Windhorse Sailing

A Southern Ocean Adventure – by Dirk Kotze 

My involvement with sailing began when I was 20 years old, and my parents supported me in buying my first yacht – a 30 year old wooden boat in bad need of repair. That was the first step towards building my dream boat – Shangri la. I had no idea of the magnitude of the task I had set for myself – luckily, because I would never had had the courage to do it otherwise. I sailed and lived on Shangri la for more than three happy years, travelling to some of the worlds most beautiful destinations, and undoubtedly found my Shangri-la (or Utopia) in the process.  

During this time, I decided to specialise in psychiatry, and decided to give up my hedonistic existence to the demands of “real life” – a demanding job and the responsibilities that most of us deal with on a daily basis. Shangri la was tied up to a berth. I no longer had the time she deserved to care for her, but every time I stepped aboard her, her gentle lifting and swaying made reminded me that she was waiting to set sail again, and to realise another dream.  

It was sweet sorrow to pass Shangri la into the care of Luke Henderson. Like I would imagine a father will always have some reservation about giving away his daughter on her wedding day, I could only hope that Luke would look after Shangri la in the way I knew she would preserve him and his crew. It quickly became obvious that she was in good hands. Getting to know Luke and his friends was a privilege. It was his vision of rounding the Horn that gave momentum to what most yachtsmen remains only a fantasy, and I felt honoured to be invited to join Luke and his crew in rounding the Horn – an opportunity that I could not pass up. 

The Atlantic crossing was long, and when the crew arrived in South America, Francis and Stevo, Luke’s original crew, parted to pursue other dreams. Gavin Mc Clurg joined Luke and the two of them sailed the boat to Ushuaia, where I met up with them.  

It was clear that Luke had gotten some salt in his veins since leaving Cape Town. When I got to the boat, the engine was in bits, and there were oily smears all over – boat and crew - Luke invited me aboard without reservation. Gavin, or Mr Fixit, worked his fingers to the bone on the (never ending) maintenance of the yacht before our journey would begin, with a broad smile on his face. 

We set off from Ushuaia just before dark, down the Beagle channel, named after the boat that Darwin sailed on. Snow capped mountains surrounded us, a sight which in itself made my trip worth while. We stopped overnight in Puerto Williams – not a popular holiday destination – but in a beautiful setting. Puerto Toro, our next destination and the most southerly settlement in the world, was a sweet backwater place, with the enthusiastic Naval officer, Vladimir, adding valuable information about the area to that which we gleaned from Steve on yacht Pelagic, moored next to us.  

We set off at 1am, with favourable winds. An early start was required if we wanted to get to our next anchorage during daylight hours – a cove between the Isla Hermite and three rocks lying just off it. We needed to put out two stern lines, securing us to land, and keeping us safe in the event of adverse weather conditions. From here we departed for Paso Goree, across Bahia Nassau, and through Paso Bravo to Maxwell anchorage – so far, no sweat.  

Once there and anchored, we managed to go ashore. Everything that grows there is angled at about 45 degrees and extremely hardy, owing to the prevailing winds. There were lots of birds, but sea life was disappointing, with plenty of kelp, but only the odd limpet and sparse black mussels along the short. I saw no fish, but must admit, with water that cold, I would also have headed north. 

Shangri la and her crew slept soundly that night, and the following morning Gavin cooked up a storm, that would carry us around the horn. The weather prediction was for winds from a favourable direction, but it was going to be breezy. From our safe anchorage, we could see waves and wind chop washing over the rocks, and into the steep cliff faces. A plume of cloud was being whipped off the top of a peak in the distance. My stomach tightened. There was weather out there – and it was only getting stronger. If we did not leave immediately, we would miss a weather window of favourable winds to get back to Ushuaia – so the decision of waiting or going was made for us.  

We retrieved our lines and the anchor, caked in kelp, and set off in the lee of Isla Hermite. Gusts of wind funnelled by the contours of Hermite started hitting us, and as we sailed out of the lee of the island, the waves as well as the wind strength started building. Good charts of the area had been unobtainable, and so an extra vigilant eye needed to be kept.  

We rounded Chanticlear Island and started heading into the Southern Pacific Ocean, so named because it is the quietest ocean. I needed convincing. The sea was building and Shangri la was getting boisterous. Waves were getting big enough for white horses to break on top of them, and in the distance, big, dark squalls filled with rain and snow were passing. We only had a fraction headsail up and were still gliding along at 6-7 knots. 

As we started rounding Isla Hall, the Horn came into clear sight. Now the sea was getting confused and the swells were lifting themselves off the continental shelf. More than once I questioned the wisdom of this trip. I could have been at home, with my slippers on, chatting to my wife or reading a book. White smoky plumes were being whipped off the water. Gavin shouted and pointed to a gust roaring in our direction. We quickly reduced sail and now, almost under bare poles, we were doing 8-9 knots. I was grateful for our accumulated sailing experience. My friend Jimmy Woolf, who helped weld the boat together, once said “two wits are better than one, even if they are both only half” and out here this was certainly the case.  

By now, we were sailing off Cabo de Hornos. Huge waves crashed into the inhospitable shoreline, sending spray tens of meters up into the air. Amazingly to me, and certainly in contrast to how I was feeling, petrels and mollymawks effortlessly glided along the peaks and troughs of the swells, entertaining us and making me aware of just how out of place we were.  

By now we had reached a point of no return. We would struggle to make our way back into the wind from the way we came. We had to round. If the boat failed, we would be crushed on the rocks off the Horn. By now that majestic pyramid of the Horn rose above us, four hundred and twenty four meters high, the sea boiling at her base. I now understood why no sailor who has seen her has ever written lightly about her.  

“We’re in the Atlantic!” shouted Luke. We shook hands, whooped and congratulated each other. We had sailed around the most feared horn in the world. Shangri la had that confident kick in her stern that I have come to love. This is why I don’t have a pair of slippers, I thought to myself.  

Having crossed the 56 degree south meridian, we gybed the handkerchief that we had set on the forestay, and started hearing back in a north easterly direction – homeward bound. Sleet started hammering down on us, but nothing was going to dampen our spirits. We sailed down past the main lighthouse and radioed the crew there. A friendly bunch – even though I could not understand a word they were saying – these voices from terra firma were comforting.  

We decided not to stop at the Horn, due to adverse weather and fading light. This was somewhat disappointing, but I was pleased we all agreed. Enough fun! We headed north, through Paso Mar del Sur, and into Bahia Arquistade. We reached our anchorage at Coleta Martial after beating into driving sleet and snow and rapidly deteriorating visibility. Once anchored, a sweet serenity overcame me. There is nothing quite like a calm, safe anchorage, hot grub and a warm boat to satisfy. With the icy wind whistling through the rigging, and snow falling on the deck, we toasted each other with beer and red wine. We were Horners! No man has been happier.  

I dedicate my trip to the two women I respect most, my wife, Nicky, and my mother, Anne. My gratitude to Luke, Gavin and everybody who has crossed ways with Shangri la. Live The Dream!

Day: 24
Position: 56 degrees south, 67.18 west. Rounding Cape Horn
Weather: Sleet, rain, sun, hail
Wind: 35 knots West, gusting to 55 knots
Seas: 25 feet, South West

I woke up today with a sense of calm that is difficult to explain and impossible to duplicate. Even from our protected anchorage, a bay called Puerto Maxwell, you could hear the winds and snow shrieking all night, whistling at us, reminding us of our day ahead. Our forecast looked positive- winds 25 to 35, gusts to 40, typically conditions I wouldn’t be excited to go sailing in, but for Cape Horn, we couldn’t ask for much better. And really, that’s part of the mystique- it would be a disappointing to round the Horn on a light day. But still, why this sense of calm? I’ve dreamed of rounding the Horn by sail for many years, been plagued by nightmares in the last few weeks that have kept me permanently on edge, the muscles in my neck and back have been jacked up into a ball of knots no massage could ease. Everything, all this work, all this effort, all for this one day. And today I wake up like I’m on valium?

Maybe its because I was setting up for the inevitable anticlimax. Sail two thousand miles to round a desolate rock at the bottom of the world. Ridiculous. Like climbing a mountain, I have tried to focus on the journey, rather than the goal. But I am happy - no, actually ecstatic to report that the Horn has lived up to its grandeur in regal splendor, at least for our small yacht and trio of men. In “The Way of a Ship,” Derek Lundy describes, “the reputation of the Horn as a place of tribulation for seamen is based on a few facts of physical geography that can be expressed in six words: compression, thin water, latitude, ice, mountains.” I’ve read sentences like that in innumerable books so many times it becomes almost blasé. Wind and seas circle the southern oceans unhindered the circumference of the globe except at the Horn, where 2,000 miles of water and waves are compressed through a funnel into 600 between Antarctica and Tierra del Fuego. Seas that thunder in long swells in bottomless depths slam suddenly into “thin” water by a shelf that rises from 4000 meters to less than 50 in under two miles. The massive energy in these giants are further confused and concentrated by the effects of land, creating steep breaking behemoth seas and vicious rogue waves. As for “latitude, ice and mountains,” no description is needed I believe. Mountains create havoc with winds, funneling already strong gales into unpredictable williwas and making forecasting a rather dubious affair. Latitude - we are way the hell down here, and ice - well ice is cold and hard and even with a steel yacht, that’s a battle the ice is going to win.

Leaving the anchorage.

With a hearty breakfast behind us we shipped our two stern lines and anchor and headed on our last journey south through a tiny pass between Isla Hermite and Isla Jerdan. We glimpsed our first view of the Horn some 15 miles distant, a great mountain of steep rock, shrouded in dark clouds and swirling snow. We would be protected from the west for a few miles before gaining open ocean so we unfurled just a bit of headsail and killed the motor, trying to get a feel for the conditions to come. Shangri-la responded in form, accelerating and heeling over in 25 knot winds, but with much more violent gusts that seemed to hit with no warning. We battened down, making our final preparations for the sail, snapping pictures, clapping backs, timid yet thrilled. A half hour later, in open ocean and 30 knots of wind Cape Horn began to come alive. The seas weren’t huge- 25 feet, but in a 36′ yacht, with many breaking in long white plummets of foam, wind-whipping tops completely off others in dense spray, it was very impressive. With Luke at the helm and Dirk trying to figure out how to capture this chaos on film I secured myself onto the aft stanchion and just felt it all come alive. In the troughs of the waves, trails of wind ripped on the surface, a phenomenon only present in gales - over 30 knots, or 40 miles per hour. When the occasion allowed, on the crest of some of the larger rollers I could plainly see the Horn, a magnificent mantel of sheer steep black rock, much larger than I had imagined. From a distance you could see great waves of ocean slamming into her base, sending plumes of water easily over 80 feet, as they had for millennia.

Approaching the Horn.

Shangri-la was in her groove, her crew getting more and more tuned into her surroundings. It was simply glorious. Gusts to 45 knots would try to yank our bow into the wind, forcing us beam on to the seas and making for dangerous broaching conditions. At one point a breaking wave caught our stern and completely flooded the cockpit, slamming into the boat with a heavy thud and throwing us violently to port, the winds reaching 55 knots. Dirk was then at the helm and yelled, “shit I’m scared- this is some serious shit.” And he was right, this was some serious shit but my God it was an awesome sight. I was almost delirious with peace and wonder. The Horn was anything but an anticlimax. In fact it was awesome. Besieged since the beginning of time and yet proud and benevolent. A brief snowstorm would hide her and temporarily rob us of our landmark, only to suddenly appear again in full sunshine. The seas would shift colors as quickly as the clouds were racing by overhead- from black and menacing to huge cascades of white. Dirk commented at one stage that if you took someone totally unaccustomed to the sea and her ways and transported them somehow directly into this situation that they would die from anxiety and fear. And he’s probably dead right. Wind literally screaming through the rigging, a tiny aspect of sail unfurled enough to push us well beyond Shangri-la’s theoretical maximum speed, waves that would roar at us and march on, oblivious of anything so small in their way.

Dirk and big seas.

At some point it occurred to one of us that we were “Horners". We had crossed that infamous line between Pacific and Atlantic at the bottom of the world and successfully run the gauntlet. We hugged each other and laughed, each of us contemplating on what it meant to ourselves, while outwardly enjoying each other’s praise. I’m sure I saw in Luke and Dirk’s eyes the same thing they saw in mine: pride. And a bit of humility. We were all here for different reasons and though we could be proud in our endeavor the sea had been kind, and mesmerizingly beautiful. She had treated us to a magnificent display.

After rounding the Horn.

I got the lighthouse watchman on the VHF and told him that while we had hoped to stop the deteriorating weather and waning daylight hours had collaborated to keep us moving. He wished us well and we promised we’d drink his bottle of wine in good will this night, which we’d brought in hopes of landing. In whiteout conditions we finessed Shangri-la back upwind, in the lee of the Horn and then Isla Herchel through Paso Bravo and into Caleta Martial, a well-protected anchorage just as the last light of day was swallowed by darkness. It had easily been the best sail of my life. After dinner and a glass of the light keeper’s red I went topside to do a last check on our anchor and with snow falling I stopped for just a moment to realize that the sense of calm that had somehow pervaded my being this day was not due to experience, or worse- ignorance, but because for this day I was so acutely aware of the wind and waves and Shangri-la’s hull between them I was completely unaware of almost everything else.

Gavin McClurg, Cape Horn

Day: 23
Position: 55.49 67.30, anchored 15 miles north of Cape Horn
Temperature: 30 F
Weather: Calm and clear

“The true voyage of discovery does not consist in looking for new lands, but in having new eyes.” – Marcel Proust.

Last Friday we entered Ushuaia harbor. From the deck of Shangri-La, the city was an amazing sight. Under the gray sky the city’s lights reflected off the still water giving it the appearance of being larger than it is. Ushuaia is just large enough to have all the things you need and just small enough to welcome all visitors with its charm. I was excited to get on land and take care of all our repairs in a place that had decent facilities. I also looked forward to calling home, getting laundry done, and a hot shower. I was ready to take advantage of all Ushuaia has to offer. However, I wasn’t intoxicated by the city, rather I was intoxicated by how I had arrived there - under sail. There have been many times throughout this voyage from Cape Town, South Africa that I thought of quitting. There were times when I felt that I had bitten off more than I could chew. I felt that things had conspired against me and this simply wasn’t meant to be. Pulling in to Ushuaia was a definitive victory over all those doubts.

Arriving Ushuaia

I think of all it took to get here, the sacrifices, the stress, the logistics, the labor, the imagination, the courage, and the friends…oh, the friends. My family’s support never wavered, but it was my friends who helped me get to here. A positive word or a good idea, the offer of help with technical matters beyond my experience, and much more – throughout this, my friends were always with me.

One such friend is Gavin McClurg. Gavin is here now on Shangri-La. He has had opportunities before to round Cape Horn and for various reasons has never capitalized on one. He chose to join me. For that I am honored. I would never have thought he would have been able to, but it turned out the timing was perfect for him. And so I tell him here now how important he is to this voyage. With all his experience he walks me through the replacing of the alternator regulator and the diagnosis of the problem from the engine alternator, the field wire to the regulator. That is just one of many jobs. The ease with which he attacks the complex issues that a home at sea can present is enviable. I am encouraged by his strength of character and enlightened by his abilities.

Gavin at the helm on a nice day.

Another such friend is Miss Elvia Garcia. Supportive since the inception of this voyage, she has never been offshore, but she has been a most important crew member. Elvia has been a tireless source of information and help. I thank her for always being there as a guide and for her keen and positive insights the many times I was at an impasse. Were it not for her I could not have made it this far.

I thank Gavin and Elvia, my family and all my friends at home and along the way for Giving me the new eyes I sought.

We got all our work done in Ushuaia and picked up Shangri-La’s builder and former owner Dr. Dirk Kotze. With Dirk’s help the work was easy and made easier still by the amperage he added to our already charged excitement. Cape Horn is literally just around the corner.

Wednesday we checked out of Argentina and made our way 30 miles east on the Beagle Channel to Puerto Williams, Chile. Chile controls the archipelago south from here that includes the infamous Cabo De Horno. By mid evening we had safely docked and checked in. All that was left was to rest up before reporting to the office for a cruising permit and setting out towards cape horn. Dirk still jet lagged from the flight in from South Africa retired early and Gavin and I watched a movie before retiring ourselves. Personally I was too excited to think of sleeping, but at this point it is vital to be rested.

Thursday morning we got our Zarpe or permit and left the dock at 10am heading east and then south around isla Navarino to the southern most village in the world Puerto Toro. With favorable NW winds we made the 30-mile trip in 4 hours and were encouraged by the quickly changing weather report to pull in and raft up to a fishing vessel. For a bottle of wine we scored six walking, crawling Centolla. A Centolla is a giant crab, with six legs and two arms each they will feed us three mariners for three days.

Meanwhile the low swept thru and the fishing vessel we were rafted to decided to pull out at 1am. We had planned to leave at 3am, but after this rude awakening sleep would be hard to find again so we set sail as well. We had to navigate through the Gorree channel using GPS and radar being unable to see thru the sleet, snow and darkness. Light, though no sun, came at 8:30 and revealed magnificent snow capped mountains on the islands all around. As well, having left early we were able to sail due south to Paseo Bravo en route to an anchorage in the isla Wollaston group. There are two recommended anchorages. On the east side of the island group is Coletta Martial and on the west side is Isla Maxwell. As we made our way further south, about 60 miles the winds shifted to NW and allowed us to sail a bit more west and make our way into the western and spectacular anchorage of Isla Maxwell.

We are now nestled in for the night in ten meters of water and in the protective lee of the mountains that dominate this archipelago. We will rest some more for tomorrow’s short run around the southern most Isla of the archipelago, Cabo De Horno. The forecast is for 30-40 knot westerly winds and clear skies. The weather here can change as you report it so we will keep an eye on all our weather report sources and hope to make sense of them as we make our decision. Whatever tomorrow brings, I am glad to be with friends and confident in our equipment and abilities.