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Tony Laurent

It is with great sadness the IHCA announces the passing of Hobie sailor Tony ‘Dingo’ Laurent. Tony while remembered as the person who sailed the Hobie 18 across the Atlantic he did so much more in Hobie sailing and beyond. He was also a passionate Hobie sailor competing in many  Hobie World, European, National Championships and Hog's Breath 1000. Tony continued after his Hobie sailing to Julies Venrne Challenge, around the world and cross Atlantic Races. 

After moving to Airlie Beach on the Whitsunday Region with his wife Lolita and daughter Jessie. Tony set up a success business and was the Airlie Beach Chamber of Commerce President.

Whatever Tony did he put 100% effort into the project. Tony ‘Dingo’ Laurent will be missed by all that have privilege to race with and against  and to know him. The IHCA passes on our most sincere condolences to Lolita (also a Hobie sailor from New Caledonia) and Jessie Laurent.

This is his incredible story of sailing a Hobie 18 across the Atlantic Ocean 

Tony Laurent and Daniel Prada Across the Atlantic on an Open Hobie 18 Catamaran
October 1986
The following is reprinted from Hobie Hotline  

Editor's Note: The HOBIE HOTLINE is printing the following story for two reasons. First, it is a remarkable adventure, one of the most incredible journeys ever attempted on a Hobie Cat and we would be remiss by not including it. We hope you enjoy it and thrill with the sailors and their amazing achievement, a milestone in ocean crossings.
Secondly, it is also a warning. Hobie Cat and the HOTLINE do not endorse offshore Hobie sailing. Hobie Cats were made to sail within sight of land whether in the ocean or on a lake. Some specially controlled events such as the Hog's Breath 1000 include offshore sailing, but the safety measures are extraordinary. Tony Laurent, profiled in the January/February 1987 issue, is one of the most experienced Hobie sailors in the world. Daniel Pradel is a seasoned French sailor and veteran of many races, including a lot of Hobie sailing experience. The two men thought they were prepared. We hope others who may be planning such adventures take note.
 

By Noelle Duck
Both passionate sailors had already gathered in victories and trophies. But they dreamed of the impossible: traversing the Atlantic Ocean from Dakar, Senegal on Africa’s west coast, to Pointe a Pitre, Guadeloupe, part of the French Antilles in the Caribbean. An Atlantic crossing is always a touch and go affair in a sailboat, but Tony Laurent and Daniel Pradel were going to try the journey on a Hobie 18 Magnum. They left Dakar on November 12, 1986 at 8:30 in the morning. On a peaceful, windy Sunday 18 days later, a local sailor, Mr. Guegen, was doing some chores on his boat in the Basse Terre Marina on Guadeloupe when he spotted two exhausted sailors gliding into port. The impending arrival of the team had been announced by French Overseas Radio, so Guegen knew who the two were.
"You want some help?" he asked with concern. ''We’re bloody hungry." was the weak reply. With that exchange, the two sailors had completed what many thought to be impossible. They had traversed the Atlantic on an open, 18-foot catamaran. But the price they paid was great. Laurent and Pradel had often thought about crossing the Atlantic on a Hobie Cat separately Then, one July night, Laurent told Pradel he had a "crazy project" to talk about. Pradel replied that he, too, had been thinking of something crazy After deciding who was to speak first, only two words were said: "Atlantic Ocean." They decided on late autumn and chose the course from Senegal to the French West Indies, a route that had the reputation of being "easy," a route American slave ships travelled in the 17th and 18th centuries because fresh trade winds and calm waters made the going fast and uneventful. "Once you have passed the Cape Verde Islands, you'll see that the sea becomes peaceful and that it will rock you to your destination," said their friends. By the time Pradel and Laurent were making final preparations on their boat, which rested on the beach of N'Gor at Dakar, they were dreaming of the sweet regularity of the trades, still mild at this time of year, that were to push them all the way to Guadeloupe.

On the beach at the Meridien Hotel of N'Gor, the Fujicolor, as the boat had been christened in honor of the trek's chief sponsor, had become a major attraction. The crossbars had been set, the wings had been placed and the double-layer trampoline, which would sandwich the bag of plastic-coated maps, was stretched between the hulls. They raised the mast, fixed the shrouds and backstays and tied the ARGOS beacon, an emergency locator, to the back of the trampoline. They fixed an inflatable mattress across the boat along with a plastic sheet to be used for the protection of the sailor at rest. As they readied themselves, tourists snapped photos and asked dozens of questions. Most centred on the Seagold desalinator the pair had bought from Pierre Fehlmann, the winner on uncorrected time, of the last Around the World race. They explained that the machine could produce six liters of fresh water in only one hour by pumping sea water through it.

At 8:30 on the morning of November 12, Laurent and Pradel arrived at their boat and were greeted by the staff and guests of the Meridien. They stuffed their water tight bags with food and placed them in the hulls. The food included a high-energy mix of cereals, dry fruit, cream and honey; bags of a protein drink; some cheese, a Moroccan rice dish called couscous, a  little bread, butter and even some red wine. The sextant, the two VHF radios in plastic cases, the cigarettes and lighters and other equipment were placed in another bag and attached to the trampoline opposite the inflatable mattress. Laurent and Pradel donned their equipment slowly and quietly to the sound of the beating waves. Polar underwear, dry suits with neoprene necks, ankles and wrists, were soon snug. Next, they slipped into their trapeze harnesses, life vests and neoprene boots and their sunglasses and gloves. Pradel asked for someone to help carry the boat to the water and 20 people volunteered, lifting the cat on their shoulders and walking down the beach in a slow procession. Just when the hulls touched the water, a fishing boat began to leave. It would show them the way through the reef.
The team waved a rapid au revoir and jumped aboard. Laurent took the tiller; Pradel sheeted in. They were gone.

 "The third night we passed the Cape Verde Islands," relates Laurent, "and we realized that our project was going to be much more difficult than we had thought. I began to understand that it would be torture, but it was impossible to go back. The sea was incredibly strong and there was no chance of returning. But then, we had never even thought about abandoning. When we left the beach at N'Gor, the sea immediately became very strong. We met strong winds, high, but negotiable waves and heavy swells caused by the north wind. During the first night, the waves came from all directions. Steering was difficult. The night was so black that we could not see the bows three meters in front of us. A lot of concentration was required to feel from where the next weird wave would arrive. We saw a cargo ship far away and I directed the beam  of my flashlight onto the sail. This was the only boat we were to see during the entire passage. Aside from that ship we saw an old drifting can; that's it.

 "We tried everything to sleep," says Laurent. "We changed the position of the mattress so that we could put our heads under the shelter. Impossible. After three nights we were so fatigued that we fell asleep in spite of everything but we were at the extreme limit of exhaustion. Each time a wave came over, the one at rest was drowned under a meter of water. This lasted several seconds. At the end of the first week, we got upright without really waking up and held onto the shrouds, searching for air. Even between the waves, we had the feeling of being in a drum with people beating on it.

The heavily loaded trampoline was so near to the water surface that the sea was beating from above and below with incredible power. Meanwhile, followers in France and in Guadeloupe followed the progress of the boat by tracking the ARGOS signal sent out by the team's beacon. Supporters estimated their speed at seven knots, slow for the Hobie l8 and two seasoned sailors.  What they discovered was that a week of heavy storm activity in the North Atlantic was driving large swells into the small catamaran nearly 2,000 miles away. "in waves that never seemed to end, we passed a sort of tropical tornado," says Laurent. "it was a black cloud like ink above a white column that rose above the sea. When night came, I asked Daniel not to sleep. The first wave ran toward us, and I've never seen a bigger one. It had to have been more than ten meters. The wind  increased to 60 knots and we hauled down all the sails. Despite that, the boat was surfing like crazy. I couldn't control it anymore. When we saw this, we just said 'Looks like this will be the toughest night.' "During the storm a wave struck and I got up but was still under water. In fact, the whole boat was under two meters of water for about ten seconds. When I emerged, I  shouted at Daniel but got nothing. I thought he was swept away! But the noise ,, was so intense that even though he was I just a few feet away from me, he couldn't hear. Even he, on top of the Magnum I wings, had a hard time keeping his head above water. After that, when it would happen again, our only check was OK?' and when the other replied OK,' one could go back to sleep. The next day, there was no wind at all, but the waves were still there. In the morning I could not wake Daniel. He was dreaming of having breakfast on the terrace of a bistro at Toulon.

Two Hundred Pumps for One Glass of Water
We talked a lot about food," continues Laurent. "We were always hungry. Then we discovered another problem: thirst. Pumping the desalinator took superhuman efforts. On the beach at N'Gor, we described to our fans what the Seagold could do. While it was true that the water was good, Daniel had to pump 200 times to squeeze the equivalent of one glass of water out of it. Each time, we had to take the daggerboard out of the windward hull, install the filter in the daggerboard case, put the outlet tube into the mouth of the one to drink, then start pumping. We had two glasses of water per day, one in the morning and one in the evening and that amounted to 800 pump strokes. On top of that we had to use fresh water to dissolve the Substi 500, a highly enriched protein powder. We had five bags a day of that. "Daniel pumped for the whole passage. I tried it once but it was too tough for me and I told him I was going to give up drinking. He waited several hours. I gritted my teeth and he finally went on passing me the tube."

 But while Pradel was left to do most of the water pumping, Laurent tackled the tough job of driving the boat. "We were always in danger of capsizing even when we reefed the main and rolled the jib," says Pradel. "That would have been a catastrophe; our boat was overloaded with 100 kilos of tools, equipment, food and instruments. Even without the load we had some difficulties in our righting tests in the smooth waters of the Bay of Hyeres in France. There were a couple of times in the Atlantic when we both thought "This is the end."

 Laurent agrees that the sea had become their enemy. "From the beginning, we encountered only a stormy, disordered sea that pushed the boat in all directions. The noise was very loud and the absence of any rhythm prevented us from getting accustomed to it. The nights were the toughest moments. When I saw twilight arrive at about six, it was like a nightmare repeating itself. I was not keen to go through what I did the night before. Daniel, who needs 12 hours of sleep a day on land, whereas I need very few, was better off during the nights. We learned a lot from each other. Because of our spirit for survival, we never lost hope.

"When I saw Daniel looking wild after he missed an object, could not co-ordinate his movements, did not understand what I was telling him, or when he had problems moving on the trampoline, I reduced the speed of the boat and waited for him to come back to reality. 'At the beginning we were both sea sick. He was a little worse off than me; I had a fixed scopoderm behind my ear-a gadget that proved pretty effective. Daniel let me steer and that reduced the sickness since I had to concentrate on things other than the nausea. He stayed on the trampoline operating the desalinator, preparing the meals, controlling the sails. He took care of me. I tried to do the same for him, so I steered hours and hours as best I could."    

Food also presented unexpected problems for the pair. According to Laurent,  both men were reluctant to eat the food concentrates from the tubes and the slabs of high energy cereal mix. Still, says Laurent, ‘After four days on the water, our revulsion against the food out of the tubes was gone, but it was dangerous preparing it. We first had to find the pliers in the bag attached to the trampoline. When we opened the bag, the waves flooded it with water. When we closed it again, we had to open the hull covers - between waves and had to find the food. Then we had to close the hulls, put the pliers back and finally pump the water for the Substi 500. We had three flavors: coffee, vegetable and vanilla. We never had enough water, so the drinks were always too strong and made us nauseous, although the vanilla flavor wasn't too bad.

"If you had the chance to grab one, the feast began. "Even dissolving the food was a problem. We had shakers with us with screw-on covers and we had glued straps to them, but they were torn off despite the reputation of the glue we had used. I lost one after the other, washed away by the waves while we ate and when we lost the last one, it was a catastrophe. Fortunately, Daniel had a stroke of genius. We took the case of a flashlight (which was supposedly waterproof but failed anyway) and poured the powder and water into that. We stirred with our fingers and ate. After a few minutes, we could actually feel the energy circulating through our bodies." 

But this renewed energy wasn't enough. In fact, the two were only taking in about 500 calories a day. Malnutrition, exhaustion and constant submersion in salt water all worked against them. Every time a small cut, scrape or abrasion scarred their skin, salt water was able to enter. Soon it was infected. The constant exposure to salt water led to ulcers on ankles, feet and hands that also became infected.  "Physically, our biggest problem was the fact that we were just always soaked," says Laurent. "Everything except our watches and the Maglite was inundated.

After two days, we tried the VHF radios. They were already rusty. One day after the start, Daniel tried to fetch a cigarette, but a steep wave arrived at the same moment he opened the bag and flooded the lighters. This wasn't a big tragedy since the next day, a wave washed all our cigarettes overboard anyway. "When we each took our turn to sleep on the trampoline, we would take off our KWay overalls from Helly-Hansen - which were quite practical with their zippers everywhere, then our polar underwear, and we would wring out the water. When we pulled them on again, we thought it was sheer luxury. We had abandoned the dry suits long before because it was impossible to wear neoprene in such conditions; our ankles and wrists would just balloon. Our boots were also thrown over board because the volume of our feet had doubled and the neoprene prevented our skin from breathing. Our feet became covered with ulcers which proved worse than ankles, there was doubt that his feet could be saved. Five days later back in France, a skin graft was successful and his feet began to heal.

 Laurent, although not as severely burned, was also racked with pain. His feeling had come back as well. He did however, manage a breakfast consisting of a steak, tomatoes, two bowls of cornflakes with lots of sugar, six yogurts, a complete camembert cheese, four slices of bread and butter, croissants, other French breakfast  cakes and a platter of fruit.

Still, he could not move his limbs without extreme pain  and as the blood continued to return, the pain increased. Unfortunately for Laurent, his sailing idol, Mike Birch who had participated in the Route de Rhum race and who had helped plot their positions during the final days with his ARGOS beacon, refused to come to the Meridien Hotel at Saint Francois, to salute them. "To shake hands with him would help me more than all this medicine," said Laurent. Still, congratulatory letters, telegrams and phone calls from Europe and North America poured in by the dozens. Fujicolor waited calmly on the beach, almost mocking the sailors. It was untouched by the ordeal. Nothing was broken and it exhibited very little wear despite the bashing. Even the sails, prepared by Neil Pryde in the colors of the French and Australian flags, were in excellent condition.

Sailors even took the boat out to play in the surf while Laurent and Pradel were attempting to recover.  The two drew several lessons from their crossing The first, according to Laurent, is that "Nobody should ever try a crazy thing like that; if we had known how tough it would be, we never would have started." The second was the mutual respect needed for a crew, or anyone, to survive a long ordeal. "When I think of Daniel clinging to the trampoline, his hands and feet in the sea water. During the last few days, I couldn't prevent myself from trembling and I hid myself when I had to vomit after seeing Daniel's feet.

"Finally, on the night of Saturday, December 6, we got the feeling that we were nearing land. We could smell flowers and trees. We could see lights and cliffs. It was La Dominique, but we did not know that yet. We just spent the night on the leeward side of the island enjoying the stillness. We were very happy. It was the end and we knew that we had succeeded although we didn't know exactly where we were because it was next to impossible to tell our position with the sextant; we were too low on the water, and we bounced around too much. Finally, on Sunday morning, we arrived in Guadeloupe.

When the two sailed into the marina, it turned out that they needed a lot more help than food alone could provide. They had to be carried to a small restaurant, the Royal, where a doctor was summoned to apply first aid to their wounds while they stuffed themselves with their first full meal since the beginning of their journey. Pradel's feet, which had seldom been atop  the wings and were always submerged in salt water, were just tattered flesh. The skin was torn away over most of their surface.

Laurent had deep wounds and scars over his butt and thighs as well as craters on his feet a millimetre deep. Both men's hands were covered with wounds that had crusted and would not heal. Each cut, which never had a chance to dry and heal properly, was infected. Their circulation suffered the effects of blockage due to sitting and crouching in one position for hours on end and their hips and knees were paralyzed. Every movement brought tears to their eyes, but the worst wasn't over. They were almost in a state of shock. With their eyes glazed and the circulation problems preventing any feeling in their lower extremities, the pain was not nearly a horrible state, I remember that never as bad as it would become. Later in the evening of their first day on land, Pradel was wheeled to a restaurant to have dinner with friends while Laurent slept in his hotel room. Pradel's meal consisted of two large steaks, a plate of vegetables, noodles and six large pieces of cake. Then he too retired for the evening.

 The next day, both men could barely move. Pradel, despite being given tranquilizers, was tortured by the dressings on his feet, which began to come back to life during the night. Tears welled in his eyes for three hours. Groggy, he kept asking for someone to help him. Finally, when he managed to fall asleep, he felt himself aboard the boat, unable to stop the rolling movement or the hammering of the waves in his ears. In his dream he stretched his hand for a tool and some food only to have the waves wash them away. With infected third degree burns over his feet and during the whole trip did he once complain."
 Pradel also appreciated Laurent. "Tony is a much better driver than I am. I don't know anybody else who's able to steer 18 hours a day in such high, vicious waves." Finally, the two learned that even if the boat, rigging and the sails were able to stand up to the punishment, the critical points such as clothing and survival equipment need a lot more preparation and careful thought. Improvements need to be made.

 Naturally, the first few days after landing, both said they would never try such a feat again. But Pradel, who is mounting a Tornado effort for the 1988 Olympics, began to state that he wanted to sail in the 1987 single-hand Figaro race and Laurent began to talk of racing Formula 40 catamarans in offshore grand prix events.   Despite their injuries, the sea had not lost it's allure.