The story of a man who crossed the Atlantic in 1956 (year I was born, yeah that's how long ago it was) in a standard Klepper double collapsible/folding kayak. If that's not impressive enough, he did it previously in a large dugout canoe! Woah!

And to think that there are some people (No. I am not naming names here!) who actually gets frightened just thinking of getting onto the water with refrain like - "Thanks, but no thanks!" (sigh!)

And yes - "Now, NOT Everyone Can Kayak" like Dr Hannes Lindemann! That's for sure.

Read Paddler's Magazine 2000 issue description of this amazing feat below.

There is also a reprint of Life magazine article on July 22, 1957 of Dr Hannes Lindemann's account at NSW Seakayaker vo.41. Just thought I'll share this interesting bit of kayaking history and its also for those kayakers who thinks that folding kayaks are fragile craft that lacks performance and are not seaworthy. Dr Lindeman's klepper is displayed at the Deutsches Museum in Munich, Germany. BTW, for a change, none of the photos in this article are taken by yours truly and they probably also haven't heard or thought of watermarking them then either!

This is the legendary trip by which all open-water explorers measure themselves. While he wasn’t the first to cross the Atlantic by kayak, Germany’s Hannes Lindemann has gained the greatest notoriety among contemporary paddlers because he published a written record of his epic crossing, Alone at Sea. Lasting over 72 days, from Oct. 20 to Dec. 30, 1956, Lindemann’s crossing defines the modern sea kayak expedition. He traveled between Las Palmas in the Canary Islands and St. Martin’s, the Bahamas, in a 17’1" folding Klepper, the Liberia III.

Lindemann subsisted mostly on evaporated milk, cans of beer, rainwater and the sea life he could spear from his seat. Being a physician helped him anticipate and treat his ailments, and he approached them with mainstream medicine and a sort of pre-New Age philosophy mind training. Nonetheless, Lindemann suffered from atrophy in the legs, skin boils and infections from alternating dry and wet conditions, and sleep deprivation. He had to eat his way through his supplies before he could stretch out comfortably for a reasonable four-hour’s sleep. Ironically, by the time he created enough sleeping room, the weather turned so sour that he had to remain largely awake.

Lindemann made use of a double sail rig and an outrigger constructed of half an automobile tire tube. The journey was surprisingly smooth for the first month, and Lindemann took advantage of the warming trade winds. But in late November things grew tumultuous, and in mid-December he spent a day and a half clinging to the side of his capsized boat. On several occasions, he climbed onto his kayak’s overturned hull, but the air temperature was so much colder, and his drenched wax-cloth attire so un-insulating, that he slipped back into the water to wait out the storm. He confesses that his mantra kept him alive: "West…Never give up, never give up, I’ll make it."

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