This remarkable tale unfolds as Laurent Camprubi finds himself approximately 15 miles off the northwestern coast of Spain, battling the elements while hoisting the mainsail on the 39-foot sailboat Jeanne. In pursuit of qualifying for the Route du Rhum, a 4,077-mile race from Saint-Malo, France, to Guadeloupe in the Caribbean, Camprubi, a solo athlete, maneuvers through a challenging night, tacking and adjusting to guide the vessel to its destination in Cherbourg, France, about 1,050 miles to the northeast.
After over 12 hours of relentless sailing, he decides to take a much-needed break. While a beacon automatically signals his position to Route du Rhum organizers every 15 minutes, the waves communicate their own tumultuous language: screams, whistles, crashes, and roars. Amidst the darkness, Camprubi recognizes the craggy peninsula Cape Finisterre, known as the “end of the world,” though the 6- to 10-foot waves obscure his surroundings in a uniform dark gray.
At 62, Laurent Camprubi, tall and lanky, has been sailing since his 20s and eagerly anticipates tackling the Route du Rhum, which he deems “the Everest of sailing.” As a stylist for a Portugal-based fashion footwear company, Camprubi resides in Marseilles with his partner, Virginie Philip, and their two children, dedicating months to training for the race.
Recognizing the challenge as a test of strength and perseverance, Camprubi, a lifelong cyclist and runner, incorporates weight training to strengthen his core muscles for improved balance in rough seas. On this particular rough night, as he lies in the cockpit for a moment of rest, a crashing wave suddenly slows down the boat. Opening his eyes, Camprubi realizes the unthinkable: he has lost the keel—the crucial weighted fin along the boat’s bottom that maintains its upright position. The Jeanne is now capsizing.
With only 15 seconds to spare before the boat flips over, Laurent Camprubi urges himself to get below deck urgently—his life hangs in the balance. Once below, attempts to close the door are thwarted by rushing water, rendering the task impossible. Violently flipping upside down, the Jeanne now bobs in the waves. Camprubi, thrown to the ceiling, finds himself crouched on what has become his floor. Prescription eyeglasses, along with computers and other electronics, are shattered, their pieces floating in seawater.
Venturing deeper into the boat, Laurent Camprubi retrieves his survival kit before returning to what he deems the safest spot near the door. Nearly 20 minutes after capsizing, he triggers his SOS signal and secures his bright red survival suit. Crafted from waterproof neoprene, it’s a bulky onesie with a hood and attached booties. Aware that adrenaline is currently keeping him warm, Camprubi anticipates the suit becoming his primary defense once the adrenaline subsides while he awaits potential help. In an air bubble, the water, now at 68 degrees, reaches his chest. With determination, he dons the suit, tackling one cramping, chilled leg at a time.
At 8:23 p.m., right after Camprubi activates his emergency beacon containing a radio transmitter and GPS, the Spanish coast guard detects it. This triggers a swift and well-coordinated rescue effort involving two ships, three helicopters, and five divers. In the darkness and perilous conditions, the question looms: How can the lone occupant of the vessel endure such weather, regardless of experience?
At 9:26 p.m., amidst the swirling and tumultuous sea, a helicopter pilot spots something white—the bottom of a sailboat that appears to be missing its keel. The option of securing the vessel with slings and hoisting it onto one of the ships with a crane is dismissed due to the perilous wind conditions and the potential danger it poses to Laurent Camprubi. Moreover, the uncertainty of what’s happening inside the boat adds to the complexity.
A diver is lowered by cable onto the hull, tasked with checking for signs of life. Despite banging on the hull and shouting that help has arrived, the words are lost in the roaring wind.
As Camprubi completes putting on the top part of his survival suit, he hears someone banging on the hull—thump, thump, thump. Attempting to hammer back, his arms get entangled in the sleeves.
“I’m here!” Laurent Camprubi shouts. “I’m here!”
Then, silence. Did his cries reach anyone? Curled up in a corner, he waits, surrounded by rising water. His air bubble has its limits.
Silently repeating, “Help will come. Help will come. Help will come,” a darker thought creeps in: Maybe he’s been abandoned.
To the rescuers’ surprise and relief, they hear the sailor shouting back. However, prioritizing safety, they postpone the rescue until the next morning when calmer seas and daylight prevail. The question looms: Will Camprubi still be alive when they return? Time is not on their side. Exposure or drowning could claim him, but they have no alternative.
That evening, a call from a representative of France’s Ministry of Defense in Marseilles went unanswered by Virginie Philip, as she assumed it was a telemarketer. Retrieving the voicemail 15 minutes later shattered her world, revealing that Laurent Camprubi’s emergency beacon had been triggered.
“Is Laurent OK?” she inquired upon calling back.
“We don’t know,” came the uncertain reply.
Thus, the agonizing wait commenced. Their 12-year-old daughter, Jeanne, stood by her mother, while their 3-month-old son, Paul, slept. Philip reached out to Richard Sautieux, Camprubi’s friend and sailing team manager, for any information. At midnight, an update from the Route du Rhum organizer disclosed that the boat had capsized, involving the Spanish coast guard.
Attempting to quell her panic, Philip focused on projecting calmness for her daughter, who eventually fell asleep. Unable to find rest herself, Philip watched the clock’s hands crawl past 1, then 2, then 3, then 4 a.m. Just past 8 a.m., another call from the Ministry of Defense delivered grim news: The likelihood of finding him alive was nearly zero.
It was time to inform Camprubi’s family. Philip began by calling his brother, who expressed confidence in Camprubi’s tenacity, stating, “He will fight to the end. Trust me, if anyone is going to survive something like this, it’s him.”
On some level, Philip concurred. The man she had shared 14 years with lived boldly and embraced risks, never succumbing to panic when adversity struck. Now, she had no choice but to hold onto faith.
Inside the Jeanne’s cabin, Camprubi is disheartened and fatigued. Water, seeping and spraying, continues to fill the space, diminishing his air bubble. The water mixes with gas from an onboard emergency engine he never had the chance to use. The overpowering smell and stinging gas force him to keep his eyes tightly shut for protection.
Time loses meaning, minutes and hours blending into a disorienting jumble. Perhaps it’s 2 a.m.? He can’t recall the last time he ate or slept. Don’t dwell on that. Focus. Don’t fall asleep.
Aware that the air bubble sustaining him is dwindling, and the water level has risen on his chest, Camprubi grunts as he reaches for safety handles on the hull’s sides. He understands the importance of keeping as much of himself out of the water to avoid hypothermia.
Occasionally, Camprubi attempts to concentrate on listening for any sign that the coast guard hasn’t abandoned him. But as daylight strengthens, there is only silence and serenity.
Thoughts of his life flood his mind—not a life flashing before his eyes, but reflections on what he’ll miss. Conversations with his three adult children from his first marriage. Milestones like Paul saying “Papa” and taking his first steps. Jeanne’s middle school graduation.
At this point, Camprubi has been clutching the handles for hours, and fatigue sets in. He releases them, allowing himself to float on his back with arms and legs sprawled. However, as the water laps over his face, he sputters and regains alertness.
Then, a sound reaches him.
Shortly before 9 a.m., around 13 hours after Camprubi’s boat capsized, two divers approach the Jeanne. With the sea now calmer, their task is to stabilize the boat using three large yellow buoys. The goal is to keep the vessel afloat while deciding on a rescue or salvage operation. Once secured, the divers knock on the hull, not expecting a response. To their disbelief, they hear shouts. Against all odds, amidst the capricious sea and wind that had overturned him, Laurent Camprubi is alive. Diving below the surface to peer into the cabin window, they spot his red booties in motion.
However, wires, jagged fragments, and broken wood and metal obstruct the divers’ access to the cabin door beneath the hull. They embark on the painstaking task of repeatedly diving under to clear a path. The process is slow and perilous, navigating objects that could cut or entangle them. Hour by hour, they persist, collecting and disposing, resurfacing when a bag is full, then submerging once again.
In a pivotal moment, Camprubi recognizes the imperative to stay alive. Yet, he understands that this is not the time to harbor doubts about his rescuers. Positioned above the Sar Gavia, a bright orange, 130-foot tugboat, a helicopter aligns itself for the rescue operation. A diver perched on the sailboat’s hull conveys essential instructions to Camprubi through shouted communication.
It becomes clear to Camprubi that a helicopter won’t hoist the Jeanne due to its fragmented state. Divers won’t shatter the window for extraction – it’s not large enough, and the influx of water would pose a drowning risk. The sole escape route is through the door.
Fatigued and chilled from hours of exposure, Camprubi, aware that survival rested on his shoulders, realized that he had to act swiftly. When the diver opened the door, he would need to swim out rapidly, utilizing every ounce of strength to evade the onrushing seawater poised to trap and drown him. With just one chance at success, the rescue unfolded shortly after noon.
By the door, treading water, Camprubi prepared for the moment of liberation. As the door opened, he moved through it swiftly, propelled by instinct, adrenaline, and the power of his arms and resilient legs. Swimming under the hull, he navigated upward, breaking through the surface six feet above. Gasping for air, he encountered a diver—the same one from the previous night—ready to secure a harness for the helicopter’s hoisting operation.
In a heartfelt reunion, the diver and Camprubi shared a poignant moment. The diver confessed, “I was so afraid you wouldn’t survive the night,” to which Camprubi replied, “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back for me.”
Upon boarding the helicopter bound for a hospital in A Coruña, Spain, Camprubi, visibly fatigued, gasped for breath as his legs buckled. The time was 12:35 p.m., marking more than 16 hours since the Jeanne had capsized. Medical attention awaited to address exposure, hypothermia, and the removal of gasoline from his eyes. Despite losing 15 pounds—entirely muscle—during the ordeal, his sole focus in the helicopter was connecting with Philip. When handed a phone, both were rendered speechless, tears streaming down their faces.