Chichester Prefers The Hard Way

Press, Volume CVI, Issue 31256, 31 December 1966, Page 5

Chichester Prefers The Hard Way

(By KEITH WILLEY in the “Sun” Sydney.)

LEAN, bent-shouldered old man of the sea has reached the end of his ordeal.

Francis Chichester, pioneer airman, yachtsman-extra-ordinary, one of the great adventurers and individualists of this century, has arrived in Sydney. As usual, he came the hard way. In 1930 he became the second person to fly solo from England to Australia. A year later he put his seaplane down near Sydney after the first air crossing of the Tasman Sea from east to west —a flight which experts rate among the toughest ever made.

Now, at 65—an age when most ordinary men retire to their armchair and slippers—he has pushed his 53ft ketch Gipsy Moth IV beyond all normal limits in an attempt to complete a lone vo.vage from England to Sydney within 100 days.

Hampered by misfortune and bone-weariness in a region where the wind comes howling up from the Antarctic and waves rise like mountains, he missed his deadline of December 5.

But he has set an example of endurance and lonely courage which is beyond praise. His 13,750-mile run to Sydney is by far the longest non-stop solo yacht voyage ever made.

After a spell here for rest and provisioning he intends a 100-day return voyage to Plymouth via Cape Horn. Some sailing masters reckon his chances of completing that trip as “no better than evens.”

Winner of the first transAtlantic solo yacht race in 1960, second in 1964, he plans to compete again in 1968 before “sailing around the world the easy way—by way of the trade winds.” Chichester, tall and stooped, with thick spectacles, long nose and massive hands, has won many honours. Death Sentence But perhaps his greatest ■nd loneliest battle was against lung cancer. “Sentenced to death” in 1958 by a panel of doctors, he defeated the insidious enemy through "prayer and fasting,” and within two years was fit enough to sail the Atlantic single-handed. Chichester is a man of baffling personality. “Are you doing this for England?” somebody asked him before he left Plymouth on the present voyage. “No.” he replied. "I’m doing it for myself.” He is an individualist, a loner, concerned with testing himself to the limits of experience. His life has been a demonstration of man’s continuing ability to fend for himself—“to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” Though enriched by great ■nd enduring friendships, which any man might envy, Chichester has never enjoyed doing things with other people. He was cut out for solo jobs and anything else makes him feel a “half-per-son.” After a rather unhappy childhood in England, Chichester migrated to New Zealand at 18. working his passage in the stokehold of a grimy tramp steamer. A chance encounter with a man named Geoffrey Goodwin in Wellington led to a partnership as land agents. The business prospered and at 26 Chichester was earning £lO,OOO a year. Hero’s Welcome They formed an aviation company and he began an association with flying which was to last for half a lifetime. He returned to England in 1929, bought a Gipsy I Moth ■nd determined to fly it from London to Sydney. Only one airman had done this trip solo—the Australian, Bert Hinkler. Chichester took off from London airport on December 20. 1929. Australia puzzled him with its dry rivers and meandering dirt roads. He became lost between Brunette Downs and Camooweal and reached a homestead four miles from the town as his engine sputtered on the last dregs of fuel. Earlier he had landed at a bore and considered staying there until somone came along.

“If you’d done that,” the station owner said gravely, “you’d have starved. It’ll be six weeks before I send a man over that way.” Chichester landed at Mascot to a hero’s welcome. Back in New Zealand he found the depression had damaged his business, but he raised new funds with a book, “Solo to Sydney.” By 1931 he was ready to set off again.

He had two new ambitions —to cross the Tasman Sea alone, and then circumnavigate the world in his Gipsy Moth. He would need at least 100 gallons of fuel to fly the Tasman and the aircraft carried only 60. So he decided to convert the Moth into a seaplane and break his journey at Norfolk and Lord Howe Islands.

His was the “longest” transTasman flight ever made. He figured his own method of navigation—using a magnetic compass, and a sextant with a built-in bubble level to “shoot” the sun—and staked his life on its success.

The system worked perfectly. Rough seas wrecked his seaplane on Lord Howe and with local help Chichester actually rebuilt the machine in six weeks before flying on to Sydney. He decided to go on and circumnavigate the globe but the attempt ended disastrously at Katsuura, east of Yokohama, Japan.

Chichester crashed into a steel telephone cable at 90 m.p.h., suffering near-fatal injuries, from which he did not recover fully for more than five years. Tried To Settle Back in England he married and tried to settle down. The war was among the unhappiest period of his life. Chichester applied to join the Royal Air Force as a fighter pilot but to his surprise and chagrin he was rejected as “too old.” After the war, he founded a map-publishing business in London which still prospers. He did little flying now and turned instead to ocean yacht racing. In 1957 Chichester’s health failed. The verdict of a panel of doctors was lung cancer. On his way to hospital for an operation which almost certainly would kill him, he called at the Royal Ocean Racing Club for a farewell drink.

He saw on the notice board a challenge of H. G. “Blondie” Hasler for a single-handed race across the Atlantic.

He paused, wishing he might enter, but certain in his own mind that within a few weeks at most he would be dead.

Chichester was resigned to his fate. Fortunately for him, Sheila, his wife, was not. At the last moment she refused permission for the operation and removed him to the country. For months he dieted on fresh fruit and vegetables, interspersed with fasts of several days’ duration.

Incredibly, he recovered—a medical miracle which he ascribes mainly to “prayer and fasting.” On July 11, 1960—26 months after receiving his “sentence of death”—Chichester and three opponents left Plymouth on the toughest yacht race of all time. Chichester’s 13-ton, 39ft 7in Gipsy Moth 111 led all the way.

As he battled the heavy seas, Chichester’s sense of humour helped.

A good sleep was “as valuable as the Koh-i-noor diamond,” and the noggins of whisky, which he drank liberally each day were “nectar.” On July 27 he sailed into New York harbour after covering 4004 miles in 40 days 12 hours 30 minutes.

Second place went to Hasler, who came in eight days later.

Though delighted with the victory Chichester knew he had made mistakes and believed that by elimination these could cut his time for a second crossing to 30 days. He had the mast and sail plan redesigned. On June 1, 1962, he left Plymouth in an attempt on his own Atlantic “record.” Chichester reached New York after 33 -days and 15 hours, just missing his goal, but his fame as a lone yachtsman was assured.