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.