1992. Three hundred days in the ice

Welcome to the special section “GdV 5th Years.” We are introducing you, day by day, An article from the archives of the Journal of Sailing, starting in 1975. A word of advice, get in the habit of starting your day with the most exciting sailing stories-it will be like being on a boat even if you are ashore.

Prisoner in the ice

Taken from the 1992 Journal of Sailing, Year 18, No. 11, December-January, pp. 38-43.

For three hundred days, 30-year-old Hugues Delignéres lived aboard his nine-meter boat trapped in Antarctic ice. The extraordinary tale of an adventure at the limits of human capabilities.

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Antarctica. For three hundred days, Frenchman Hugues Delignères braved the terrible Antarctic winter alone in a nine-meter sailboat. For ten interminable months he was stuck in the ice, the boat buried in snow, with no contact with the rest of the world. Here is the extraordinary tale of an adventure at the limits of human capabilities.

At the age of 30, Frenchman Delignères decided to fulfill his extraordinary dream: he set out in a nine-meter sailboat from Ushuaia, the last outpost in Tierra del Fuego, and crossed the Drake Strait to face the harsh Antarctic winter. For ten long months he lived on the ice floe among the ice in absolute solitude. Here is the diary of his incredible journey to the White Continent.

Meticulous preparation

On the deck of my small boat is piled an incredible amount of crates and bags full of material. I am preparing to face ten months inAntarctica. An entire winter alone with myself, in the absolute impossibility of receiving any kind of assistance. My preparation is meticulous. Storing, putting in order, adapting everything to the means on board: the long-awaited but also dreaded departure date is postponed day by day. Finally one morning I leave the port of Ushuaia, the last outpost in Tierra del Fuego. As the sun rises, the servicemen at the small Williams base return my stamped papers and wish me a safe journey, goodbye in a year-as if it were tomorrow! Casting off the moorings I look for the last time at the coast: already at the first tack the small houses of the village fade into the horizon, indifferent to my departure. The strong north wind pushes me toward Drake Strait. My year of solitude begins.

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Restless sleep and close encounters

L’Oviri, overloaded and very unstable, draws white “S’s” on the dark surface of the sea. On the chart table a still virgin chart: at the top Cape Horn, at the bottom the north end of the Antarctic Peninsula, hidden under the sleeve of my oilskin. I spend a week apprehensive at the sight of weather charts, hastily consuming meals and sleeping fitfully in the dampness of my oilskin, my head resting on my arms. I often awaken abruptly, preoccupied by the reflections of waves I mistake for floating ice. A close encounter with a whale intimidates me: I see it parading past the stern of my boat and away. Let’s hope it doesn’t hit the hull…. The weather is getting worse: the waves are running in close ranks toward a mysterious rendezvous and the wind is gradually rising. I maneuver in the darkness, then the boat resumes its rocking course, rising and falling over the waves, sinking its bow in the spray. Bad weather arrives, and the sea turns white. Welcome to the 60th South!

Summer is at an end

Summer is at an end. Snow is falling and covering the landscape ofAntarctica, hiding the dark surface of the rocks under a white blanket. It is time to reach the bay I have chosen to wait out the end of winter. With each passing day I feel a little more lonely, and the road I have left to travel seems endless. I finally reach the place where theOviri will spend the winter.Pleneau Island is shaped like a half moon surrounded by a low elevated, rounded glacier. Beyond it stretches the Antarctic, empty and infinite. From a distance the island appears as a tiny reddish cathedral against a backdrop of high, craggy mountains. A tangle of islets and stranded icebergs separate me from my destination. Swimming penguins cut the dark water into a thousand silver reflections: soon they too will leave this place.

Prisoner of ice

A few days later the sea freezes, thus immobilizing theOviri for the following months. The last link with the world is permanently cut…. My worries are many: the frost, the sled with which I will transport provisions while moving on the ice floe. the boat locked in the grip of the ice. And the passage of time, which no longer makes sense to measure. My universe has shrunk to this island about a kilometer in diameter. The sea freezes little by little. It is a magical sight: new paths are created on the surface, which I explore on skis.

A universe without horizons

This transformation takes place little by little, the sea struggles, it becomes stubborn. The wind comes to its aid, breaking the hard, gray layer and allowing the waves to reach the shore again. Then everything begins again… Winter tightens its grip, and soon all that remains is an expanse of undulating gray ice. The gale days are increasing in number: the wind is strong and drags the snow onto the ice floe. I watch the spectacle from the deckhouse, my eyes lost in this horizonless universe where sky and earth merge in the same grayness. The wind flattens the small valleys in a few hours. And when night finally falls, I hear nothing but the howl of the blizzard. Frightened, I imagine that snow is covering the hull and only the boat’s mast is visible in the blizzard. I wait for weeks for the weather to improve, then decide to leave. My round of exploration takes me far from the Oviri and the island. I walk for a whole month, setting myself different goals from time to time: Cape Tuxen, the Berthelot Islands, or a particular glacier. Intense snowfalls hide my landmarks. For ten months my ski tracks overlap each other.

Winter is over

When spring is already advanced, I finally return toward my boat. With great excitement I see its mast getting bigger as I get closer. The first Weddell seals have already hatched around the snow-buried hull. Winter is over. All around is white and the silence impressive. Much snow has accumulated on the boat and I work for an hour to get it out: hundreds of shovelfuls end far away, as if to exorcise the immensity at my feet. Below my steps the ocean, trapped by the thick layer of ice, hides in the darkness. The beautiful season advances and my impatience grows. I would like to leave today, but no one can fight against the rhythm of the seasons The way back leads me back to the sea….

Text and photos by Hugues Delignères

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