Windhorse Sailing

I don’t intend for it to sound as if the decision to sail solo back up the coast was made due to a few beers. On the contrary, both Gavin and I gave the solo option quite a bit of thought during our camping/climbing trip. It had been, until the Dublin Pub, an unspoken inevitability—it was part of the journey. The beers merely provided me, the student, the courage to tell Gavin, the teacher, that I was ready to go it alone. People ask me if there were ever a time on this journey when I was afraid. Well, saying out loud that I was going to sail alone the 1,200 miles north in winter was the only time. I felt the fear because I questioned whether I could, and never doubted whether I would.

Now, I know in my “mission statement” I claim that we will circumnavigate South America. That was my attempt to subliminally tell everyone that I was going to round Cape Horn. I have done that now and practicality has become an issue. In order to go up the West coast of South America I would need to spend four months inching my way up the Chilean Archipelago under engine power until I got passed the powerful prevailing westerly. Most of my reading tells me that it is a spectacular trip full of earth’s most breathtaking scenery and God’s most interesting creatures. But from my perspective it was a grueling slog, at the bleakest time of the year, by myself. The slog up the East side was no less grueling, but I did it in 11 days.

Gavin helped prepare the boat over the next couple days. On the 15th we went over all systems, electronics, batteries, engine, fuel, food, water and clothing. The air was charged with excitement. Gavin made me lasagna for the trip. Ready made, all I would have to do was heat it. All the while he talked about soloing his boat across the Indian Ocean later this year. The excitement was about meeting a challenge confident that you have inside you what it takes to succeed and you’ll need nothing else. You do it to experience that truth, not to test it.

I thanked my good friend and watched him board the plane on the 16th at 2pm. I then went to the Argentine Prefectura and checked out of the port. Back at the boat I tried to sleep in preparation for pushing off at 3am. I think I recall sleeping only lightly. A you can imagine there was much my mind that kept me from sleep.

At 3am the wind was light and at the perfect angle to take me out. I untied the lines and drifted silently away from the other yachts. Further out of port in the Beagle Channel the wind from behind picked up. I put her nose into the wind and hoisted the main to second reef. Things went smoothly and I expected to be past Chile’s Puerto Williams before first light. The weather forecasts played out, as did my expectations all the way to the Le Maire Straits. I timed things so that I could arrive at the Straits when the tide was flowing north. After a beautiful day with a few beautiful squalls I entered the Straits under clear moonlit skies and building wind. The Prefectura station at Buen Successo wished me “bien viaje.”

It took 25 hours from the time I left the dock to the time I cleared the Straits. Yerba Mate tea and adrenaline kept me at the helm and alert. From this point it was a straight shot north at 20 degrees bearing all the way to Mar Del Plata. However that would be too simple. The wind kept building from the southwest, as did the swell. The forecast was no longer accurate. The winds built to a hefty sustained 35 knots and a swell of about 10 feet. It was big stuff and I was a little too close to the strong currents of the Le Maire Strait to heave to. I rode it out until the next morning and in all spent 40 hours at the helm in bone shattering cold. It was awesome and when I felt safe I heaved to.

Heaving to is the sailing equivalent of “pulling over.” You take in the headsail completely. You set a fully reefed mainsail to one side and point the boat towards the wind. And finally you set the rudder opposite the sail. In essence you stall the boat. The sail wants to fill and when it starts to the rudder steers it back dumping the wind. It forces the boat to drift at a 50 degree angle to the wind and the keel then creates a slick of turbulent water between you and the oncoming waves. In this case I was able to drift at a 1-knot speed with the Falklands current due north as I slept comfortably for six hours.

When I woke, the seas were still fairly large, but the skies had cleared and the worst was over. I turned the boat, put out a bit of headsail and set the wind vane. Down below I prepared my first real meal of the journey - grilled cheese. It felt like a good time to get a weather forecast and send some emails. That would have been ideal if the satellite phone worked. There was no reception. Iridium has since replaced it, but at the time it meant that for the duration of the trip I was incommunicado. I didn’t mind the aloneness of it as much as I worried about not checking in with Elvia or my family. My family didn’t know I was alone so they won’t know. El could handle it as long as didn’t take longer than 14 days, which is how long I estimated the trip to last.

Now it was a race to Mar del Plata. I actively changed sail configurations with the slightest change in the wind. Staysail, storm jib, reef in, reef out, pole out the headsail, whatever would make me go faster. I referred to “The Book of Sail Trim” all day long. In so doing I learned much about Shangri-La. Down wind she is fast and stable. She takes waves remarkable well from all angles. Going to wind she doesn’t point all that well on a port tack. When not fully loaded there is no counter balance to the batteries on the starboard side. As a result she lists to starboard and heels more on a port tack slowing her down.

As I got further north the weather became less severe and variable. I could actually hang out on deck without fear of frost nip. I counted every minute on the nautical chart. The wind never stopped, it just changed directions. Occasional squalls and one storm from the north that made me heave to again for about 12 hours. It wasn’t so big as it was rough. I worried about wear on the rig so I heaved to for a smoother ride. I hated to give up the miles, but it was the prudent thing to do.

With 60 miles to go I thought I could see buildings. It was a mirage. I wasn’t even looking in the right direction. The wind was coming directly from Mar Del Plata. I therefore couldn’t sail to my goal. I had to sail near it and finally I gave up and turned on the motor. It had been 11 days and I wanted to call El. I wanted to sit at a table and have a steak and a beer. I was determined.

The excitement isn’t done. We never replaced the faulty throttle that almost put us into the dock at Deseado. The system we jury-rigged wasn’t holding up. I changed gears manually down below. It’s easy at sea, but I had to figure out how to land at the dock in Mar Del Plata while not steering because I am below switching to neutral. But like I said I was determined. I pulled into the marina at 8pm in the dark and glided into the dock at an angle perfectly between two very expensive yachts. I jumped off and put a quick wrap of a mooring line on the dock cleat and jumped back aboard and bounded down below to take her out of gear. It was a freaking miracle. No damage, no witnesses.

After the fact I can say I am glad I did it, but I won’t be quick to do it again. I am happy that for the rest of the journey home I can look forward to warm weather and visits from good friends, old and new. If anyone feels like it, get your Brazilian visa and come join me. The solo was great, but I need my people.

After rounding the Horn, Gavin, Dirk and I headed back north to the Beagle Channel and Puerto Williams. We anchored for a night in the Wallaston islands at a place called Coletta Martial and made it to Puerto Williams from there some 30 hours later. After a short rest we checked out of Chile and made the six hour trip up the Channel back to Ushuaia and checked back into Argentina. All things considered our rounding went splendidly and took four days altogether. This is a small miracle considering the unpredictability of the weather at the Horn. We could have been pinned down by gales for extended periods of time at either anchorage. As it fell out, we had perfect conditions for a safe
rounding.  Having chosen winter as our season made this a more likely scenario.

According to the guide books, winter is also the most beautiful time of year to cruise the Chilean channels to the west and north of Ushuaia. It would have been a dream to do so, but it wasn’t to be. Dirk could not spare the weeks necessary due to upcoming Medical School exams and Gavin was anxious to return to his yacht, Soairse, and his girlfriend, Jody, both waiting for him in Indonesia. Regardless of far off obligations there was still time celebrate our great achievement, and I must say Ushuaia isn’t a bad place to celebrate.

A city of about 70,000 people Ushuaia is home to a thriving fishing port and a growing seasonal tourist industry. It is the launching point for expeditions and tours to Antarctica as well as growing number of charters going around the Horn. During winter the draw to tourists is the new ski resort at Cerro Castor that Dirk and I took advantage of for a day. I wasn’t excited about skiing, but Dirk rarely gets the chance to see snow much less ride on it so I joined him for the day. I was quite surprised. It is a well developed mountain resort and despite the lack of altitude, it has excellent snow. With all the tourist attractions comes a wide array of international stores and restaurants. It should come as no surprise that we found ourselves to be regulars at a bar called The Dublin Pub.

At this point it gets to be a bit blurry, but a couple days after our return to Ushuaia, Dirk took off for home and Gavin and I had some decisions to make. The first was whether or not we should make the trip up the Channel to the glaciers. We would need at least two weeks to make that trip worthwhile and neither of us wanted to give two weeks. I also had a pressing obligation that was very important to me. I promised I would be home in the States by September 1 well in advance of my brother’s wedding. We ultimately decided that we needed to take advantage of this opportunity. The next day we hired a guide and did on land in four days what we were unable to do by boat.

Our guide, Carlos, took us up into the Cordillera of Tierra Del Fuego national park. We climbed on and under the glaciers of this prehistoric land. The scenery, as best as I can describe it, was unreal. Blue ice lakes in high mountain valleys with the Beagle Channel visible far off in the distance. Carlos our guide promised us the Austral Borealis in the night sky. I think he was full of it. The “southern lights” are rare sight and it’s my guess he knew it was going to snow all three nights. If the “southern lights” appeared we were unable to see them. As far as animals, there were few. Aside from a Zorro Gris (gray fox) that broke into our food bag there was little sign of land bound wildlife. It is a harsh land and I was glad to get back to Shangri-La.

Hiking in the Cordillera of Tierra Del Fuego national Park

In a glacier during our hike.

Back in town, Gavin and I found our way to The Dublin Pub. Our friends Gabby, the bartender, and Marcielo, the owner, distracted us with a copy of their extensive music library and invites to parties after hours. We took full advantage of their hospitalities, but we still had a decision to make. It was my decision, but I needed my friend Gavin’s expert help. Where was I to leave the boat when he leaves and I go home for my brother’s wedding? A big decision and like most big decisions it was made irrevocably in this bar where we found ourselves to be regulars.

The graduations of our discussion are remembered as follows —after two pints of Beagle Channel lager, serious and concentrated conversations; after three, high fives and high praise for each others role in the adventures; four pints gave way to grand ideas; after five pints a gauntlet could be heard hitting the ground. And finally, at six pints, those grand ideas were destiny. Thereafter it is only clear that we made it to the party and had a great time having lifted the burden of making the decision. It was decided that one of us would solo sail Shangri-La 1,200 miles back up the Argentine coast to Mar Del Plata. I wasn’t about to let someone else solo my boat, even if it was Gavin, and even though he wanted to do so. My decision was made and over the next few days the preparations were made. Gavin flew out on August 16. I set sail at 3 am August 17.

Dear Celene,

I recall so often the talks we shared in New York. I would visit your hospital room every evening for our routine of chocolate milk, pizza and prime time reruns. We reminisced about Skytop, school and growing up. We joked about mindless TV, but I remember most vividly how you talked about the future. You mentioned freely how you thought things would be, as we all grew older together. You talked about your art, and you talked about things you would do with your nieces, all with such a smile that no one could have ever suspected the challenges you were facing. Everything you talked about was ambitious and confident. You were then the epitome of hope. You are now the epitome of courage.

When we talked about my future I was eager to put you right in the middle of it, and in many ways there you remain. I never think ‘what would Celene do?’ However, my experience of you shapes the decisions I make. What are the things I want to do with my life? Who will I share my life with? What tempering experiences will prepare me for this future? These are all questions we ask ourselves consciously or subconsciously everyday. Because of you, I decided not to wait for the answers anymore. I decided on a grand experience that would set me apart from the life and the comfort zone I had created. In so doing I would broaden my horizons in every sense of the phrase, opening myself to great love and great ideas. I decided to round Cape Horn under sail. I think you would have recognized the bravery to make such a decision. I hoped our family would appreciate my purpose. And I knew my friends would enjoy the adventure. With that understanding I will do my best to describe to you the day of August 5, 2005 when I left Cape Horn to Port and headed for home.

It’s been almost two months since that day, and while I find it easy to put myself in the memory of that day, I have trouble putting the memory into words. As with most intense feelings, putting it into words makes it something else. Besides, that day was characterized by its silence. A stunned silence we all shared for a large part of the trip. A bit of it was gratitude for shared understanding with Gavin and
Dirk. Most of it was awe for what we had each accomplished to deserve this – Dirk built the boat and Gavin and I sailed it to the Cape.

Outside of that silence we were all focused on the task. I held the tiller for most of the trip ignoring the tension in my shoulders. Dirk and Gavin moved about carefully on the pitching deck manning the radio and the tiny bit of headsail that kept us moving beyond Shangri-La’s theoretical top speed of 9.2 knots. All the while everyone kept an eye on the snow squalls that hit with 60-knot gusts and the waves that I estimated at over 35 feet. Whatever stress or nerves we felt were drowned in the flow of adrenaline that drove us around the Horn and north through a developing low-pressure system to safe anchorage well after dark.

I know that whatever account I ever read of Cape Horn doesn’t do justice to my experience. The skies, the mountains, and the oceans, their descriptions all together are never dramatic enough no matter how poetic their rendering. The skies allow great vistas that are in constant danger of being lost in the violence of squalls that developed so unpredictably in the compression of atmospheric pressure at these latitudes. When the sky clears the Cordillera Darwin, the ice packed southern Patagonian Andes stand above you holding glaciers poised to pour down into the seas. The seas are the mighty Pacific and Atlantic oceans that meet here on the continental shelf. All the accounts that exist can’t help but fail to describe the feeling created by the beauty of this place. It is a beauty intimidated by fear and chased by instincts for survival. In a one day sail from anchorage to anchorage around this 1200-foot pyramid of black rock I received so much more than I came for.

Thank you Celene, for being the example of courage that you are. It is your inspiration that has encouraged me to follow a dream. Now, as I turn for home, I set my thoughts on finally growing up. Inevitably I will take on the responsibilities of a home and God willing a wife and children. But like your spirit I will never grow old. I will never give up my imagination for what lies beyond the horizon. It is my hope to add the color and light to the lives around me that you have added to mine.

Four miles off Cape Horn.

Strong westerlies.

Snow in Ushuaia.

Gavin eyes the next wave.