Lionheart Page 3
A family friend, Phil Carr, who had taken our family on my first sailing trip when I was eight, and actually helped Dad prepare Lionheart in the frantic days before I left, gave me some books about people who had sailed around the world. There was one by Tania Aebi, an eighteen-year-old from the United States who in November 1987 returned from a two-and-a-half-year solo journey around the world on a 26-foot yacht. Another book was First Lady, by Australia's most famous woman sailor, Kay Cottee, who became the first woman to sail solo, non-stop and unassisted around the world, completing her journey in 1988. I got that book from the school library and was staggered to find it was signed by Kay. Wow, here was someone who'd done what I wanted to do and had signed the book I was holding.
What struck me was that the only sailing accounts were from those who had done a solo voyage and set some sort of record. It made for pretty inspiring reading. So inspiring that, as I read each book, the idea that I should attempt a solo voyage began to form in my mind.
The idea of being on my own, in control of my destiny and master of my boat was awesome. By the time I finished reading those books, my decision was made: I wanted to become the youngest person to sail around the world. American Robin Lee Graham was the youngest to commence a round-the-world trip at sixteen years old, so I decided to leave when I was fifteen, which I would be in August that year. I would need nearly a year to prepare, which meant a departure date of early 1997.
I met John Hill around this time. Dad had taught me to sail, but I wanted to know more. Mum had heard through a friend at work about a bloke who lived about five minutes from our house who had done a fair bit of sailing, and would make a good teacher. He did. His enthusiasm could knock the wind out of anyone's sails, and he knew what he was talking about. He'd actually just passed his written exam for Yacht Master Offshore when I met him.
Each Thursday evening, while most of my friends were at sports training, or doing homework, I would go to John's house for a two-hour lesson on navigation, ocean seamanship and ocean survival. He was a hard bastard who would grill me the whole time I was there. We'd go out onto the balcony, where John would have a smoke and a drink while I tried to solve problems he threw at me. He was one of my strongest supporters when I decided to attempt to become the youngest to sail around the world.
‘Aim for it. Who knows,’ he said.
I had nothing but a dream and determination, but I needed more than that. Specifically, I needed money to buy a boat. About $80,000, I reckoned. To raise those funds I needed a sponsor. I designed a logo and letterhead and sent about 50 letters to companies such as Uncle Tobys, Buttercup, GIO and Coca-Cola asking for financial support. I ploughed $75 in stationery and postage into the project. Here's what I wrote:
17 March 1996
The Managing Director
Dear Sir,
My name is Jesse Martin and I am fifteen years of age. I am currently preparing to leave on a quest to become the youngest person to circumnavigate the world alone by yacht.
The purpose of this letter is to invite______to sponsor me, either financially or in other ways in this endeavour. I am imagining that prominent company logos will be displayed on my yacht for the sake of all media coverage, although I am sure we can discuss these sorts of details at a later date.
If sufficient sponsorship is obtained I intend to depart from North Queensland early in 1997, and I estimate that my sailing time will be 170 to 180 days at sea (averaging 6 knots as set by Tania Aebi on a similar-sized boat), with the entire voyage taking one year. I will complete the journey at the age of sixteen and a half.
I have chosen a suitable boat which is the New Offshore 30. It's [sic] structure is sound in terms of design and strength and could well carry me around the world to success. I am also currently preparing myself with the necessary training including the psychological and physical aspects.
I am prepared for the responsibility of representing Australia and I have faith in myself and I ask that your company does as well.
I am looking forward to hearing from you at your earliest possible convenience.
Yours faithfully
Jesse Martin
I waited each day by the letterbox for the offers to roll in. I got 24 replies. Not one expressed any interest, except one business that sent me a discount voucher. And to really make me feel bad, three of the replies began ‘Dear Ms Martin’. That was a real kick in the guts. Not only did they think I couldn't do it, they thought I was a girl. My trips to the letterbox were conducted with diminishing enthusiasm, until it turned to downright dread.
The letters for sponsorship may have sounded like a pie in the sky scheme for a fifteen-year-old, but I was serious. If I was able to get some support, I'd have certainly done it.
To comfort me in my disappointment, I turned to Trade-A-Boat. I think I was addicted to that magazine. It was in its pages that I discovered my next avenue for adventure.
It was an advertisement in the ‘Crew Wanted’ section. After my rejection I just desperately wanted to sail the world by whatever means I could. The solo age record was not as important as the actual adventure. If I could go with someone else I definitely would. I figured that it would be better to sail on someone else's boat to get the experience for later trips. My only sailing experience had been the Cape York trip on a 14-foot catamaran.
The advertisement called for crew on a boat sailing from Brisbane around the world. No experience was necessary, but each crew member needed to pay his or her own way. This was it, I thought, as I hurriedly wrote my letter.
The ad had been placed by Cameron Smith, a 30-year-old ex-naval seaman from Brisbane. He was at that stage working in Tasmania as a builder. He was heading back to Brisbane and stopped by Melbourne on the way. Mum, Dad and I met him as he got off the Spirit of Tasmania ferry, which travels between Devonport and Melbourne. Cameron was the typical knockabout Aussie lad, with a stocky build and dark weathered skin from working outdoors. To complete the picture, he drove an old Land Cruiser ute with two big dogs in the back. But behind the rough exterior hid a nice smile and a pleasant manner, which helped to convince parents that he could be trusted to take their son away. We spoke about the other crew members, the proposed route, what it would be like. Mum was naturally keen to check him out to make sure he was not a whacko. I was only fourteen and this bloke twice my age was seriously considering taking me away for more than six months to the most remote reaches of the world. Any parent would approach the issue with plenty of worry. But he seemed to pass Mum's test.
He hadn't bought the boat at that stage, but planned to leave in December 1996 with four navy mates. Mum said before she would give the OK I needed to organise my schooling, which I promptly did through the Victorian Distance Education Centre. As far as I was concerned, that was it. I was ready to go.
When Cameron finally got the boat Dad and I went to Sydney, where he bought it, and helped him sail it to Brisbane with two of the guys who were to go on the trip. It was a 40-foot steel yacht named Uomi (‘you owe me’). The trip took two weeks and we had a terrible time, with a headwind the whole way, which meant we hardly did any sailing, motoring most of the way. I was seasick, which was not a very good sign. This was the first real yacht trip I'd been on and I was as crook as a dog. It definitely wasn't how I imagined it would be.
It was on the trip that I heard of David Dicks again on the radio, as he was only two weeks from home. I remember being astounded by the 20,000 people who turned out to greet him when he docked in Fremantle.
We finally got to Brisbane and I was bloody glad it was over. But I was still keen to do the trip.
I headed back to school, where the trip with Cameron became my only thought. I'd constantly ring him, pestering for the starting date of the trip.
‘Yeah, not ready yet, almost ready, almost ready,’ he'd say each time. This went on for months until he rang with the bad news. The others were having trouble financially, so the trip had been postponed.
I was disappointe
d as I'd pinned so much on that trip. Cameron was my ticket to complete a dream yet, despite his best intentions, he had whisked it away from me in those few words. After I hung up the phone Mum asked if I was disappointed. Yes, I was, but I decided at that point to take things into my own hands. It was obvious you couldn't rely on other people. I remember telling Mum, ‘If I'm going to do this, I'll have to do it on my own.’
CHAPTER 2
From Belize on a Breeze
I was going to sail solo around the world. That much I knew. But realism was also creeping into my thinking. If I was going to do it by myself, I might have to wait a few years, perhaps get a job when I finished school to earn the money to buy a boat.
But the desire to do something was so strong, and school was driving me mad. I was in Year 10 and had become interested in documentaries, which I figured would be a good way to finance a round-the-world trip. But there's not much of a market for documentaries on kids going to school on a bus, so I began to plan my next adventure.
My mate Ben Richardson and I came up with a plan to kayak the Roper River, along the southern edge of Arnhem Land in the Northern Territory, after I read the book I the Aboriginal by Douglas Lockwood, which was based on the river. I'd been interested in Aboriginal culture since I was a kid after visiting Central Australia a few times.
We began to research everything about the trip, including where the crocodiles were and how to avoid being eaten by them. I also investigated cameras and filming techniques, of which I knew very little. My pamphlet job came in handy, as I'd rip open the bundles and read all the electrical retail catalogues that featured camcorders. I also hung out at camera specialist shops, until I soon knew the best cameras for what I planned.
Everything was going along nicely until I read an article in Australian Geographic magazine about a sea kayak expedition in Papua New Guinea. I absolutely loved the shape of the kayaks in the pictures—they had such beautiful lines. (Only a boat lover would understand.) What made it more special was the setting.
One photograph in particular captured my imagination: it was a picture of a man in a kayak in beautiful crystal clear water, with native kids in their canoes surrounding it. I thought to myself, this had to be better than a muddy river in the Northern Territory.
I'd also heard from people we'd met on the Cape York trip of the remote parts of Papua New Guinea, north of the main island, surrounded by untouched white sand. Papua New Guinea won the day as destination of choice, as I desperately wanted to go to somewhere remote for this documentary. To be a true adventurer I had to go where few had been before. If I bumped into other boats or kayaks, that didn't count as an adventure.
Ben and I began planning the trip. My first step was to join the local sea-kayaking club, where I learnt to do the Eskimo roll, the 360-degree roll you see every kayaker do. Ben, however, was making little headway in terms of his preparations, so his involvement began to wane until he finally pulled out.
Beau was keen to do the trip, so he jumped aboard. I'd bought a yellow plastic kayak, but as I learnt more about kayaks I began to appreciate the fibreglass models, especially the ones designed by Larry Gray. Coincidentally, Larry had done a television documentary on a sea-kayaking trip in New Guinea that sold me on both the design and the destination. I found a secondhand kayak in Sydney on the Internet for $1050, which was relatively cheap for this design as they usually sold for $2400 new. A friend had a look at it for me and gave it the OK, so I bought the kayak sight unseen with money from my pamphlet round, and had it shipped down to Melbourne. Beau bought my other kayak off me, so we were set as far as vessels went.
It was time to seek some sponsorship. I prepared a seven-page proposal. Here's a bit of what I wrote:
This expedition is focused on collecting footage on a digital video recorder to make an exciting documentary of the adventures and people that my expeditionary party encounter along the remote coastline of New Ireland, an island off New Guinea.
The thing that will bring an exciting element to my video is the fresh approach of me, a fifteen year old with an inquiring mind and a zest for adventure. Because a sea kayak doesn't hold very much, our food will consist of what we catch, lentils, rice and other selected supplies. We will also be carrying basic camping and expeditionary gear.
No motors or pollution: just two sensible boys battling the elements and reaping the rewards, leaving nothing but footprints and taking no more than recorded memories from along the picturesque coast line of New Ireland. I feel that this is the kind of place that people might want to see and an adventure they might want to experience on their television screens.
After outlining some technical details, I continued:
As quite the adventurous type, I had planned to crew on a yacht, circumnavigating the world this year. I anticipated filming this trip to raise funds for my own personal endeavour, namely, to become the youngest person to sail solo around the world and if this is to happen and I break my records, I must leave at the start of next year.
The opportunity to crew on this yacht was sadly postponed for twelve months and my father's proposed trip to the Solomon's on our Seawind 24 is still in the making. It is now that I am left to find other means by which to raise the necessary funds for my solo quest. I hope to do this as a result of my kayak expedition to New Ireland.
Relying on other people has met with disappointment. Therefore I need to take control of my own adventures to avoid any more further setbacks.
I tried the same companies I sent my letter to the previous year. The first sponsor to come on board was Australian Geographic magazine, which gave us $3000. In return I would do a story and Beau would take photos for the magazine. I was rapt. The clothing company Snowgum gave me some equipment, and Air New Guinea gave me a good deal on the airfares. QBE provided the travel insurance and Quicksilver gave us some clothes.
But all this help didn't mean the trip wasn't a financial burden. I bought a broadcast-quality camera that a friend, Paul McLellan, got for me in Singapore duty free for $5000. I also needed a special housing to film underwater. Funnily enough, the bloke who custom-made the housing lived in Kaniva, a small town in the wheat-belt on the South Australia—Victoria border. It is literally hundreds of kilometres from the beach, making it one of the strangest places to find this sort of equipment. We drove five hours to look at the casing, stayed an hour and drove all the way back. We did that trip twice. I ended up renting the casing off him, as it was too expensive to buy. I also bought sound equipment, tripods, cases and all the bits and pieces that go with filming. The trip cost me $9000, of which I borrowed $4000 from Mum.
Besides chasing sponsors, the preparation involved things such as planning the route, researching the best time of the year to do the trip and working out how to ship the kayaks to Papua New Guinea. I worked on planning the trip most of the year, which made a fair dint in my studies. I actually did much of my research at school, particularly during subjects such as information technology, when I could look on the Internet while I was meant to be learning some computer jargon. I had to—I knew nothing about Papua New Guinea when I began planning.
Beau and I were meant to leave mid-year, but we were not ready, so we didn't leave until the final term holidays. The trip took five weeks, which meant we ate into three weeks of the final school term, which was a pity.
Unfortunately school had become a bit of a distraction by then. I did enough to get through, but I could tell the school was frustrated with me as I could have done much better. I actually never raised the fact that I was planning a trip, but I believe the teachers knew what I was doing. I never asked for any concessions, and didn't receive any My friends, of course, knew about it, but I don't think they expected me to go through with it. Many kids say things to their mates without following through. Plus, I don't think they could understand why I wanted to go on a trip that involved a lot of work and a fair dose of hardship and suffering.
I may have been planning the kayak trip, but I never
stopped preparing for my solo trip. In July I made my annual pilgrimage to the Melbourne Boat Show, where I'd scurry from stand to stand, researching, inspecting equipment, and familiarising myself with every new boat and gadget I could lay my hands on. I was one of those annoying kids who collected a brochure from every stand but, unlike most people, I actually read them when I got home.
I was on the prowl at the show when an announcement came through the loudspeaker that David Dicks would be appearing in five minutes. The idea blew me away. There, in the same building as me, was the guy who had done what I wanted to do. I had to hear what he had to say and to meet him. I left Dad talking to a man about parachute anchors and began scouring the site for the place he'd be talking. I went up to one stand where there was a group gathered around, but it turned out to be an old guy talking about fishing. Time was getting on, and I was getting very anxious. I ran back to Dad, who was still engrossed in his discussion on anchors. I then realised the stage where David Dicks had appeared was just a few metres from the spot I'd been standing when I heard the announcement. It was obviously over. I was devastated at missing my chance. But as I was about to walk away, I noticed one person still at the stand, who appeared to be packing up. It was David Dicks.
Dad and I approached him and introduced ourselves. He turned out to be a normal person, like you and me. He struck me as a real sailor, which is hard to explain. He was not into the record, or the specifics of the trip, but just wanted to talk about sailing and the gear he used.
He happily flicked on his documentary and then chatted to us and signed his book for me. Dad did most of the talking, because I suppose I was a bit in awe of my hero. I went home on cloud nine, and more determined than ever to do the trip. I had met the youngest person to sail around the world solo, and he was just another human being. I knew it was possible.