2004. The sailing world mourns Giorgio Falck

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.

The engineer who loved sailing

Taken from the 2004 Journal of Sailing, Year 30, No. 05, June pp. 18/20/22.

At just 66 years old, Giorgio Falck, to whom Italy’s sailing owes so much, is gone to sailing heaven. Thanks to him we learned about ocean sailing, impossible feats, unknown corners of the sea. A true man of the sea who is remembered by his great friends, starting with the legendary Pierre Sicouri.

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Last month, at the age of 66, Giorgio Falck passed away. Telling who Falck was as a sailor is no easy task. Italian sailing in the 1980s and 1990s is closely linked to him, his boats and his exploits. His passion, his desire to win and to find and experiment with new technical solutions was enormous. In the last period of his life, some personal events had taken him away from big sailing, but he had made a fresh start in Portofino and did not miss a regatta with his dinghy. We asked three of his friends, with whom he shared a passion for sailing, to give us their unique and personal profiles. A different way to remember him through the words of an engineer friend, a sailor friend, and a journalist friend.

Childhood memories

Giorgio and I met on Lake Como when we were in our early twenties, so … a long time ago. I, a native of Gravedona, was on “retreat” to prepare for exams, and he, a recent graduate, had his first assignment at the Dongo plant. We were united by three passions: sailing, engineering and… girls. We immediately began to sympathize, going out sailing together and courting the same tourist from Frankfurt. We did not care so much who was more successful in love as who was right in certain engineering disputes. The habit of technical discussions would never leave us, and in its time it paid off. It was the early 1970s, years that marked a remarkable turning point in the field of sailing. Up to that time there were no billionaire sponsors, no teams of experimenters, no state-of-the-art laboratories. However, it was felt in the air that the time was ripe for major technological changes to take place as soon as possible. In those days, there was a lot of fun and also a sense of poetry in the study and making of a boat. George, who had recently purchased his first challenging boat, the
Al Na’Ir
, decided at that very time to build the
Guia
, which was commissioned from the Craglietto shipyard in Trieste. This resulted in endless discussions and countless trips to see the boat come into being, to follow it and equip it as best as possible (our efforts were then amply rewarded by the brilliant successes the boat continued to achieve in the years to follow). One had to research, test and evaluate all the new things that were emerging on the market. Giorgio was always there personally committing himself, Gigi Viacava was always ready to leave to source abroad every technical first. Anything that could not be found on the market, which in our opinion was indispensable, had to be built by us on our own by scrabbling as best we could. On
Guia
shrouds were made using (a first for that period) profiles, sourced from France, made of special steel with a high elastic limit. An aluminum mast (also imported from France) was fitted, which was only then beginning to be used. Since masts in those days were rigid we built, as another first, a deformable laminated boom with a flat horizontal section, so that a fatter mainsail could be used: in case of need the mainsail was tensioned by bending the boom. We made the first hydraulic tensioner controlled by a hand pump. This contraption built by us, owned only by the
Guia
, made us proud and excited every time we used it. Just as it made us proud and excited to steer the boat with extreme ease thanks to the special articulated rudder. Our friend Carlo Sciarelli would often visit us at the boatyard with his valuable advice; even on these occasions, our common passion made us heated in long chats and discussions until we forgot the time. It was and still is very rare to find a person like Giorgio, as passionate about navigation as he was competent and prepared on the technical and scientific side. Giorgio combined the rigor of the engineer with the imagination, resourcefulness and creativity of the navigator. Many years have passed (unfortunately), the sailing world has changed, and not only that, but there will always be a need for people like Giorgio, who bequeaths to us true passion and enthusiasm. (Max Bianchi, engineer, sailor owner of Max Prop).

Dear George I am writing to you

How strange to do this now on the same pages of The Sailing Newspaper that has hosted our travel stories for more than two decades. Our first dazzling encounter took place in Santa Margherita in 1974. You were returning a triumphant winner of the first round-the-world sailing trip; I was just a speck in the dark of the crowd that packed the square. Images paraded across the screen, waves, breakers, endless wakes, whales…. I was enraptured, bewitched, and realized that I would not live long without knowing those seas. You opened the door to theOcean for me. I roamed the docks at the Italian Yacht Club, always looking for boarding. Jepson immediately set me to cleaning the hull of your
Guia 3.
It was already an honor. After a few days of hard work, I had won a boarding. From your
Guia
I will never get off again. I meet you for the first time in Lisbon where you bring us a famous skipper, Ambrogio Fogar, and this was an early example of your ability to combine talents, to bring together people even distant and from different specialties into one project. Stay with us until the start along the Tage River. For me, bilge, galley, bow, then I am also granted the helm. I feed on Ambrose ‘s and Jepson‘s tales, live in a dream, while you supply the office at Falck. At Cowes board (“ingegné” and his trusted crew, I became “Pie” forever and under Jepson’s guarantee, I was allowed to race theAdmiral’s Cup. I remember your audacity, those incredible edges among the countless boats moored in front of the Royal Squadron to play currents. We were worried and anxious about sinking a few, but your unwavering confidence and tenacity gave us our first victory in a world-class triangle. You had led not only yourself, but your entire team to happiness. Then the mythical Fastnet, the ocean wave breaking on the most feared rock on the European coast, the brilliant position … and the spi twisting around the stays. I go up to the masthead, stay for hours tossed up there, and we lose a lot of positions. Everyone’s sorry, but never acrimony or a reproach from you. You understood right away this great passion we share. I have everything to learn and you seem to have the vocation of teaching, guiding young people, educating their passion for the sea, creating opportunities. You set off for the first Atlantic Triangle. You on land and we at sea. Back then the legs were much longer, 44 days for the first leg alone, Hotel Papa 1 Echo Victor, you spent your nights on the radio with us. Tactical and technical advice, you never gave up and did not allow us to. I owe you the discovery of Cape Town, Table Mountain covered by a tablecloth of clouds, and a piece of South Africa. You allowed us to travel the world not only by boat, but also to take wide spaces to know, to learn in absolute autonomy. I remember very few boat owners entrusting their boat to their crew, allowing them to race in absolute autonomy. Cape to Rio ’76, together at last, merry, fast, fishing, movies, planing, trade winds. Here begins the never-ending story of our chess games, another game in common. It served to estrange us and keep our heads up. You almost always won, but we both had fun. I remember you thoughtful and crouching in your odd positions, knees under your chin as you helmed with infinite patience and doggedness, drop a finger, cock a finger, concentrated as in an Olympic triangle. Or at charting chatting with those below deck. You liked to live simply, you were happy with a plate of plain pasta and a hot coffee when you woke up. Essential and dedicated to racing, you liked to experience the sea and were always in a good mood. You only clouded up when a lull barred our way and the radio told us of wind elsewhere. That regatta, you wanted to win it at all costs, and so it was: We came third in the real with our only 13 meters, just one day after the giants
Ondine
e
Pen Duick
of 24 meters. How we laughed because they wouldn’t let us dock at the honors dock-we were too small! Guia 3 sunk by an orca, and born
Guia 4
, perhaps the boat to which I have been most attached. Mahogany laminate, the allure of wood intertwined with technology and design, and seas, oceans, royalty, distant countries. the onset is violent, lying by a breaker off Cape Corso. Survived by a miracle. But by making mistakes we learn, and under your guidance far and near I continue to learn a lot. The Atlantic Triangle does not escape us this time. We win it big, brilliantly overcoming various breakdowns. When you are not on board, you follow and motivate us at any time of the day or night. But here’s the big challenge, the round-the-world trip.
RollyGo
is the boat you designed for that tour, sturdy and livable. Dream. So many miles, all the oceans, a dismasting resolved with makeshift ketch rigging. Paola’s accident on Table Mountain keeping me ashore, your visit to the hospital, unspoken words, your solidarity. On board, our roles were well divided. To you the driving, the tactics. To me the management of the craft and crew. When the wind gets above a certain limit, you hole up in the bunk with your damn cigarettes. You trust me even though I know you’re torn between trust and disapproval of my “craziness” in high winds. But we both want to pull, to fly, to place, and risks are a gateway. And incredible, almost disconcerting to discover that in 20 years of sometimes very close cohabitation, ashore in boat preparation, at sea in racing, in difficult conditions, I cannot remember a single quarrel, a single irate word between us! Here the turning point, your boats are not only for you, but also for those closest to you. You had lent Guia 1 to your skipper of the first World Tour, Luciano Ladavas, now you lend me the
Guia 4
for the Ostar. I remember you at the start with Rosanna, excited you, paralyzed me. The solo transatlantic of myths, a non-reversible step toward maturity. Arriving alone in Newport after three violent depressions and a head-on collision with a fishing boat while sleeping, is suddenly becoming a man, and I owe it all to you. England, South Africa, Brazil, Caribbean, Brittany, Spain, Portugal, Australia, New Zealand, Argentina, North America, Sweden, where didn’t you drag us!!!
Guia 2000
, the great international regattas and the Portofino-New York, “your” regatta. Conceived, wanted, managed by you. With Paola, we arrive with a wave in the great bay at the Strait of Gibraltar, I remember you on the
RollyGo
following the regatta, we passed so close that you managed to throw a fresh food package on board on the fly! They gave us very little chance of getting there in one piece, but we overcame, thanks to all the experience we gained with you on the seas of the world, coming all the way under the Brooklyn Bridge. And what excitement when you hand us the trophy in gold, in the halls of the bridge!
Gatorad
And it’s one last trip around the world. A grueling maxi and a great stage. Mar del Plata, Perth: two oceans in one fell swoop, half an Antarctic always in the Roaring Forties, one of the most aesthetic stretches you can draw on a nautical chart.

Still your audacity had driven you to buy this maxi at the edge of the world. But it wasn’t just the oceans that existed for you: you also loved playing with the breezes of the Gulf of Tigullio, Sardinia Cups, Admirals, Portofino regattas, dinghy and newfound happiness with Silvia, even some winter championships saw you snuggled up at the helm, cigarette in your mouth, one hand on the rudder wheel and your eyes glued to the genoa threads. Returns from the big regattas ashore were difficult. To you I also owe the first tentative successes of my trading business, the first sales of Russian steel to Falck, the beginning of a shifting business that has been going on for over 20 years. Giorgio, how can I thank you for all the confidence and self-confidence you gave me, which enabled me to face the vicissitudes of life and helped me prepare the tools to overcome them? If we were ever to reckon how much I gave and how much I received, I would still and always feel indebted for those incredible life experiences: you allowed me to live almost all my dreams. Accompanying you on your last voyage was not only the world of work that respected your name and position and pretended to forget your very long absences, but also the world of our sailing, people I had not seen for years, so many of the boys turned men you took to live out their dreams for the seas of the world and helped them grow. Saying goodbye to you, I realized that a page of my life was being turned forever. Giorgio, it is amazing how much you will be missed…. Yours, Pié. (Pierre Sicouri, sailor and ocean navigator).

To George: personal confidentiality

I think, indeed I am certain, that the Good Lord, in all the years He has had to deal with us humans, has found time to open for us good Christians a heaven, let us say “tailor-made,” for each category. I think, indeed I am sure, that in that of sailors I will find Giorgio Falck. For a paradise for us sailors there surely is and Giorgio, ad abundantiam, has earned it and St. Peter, though a liar as he was with his Master, this time had no reason to lie and indeed will have been honored to introduce to my friend those he did not know in person. From Ulysses onward passing, regardless of chronology, to Christopher Columbus, Magellan, Verrazano, perhaps the pirate Morgan, or those of the Tortuga with the Black Corsair in the lead, and then Chichester, Drake, Admiral Nelson, the Caphornier group like himself, or the loners like Colas, Tabarly and the unforgettable Luciano Pedulli. He will not have failed to embrace even someone with whom he may have disagreed like the “grand old man” Beppe Croce. Among sailors, sooner or later, you become friends again. And Giorgio was a sailor indeed. Still a short time ago I saw him in a dinghy in Portofino parading the rocks of Punta Cajega. And one who sailed around the world, who crossed the Atlantic as a game, who sailed around the Fastnet in storms and I leave in the pen (because space is a tyrant) the “everything” by sea that saw him as a protagonist snatching the helm even from friends to enjoy the pleasure of winning the wind with the sails of his beloved boats,
Guia
, above all. Perched, rather than seated, as he used to do from me in the newsroom when he came to us, “chancing” the austere offices of Corso Matteotti, where he was the boss, to tell me about his projects that were almost never dreams, as befits a good engineer. Like the day, so far back in time, when he told me about what he and Max Bianchi had invented, the magical Max Prop. And if it wasn’t boats, steel. His second love inherited from his “elders.” But back account I say right away that between the paradise of sailors and the paradise of steelworkers, engineer Giorgio certainly chose the former where, the poets say, one is a little less strict about certain earthly weaknesses. And Giorgio in his lifetime was not a beloved, shinny man. He produced steel, but he did not have a heart of steel: as a young man he was a true “tombeur des femmes,” and even when he grew up he was not lacking in that regard. To the envy of us all. With equal frankness it must be remembered that he did not lack sorrows and afflictions. One, first among many, the unbelievable death of John that the sea, the very beloved sea, stole from him and then, on another level, the farewell to steel in Bolzano and the high furnaces in Sesto San Giovanni to which he was forced. In the sailor’s paradise he certainly found Giovanni although, he too was an engineer. Had he gone with the steelworkers, what could he possibly have done? Perhaps play chess where, truth be told, he was not a great champion. Better where we will all get together with a nice sea and a boat. Helmsman and Skipper of course him, perched at the helm. Hi Giorgio. (Mario Oriani, journalist and founder of the Giornale della Vela).

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