1975. Let’s expose Fogar who copies other people’s books

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.

Fogar, but is this really all true?

Taken from the 1975 Journal of Sailing, Year 1, No. 04, October, pp. 4/6.

The Giornale della Vela became famous in Italy for catching sailor Ambrogio Fogar copying in his book the description of a storm written in ’63 by John Guzwell. Controversy erupts.

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An unfortunate injury

A sensational (and very naive) case of literary plagiarism is still keeping Ambrogio Fogar‘s name in the news. In his book “400 Days Around the World,” published a few months ago by Rizzoli, Fogar copied, it can be said word for word, the facts, circumstances and even inner feelings experienced by John Guzzwell in a terrible storm in the Tasman Sea, and described by the Anglo-Canadian navigator in the book “Trekkaaround the World ,” published in ’63 by Adlard Coles of London and in Italian in 1971 by the publisher Mursia (“Trekka around the World”). The affair will have a sequel, as the claimants intend to take legal action to stop what they consider to be an abuse. The plagiarism (which we document in this article by putting the two texts side by side) unfortunately raises once again some inevitable questions about the reliability, at least literary, of the other adventures, numerous and dramatic, suffered by the Surprise during the round-the-world voyage and described by Fogar. Of whose injury we frankly regret. We want to hope that the intrepid sailor will be able to settle, for his own good name and that of Italian sailing, any doubts: which we cordially invite him to do. From our columns, of course, if he wishes.

The storm according to Guzzwell – Part 1

More than 1,000 miles away, in the middle of the Coral Sea, something terrible was brewing for me. A mass of air, heated by the intense tropical sun, was moving upward, creating a large void in the atmosphere. This space was being occupied by colder masses, which, in turn, were warming and rising, causing an intense depression that was becoming more and more pronounced as time went on. While waiting for it to grow in intensity, since it was just in its initial stage, it remained stationary and completely ignored; but, when its terrifying power had reached maturity, it began to deliberately move southwestward to vent its destructive spirit on the east coast of Australia. This raging giant, which had begun to move extremely slowly, had now ceased to be a mere depression, becoming violent enough to deserve the name cyclone. Meanwhile, perfectly unaware of what was coming at me, I was pleasantly surprised on the morning of June 5 when, when I awoke, I found that a nice steady breeze was blowing.

The storm according to Fogar – Part 1

More than a thousand miles away, something terrible is preparing for me. An air mass, warmed by the intense tropical sun, is moving upward, creating a large void in the atmosphere. This space is being occupied by colder masses, which, in turn, are warming and rising causing an intense depression that is becoming more and more pronounced as time goes on. While waiting for it to grow in intensity, since it is just in its initial stage, it remains stationary and completely ignored; but as its terrifying power reaches maturity, it begins to move southwestward to vent its destructive spirit on the east coast of Australia. This raging giant, which began to move extremely slowly, has now ceased to be a mere depression, becoming violent enough to deserve the name cyclone. Meanwhile, perfectly unaware of what is coming my way, I am pleasantly surprised on the morning of May 23, when upon waking up, I find that a nice steady breeze is blowing.

The storm according to Guzzwell – Part 2

I hoisted the sails quickly and dropped the buoy. With her hull now clean, the Trekka did not take long to pass between the breakwaters and soon began to eat up the miles. Brisbane was only 260 miles away, and with the wind like this, I knew it would only take three or four days of sailing to reach a comfortable berth in the Brisbane River. My predictions were to prove completely wrong. Throughout the day the Trekka spun along the coast for the purpose of avoiding unfavorable currents; but, as darkness approached, I pointed out to sea so that I would not run aground during the night. By dawn the next day we had gained some more useful miles; but, as the day wore on, I took to heading back toward the coast, and by late afternoon I had passed the mouth of the Clarence River. The nice steady breeze had strengthened and was blowing at about 20 knots from the southeast, which literally blew the Trekka over, but as the sun disappeared, the wind, instead of waning, increased. A sixth sense was going around warning me that something was wrong. The weather report had given no indication of bad weather and the barometer was still high, yet the appearance of the sea denounced something unusual. At first I did not pay much attention to it; but as the hours passed, I began to notice a long wave coming from the northeast. This stretch of coast offered no shelter, and with growing apprehension I realized that, if the wind turned a little, we would find ourselves upwind of the coast.

The storm according to Fogar – Part 2

With her hull now clean in Auckland, the Surprise does not take long to pick up her pace, and she begins to eat up the miles. The coast is only 160 miles away, and with winds like this, I know it will only take a day and a half of sailing to reach Bass Strait. My predictions were to prove completely wrong. Throughout the day the Surprise runs at her top speed; but, as darkness approaches, she points, almost by instinct, west-northwest in search of favorable currents. By dawn the next day I have gained some more useful miles; but as the day progresses, I take to heading even more northwest, as if inspired by an angel (who I did not know whether good or bad). The nice steady breeze has strengthened, and is blowing at about 30 knots from the southeast, which literally makes the Surprise fly, but as the sun disappears, the wind, instead of waning, increases. A sixth sense is warning me that something is wrong. The weather report has given no indication of bad weather and the barometer is still high, yet the appearance of the sea denounces something unusual. At first I don’t pay much attention, but as the hours pass, I begin to notice a long wave coming from the south. This stretch of coastline, though distant, offers no shelter, and with growing apprehension I realize that, if the wind had turned a little, we would have found ourselves upwind of the coast.

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The storm according to Guzzwell – Part 3

I cocked the mainsail and jib and cheated the mizzen, then tried to gain as much free water as possible by moving quickly away from the coast. What was proving to be pleasant sailing now turned into a desperate attempt to gain as many miles as possible before we were forced to cape. The Trekka was being pushed like it had never been pushed before. Wisps of spray irritated my eyes and penetrated through the collar of my oilskin; numerous drops of water ran down my back, stopped temporarily by the belt, which acted as a dam, before overflowing into the bottoms of my breeches. At one point, a large wave broke amidships and drenched me from head to toe, after which it was perfectly useless to try to stay dry. As the wind strengthened, we were forced to head more north than east, and I finally realized that it was long past time to reef the mainsail. I waited for what seemed to be a moment of respite, then quickly let go of the halyard and operated the reefing ratchet, rolling the wet sail around the boom. Although I had greatly reduced its area, this did not seem to produce much of a difference, and half an hour later I tightened the sail, realizing that if I left it on shore any longer it would tear and take some of my gear with it. The sky, which had looked so innocent at noon, was now completely overcast, and from time to time gusts of wind pushed the rain horizontally, so that it was impossible to look upwind. II Trekka proceeded staggering under the foresail and mizzen, diving into the long wave that came rolling in from the northeast.

The storm according to Fogar – Part 3

I iron the mainsail sheet and jib, then try to gain as much free water as possible by moving quickly away from the coast. What was turning out to be pleasant sailing now turns into a desperate attempt to gain as many miles as possible before we were forced to cape. II Surprise is being pushed as it has never been pushed before. Flashes of spray irritate my eyes and penetrate through my oilskin collar; numerous drops of water run down my back, stopped temporarily by the belt, which acts as a dam, before overflowing into the bottoms of my breeches. At one point, a large wave breaks amidships and soaks me from head to toe, after which it is perfectly useless to try to stay dry. As the wind strengthens, we are forced to head more north than west, and I finally realize that it is long past time to reef the mainsail for the third time. I wait for what seems like a moment of respite, then quickly let go of the halyard and operate the reefing ratchet, rolling the wet sail around the boom: too bad I didn’t foresee three coats of matafion! Although I have greatly reduced its surface area, this does not seem to produce much difference, and half an hour later I tighten the sail, realizing that if I had left it on shore any longer, it would have torn. II sky, which had looked so innocent at noon, is now completely overcast, and from time to time gusts of wind push the rain horizontally, so that it is impossible to look upwind. II Surprise proceeds staggering under the storm surge, diving into the long wave that comes rolling in from the south.

The storm according to Guzzwell – Part 4

Sometimes, when we climbed up the slope of a wave to dive back down the opposite side, it felt like riding a roller coaster. The stomach upset was not long in coming: breakfast and lunch were thrown back underento and went to mingle with the elements. Leaving the Trekka to fend for itself, I went down below all chilled out and disposed of my soaked clothing before stretching out my tired bones in the leeward berth. Sleep was in fact impossible, but the bunk, if nothing else, was warm and dry, and the flickering cabin light did its best to instill some cheerfulness. Throughout the long night the Trekka spread out from the shore, until, at dawn on Saturday, the only sail she could keep on shore was the tiny storm jib. Our speed did not exceed two knots, but that was still better than staying at the cape and letting ourselves drift toward land. My worst fears came true when, late in the day on Saturday, the wind jumped to the east. I crawled up to the bow and lowered the small jib, then tied the leeward tiller and let my little boat face the crosswind on its own. By my estimate, we were about 35 miles from the coast.I usually calculate that, during a gale, the Trekka can expire downwind at a speed of about one knot; therefore, we had only thirty-five hours left before we ended up on the breakers of the coast. It was a dismal prospect.Throughout the night I looked anxiously toward land on several occasions, expecting to spot the Cape Byron lighthouse, which has a range of 26 miles, but even daylight did not reveal any stretch of land; however, because of the haze, visibility was limited to about three miles.

The storm according to Fogar – Part 4

Sometimes, when we climb up the slope of a wave to dive back down the opposite side, it feels like a roller coaster ride. Late in the day, the wind suddenly turns to the southwest: I crawl to the bow and lower the small jib, then let Surprise face the crosswind sea on her own. I descend into the cabin all chilly and remove my soaked clothing before laying my weary bones on the leeward berth. By my estimate, we are about 50 miles from the coast; I usually calculate that, during a gale, Surprise can fall to leeward at a speed of about 2 knots. Sleep is impossible, but the bunk, if nothing else, is drier than the deck, and the flickering cabin light does its best to instill some comfort. I look anxiously toward land several times, expecting to spot the Cape Howe lighthouse, which has a range of 23 miles, but even daylight does not reveal any land features: however, because of the haze, visibility is limited to about 3 miles. The wind calms down a little around noon, allowing me to raise the tormentor again and leave it for about 3 hours, gaining a few more miles before conditions worsen and force me to retire the small sail. Another night of anxiety thus passes, a night spent listening to the shrill note of the wind in the rigging, the drumming of the halyards against the mast, and the sudden hiss of a breaking wave before crashing against the side. Meanwhile, I continue to peer westward, straining my eyesight to discover any light on the coast, but morning comes with no land to be seen.

The storm according to Guzzwell – Part 5

The wind calmed a little around noon, allowing me to raise the tormentor again and leave it for about three hours, gaining a few more miles before conditions worsened and forced me to retire the small sail. Thus another anxious night passed, a night spent listening to the shrill note of the wind in the rigging, the drumming of the halyards against the masts, and the sudden hiss of a wave breaking before crashing against the side. They kept scanning westward in the meantime, straining their eyesight to discover any light on the coast, but Monday morning came with no land to be seen. I turned on the radio to listen to the weather report and learned for the first time that it was not a normal gale but a tropical cyclone. The eye of the storm was located about 500 miles to the northeast and was approaching at a speed of about ten knots. The radio newspaper spoke of damage to coastal equipment and reported that beaches and breakwaters had been swept by huge breakers in various parts of the coastline. My morale had plummeted. Our position was east of Danger Point, a name in itself not very cheerful ( danger means danger in English); but I had no means of knowing how far we were from it. The only sensible thing to do was to keep as much distance as possible with the help of a floating anchor; but since I did not own one, I did my best using what I had. I secured two manila lines to the stern and bow bollards and joined their free ends to a piece of wood ci cm 5xg and 2.5 m long, which had the effect of keeping a bight of considerable size open on the water without it sinking. From the changed movement of the Trekka, I soon realized that the nearly 100 meters of cable managed to brake its downwind drift, although the comfort of the boat was no longer what it used to be.

The storm according to Fogar – Part 5

I turn on the radio to listen to the weather report and learn for the first time that this was not a normal gale but a cyclone. The eye of the storm was located about 300 miles away to the West-Northwest and was approaching at a speed of about ten knots. The radio newspaper spoke of damage to coastal equipment and reported that beaches and breakwaters had been broken by huge breakers in various parts of the coastline. My morale plummeted (I would later learn of two broken ships and dozens of casualties.) Our position was east of Cape Howe but we had no means of knowing how far we were from it. The only sensible thing to do is to keep as much distance as possible with the help of a floating anchor; but since Surprise does not like it, I do my best using what I have. I secure two lines to the stern bollards and join their free ends, which has the effect of keeping a large bight open on the water without it sinking. From the changed motion of the Surprise, I soon realize that the nearly 200 meters of cable manage to curb the downwind drift, although the comfort of the boat is not what it was before.

The storm according to Guzzwell – Part 6

Throughout the day on Tuesday the wind blew as violently as ever, and so, aware that there was nothing else on my part to do, I threw myself into my bunk, trying to immerse myself in reading a book. Tuesday night was one of the most exhausting I can remember. On the outside, the insane violence of the elements was terrifying enough in itself, but the thought of being pounded into the coast with that sea and in complete darkness was even more so. I had the impression that this was a nightmare from which I would soon awaken; but, meanwhile, it continued hour after hour without hinting at any change and leaving me little hope. Dawn finally came on Wednesday, and a careful peering and westerly dispelled my fears, since there was still no land in sight. Remarkably cheered by this realization, I ate a small breakfast: it was the first real food I had tasted since the gale began. The weather report specified that the center of the gale was located 500 miles east of Brisbane and that it was moving further and further south.

The storm according to Fogar – Part 6

Throughout the day on Friday the wind is blowing as fiercely as ever, and so, aware that there is nothing else on my part to do, I throw myself into my bunk. Friday night was one of the most exhausting that I remember. On the outside, the insane violence of the elements is terrifying enough in itself, but the thought of being tossed into the coast with that sea and in complete darkness is even more so. I have the impression that this is a nightmare from which I would soon awaken; but, meanwhile, it continues, one hour after another without hinting at any change and leaving me in very little good humor. Saturday dawn comes at last, and a careful peering to the west removes my fears, since the land is in sight but far away. Remarkably cheered by this realization I consume a small breakfast: it is the first real food I have tasted since the gale began. The weather report specifies that the center of the gale is 100 miles south of Brisbane and that it is moving further and further east.

The storm according to Guzzwell – Part 7

Evidently the storm was tending to move more and more toward the open sea. At noon I had confirmation of this when the cloud cover began to break up, leaving a couple of blue patches the size of a handkerchief to appear. For a few moments, the sun peeped through one of these glimpses, and this allowed me to the make observations with the sextant, although the sea was still very rough, The observation placed us on the same latitude as Cape Byron, but I was still unable to the determine our distance from the coast. The wind had finally begun to turn from the east to the south-southeast, and there were even periods when it dropped considerably in strength. In the afternoon I held up the storm jib for about four hours before another series of gusts forced me to lower it again. The radio reported that the Trekka was listed as missing and added that some planes, flying along the coast, had been warned to keep alert for me. I was somewhat worried by this news, as the last thing I wanted was an expensive air search at sea, which could have resulted in the loss of life on the part of the searchers. It was my fault that I was at sea with this cyclone, and there was no reason why other people should risk their lives to rescue me. Since the wind was now blowing from the southeast quadrant, the danger of being pushed into the coast was greatly diminished, so that night I threw myself to sleep in a much more relaxed mood than I had been in the last five nights.

The storm according to Fogar – Part 7

Evidently the storm is tending to move more and more toward the open sea. At noon I get confirmation of this when the cloud cover begins to break up, leaving a couple of blue patches the size of a handkerchief to appear. For a few moments the sun peeps through one of these vents, which allows me to make observations with the sextant, although the sea is still very rough. The very rough observation puts us on the same latitude as Cape Howe, but I am still unable to determine our distance from the coast. The wind has finally taken to turning to the Su -Southeast, and there are even times when it drops considerably in strength. In the afternoon I hold up the bad-weather jib for about 4 hours before another series of gusts forced me to lower it again. Because the wind was now blowing from the southwest quadrant, the danger of being pushed into the coast was greatly diminished so that night I went to sleep in a much more relaxed mood than I had been in the last five nights.

The storm according to Guzzwell – Part 8

At dawn, the light revealed the same scene of breaking waves and flying spray, but the appearance of the sky had improved, and when the sun rose over the horizon, it remained visible for long periods through the clouds. After a quick breakfast of porridge, croutons and coffee, I went out on deck to see if we could proceed in the direction of Brisbane. The wind was still blowing over 30 knots and the sea was quite big; but, after being at the hood for so long, I was eager to get moving again. With the wind coming from the south, I had but to run ahead of it, so I decided to keep my improvised floating anchor in tow and hoist the storm jib. Moments later, as we were spinning at about 3 knots, I spotted a large wave coming over. This, as it approached, pushed the trailer forward until it gave it a noticeable tack; then the crest reached the Trekka, which took to running in the surf on the slope of the ‘wave. With the tiller in my hand I tried to keep him in the right position, until he slid over the back of the ridge and sat in the cable. Shortly thereafter a crest similar to the first came forward, but it broke over the stern,
soaking me from head to toe, and would have kicked me overboard if the stanchion dragnets had not held me back. I was still intent on spitting salt water when another wave played the same trick. Before it could repeat itself, I lowered the sail and tied the leeward tiller. It was too dangerous to let the Trekka run in those conditions, and I decided to wait re the sea calmed down a bit. (From “Trekka around the World” by John Guzzwell. Translation by Giuseppe Pannacciulli. Published in Italy in 1971 by U. Mursia & C. First English edition published by Adlard Coles Ltd, London).

The storm according to Fogar – Part 8

At dawn the light reveals the same scene of breaking waves, but the appearance of the sky has improved, and when the sun rises on the horizon, it remains visible for long periods through the clouds. After a quick breakfast of condensed milk and ovaltine, I go out on deck to see if we could proceed in the direction of Sidney. The wind is still blowing over 60 knots and the sea is quite big: but after being at the hood for so long, I was eager to get moving again. With the wind coming from the south, I have but to run ahead of it, so I decide to keep my improvised floating anchor in tow and hoist the storm jib. Moments later, as we are spinning at about 5 knots, I see a large wave coming over. This, approaching, pushes the trailer forward until it gives it a noticeable tack; then the crest reaches the Surprise, which takes to running in the surf on the wave slope. With tiller in hand I try to keep him in the right direction, until he slides over the back of the ridge and sits in the cable. Shortly thereafter a crest similar to the first comes forward, but it breaks over the stern, soaking me from head to toe, and would have kicked me overboard if the stanchion dragnets had not held me back. I am still intent on spitting salt water when another wave plays the same trick. The breaker comes roaring in, bursts high over the stern and catches me in its arms, throwing me overboard this time. The seatbelt is hooked with a carabiner to a ten-meter-long cable and holds; however, the boat let loose by the steering, it traverses to the sea. The next wave splits over the side of the helpless Surprise, rolls it into the crest and makes it disappear from my eyes for a moment. When I too rise to the surface I see the black fin of my beautiful boat pointed skyward, then for very long moments I see the mast resurface until it is straight again, while the sea all around seethes white. I think I was perhaps the only spectator-crew member who can say that they saw from the outside their capsized boat: still, I try to retrieve as quickly as possible the line that keeps me connected like an umbilical cord to the boat. The water feels warm to me, perhaps warmed by the anger inside me. I feel truly lost. The coast is close but, whether swimming or with the Surprise in these conditions, the consequences would be easy to imagine. The white shoreline of froth rising to 20-25 meters is hammered by the splitting wave pushed by thousands of miles of ocean; the water rises vertically in columns of foam that remain high for very long moments, almost as if they no longer want to fall. With strokes, I manage to get close to the Surprise and climb aboard, waiting for the wave to tilt the sickle on my side: the boat rolling the other way will practically put me on board. (From “400 Days Around the World” by Ambrogio Fogar, Rizzoli Editore Milano 1975.)

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