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“YOU CAME DOWN HERE IN THAT? ”
Helen and I looked at each other with that “do they
know something we don’t?” look, quickly followed by the
“maybe we shouldn’t be doing this…” look. But it was too
late. We already had arrived in Ushuaia, the southernmost
port in Argentina, on Beagle Channel, only 75 miles from
legendary Cape Horn.
Helen White, my partner the past 12 years, and I had just
reached the most southerly point on our so-far seven-year
trip around South America. Our little ship and home the
past dozen years is a 1976 DeFever Passagemaker 40, hull
number 10—our Pelagic.
At that time of year in the Southern Hemisphere,
summer was just getting started. The mountains that rise
on both hands still were covered with snow down to
about 200 feet above sea level and the air was a brisk
50–60 degrees most of the time. When the sun was out,
which wasn’t often, it had an intensity seldom experienced
in other parts of the world. It was easy to believe there was
a hole in the ozone when the sun hit you. I could spend
weeks trying to describe the weather in any 24-hour
period. That particular summer was a nasty one. As Hal
Roth shared in Two Against the Horn, the water was flying
through the air much of the time.
Battling The Strait Of Le Maire
The Strait of Le Maire lies between Isla de Los Estados (Staten
Island) and the main body of islands that make up the Cape
Horn group. Gales are almost constant, blowing from west to
east, and strong tides also run from west to east.
Depending on the time of the month and the weather,
there can be up to 8 knots against you in the strait. When
the tide is with you, rips develop with 10–15-foot standing
waves, very close together, overfalling. We had a tip from
a sailboat crew who had done the trip the year before, that if we stayed close to the Tierra del Fuego side of
the channel we could avoid the worst of the
wind and waves. That is what we did.
We spent the night of January 2 in Bahia
Thetis, just north of the entrance to the strait. At
first light, we rounded Cabo San Diego and
entered the Strait of Le Maire, hugging the shore
just feet from the kelp that shows where the
rocks are. Two hundred yards out in the strait,
waves were breaking and we had southwest
wind in the 40–45-knot range with snow
showers mixed with rain. The tide was with us
and in by shore it was fairly calm, so we were
able to make a good 7 knots.
We got through the strait and around Cape
Buen Suceso without any problem. However,
once around the corner the coast runs west-east
and a gale was blowing full force out of the west. We ran into Bahia Valentin for shelter and
anchored in the large roadstead bay protected
from the west but open to the south. I managed
a trip ashore and to my delight found dozens of
round, rubber fenders and floats littering the
rocky beach, cast off by the Antarctic fishing
fleet. I brought eight of the best back to Pelagic
just in time for a wind shift from the south.
We quickly lifted the anchor and beat our way
into a terribly confused sea. Because of all the
kelp in the water, our stabilizers were useless.
As night fell, we headed southwest into the
storm able to make only about 2 or 3 knots.
About 0300, the wind came around to the west
again and we were forced to seek shelter in
Bahia Aguirre, dropping anchor in the bight of
Puerto Español at first light January 4, with good
shelter from the west. We were 65 nautical miles from Cape Horn.
At 1400, after a much-needed rest, we got
under way in bright sunshine and light wind to
steam the remaining 20 nautical miles to the
entrance of Beagle Channel. Ten miles after
coming into the shelter of the large islands that
protect the channel’s entrance from the south,
we anchored at Fondo Moat at 2000, January 5,
in calm weather with complete protection. We
had made it!
I don’t think Helen or I ever have had as good
a sleep as that first night in the Beagle Channel.
All the stress of the two months’ passage south
fell away that night.
The Best Yacht Club Around
We finished the last 60 nautical miles to
Ushuaia January 6. “Strange” best describes the
system for coming and going at the major ports
in the Beagle, thanks to continuing military
tensions between Chile and Argentina. The two
countries almost went to war a few years ago
over some of the islands in the channel. When
coming from Argentina and the Atlantic, boats
must go to Ushuaia to clear for Chile, instead of
going directly to Puerto Williams. This costs the
cruiser 40 miles extra. Boats coming from the
Pacific and Chile must go to Puerto Williams to
check out before going to Ushuaia, again
costing 40 nautical miles.
About every 10 miles or so along this stretch
of the Beagle we passed outposts of the Argentinean
and Chilean navies. Each called us with,
“Please identify yourself,” so we were kept busy
practicing our Spanish with those crews. I think
they are so lonely that when a ship shows up they just want to talk. Both the Chilean and
Argentinean navies are courteous and helpful to
foreign boats and despite the annoying restrictions,
boaters are welcome to go wherever
they can find shelter when the weather turns
bad, no matter what their destination might be.
Ushuaia is a bustling tourist town with one of
the most spectacular settings one could imagine.
It is ringed by snow-capped peaks and forested
valleys. A jump-off point for cruise ships bound
for Antarctica, it has good facilities for large
ships but almost nothing in the way of repair
facilities or materials for small vessels. The
prevailing wind is from the west and Ushuaia’s
harbor offers good protection in that direction.
However, the bay lies fully exposed to the eastsoutheast
and does not have good holding.
Once or twice a month, easterly winds in the
60–70-knot range force anchored vessels to
head 10 nautical miles west into Beagle Channel
to find shelter. That’s not fun.
Like most visiting yachts, we stopped only
long enough to refuel, replenish supplies at
some of the excellent supermarkets and then
check out of Argentina for Puerto Williams,
Chile. We topped off our fuel at the dock and
discovered the price was subsidized to attract
visitors. We paid $1.50 per gallon for diesel and the quality was excellent.
No ferry service exists between Ushuaia and
Puerto Williams, so when travelers want to
make the trip, the port captain advises them to
ask yacht captains for a lift. The “ferry fee” is $50
per person and we took a couple of cyclists
aboard, picking up a quick hundred bucks.
Puerto Williams is primarily a Chilean naval
base with a civilian population of mostly support
personnel for the base. The Yacht Club
there is aboard the sunken supply ship Micalvi.
This club is one of the best we have ever visited.
The old saloon and wheelhouse now serve as a
bar, lounge, library/book-exchange and meeting
rooms, decorated with photos and flags of yachts
from over the ages. Add to this a fireplace and
overstuffed chairs—well, you get the picture.
Winds That Can Knock You Flat
Pelagic was quite an attraction among the
sailboaters at the club—a cruising powerboat
among so many masts. They were seasoned
veterans, most of them on world-rounding
voyages. However, all agreed that the Chilean
channels were the perfect place for a trawler
like ours. Sailing is almost impossible due to
sudden strong gusts, called katabatic winds or
rachas, that can hit at any time. Because of the
high, steep, surrounding mountains, these winds
can and do at times come straight down to
knock you flat. We saw 30-ton sailboats disappear
in an explosion of spume, knocked 90-
degrees flat with the mast in the water. Motoring
is the safest way to get around. Pelagic is good
at doing that with some measure of comfort.
Most recreational trawlers like ours weren’t
insulated at the factory, and with large windows
we had a tough time heating while at anchor.
We had lots of condensation also, due to the
constant rain and snow showers. We have since
added foam insulation and a wood-burning stove to keep the boat dry, as well as doubleglazed
windows.
Risking Death And Destruction Off The Horn
While snugly tied to Micalvi, getting some much
needed rest, our daredevil friends of the sailing
community kept working on us to join them for a
“quick run down and around Cape Horn.”
“Just come as far as Bahia Nassau and see us
off,” they said, referring to the 20-mile stretch of
open water between the Horn islands and the
next set of islands to the north.
So, off we went, three charter sailboats and
our little trawler, back east and out of Beagle
Channel into Paso Picton, then south into Paso
Goree. We spent the night at the southernmost
port in South America, Puerto Toro, a king-crab
fishing port at latitude 55° 05’ S. With two 5-
gallon buckets of crab supplied by local fishermen,
the sailors joined us aboard Pelagic for a
crab meltdown. The next morning, with a good
forecast for the next six hours, we stuck our
bow out into Bahia Nassau. There was light
wind from the west at 5–10 knots and a 2–3-foot
southwest swell, light rain and snow showers.
How could we not go?
Helen and I sat together at the wheel and held
our breath for the next four hours, our excitement
building as we got near to Isla Wollaston,
then Isla Herschel and finally Caleta Maxwell on
Isla Hermite at latitude 55° 50’ S, only 12 nautical
miles from Cape Horn. We rafted with the charter
boats as close to the rocks as was safe, each boat
with two anchors over the bow and three
shorelines astern. Then we waited for dawn.
February 7. Gray sky, low cloud cover, rain
and snow with sleet, wind 15–20 knots, gusting
to 30. At 1000, with the other boats, we took in
the shorelines, picked up our ground tackle and
left the protection of Isla Hermite. The swell was
out of the southwest at 15–18 feet with 3–5 feet
of wind waves on top. With the Cape Horn
current assisting us at about 2 knots, we were
able to make 8 knots across the bottom.
At 1245, as is the custom, we called the Cape
Horn lighthouse keeper with our position.
“Latitude 56° S, longitude 67° 16’ W, directly off
Cape Horn. We wish you a good watch. Good
day from Pelagic.”
We ducked between Isla Herschel and Isla Deceit
and kept on going across Bahia Nassau with the
wind now 35–40 knots from the south. We reached
the safety of Beagle Channel again at daylight, and by
noon were tied up beside Micalvi, safe again in
Puerto Williams. We were lucky.
That night, we had a rounding party in the bar
aboard Micalvi, taking turns boasting about how
we cheated death and destruction at the hands of
Mother Nature off Cape Horn. Not long after, the same charter boats were pinned down for two
weeks in Caleta Maxwell by 80–100-knot winds
and forced to return without getting outside for a
look at the Cape. Yes, we were very lucky.
The Finest Cruising In The World
But through our years of cruising we have
learned from hard lessons and trials and tribulations
while at sea and I believe we were well
prepared for the Cape Horn rounding. Helen
and I have developed trust in our ability to
handle problems that come along.
We know there will be problems and almost
always from an unsuspected source. Trusting
your ability to get out of situations is very
important to this lifestyle. Most vital systems give
plenty of advanced notice something is wrong.
We have learned NEVER to ignore these notices.
What is amazing about what we are doing is the
boat. She is such a wonderful machine that can
take a tremendous amount of punishment and
keep on functioning well. Even when we make
mistakes, she is quick to forgive. We have learned
to trust her to take care of us in the worst seas. All
she asks is that we not push her hard. For every
sea she has a preferred speed. When we find that
speed, we are almost always comfortable, although Helen is subject to mild seasickness so
she crawls onto the bed when waves get too large.
Stabilizers are a wonderful invention.
As summer drew to an end in March, Helen
and I were preparing for the 1,500-mile trip
north through the Chilean channels to Puerto
Montt where we planned to spend the winter.
We no longer gave each other that look when
we heard, “You came down here in that?” In
fact, Cape Horn aside, it had become a mystery
to us why we hadn’t seen any other powerboats
in what is, without a doubt, some of the finest
cruising in the entire world.
I am excited to bring this story to you because
it highlights once again the underlying strength
and ability of a “normal” traditional trawler,
and shows just how much we can accomplish
without million-dollar exotica.
Remote exploration from the comfortable
platform of a modern trawler yacht. There is
sufficient room for long-range fuel stores and
full-time provisions and supplies. And comfort
afloat does make a difference.
These are regular folks out there having the
time of their lives…a marvelous adventure!
What could be better?—BillP.
Reprinted with permission. Copyright 2003 © Dominion Enterprises (888.487.2953) www.passagemaker.com
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