To me, the definition of an adventure is "a journey with an unknown outcome". We strive to reach our goal, but it doesn't always work out, which in itself brings a thrill of excitement. Although it's a challenging experience, adventure is not a test in the true sense of the word. It doesn't have to be seen in terms of success or failure, because, ultimately, it's the journey itself that counts.
All this was perfectly expressed by Theodore Roosevelt, in the famous speech "Citizenship in the Republic" delivered in Paris at the Sorbonne in 1910 and widely repeated since - by John Fitzgerald Kennedy, among others:
"The critic tells absolutely nothing: all he does is point the finger at the strong man when he falls or makes a mistake in doing something. True credit, however, goes to the man in the arena, with his face smeared with dust, sweat and blood, fighting bravely. True credit goes to the one who makes mistakes, who makes errors, but who, along the way, succeeds, for there is no effort without error. He knows great enthusiasm, great devotion, and spends his energy on what is worthwhile. This is a true man, who in the best of hypotheses knows victory and conquest, and in the worst of hypotheses, falls. Yet even his fall is grand, for he has lived with courage and risen above the petty souls who have never known victory or defeat."
One of the joys of life is that the arena we're talking about is made up of individual knowledge, experience and passion. I know a man who's trying to grow the world's biggest melon, and he's an example of Kennedy's definition. Indeed, my first Channel crossing with my father as a child was as exciting as finishing the Vendée Globe many years later. I'll never forget the childhood thrill of seeing a foreign country rise above the morning horizon, teaching me about a new language and those incredible croissants!
We all need tension in life, in the sense that tension brings reward, whether through education, physical challenge, starting a business or raising a family. That tension may come from doing hard work, but that doesn't lift the spirit, whereas a hint of danger does. Why else would we have amusement parks where the thrill of fear is chased from one ride to the next. And even then, the attraction quickly dissipates as soon as you get used to it.
Some of us have a greater tolerance for danger than others, which is why adventure should be measured by tolerance, not intensity. What creates only a thrill for one person may arouse genuine terror in another, who would be just as affected by a seemingly more mundane activity. The reward will be just as great, and it's on the basis of the effect produced that the right arena should be chosen for a positive experience.
I've never had a career in the constructed sense of the word, but rather a series of crazy ideas. It's not that you shouldn't reproduce things, but in my opinion, life is so short that I like to treat it like a playground, jumping from one project to the next. I could have taken the start of several editions of the Vendée Globe and aimed for victory in this event, but for me that would have been a sign of a lack of imagination and open-mindedness. The Vendée Globe was like an incompressible desire, which was fulfilled on my first attempt. So it's a project that I'll always recognize as having brought me so much, and as having freed me to tackle new shores.
I quickly realized just how much investing in a new arena exercises the muscles of both body and mind. The new and rewarding trajectory that came out of the Vendée Globe propelled me into the orbit of new groups of passionate people. The kind of people who give texture, vibrancy and color to life. My love of the sea has meant that most of my projects have been sailing-related, but I've also made forays into other fields, with a kayaking expedition around Tasmania, another to the North Pole which I reached on foot, or the historical reconstruction of a 19th-century working sailing ship which I sailed from England to Australia like the colonists of the time and, in my early days, the Royal Marine commandos.
For the uninitiated, this list of adventures is marked by the sign of danger, but life itself is dangerous. During the Gulf War, more people died in road accidents in Europe than on the front line. Risk, often ignored as background noise in our daily lives, is unpredictable, ever-present and has many faces. Choosing to expose oneself to an obvious danger is another matter altogether, as it has to be dealt with and managed. Those who faced the unknown threats of a deadly enemy during the Gulf War showed great courage. The risk was mitigated by superior technology, training, teamwork and leadership. The military is exemplary in risk management and, as I always say, "I don't take risks, I manage them". A very different approach to the common perception that adventurers choose to put their lives at risk in a reckless quest for thrills.
At the same time, it has to be said that danger plays a big part in this attraction, just as moths are attracted by flame. The question is, how far can you fly by building a protective shield? To do this, you first have to break down the hazard into its component parts, and then tackle each part of the overall challenge individually as a team of experts in the field. As a member of the Musto development team, I wore the first revolutionary prototype of the HPX Ocean suit in the Southern Ocean. I was also a guinea pig in NASA's first-ever program to study sleep deprivation phenomena. Knowing my personal sleep rhythm increased my competitiveness and reduced the risks. Benetton Formula 1 integrated me into its physical training program, and I do mean integrated. All these experiences, and many more, were then put to good use in real-life conditions during transatlantic races, helping to iron out any difficulties before the start.
All my most extreme projects have been accompanied by incidents that could have turned the whole thing into a disaster. A broken keel, a fractured leg, a broken mast. A major rescue in hurricane conditions, a self-operation on my arm, a cold snap, a complete overturning of my boat, not to mention numerous mechanical and electronic breakdowns. All these situations were managed thanks to meticulous preparation, training and the support of an excellent team. Nevertheless, the most important lesson to be learned is that the closest I ever came to losing a boat was just outside Plymouth. I had let my guard down and got caught. Never relax your drills, training and routines, for they are the intangible insurance that mitigates the effects of a cruel sea. Complacency kills.
Adventure doesn't need a huge budget, in that purity brings good things. I'm referring here to an expedition to the North Pole with a group of amateurs we had trained for six months. When we arrived, we spent a cold, exhausting night waiting for a Russian helicopter. A distant pulse set our stiffened limbs into action, we pitched the tent and knelt in the swirling white airstream. As the engines stopped, the door opened so that a wealthy American could coax his rebellious teenager down onto the ice for a photo. The next day, thanks to an extensive press campaign, the boy was hailed as the youngest American ever to reach the North Pole. Back in the heated scientific base, he beamed his fame through the satellite phone. He didn't gain a single victory or lesson from this, so I watched in sympathy as the poor boy began to realize that, to those of us who knew we owed an honest success only to ourselves, he was an impostor.
Nothing could be further from this experience than running into Lynne, a teacher who has never been to sea, and Matt, a veteran. Both young, sharp-eyed and savoring the mistakes, lessons and joys of a new and challenging life at sea. They had an old boat that he had refitted from scratch with modern equipment. Most of their food came from foraging, and I'll never forget watching Lynne struggle to keep herself on a reef in thirty-knot gusts. From time to time, Matt would emerge from the water with a shriek and a lobster in his hand. They remained good friends, continuing to expand their horizons as their sailing skills developed. Living on a handful of dollars a week, their experience is richer than the fortune spent on this boy's foray to the North Pole. There is no correlation between the money spent and the gain generated by the adventure.
After our children left home, Tracey and I were able to choose a new arena, one that matched our abilities and aspirations. Tracey had little experience under her belt when we set sail for the Caribbean. Often asked if she was afraid, she replied that she didn't know what to be afraid of, so no, she wasn't afraid. She had confidence in me, in our boat and in the experience that would enable her to dispel her new fears as her knowledge grew. One of her deepest fears, due to a childhood accident, is that of water. She can't go above knee height and so, with a good dinghy and a bathyscaphe, we were able to enjoy underwater life by towing her, while snorkeling. There's always a way.
People at Garcia's ask me if danger is necessary to feel pleasure. I suppose it could be considered one of the many components of pleasure, but excitement is the natural companion of danger. In the two and a half years we've been cruising, there have of course been difficult moments, but an exceptional boat has kept them in our comfort zone. If I look back using the word pleasure as a filter, it brings to mind distant lands, glorious sunsets, joyful sailing and new friendships. Certainly not danger, because that's not something we run after.
We love travel but dislike impersonal hotels and being forced to skate across touristy surfaces by the straight jacket of limited time. Cruisers can go at a snails pace for they have their home with them. If we go back to my definition of an adventure being a journey with an unknown outcome then long term cruising could be construed as the ultimate adventure. We set off with aspirations not plans and so the voyage remains forever unpredictable, each encounter opening the door to further unknowns that stimulate all the senses. Its life at its best and if there was ever a poem that captures cruising for us it would be 'Sea Fever' by John Masefield;
We like to travel, but we don't like impersonal hotels and being forced to pace tourist spots because of a lack of time. blue water cruising isers can go at a snail's pace because they have their home with them. If we return to my definition of adventure, which is a journey whose outcome is unknown, then long-term cruising can be considered the ultimate adventure. We set out with aspirations, not plans, so the journey is always unpredictable, each encounter opening the door to further unknowns that stimulate all the senses. This is life at its best, and if there was one poem that sums up cruising for us, it would be John Masefield's "Sea Fever" (1902).
I must return to the seas, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a big boat and a star to guide it,
And the lurch of the wheel and the song of the wind and the flapping white sail,
And a gray mist on the sea and a gray dawn breaking.
I must return to the seas, for the call of the rising tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that can't be refused;
And all I ask is for a windy day when the white clouds roll in,
Where spray and foam and seagulls squawk.
I must return to the seas, to the vagabond, bohemian life,
to the seagull route and the whale route, where the wind cuts like a knife;
And all I ask is a merry tale from a cheerful fellow traveler,
And quiet sleep and sweet dreams when it's all over.
This is the third in a series of articles by British sailor, author and adventurer Pete Goss.
Find out more about Pete Goss on his official website
