1976. Killer whale sinks Giorgio Falck’s Guia III

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.

Guia III. In the moment it’s as if the world turns upside down.

Taken from the 1976 Journal of Sailing, Year 2, No. 03, April, pp. 3-5 and 40-43.

From the protagonists’ accounts, here’s how one of the world’s most famous Italian boats sank in the middle of the Atlantic. Many question the facts, Falck defends itself.

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At the first word I realized that the tone of voice was the same…. Like when he said, “Guia is fifty-two South fifty East, they have a very bad wheather of course”.… Etched in my mind, as if engraved on a tape, was Captain Norman’s voice. Those were the dramatic moments in the Indian Ocean during the round-the-world race. The race was losing men behind it, yet captain Norman’s voice remained phlegmatic, gentlemanly, acquiring only a slight metallic tone. Englishmen, though sea captains, also feel emotions, and to hide them they accentuate a thread of inflexibility in their politeness. “This is captain Norman speaking….” I had already recognized that slight, terrifying metallic inflection. “The crew is well…,” the crew is well, goodness that began with the good news, “but the boat is sunk.” The word had been spoken. The instant effect was that of the world turning upside down, as had happened to me, physically, as a child, when I had fallen off my horse. Only boat owners can understand. He can understand the affection-no, the accumulation of affections that a boat contains: the quartz watch “guaranteed two seconds a month,” a gift from my uncle and companion to the many stops during the round-the-world voyage; the sextant with which I had made my first stitches, hesitantly, in ’71; the blue blanket on which a kind hand had embroidered “reserved for Giorgio.” And that marvelous smooth, jewel-thin hull that Gigi and I had wrested from total destruction on the beach at Baratti: it had been a matter of hours, at four o’clock the boat was deposited on the tombolo and at six o’clock a force-nine swell was hitting the beach… But everything was contained in that monosyllable: sunk.

“Go explain, Jepson, when we’re in Italy, that by mid-Atlantic we had 170 miles ahead of the Katsou and 420 miles ahead of the Chica Tica (who were paying us 17 and 10 hours compensation).” Now we’ve been here for three days waiting for those back. It’s no use, they don’t believe you, better to keep quiet. “The Guia is an exceptional boat that doesn’t win, it’s unlucky.” And her bad luck was not only that in the Cape to Rio. The same goes for that duel in the windy night during the Fastnet, with the Noryema that we had put behind with derisory ease, with those crossings with the Charisma and with the Tenacious at Land’s End, after a day and night of very regular upwind in fresh wind. The Scillys, with a 20-hour stop, will relegate us to 50th place, and people will say nonsense like, “We lacked team spirit…” “But don’t worry Jepson, bad luck can’t fail to pass, the wind at one time or another will be the same for everyone, boat on boat we are the fastest, the third leg of the Atlantic Triangle will come, the Triangle you’ll see we win it.”

And indeed it seemed to be the time. The Guia ran into the northern trade winds for second not even two days after the Pen Duick VI, a day and a half ahead of the Katsou, which remained longer in the equatorial calms. Continuing like this was done, and not just the leg, but the whole Triangle. On the other hand, the Guia was running to the best of her ability, more than 200 miles on the last day, upwind wide…. “Dear Giorgio I heard the news, my condolences to you…” then they suddenly freeze, the word is only to be used for people, it seems. Yet they all begin their sentence this way, instinctively. “My name is Vincenzoni, I’m a friend of your brother-in-law, I’m calling from Los Angeles. I’ve been studying killer whales for three years, I’m writing a book on them.” “Say, say.” “It’s a terrible and fascinating animal: once in New Zealand a fishing boat injured a female with the propeller. The male sank the fishing boat, planking seventy millimeters (35 the Guia). A month later, in the same place, a crew of six was killed by the raging beast.” I know, dear Mr. Vincenzoni, that sea monsters are all the rage these days, after the movie “Jaws,” I also know that the Guia episode is of interest mainly because it involves such a topical sea monster. But I, you see, am interested in boats and not in orcas, hateful animal of all. I am interested in racing and not in violence. Disjointed things. At least I thought so. (Giorgio Falck)

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The shipwreck told by Uncle Pimperle

Francesco Longanesi Cattani, i.e., Uncle Pimperle, tells about how the boat sank and what was done, said, and thought during this particular experience. “Pimperle wake up! The whale!” So I am awakened by Giorgio. His voice is calm but firm: it is not the usual “Piiimperleee…” with which he tries in vain to interrupt my dreams at the change of watch. My reaction is also immediate and I jump down from the bunk very quickly. At the very first moment I think of George’s attention to my photographic interest, but as soon as I stand up, I notice that there is already 20 centimeters of water in the bow…. We may have bumped it. I get out. Claudio, very calm, is at the helm. Wind and sea in the stern. Behind him, two large cetaceans glide over the wave, then get closer and show their white bellies and chins: they are orcas. “What happened?” “One of those bitches attacked us and must have made a hole in us.” The genoa is already lowered; with Jepson we lower the mainsail. For a few moments I am a little disoriented; Jepson is very excited and shouts , “Murderer, murderer! She’s come to murder us!!!”, facing toward the bow where the orcas are, motionless. Reacting. I prepare the dinghy on deck, ready to be thrown. React. Bilge pumps: pious illusion. Jérôme, Giorgio and Marsh are still trying to plug the leak with spi from the inside and a sail from the outside. The pressure is too great and takes everything away. Start again. More spi, more sail, push the boards back in. Nothing. More water, water, water coming in. The rolled-up spi go through the hole along with Jérôme’s arm; the sails stretched by Giorgio and Marsh are carried away…. It’s really very big ‘this damn hole! “Inflate the dinghy and throw a mayday! ” Jérôme tells me…. It’s a whip to the lower abdomen. The radio makes unreassuring sounds: the batteries are already underwater. Marsh replaces me and I go to take care of the dinghy, grabbing a polar suite and the rocket container on the fly. The starboard bow is already below. Dinghy overboard, I pull the string, a few moments with my heart in my throat. Jérôme and I look at each other, “Ca va pas vite…. Ah! Voila… C’est parti mieux maintenant ” (He’s not very fast. Ah! There… He’s off to a better start now). Relief.

“Claudio, you are the youngest, go first,” Jérôme tells him. Three orcas are still a few meters from the bow, motionless. “Damn little animals.”, says Jérôme, “they don’t leave until the end!”. Are they waiting for the end? Do they want to make sure they’ve done a good job?…. Jepson has gone to the bow with water at his throat to get the cookie canister and boards second. I hold the dinghy by the top, beside me Giorgio passes the stuff piled on the deck to Claudio and Jepson. Hurry, hurry, there is no time: we are sinking! Ridda of ideas. Everyone says a word. The water. The vegetable bin. The meat bin… Marsh is still on the radio with water at his waist: “mayday mayday Guia III. Position 9°40° N; 34°20′ W”. The flashlights. The batteries. The life jackets. Where are they? Where are they? Behind Giorgio’s bunk. Here they are. The oilskins. The blankets. The clothes. “mayday mayday, Guia III….” Charts. The sextant. A can opener. Soon, soon he is leaving. The vitamins, the vitamins! … Wet. The cigarettes. Some wood. George comes aboard, I still hand him I don’t know what. “Jerome, Marsh, this is it, come on out!” I yell. The boat goes down faster and faster. “Jump, Pimperle, jump by God!” shouts Giorgio to me. “Catch my shirt!”, I throw it with too much force and it goes into the water. I let go of the selvedge, one last look at the bow…. The water is level with the manhole, the killer whales are always there; I’m not afraid to jump: they don’t seem to attack the man. I dive in. Goodbye Guia! I swim toward the dinghy and join him. Jérôme is still on board and Marsh has just jumped in. Then Jérôme also jumps in, opening his arms in a gesture of desolation. One more second: the rudder is out and the stern soaring skyward. Even the name on the side is still out. I cover my face and burst into a fit of weeping. It’s awful to see a boat sink; it’s like watching a person die, maybe worse…. The boat on which you sailed and lived for months and months, which was your home and where you rejoiced and suffered with her, where you had fun and boredom, where you slept, ate, thought, everything always with her… Pierre, in his letter to me had written, “In difficult times talk to her, she alone will understand you…” All this is disappearing forever, it is atrocious!…. A big puff, an almost human breath and it is the last breath of the now totally submerged Guia: this is the sharpest and most tremendous sensation I am left with of the sinking. Last to disappear is the masthead with the Yacht Club flag; one more second and it is all over. (Francesco Longanesi Cattani)

Guia III. Fortunately, they are all safe

As we write, the Guia III crew is in New York at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, a guest of Whitbread, the brewing company that is one of the organizers of the Atlantic Triangle. She is in the process of returning to Italy. In a telephone interview, Francesco Longanesi Cattani reconstructed the incident: “It was about 12:15, just before the shift change. At the helm was Claudio Cuoghi. Before the impact, he did not feel anything. At the moment of impact, the bow moved three meters. Giorgio Di Mola immediately went to see what was happening: the whole bow part was already full of water. We tried to close the breach with bags of sails: two bags of spi were sucked out: in thirty seconds the water was already over the dunnage. The breach had been made far below the waterline. In those moments, as the boat was sinking, there were five orcas around, and one was leaning against the hull, perfectly still, as if trying to figure out what strange animal the Guia was. We also tried to pass a sail over the hole, trying again to close it from the inside with sacks, but even this maneuver was useless. We managed to throw two canisters of provisions inside the inflatable, but we only got back one canister of water: we only had 14 liters. We launched two SOSs and then inserted I’SOS automatic (which were not heard by anyone). From the little boat we saw the Guia sinking, it was despairing, it went down the bow. The moment the boat sank, the orcas disappeared. At midnight the next day we spotted a ship 2 miles away and fired the flares. They immediately saw us, and after an hour and a half we were brought aboard.”. Jérôme Poncet, the skipper of Guia on this leg of the Triangle, said, “Not even God could have saved the boat.”” The behavior of the crew was magnificent,” commented Giorgio Falck in Milan, “you could call it far above normal.” For the record, we recall that the Guia III sank on March 9, 1976 at 12:15 p.m. in the approximate position of 9°43′ latitude Ne 34°20′ longitude W, about 560 mg from the equator.

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