Moitessier Quotes

There are two terrible things for a man: not to have fulfilled his dream, and to have fulfilled it.

When a great adventure is launched with a powerful thrust, fatigue in the muscles and doubts in the mind are swept away by a fullness that moves life along like a breath from the depths of the soul.

A sailor’s joys are as simple as a child’s.

I hate storms, but calms undermine my spirits.

its normal pace, even with the threat of a gale. How long will it last, this peace I have found at sea? It is all of life that I contemplate—sun, clouds, time that passes and abides. Occasionally it is also that other world, foreign now, that I left centuries ago. The modern, artificial world where man has been turned into a money-making machine to satisfy false needs, false joys.

One thing at a time, as in the days when I was building Joshua. If I had wanted to build all the boat at once, the enormity of the task would have crushed me. I had to put all I had into the hull alone, without thinking about the rest. It would follow . . . with the help of the gods. Sailing non-stop around the world is the same. I do not think anyone has the means of pulling it off—at the start.

I spend my time reading, sleeping, eating. The good, quiet life, with nothing to do. And little by little the water tank fills up.

On ne demande pas à une mouette apprivoisée pourquoi elle éprouve le besoin de disparaître de temps en temps vers la pleine mer. Elle y va, c’est tout, et c’est aussi simple qu’un rayon de soleil, aussi normal que le bleu du ciel.

One day a Japanese guard came into the 20-year-old Moitessier’s cell intending to kill him. He raised his pistol, but they locked eyes until, inexplicably, the guard lowered the pistol and walked away. Now, years later, tenderized by solitude, Moitessier wished he had spared the rat.

I can only give them my first log, with birds, sea, daily sights and little everyday problems. My real log is written in the sea and sky; it can’t be photographed and given to others. It has gradually come to life out of all that has surrounded us for months: the sounds of water on the hull, the sounds of wind gliding on the sails, the silences full of secret things between my boat and me, like the times I spent as a child listening to the forest talk. 1

People often imagine that sailors are a breed of supermen; that we almost never sleep, spend all our time handling sails, never get a hot meal. If they only knew!

If I do have to sight land, I like it to be from as far off as possible.

(...) Si un marchand pouvait éteindre les étoiles pour que ses panneaux publicitaires se voient mieux dans la nuit, peut-être le ferait-il.

I heartily recommend Alan Watts’ little book Instant Weather Forecasting, which taught me how to predict weather changes in minutes.

How long will it last, this peace I have found at sea? It is all of life that I contemplate—sun, clouds, time that passes and abides.

An hour later my porpoises are back. Two of them start spinning in the air like corkscrews. I rush to get the camera, stowed in its locker—too late; they are leaving already. I am as disgusted as if I had dropped an anchor without shackling it to its chain. After missing the terrific shot of the barracuda catching the flying fish in mid-air, I had sworn to leave the Beaulieu in the cockpit during fair weather, all set to go, with a cloth to protect it from the sun. But that is not enough. I am starting to realize that I too need to be protected from the camera. In the beginning, I thought that you just set the lens and released the shutter. It is not like that at all. You have to give the camera something more. And now it is trying to suck my blood. It would be easy to stuff the camera in a waterproof tank and forget it exists, but it is too late—and in any case I am not sorry.

Beaucoup de gens croient que la pelleteuse et la bétonneuse ne pensent pas. ces gens se trompent: elles pensent. Elles pensent que si elles ne travaillent pas, elles ne gagneraient pas d'Argent, et qu'alors leurs esclaves ne pourraient plus acheter l'huile et l'essence sont elles ont besoin pour vivre et continuer à penser aux choses sérieuses

Perceptive and valuable personal explorations of time alone include A Book of Silence by Sara Maitland, Party of One by Anneli Rufus, Migrations to Solitude by Sue Halpern, Journal of a Solitude by May Sarton, The Point of Vanishing by Howard Axelrod, Solitude by Robert Kull, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby, A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit, The Story of My Heart by Richard Jefferies, Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, and the incomparable Walden by Henry David Thoreau. Adventure tales offering superb insight into solitude, both its horror and its beauty, include The Long Way by Bernard Moitessier, The Strange Last Voyage of Donald Crowhurst by Nicholas Tomalin and Ron Hall, A Voyage for Madmen by Peter Nichols, Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, and Alone by Richard E. Byrd. Science-focused books that provided me with further understanding of how solitude affects people include Social by Matthew D. Lieberman, Loneliness by John T. Cacioppo and William Patrick, Quiet by Susan Cain, Neurotribes by Steve Silberman, and An Anthropologist on Mars by Oliver Sacks. Also offering astute ideas about aloneness are Cave in the Snow by Vicki Mackenzie, The Life of Saint Anthony by Saint Athanasius, Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, the essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson (especially “Nature” and “Self-Reliance”) and Friedrich Nietzsche (especially “Man Alone with Himself”), the verse of William Wordsworth, and the poems of Han-shan, Shih-te, and Wang Fan-chih. It was essential for me to read two of Knight’s favorite books: Notes from the Underground by Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Very Special People by Frederick Drimmer. This book’s epigraph, attributed to Socrates, comes from the C. D. Yonge translation of Diogenes Laërtius’s third-century A.D. work The Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers. The Hermitary website, which offers hundreds of articles on every aspect of hermit life, is an invaluable resource—I spent weeks immersed in the site, though I did not qualify to become a member of the hermit-only chat groups. My longtime researcher, Jeanne Harper, dug up hundreds of reports on hermits and loners throughout history. I was fascinated by the stories of Japanese soldiers who continued fighting World War II for decades on remote Pacific islands, though none seemed to be completely alone for more than a few years at a time. Still, Hiroo Onoda’s No Surrender is a fascinating account.

Moitessier very quickly wrote another book, his second, about their voyage, Cap Horn à la voile (titled in English: Cape Horn: The Logical Route), which was published in time for France’s premier boat show, the Salon Nautique. It became a huge best-seller.

Asteria’s Ship’s Library Sailing Books Admiralty, NP 136, Ocean Passages of the World, 1973 (1895).  Admiralty, NP 303 / AP 3270, Rapid Sight Reduction Tables for Navigation Vol 1 & Vol 2 & Vol3. Admiralty, The Nautical Almanac 2018 & 2019. Errol Bruce: Deep Sea Sailing, 1954. K. Adlard Coles: Heavy Weather Sailing, 1967. Tom Cunliffe: Celestial Navigation, 1989. Andrew Evans: Single Handed Sailing, 2015. Rob James: Ocean Sailing, 1980. Robin Knox-Johnston: A World of my Own, 1969. Robin Knox-Johnston: On Seamanship & Seafaring, 2018. Bernard Moitessier: The Long Route, 1971. Hal Roth: Handling Storms at Sea, 2009. Spike Briggs & Campbell Mackenzie: Skipper's Medical Emergency Handbook, 2015 Essays Albert Camus: The Myth of Sisyphus & Other Essays, 1955. Biographies Pamela Eriksson: The Duchess, 1958. Olaf Harken: Fun Times in Boats, Blocks & Business, 2015. Martti Häikiö: VA Koskenniemi 1–2, 2009. Eino Koivistoinen: Gustaf Erikson – King of Sailing Ships, 1981. Erik Tawaststjerna: Jean Sibelius 1–5, 1989. Novels Ingmar Bergman: The Best Intentions, 1991. Bo Carpelan: Axel, 1986. Joseph Conrad: The End of the Tether, 1902. Joseph Conrad: Youth and Other Stories 1898–1910.  Joseph Conrad: Heart of Darkness, 1902. Joseph Conrad: Lord Jim, 1900. James Joyce: Ulysses, 1922, (translation Pentti Saarikoski 1982). Volter Kilpi: In the Alastalo Hall I – II, 1933. Thomas Mann: Buddenbrooks, 1925. Harry Martinson: The Road, 1948. Hjalmar Nortamo: Collected Works, 1938. Marcel Proust: In Search of Lost Time 1–10, 1922. Poems Aaro Hellaakoski: Collected Poems. Homer: Odysseus, c. 700 BC (translation Otto Manninen). Harry Martinson: Aniara, 1956. Lauri Viita: Collected Poems. Music Classic Jean Sibelius Sergei Rachmaninov Sergei Prokofiev Gustav Mahler Franz Schubert Giuseppe Verdi Mozart Carl Orff Richard Strauss Edvard Grieg Max Bruch Jazz Ben Webster Thelonius Monk Oscar Peterson Miles Davis Keith Jarrett Errol Garner Dizzy Gillespie & Benny Dave Brubeck Stan Getz Charlie Parker Ella Fitzgerald John Coltrane Other Ibrahim Ferrer, Buena Vista Social Club Jobim & Gilberto, Eric Clapton Carlos Santana Bob Dylan John Lennon Beatles Sting Rolling Stones Dire Straits Mark Knopfler Moody Blues Pink Floyd Jim Morrison The Doors Procol Harum Leonard Cohen Led Zeppelin Kim Carnes Jacques Brel Yves Montand Edit Piaf

Grazie al cielo, la terra in Polinesia non è divisibile tra gli eredi. Venti o trenta persone sono così proprietarie dello stesso terreno, grande o piccolo che sia. Per venderne la più piccola parcella, occorre che tutti siano d’accordo, firmino davanti a un notaio. Questa legge tutela i polinesiani dal cuore d’oro, che alzano facilmente il gomito con una bottiglia di rhum. Possono perdere tutto ciò che vogliono, ma non la loro terra.

But after a couple of drinks, Moitessier grew morose. “I wish I had died after my circumnavigation,” he said,

L’unica differenza tra “creazione” e “distruzione” è un semplice fiammifero. E siete voi a tenere in mano il fiammifero, e la scelta.

Non dimenticare mai che le parole sono qui per mostrare … non per mostrarsi

Questa vita riconquistata in un lampo di lucidità mi ha messo le ali. Ricordo una rana di un fatto vero, a quanto pare: si pone una rana in una pentola con acqua tiepida e la si mette a fuoco lento, senza coperchio; la temperatura aumenta, ma la rana non salta fuori. Quando l’acqua bolle, è ancora lì tranquilla nella sua pentola, cotta a puntino. Io sono saltato fuori in tempo, ma l’ho scampata bella.

Phnom-Penh è una città bellissima, costruita sulla riva di un fiume sorprendente, il Ton-Le-Sap che scorre sei mesi in un senso e sei mesi nell’altro.

Quanto a me, sono fortunato di stare qui. Le grandi compagnie evitano fin che possono di assumere i giovani francesi d'Indocina. Veniamo considerati (forse con un poco d'invidia…) alla stregua di «locali», dei furbetti che non hanno mai conosciuto i rigori della Francia, mai visto la neve né sentito freddo, tutti più o meno figli di papà, abituati alla vita facile delle colonie, arciviziati dai domestici, evidentemente incapaci di rifarsi il letto. Ma dato che le comunicazioni marittime con la Francia sono interrotte dall’inizio della guerra, le grandi Compagnie sono obbligate ad assumerci sul posto. E poi il mio letto è una stuoia, e non ho bisogno di nessuno per arrotolarla al mattino.

L’ attuale Vietnam era diviso in tre Paesi: Tonchino a Nord, Annamaria al centro e Cocincina a Sud. Gli abitanti si chiamavano annamiti.

E non solo vale la pena di provare fino in fondo, ma è anche necessario. Se parole come «generosità» e «libertà» non esistono nel loro vocabolario, vuol dire che questi concetti non sono ancora nati nello spirito dell’Asia. Ma c’è voluto tempo prima di manifestarsi in Europa, quegli stessi concetti non esistevano nemmeno fra noi occidentali. C’è voluto tempo perché sfiorassero le nostre coscienze, e poi crescessero e vivessero nelle nostre azioni.

L’ attuale Vietnam era diviso in tre Paesi: Tonchino a Nord, Annam al centro e Cocincina a Sud. Gli abitanti si chiamavano annamiti

E a furia di riflettere i cinesi hanno inventato una scrittura magica. É magica perché non ha bisogno dei suoni delle labbra per varcare la barriera delle lingue. Si tratta di segni che rappresentano il senso delle parole e non i loro suoni. E questo è come un ponte tra tutte quelle lingue, ci spiegava Assam. Da allora, quando un cinese di Pechino vuole comunicare con un cinese di Hong Kong o di un’altra località, prende un pennello e un pezzo di carta per dire tutto quello che vuole. E se si incontrano all’angolo di una strada oppure in piena campagna, senza pennelli né carta, usano l’indice per tracciare sul palmo della mano messaggi leggibili come se avessero usato pennello e inchiostro. Capisco ora che questi ideogrammi non solo uniscono la Cina intera, ma permettono anche la comunicazione tra Cina e Giappone: è proprio il ponte di cui ci parlava Assam.

Per mia fortuna, era stata appena creata la piccola Scuola Agraria di Ben Cat. Situata ai margini della foresta, a cinquanta chilometri da Saigon e a pochi minuti da una Casa di Rieducazione, la mia nuova scuola sembrava un paradiso. Lì, niente bei voti per i bravi, né brutti voti per i lazzaroni. Non davano affatto voti, niente di più semplice. Allora siamo diventati tutti bravi, perché in noi non c’era più né paura né ribellione.

L'est è crollato. L'ovest sta a sua volta crollando. La politica prova ad aggrapparsi ai rami… ma questi sono marci. L'economia prova disperatamente, pure lei, ad aggrapparsi ai rami… sono sempre più marci. La grande maggioranza rifiuta di capire che non si tratta di una crisi politica ed economica ma di una crisi morale.

Il mondo non è una realtà già fatta ma un’opera da creare.

I am neither happy nor sad, neither really tense nor really relaxed. Perhaps that is the way it is when a man gazes at the stars, asking himself questions he is not mature enough to answer. So one day he is happy, the next a bit sad without knowing why. It is a little like the horizon: for all your distinctly seeing sky and sea come together on the same line, for all your constantly making for it, the horizon stays at the same distance, right at hand and out of reach.

Je prends le globe du Damien et regarde longuement l’immense boucle tracée depuis le départ. Plymouth si près, dix mille milles à peine vers le nord… mais partir de Plymouth pour rentrer à Plymouth, c’est devenu au fil du temps comme partir de nulle part pour aller nulle part. C’est formidable, ce petit globe que je tiens dans mes mains ! Et nous sommes seuls, mon bateau et moi. Seuls avec la mer immense pour nous tout seuls.

my back has started acting up, probably due to a weakening of the muscles along the spine,

The days go by, never monotonous. Even when they appear exactly alike they are never quite the same. That is what gives life at sea its special dimension, made up of contemplation and very simple contrasts. Sea, winds, calms, sun clouds, porpoises. Peace, and the joy of being alive in harmony.

When Henry and I had had to work out a really sticky problem together, neither of us was allowed to mention it. No bursting out with ‘Say, I’ve got an idea! What do you think of this? . . .’ It was not allowed, because the thing had not matured enough, and putting forth an idea that was not worked out in detail wasted the other’s time and kept him from letting it ‘ripen’.

Joshua drives towards the Horn under the light of the stars and the somewhat distant tenderness of the moon. Pearls run off the staysail; you want to hold them in your hand, they are real precious stones that live only in the eyes. The wake spins out very far behind up the slopes of the seas like a tongue of fire and the close-reefed sails stand out against the clear sky, with the moon making the sea on the quarter glisten. White reflection of the southern ice. Broad greenish patches of foam on the water. Pointed tooth-like seas masking the horizon, dull rumbling of the bow struggling and playing with the sea. The entire sea is white and the sky as well. I no longer know how far I have got, except that we long ago left the borders of too much behind.

concentrating on a magnetized needle prevents one from participating in the real universe, seen and unseen, where a sailboat moves.

I felt such a need to rediscover the wind of the high sea, nothing else counted at that moment, neither earth nor men. All Joshua and I wanted was to be left alone with ourselves. Any other thing did not exist, had never existed. You do not ask a tame seagull why it needs to disappear from time to time toward the open sea. It goes, that’s all, and it is as simple as a ray of sunshine, as normal as the blue of the sky.

At times, he heard the ‘call’ with every fibre of his being. For some time, I have been hearing it too. And that, perhaps, is the long way.

Man is always the strongest.

When you have seen the eddies caused by salinity differences in the Panama locks, one prefers to give a wide berth to similar phenomena when they are on an oceanic scale.

I think that a boat big enough to carry lots of food and spares could circle the globe several times, relying only on rain.

. . . but leaving from Plymouth and returning to Plymouth now seems like leaving from

I hate storms but calms undermine my spirits.’ Bernard Moitessier, The Long Way

E’ notte, una notte piena di stelle. Il mio corpo sfinito riposa… ma io sono con tutto me stesso nell’attrezzatura e nelle vele per ascoltare il mare… palpare il vento che abbonaccia e mi dice che la notte sarà veramente bella.