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!