Volvo Open

Volvo Ocean Race 2005 | Press Release

1 December 2002 -- At many points around the world, the Volvo Ocean Race fleet passes close enough to land for a film crew and stills photographer to rendezvous with them. This is their story.
At many points around the world, the Volvo Ocean Race fleet passes close enough to land for a film crew and stills photographer to rendezvous with them. Sometimes this is from the air, using a helicopter with the doors removed for filming, and microwave equipment to 'suck' video footage and interviews from the boats. At other times a boat is used, often a war ship kindly 'lent' to us for this purpose.

1 December 2002 -- At many points around the world, the Volvo Ocean Race fleet passes close enough to land for a film crew and stills photographer to rendezvous with them. This is their story.

At many points around the world, the Volvo Ocean Race fleet passes close enough to land for a film crew and stills photographer to rendezvous with them. Sometimes this is from the air, using a helicopter with the doors removed for filming, and microwave equipment to 'suck' video footage and interviews from the boats. At other times a boat is used, often a war ship kindly 'lent' to us for this purpose.

This is the story of a rendezvous with the Volvo Ocean Race fleet at the Ilha de Noronha, an island off the Brazilian coast during leg one of the 2001-2002 event. Our crew, consisting of tv director Steve Ancsell, cameraman George Johns and stills photographer Rick Tomlinson, flew down to capture images and interviews of the fleet midway through leg one.

STEVE'S STORY:
We flew on Thursday, as all flights were full after that, and without accommodation booked, we used our satellite phone to try and get into a 'hotel'. Noronha is a nature reserve and 'pousadas' (B&B's) are the only hotel accommodation. We're given a name, Esmerelda, and off we fly. On arrival, they won't let you in without accommodation, so that was useful, and we're carted off the half mile down the single track road to the series of Nissen hut shacks that make up the place we have to stay. Only one room with three beds is what we get, with cranky old air conditioning and a shower room with cockroaches everywhere. Lots of huge lizards, three feet long and toads the size of small footballs. We hire a beach buggy to get around, the only hire car available.

Down the road from our 'hotel' we find the local entertainment, a lecture room and coffee shop where they tell you all about the dolphins, whales and turtles that live here. In Brazilian Portuguese. No-one speaks a word of English, so we have to learn some Portuguese sharpish!

We make radio contact with the navy ship Goiana, and agree to meet on Sunday. Captain Cardoso spoke some English. We decide to stay ashore rather than take up his offer of living on the ship for the next six days! So off we went filming, bumping down dirt track roads in our buggy. All went well until we ran out of fuel....

The buggy faithfully bounced down a rock-strewn cobbled hill, to the 'downtown' part of the central island village and I radio the latest positions to the awaiting naval ship Goiana, and Capt Cardoso patiently waits.

It is Wednesday, 8.30 am; time to meet with the ship, and we are taken out to her in a small old rib. We are hoisted aboard, shown to the wardroom and off we go. Huge seabirds, fulmars and fork-tailed frigates, swoop over the ship playfully, trying to peck the aerials. Lunch on the ship; no one is sick so we pass the sailor's test and all is well! I am given the bunk above the Executive Officer in his cabin. George, our cameraman, was up forward with the Petty Officers and Rick, our stills photographer, was billeted in the medical room, complete with the operating cot, in which he slept, somewhat apprehensively.

Emails were sent via our own satellite uplink, the same procedure the war correspondents use in the desert, along with Rick's photographs. It all worked really well and we rolled our way north to meet the first boat at sunrise, 04.50 in the morning. After no more than a couple of hours sleep, checking positions using our satellite telephone, there was Illbruck in the early morning sunlight some 40 miles from the turning waypoint. We shadowed her for a while in our lolloping ship and then the Brazilian matelots were dispatched in a rib with our box of tricks so that we could interview the boat's skipper from the bridge of our ship. It is nice when a plan and new equipment ideas work out! We met with four more of the boats throughout that day, some 10 miles up track of the island - all of whom were really pleased to see and chat with us as they ploughed their way south.

Sunset for the fifth boat, Grant Dalton, just off the western tip of the Island and we then hauled the rib aboard for the fifth time and set off back to the little port, but without anywhere to stay. So there we were, Thursday evening, dark, on the ship's bridge with the officers trying to find us a room somewhere on a public holiday in Brazil, and nothing available. They even tried the Air Force barracks without luck. So, 15 pieces of luggage weighing 260 kgs plus the three of us, were deposited back at the little port with nowhere to go.

We loaded up the buggy with our kit, to get us to the bar, where at least we could have a beer and ponder our accommodation problem. A couple of phone calls later, all was fixed. Two rooms, no less, so we relaxed and ordered some more beer and some excellent fried fish.

Then it was off down the road in two taxis - which were also buggies - with all the luggage aboard and us hanging on, literally standing on the rear bumper to the village, up the rocky hill. It was a green, ramshackle hut with an aging old dear on the veranda who showed us into our rooms. There was a shower of sorts, a cold tap out of the wall, but at least we, and our kit, would be safe. I woke at six the next day - we had had virtually no sleep the night before at sea - with a hangover of all hangovers. It was actually dehydration. Breakfast out in the mud courtyard which consisted of nice bread cakes and melon. œ20 for all of us for the night inc breakfast.

Much later in the race, on leg five en route from Auckland to Rio de Janeiro, the same film crew took off again to one of the remotest parts of the world, Cape Horn, where they hoped to film the fleet from the air, as they rounded this famous landmark.

Cape Horn to Port, is Rick's Story

February 6, 2002: The film team sets up base in the Hotel Cabo de Hornos, Punta Arenas, Chile, 180 miles from Cape Horn. We begin by setting up our satellite transmitter, doing our on location planning and the surveys with the aircraft that will fly us to Cape Horn to photograph the Volvo boats passing, ETA February 10.

February 7: With our Nera satellite kit we track the boats via the Internet. It looks like they will be earlier than the ETA by almost 24 hours. Using our GPS (global positioning system) we calculate that the first boat, Illbruck, will pass the Horn in darkness. We cannot film in the dark, so we plan to rendezvous at first light.

February 8: We confirm to our pilots that we need to fly to Puerto Williams, the most southerly village in the world, 60 miles from the Cape, refuel, and then fly on to meet Illbruck at first light, which in this part of the world is 0630. We need to take off at 0500.

February 9: 0400, I am awake 30 seconds before the alarm goes. The gear has all been checked and packed, we are all ready. The crew for this 'sortie' is the same, Steve, George and myself, affectionately nicknamed, 'the 'A' team'. This time we are joined by Gustav Bergkvist, who will act as our translator.

0500: The airport is in total darkness, except for the lights from own Twin Otter plane as it is towed out into the night. Without talking to the tower; there's no one there, we take off. I fall asleep immediately, and I am awakened 40 minutes later with a nudge as we pass over Ushuaia, the town's lights twinkling and the snow-capped mountains beginning to glow as the first signs of daylight appear.

0600: We land at Puerto Williams, no fuel truck waiting: no surprise. After what seems like an hour, but is only 15 minutes, the truck arrives and fuel loaded. A call to Race Office in the UK, on the satellite 'phone, confirms positions and we take off immediately.

0645: Just daylight, and we pick up Illbruck, past the Horn. George and I are shooting as the plane banks tightly around the boat, Steve is talking to the boat on the VHF and up-loading video via microwave links. It all happens very fast.

0715: Back to Puerto Williams to refuel and send the pictures by the satellite 'phone back to the picture desk at Race HQ. We check in for the latest positions and we are ready to go when we discover we have a problem: Puerto Williams has run out of fuel, even though they knew we were coming. This means that the second sortie will have to be the last (we had planned on three). We decide to wait an hour for the maximum number of boats to sail in range.

0830: In the air again, looking for Amer Sport One. We pick her up perfectly under the Horn; WOW! This is why we came here. Again we upload their video and after many passes to get the shot, we get it.

0900: We are looking for News Corp; and yes, there she is, just as Steve spots Tyco. We rendezvous with News Corp and circle overhead. The pilot has got the idea now. Inside the plane, our own communications are difficult, as the doors are off for filming and it's cold and very noisy. George is at the back with all his foul weather gear on to keep warm, Steve is in the middle with the microwave and communications box, and I am up front in the co-pilot's seat with the window open so that I can shoot.

0920: We wave goodbye to News Corp, and head for Tyco, but the pilot misunderstands. Fortunately, the yellow spinnaker of Assa Abloy appears on the horizon and with Assa Abloy, we have another mission. As well as the filming, we have to drop a waterproof bag, which contains a new hand set for their Sat Com B unit. Without it, the Sat Com B is completely non-functional. Steve radios the navigator, Mark Rudiger, on the VHF. Rudiger asks if we can come back in an hour or so when the boat is in the lee of the islands. We are almost out of fuel, so we say "No, it is now, or never". "OK now", crackles Rudy and we line up a mile ahead and throw the package optimistically on their course. We are doing 120 knots at 200 feet. Will they be able to pick it up? We head for home, via Puerto Williams. As we turn, we hear Assa Abloy on the radio saying thank you, they picked up the bag! Amazing!