TIM SEVERIN, explorer and author, finds the pen as mighty as the outboard motor
In 1976, you sailed across the Atlantic in a wooden boat. What possessed you?Well, I had studied the history of exploration at university. I had also written a number of books on the subject. So I felt the time had come to make a practical experiment. I live in west Cork, so the [mythical sixth century] voyage of St Brendan seemed like the logical one to attempt to recreate.
Describe the boat: It was not much more than a scaled-up Kerry currach. It comprised an open frame of ash, over which were stretched 49 oak-tanned ox hides. And, of course, we had two sails.
You were seen off at Dingle by Bishop Eamon Casey. Did you invite him or did he invite himself? Oh, he was invited. As Bishop of Kerry, he was St Brendan's direct spiritual descendant. And let's say, he was the right man for the job. We rowed out of Brandon Creek. But we didn't row much after that. We just didn't have the oar power. There were only five of us on board.
That's one of the mindboggling things about this voyage. At best, you were doing about 10 knots, or 11mph. In a headwind, you were drifting backwards. And yet you crossed the Atlantic.That's absolutely right. We went via the Hebrides, the Faroes and Iceland before landing in Newfoundland. When the headwind was against us, we took down the sails. Luckily, the boat went a lot faster when the sails were up, so the mass was in our favour.
What's most striking about the documentary is the extent to which you were alone out there, bobbing around on an improvised craft, with whales and icebergs lurking in the darkness.Yes. Someone made the point to me that you couldn't undertake quite the same journey today. Because today you'd have satellite phones. You'd have GPS. You'd have a guide boat. What we did was very much of its time.
You'd also probably have a Burger King logo on the mast. Which brings me to my next question, who paid for the expedition?We benefited from a lot of generosity. All of the materials – the leather, the timber, the flax the thread and so on – were donated. The cash expenses were paid for by my publishers. That money was lent to me as an advance. And they got it all back. In fact, the book has never been out of print.
On the back of that success, you went on to complete another half a dozen historical expeditions. Which of them do you have the fondest memories of?The Brendan Voyage was undoubtedly the one that changed my life. The Sinbad Voyage, from Muscat to Canton, was probably the most enjoyable. It was sponsored by the Sultan of Oman and, believe me, when you have a sultan as a sponsor, things are a lot easier. Whenever I needed money, it was given to me. And the Sultan was delighted with the outcome. The vessel is still on public display in Oman.
In recent years, you've turned your attention to historical fiction. How does writing compare to exploring?Bear in mind that all of my expeditions became the subject of non-fiction books. With the exception of the Sinbad voyage, all of those voyages were paid for by the pen or the typewriter. Some of those books were successful, others less so. Switching to fiction, I suppose, was a little like a painter switching from oil to watercolours. It's different, but you work at it.
Your new novel, 'Saxon: The Book of Dreams', is set in the eighth century. When a story is set so far in the past, does an element of fantasy come into it?Yes, I suppose so. When I did a series of books called the Viking trilogy, some of that was quarried from the early Icelandic sagas. Coincidentally, Tolkein drew on the same material when he was writing The Lord of the Rings.
You've spent so much of your life theoretically reconstructing the dim and distant past, do you ever wish you had a time machine to go back and see what it was like for real? I can't say that I have ever considered that question before. But no, I'm quite happy where I am.
Finally, you're in your seventies now. Are your exploring days behind you for good?Well, I'm speaking to you from the base of a cross on a peninsula in Brittany. There is a 50-year-old motorboat waiting for me in the harbour below. We're just waiting for the wind to drop so that we can creep around the rocky coast. Perhaps that answers your question?
Tim Severin’s new novel Saxon: The Book of Dreams is published by Macmillan, £12.99
