Chapter 3. Sinking.

Tuesday, 1 November 2022. 14 nautical miles west of Viana do Castelo, northern border Portugal-Spain, 10:30 am.

When the orcas appear next to the boat that very morning, Augustin Drion thinks little of it at first. He takes it calmly. Maybe his life so far has given him some experience, some kind of insight that makes him think: "Okay, they'll just play around here for a few minutes and then they'll move on."

Whatever Augustin's reason for thinking that way, whichever of his experiences makes the 29-year-old marine biologist think that way: He won't be right.

The four of them set sail from Morbihan in Brittany. Corentin, the skipper, has thoroughly prepared his ship, SMOUSSE, for the long trip into the Caribbean. You never know what might get in one's way in the vastness of the Atlantic. That's why, among many other things, he has replaced the slightly damaged old rudder of the yacht built in 2002 with a stronger one for the three-week journey across the Atlantic.

The rudder is a yacht's most sensitive component. If the rudder breaks in a collision with flotsam, a sleeping whale, or a drifting container, the boat becomes unmaneuverable. There is no alternative on board. In this situation, a sailor has no other option than to make do like Robinson Crusoe, by constructing an emergency rudder out of boards and a long pole, using parts he might find on board. Everything is allowed to break down. Except for the rudder.

Next to the skipper, Augustin is the second man, who joined the team only a fortnight prior to departure and he knows how to sail. During his studies, he was more interested in the marine flora than the fauna, taught sailing lessons on the side, and later worked for some time as a marine biologist in fishing companies in Africa.

The crossing of the Bay of Biscay already has exhausted the crew of the SMOUSSE and pushed them to their limits. They faced headwinds and, exasperated, toiled for hours on the open sea through squalls and lightning. When they finally reach A Coruña, they are relieved to know that the worst is over. All they need now is a decent wind to take them south along the coast. So, they wait.

That Tuesday, Augustin Drion is on morning watch from 6 to 8 am. He is happy to be by himself on deck. A sunny day is dawning, and only the wind, which had finally been blowing in the right direction since they left yesterday, has gone to sleep again today. The sea is calm this morning. A slight and gentle swell is rocking the boat, while the crew is not quite awake yet.

Around 10 am, dolphins are cavorting around the boat. A whole pod of dolphins is playing all around, the exuberance of their play infecting the crew of four as the Smousse continues southwards towards Lisbon while under engine power. The dolphins effortlessly keep up with the boat, diving down in a frolicking manner, clinging tightly to each other inches away from the fast-moving bow, while showing their artistry as elegant swimmers, effortlessly darting clear of the ship with a tiny flick of the fluke. It's a light-hearted moment for the crew, as it always is when dolphins interact with humans. But as unexpectedly as they came, they are gone again.

Two hours later, Augustin decides to finally go below deck to relax and read. He is not yet below when a brutal bang in the stern shakes the boat. Feeling the boat vibrate, he rushes back on deck to where the skipper is. Augustin now counts five or six shiny black animal bodies circling the boat. He can feel them, each taking turns to ram the rudder or the hull. Though at first Augustin accepts their presence calmly, he and the skipper don't have to think long about deciding what to do. They turn off the engine and instruments, as the Spanish authorities recommend in their safety protocols for encounters with orcas.

But that doesn't help at all. The orcas continue to do what they please to the boat. They grab the rudder, ramming the few inches thick rudder blade which protrudes almost seven feet into the depths. They spin the boat, pushing their heavy heads against the hull. It is no longer possible to keep a straight course under the 230-square-foot sail. The crew retrieves the large sail. Augustin's initial composure gives way to one of frustration at being condemned to stand idle. At least he has time to take a closer look at the orcas and observe them. A smaller one is present among the others, obviously a cub and Augustin wonders where the mother of the little one might be. Not all the orcas next to the boat are adolescents, however, (scientists refer to them as juveniles). He notes that the larger ones are about half the length of the 39-foot sailboat and estimates the others to be 13 feet long. He can sense them tightening their grip and aiming for the rudder. Do they want to disable the yacht from moving three hours from the coast?

Slowly, he is getting anxious about how unwaveringly the orcas fixate on the rudder of the SMOUSSE. The way one orca approaches the boat from astern, takes the rudder in its mouth, and shakes it. How a second one immediately approaches and continues to rattle, moments after the first one has stopped what it is doing and takes a break.

Augustin has experience with large animals, has ridden horses for many years, knows them and grew up with a large Labrador, so he is familiar with their rough romp. But it is also clear to him that what is going on right now cannot be compared to the dolphins' exuberant play, which the crew had enjoyed just a short time before. Maybe it's hope, maybe it's the proverbial whistling past the graveyard when Augustin thinks to himself: "Okay, they'll just mess around here for a few minutes and then they'll be gone."

His hope fades as the short, dust-dry sound of bursting material rings in his ears. If you are on a boat, you are on the move with all your senses so you get nervous when familiar sounds are absent and unfamiliar noises are heard - even if they are harmless in nature. Every unfamiliar crackle, every sound, can be a clue that something might be wrong. A boat is a lesson to investigate everything and anything, even if it is just a small noise. Augustin is alarmed. He and Corentin, the skipper, dash below deck to have a look.

In one of the aft cabins, the two immediately spot the damaged rear hull, water seeping through. When Augustin frantically checks, he discovers a crack at the bottom of the hull. The crack has appeared where the holder of the rudder was previously fixed to the hull. The material is broken and splintered. Augustin and the skipper can only think of one explanation: with the force of a crowbar, the ramming blows to the rudder have broken open the hull below the water line. A 2.6-foot-long crack has opened. Where the rudder had been attached, seawater is now pouring into the boat. The thin skin of fiberglass that separates them from the waves of the Atlantic is badly damaged. They must do something, otherwise, the ship will sink.

But the "crowbar" has not yet finished its work. The orcas continue to work below, constantly tugging, shaking, and pushing at the rudder blade. Their force is transferred to the now loose rudder mount. The leak in the hull increases in size with every tug. The crew is unable to seal the leak close to the flailing construction. The danger of being hit and injured is simply too great. They decide to notify the Maritime Rescue Service and call for help.

Their first distress call is received at 12:05 pm. A video shows that by then the water has already washed over the table and couch in the saloon, while the skipper is standing knee-deep in the water by the radio. Upholstery, floorboards, equipment, kitchen utensils slosh through the salon in the rhythm of the swell, just like in a nightmare. Water is washing over the kitchen counter as if it were a wave.

As long as the crew has a chance, they stay hidden from the orcas on the ship below deck. They know that by the time the coastguard will arrive, the boat will have already sunk. They gather the bare necessities in the cold of the rising water: Documents, drinking water, and food that is still usable. They know that they must leave their boat and that their only option is the life raft. The life raft is nothing more than a small rubber dinghy covered by a canvas. They dread the thought of being adrift in it among adolescent orcas. To delay such a step, they decide to remain on the slowly filling boat. Even a sinking boat, as long as it floats, is the safest place in the middle of the ocean.

The sea is merciful. For whatever reason, the bow of the boat sinks first and lifts the heavy stern out of the water as if it were a seesaw. The four of them thus gain valuable time and as the water keeps rising, they finally make their way to the stern. Finally, well before the sea rescuers arrive, the Swedish skipper of a sailing boat has heard their distress call and rescues the four Frenchmen.

40 minutes after the crew's first distress call, SMOUSSE tilts its bow deeper and deeper into the water and slowly disappears into the waves. A mobile phone snapshot captures her last moments.

Augustin has no memory of when the orcas finally left. He guesses that they moved on when they achieved what they wanted and were carrying a piece of the rudder in their mouth. Or maybe it was the silence on board once the crew retreated inside the sinking boat and kept quiet that made the orcas let them go. He only remembers one thing: when the sea rescuers took them over from the Swedish yacht, they spotted dolphins for the second time that day. Two dolphins were swimming where the SMOUSSE had sunk.

For Augustin and the others, the sinking of their ship is still like a dark nightmare. Did orcas really...