April 1993
I was at anchor next to Beef Island in the British Virgin Islands when I decided to return to Trieste. It was after nearly five months of sailing around the Lesser Antilles. I was piloting my family boat. VENTO FRESCO was a 38 foot sloop that had sailed with me across the Atlantic Ocean thru the years, and she was ready to face her sixth transatlantic voyage. In the days before the departure I was peaceful and confident since I had already sailed a similar route a few years before with a friend of mine. Back then, I had set sail from the same bay in the British Virgin Islands aboard VENTO FRESCO with Massimo Fonda. We went across the six thousand miles that separated us from Trieste in 52 days without stopping. In the light of that experience, I had arranged the galley in a rational manner. For about 60 days we would be self-sufficient with food and water, together with a well-balanced and variegated diet. This time on board with me was Andrea Pribaz, a 27 year old friend with good sea experience. He had sailed with me throughout this journey since July 10, 1992, the day we left Trieste.
We pulled the anchor from Beef Island bay on April 21st at 17:10 GMT. After the first three days of sailing, and with good mileage, we found ourselves in the lower side of a high pressure condition that forced us to the hood or, at best, to sail very few useful miles. The wind, mostly on the nose, was blowing alternately from the first and second quadrant, often exceeding 30-35 knots, with a swell difficult to date back. This weather situation was now on for about a week. It eventually left us with no wind and more than two thousand miles to go to reach the Strait of Gibraltar. On the morning of May 8th the wind gradually resumed blowing from East-South-East, and therefore, always in the opposite direction in respect to our course. The barometer began a slow gradual descent. Weather conditions were worsening. On the evening of the 11th, we were facing a gale from the South East with winds blowing at 50-55 knots and the sea swell was increasing by size. We decided to put the hood racy for the approaching night. Before practicing this pace, we avoided by a few yards a couple of large whales that proceeded to cross (traverse compared to) our bow. Then a piece of wood the size of a telegraph pole came upon us, too. The situation was getting worse by the hour. The barometric data was even more worrying, with a decline of more than 20 points in the last 36 hours, with a partial drop of at least 10 millibars during the same night, up to a minimum value of 990 millibars on the morning of the 12th of May.
Our concern for this storm was intensified by the spine-chilling news we tapped on SSB radio of an Italian sailing boat a few hundred miles behind us, that was crewed by good and skilled friends of ours. It had capsized during the night, resulting in the loss at sea of one of the crew members.
10:00 GMT
The cold front, together with its consequent change of wind direction, occurred that morning. We were hit by a very violent blow from the North West with peaks up to 95 knots (US Coast Guard source). The situation became more and more difficult with the formation of an impressive wave motion that made us decide to lower all sails as our smallest six square meters storm jib was giving us a speed greater than the boat, or us, could manage. We were gliding on the waves easily reaching 16-18 knots. In the meanwhile the barometer was speeding up at 5 millibars per hour.
11:00 GMT
Our situation was not improving. Soon we were hit by a wave on the port side. We sustained structural damage to the deckhouse between the two central portholes. We decided to stream the genoa 2 from the stern with long mooring lines in order to reduce the boat speed. We were hoping to keep the course and maneuverability using only the engine idling. After less than an hour, however, the engine stopped when air bubbles shorted the diesel circuit due to the strong rolling of the waves. With great difficulty we again hoisted the storm jib. And now with the genoa hauled and trailing astern, we experienced better results. The wind decreased to 55-60 knots, but unfortunately it swung West, overlapping the waves that were now reaching heights of 15 meters and more, with absolutely dangerous breaking surfs.
14:00 GMT
Andrea was below deck working on the bilge pump in order to empty as much water from the bildges as he could. The boat was taking water, especially from the damaged deckhouse. Andrea also made emergency repairs, adapting and nailing pieces of dunnage.I was at the helm. A huge wave surf literally lifted our stern while the bow was falling in the wave slope. I was still grabbing the helm, but totally underwater, as the wave overwhelmed us. In front of me the ocean was becoming darker and darker as we were swallowed up by tons of sea water. I was dragged toward the abyss. Seconds later, my safety harness was my only connection to the boat. Then I suddenly flew away. Flipping in the deep waters, the eyebolt my harness was fastened to had broken loose. I was lost in the sea.
I came up from the abyss and reached the sea surface. The boat was still upside down with its keel facing the sky, not less than 80 feet away. I began swimming with all my strength toward the hull while the mast was slowly rising from the water amazingly still in its place. The boat slowly righted itself, and then began to sail away, pushed on by the terrible winds.
I was swimming wildly. With all my breath I called to Andrea as loud as I could. I felt immensely relieved when I saw him coming out of the cabin and reaching the cockpit. His face was covered with blood. Luckily, he had only sustained a small wound on his forehead. I eventually reached the very end of one of the mooring lines the boat was trailing. With another big effort I reached the boat's stern. With Andrea's help, I climbed back on board, vests and boots full of water and totally exhausted.
The deckhouse was completely torn on the starboard side and almost full of water that had flooded in during the capsizing. The vessel's waterline was almost at deck level. During the capsize the life raft was almost lost overboard. Miraculously, however, it had gotten stuck on a deck stanchion. Andrea and I had almost no time to organize, collect, and prepare a few things that could help us while in the life raft.
Below deck was total chaos. Everything was out of place, floating, or sunk in bilge water mixed with oil, gasoline, battery acid, etc... We managed to rescue a couple of food cans, one water jerry can, the logbook, a portable GPS, a flashlight, some flares, the bearing compass, some clothing and the emergency radio.
We boarded the life raft, leaving the sinking VENTO FRESCO at 14:20 GMT on May the 12th 1993.
Every minute of each day we spent on the raft was extremely slow. We spotted a few ships, but not one of them noticed us in our tiny raft. We were floating so deeply inside the swells of the open ocean waves, we were barely visible from a distance. Our emergency flares were no help in our attempts. We were not noticed by anyone. We rationed food and water for a virtual autonomy of about a month, but that was not the major survival problem. Sea water was continuously permeating into the raft, forcing us to always be wet. The inflation pump was partially damaged. The air chambers kept losing pressure. Our flashlight batteries were soon discharged. And the raft's cover seal was failing, allowing more and more water to enter. Twice at sunset, a shark, the same one perhaps, was wandering nearby, lazily circling a few dozen feet around us.
Among these, and other discomforts due to repeated and irregular movements of the soft, wet and cold raft bottom floor, the weather was slowly improving, but with lowering air temperatures. Our perpetually soaked clothing made us even colder, especially at night. At the time of the abandonment of VENTO FRESCO the batteries for the emergency radio could not be found. So in the meantime, we were trying to devise ways to activate the emergency radio. These operations kept us engaged for most of the time. We had to connect to the radio the batteries that we had available for the GPS and the second flashlight.
May the 18th
We recovered a piece of electrical wire from a self-inflatable life vest which connected the bulb of the vest to its battery. It was the same type vest as one supplied by the aircraft companies. We had taken it with us before abandoning the boat. Thanks to this wire, we were finally able to devise an improvised electrical bridge using few little things contained in the first aid kit as bandages and band aids. When everything was ready we attempted a first radio contact as soon as we sighted a cargo ship. Although it was sailing quite close to us, it did not noticed our raft. We winced as we heard a voice from our radio loudspeaker, not from the ship, but from the pilot of Air France flight 510 from Paris Charles de Gaulle to St. Maarten that was flying at more than 30,000 feet above us. That aircraft pilot had just picked up our Mayday. He was notifying S. Maria Island in the Azores and the American Coast Guard in New York. We were beginning to awaken from our nightmare.
00.00 GMT May 19th
Another radio contact with an Air Mexico flight pilot a few hours later confirmed to us that our Mayday was correctly forwarded. We were eagerly waiting for our rescuers when, after nearly seven days from the sinking of VENTO FRESCO, we heard the roar of a reconnaissance aircraft flying low around us. Our joy was endless.
02.30 GMT
Thanks to the great skill of the pilot and crew of U.S. Coast Guard patrol aircraft C130 “Oscar 1504” and the accuracy of the ship's commander, Hermann Eickholt, of Dutch cargo ship “Alidon”, we climbed the ship rope ladder provided for us on its starboard side at on the same night in Latitude 39° 00' North and Longitude 40° 32' West.
We were tired, almost in disbelief but tremendously happy.
I will never forget VENTO FRESCO, my family boat, that had been my home for thousands of miles. This very strong boat, although severely damaged, had withstood the strongest wind and the worst waves for several days, allowing us to overcome the most difficult part of the storm.
Thanks to her strength we will continue to live.