Billionaire limit-pusher can’t be found

Steve Fossett is missing.

And it’s not the first time.

When I was in Australia in 2001 I went sailing with a fella who saved Fossett’s butt on one of his misadventures. Below the cut, you’ll find a story from the Travelin’ Light archives about Fossett’s savior Laurie Piper.

Let’s hope that Fossett has another Laurie Piper in his future.

Floating On
By Kelsey Timmerman

All bubbles burst. It just so happened that Steve Fossett’s burst at 29,000’ above the Coral Sea, 500 miles off the coast of Australia.

Beneath an oblong silver balloon in a space-aged capsule complete with the latest in communications technology, advanced climate control, and autopilot, Fossett tried desperately to ascend above the looming storm. Soon he began losing altitude at 2,500’ a minute and fell into a vicious storm of hail.

“This is it,” Fossett thought, “I’m going to die.”

Not willing to give-up, the record seeking multi-millionaire, attempting to be the first to circumnavigate the globe by balloon, began to drop fuel tanks in order to lighten his load and slow his rapid descent. Lying down on the bench in his 5’x10’ cockpit, he braced for impact as he plummeted from the sky.

Fossett experienced an unscathed splash down, but his survival was still in question. The burners of his balloon had turned onto the capsule and had begun to melt it. The cockpit filled with noxious fumes from the fire and water from the ocean. He escaped with his life raft and activated his emergency locator device.

Meanwhile, Australian native, Laurie Piper, was almost home after five years on the world’s oceans. Unaware of the chaos playing out above in the storm on the horizon, Piper enjoyed the light breeze and clear sky. The Atlanta, a 60-foot schooner built by his own two hands, familiarly creaked beneath his feet with the gentle rolling of the sea. Below in the cabin his ham radio squawked- a distress signal.

Two adventurers lives were about to cross.

The Atlanta was not the first ship to arrive near the location of the crashed balloon, but the only one willing to brave the uncharted reef in the dark. Piper told radio operators, “I am very familiar with the Chesterfield Reef area. There are a few breakers and a few bommies, it is treacherous, but I’ll be okay. I will be heading for open water as soon as I can get him.”

Piper located the adrenaline-fixed Fossett and took him aboard. He calmed his nerves with a warm meal of fish and potatoes, and gave him a place to sleep for the night, before passing him onto the Australian Navy the next morning.

Three years later…

The deck is at a forty-five and I brace myself against the railing. Under full sail, the Atlanta rolls through the gentle seas and throws up a refreshing, salty mist. The other passengers are spread out across the deck, a mix of nationalities and ages. The islands we carve around are lush with long, flat, fine-grained beaches. The Whitsunday Islands are perfect, just like the brochures the booking agents had shown us.

Most of the brochures highlighted sleek racing yachts. It wasn’t until the less glossy, more faded pamphlet featuring the Atlanta, a wooden ship hand-built by its captain and sailed around the world, that fancies were struck and reservations made.

Now, we sail in silence on the Atlanta, a pirate ship that, like its captain, has seen a fair share of storms and sunny days.

One leather hand barely steers the spoked wheel, perfectly catching the wind. Laurie’s face is contoured with countless smiles and frowns; his salty hair is gray, peppered with spices of black.

Later this evening we’ll pile into the tight berth of the Atlanta before dinner and Laurie will tell us stories: how he spent more time with his boat than his wife and how she left him; about his daughter, who began the around the world trip on the Atlanta, only to leave less than halfway through, sick of the solitude, the lifestyle, and her father; finally, about Steve Fossett.

“Steve Fossett can kiss my bloody bum!” The statement seems to be missing an “ARGHH!”

Piper had saved the life of a tycoon and expected some reward. “I risked my boat to get him. I fed him. I gave him a place to sleep. What do I get? Barely a ‘Thanks Mate.’ I haven’t heard a word from him since we saved him.” Some heroes expect a check in the mail or at least a good bit of thanks in the media. Laurie had received neither.

The only one publicly labeled a hero is Fossett. A man many would believe to have more cents in his pocket than in his head and labeled as one of America’s greatest explorers for his record breaking pursuits, Fossett holds records in sailing, flying, and ballooning. He has swum the English Channel, completed the Iron-man in Hawaii, and participated in the Iditarod in Alaska. His expeditions and record breaking quests have been sponsored by corporate giants like Budweiser, Virgin Atlantic, and PlayStation.

Piper is not so lucky.

“Let me tell you why a boat’s better than a woman.” Laurie begins his theory. He’s jovial and entertaining and noticeably practiced at the rant. It’s presumably the same rant delivered on the second night of each three-day cruise, preceded by the same stories with the same jokes. We are on vacation, but he’s at work. “When my boat creaks, complains, and moans, I WANT to listen to her, and better yet, I KNOW what the hell she’s saying.”

During candid moments, Laurie stares out to sea talking of ports yet to be visited. He knows the currents beyond the horizon and he describes the oceans by their temperaments. But soon his gaze returns to the passengers sprawled out on his floating home and the brief twinkle in his eye fades. How many more fares until he can pull up anchor?

Dreams aren’t all good. Some can kill. Others leave us floating alone on their oceans, far from friendly shores and warm embraces.

The sails go limp as we turn into the wind and the boat levels. I’m somewhere lost in thought, trying to foresee and navigate the dangerous reefs of my own dreams. The sails catch and the boat tilts as we set out on a new course.