The Guy Who Kayaked Across the Atlantic Because He Didn't Believe Someone Else Did

In 1953, Dr. Hannes Lindemann, a German doctor who had just settled in Liberia (probably hoping for a peaceful career of writing prescriptions and avoiding mosquito bites), met a fellow physician named Alain Bombard. Now, Bombard had just done something truly insane—he crossed the Atlantic in a 15-foot inflatable boat with nothing but a net, a fish juicer, and what we assume was a deep distrust of safety gear. He claimed he survived on plankton smoothies and fish-squeezings mixed with seawater. Naturally, Hannes, being a sensible man of science, thought, "Yeah, right."

So, like any reasonable person doubting an outrageous story, Hannes decided to do it himself. You know, for science.

In 1955, he crossed the Atlantic in a 25-foot dugout canoe. It took him 65 days and several mental breakdowns, but he made it. Unfortunately, while he figured out how to eat, drink, and not get eaten by a shark, he hadn’t quite nailed the whole staying sane while alone in the middle of the ocean part.

So he tried again.

This time in a kayak. A folding kayak.

The man downsized from dugout canoe to camping chair with a sail. He figured: If I’m going to suffer, I might as well go all in.

In 1956, Lindemann pushed off from the Canary Islands in a 17-foot Klepper kayak—complete with sails and an outrigger that was immediately run over by a pilot boat. Most people would take that as a sign from the universe to maybe try stamp collecting instead. Not Lindemann. He heard his inner voice chanting “I’ll make it, I’ll make it,” and off he went, paddling into legend (and a whole lot of ocean).

The crossing took 72 days, two capsizes, and one existential crisis after being knocked unconscious by 27-foot waves. The first time he flipped, he spent nine hours hanging onto his upside-down kayak in pitch black while the ocean repeatedly tried to kill him. His spirit tried to exit stage left, but his mental training kicked in and shouted: “NOT TODAY!”

Eventually, salt-covered and 54 pounds lighter, he wobbled onto the shores of St. Martin like a victorious, sunburnt scarecrow. Then, because this is Hannes we’re talking about, he climbed right back into the kayak and paddled another 50 hours to St. Thomas—because apparently he just couldn’t get enough of that sweet, sweet suffering.

Lindemann wasn’t doing this for glory. Or fun. Or Instagram likes (which hadn’t been invented yet, but he wouldn’t have cared anyway). He did it to figure out how people could mentally survive extreme situations. He believed if you could train your brain, you could survive just about anything—even being alone in a floating pretzel stick for two and a half months.

His secret? A little thing he called Psycho-Hygiene Training, which is just a fancy way of saying “talk to yourself like your life depends on it.” Because it does.

He repeated affirmations like “I’ll make it,” “Keep going west,” and “Never give up” every day for six months until they were hardwired into his subconscious like an overly motivational GPS.

Later in life, Lindemann would give talks, write books, and become the unofficial guru of chill. Everyone who met him at kayak symposiums didn’t feel starstruck or overwhelmed—they just felt... calm. Like their nervous systems took a deep breath the moment he walked into the room.

He once told someone the most important item he brought on his trip wasn’t a compass or a knife. It was optimism.

That, and possibly the world’s strongest core muscles.

So next time your day feels like a stormy sea and your metaphorical kayak is upside down, just channel your inner Hannes:

Keep going west. Never give up. And maybe don’t juice your fish.