Lionheart

by Jesse Martin

  True to its design, it sailed beautifully. Lionheart was to spend only a week in the water before I left. In that time I spent a grand total of three hours sailing it on my own. That is, I did three hours of solo sailing before embarking on a trip that lasted 327 days, 12 hours and 52 minutes (or more than 7860 hours). I made some trips with Dad and other family members, but they only stretched to a few hours. My original timetable for preparation stated boldly that I'd spend a solid week sailing around Tasmania to test myself and the boat. The longest trip I did was taking a friend about 12 miles across the bay to Williamstown, where we bought fish and chips. It was not the ideal preparation, but we had no choice. If I was to leave at the end of November to break the record, the boat had to be dry-docked and prepared.

  The first few weeks were simply spent inspecting every part of Lionheart. We had no sponsor at that stage, so Dad scurried about doing things like removing corrosion and cleaning and polishing the fittings.

  The search for the major sponsor proved elusive. My first real bite was from a communications company that was just about to launch itself on the Australian market. I won't use its name as I'm not sure it got off the ground, but I was pretty excited about their interest. It got to the stage where I was to fly to Sydney to meet the head honchos. Then a call came out of the blue that they were no longer interested. It was like being on the crest of a wave that suddenly disappeared. I should have known better than to get my hopes up. It was a real kick in the guts.

  But things were moving in other areas. On 21 July, the Herald Sun newspaper's education section, ‘Learn’, ran a story on how students who spend time away from school keep up with their studies. It provoked a prompt reply from the Victorian Distance Education Centre. The centre felt slighted that it had been overlooked, such was the work it carried out with sick and absent children. The email told how the centre had a student who had just returned from a trip from Belize to Tahiti—me!

  The paper was aware of the interest David Dicks’ trip had aroused in Perth, particularly from schools who followed his trip. They decided to approach me about doing a similar thing, but with me writing a weekly diary to be published in the Herald Sun. I was taking laptop computers with me, which meant I could communicate via email. David was only able to communicate through radio, making frequent contact much harder.

  A reporter from the newspaper called me and we chatted about my plans and the possibility of the Herald Sun becoming involved. I had intended to go to the major media outlets, particularly Melbourne's two daily newspapers, the Herald Sun and the Age, but mainly for coverage of the trip.

  After the Herald Sun called John Hill to find out if I was fair dinkum, a deal was struck. I would write a weekly diary, and exclusive pieces for the newspaper during the trip and upon my return. The Herald Sun would have signage on Lionheart as a major sponsor and a link on my website.

  At that stage, it was the search for the major sponsor that the Herald Sun could really help me with. It was agreed that the logo of a sponsor could be attached to the bottom of the weekly column, providing exposure to 1.5 million readers. For someone desperately trying to prove to potential sponsors that I had something to offer them, this was an arrangement straight from heaven. The other major plank of the Herald Sun arrangement was that they would produce an education kit free of charge to every Victorian primary school: 24 pages of information and activities based on my trip, and a map for students to follow my weekly progress. I was able to tailor much of what I wrote in the column to what was in the kits. For instance, one column focused on my daily food intake. This tied in with an activity asking students to compile a food list if they were to do a solo sailing trip. It was a good feeling knowing that I was helping kids in classrooms thousands of miles away. The Herald Sun also sent the kit to secondary schools as well as schools throughout Australia, New Zealand and as far afield as Austria and the United States.

  The weekly columns were also placed on my website, which was promoted in the Herald Sun. From the website, which gave Net users the details of my adventure, students could email me. The messages went to Barbara Pesel, my sponsor's public relations consultant, who forwarded them on to the Herald Sun, who sent them to me to answer in my column. It was a fantastic arrangement.

  I didn't realise the effect my trip was having on the schools while I was at sea. Evidently many schools based much of their work on my trip, as it covered many of their subject areas, such as maths, geography and social studies. One of my most dedicated followers was a school teacher in Austria, Franz Joseph Brandle. His class of ten- to fourteen-year-olds followed my trip through the website after he read about me in a yachting magazine. He said not many people sail in Austria because they were in the middle of Europe, and their national sports hero was a downhill skier. I wonder what they saw in me. Franz said he even saw an article in his local newspaper about my arrival home the day after I got back.

  By this stage it was just over ten weeks until my scheduled departure. I now had a boat, a place to moor it and publicity with the biggest media outlet in town. It was time to do some serious hunting for a major sponsor. I re-approached some companies and spoke to new ones. But, as I was finding out, it was contacts that got you places. And contacts led me to a man called Matthew Gerard.

  Steve O'Sullivan told me he had a mate who was in the electronic switch business who may be able to help out. For some reason I had the figure of $10,000 in my head. That was a big amount, and a fantastic gesture if it came true, but it was not going to solve my problems. At the time I was pinning my hopes on a phone company in Sydney. When that fell through, I went to a meeting at the yacht club where Steve introduced me to Matthew Gerard.

  Matthew was head of a company called Mistral. I only knew Mistral as ‘the fan company’, but it was actually one of Australia's largest electrical companies, making appliances like toasters, hair dryers and kettles. It turned out they were looking for a way to promote their product range. It was a strange meeting, as Matthew didn't say much. I sensed he was sizing me up, to see if I was fair dinkum.

  When he asked me what my budget was, I realised I may be onto a bit more than $10,000. I had a figure, but thought I needed a bit more, so he asked me to give him an amended budget. I raced home and re-did the budget and came up with $160,000, which did not cover the cost of buying the boat in the first place. I faxed the budget to him a few days later, then rang his secretary and organised a meeting. I was being pushy, but there was no way I was going to let this one slip through my fingers. I was pretty excited. No-one had asked for my full proposal and talked figures before.

  A few days later, decked out in a suit, white shirt, a tie borrowed from John Hill and black school shoes which I actually cleaned, I caught a bus from Belgrave to Dandenong and a cab to the Mistral head office. I nervously waited in the reception area before Matthew's secretary asked me to follow her to the boardroom, which was dominated by huge windows and tropical palms. She left me on my own, so I filled the time by ensuring the proposal sat parallel with the edge of the table when Matthew rushed in. I got the impression he was dropping in on the way somewhere else.

  It was all over pretty quickly. I gave him some more details of the trip and he asked some questions about the proposal.

  He then said something strange. ‘Well, I suppose when you get back you will be able to do some work for Mistral.’

  I just said, ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  He also asked about school, and my likely time demands when I got back. I just thought we were chatting about things in general.

  ‘OK, that's good then,’ he said. ‘I'll put you in touch with the accountant and you can send the bills to her.’

  It was strange. He never said yes to me. It was as though it was assumed that he'd sponsor me. I think Steve O'Sullivan may have got in his ear and egged him into a deal. I walked out, not quite knowing what had happened. But I got the hell out of there before he changed his mind.

  I rang Mum. ‘I think Matthew is going to
do the whole thing, but I'm not sure,’ I said.

  ‘What, pay for the whole thing?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, I think that was what he was saying.’

  I decided to just assume that was what was happening. The next day I rang Mistral's accountant, Melina, to test the waters by asking how it would work.

  I was expecting her to say, ‘How would what work?’ Luckily, she knew exactly what I was talking about. And it was an even bigger relief when she knew that they were kicking in for the whole lot: $160,000. Gee, it was a good feeling when she said that!

  The money was to pay for equipment, labour for the boat and my supplies for the trip. They also tipped in extra money for communication costs and the expense of their public relations firm, Pesel and Carr, to handle my media commitments. As I bought equipment or used a service, I'd forward the invoice to Mistral, which would pay it and cross the amount off the total sponsorship. It was a simple system, but it worked well.

  My end of the deal was that the Mistral name would be placed on the sail, as well as prominently on the boat. There was never any compulsion to wear any of the gear emblazoned with their name, but I wanted to, as a sign of good faith and appreciation for Matthew. Besides, if they were going to buy me new gear, hey, why wouldn't I?

  It was a good arrangement for both parties. The equipment I had on board was top class. I never would have had the communications gear without a company picking up my costs. I believe Mistral ended up tipping about $300,000 into the trip, including about $50,000 for my email and satellite phone bills.

  Mistral got a lot of exposure out of it. It would be rare for any newspaper photo or television footage not to have the Mistral name featured prominently. I've had no complaints, only thanks. But even though Mistral was very generous, it was far from a blank cheque arrangement. I'd produced a lean budget to attract sponsorship in the first place, so I still needed plenty of help from friends and other companies to get to the starting line.

  And here's the funny thing. Of the three sponsors—Mistral, the Herald Sun and Sandringham Yacht Club—I'd only sent a proposal to one. They were all willing to jump on board on the strength of what I told them. The Herald Sun actually rang me and asked to meet with me, not the other way round. All of them took a punt, which paid off for them. And I'll always be grateful for their faith in me.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Mad Rush

  With Mistral on board, the preparation moved into top gear. It had to. I only had eight weeks until I was to leave. Dad put his building jobs on hold to become foreman of the project, and Mum juggled her work with racing about town buying supplies. Mum says those months leading up to the departure were so crazy she never had the time to consider what I was attempting to do.

  There was a steady procession of tradesmen scrambling around Lionheart to get her ready. Phil Carr, who had taken me out on a yacht for the first time nine years before, was one of the major workers on the project. Perhaps he felt he should shoulder some of the blame for all this madness by giving me my first taste of the sea. There were a thousand things to do, some bigger than others, and so little time to do them.

  One of the first jobs was to install a collision bulkhead in the boat. Basically, this meant filling the bow with foam and sealing it off from the rest of the boat. If I were to collide with something, there was a fair chance the bow would strike the object first. A collision bulkhead separated that part of the boat from the cabin area, stopping water flowing throughout the boat and therefore reduced the chance of the boat sinking. It was not a simple process, nor was it cheap. We had to get someone to lay the fibreglass, source the foam, then install it. It also meant sealing off valuable storage space under the V-berth.

  Next we turned our attention to power. We decided that I would use solar and wind power for electricity generation. Methylated spirits would be used for cooking and heating, so I took 200 litres. There was already a small solar panel on the rear of the boat, but not enough for adequate power for nine months. We decided on three 80-watt solar panels. Each panel cost $600. The first step was to design a frame for the panels, which took a lot of time. The trick with placing solar panels on a boat is that you want to catch the rays from the sun directly, as well as the reflection off the water in the morning and evening. It had to be well clear of the deck to catch all angles of the sun, but not be too far off deck to be wiped out in the first patch of rough weather.

  We based our design on David Dicks’ solar frame, but needed the frame to be bigger, as his 60-watt panels were substantially smaller than ours. Many yachties apparently expected the panels to be wiped clean off the boat as soon as I got out the Heads. Some even took bets on when it would occur. I have to admit to a bit of satisfaction returning with the panels still in place, having done their job without falter for 327 days. Dad deserved a pat on the back for the way he designed and had them made, even if the welders hated the hard job of installing them.

  Then came the wind generator. Again, it was not a cheap instrument, costing $3500. I also took a spare generator, which I never used, and spare blades, which were required when a bird collided with the unit in the last month of the trip. You can start to see why we needed sponsors.

  Installing the generator was a fiddly job with a lot of wiring. Richard, our electrician, ended up rewiring the entire boat, as well as installing a new switchboard. The wind generator turned out to be a good investment. It kicked out 30 amps in a 30-knot wind, whereas the panels would give out a maximum of 3 to 4 amps. The solar panels and wind generator were used to charge the batteries to 480 amp hours full charged. I never ran out of power, except for 24 hours off South Africa when some wires corroded.

  The batteries powered my lights, CD player—which was quite often on—wind speed and wind direction instruments. My email system was permanently on but used little power except when I sent mail. The radar used quite a bit of power (2 to 3 amps an hour), but there were few parts of the trip where I would leave it on for long stretches. I initially planned to have it on permanently, but when I made contact with a fellow lone sailor I asked him if I needed to run the radar and navigation lights so far down south in the Pacific near Cape Horn.

  ‘Don t worry, there's no-one down here,’ he replied. Until that point I felt guilty having only my lights on and no radar. But he reasoned that neither would do you much good in an area where, if you were to hit something, it would be an unmanned object like a floating container, debris or an iceberg. Or another solo sailor with no lights or radar coming the other way!

  All our preparations were done on the basis that the trip had to be unassisted. As David Dicks required help off Cape Horn, it was the one aspect I was determined not to fail. That meant having good equipment, good workmanship and plenty of spares. A lot of money was spent on sails, for instance. I took two new mainsails, on top of the existing one. I also took two genoas, two no. 3 jibs, two storm sails and a spinnaker.

  I had to buy a new life raft, so I made sure I got a good one. If I had to ditch Lionheart, I wanted at least an even chance of surviving. The one we chose was a six-man raft with a double floor to protect from the cold, and fitted with an EPIRB. It also had a survival suit with a bag of supplies to last me a few weeks.

  Many people worked on the boat. Riggers took the mast out and replaced the stays, and added another inner forestay and two running back stays. These wires held the mast up, so it was important they were as strong as we could make them. A mechanic checked the motor and got it ready. A specialist calibrated the new compasses. If something wasn't new, it was taken off, fixed, cleaned up and put back on. We basically built a whole new boat. By the time we finished, I estimated we'd tipped about $100,000 in equipment and labour into the boat. That didn't count the supplies and non-attached stuff, like the communications gear.

  It was a crazy time. Dad, Phil and I were flat out. Dad was working from sun-up to well into the night every day of the week. I concentrated mainly on buying supplies, coordinating other sponsors and
dealing with the media. After I appeared in the Herald Sun, the other news organisations started to take notice, and my profile grew.

  At the end of each day I'd be at the yacht club to talk to Dad and the workers. They'd take me through everything they'd done that day, and we'd talk about how I would fix it if anything untoward happened during the trip. As I was too young to hold a driver's licence, Mum had to race around picking up equipment and supplies. She was also a prolific list writer—food, clothes, cleaning products—Mum would write a list and chase it down. She also had the benefit of talking to Pat Dicks, David's mother. Mrs Dicks actually heard about me while she was in Melbourne, and came to visit us at Sassafras. She was able to tell us what to expect, particularly from the media, and what sort of things I should take with me. Again, I was benefitting from David Dicks going before me.

  Each day of preparation produced either a new drama or a goal accomplished, and everything in between. One day Dad was working in the lazarette, a storage area under the cockpit, when the lid to the access hole flipped shut, and the latch caught. He banged on the side of the boat for someone to get him out, but to no avail. Eventually he had to ring the main switch at the Yacht Club on his mobile phone for someone to help him. As they came down, someone wandered past and heard the commotion and let him out.

  And there were some not so light moments. In early November we had a compass expert calibrate the new compasses. To do this, we sailed the boat in a circle while he worked everything out mathematically. As Dad motored out of the marina, the motor cut out. They started to drift towards the rocks on the shore. Dad called me on the mobile to say they were drifting toward the rocks. It was 7 a.m. and there was no-one around the yard to help us. Dad called the Water Police, who immediately responded, but reckoned they were not going to get there in time. At the last minute someone appeared in the boat yard. They grabbed a dinghy and headed out to throw Dad a line and tow the boat back in, thankfully.