John Fairfax

8/2/2019 John Fairfax

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J O H N F A I R F A X

Excerpts from a book by Kenneth CRUTCHLOW & Steve BOGA

Life is just one damn thing afteranother.

Elbert Hubbard

Summer of 1966

It was the summer of 1966 andJohn Fairfax was in London torecruit sponsors for his solo rowacross the Atlantic. It was a dreamhe had nurtured for fifteen years,ever since first reading about twoNorwegians, George Harbo andFrank Samuelsen, who in 1896became the first to cross theAtlantic Ocean in a tiny boat withonly oars for propulsion. To ateenage boy, their ordeal hadseemed larger than life, their rewards staggering.

"I kept an account of their adventure under my pillow, reading and rereading it," he says, "my boyishimagination lit by a fury of sparks that burned and glowed until I was all but consumed in its fire. Eventhen I sensed their satisfaction in getting out of it alive, of having won against all odds, by sheerdetermination, willpower, and endurance, proving once more what man can do, that vital flame thatburns in him that enabled him to become a man in the first place. I vowed that one day I too wouldrow the Atlantic. But I would do it alone."

Fifteen years after that epiphany, his passion for rowing the Atlantic was undiminished. What wasdiminished was his bank account, and he desperately needed sponsorship money to make the dreama reality. As the search for funds dragged on, it dawned on him that, in spite of all the years he hadspent at sea, his rowing experience was nil. "I realized that rowing a boat across an ocean would takemore than a well-stocked boat and navigational skills. It would do me no good to know my stars if Ilacked the stamina to pull on the oars and follow them, hour after hour, day after day, for months."

Fromthe Apollo 11Astronauts

To John Fairfax:

May we of Apollo 11 add oursincere congratulations to

the many you have undoubtedlyalready received for yourbold and courageous feat ofrowing alone across the

Atlantic. We who sail whatPresident Kennedy once called"The new ocean of space" arepleased to pay our respects


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He began to train in earnest, treating fitness as a full-time job. He ran two miles every morning, then did twohours of swimming and weight lifting at the YMCA,followed by three or four hours of rowing on theSerpentine, a small lake, five-eighths of a mile long, inHyde Park. "Rowing back and forth on the Serpentine

was boring, but it gave me an inkling of what it wouldbe like out there, with nothing but sky and water tostare at for months on end. On sunny days,surrounded by cheerful couples and boatloads of kidsmerrily bumping into each other, I had troubleconcentrating on what I was doing. I preferred the cold,windy, grey days, when I found myself almost alone.My mind could then retreat into itself, tentatively tastingthe loneliness, the monotony, the hardships to come--and liking it. It was boring watching the blades go inand out, in and out, but at the same time there seemedto be a purpose to it."

It was a purpose that escaped many others. Whenpeople asked him why, as they often did, he wouldusually answer, "Because almost anybody with a littlebit of know-how can sail. I'm after a battle with nature,primitive and raw."

June of 1967 came and went, and with it any chance ofgetting out that year. Fairfax was in the fittest shape of his life, but otherwise no closer to his goal thana year earlier. He had no sponsors and few prospects.

In desperation, he placed a Personal ad in the London Times briefly stating his intention to row soloacross the Atlantic. Was anyone interested in helping? In response, he received six letters. Three ofthem he dismissed as cranks. One was from a student who offered to help build the boat, another

from a secretary, Sylvia Cook, who said she thought rowing across the Atlantic was a trulymagnificent thing to do, and could she help out in her free time? The last letter was from the Lynchfamily of Potter's Bar who offered encouragement and a check for one British pound. Fairfax, whowas targeting large corporations for financing, was so touched by this gesture that he had the Lynch'scheck framed (and still keeps it among his few treasured possessions).

He rang Miss Cook and arranged a meeting. "She proved to be a charming girl and a keen rowerherself," he says. "I was definitely not her type, nor she mine, but in spite of this we liked each other,and after a while I forgot all the others and went out exclusively with her. As far as 1967 wasconcerned, she was the only bright light in my life."

When Fairfax was asked what he did for a living, he would usually answer, "I'm a professionaladventurer. I not only enjoy it, I try to make money off it." He defines an adventurer as someone who

lives by his wits, a quality he had developed from an early age...John Fairfax was born in Italy duringWorld War II to a Bulgarian mother and an English father. His father worked for the BBC in London,but his mother said he was a pilot, a convenient lie. Whenever bombers flew overhead, she assuredyoung John that his father would never let any danger come to them.

He was, he admits, a horrible kid, an only child spoiled rotten by his mother and nanny. "We hadmoney," he says, "and I got everything I wanted. What I lacked was a father for an authority figure. Itmade me an opinionated little brat. To this day, I don't like children because they remind me of myselfas a kid."

His early dislike for school made him a poor student. To "straighten" him out, his mother pulled somestrings and got him an early admittance to the Italian Boy Scouts, where he began to mix it up withnature. The Italian Scouts in 1944 offered a rigorous test of a boy's ability to master survival skills. He

learned to cook, to build fires, to track and trap game. "Because I was the youngest, the pressure wason me to prove myself," he says. "And I did. I found out I had a taste for outdoor adventure."

to the man who, singlehandedly, has conquered thestill formidable ocean of

water. We find it aninteresting coincidence that

you completed your arduousvoyage here on earth at aspot very near the one fromwhich we started our voyageto the moon. And that youarrived at your destinationquite near the time that we

reached ours. Yours, however,was the accomplishment of oneresourceful individual, whileours depended upon the helpof thousands of dedicated

workers in the United Statesand all over the world. Asfellow explorers, we salute

you on this great occasion.

The Apollo 11 AstronautsNeil ArmstrongMichael Collins

Edwin A Aldrin Jr.


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He excelled, earning dozens of merit badges and usually finishing first in his troop. His emotionaldevelopment lagged behind his physical prowess, however, and his Scout career was abruptlyterminated three years later, at age nine. "We were on a snow camping trip," he recalls, "but the firstnight we stayed in a hut. After an argument I had with another boy, I went and got the pistol I knewour leader kept in his gear. I stood outside and started firing at the hut, where all the boys were

sleeping. Those military bullets penetrated the wooden hut like it was made of paper." He laughsdryly. "It was a miracle I didn't kill someone."

After Fairfax emptied the gun, the troop leader rushed out and grabbed it from him. Livid, he slappedJohn, who responded by kneeing him in the groin. "That really made him mad, and he proceeded tokick the shit out of me."

The next day, the Scouts held a special ceremony dedicated to drumming Fairfax out of the corps.They stripped him of his merit badges and sent him home in disgrace. It was a catalyst, he believes,for his development as a loner. His mother chalked it all up to his being incorrigible.

Soon thereafter, John and his mother moved to Argentina. When he was thirteen, he left home to livein the jungle. "I wanted to go to the Amazon and live like Tarzan," he says. "I had a fixation from an

early age to be one with nature."

He became a proficient hunter, living off the jungle and occasional barter from local peasants. Hewould stay out for three or four months, and then return to Buenos Aires to sell his skins, mostlyjaguar and ocelot. "There were days when I nearly starved," he says, "but I learned how to survivefrom those peasants. They all knew me--I was the young, crazy Gringo."

Still a teenager, he read an article in Reader's Digest about Harbo and Samuelsen's first oceancrossing. "I knew right then that I was going to do it. I just didn't know when. My projects take a longtime to develop."

When John was twenty, he fell hopelessly in love with a girl. When the affair ended, he was sodevastated he couldn't imagine going on. In a manner fitting a professional adventurer, he decided to

go into the jungle and commit suicide. "I was going to let a jaguar attack and kill me. I had a spear anda gun with me, and my plan was to use the spear when the jaguar attacked. Since I was not good witha spear, I would be killed. But when the jaguar came at me, instinct took over and I grabbed the gunand killed it." He laughs. "That was the end of my suicide attempts and the start of my pipe smoking."

He finally decided the only way to forget the girl was to leave the country. Having inherited $10,000, amodest fortune in 1959, he took a ship to New York, bought a new Chevrolet, and drove across thecountry to San Francisco, where he sold the car.

He met a Chinese call girl there, and after three months she had managed to make all his moneydisappear.

With only $150 left, he decided to return to Argentina. He couldn't very well ask his mother for money,

so he bought a bicycle and started pedalling south. Two months later, having reached Guatemala andhad enough of the bike, he hitchhiked to Panama, where he fell in with a group of artists. "It was mybeatnik phase," he says. "For three months I was a bum."

Adventure continued to course his veins. On the move again, he decided to go up the Amazon. Hebecame a sailor on a Columbian boat, but before they got near the Amazon, the crew ("a bunch ofunsavory characters") mutinied. Fairfax, the lone reader on the crew, became their spokesman,prompting the captain to threaten his life, which prompted Fairfax to flee to Panama.

There he met a pirate, the biggest smuggler in Panama. "I told him I'd like to try my hand atsmuggling. His response was to take me to a whorehouse and put me in bed between two whores.He said if I survived the night and they approved of me, I could work for him. I was so drunk, I don'tremember anything. But I survived, and they must have approved because I soon became his right-

hand man. Within a year I was captain of one of his boats. I went all over the world, smuggling guns,whiskey, and cigarettes. Over the next three years I learned navigation and made my first million."


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When Fairfax wearied of the pirate life, he arranged a hijacking of his own ship with a man whoclaimed he wanted revenge against John's boss. "The guy said I could keep the money--$60,000--allhe wanted was to screw the big guy."

But when they arrived at the site (even now, thirty years later, he won't say where), the authorities

were waiting for them. John was the only member of my four-man crew to get away. "I had beenprepared for that day for a long time," he says. "I had my mask, flippers, and false passport all set togo. I swam five miles to get away. The others didn't have a chance."

He hid out in a whorehouse for two weeks and then skippered a boat to Jamaica, where he worked asa fisherman for a year. After returning to Panama, he was involved in a shoot-out and had to leave thecountry with only the clothes on his back. It occurred to him that he had packed a lot of living into aquarter of a century.

He returned to Argentina by horseback, taking advantage of the leisurely pace to try to sort out hislife. He arrived home with precious few answers to myriad questions. In an attempt to humour hismother, who wanted him to be a businessman, he took a job as a manager of a mink farm. Breakinginto a hacking laugh, he says, "It didn't work out. I burned up the place and got fired."

As directionless as he had ever been in his life, he happened to read about Ridgway's and Blyth'ssuccessful row across the Atlantic. "I felt a sudden sense of urgency," he says. "I realized if I didn'tsolo it soon, it was going to be done by somebody else. It was time to make it happen."

Two years afterarriving inLondon, thingsbegan breakingright for Fairfax.Thanks tocontributionsfrom

businessmanMartin Cowlingand a boatdesign from UffaFox, the pieceswere fittingtogether. He haddecided to rowfrom the CanaryIslands toFlorida. Whileothers saw thedownside of

rowing muchfarther than previous Atlantic rowers, John saw only the challenge. He had a chance to become notonly the first person to row the Atlantic single-handed, but the first to do it east to west. He figured itwould take three to four months.

Naturally imbued with faith in his own abilities, he was also a true believer in Uffa Fox and thebrilliance of his design for his boat, Britannia. It was a triumph of both form and function. During trialsshe proved that if capsized, she would right herself in two seconds. If swamped, she was dry in thirtyseconds, the water sluicing down the self-bailing slots almost as fast as the eye could follow. She wasso stable that two men could stand on a gunwale and she would only tilt a few inches. Easy to handle,she was a pleasure to row, prompting him to say, "I felt sure I could take such a boat to hell and backwithout either of us being the worse for it."


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When Fairfax awoke after what would be his last night's sleep onterra firma for some months, he was struck by how littleenthusiasm he had for what lay ahead. Having fought long andhard for this moment, he should feel elated by a sense ofaccomplishment. But there was none of that, only a dreary,wooden sort of feeling.

Dreading the good-byes, he hugged his mum, who, brave untilnow, burst into tears, making John feel even worse. He knewthere were no magic words to make her feel better. Finally,unable to endure the agony, she pulled away and walked quicklyto her taxi, still crying.

Fighting to keep back his own tears, Fairfax turned and bumpedinto Sylvia, who also had to leave to catch her plane. She too wassobbing. Grabbing her, Fairfax kissed her roughly on the lips, andthen let her go. As she fell into somebody else's arms, hesprinted for the sea, yelling, "See ya in Florida!"

On an impulse, he suddenly knelt down at water's edge and wrote in the wet sand:January 20, 1969, 10:30 a.m.

He had barely finished when a wave gently licked away the message. He smiled sadly at the futility ofhis gesture, thinking, "It's too late to turn back. Already the sea and I are alone with each other."

At SeaAt some point in his long-running internal dialogue about rowing the Atlantic, John Fairfax realizedthat the challenge was not just to cross the ocean, but to pick a specific destination and hit it spot on."The challenge wasn't just physical, but navigational," he says. "If time is no issue, anybody can get to

the other side. A bottle will eventually do it. I wanted to get from A to B, which I finally decided was theCanary Islands to Miami. In order to do that, I had to be accurate to within about five miles with asextant. I could do it because I had talent and a great teacher--the pirate."

Miami is approximately three thousand six hundred nautical miles from the Canaries. Since he couldnot hope to row a straight course, this meant as much as five thousand miles of rowing, maybe more.In terms of latitude, Miami was only a hundred miles south of his starting point. Because the prevailingwinds were north-easterly trades, Fairfax figured his initial course should be westerly. He knew hewas bound to be swept south anyway. "Uppermost in my mind was the thought that every mile lostwould have to be recovered the hard way. How hard that would be was made clear by the sea thatvery first day."

Fairfax's initial concern was just getting away from land. Britannia seemed to have her own ideas.

"Britannia was as good a boat as I could have hoped to have," he says. "Grossly overloaded, she wassoon shipping water by the bucketful, but the self-draining system worked to perfection. As we beganto know each other, I realized that a lot of things would have to be thrashed out between us twobefore we could work as a team. For all her graceful lines, she was solid, reliable, self-sufficient, andunbelievably steady. Unfortunately, she also had an obstinate mind all her own."

He rowed all night, bending to the oars with all he had, sweating, cursing, changing the position of thedagger board, trailing a warp, pulling on the port oar alone--all in a vain attempt to show Britannia whowas boss. At first light, he was disheartened to see the dark, rugged silhouette of the island of GranCanaria high upon the horizon. He guessed that he was no more than fifteen miles from piling up onher cliffs.

How had he gotten into this mess? he wondered. As though prodding Britannia to answer, he kicked

her, but she remained mute. He remained despondent. He was hungry, thirsty, damp, sore, sleepy--and no Sylvia to look after his needs. "How silly, this going to sea without a girl," he muttered,

The launching. Uffa Fox in foreground, JohnFairfax giving a "thumbs up" in the rain.

(Photo by Tom Hanley)


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resolving right then and there, only twenty hours from shore, that the next time he rowed an ocean, ifthere was a next time, he would travel with a woman.

There was a startling lack of life--no fish, no birds, no boats. The only sounds were the oars slippingthrough the water, the waves slapping the boat, his own heavy breathing, and the deepening growl ofhis stomach. Unwrapping pork, boiled eggs, and raw onions, he wolfed down breakfast. A steaming

cup of tea laced with brandy and a cigar topped off the morning, giving him a fresh perspective. Yes,he was tired and fed up, but at least he was tired and fed up on his own terms. He knew he was likelyto feel this way for several days, so better forget about it and get to work. This was the childhooddream, up close and personal. Whether he fulfilled it or not was entirely up to him. It had been easysitting in restaurants or bars, prattling on about the danger and romance that lay ahead. Basking inthe glow radiating from spellbound eyes, it was easy to forget what it was really going to be like out onthe planet's second largest ocean. Now was the moment of truth and action, put-up or shut-up time.After all, if rowing an ocean were easy, everybody would be out here doing it.

February 5 16th day

Wind from the southwest, Force 4-5. Is this a joke? I have had nothing but southwesterlies andwesterlies since leaving San Agustin. I won't be able to fight against them for very much longer. Every

time I pull the oars now, the boat seems to weigh ten tons. I never thought one could get so tired--butas long as this wind blows, resting is out of the question.

February 6 17th day

Wind from the west, Force 2-3. Not so bad, at least. Still from the wrong way, but at least I can try togo south a bit. Will do so as soon as I get through to London.

His compact, on-board Marconi radio had a range of five thousand nautical miles--assuming, that is,he was able to raise the aerial at least 20 feet in the air, no easy task with Britannia pitching androlling in rough sea.

According to the schedule worked out in England between Independent Television News and the

Daily Sketch, he was supposed to attempt to contact them every four days at 0800 GMT. Failing that,he was to try again the following day.

There were plenty of failures, and by the seventeenth day, he had gotten through only twice. He wasbeginning to regard the whole communication business as more trouble than it was worth.

"Hello GBC 4, this is Britannia..."

Most people picturing a solo row across the Atlantic think of loneliness as the most daunting obstaclesto overcome. But John was estranged from that emotion. He'd always been happy alone, and he trulybelieved he could find contentment if he were the last man on earth. Besides, many an expedition hadfailed due to interpersonal conflicts. Adventurers, by definition, are individuals, and it can be hard forthem to work as a team.

"Hello GBC 4...hello GBC 4, this is Britannia...Britannia... Atlantic rowboat Britannia calling GBC4...calling GBC 4. Come in GBC 4, come in GBC 4. Britannia calling GBC 4, come in please...come inplease."

At last a response: "Hello, Britannia, hello, Britannia. GBC 4 to Britannia. Reading you loud and clear.Over."

The first thing they wanted to know was his position. He hesitated, reluctant to confess that afterseventeen days of rowing from hell, he was still within spitting distance of his departure point.

February 8 19th day

... Sighted a ship 0930 GMT. Stopped three to four miles from us, downwind.


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By this time, he had taken to having full-blown conversations with Britannia. "Hey, Britt, what do youmake of it? Think they have seen us? Think we ought to go over and have a look-see? Maybe we canget some grub. I'm fed up with turtle. A shower too. Come on. We may never get another chance.Let's row!"

It took him nearly an hour to pull alongside the Skauborg, a Norwegian ship anchored to repair an oil

leak. "They probably think we are shipwrecked, Britt. We'll give them the surprise of their lives!"

As if on cue, a Norwegian sailor called down to him: "What ship are you from?"

He laughed. "Ship? Why, this one. Her Majesty's Rowboat, Britannia. Why? Need a tow?" The roar ofthe crew's laughter was exhilarating.

They threw a rope ladder over the side to him. He secured Britannia, scrambled up the ladder,stepped on deck, and was saved from falling on his face by a pair of strong arms. After Britannia'sbobbing and weaving, the Skauborg's deck seemed rock-steady, and he was unused to walking on aplatform that didn't move when he did.

For the next hour, life was heavenly bliss. He had a shower, then a breakfast of scrambled eggs,

bacon, and coffee, followed by a cold beer and a good cigar. It was a lovely morning, right up until thetime he learned of their precise location. He had trouble imagining worse news. They were in themiddle of a shipping lane, a mere eighty-three miles southwest of the Canaries.

Eighty-three miles after nineteen days of hard labour. He had been farther west after four days. Thosebloody winds!

The entry in his log reads:

... to be only eighty-three miles after nineteen days at sea and so much rowing makes my heart cry.What the hell, it is really too much! Captain Block said he had never known south-westerly winds atthis latitude before...

Captain Block went on to say that he was bound for Buenos Aires and that Fairfax could have freepassage if he wanted. Buenos Aires! His mother, his friends, his home! The temptation nearlyoverwhelmed him. Maybe he should quit, he thought. After all, no one had ever done this before; infact, no one even knew if it could be done. What then would be lost by quitting right now? Plenty, hefinally decided.

Britannia had never looked so puny and forlorn to him as she did when they were back on their own,surrounded only by sea and sky. The Skauborg grew smaller and smaller, until it was a black speckon the horizon, and then nothing. All alone, he cried without shame.

February 16 27th day

...I wonder, for the first time, what the hell am I doing here. Money? No, people don't do this sort of

thing for money, certainly not me... Or am I trying to prove something? To myself or others? Surelynot to others. And what can I prove to myself that I don't know already? What, then? Maybe I will findthe answer before the journey is finished. And maybe I won't. What does it matter? I am enjoyingmyself, doing something I have yearned to do for sixteen years, and there is not a single thing Iregret, whatever the outcome. I am doing what I have always loved to do, being part of and fightagainst Nature....

Fighting Nature at her rawest! Could there be a more beautiful thing? Whether I lose or win is besidethe point. What matters is the struggle--uneven, yes, but well worth fighting for...

The sea can certainly break, destroy me, if such is his whim, but bend my will, conquer me? Never!...

I love you, Sea, and if soon I will be cursing you again, at least tonight we are at peace with each

other. Let us enjoy it, and hell take tomorrow. After all, whether you care, or like it, or not, you are partof me, and I might soon become part of you.


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Rowed ten hours.

February 20 31st day

He stood on Britannia's bobbing deck, with his tea mug in one hand and the kettle in the other. So in

tune was he with the pulse of his boat that he stayed balanced with ease. Having just speared twodorados, he was contemplating how he would prepare them. At that moment the sea was calm andglassy, and life seemed good, even bountiful. He vowed to succumb to no more fits of temper.

That thought had barely been dismissed when a sudden, mighty bump shook Britannia, sending himsprawling on deck. He screamed and cursed like a longshoreman, as most of the tea, scalding hot,splashed onto his bare legs. Still in a daze, he peered over the edge and came face to face with theominous stare of a large shark. Before Fairfax could gather his wits, the shark submerged andbumped Britannia again, harder this time. Again, Fairfax hit the deck, bloodying his nose and pushinghis temper to flash point. As he lay there with throbbing legs and a mix of tears and blood streamingdown his face, he vowed to have that shark for lunch.

He had always had a love-hate relationship with sharks, a roiling mix of fear and respect. His first

encounter with the ocean's most efficient killing machine had been years earlier while diving near areef off Panama. With no warning, he was suddenly face to face with the predatory countenance of ashark. What kind or how big--he had no idea. It was a shark! In a cold panic, he turned and swamaway with frenetic speed. He imagined the shark catching him with ridiculous ease, but when heturned and looked over his shoulder, the shark was also in swift retreat. "It brought us closer," hesays. "I decided to learn all I could about sharks."

His interest in the boat-bumping shark was more vengeful than scientific. He reckoned it was a 8-foot,200-pound dusky shark, too big for his spear gun. He considered fashioning a harpoon by lashing hisknife to the end of an oar, but he had only one knife and didn't want to lose it. Then he had it! Makinga loop with a piece of rope, he created a lasso, reinforced it with lead wire, and attached bolts to makeit sink. The free end of it he fastened around a cleat forward. He rigged a handle, added some doradomeat for bait, and threw it in. The shark immediately swam for the bait.

"How about it Britt? The beggar thinks it's dinner time!"

He waited until the shark was right on top of the meat, then pulled it away at the last instant, leavingthe shark with only a mouthful of water.

He was sure he could see the disappointment on the Dusky's face. That made it a game worthreplaying. After fifteen minutes of teasing one of the most dangerous animals on earth, he wasconfident the shark was beginning to show signs of a nervous breakdown.

"I think our friend is ripe for the final laugh, Britt. Brace yourself!"

He tempted Dusky one last time. As the great fish swam alongside Britannia, he passed the loop

round the snout and past the gills. Before it could pass over the dorsal fin, he tightened the loop with apull. The shark reacted with a paroxysm of fury, towing Britannia on her fastest ride ever. Sheskimmed the waves like a torpedo, with John hanging on for dear life. It was hard to believe that evena shark could generate such power.

It was soon over, the shark spent. Sharks get their oxygen from the flow of water over their gills. Sincethe gills don't move independently, they achieve this by swimming. A shark prevented from movingfreely in the water, as Dusky was, will eventually drown.

Curious about the contents of its stomach, he slit it open and discovered about two dozen tiny sharksin her belly, tiny replicas of their mother. Wriggling about, they appeared in perfectly good health. Hislast entry in his log that day reads:

...killed them all and dedicated my victory to Venus...Well, it's now sunset, the wind has almoststopped and, yes, my beautiful star, thank you, I shall row all night.


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February 21 32nd day

A day of absolute calm. Very hot 35 degrees centigrade(95 degrees Fahrenheit).

Since it was too hot to row, he decided to scrape awaythe mass of barnacles that were adhered to the bottomof Britannia. It was bound to improve her speed, andwith the sea as smooth as a mirror, there was no betterday. Donning mask, snorkel, and flippers, he dived intothe agreeably warm water and began scraping the tiny,prolific organisms with his knife.

They offered little resistance, and he watched them sinklike fluttering snowflakes, disappearing into the blue-black gloom below. Although the work went well, he

began to feel a strange uneasiness. Cursing his nerves, he went on scraping with furious dedication.But the compulsion to look over his shoulder simply overwhelmed him. Peering into the murky depths,

he saw something that made his heart thump in mad crescendo--then stop cold. Another shark!Maybe twenty yards away, one of the biggest he had ever seen was slowly, steadily rising towardhim. The streamlined body, the symmetrical tail, the long snout and jagged teeth--it was a mako!

With the speed of a lightning bolt, the mako biography flashed through his mind: Isurusoxyrinchus...may grow to twelve feet in length and weigh over a thousand pounds...bluish-grey on theback, snow-white below... tends to feed on mackerel, tarpon, marlin, and occasionally man... involvedin more attacks upon boats than any other shark...

His first impulse was to get out of the water. But the shark was too close, too fast. Any such attemptwould leave his legs dangling in the water, looking, he imagined, like drumsticks. Instead, he flattenedhimself against the boat, wishing he were the color of a barnacle.

Does anyone ever get used to meeting a shark on its turf? he wondered. While spear fishing and skindiving in the Caribbean, he had run into plenty of sharks--tigers, bulls, duskies, nurses,hammerheads, great blues, even makos. He had learned all about them, had in fact convincedhimself that 80 percent or more would never attack a man unless provoked. Still, they were damnunpredictable.

The shark kept coming, with a pace that was leisurely but unwavering. He meant business. Fairfaxcursed silently, gritted his teeth, and waited, trying for all he was worth to look like the hull ofBritannia. The shark kept coming. And then, for both of them, instinct took over. As the daily logreads:

... about a foot from me, and my hand was beginning to come down on him with the intention ofslashing his nose, when he swerved, as if to scratch himself against the boat with me in between. I

missed his nose but caught him right under the mouth, in the soft underbelly. About seven inches ofrazor-sharp blade went in--and the world exploded in front of me. In a sudden burst of energy, theshark pulled away from me, and, in doing so, ripped himself open from mouth to tail. I got scraped onthe arm and received a terrific blow with the tail on the left shoulder. As the shark sped away, Iclimbed into Britannia in record time. Looked around, but did not see the shark again. Felt sore andbattered but otherwise O.K. One hour later, went back into the water to scrape the starboard side.Took me a long time, but finished.

Rowed eight hours.

February 22 33rd day

Still calm, no wind. Hot. Rowed only five hours, as I feel all sore where the shark's tail hit me. Nothing

at all happened.


10/13


Wind from the north, Force 2-3. Feel better today. Rowed seven hours.


Wind from the north, Force 2-3. Position 24 degrees 27 minutes North, 16 degrees 52 minutes West.

At sunset, a Russian ship, the Talsy, stopped by. Went aboard. Everybody extremely kind. Got somemore cans of food and water. I think this will be one of the last ships, as I am about to get away fromthe shipping lane. This is good, as all this time I have been afraid of being run down.

Rowed nine hours.

March 10 49th day

...Caught a dolphin this morning. Archie has miscalculated the number of calories I need, because Igo through his daily ration as if it weren't there. Unless I supplement it with fish or some canned stuff, Iremain hungry to the point of feeling weak, without energy for rowing properly. Since my supply of

cans is limited, I absolutely need the fish, of which I eat nearly a pound per day when I have it.

Wind from the northeast, Force 1-2. Rowed nine hours.

The nutritional expert who prepared John's meals had calculated that he would need about 3,600calories a day to stay fit. His rations had been packaged in one hundred individually sealed plasticbags, weighing two and a half pounds each. One package contained a day's ration that provided a hotbreakfast, a cold snack, and a hot main meal. Requiring little preparation, it could, in an emergency,be eaten uncooked.

Each one-day pack contained:

Oatmeal block one 2 1/2-oz. vacuum pack

Meat or Spam paste one 2 13/16-oz. tin

Cheese one 2-oz. vacuum pack

Materne fruit bars two 2-oz. envelopes

Enerzade glucose tabs two 3/4-oz. packets

Horlicks tablets one 3/4-oz. packet

Meat/vegetable bar one 2 1/2-oz. vacuum pack

Potato powder or rice one 2-oz. envelope

Salt one 1/2-oz. polythene bag

Biscuits two 3-oz. vacuum packs

Tea bags two

Instant skim-milk powder one 1-oz. envelope

Glucose/lemon-drink powder one 2-oz. envelope

Horlicks chocolate powder one 1 1/4-oz. envelope

Instant coffee two envelopes


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Sugar six cubesThis supplied a balanced diet and a total of 3,552 kilocalories a day. But it meant eating exactly thesame things, day in and day out, for one hundred days. By the second week, he had fully grasped theappalling implications of this, and from then on seized any opportunity to scrounge food from passing

ships.

By the sixth week, opening one of his food packs was enough to ruin his mood for an hour. For themeat paste and the fruit bars he developed a positive revulsion, ceremonially throwing both overboardevery morning. He would then prepare breakfast, usually a sticky amalgam of oatmeal, chocolate,milk powder, and biscuits, crumbled and diluted in a pint of boiling water. The rest of his pack he atewhenever he felt hungry, which might be any time of the day or night. His most precious treasure wasa bagful of spices and onions, a present from a Russian ship. His favourite dish: a chopped-up doradohead, onion, rice, and a generous amount of pepper.

April 10 80th day

Wind from the east, Forces 4-5, and sunshine. About time, as my tan was beginning to fade.

A new dolphin arrived today, so terribly mauled that he could hardly swim, so I put him out of hismisery and fed him to the others.

April 19 89th day

Sylvia was on the radio today and that has cheered me up a bit, but I hardly know what to talk aboutwith her anymore. I am getting stupid, there is no doubt about it. My reflexes have slowed, and whenspear fishing I miss shots I would never have missed before...

Still two and a half months to go!

May 16 116th day

Rowing. To row. I row, she rows, they row. No! Nobody but me rows.... One day, when I die and go tohell, I know what will happen: Satan will condemn me to row....and row...and row...

May 18 118th day

Wind coming strong from the east. Rain. Nothing happens--nothing but me rowing. Twelve hours.

May 21 121st day

My birthday--thirty-two years that feels like a hundred--and one of the worst days at sea. I ran out oftobacco; had a bit for half a pipe only, which I had kept to celebrate--and it got wet. A tin ofraspberries I had kept for today gassed, and I had to throw it away. And just as I was about to have asip of brandy to celebrate my birthday, an enormous wave, about 15 feet high, hit Britannia squarelybroadside and washed me overboard. Lost the bottle and hurt my leg and foot very badly.... Apartfrom that, a very happy birthday!

Rowed eight hours.

May 25 125th day

Everything is a bit better today, my foot included. I am still half crippled--but never mind, it will pass.Got a couple of stars through the clouds, and my position is 22 degrees 55' North, 60 degrees 50'West. Extraordinary good average, in spite of my poor rowing. The wind really made us go. Andhaving passed Longitude 60, I consider myself as having crossed the Atlantic. So far, so good.Beware now, Florida, here I come!

May 26 126th day


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Rain again. It never used to rain before, but now it is one squall after another. Used to enjoy it, when Ihad marvelously refreshing showers getting rid of months of accumulated salt, but now it is a bit toomuch.

June 18, 19, 20 149th, 150th, and 151st days

Left three days to pass without writing as there was absolutely nothing to write about and still thesame. Calm, hot, boring.

It seemed to him that the weather was always in the extreme--either a drenching squall or blast-furnace heat. If it were clear and calm, the midday temperature would hover between 90 and 100degrees Fahrenheit, making rowing out of the question. His rat-hole, as he called his bunk, was theonly place to escape the sun, but it was an oven and sleep was possible only in fits and starts. Hourafter hour, he lay in his bunk in a timeless torpor, rivulets of sweat pouring down his body, softlycursing the day he had ever thought of rowing across the Atlantic.

But then the rains would come, raising him from the dead like Lazarus:

June 23 154th day

Wind from the northeast, Force 3. Excellent! Overcast and stormy during the night, with the windgusting up to Force 5. heaps of rain.

At first light on his 160th day at sea, he spotted land, the first since the Canary Islands. The sight ofCay Verde filled him with ineffable joy. Rowing against the wind for a long hour, he reached a lovelygreen cay wreathed in white sand, dotted with rocks and sea birds. Paradise! He stumbled ashore likea drunk and collapsed on the beach.

The rest of the day he spent exploring, relaxing, and generally feeling wonderful. He went spearfishing, found a lobster, and fixed it for dinner. Satiated, he lay on the beach, luxuriating in the warmcaress of the sand. "Maybe I should stay a few days," he murmured contentedly. But just then his

gaze brought Britannia into focus. Gently bobbing at the end of her anchor line, she looked so punyand frail and uninviting. That he had lived on board this tiny vessel for more than five monthssuddenly seemed so unlikely that he burst out laughing. That he had to relinquish paradise for hisown private hell seemed so tragic that he began to weep.

July 6 167th day

A plane with a lot of photographers flew over me for about twenty minutes during the afternoon, soalthough I have heard no news on the radio, I guess they know by now that I'm about to arrive.

Unfortunately, he was not about to arrive. A series of mishaps ensued. He misread his position, andthen the boat broke down that was bringing Martin Cowling and others to meet him. The press madeinterview demands, and there was an inexplicable drift that carried him forty miles south. All of this

and more conspired to keep him bobbing and fuming at sea for thirteen more days.

July 19 180th day

At 1:45 P.M. local time, Britannia touched the beach, and Sylvia was in my arms, and boats swarmedaround, and by all the gods, even the old Queen Elizabeth [... I can say that one of the moreemotional moments of my life was when John passed the QE the captain in his white uniformappeared on the bridge and saluted John and the Britannia and the horn blew... It did bring tears tomy eyes... Kenneth Crutchlow] and the blew the whistle for us, and I almost cried. Hail Britannia, wehave conquered, and Florida is, at last, ours.

Our reception was magnificent, and--oh, I love America, love everybody today, but mere wordscannot express my feeling, and I will not try. Only one thing I can say, and this to you, my lovely little

Britannia: "I salute you."


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John Fairfax