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Polperro Heritage Press - Pete Bray

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72 pages

English

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Description

First hand account of a single-handed crossing of the Atlantic in a kayak

Sujets

Atlantic Ocean

Informations

Publié par	Polperro Heritage Press
Date de parution	01 janvier 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9780957646100
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0537€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Kayak Across the Atlantic
Pete Bray
Foreword
I feel greatly flattered to have been invited to contribute the Foreword to Pete Bray’s account of his remarkable achievement - the first ever crossing of the wide Atlantic in either canoe or kayak, using only paddles.
There are, I feel sure, many people better qualified than I to put their signature to this Foreword. However, I am glad I was given the opportunity to do so as I have learned a great deal from reading this fascinating book, not least the author’s account of the development of the kayak from its eskimo origins. I wish that I had known as much as Pete Bray about the kayak and its history when, as a young man recovering from a knee operation, I was sent back for a couple of months in late 1942 from the Middle East to Combined Operations HQ in London.
Somewhat earlier I had been involved in an SAS attack on a German airfield in Crete. We had been landed from a Greek submarine and the only canoes at our disposal had been rather indifferent captured German ones. Back in London, I was asked by the great scientist, the late Sir Solly Zuckerman, to help design a British version. This I did, and for a long time afterwards the harbours at Alexandria, Haifa and Beirut were inundated with objects labelled the Jellicoe Inflatable Intruder Mark I; no match, I fear, for the Bray kayak. However, that is by the way.
What is in no sense ‘by the way’ is our author’s account of his two trans-Atlantic ventures; the first in 2000, perilous and unsuccessful. The second, a year later, was a triumph over sustained adversity; a solo crossing from St. John’s harbour in Newfoundland to Belderrig in County Mayo, Southern Ireland. That crossing, completed in 76 days, was made in weather conditions that the Newfoundland Coastguard described as ‘one of the worst years for belligerent weather in living memory’. It was carried out despite potentitally fatal equipment failures, each remedied with skill, albeit with the greatest difficulty, by Pete.
The physical strain it imposed on him was immense. He lost some three stone during his exhausting two thousand mile paddle in the harshest conditions. On his arrival, the Irish doctor who examined Pete described him as ‘the fittest-looking skeleton’ he had ever encountered.
This, the first successful solo Atlantic crossing by paddled kayak, could not have been made without the determination and absolute dedication of the author of this book. What is, at the same time, both pleasing and typical are the tributes he pays to all those in our country who made the challenge a possibility; above all, the project manager Jim Rowlinson. And he acknowledges the backing and encouragement given by the network of ‘new found’ friends in Newfoundland, including the communications company Stratos who did so much to support the adventure.
JELLICOE
The Rt. Hon. The Earl Jellicoe KBE PC DSO MC FRS
Acknowledgements
This book tells the story of my solo, unsupported attempt to cross the north Atlantic in a kayak. I know it was solo - there was barely enough room for me on board, let alone anyone else; and it was unsupported in that no one gave me any direct assistance between my Newfoundland embarkation to my eventual (and literal) land-fall.
However. the attempt and the story could never have happened without the help and encouragement of a legion of individuals and businesses on both sides of the ocean. In thanking them for their material and moral support, I should, perhaps, not forget those who were of no help or encouragement at all; their negative attitude only served to spur me on to greater effort.
There are two people, in particular, without whom this account would not exist. Early on in the scheme of things I was fortunate to be introduced to Jim Rowlinson from Whitwick in Leicestershire. He became the project’s manager - no small undertaking as the main element of the project was me! He fulfilled roles that I had barely thought of, and he persisted where I might have been unable to. And while I was on the water (and sometimes in it) Jim was my eyes, my ears, and my all-embracing back-up. He was on both sides of the Atlantic - not simultaneously, but it felt as though he was.
Bob Adams was working at Hereford Cathedral School when he and I met. The idea that that we might collaborate on ‘the book’ was suggested; it was accepted, and here it is. Before the two of us launched ourselves upon the project he was a good friend of mine. Now it is finished…and he is still a good friend of mine. Given my generally low tolerance level, I have to say that this is a prodigious achievement by both of us!
The deeds within the book are mine; and many of the words are, too. Bob took my raw ingredients, applied his own recipe, added a pinch of salt and has prepared my story for general consumption. I hope you like it. It is a starter; other courses will surely follow.

“….Quite simply, when I heard what Pete was trying to do, my jaw dropped open. When I realised he would have to attempt it for the second time, I was astonished. When he completed it, I had nothing but admiration for him and I felt I could share a little in his pride by having been a part of the team that had sponsored this historic achievement. What next my good friend….?”
Kim Wilson-Gough, M.D. Kirkham Motte Limited
Contents

Title Page Foreword Acknowledgements Chapter 1 The Challenge Chapter 2 Origins Chapter 3 Challenge Renewed Chapter 4 Building the Boat Chapter 5 Final Preparations Chapter 6 The Second Attempt 22nd June - 5th July 2001 Chapter 7 6th July - 19th July Chapter 8 20th July - 2nd August Chapter 9 3rd August - 16th August Chapter 10 17th August - 30th August Chapter 11 31st August - September Chapter 12 Spirit of the Sea Appendix Plates Copyright
CHAPTER 1

Wind and fog are a mariner’s natural enemies. Winds can reach a velocity of 140 kilometres per hour at St. John’s Airport, with gusts up to 200 kph. Winds on Signal Hill and on open waters are generally more severe.
I came across this apocalyptic warning outside the Cabot Tower, perched on the highest point above the harbour of St. John’s in Newfoundland. The 19 th century tower was named in honour of John Cabot, the Italian-born seafarer who was one of the first men to cross the North Atlantic from England in the 15 th century. Cabot probably never needed to clamber up the hill that would later host his tower, but he is the man credited with finding this new-found land; the building itself was erected to celebrate the 400 th anniversary of his discovery.
It was not the most encouraging omen to encounter just as I was about to embark on a voyage across the North Atlantic in one of the smallest craft ever to attempt the journey. I certainly wanted to avoid winds of 200 kilometres per hour; steady westerlies were all I required. It was June 15 th 2000 and the favourable winds forecast by the weather experts had arrived. At 7.45pm local time, as the tide was on the turn, I climbed down from the quayside and dropped into the cockpit of my boat.
This was it! The culmination of four years of planning and the beginning of an adventure that could well last for the next three months.
So far, so good. I knew, of course, that the huge challenge ahead would produce its fair share of negative incidents, but I was unprepared for the first to appear as soon as my bottom landed in the cockpit. At that precise moment my project manager, Jim Rowlinson, already on board a small escort vessel alongside, received an urgent telephone call from the local coastguard.
“Bad news, Pete. Your start is delayed,” he shouted.
I couldn’t believe it!
“Good news, Pete. It’s only for about fifteen minutes,” he added a few seconds later.
After a little contemplation, and a lot of muttering to myself, I saw the cause of the delay appearing through the narrows leading to the port. In front of me was one giant tanker. From my vantage point at sea level plus about three feet almost anything would have looked enormous. My modest mode of transport was only 27 feet long. After the great grey bulk of the ship had passed, I cast off in the gathering dusk and paddled away from the comforting security of dry land. The next scheduled stop was Ireland, well over 2,000 miles to the east.
As Jim’s boat accompanied me out of the harbour, we met four kayakers from the nearby inlet of Quidi Vidi who had come round the headland to see me off. Behind me, on the quayside stood a bubbling, babbling mixture of friends, harbour officials and onlookers. Most of them probably thought I was several nuts short of a cutlet. Reporters from local television and radio were also in evidence. I suspect they held the same view as the onlookers, but they were seeing this as a newsworthy endeavour, whatever the outcome.
One by one the escorting vessels turned back towards the land. In the last boat to return, along with the television crew that had invited him aboard, was Jim, the man whose unwavering effort, enterprise and organisational skill had got me this far. As we went our separate ways there were no goodbyes, just “see you in about ninety days.” Jim, his wife Jean and the television crew returned to land probably without giving it too much of a second thought. My destination lay way beyond the eastern horizon. That was plenty for me to be thinking about.
In between the start and the finish of my journey seethed a lot of ocean. Not just any ocean, but the wild, windswept and unpredictable North Atlantic. I was setting out to try to overcome it and make an Irish landfall, using only man-power. If I succeeded I would be the first person to paddle a kayak across the Atlantic, unsupported and without the aid of any form of sail.
A few long-liners - Newfoundland and North American fishing boats with outriggers - passed by me on their way back to St. John’s. And then, suddenly it seemed, I was alone.
I had planned for this. My 25 years army training had prepared me;