Maewan Adventure Base, Lionel Daudet recounts the first stage in Iceland

Maewan Adventure Base is a 4-year voyage around the world to discover the yet unexplored regions of the globe only accessible by sea; this is how Erwan Le Lann, Capitan of the expedition, explains the approach. In March, the sailboat Maewan was in Iceland, with Lionel Daudet at the helm. He tells the story of his adventure, mixing sailing and climbing through an off-beat and very poetic text.

February 8, 2015, on the docks in Aber Wrac'h a few minutes before setting sail.

Present for this story (from left to right in the photo)

Guillaume Vallot: journalist/climber
Lionel Daudet: climber
Erwan le Lann: capitan and expedition leader
Jeanne Grégoire: navigator
Aymeric Clouet: climber

UA mix of haikus and souvenirs…s…

the cold so cold
water turns blue
as the sky fades away
Soseki

The sailboat peacefully cuts through the water as the night's first stars appear like so many lanterns lighting the way. Low on the horizon, standing firm on the Icelandic coast, a lighthouse flashes its reassuring beam as if a friendly wink to us vagrant ice hunters.
One's mind wanders during these moments when we seemingly take full possession of both space and time.
By some strange phenomenon, the Maewan morphs into a space vessel, something akin to the starship Enterprise. As I stand at the helm, bundled up from head to toe, it feels as if I have left the high seas, jumped to warp speed, and opened the door into a new world. Above my head and the mast floats a subtle shimmering veil, a will-o-the-wisp, a procession of elves and fairies, heavenly bodies dancing to light up the darkness of night, spreading across the sky from one horizon to the other, filling in the hollow spaces between faraway stars. So enchanting, so moving, such colorful embroidery, unintelligible streaks hypnotically gyrating to inscribe a mysterious alphabet. Will we be able to decipher them?
By my side, Capitan Wawann Kirk waxes rhapsodic, "the aurora borealis is truly unbelievable!"
I add to the mix, "the kind of phenomenon that makes you want to believe in God!"
Not quite poetry, but when a bubble of light appears to dive right towards us, Capitan Wawann Kirk exclaims, "it's just like the Sistine Chapel!" As if breathing life into Adam, a finger of light caresses our faces…
There are no photos of these "mystical" moments (the long exposure required was impossible with the boat swaying back and forth); in the end some experiences are best captured only by the imagination.

nighttime frost
will I ever find slumber
when the sea never sleeps
Masajo

Back at the helm, in the deafening silence, another slow walk down memory lane to the warm welcoming smiles forever engrained.
On land with Jeanne, on a leisurely stroll to loosen our legs, chests bent forward to fight against the strong headwind, an encounter.
At first we take the guy for a drunk, but his staggering and disfigured scowl are due to the wind, which also bizarrely alters his voice. Our host invites us into his Faroe Island farm. The clean and cozy interior is in total contradiction with our first impression. Outside, the angry sea crashes against the neighboring cliffs. His wife asks us,
- Would you like some tea?
- With pleasure.
- I thought you might enjoy a few local delicacies: whale fat, dried lamb's shank…
After taking the white chunk of what smelled like dead rat, Jeanne whispers to me quietly, seizing a moment when our charming hosts turn their attention elsewhere, "I think I'm going to puke," and I wonder if she is not exaggerating just a little when I see her face turn pale as she chomps down on the rank and truly dreadful morsel, which clearly tastes exactly like it smells…

the waterfall's roar
frozen in place
the year comes to an end
Kineo

Left: Erwan topping out on the frosty route "La voie de la Comtesse," a first ascent on Holmatindur's north face. Right: Aymeric on the crux pitch.

Finally, a frozen waterfall ahead! I always start to worry on those trips where I end up sailing more than climbing, where I feel more like a skipper and less like a climber. I burst with laughter, a deep and resonating laugh muffled only by the surrounding walls of snow. There are moments like this one, where happiness can be summed up simply by:
- Good friends (thanks Aymeric!),
- A beautiful climb (a plumb line straight to the summit),
- Incredible landscapes to highlight this unique place: the ice where we leave our pointy footprints, the frost that covers the basalt columns in a feather-like coat, the fjord's long blue finger, and our boat and base camp just a miniscule dot one-thousand meters below.
Nothing more, nothing less.

Overlooking Eski fjord, Dod and Aymeric already planning their next adventure.

slowly my lungs
a faint tint of blue
adrift at sea
Hosaku

If Aymeric decides to stop climbing one day, he will no doubt turn his energy towards fishing; as he catches one cod fish after another his childlike smile and joyful cheers give him away. If Wawann has decided to partake in the general enthusiasm, he does not show it: unshakeable, he twists the heads of the poor fish staring back at us with their sad round eyes. Such a bizarre, improbable fate, ending up that very evening on our plates doused in curry, breaded, or simply fried.
There also is a much easier and more comfortable way to fish that we employ on a regular basis: cosying up to the fishing boats in the nearby port. Each time one of them returns, we follow their lead without hesitation. We have the unbelievable privilege of a never-ending supply of fish, being told to "take whatever you need," and sometimes even having the big boat pull aside ours for a weird form of home delivery, blowing its horn as if to ring our doorbell. Icelanders are so generous, so warm, and so welcoming, and of course think that we have ventured far beyond the limits of crazy…

Left: Maewan leaving Brittany (France). Right: the north face of Holmatindur in Eskijfördur.

deeper
delving ever deeper
into the great blue mountains
Santoka

Although no real second wind has hit the Icelandic shores, is it really necessary?
Is the wind of adventure not more important, the wind that has tossed this tiny aluminum sailboat around? Is this not the same wind that we breathe in and out to come to the realization of what being alive truly means? Adventure is as useless as it is spectacular, and there always seems to be that one lingering question – why? A question that can only be answered by a wide yet somewhat awkward grin. Do we ask a musician 'why' when brilliantly playing the trumpet? No, we just listen. This is exactly what we did in Iceland, listened, to the roaring waves, to the slight creak of the hull breaking through a thin film of ice, to the wind, and above all else, to the silence.

lost at sea
the cold winter wind
knows not where to return
Seishi

I already want to go back. I want to see the cold air pull the water into its forceful embrace one more time. I want to draw so many new vertical lines on the steep white walls of the Horn. I want to scribble on the blank white faces above the icy waters, like chalk on a blackboard where I would write one-thousand times: long live life!

endless night
I wonder
what ten thousand years will bring
Shiki

A planet covered in ice? A planet covered with blossoming cherry trees? A planet at peace or at war? A planet with or without human beings?
At two in the morning, in the middle of the night, still at the helm with my mind lost in the aurora borealis, Guillaume shows up on deck, pulling me away from my thoughts. I unfortunately have to go to bed; I will unfortunately soon leave the Maewan. This is my last turn at the wheel. Stay the course little boat, keep making your way north! Continue to tell us such wonderful stories, we so desperately need them.

Left: A late descent towards Reydarfjördur. Right: Dod and Aymeric on the icy section of the route "La voie de la Comtesse". 

The Maewan arriving in Iceland, raise the spinnaker (the large sail off the bow) please!

Lionel Daudet

Follow the Maewan adventure