Book review:

Saved

by Tony Bullimore

Little Brown and Co., 1997

Bullimore, a contestant in the 1996-1997 Vendee Globe single-handed, non-stop ’round the world race, is a man of great character. That he survived this modern-day ordeal is proof of his courage and ability to remain calm under pressure.

But what makes this book fascinating for Weather-wise readers are the descriptions of the Southern Ocean ‘bomb’ that flipped his yacht, and that of fellow competitor Thierry Dubois.

In fact, the Southern Ocean leg of that Vendee Globe race was punctuated by meteorological nightmares, beginning with the near-fatal knockdown of Raphael Dinelli one week earlier and ending with the total disappearance of Gerry Roufs in a section of ocean furthest from land, between New Zealand, Cape Horn and Antarctica’s Marie Byrd Land.

Extreme conditions

But when sailors venture down to 60 degrees south, bad weather is sure to find them. If you look at an animated sequence of Southern Ocean satellite images, the fronts whirling around the continent of Antarctica appear like the spokes on a wheel. They move quickly, and form and reform into complex low pressure cells many times on their journey around the pole.

The big obvious storm systems are not the deadly ones. The frightfully quick and compact ‘bombs’ that develop out of nothing - or so it seems - to deliver hurricane force winds within hours which in turn create waves with incredibly steep faces: These are the ingredients for disaster in the great gray expanse of the Southern Ocean.

Of course, big southern storms are punctuated by great high pressure cells, sometimes blocking the path of westerly winds and staying put for several days. Beneath these highs are light winds and clear skies and the wild high latitudes appear serene and beautiful. These deep southern highs provide many a magic moment for sailors. The weather behind them is less appealing.

Magic moment

Bullimore, aboard his ketch-rigged monohull, Exide Challenger, sailed quietly past Heard Island 4000km south west of Perth on New Year’s Eve, 1996 in the midst of placid high pressure.

"Heard Island emerges from the morning mist looking wind-swept and prehistoric," he writes on page one.

"I gaze in amazement at my first sight of land in nearly eight weeks. The rocky peaks, streaked with ice and snow, look like ancient pillars holding up the sky, and vegetation clings to the lower reaches like ivy."

Bullimore is sailing in 15 knots of gentle breeze from the north west and life is good. For the next three days the weather remains brilliant, with the barometer sitting about 1010mb, ‘relatively high for this part of the world,’ as Bullimore points out. He eats breakfast in the cockpit, opens hatches to air the humidity out of holds below, hangs laundry on a line and shaves two weeks of stubble off his chin. The temperature is in the low 20s Centigrade.

"Where’s the notorious Southern Ocean?" he wonders aloud. "It’s like a summer’s day on Plymouth Sound … It’s one of those rare days when everything comes together and you feel a remarkable affinity with the boat and your surroundings."

Good thing too, because Bullimore has not had reliable weather fax reports since his satellite communication failed at the Equator. He has no way of knowing if he lies to the north of depressions (the good side to be on, with winds from the western quarters, and astern, or if he is south of a storm which can be disastrous - winds from the north and east with building waves pushing against a constant westerly swell making for dangerous cross-seas.

"Now it’s all come down to instinct and experience," he says

Different beast

Despite Bullimore’s 27 Atlantic crossings, he admits the Southern Ocean is a different beast and to survive it is to stay ‘one step ahead of the weather’.

On January 4 the wind begins to rise, nice and steady from the north west at 15 to 18 knots to 23 to 25 to 30 knots. The barometer has plunged from 1010mb to 990 in three hours and it continues to fall.

Bullimore drops the mainsail completely, puts three reefs in the mizzen and partly rolls up the jib.

"Still the wind keeps coming, stronger all the time, and the sea begins to boil. From the cockpit, I look up and see a dirty gray mass about a mile ahead."

What Bullimore sees is not an iceberg, as at first he thought, but a rogue wave eight storeys high ‘rolling across the ocean looking for something to slow it down’.

"I swear I can see it building," he writes. "It seems to stretch across the horizon in an unbroken line, rising higher and higher."

As the storm increases , so too does the madness on the face of the sea. After just a few hours, visibility is down to a hundred metres," he notes." Every so often I see another rogue wave and I begin imagining that if they’re in front of me then they must also be behind. I keep glancing around, wishing I had eyes in the back of my head. Clipping on my safety harness I surf down the swells steering sharply before I reach the bottom of each trough so the bow doesn’t dig into the water.

"I look ’round and see a wave on my port side. It’s bloody huge with a face that looks almost vertical. Rearing up it splits at the top with water rolling down the front and back.

"I look at it in awe and realise that one of those only has to catch me at the right moment and I’m in serious trouble."

By twilight of that first day, 18 metre waves are rolling in from two directions, colliding and sending spray a hundred feet into the air. The sea has turned completely white and the wind speed indicator nudges 70 knots.

According to Bullimore, satellite pictures for January 5 showed a huge low pressure ‘pulse’ in the region of 52 degrees south. It was a classic ‘bomb’, named by meteorologists who study them and as the author points out: ‘these systems are so explosive that they seem to hit without warning’.

The same storm hit Dubois’ Amnesty Pour International with winds of 65 knots and more. The young Frenchman ran with the wind, keeping just four square metres of sail aloft to keep the boat’s speed down. Twice the yacht was knocked down with its mast in the water. The third time it somersaulted completely and the mast broke.

After freeing the debris Dubois relaxed, for a moment, and with the kind of level-headed aura we’ve come to expect of solo ’round the world sailors, planned how to erect a jury rig after the storm passed away to the east. But without its lofty rig to dampen movement side to side, the extremely-designed downwind race boat was even more prone to being rolled by a wave and that is exactly what it did, twice more during the three day tempest. The second time his wide, skiff-like, 18m yacht actually stayed upside down, with its deep keel and lead bulb standing proudly aloft - much to the amazement of designers ashore.

The rest of this book is devoted to being rescued. It is an amazing and harrowing account and well worth a read. Perhaps of greater interest is the profile Bullimore draws of himself, as a east-end Londoner who makes it good in business as well as pleasure.

Did you know?

The Vendee Globe solo ’round the world yacht race is a non-stop event.

In the 1989/90 and 1992/93 events 13 boats started each time and only half that number finished.

The race was started by Jean Philippe Jeantot, a great French solo sailor who won the first two BOC Challenge round-the-world races

The frontal systems extending north from this storm and others developing behind it, drew so much hot northern air in from the desert towards Perth that rescue air craft used the whole of their 3500 metre runway to get airborne, so thin was the air into which they were trying to fly.

At 52 degrees south the same Orion aircraft could fly 8000 feet higher, but there was a threat of ice was forming on its turbine blades.

More great reading

Southern Ocean wobble: Alternating blobs of cold and warm water may be responsible for creating long-term climate in southern lands fronting the great Southern Ocean.

Blocking high contributes to Tasmanian weather.