives Rivacom 
Archives Rivacom 
In Brest, Sir Peter Blake congratulates ODK and his team, the news holders of the Jules Verne Trophy © Photo Christian Février
Ed Danby, Don Wright, David Alan-Williams and cameraman George Johns would be backed up by two new crewmembers, Barry Mackay and Angus Buchanan.The Sir Peter Blake Trust Collection / Alan Sefton. Photo Philippe Millereau © Agence DPPI
The Sir Peter Blake Trust Collection / Alan Sefton © Photo Ivor Wilkins
Peter Blake, bedridden due to backache keeps on looking for the best route. The Sir Peter Blake Trust Collection / Alan Sefton. Photo George Johns © Agence DPPI
Hawsers behind ENZA. The Sir Peter Blake Trust Collection / Alan Sefton. Photo Henri Thibault © Agence DPPI
Sir Peter Blake and family, in Brest. The Sir Peter Blake Trust Collection / Alan Sefton. © Agence DPPI
30 January 1993. Peter Blake, Robin Knox-Johnston and French skipper Bruno Peyron look at the last weather forecasts some hours before starting from Brest. Sir Peter Blake Trust of NZ © Christian Février
Commodore Explorer’s dream team : Marc Vallin, Jacques Vincent, Bruno Peyron, Cam Lewis, Thomas Coville (who was not onboard Commodore Explorer during this attempt for the Jules Verne Trophy), Olivier Despaigne. © Photo Jacques Vapillon.
© Photo Christian Février
Commodore Explorer over the finishing line of the Jules Verne Trophy, not far from Ushant © Photo Christian Février