24 July 2011. It is one o’clock in the afternoon and the rocky coastline of southern Albania is white-hot in the blazing sunshine. We are three kilometres from Corfu, the popular Greek island, and after two dives, I’m feeling hungry. I peel the top of my wetsuit down to my waist and wander over to the restaurant perched on the edge of the beach. A young Albanian family on holiday comes and sits at a neighbouring table and the father, in his thirties, turns to me and in English says: “Do you mind me asking what you are doing here?” I was slightly taken aback, but quickly gathered that his question was motivated by curiosity related to my strange attire rather than anything more sinister and explained that we were diving. This gentleman had the very latest mobile phone, was wearing a smart polo shirt, jeans and a pair of trendy moccasins – he looked a thoroughly modern man. “What do you see in the water?” he asks. “The seabed, fish, marine vegetation…” I answer. He tells me that he has never heard of diving. Odd, but intriguing… Later I discover that aside from a couple of very rare exceptions, no one dives in Albania.

A month earlier: towards the end of June. “Do you think that is Albania?” asks Lorraine, one of the Ocean 71 journalists… We are in the middle of the Ionian Sea that lies between southern Italy and Greece and off the bow of our 12-metre expedition yacht a mountain range is emerging from the haze. It looks wild, almost hostile, and plunges into the sea to form an impregnable natural fortress. Shortly we pass an island with a softer, greener landscape. “Look! That must be Corfu,” she says.

Five hours later we nose into a channel that forms a natural frontier between the great Greek island and Albania; the border lies in the middle of the three-kilometre stretch of water. I ask Lorraine, who is helming, to hug the Corfu coastline as I don’t want the Albanian military descending on us just yet. Of course they never did, but like the flock of tourists that visit Corfu every summer, I imagined the armed forces would appear at the slightest intrusion and had that uneasy feeling of entering unknown territory as we got closer to the ‘Land of Eagles’.

During our journey around the Mediterranean from the Cote d’Azur to Corsica, Sardinia to Calabria, Sicily to Lampedusa and Malta, we were repeatedly warned against going to Albania: “Albania? You’re not serious! The country was recently a very dangerous place…I read somewhere that it is still unstable,” said one naysayer. “The waters around Albania are mined! Charts show active minefields that will make an approach by boat very dangerous, and that is before you consider the traffickers and smugglers that cross the channel to Italy at night,” said another. “Aren’t you afraid of having your boat stolen? The country is so poor that you will stand out like a sore thumb. If I were you I wouldn’t leave my boat unattended for a moment,” said yet another.

Of course few people have actually travelled to Albania to verify these allegations, most of which are the result of a total lack of information about the place. During our preparations for this trip the information vacuum became very apparent, but we eventually managed to find a meagre tourist guide and some general charts of the area. Google Earth satellite images gave us a little more insight, but even those dated back to 2005, so armed with very little data, we felt like pioneers.

Mid-July 2011. I decide to head into the unknown and take our expedition boat in for a closer look, a reduced Ocean 71 team joins me and we cross the channel to Saranda, the closest Albanian town to Corfu. The crossing is only three hours long and worst-case scenario we are not far from Greece, I tell myself as we approach. Fortunately before leaving we had contacted Agim Zholi, an Albanian port authority recently tasked with processing foreign yachts. Visitors are still a rare occurrence in Albania: “We have processed about 100 yachts since the start of the year,” he says. This is a fraction of the thousands that cruise the neighbouring Greek islands. For a few dozen euro Agim clears us through customs and explains that ‘cruising’ is forbidden in Albania: “In a bid to crack down on the smuggling that flourished in the late 90s, our government passed a law forbidding all Albanians, bar professional fishermen, from owning a motor or sailing boat of any size,” explains Agim. Foreign cruising boats are therefore registered with customs as merchant ships.

This relic of Albanian legislation is not our only surprise. We quickly discover that, contrary to popular belief, the Albanians are exceedingly welcoming and their tolerant and liberal attitude towards religion is enlightening. In this country it is not unusual to see a mosque and a catholic church built side by side, co-existing in complete harmony. Albanians cannot grasp why so-called ‘developed’ countries have religious tensions and I find their open-mindedness a revelation.

The majority of Albanians are Muslim and the imposing minaret that overlooks the city of Saranda calls its 35,000 inhabitants to prayer five times daily, but in spite of this we didn’t spot a single veiled woman.

Of course modern Albania has its shortcomings, starting with corruption. In less than ten years Saranda, originally a fishing village built around a small bay that serves as a harbour, has tripled in size. Concrete buildings have sprung up without permits in answer to tourism from the East, while just outside the city along the beachfront dozens of collapsed structures have been left to ruin. “Entrepreneurs can bribe local authorities to turn a blind eye to unlawful building,” explains an official, “and a jealous neighbour can just as easily report you and have the building condemned and knocked down. Few clear the destruction sites as it is easier to build next door.”

A month later: end of September 2011. “I think you had better come and have a look at this,” says Philippe, an Ocean 71 photographer, who having resurfaced is hanging off the back of the boat. “I think you will like it!” He has just found something exceptional, something that far exceeds what we have observed since the beginning of September when the rest of the team joined me to explore the region’s seabed.

I have wanted to test a theory since arriving in Albania and now is my chance: would the seabed of a region closed to the rest of the world for almost a century, untouched by industrialism and tourism, remain unspoilt? My instincts tell me that we should be able to discover what the Mediterranean once would have looked like and, just a few forays around Saranda later, my theory was confirmed. Despite recent tourism we are the only boat for miles, a world away, yet only a few kilometres from thousands of cruising boats jostling for a mooring along the Greek coastline.

Below the surface of the crystal clear water we discover areas that look like marine nature reserves with acres of seaweed and sea sponges stretching as far as the eye can see. We find a species of coral in the rock crevices and the underwater ridges and ravines abound with aquatic vegetation and thousands of different varieties of fish and shellfish. Scattered artillery shells and detonated mines provide the only sinister reminder of the country’s military past.

To put our theory and recent discoveries to the test, we head north along the vertiginous coastline towards Porto Palermo, situated halfway between Saranda and Vlora, two major southern coastal cities. On the chart it looks like a large sheltered bay, a natural harbour, and promises to be a good place to spend the night.

We arrive towards the end of the day and navigate between two headlands into a bay that is guarded by an Ottoman fortress built by Ali Pacha, governor of the region during the Turkish occupation. Behind the fortress we find a spacious, if slightly dilapidated concrete T-dock and aside from this eyesore, the place is extraordinarily beautiful: we are surrounded by mountains adorned with a few tufts of yellow grass and old olive trees that have withstood the test of time.

As the evening draws in, a wooden trawler ties up alongside and people appear out of nowhere to do their shopping. Fifteen cases of seafood later, the trawler is ready to set off again at dawn. Before it does, Philippe seizes the opportunity to learn something more about this country and strikes up a conversation with Agron, the skipper of the fishing boat, in faltering Italian. He joins us aboard our boat and stays long into the night. We learn that the fishing is abundant and more interestingly – a few glasses of Raki later – that in a particular area, he occasionally finds something other than fish in his nets. He lowers his voice and leans in as if he is worried of being overheard: “I also pull up Roman amphorae!”

So it is that when I slide into the water a couple of days later to follow Philippe down into the depths, I have a pretty good idea of what he has discovered. Less than five metres below the surface there is a fragment of pottery sticking out of the sand. Once we remove and photograph it, we realise that it is very likely a large piece of amphora or an ancient vase. The fragment is about 50 centimetres long and 30 wide and is decorated with thin parallel engravings. Even though it is broken, one of the handles is clearly visible and we hope these details will allow us to date our first discovery.

Over the next few days we explore the surrounding sheltered anchorages and at each one we find fragments of ancient pottery scattered about, barely submerged in the sand. All week we photograph necks, handles and bases of ancient vases: archaeological remains that have slumbered undiscovered for centuries beneath just a few metres of water.

Saranda: a few days later. It didn’t take long for Auron Tare, director of the Albanian Center for Marine Research, to join us. Moments after I put down the phone having described our common interests and discoveries he arrives at the entrance to Saranda port and from a distance the man stepping out of the Land Rover looks like a giant. The forty-something Albanian has wide shoulders, very short hair and a delicate pair of glasses perched on his forehead. As he approaches I also spot a friendly smile. “How are you?” he asks me with a strong American accent. We sit on the terrace of one of the city’s modern hotels and Auron Tare tells us that he commutes between Albania and the United States. He is very well known locally and has been dedicated to promoting Albania’s natural resources and culture around the world for years. One of his most recent accomplishments was his contribution to the creation of a national park around the Butrint archaeological site, a few kilometres from Saranda. In the 20th century well-preserved Greek, Roman and Byzantine remains were found here and the area has since been declared a UNESCO heritage site. It attracts an increasing number of tourists every year.

For the last five years, Auron Tare has been working with RPM Nautical Foundation, an American foundation for underwater exploration, surveying the Albanian seabed. The team is based on a 30-metre exploration boat called ‘Hercules’ and uses a sonar device to record the underwater topography. They often discover shipwrecks in the process, but as we learn, this comes as no surprise to Auron Tare: “The region has always been a thoroughfare for maritime traffic,” he says. “In antiquity, the galleys passed through here on their way to the Middle East and Egypt and more recently this crossroads played host to some violent maritime clashes during both World Wars and the Cold War. In November 2009, we found the remains of an English ship blown up by a naval mine in 1946 in the Corfu channel, an event that is said to have been one of the catalysts of the Cold War. In 2011, about 50 metres underwater, we found 300 amphorae, almost intact, dating back to the 1st or 2nd century BC. During the five years that I have worked with RPM, we have found around 20 shipwrecks from different eras. Total isolation during the 20th century has left us with unique research conditions and year after year we discover new treasures in our underwater museum!”

As our conversation with Auron Tare evolves, I start to realise how fragile this extraordinary heritage that has remained untouched for centuries really is. The director continues: “Despite being located on the European continent, Albania is still a developing country. Drinking water is not available everywhere, electricity shortages are frequent and as you have discovered during your stay, diving is still not regulated by law – the legislation has yet to be written and passed – so in theory, no one can prevent you from diving unsupervised. This situation makes the police very nervous about allowing foreigners to dive at all and if rules are not established soon, our natural and cultural underwater heritage runs a high risk of being pillaged. Sadly the political and economic situation in the country at the moment means conservation has taken a back seat. In the north, for example, fishing with dynamite has already caused a lot of damage, but with much of the population living below the poverty line (the average salary for an official is 150 euro per month), people don’t have much choice – they need to feed themselves even if the result is a disaster for the marine environment…”

I suddenly remember a question that has been haunting me since we first sailed into Albanian waters. “Do the oft talked about naval minefields still exist?” I ask. He smiles. It seems I’m not the first to ask him this and his answer stuns me. “Not one single mine was planted during the communist era, this story was one of the biggest bluffs of the 20th century! Enver Hoxha managed to convince the world that we had marine minefields to prevent anyone from approaching the coast, but the only naval mines here date back to the Second World War and the army is currently removing the last of them. The minefields that you see on today’s charts never existed!”

A few days later, Albania disappears from sight as we sail away from a region that is so close and yet so far, the overriding feeling onboard is of returning to the ‘known’ world. The ‘Land of Eagles’ may well be casting off its tumultuous past and grappling with reconstruction, but it has only just begun to reveal its secrets and in doing so runs the risk of jeopardising treasure that has remained hidden for thousands of years.

By Julien Pfyffer – photos by Philippe Henry/Ocean 71

Translation by Daphne Morgan Barnicoat

- Full slideshow of the article -

This article was published in the quarterly journal Ithaque

After spending five weeks in Tunisia looking for a sailboat to accompany me, after meeting several skippers who had given me their word they would be there to sail with me, and others who wanted all sorts of guarantees for the voyage, I have finally found someone I can really count on!

Yesterday, Georges Bally, owner of a 45-foot (13.70 m) Amel Maramu sailboat, and I have set sail from the Monastir marina heading for the cape of Mahdia. We have to go around the Kuriat islands to accommodate the draft of the yacht. We arrived about 7:30 p.m. We are greeted at the harbor by Mr. Habib Ben Zineb, who heads the Mahdia yacht club, and Tahar, his assistant.

This morning, the border police of Mahdia have given us our stamped passports back without asking anything. Generally they ask us to pay them a little money to get our documents back. This time, nothing! Georges even asks one of the policemen if he could find us bread as all the bakeries are still closed… He is rewarded with a tip… As usual.

After getting the kayak ready, we leave Mahdia and head for the small Punic port located near the marine cemetery (at the easternmost tip of the cape of Mahdia).

There we meet Mr. Habib Ben Zineb and members of the kayak club of Sousse including its chairman Mr. Faysal Bagdadi, the technical director, as well as the young athletes of the club and their coach. The kayakers will escort me on a mile and a half before returning to Mahdia. There is also a national guard officer who asks me my name and the names of club members. He does not prevent our departure, he simply wants to make sure the young men will not follow me all the way to Lampedusa.

After the usual words of encouragement, the heads of the two clubs thank me for my initiative. The first waves of Tunisians who landed en masse on Lampedusa were left to themselves in absolutely dreadful sanitary conditions. It is also what I intend to draw attention on by starting my voyage in Tunisia. It is here that everything begins.

It’s 9:10 am when we leave the Punic port. It is an old Carthaginian port with a depth ranging from 50 centimeters to one meter. Tahar rows in a small fishing boat as Georges Bally holds the camera.

As I move towards the open sea I realize the importance of the message I am carrying and wish to convey to the widest possible audience; there is no room for error. In a dream one doesn’t control the outcome of the story. Lacking control means one has to plan ahead, make sure things go as planned, anticipate every possible detail. But even then, uncertainties remain.

The voices of the my friends, of my relatives, of those who wish me well resound in my head: “Do you fully realize what you are doing? You’re are spending a lot of money. Did you think about the currents, the drift, the winds? Are you playing God? How long has it been since you last trained? You’re packing a GPS? A compass?” Yet they know very well I have spent the past four months glued to my computer or on the telephone preparing the project, doing public relation work, looking for a new escorting boat at the last minute after the serious accident my friend and first skipper Jean-Claude suffered in Sicily. Then, there was the defection of my camera-woman who had too much personal problems to follow me in Tunisia. I have to prove myself and keep on believing in myself. I know I can do this. I am thinking about the teachings of Native Americans: “There are three feelings that should never overwhelm you: doubt, fear and anger. Doubt brings fear and fear brings anger”.

“Alex! Shall we?”, the coach of the Sousse kayak club asks abruptly bringing me back to reality. “Yes! Let’s go guys!” And here we are paddling to Lampedusa on a 90° bearing. The sea is quiet and sleek. The gods are with me this morning!

At the first sea marker, we are joined by Georges Bally and his yacht. I take photos of the five young kayakers of the Sousse club, we exchange farewells. We hug. There is emotion in the air. They turn back… I feel lonely facing the 74.24 nautical miles that lie between me and Lampedusa. I start paddling. The sea is so quiet I am cruising at nearly four knots.

I must save my strength today. 11:15 am, I have already covered 6 miles (11.11 kms). I take a 15-minute break. I eat grapes and drink. I resume paddling until 1:30 p.m. Another well deserved break, 30 minutes this time. Nice! 6 more miles in two hours!

At 35°30’N et 11°15’E, I encounter my first turtle which took a dive immediately upon seeing me. Smart!

A little further, a national guard boat comes to meet us. Damn! Don’t tell me that they are going to bother us now. We are just a few miles from the international waters and the end of Tunisian jurisdiction.

Not that bad, they just want to know Georges’ name and the name of his boat — Flamb’au vent II — then promptly leave us alone.

After the break, I resume paddling for 2 hours and 20 minutes. This time I start feeling a little tired. My body aches, the wind has started blowing. It is right in my face. It is almost refreshing. In a sea kayak, having the wind blowing in your face or your back is not a problem. Side wind can soon get tiring. But whatever my advisors and friends may think, I have a rudder and it works… The hindering effects of the wind are thus substantially diminished. But, the waves are very real. I constantly have to compensate with my hips. It is exhausting! About 3:30 p.m. it crosses my mind I could step on board the sailboat to get some rest but it is out of the question! Not yet. I hear those who were telling me: “But why didn’t you install a small sail? It might have helped you?” I also hear the purists: “Ha-ha! A rudder? You like it easy?”

Let them all go to hell! I know what I have to do! I pray for a second wind… and here it comes! At 4:20 p.m., I step on the sailboat at 35°30’55”N 11°29’21”E. Earlier, as the yacht is drawing close to me, a second turtle comes to me as if to offer congratulations.

I got tired very fast on this first day! My arms and face are sunburnt in spite of the sun-block. It was too hot for long sleeves. Georges, my companion quickly interviews me. I really don’t feel like it but OK! Today, I have covered 18.84 nautical miles, that is 34.89 kilometers. I am 55.40 miles from Lampedusa.

Georges is really like a mother to me! I have picked the ideal skipper. After a good shower, we have a drink and two home cooked dishes: curry chicken and lamb leg with green beans. Yum yum!

I know, I know… All this is not very light! But we are on a French yacht and we have to do honor to the country! Meanwhile, as we cannot cast anchor (sea is too deep), we let ourselves drift north-west. It is 11:00 p.m. I am going to bed. Georges starts the engine to make for the overnight drifting.

Alexandre Georges for Ocean 71

After setting out of Mahdia, Tunisia, and after four days paddling in the middle of the Mediterranean, the man has successfully vanquished his fears, his doubts and has completed the crossing so many men and women go on at the peril of their lives as “boat people”. On his sea kayak, with a GPS and a 13-meter escorting sailboat as his only assistance team, Alexandre has successfully completed his first long open sea crossing covering 73 nautical miles (135 kms). A crossing which, for many immigrants from Africa, represents the first stage of a long way to what they perceive as an El Dorado: Europe.

In a few days, Alexandre will give you the detail of his crossing on the Ocean71 website. A crossing which, for him, beyond the physical exploit, has a strong symbolical value. Alexandrer had been dreaming of this for months. Today, we are extremely happy to congratulate him for meeting this first challenge.

Julien Pfyffer / Ocean 71

During his voyage, he will also enjoy a unique point of view sea activity. The Ocean 71 agency is thus particularly proud of counting persons such as Alexandre in its ranks who take to the sea to take toll so as to make our society evolve in the right direction.

His departure is slated for this Saturday, September 10, 2011 at 9:00 am from the Punic port of Mahdia.

The entire team of the agency wish him good wind and a good voyage.

Let’s hear it from him:

« My name is Alexandre Georges, I’m Franco-Canadian. In January 2010, I have founded a grassroots movement called “Kayak for the right to life”, better known under it’s Italian name of “Kayak per il diritto alla vita”. I make sea kayak crossings to raise public awareness on problems pertaining to human rights, the environment and/or social issues. In a nutshell anything relating to Mohamed, Abdul, Pierre, Henry, José, Fernando, Boris and all the other little heads we are and our various shades of skin color.

The origins of the project

After living seven years in North America (1992-2009), I regretfully realized that materialism and consumerism were the two central values of our modern societies. Meanwhile, I traveled a lot in South America where I have been able to see the massive disparities of people’s living standards . I was soon very upset by these absurd differences and this meaningless way of life. Yet, this experience has raised my awareness of the distress too many people have to face on our planet. A question imposed itself very soon; what can be done to improve the life of our fellow humans?

In 2005, I returned to Europe after 11 years abroad. On repeated occasions I saw the massive arrivals of illegal immigrants on the small island of Lampedusa on Italian television. I was very disturbed to learn that Italy illegally sent these immigrants back to Libya, a country where they would get locked up in camps in the middle of the desert, in which forced labor, torture, rape and murder were commonplace.

In the face of such barbarity, I started wondering what a simple citizen could do. Are we going to do like the United States which let many Mexicans die in the Arizona desert on the border? What can a “nobody” like me can attempt to change this absurd situation? Go somewhere to do something!

In fact I wanted to do what most people cannot do for lack of time, money and/or motivation. I have thus decided to travel all over Europe on my own savings starting with the purchase of a van in Germany with which I can be mobile and independent. As I did not know a thing about sea kayaking, I went through extensive training in the Spanish Basque Country. From Spain I rallied the south of Italy where, to perfect my training, I started by circumnavigating the Aeolian Islands north-east of Sicily in four days as part of a group of some forty experienced kayakers.

I finally set foot on the island of Lampedusa on November 11, 2010. I kayaked around it on November 19 and 20. Of course, I attracted close to no media coverage. On the island a lot of people considered me as an eccentric who had money to spend. But it was not important for me for I aimed at being noticed. I wanted whoever would listen to understand that some people across Europe no longer accept the injustice resulting from the choices made by our governments.

The first massive wave of Tunisian immigrants hit Lampedusa on February 9, 2011 as I was getting ready to leave the island.

The local authorities were overwhelmed after just a few days, the center for immigrants was filled beyond capacity. I was totally baffled! In February, there were up to 5,000 Tunisians on the island who had all left their country in the wake of the “Jasmine Revolution”. At the end of March, the second wave had brought us a little over 6,500 Tunisians to be compared to the island’s population of about 5,500. There were also about a thousand members of the police, military and Italian coast guard on the small island of Lampedusa…

During that period in spite of the massive presence of police forces, the Berlusconi government left the immigrants to fend for themselves without any kind of sanitary assistance. They have had to build makeshift shelters with whatever they could lay their hands on to protect themselves from the cold wind which was blowing over the harbor during these winter nights. This period was extremely harsh for them as well as for everyone on Lampedusa, including myself.

As I speak five languages, the international press asked me to work with them. In addition to that I became a consultant for EveryOne a human rights defense group. I wrote reports for them which were sent to European deputies. Finally and quite in spite of me I became a sort of social worker helping Tunisian refugees find food, showers, accommodation, a place to do their laundry. I would even receive money transfers for them.

This unique field experience has allowed me to better understand problems linked to illegal immigration in Europe and to think out a few projects for solutions which I will get a chance to develop during my expedition. During my stay in Lampedusa, I have written a petition asking for the creation of a European organization for the management of immigration and asylum requests (OGIDA). This petition was signed by practically all elected officials and politicians of the island as well as all the associations present. www.jesigne.fr/soutienogida

The project

Today, “Kayak for the right to life” is engaging in a somewhat crazy project with a strong message: sailing out of Tunisia with a sea kayak to rally the heart of Europe in Brussels by way the islands of Lampedusa, of course, Malta and Sicily. From the latter, I will go up the western coast of Italy all the way to Marseilles. From there I will pursue my journey going up the Rhone river and will reach Brussels following rivers and canals. Along the way I will collect signature for the petition which I will submit to people and elected officials. I will then bring it to the European authorities in Brussels to propose a thorough overhaul of the reception procedures for immigrants and asylum seekers in Europe. This to end the current waste of money which amounts to billions of Euros and also results in the loss of too many human lives.

The goal of this 3,000 kilometer voyage is not to ask Europe to take care of the wretchedness of this world but to encourage Europe to address the problem in a more humane way and with greater concern for the dignity of those who come knocking on our door out of total despair.

How can one participate in this effort? First, you will be able to follow my journey every week via the website of the Océan 71 press agency, I will welcome any kind of embarkation willing to sail along with me on one or several stages of my voyage. It will also be possible to meet me on firm ground as events will be be organized at my various ports of call.

This voyage will last 4 months from early September to the end of December 2011.

I hope to see you at my side during this long, fascinating crossing. If we stick together we can do something to change things, save lives and thus make our society more humane.

Alexandre Georges for Ocean 71

When the news broke at about 8:30 am on Friday morning we all started staring at each other at our Paris office. Chemical tanker YM Uranus, carrying 6,000 tons of pygas said to have been involved in collision with bulk freighter Hanjin Richzad. Both vessels were heading north, the former to Amsterdam and the latter to Rotterdam. Eventhough YM Uranus indicated a significant water leak on port side, no pollution is reported so far… Crewmembers were evacuated by a French army helicopter early this morning. They are all safe and sound.

The sinister shadows of the Erika, Amoco Cadiz and Prestige massive spills are again hovering above the tip of Brittany. What is going to happen? It is now 9:00 a.m. I don’t have time to think too long. The phone is already ringing. Philippe, our photographer, is on the other end of the line. He’s calling from his small house in Rennes. « What do we do ? Are we going ? Do you think the ship can stay afloat much longer ? » The latest news in Paris don’t mention if the chemical tanker is a single or a double hull type (as a reminder, single hull freighters should be banned from European waters by 2015. But the issue is subject to debates as numerous maritime experts estimate that double hulls don’t solve every problem as there is a risk of explosive gases accumulating between the two hulls… To be continued).

But the YM Uranus is a recent construction. Lorraine and I start surfing our usual vessel identification websites and we quickly obtain fairly detailed information on the ships involved. The YM Uranus is a Turkish owned 119-meter (392 ft) double hull chemical tanker built in 2008 at a Turkish shipyard. As stated in the news strings she is registered in Malta and is based in Valetta. As for the vessel said to be responsible for the collision, information is more difficult to obtain. There is a rather simple reason for that : the name released by the French authorities is not correct. She is first referred to as Hanjin RICHZAD. But after checking several times we discover the correct name of the ship is Hanjin RIZHAO. She is a 292-meter (not 190 meters as stated by several media) bulk-freighter built in South Korea in 2010 and registered in Panama by its South Korean owners. A brand new monster which is a single hull vessel, a specification nowhere to be found in the media… According to the press agencies, the Hanjin Rizhao came to a stop upon hitting the YM Uranus, waited for the French authorities then resumed her voyage after « having taken care of the usual formalities ». One must bear in mind that the whole operation took place 50 nautical miles from the French coasts, in international waters. The investigation of the accident will hence not concern the French authorities.

« So, are we going? » Philippe’s voice brings me back to earth. We have to think fast and act efficiently. She has a double hull but with a 15° list, there is a definite risk to see the ship sink. It is sad but thus is the way the media work : if she sinks, our photos can be worth a lot of money. If she does not sink, at worst the story makes a simple headline, at best a small article at the back of the paper ; and we can keep our photos. But we are tempted to cover. The ship is a recently-built double-hull. It gives us several hours. After a quick survey of the weather forecast, we realize from Paris that force 4 to 5 south-southeast wind is blowing on the tip of Brittany along with a 5-ft swell. The mid-Atlantic low-pressure zone is significant. Wind forecast is supposed to reach force 6, maybe 7 late in the afternoon. But the weather is fair. The light condition should allow to take beautiful helicopter shots. Thanks to our commercial vessel tracking websites we know the precise location of the collision. But once taken under tow by French salvage tug Abeille Bourbon which is already en route to meet the YM Uranus, we will move in the dark as the tug boat has turned off all beacons upon sailing out of Brest. The damaged ship is 90 kilometers from the coast… which leaves us with a pretty wide perimeter to cover. I finally tell Philippe: « Go ahead. We’ll see what we get. Find a helicopter and bring back beautiful pictures. we’ll take care of locating the ship for you. »

It’s noon. We have two hours maximum to find him GPS coordinates the helicopter pilot can use. At 750 euros an hour, they have to fly right to the target. We cannot afford more than three hours of flight. I have been calculating positions for one hour when Philippe calls again. « It’s OK, we’re taking off at 15:30. We should reach the zone by 17:00. Do you have the coordinates? » So far, so good. We have obtained the current GPS coordinates of the Abeille Bourbon from the the CROSS (Centre régionaux opérationnels de surveillance et de sauvetage / Operational Regional Maritime Monitoring and Rescue Centers). The tug boat is at 48°25’ North and 5°34’ West. But that was at 15:20. I tell Philippe that « we’ll try again about 17:00″. But there is no guarantee.

And we’re back to calculations. We know that the helicopter will need about two hours to reach the position of the tug. The Abeille moves at an approximate speed of 4.5 to 5 knots. Not faster knowing that she is towing an almost inoperative boat. We hear that men have been brought on board YM Uranus by helicopter and that they have managed to restart one of the engines that would, most probably, help pour the water out from the hull. The tug and ship should cover a distance of 9 nautical miles in two hours. If we consider Brest as the port of destination, they must be sailing on a bearing of 105. I send Philippe to the position we think they will most likely have reached by 17:00: 48°23 north and 5°20’ west. What if we are totally wrong? I calculate everything again. Even a third time. The sea and wind are against them. They may have been slowed more than we imagine in Paris. I review my direction angles and I realize that we have drawn a straight line between the location of the collision and Brest. They will certainly head south of Ouessant (Ushant) in case the ship should sink. It is almost 17:00. They must have reached the zone, in the middle of the sea, and must be training their eyes at the horizon. Once again I recalculate the possible position with a more southerly route this time. I text the new coordinates to Philippe. Then comes the wait. Will they get my new calculations. I wait with Lorraine for half an hour. « Don’t worry, I am sure they will find the ship, » a reassuring Lorraine tells me. It is a gamble with many parameters.

At 17:58, message from Philippe: « Mission accomplished… great light. I’ll call you after landing. » Relief invades the office. The ship has not sunk (and it is quite good news), but I know that Philippe has done everything possible to shoot the YM Uranus under every angle. We can study the pictures later. At least, they have not taken off for nothing. We did our job, even if the army has handed out pictures to the media all afternoon. We have our own.

Back in Rennes after three hours in flight, Philippe rushes home and sends us his photos. they are perfect. We really feel like we were there. Then he debriefs us over the phone. « She is really damaged. The collision must have been really violent. The crew had to abandon ship from the back with the survival raft. It is no longer on its ramp. All the port holes have exploded. Then, look at the port side, there is the hole, towards the rear third of the ship. On all decks, the railings are seriously damaged… » We are quite surprised such a collision was possible with two ships so recently launched. There are a few unclear aspects surrounding this accident. First the two vessels were headed the same direction (to Rotterdam and Amsterdam). It means they were going about the same speed on similar courses towards the Channel shipping lanes. They must have sailed close to each other much longer than if they had been going opposite directions (a few minutes against a few seconds). Then, these brand new units have several radars each and are equipped with several warning systems. They must have been very close to each other for several minutes and alarms must have sounded on both vessels… How is it possible that neither crews reacted? « I’m curious to see the condition of the other ship, » wonders Philippe at the other end of the line. Anyway, the position you gave us was perfect. We flew right to them. The pilot could not believe it. »

We send our photos to the Jounal du Dimanche in the evening as they seem to be interested. But I harbor no illusions. There is a good chance the YM Uranus reaches port without sinking and that the story will soon be forgotten. But it does not matter, we are happy the ship made it to port without sustaining more damage and that the French rescue operations went perfectly. Let’s hear it for the guardians of our coasts! You have displayed exemplary professionalism in this dreadful event. Brittany was off with a good fright. Unfortunately it is certainly not the last time.

Small fishing village of Marsaxlokk (pronounce “Marsachlok“), in the southern part of the island of Malta, late afternoon.

Paul Piscopo is not really the emotional type. He has been a commercial fisherman all his life and, for years, has been at the head of the fishing cooperative catering to the fishermen of the southern part of Malta.

Yet, every time a boat returns to port with her catch of bluefin tuna or swordfish, he is excited as a boy about to be given a new toy. « She will sail in in less than 30 minutes, he says eyes focused on the horizon. I’m happy but I don’t really know what they have managed to catch with the foul weather we’ve had over the last ten days. » Adverse weather conditions which affect all fishermen big or small. As a reminder, between last May and last June, during the Atlantic bluefin tuna fishing season in the Mediterranean, tuna seiners which had sailed to the waters of Malta had already complained about weather conditions so bad they could not work. Awful weather which reduced their effective fishing time. Some vessels were even unable to make their quota over the authorized fishing period.

In Marsaxlokk, as September draws to its end, it is no longer bluefin tuna season. It is the end of the swordfish season for about a dozen « big » local fishing boats (12 to 25 meters / 40 to 80 feet). In two days the season for this long-beaked fish will end for two months. After that will come winter storms which will prevent boats to sail out. « Practically, they won’t be able to go out before spring, » explains Paul Piscopo.

The Michel Rosaria finally sails in and docks backwards. Tiredness is visible on the faces of the six sailors who have just spent ten days at sea over 200 kilometers from the shores of Malta.  The families are there, happy that there was no accident or no one lost at sea. Often the price to pay for fishermen. Besides, the 21-meter (69 feet) vessel seems to be in her prime. « She was built in 1986 but she is a good seaworthy fishing boat, » explains one of the sailors looking happy to set foot ashore. After a few minutes exchanging affectionate glances and enjoying the reunion with relatives, the well-known fish unloading ritual can start. The sailors go to the holds to unload the fruit of their hard work. The first fishes are not so big. Twenty kilos at best. Then starts the long procession of the larger catches. The biggest one weighs exactly 100 kilos on the scale.

The fish is weighed under the attentive eyes of two inspectors standing on the quay. They carefully fill in official forms with the exact weight of each specimen announced by the owner of the ship. For even if the fishing technique is « traditional » –using long strings of hooks on which whole mackrels are used as bait– every fisherman is tighly monitored and controlled. « For a few years now, not only have vessels over 12 meters (40 feet) been monitored by satellite by the Malta fisheries authority, but for line fishing vessels of this size we have to call two hours prior to arrival so two inspectors can be dispatched, explains Paul Piscopo. Can you imagine what traditinal fishing has become? » In a little less than an hour, the refrigerated truck parked just opposite the fishing boat has been filled with about thirty swordfishes. And finally, the awaited figure is heard: 1400 kilos. The owner and the inspectors write down the total weight on the official documents, he get his calculator and lifts his glasses. « It’s not bad, he explains, but it is not enough. To cover the costs, diesel fuel and baits, they should bring home about 2000 kilos for the same time at sea! »

We are a little surprised. To us, it looks like a very decent. « You don’t understand. Pressure on our 800 local fishermen has grown too strong, » explains a slightly vexed Paul Piscopo. « Everything you see around you will soon vanish. » Coming to see traditional fishermen in Marsaxlokk, we thought we would meet men who sail out not knowing the species or amounts of fish they would catch. Fishermen can come home without having caught anything, that’s a fact. But they can also come to port with holds filled to capacity. And we feel it is good for them. But we are awed to discover that all this imagery is but only a fantasy in the minds of city dwellers.

In fact, restrictions in terms of fishing periods, quantities and control by international organizations such as the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tuna (ICCAT) increasingly affect small fishermen. Year after year, restriction upon restriction, they are feeling like one is keeping their heads under water. As for Atlantic bluefin Tuna, in addition to the progressive shortening of the fishing season, the ICCAT has decided to impose quotas on all fishermen without exception. As a result, some fishermen of Marsaxxlockk are forced to throw part of their tuna catch back in the water (individuals which will die as they have been hooked) if they don’t want to be fined 5,000 euros per fish over their authorized quota… « Establishing rules for industrial fisheries which apply to us is totally absurd, explains Piscopo. One does not know with a two-pound margin what the sea will give us. And it is not with the amounts of fish we catch that we’re about to empty the sea! To think that the overall quota for our 800 Maltese fishermen is set at 290 metric tons per year. It is barely the quota for a large seiner… We have absolutely nothing against them. We are against the rules established because of them which we have to suffer from ».

The situation is a little different for swordfish. The fishermen have not been imposed quotas but the fishing season has been reduced by two months. Costs have not stopped soaring over the 1990′s and if they are unfortunate enough to fish « too much » swordfish, prices on an essentially Italian market plummet, thus automatically reducing what extra money they could have made. Consequently, Maltese captains no longer hire locals. They resort to Indonesian or Filipino workforce for whom a European salary is enormous. « Ten years ago, we had young « landsmen » who came to fish to buy a house or buy something expensive, recalls Paul Piscopo with a hint of nostalgia. Today, it’s exactly the opposite. They go back to dry land to make a better living. » It seems that our modern, globalized world based on statistics and figures as well as on increasingly demanding regulations and precise laws does not get along very well with nature which gives and takes at random. That’s what the fishermen think. At least the remaining fishermen.

Julien Pfyffer and Océan 71.

Some of the pictures Philippe Henry took, while on an exceptional dive into a bluefin tuna pen off the coast of Malta.

We should have been in Lampedusa for a week now… And we are still in Malta. It is a fact. It’s not for lack of trying. Last Monday, we were writing a few lines explaining we were ready to leave Malta to rally the small Italian island of Lampedusa and release sea turtles which had been given medical attention over the summer. It was without counting on a little refrigerator problem… Early on that is.

There is sometimes a very thin line between fortune and misfortune. It took us two days to find a someone capable of taking care of this « little » problem. Little but still important when one knows about temperatures in the area, even in September. Impossible to leave without a refrigerator in working condition, it’s that or contemplating a diet of pasta and rice for ten days. The problem is that this small unexpected technical problem made us miss favourable weather conditions with south-east winds which would have allowed us to cross in good conditions. « No big deal, it will still be OK tomorrow, we still have tomorrow before the pretty strong north-west winds », we told ourselves innocently.

Consequently, part of the crew took opportunity of the extra day in Malta to go and watch one of the most important sporting events on the island: the rowing regattas commemorating the victory of Malta over the Ottomans. Teams from the various cities of Malta train all year to win the title. The event is so important that we are surprised to discover that some big bluefin tuna farms sponsor the event…

On the next day, we sail out heading for Lampedusa with a working refrigerator. But it was too good to be true. In the middle of the afternoon we start seeing thick dark clouds form on the horizon. Then to our right, and to our left… we are in the middle of a complex storm system we have a hard time weathering for 18 hours. Night has fallen over an hour ago when suddenly… Ziiinng! Lightning tears across the sky to hit the sea a few kilometers away. Next comes a long, menacing roll of thunder startling us like rarely before. « Turn around! » And as a problem never comes alone, without wind, the engine that had been at work for about four hours, refuses to give us the extra power we need to go back as fast as possible. Beep… a light comes on indicating overheating. We are seized by a slight feeling of discouragement. Yet, we have to return to Gozo. Lightning strikes every second in every direction around us. We sail slowly toward the island. Suddenly Philippe’s head pops up out of the boat appearing a little stressed out, to tell us we are heading right into a dense, powerful thunderstorm he has spotted on his radar screen.

“I think we cannot go around this one. We have to cross it and it will hurt. » The beast is awaiting us, unflinching right between us and Gozo. We are under the impression that lightning strikes ever closer. Indeed we are heading right to the mouth of an animal we don’t really know. I remember the old tale of sailors tying a chain around the mast to deflect lightning from the boat and into the water. But a chain would be useless as we have to move forward. Sailing while trailing a chain would be like trying to run with a prisoner’s ball and chain. The most important is to keep telling ourselves there is one chance in a million to be hit by lightning, as the sea draws lightning much more efficiently than any lightning rod. We try to reassure ourselves as much as possible, but with a mast standing at nearly 20 meters we are not overly confident. I even hear myself saying that our turning around is not perceived very well up there, somewhere in heaven, and that « He » has decided to play with our nerves to the end. But against all odds, as we make way, the storm seems to move to the south. « It’s letting us go! » exclaims Philippe in surprise, eyes set on the radar screen. We finally dock in the Gozo harbor at one a.m., after a good rinsing, literally.  Just before reaching the harbor, we have been under a shower as we have rarely seen in the Mediterranean. Torrents of water fell on us for forty-five long mintutes. We go to bed exhausted, knowing that the strong north-west wind (with matching seas) will start on the next day and will keep us stranded two more days. The heavens have not been very helping this time.

It is not very serious. We will just change the order of our plans. It will be bluefin tuna in Malta first, then Lampedusa. If only the sea lets us. In spite of appearances, learning to be patient is good for us Very good.

Julien and the Ocean 71 team.

Dear friends, dear readers,

As promised we are heading back to the sea. Our goal is to return with more stories and to further explore subjects we have been focusing on for a while.

Of course, we will continue reporting on bluefin tuna. A fish and industry which we have been focusing on for seven months. In coming weeks, we will tell you in words and images how things work in a Maltese tuna farm. And not just any fish farm since we will pay a visit to one of the largest of the Mediterranean.

Also, there are the sea turtles. Last May in Sicily, we have followed the operation of a turtle rescued by a fisherman. Daniella Freggi, who heads the center, had liked our work so much that she offered us to come and release several turtles that she and her team have taken care of over the summer.

We are on the go again… and I must admit that it feels good.

Océan 71

OCEAN 71 – You have worked for nearly six months for the oil industry in Nigeria. Can you describe your activities there?

Pierre* — I was a captain for Greenmar, a Swiss branch of Bourbon, at the Escravos base, east of Lagos. The company charters boats transporting equipment and workers to off-shore oil rigs. We are also in charge of monitoring them. We generally leave for 12-hour missions. We leave the base and go on a round of the rigs we are assigned. Our boats are 14 to 18 meters long. They have a top speed of 30 knots (a little under 60 km/h).

What does the surveillance consist in? The Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND), which some consider as pirates, has claimed responsibility for numerous attacks on oil rigs…

P. — There are two things: the bombings on unmanned oil rigs and hostage takings on the boats. Our mission in most cases, is to keep all types of suspicious crafts –including fishermen and pirates’ speedboats– at a distance. It is not easy to sort them out as there are countless fishermen with powerful dugouts capable of reaching 30 knots.

As a Frenchman, did not you fear being kidnapped? What is the insecurity level for an expatriate?

P. — For Europeans, danger is everywhere in Nigeria. It is dangerous as soon as you set foot at the airport, even in Lagos. Somebody is waiting for you with a little sign reading Bourbon, Total, Shell… You don’t follow a person who cannot prove he is working for your company. To prevent risks, we are forbidden from leaving the airport. Once you have been picked up, you leave in a car with tinted windows which never stops. If you hit traffic congestions, the driver veers to the left handside lane… In Port-Harcourt, we were accomodated at a guest-house which we left only to follow security training and leave for Escravos. You cannot take a stroll in the streets. It is far too dangerous. The harbor at Escravos even has a floating barrier opening and closing every time a boat comes in and out. It is a entirely fenced area, with barbed wire and watchtowers… once inside you are safe.

What about security on your boat when you go on your round?

P. — On board, there is a life jacket, a bullet-proof vest and a helmet per person. Some boats are armored. The problem is that the soldiers who embark with us are poorly trained. The guys of Greenmar told me that if we were to come under attack, we should not take time to think. They told us: « Don’t play heroes. Full throttle and speed away! » To give you an idea, while I was there before last Christmas, one of the soldiers of a nearby boat has accidentally fired three times! Two rounds ended up in the hull. The third hit another soldier causing him to lose a hand. At sea the soldiers are scared. They awkwardly hoist each other on board. You have to be careful not to hit the waves too hard or else the soldiers get jumpy. The sea is really not their thing. I think they are really scared. They will not embark if they do not have their life jacket. At night, they stay inside. It’s quite funny.

And if a French national were to be abducted… What would happen?

P. — During attacks, the locals are either wounded or killed. Westerners do not get killed in Nigeria. When a westerner is kidnapped, ransoms asked can reach 150,000 euros… That’s what I have heard there. Before Bourbon or the oil company used to pay. Now, as Greenmar is based in Switzerland to be able to register ships in Nigeria, Panama or other countries, French people working on the ships remain French nationals meaning France has to take care of French hostages.

How is it to navigate between oil rigs? Is it risky?

P. — It’s fairly quiet during day time. On the other hand, at night, boats go about with their lights out. There are no beacons either. In channels the beacons used to be powered by small photovoltaic panels. They were stolen in a few hours time. So, they are not being replaced.

Nigerians are so desperate?

P. — One cannot imagine the poverty people live in there. Last October, a brand new 30-meter catamaran got stranded on a breakwater at the mouth of the river. After two days, the fuel tanks had been siphoned and all seats removed. Everything that could be dismantled was gone overnight… Now, the boat is gone! Salaries are very low for the locals. It would take a month for Nigerians working with me to make what I made in one day. Imagine the income of those working on land in other sectors than the oil industry.

Nigerians do not benefit from the oil riches of their country?

P. — Paradoxically, it’s true. The only way some have found to make money from the oil industry is to steal and resell diesel fuel. When we fill the tanks of a boat, one of the guys on board siphons the tank and fills containers. A few minutes later a boat shows up and takes the containers. Everybody gets his cut. Some manage to pilfer up to 500 liters every time! And everybody without a single exception is in this, since Chevron pays for the fuel… It is possible to refuse but refusing will create tensions with the sailors and soldiers present on board.

The explosion of an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico has created unprecedented environmental scandal… What is the situation in Nigeria?

P. — (Laughs) In terms of environment, we are far, very far from our European concerns. I navigate waters you would not imagine… From time to time, some areas are covered in two inches of good, thick, crude oil… In France it would be an oil spill. In Nigeria, it’s nothing out of the ordinary! Even worse. One must know that the fuel used by all ships is of very poor quality. It is yet another local paradox. If you don’t let your fuel settle before starting, your engines will fail systematically. In European ports, you have « black boxes » where to dump dirty oil. When I took a container to collect used oil, they asked me what I was doing. And what was I to do with it afterwards anyway…? So you pour your dirty oil in the hold of the boat and once you have left port, you dump everything at sea. I used to work on small crafts but it is the same for other types of ships present in the area. A lot of ships take opportunity of their presence in the area to discharge their ballast water! The river pushes everything to the high sea. Of course there are no surveillance planes to spot the spills. Nigeria is really a different planet.

Julien Pfyffer and Philippe Henry. Edited by Lorraine Laviale.

* The name has been changed to keep the requested anonimity