Oryx is a modified KD860, designed by Bernd Kohler. The main alterations I made to the design were to lengthen her from 8.6 metres to 10.0 metres and, of course, to change the rig to a junk. There were many other modifications, so that the completed boat is very different from the standard design.
Oryx’s dimensions are:
LOA 10.0m (33ft)
LOA 10.0m (33ft)
Beam 5.6m (19ft)
Draught 0.6m (2ft)
Sail area
51.5 sq.m (544 sq ft)
The rig has side by side split junk sails. I got the idea from Poppy’s rig, and I am grateful for much help from Slieve McGalliard. Instead of bulging panels I made half wishbooms with the sail loose footed and attached only at the luff and leech to each batten. The jiblets are set on hinged boomlets, again loose footed.
The rig works very well but there is a lot of weather helm when going to windward, even in light winds. I am not sure why this is so, as on paper she should be well balanced. Oryx does not have keels, and the hulls, aided by antivortex panels, are used to prevent leeway. Maybe this changes the usual centre of lateral resistance.
Something will have to be done to correct this, either altering the rig or putting keels on the hulls. When reaching, there is some interference between the sails, but this is a fast point of sail, and the interference can be eliminated by a small change of course. Sailing downwind is wonderful, with the balanced sails making gybing easy and safe in all winds. With the sails ‘wing and wong’, Oryx will almost steer herself.
The self steering is by a pair of Bill Belcher OTG I windvanes, connected to the tillers directly. The windward one is used until the wind is on the beam; and with the wind abaft the beam, both can be used to double the power.They work very well, but close hauled the excessive weather helm makes them struggle a bit. Down wind they work extremely well, steering a very straight course, even with spurts of over 10 knots.
Oryx has one engine in the starboard hull. It is a second hand 18 hp Volvo 2002 saildrive, with a 3 bladed Kiwi prop. It works very well, but being one sided it makes manoeuvring in tight spots very difficult. Top speed is a little over 6 knots.
Electricity is generated by two solar panels (total 120 watts) and a wind generator, and is stored in two 6 volt golf cart batteries, giving 200 amp hours. So far we have rarely been short of electricity. All the lights down below are LED and the tricolour light is also LED.
Sailing instruments are a compass, a barometer, an echo sounder, a small GPS/chart plotter and a combined VHF/AIS set.
The pictures of down below should explain the layout. We cook on a two burner alcohol stove and like it very much, it uses on average 2 litres of alcohol a week. After 30 years of being a pressure paraffin fan I have changed because of the difficulty of obtaining paraffin and the very high cost of spare parts.
The heads is a ‘Natures Head’ composting toilet. It works by separating the urine from the solid waste. The solid container is primed with 6 litres of peat and each time the toilet is used a handle mixes the contents together. The urine container needs emptying every two days and the solid container every month (with two people). There is virtually no smell and it seems to be the best solution to a difficult problem.
The dinghy is a Bolger Nymph, an 8 foot plywood dinghy with a sailing rig, but no outboard.
Oryx took 2 years to build, largely single-handed. I have not added all the invoices together , but she cost a little over £20,000 (my labour being free). She is our cruising home, and is very comfortable at sea and in harbour. As soon as I sort out the weather helm problem, she will be a great boat.
For someone who dislikes motoring it may seem a little perverse to attempt to go a long way up the rivers Paraná and Paraguay, but the prospect of being able to travel 1,000 miles into the centre of a continent without taking the masts down was irresistible. My only source of information was the Admiralty pilot, which suggested that the river was lowest and hence the current least (about 2 knots) in the southern winter.
We spent a month on maintenance in San Isidro, a pleasant suburb of Buenos Aires, tied up in Puerto Pirates, a disused sand barge dock waiting for money to revitalise it: no mooring fees, water from the tap at the bus depot next door and electricity from a dubiously wired shared meter. This unusual arrangement attracts a wide variety of individuals who share an alternative life style. Over 10,000 sailing yachts are to be found in and around Buenos Aires, almost all belonging to one of the many yacht clubs. Traditionally these clubs provide all the moorings and services and consequently there are virtually no commercial marinas or boatyards. In the past, so few foreign yachts visited that many of the clubs were able to give generous hospitality. Now there are too many visitors for the limited berths available and finding a berth is not easy.
Towards the middle of August Carly and I set out in Pelican, a Freedom 33 I have converted to a junk ketch. We had an inauspicious start by running aground trying to get into a fuel dock, barely a mile from San Isidro. After getting off we filled up, not realising how few and far between would be the convenience of alongside refuelling. The first part of the trip is through the delta of the Paraná, a maze of narrow shallow waterways, the banks lined with weekend cottages to which many Portenos escape the summer heat. Regular high speed wooden launches run a bus service among the many islands. The cottages themselves vary enormously, from quite grand to tumbling down. Most have their own docks and the buildings are usually set on piles 2m above the low ground. A small rise in sea levels will make this whole area untenable. We anchored that night in a quiet side arm of the Rio Antonio, 9 km from San Isidro.
The following morning we motored out of the delta and joined the Rio Paraná de Las Palmas, one of the branches of the Paraná and a major shipping channel accessible to deep draught ships as far as Rosario, 350 km up stream. A SW breeze filled in later in the morning and we were able to sail for most of the day, anchoring for the night off the town of Zarate after a respectable run of 70 km. The next day was motoring until the engine overheated late in the afternoon, which forced us to anchor just outside the channel. The fresh water pump impellor had stripped its blades. I had two spare, now one, and only three days into the trip.
Sailing up river on Parana
A couple of days later we arrived off the town of San Pedro, where a narrow channel led to the yacht club marina. It looked small and full so I decided to anchor off. After rowing ashore to the fuel dock we made our number with the gatekeeper who signed us into the club. It was a short walk up the steep bank into town, but, being Sunday, it was very quiet with most of the shops shut. Down in the park however it was much livelier with a Breton dance festival with accompanying asados (barbeques), beer tents and much Breton cake being sold. The next morning I topped up the diesel from the last fuel dock we were to see.
There were more engine problems next day when the bolts holding the raw water pump came lose and later its pulley wheel fell off. It took some time to find the key in the bilge, but I fixed it and we carried on.
Navigation on this part of the river was straightforward as it is well buoyed and we had up-to-date charts on a CD from the Argentine Hydrographic office. We mainly used the C-Map chart plotter and checked it against CD charts. The buoys are numbered by distance in kms from the River Plate so there was little excuse to get lost. The least current was outside the channel in shallow water, with the added advantage of being out of the way from the passing ships. However care is needed to avoid running aground, with a sharp eye constantly kept on the echo sounder.
We soon got into a routine, up at 0700, breakfast and then try to be underway by 0800. It was often pretty cold first thing so we did one-hour stints at the helm, extending them to two hours as the day warmed up. Lunch was had underway and we tried to find an anchorage before 1800 when the sun was starting to set. Each day’s progress depended a great deal on the wind. With a good following breeze we could do 70 kms, with a head wind and motoring that would be halved. It was often a case of sailing for a while until the river rounded a bend and then on with the engine until the wind freed at the next bend. We motored at 1800 to 2000 revs, which seemed a good compromise between fuel economy and distance made good. Refuelling was a real problem, towns were not that frequent and it meant walking quite a distance, with jerry cans, to find a filling station. Parsimony was also involved, not to mention use of the earth’s resources; it’s green to be mean.
The next place was San Nicholas, where a large steel works lay outside the town with several ships unloading iron ore. A narrow cut led off the river past crumbling brick docks and an old passenger steamer. The town was on the top of a steep bank with a very English looking clubhouse at the base. Across the channel behind reed banks could be seen many masts. As we were deciding where to go a dinghy motored out from the club and led us into a tiny docking area next to the clubhouse. There was only just room to turn and we lay diagonally across two berth. When I suggested that we were really too big for the berth, the marinero agreed and said there would be more room in the marina across the channel, but as we were only staying one night it was not worth moving.
The club was founded over 100 years before, for rowing, by British railway engineers, hence the clubhouse architecture. In this lower part of the river towns were relatively close together with grain silos and other installations spaced between them.
Two days north of San Nicholas was Rosario, Argentina’s third largest city. All its commercial wharfs are being revamped into waterside leisure facilities and condominium apartments with a long thin park running the length of the embankment. Prominent is a vast flag flying from a tall flagpole. This marks the battle-ship-size Monument to the Argentine National Flag (complete with museum), which provides insight into the reverence that Argentines hold for their flag.
We continued 7 kms past the city to tie up at the Club de Velas Rosario, which could not have been more welcoming and gave us a free berth for several days. Getting into town was not easy; the excellent bus service works with magnetic cards, which you can only buy in the city centre. The day was fine so we walked both ways along the lovely waterfront park. As Carly had visited Cuba a few years before we had to go and find Che Guevara’s birth place, an apartment building in the city. Grocery shopping and several trips to the filling station took up the rest of our time.
We had been under way for just over a week and were at km 400, a quarter of the way to Asuncion. We had been able to do a fair bit of sailing which meant that the need to refuel was not a big problem. The current had been about 4 kph, which was quite manageable. Provided the engine did not let us down, things looked promising.
On leaving the club we passed under a magnificent new suspension bridge, leaving behind sea going ships with now only barges to be seen. There was some Argentine and even Brazilian barge traffic but it was mostly Paraguayan, the river being their major import and export route. On average two or three barges a day passed each way. They consisted of a pusher tug and up to 15 large barges lashed three abreast. The tugs drew just under 3m, twice our draught. Navigation became more difficult as we were using the one-year-old latest edition of a book of chartlets. The chart plotter still showed the river, but no details or soundings and we were often travelling overland. Buoys were few and far apart. In many places there were low islands and some confusion as to which channel to take.
Although the engine was running fine the raw water pump continued to give problems, until one day its pulley wheel destroyed itself. The engine, a 1982 Yanmar 3GM, was supplied with raw water cooling, but with a heat exchange/fresh water cooling system from new. The temporary solution was to cool directly with river water, fresh but silty. We carried on with this until we got to Santa Fe at km 580. The old docks in the centre of town have been revamped into a shopping mall, a new hotel in an old grain silo and a sailing club, Club Marina Puerto Santa Fe. We hovered outside the rudimentary marina and were waved in to a berth. Once again generous hospitality was given. The immediate problem was to try and repair the water pump. My enquiries in bad Spanish were simplified when Augusto, a club member, was called over. He spoke excellent English and soon everything was organised. I fetched the pump and we drove off to an engineer, who could fix it but needed some parts. Back in the car we drove round to several shops and I guarded the car while Augusto bought the parts. The engineer said it would be ready by 1800. Augusto refused to take any money, but said ‘My friend runs the local TV station, would you do an interview for them?’ I thought my atrocious Spanish the perfect excuse to decline. ‘No problem, my daughter studies English at university and will translate for you.’ The pump was ready on time and seemed to work fine and the TV station seemed happy with the interview.
We carried on north but within two days the pump packed up again and it was back to river water cooling. La Paz looked an interesting place to stop but the current ran strongly past the town, there appeared to be nowhere safely to tie up and the river was much too deep to anchor. A few kms further on we ran into a shallow patch and could not find the channel. We crept forward with the echo sounder showing less than 2m depth. We wished for a barge to pass and show us the channel. Eventually the water deepened and some buoys were spotted in another branch of the river. A new channel had been formed taking a completely different route, which we should have turned onto several kms downstream of La Paz.
The next small town was Bella Vista at km 1060. We had a fresh following wind but we needed food and more importantly diesel. We anchored for the night off the town but the wind against current soon had us dragging into mid channel, necessitating re-anchoring in the lee of a sand bank across the river. The next morning the wind had eased so we anchored off the town again before going ashore. The first call was to the Prefectura (coastguard). The paperwork took nearly two hours. When we were eventually ushered into El Jefe’s office he more than made up for the frustration of waiting when he offered a photocopy of the latest changes to the channel ahead. Bella Vista is a pleasant sleepy riverside town, but it was a long walk out to the highway to get diesel. On returning to Pelican we found her slowly dragging back into midstream: time to leave.
Most nights we anchored outside the channel in shallows, choosing a bend in the river to get shelter from any fresh wind blowing. The barges kept going 24 hours using spotlights and doubtless a GPS track. We had got far enough north that the temperatures were getting pleasant. The scenery was nearly all rural but fairly flat land each side so not too much to see except trees and reeds on the banks. There was the occasional Estancia and often fishing camps with the fisherman tending bait lines from small rowing boats, hoping to catch catfish.
At km 1200 we came to Corrientes, nearly as far up the Paraná as we would go before turning onto the Rio Paraguay. A huge suspension bridge crosses the river linking the cities of Resistencia and Corrientes. As we passed under the bridge an old wooden motor cruiser joined us watching Pelican sailing wing and wong in the following breeze. They enquired if we were stopping in Corrientes; if so then we must stay at their club. That’s how we found ourselves on a mooring off the Club de Regattas and made a new friend in Fortuno. As well as the motorboat, which he was restoring, he had a fast looking 26-foot racing yacht. Fortuno was keen for us to stay in Corrientes for a month and join their regatta to Formosa and back. We did not have the time to do this but agreed to join in the race back on our way down from Asuncion.
During the few days we spent at Corrientes the river level was rising and the current increased noticeably, but we had been assured that it was all due to the Rio Paraná and there should be no problem on the Rio Paraguay. We struggled against the strong current and at the end of the day had to anchor just short of the confluence of the two rivers. The next morning we entered the Rio Paraguay at km1240, Argentina on the western bank and Paraguay on the eastern. The current decreased to about 3kph, the lowest we had experienced. The character of the river also changed, it being much narrower and a single channel with no islands.
The bridge at CorrientesAnchored off the presidential palace – Asuncion
The first settlement to be seen on the Paraguay side was Humaita, and prominent was the ruins of a church. This had been destroyed in the 1860s by canon fire in Paraguay’s disastrous War of the Triple Alliance, when it fought itself to a standstill over six years against the combined forces of Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay. By the end it had lost nearly half its territory and population with women outnumbering men three to one; it remains South America’s bloodiest conflict.
A couple of days later we anchored off the village of Cano, opposite the Paraguayan town of Pillar. A Prefectura boat came alongside and said we should anchor off the Prefectura building, it was much safer. This was not a request but an order, politely put. I went ashore with the ship’s papers and was given the advice that it would be dangerous to anchor anywhere for the next 60 kms due to drug smuggling activities. We would not have been able to do 60 kms on the Paraná in daylight, but with reduced current and a provident fair wind made our best day’s run, 70 kms before dark.
Our goal was now in sight and a couple of days of good wind brought us quickly up the river. On the Paraguay side there were extensive barge docks as we approached Asuncion. We cleared out of Argentina at Puerto Pilcomayo and crossed the river to Puerto Enramada to clear into Paraguay. Close by was the Hotel Marina Yacht Y Golf, recommended by Fortuno, It is in a small lagoon next to the port but we could not find any channel deep enough for us to get in. Instead we headed upriver to the Bahia de Asuncion, another lagoon off the city centre, where we anchored off the Presidential palace. We had taken 44 days to do 1600 kms and had used the engine for 152 hours, having sailed nearly two thirds of the way, much more than we could have hoped for.
We stayed a week in Asuncion and then Carly caught the bus down to Buenos Aires to meet her daughter Irene. 44 days by boat, 20 hours by road. Carly and Irene spent a week seeing the sights and then took a bus up to Formosa and to meet me.
What a pleasure it was going downstream; if there was any wind the engine was not needed as even short tacking gave good speed over the ground. The navigation was much simpler as I had made notes on the charts and also taken GPS waypoints for the tricky bits. A highlight one day was to see a flock of flamingos, all coral and black, pass overhead.
Carly and Irene’s arrival coincided with the start of the race back to Corrientes. The start was at 0800 and needed to be early because we had 120 km to sail to get through the ‘bad lands’ to Cano. Fortuno’s launch was the committee boat and had a problem with a rope around the propeller. By 0900 I felt we could wait no longer as we needed to get in before dark. so we retired from the race and set off at great speed downwind. We arrived by 1730 and anchored off the Prefectura. The first of the other boats came in well after sunset. The Sunday race was in two parts, down to Humaita first and then on to Paso de La Patria, at the confluence with the Rio Paraná. It was a beat and we were doing all right against the smaller racier boats when the Star class entry lost her mast. We dropped our sails and went to assist, but could only stand by as she drifted into the shallows. A centre boarder then went to the rescue and towed her off. They indicated that our help was not needed, but by this time it was too late to get to the start of the second race without the engine, so we retired again.
The passing of a cold front, with a gale force line squall, marred the second race. It was impossible to short tack against the wind and the vertical waves and under engine we hardly moved, but motor sailing with deep reefs proved the most effective. This was Irene’s first sailing experience and Carly was concerned she would not like rough weather, but she was clearly enjoying the exciting sail with spray flying. We anchored at sunset a few kms short of Paso de La Patria and missed the Sunday race back to Corrientes. At the prize giving that afternoon Pelican was not missed out, despite not finishing one race, true Argentine hospitality.
We all wanted to visit Iguazu Falls, and while still far away, Corrientes was the closest we would be. I asked Fortuno ‘Could we leave Pelican on a mooring off the club for a few days?’ He replied ‘No, it is too dangerous being exposed to north winds, but no problem I will arrange a berth for you at the small boatyard, across the river, where I keep the motorboat.’ This he did, then drove us to the bus station. Irene flew from Iguazu back to BA to catch her flight home. Carly and I returned to Pelican by bus.
The journey south was quick, usually making 100 kms a day and on one occasion 150. We stopped at the city of Paraná, about half way down, for a day, but otherwise kept going with good sailing on most days. The journey ended where it had started, at Puerto Pirate, at the end of October. The unexpected bonus had been how much of the time we were able to sail, the only disappointment how little wildlife we saw.
China Moon was designed and built as a seaworthy ocean cruising home for short handed sailing. The unusual double junk rig provides for safe and easy handling. Sails can be hoisted and reefed from inside the cuddy without getting wet. Hinged carbon fibre battens give the sail a good shape. As well as her superb off wind performance she also sails well to windward and tacks easily,
Construction is marine grade Okume plywood. Epoxy and glass sheathed on the outside and epoxy coated on the inside. The hull, deck and cabins are foam insulated with an inner skin of plywood. This keeps China Moon cool in the tropics and warm and dry in cold weather. All windows, hatches and bubbles are double glazed.
China Moon has low aspect ratio keels with thick fibreglass base to enable her to dry out on uneven bottoms. The keels also protect the hulls from damage. The rudders are skeg hung and semi balanced.
China Moon was built in South Africa in 2003 and has since cruised to Brazil, Argentina, Patagonia, Magellan Straights, Beagle channel, Cape Horn, Antarctic, South Georgia and across the Southern ocean to Cape Town. China Moon has sailed up to the Chesapeake via Brazil, Caribbean and Bermuda. Recently across the Tasman Sea to New Zealand. Very seaworthy ocean cruising home.
Pete received the Inaugural Jester Medal, which is awarded by the Ocean Cruising Club, at their discretion, for an outstanding contribution to the art of singlehanded sailing.
Whilst browsing through a Classic Boat magazine in a supermarket in Bermuda, I came across an article about the Jester Challenge to be held the next year. This fired my imagination and I decided I would if at all possible try to enter. The first obstacle was my 38-foot catamaran, China Moon, which fell a long way outside the 30-foot limit. I had been contemplating getting a smaller boat and here was the perfect reason to do something about it.
I sailed to Annapolis on Chesapeake Bay, put China Moon with a broker and looked for a suitable boat for the Challenge.Fortunately older boats under 30 feet could be had for giveaway prices and I soon found a Dufour 27. I then set about a complete refit, which included building a junk rig. The plan was to sail her over to England in the early spring in time for the start.
In October a prospective buyer for China Moon came along with the rider that the boat be delivered to his mooring on the Tamar River, in Tasmania. The offer and the voyage sounded attractive and the deal was done. I would have to leave directly to get across the North Atlantic before the winter gales set in and it looked as though I would not be able to enter the Jester Challenge, as there was no time to finish the refit and sail the Dufour to the start. I then realised that I was losing the plot. Perhaps if I bought a suitable boat in England and was able to get China Moon to Tasmania by Easter, I would stand a chance of making it. I emailed my friend Robin Blain of Sunbird Yachts and asked if he had a suitable boat on his books (junk-rigged and cheap). The morning I set out for Australia I agreed to buy Shanti, a junk-rigged Kingfisher 22.
I sailed single-handed to Brazil and had a very rough passage. I spent a month repairing damage and waiting for Simon, the new owner, to join me for the next leg direct to Tasmania. As well as my deadline, Simon had to be back at work immediately after Easter, otherwise there would be several painful un-anaesthetised operations being performed. That passage, south of Cape of Good Hope and through the roaring forties was not without incident. We arrived just one day late.
A few days later I flew to England to get Shanti ready for the race. She had not been sailed for several years but was basically in good condition. After a very hectic two weeks, blessed with good weather and the help of Robin and Mandy Blain, Shanti was launched at Topsham on the Exe. I spent four days anchored off the Turf Hotel watching low clouds scudding overhead. This scotched any hope of doing the recommended 500-mile shakedown cruise. We did have a stiff beat to Falmouth against a F6, which found some deficiencies in Shanti’s waterproofness, and arrived at Plymouth with several days to spare.
A small gathering of fellow competitors assembled at Queen Anne’s Battery marina. It was comforting to see that most of the other boats were also busy with last minute jobs. Several of the expected boats had not arrived and rumour and speculation were rife. Would Jester make it to the start despite losing her mast a few days previously? How had Anthony Darrall-Rew’s Greya sunk on the way to Plymouth from Ireland (thankfully only a rumour)?
At 12 o’clock on Saturday 3 June nine sailors set out for Newport, Rhode Island. Jester was at the start, tied to Black Velvet’s stern and hastily rigging the newly-stepped mast. She did not leave until several hours later. The wind was a light westerly which got lighter as the afternoon wore on. The following dawn found us off the Lizard, all but becalmed. Roger Taylor’s junk rigged Corribee Ming Ming was nearby. For the next 36 hours we ghosted in sight of each other until a nice easterly filled in and Ming Ming disappeared heading further north.
Before the start there was much discussion about which route to take. Most seemed to favour the northern route, pioneered by Blondie Hasler, but my own preference was to sail through the Azores and hopefully avoid the gales. When you are becalmed a gale often seems preferable, but not in a 22-footer. Of course the actual wind encountered in the first few days plays a major factor in determining the actual course taken. The fortunate easterly meant that I headed for the Azores. A week out and I had the worst weather of the whole voyage. A southwesterly F6-7 had Shanti reefed down to the top two panels and I was trying to decide which was the least bad tack, but within 12 hours the wind had eased off.
Two weeks out and the island of San Miguel was close abeam to port, but hidden in cloud. I was making an unexpectedly fast passage with several days of fair winds and a best day’s run of 133 miles. For the next 12 days the wind swung round into the east and we had perfect conditions, sunny and averaging four to five knots, with the Hasler self-steering doing all the work. Once down to 33N 44W we started heading directly toward the finish. By the end of the fourth week we had come 2,600 miles. My optimism was soaring and I was contemplating finishing in another 10 days.
That’s when I lost the wind and it never really came back. It was often calm in the middle of the day, unbearably hot below and with virtually no shade on deck. Shanti was surprisingly good at ghosting along in almost no wind and we usually made at least 50 miles a day. I had a cheap plastic sextant for the navigation (not a joy to use) and also a handheld GPS which I used as we neared the coast of America. A combination of fog and strong tidal currents would have made the approach to Newport very nerve-racking without it.
The shores of Rhode Island appeared out of the haze on the forty- fourth day. The sea breeze filled in and Shanti quickly sailed the final few miles to the finish off the Castle light, which we passed shortly before 1900 that evening. As we sailed towards Newport we were surrounded by yachts enjoying an evening sail, not one of which would have suspected that the little yellow boat had just crossed the Atlantic.
Waiting for me in harbour was my shipmate, Shirley. I surprised her as I rounded up under Speedwell’s stern and then she surprised me by saying that I was the second boat in. It was good to be there, particularly when a tropical storm passed close by a few days later.
The Founder’s Cup by RCC was awarded for this cruise.
After the previous year’s disaster at Staten Island, China Moon retreated to Brazil where I built stronger rudders and a cuddy at the forward end of the cockpit to give much needed shelter. In November I sailed singlehanded back down to Argentina and spent Christmas on Staten Island. Recovering my lost anchor seemed impossible so I carried on to Ushuaia to provision and prepare for a cruise to the Antarctic.
Once cleared into Chile I sailed down to Isla Lennox, north of Cape Horn. The stiff southwest wind died out overnight and I left the next morning, Friday 23 January, with a moderate northerly headed towards Elephant Island in the South Shetlands. It was 525 miles across the notorious Drake Passage. The wind slowly went round to the northeast and by Saturday lunchtime we had done 118 miles. It was overcast and raining as the wind eased to a northerly F2 on the Sunday and then picked up again to northeast F6, with more rain. By Monday morning we had crossed the Antarctic convergence. It was a lot colder and I lit the diesel range. It was quite misty, with visibility down to half a mile. Monday evening we crossed 60°S and Tuesday lunchtime I spotted the first iceberg. The visibility was now about a mile and it was blowing F6 from the west. The wind eased and it cleared. I sighted Elephant Island a couple of hours later as a pod of four killer whales swam past quite close.
The wind then disappeared before becoming east F3. Emma Cove, with good shelter from the east, was not too far away so I headed there. I got the anchor down at 2000, pleased to have had such a painless crossing. Emma Cove is surrounded by black scree cliffs and is rather a forbidding place. As I went to bed it was sleeting with a bit of swell rolling in. The next morning the wind had shifted to the west and was blowing into the cove, but not too strongly. I managed to get ashore but with the swell it was not easy and as the water temperature was 0°C it was no place to go for a swim.
On leaving, the engine was cold and very difficult to start. From then on I tried to start it every eight hours, which solved the problem. I went north and had an exciting run along the coast, heading east. The wind picked up to F6; there were patches of thick fog and many icebergs and growlers to avoid. The fog cleared as we went past Point Wild (where the Endurance survivors waited for Shackleton). I had hoped to anchor there but it was too windy. The fog then came down until we rounded Cape Valentine. In the lee of the island the wind switched off and I was back in sunshine. By this time it was about 1800 and I motored in to find an anchorage. It was shallow enough but there was far too much ice from the glacier to anchor. The alternative was to go down to Cape Lookout, the southern end of the island. The wind soon came back, F5 on the nose. It was a bumpy ride, then the self-steering trim-tab jumped off the rudder, despite the split pin holding it on. I turned back but lost sight of it in the waves and never saw it again. A bit of a calamity. I hove-to for three hours in the dark and got a little sleep. I was underway again at 0300, but the wind died and I motored in and anchored just north of Cape Lookout, off a small glacier. It had been a long day but as it was calm it seemed a good time to go ashore. There was too much swell on the beach but I managed to surf over the terminal moraine and landed in the lagoon. I spotted a less hairy route to go out again. It was a beautiful sunny morning and Clarence Island was clearly visible to the east. In the afternoon a cruise ship came to Cape Lookout and Zodiac’d the tourists ashore. One of the boats came over and asked if I needed anything but, as there was no woman who wanted to join me and there was nothing else I was short of, they zoomed off again.
The next morning I anchored in the cove at Cape Lookout. What a wonderful place it was, with a large chinstrap penguin colony as well as elephant and fur seals. It would have been nice to spend the day there but the wind picked up from the east, blowing straight in. The anchorage was quite tight so I left while I could. I headed down to Gibbs Island and discovered a beautiful little bay on the south side, close to The Spit, with a very large chinstrap colony. On a grounded bergy bit two leopard seals were sleeping off their penguin lunch. By the time I had been ashore it was 1900. I was very tempted to stay for the night but there was a lot of ice close offshore and I was afraid I might get trapped if the wind turned onshore, so I headed off for King George Island. We were sailing closehauled and, as a temporary measure, I connected the wind vane directly to the whipstaff, which worked well enough. I carried on sailing overnight, reefed right down and going slowly. Once away from Gibbs Island the ice was very scattered, but it was foggy and I kept a constant lookout from the perspex bubble. A beam wind picked up at dawn then went light and ahead. I eventually motored the last few miles to anchor northeast of Penguin Island, a small island close to the south coast of King George Island.
When I woke the next day I found I had par-boiled the side of my foot on the hot water bottle, producing a large blister. I had a hobble ashore but had to move over to Penguin Island in the evening as the wind shifted and brought a lot of ice into the anchorage. The next morning I walked along a well-worn tourist trail up to the crater. As well as a chinstrap colony there were also giant petrels and skuas nesting. I sailed across King George Bay to a likely looking anchorage and worked my way in through the rocks to a nice pool with plenty of wildlife ashore. I wasn’t quite sure where I was as I did not have a very good chart and after walking around for a short while I spotted a sign saying I wasn’t allowed there. So I left and anchored a couple of miles away. I had hardly got the anchor down when strong gusts started coming off the cliffs. As the glass was going down it seemed prudent to find better shelter. While I was getting the anchor up, a williwaw hit and the bow roller broke. I managed to transfer the chain to the port roller and eventually got away after quite a struggle. It was now about 1700 and the nearest place was Admiralty Sound, but it had so much ice in it that I carried on to Potter Cove at the west end of the island. After a hard beat, I eventually got the anchor down at 2330, just before it was really dark.
There is an Argentine base here and a navy tug was anchored in the cove. Some people from the base went past in a Zodiac and then came by later and gave me three ice fish, which were excellent. In the afternoon the wind turned into the east so I moved to anchor off the base. Ice came streaming past but I was out of the worst of it. The weather continued unsettled so I stayed put the next day and was offered a shower. Then it blew a gale but the anchor never budged, although the tug was having some problems and had to re-anchor a couple of times. The front came through the next afternoon and the wind eased off.
Argentine Base, Half Moon Island, 2004
I had a very good sail to Robert Island in bright sunshine and anchored in Coppermine Cove at about 1800. There was a small Chilean base there and, as several people came down to the beach, I thought I had better go ashore to see them. There were three scientists studying plants, the base commander and a maintenance man. I was invited u p for some coffee and shown around. They had been coming each summer for several years but had never had a visit from a yacht before. I then spotted a large bergy bit heading for China Moon and dashed off. By the time I got aboard it had just missed straddling the bows.
The next morning the glass dropped again and I was concerned that the freshening northerly wind would shift west, so I moved seven miles to Iquique Cove on the north side of Greenwich Island. A Chilean naval base, it was here that Bob Shepton built a jury rig to get back to the Falklands. It is a really narrow entrance with several rocky shoals to dodge. After entering the mouth of the cove I ran out of water. I backed up and then spotted a leading mark and followed that. As I came round the corner there was a welcoming committee waiting on the jetty. They waved me over to pick up a buoy. They were obviously expecting me to come ashore straight away, so I hurriedly sorted out the mooring ropes and rowed in. I was ushered straight into the building, given a cup of coffee and sat in front of the satellite TV watching Manchester United play Everton. After a tour and lunch several people came out to China Moon. In the evening we went by Zodiac to the Ecuadorian base, just around the corner. Their HF radio was broken and Max, the electronics wizard, fixed it. They were very pleased to be able to speak to their families again. A tour of the base and then an impromptu party started, with the wine flowing freely. Unfortunately, in the festivities, someone stood on my foot, right on the scalded spot. It was sore before but that finished it off and it gave me trouble for the rest of the trip. As we left I was given a care package of goodies. What nice people! The ride back was exciting in the dark, dodging ice at high speed.
It blew a gale from the northeast the next day but I got away on Monday 5 February. I originally intended to go to Yankee Harbour, on the south side of Greenwich Island, but the wind picked up to F7 on the nose and Half Moon Bay was closer. The problem with the South Shetlands is that the good anchorages usually have a base. The people are invariably friendly, I enjoyed the visits and it would be rude and churlish to ignore them, but it’s not what I went there for. As I anchored two people came down from the Argentine naval base. It was too windy to get ashore then, but I went later when the wind dropped. There was no one around so I knocked on the door. They were eating their meal but I was immediately sat down with a glass of wine and the cook jumped up and made me steak, egg and chips. I was shown a room where they expected me to sleep and seemed disappointed when I said I had to return to China Moon. As I left they handed me a bin bag of food.
The next morning was fine and sunny and I walked around to a large chinstrap colony. I called in at the base to say goodbye and gave them a bottle of rum, but they were not to be outdone and gave me another bag of goodies. When I protested they said they would be leaving soon and it would otherwise be wasted. I slowly tacked out in a light wind but when I got around the corner of Livingston Island the wind got up to southwest F6 and I beat into rough seas to Deception Island. I arrived the next morning, with the wind stronger and gusting. I thought Neptune’s Bellows, at the entrance to the crater, might live up to its name and anchored in the lee of the island, by Baily Head.
Cape Lookout, Elephant Island
The cliffs here were black but it was only a layer of cinders on top of the ice. After going ashore I went round and entered the crater, anchoring in Whalers Bay. Two cruise ships had called there the day before but I was lucky and had the place to myself. Ashore there were the remains of the British Antarctic Survey base and the old whaling station. I looked around for a hot spring to have a bath but the only place where the water was warm enough was too shallow.
I decided not to go any further south as I thought I would be pushing my luck with more ice and longer nights. Instead of returning to Chile I would go east and on to South Africa. The holding in the bay is said to be poor so rather than worry about dragging, I decided to make use of the southwest wind and set off after supper. I had a zarpe to return to Puerto Williams so I had to go back to King George Island to clear out of Chile. I had a quick run overnight with enough light from the moon but in the morning there was thick fog in Maxwell Bay, which made the entrance interesting. I got my passport stamped and left the next morning, St Valentine’s Day, for the South Orkney Islands.
That night I had to stop for about five hours of darkness. I dropped the sails and lay ahull and had a sleep, waking every half-hour to check that I hadn’t drifted close to any ice. The next evening the ice was getting thicker and I stopped near a large tabular berg then set off again in mist with hail showers, hand-steering China Moon to dodge ice. It soon became similar to Space Invaders with ice popping up everywhere. Two bows increased the skill level and many pieces passed between the hulls. I also lost a few games. By lunch time the visibility had improved but there was a continuous line of white ahead. I retraced my steps and after passing a very large berg, five miles long, I could turn east again. I stopped at 2130, lay ahull and after 18 hours at the helm, I went below. I was now just over 100 miles from the South Orkneys. At 0330 there was a very light wind and before long it was flat calm. I started motoring. The ice got progressively thicker until I had to weave around the bergs. The wind returned at about 1000 with a southerly F4. I realized I was at the edge of the pack ice. It was very unusual for it to be so far north in February. I stopped again just before 2100 near the edge of the pack, another long day at the helm.
I got going again at 0400 and headed east for three and a half hours before coming up against the pack and turning north. Fortunately the wind was F3 from the south, but it was snowing. By lunchtime the weather improved and it looked clear to the east so I had another go. An hour later I came to the pack again and it stretched north. I was only 55 miles from the islands, but already north of them. I then gave up, thinking that the pack was right around the islands, and bore away for South Georgia. I spent the rest of the day until late in the afternoon with the pack in sight to the east. In the evening the wind picked up to southwest F6. The self-steering was working but I was on deck looking for ice. We were doing 7 to 10 knots and for half an hour two 60-foot fin whales kept me company, blowing close alongside. This was the high point of the trip, bowling along with two huge whales and finally clear of the pack.
It took another five days to get to South Georgia. As I went northeast the ice thinned out, but the day before I arrived it started increasing again. When I got to the 100-fathom line there were lots of bergs about and I had to hand steer. Stewart Strait, at the west end of the island, was really thick with ice and I was weaving my way in-between it. Two enormous bergs were aground south of the island; together they were larger than South Georgia (which is 120 miles long) and they were producing all this ice. Once through the strait the ice thinned out. I anchored in Elsehull on the afternoon of 23 February. Ashore there were fur seals and macaroni penguins and the odd king penguin. The air was full of birds, mostly yellow-nosed albatross.
The next morning I was a bit too enthusiastic with the engine and got the bridle wrapped around the prop. The thought of the cold water gave me the patience to take an hour and a half unravelling it with the boathook. The wind was very variable, F1-7 with some fierce williwaws. There was lots of ice so I had to steer all the time. The wind died at sunset and I motored the last few miles to enter King Edward Cove after dark.
China Moon was not the first multihull to visit South Georgia. That honour went to Great American, a 53-foot trimaran, in 1990. Unfortunately she arrived without her crew and upside down, washing ashore on the south coast. She had capsized off Cape Horn while attempting the San Francisco to New York record and the crew had abandoned her.
There wasn’t really time to visit any other anchorage and as it turned out the weather was lousy. I had quite a social time being entertained ashore and taking a party out to sail around the bergs in Cumberland Bay. After a week, I sailed on 1 March. There was not much wind when I left and then the fog rolled in. I had hoped the ice would just be close to the island but it went on and on and I had to stop for the first three nights. Then the weather changed and for the next week it was very rough. Much of the wind was F6-7 from the northwest so I was close-hauled to get north. One day a particularly big wave broke against China Moon’s port beam and it felt as if the hull lifted clear of the water, nowhere near a capsize but quite alarming. I had left the ice behind and turned off the diesel range. After two weeks at sea and on my birthday, I arrived at the Tristan da Cunha group.
It had been blowing hard from the southeast overnight but it eased off as I approached Nightingale Island. The reported mooring was not to be seen and it was too deep and rocky to anchor so I sailed on to Inaccessible Island. There was a nice lee off the northwest shore and I dropped anchor in eight metres with lots of kelp about. Inaccessible Island is surrounded by steep grass-covered cliffs, with a plateau on top. The island is well named and, with the exception of a hut ashore, very wild. The next morning it looked calm enough to get ashore but when I turned the dinghy over the oars had gone so I had to knock together a pair from tubing and plywood. On landing I was tipped out onto the pebble beach. I nearly lost an oar and got soaked but at least the water was not too cold. I walked along the beach about a mile to the hut. I can’t say it was a pleasant stroll; the pebbles turned to boulders and my wellies were wet and rubbed my sore foot. I then had a fine sail over to Tristan, 25 miles away. I arrived shortly before sunset and in the anchorage found a cruise ship and the MV Edinburgh, the Tristan supply vessel. I anchored in 12 metres (more kelp) but was advised to move further out, anchoring in 20 metres (less kelp).
Ashore the next morning, I did the paperwork. Dave, the policeman, was on secondment from St Helena, while the Tristan man had a year off in England. Dave liked the place and said it was nice to be somewhere where there was no crime. When I pointed out that St Helena was not exactly the crime capital of the world, he said that he had been on Tristan for three months and there had not been a single incident, even trivial. The weather was beautiful, sunny, warm and windless. I spent two days ashore and it was lovely. The area they live on is tiny. The village has a few fields behind it and the potato patches a mile or so away are a similar size. The rest is a sheer cliff up to the plateau.
On the second day I got back from a walk in the afternoon to find a fresh westerly blowing so I set off for Gough Island. Once past the lee of the island I had a good southwest breeze and a clear sky. As I was approaching Gough Island, the barometer started dropping and the wind and rain filled in from the northwest. It was blowing about F7 and I didn’t fancy trying to find some dubious shelter in those conditions, so I carried on to Cape Town. The rest of the trip was uneventful; the worst weather was the end of a black southeaster as I approached the Cape. It died out as the day progressed and I ended up motoring in a flat calm for the last few miles to anchor just before sunset on 31 March in Cape Town’s Grainger Bay.
This is the cruise for which the Juno’s Cup was awarded by RCC.
We beat into Bahia Aguirre against 40 to 50 knot winds and when we left it was almost calm. We had to motor for nearly an hour before the breeze filled in from the southwest. These conditions are about par for the course in the Patagonian channels. Superb scenery (when you can see it) and good anchorages, but there is generally far too much wind or not nearly enough. Poor sailing.
Bahia Aguirre lies at the eastern end of the Beagle Channel, not far west of the Le Maire Straits. I had wanted to visit Staten Island for some time and this was our destination. Aboard China Moon, a junk rigged 38- foot catamaran, were Shirley Carter and her cat, Sinbad. Shirley had laid up Speedwell of Hong Kong in Brazil and joined me for a cruise south.
The wind picked up as we sailed along the southeast shoreline of Tierra de Fuego. The coast is bleak here with none of the dense forest further west. We made good time thanks to the 2-knot easterly current and by lunchtime were off the entrance. As we crossed the Le Maire Straits a liner passed going north. A hundred years ago a sailing ship would have been a regular sight, now it’s cruise ships. It was a grand sail with a fresh wind on the quarter, a large running sea and the sun shining. Ahead, fast approaching, was the jagged outline of Staten Island.
The first possible anchorage was Caleta Llanos but the southwest wind increased and became gusty. The entrance to the bay did not look inviting and Bahia Yorke seemed more promising, so we carried on east. At the top end of Bahia Yorke a small cove, Puerto Celular, branches off to the west. We anchored in this snug spot and took two lines to trees ashore. What a contrast between the wild conditions outside and the tranquillity inside. Close by our stern a small stream fed by a lake hidden by the mountains emptied into the bay. Exploring ashore, we came upon an otter hiding under a rock. He kept popping his head out to check on us. The lake filled the steep-sided valley so we couldn’t go far and it was too tortuous to bring the dinghy up the stream.
The next morning we poked our nose out to try and get round to Puerto Vancouver. It was calm in the cove, but the wind picked up as we left the bay and we were soon close hauled with two reefs, just laying the course to round the headland. As we passed the point and ran off, the first squall hit. Rapidly dropping all but one panel of the windward sail we raced on with the wind up to 40 knots. We threaded our way between rock islets, while closer inshore williwaws drew up clouds of spray. Conditions change frighteningly fast. Once in Puerto Vancouver the wind eased and we anchored in the western arm with lines ashore, fore and aft. Although there were only light winds the next day, Shirley pointed out the scudding clouds overhead, and it seemed prudent to stay where we were. With ropes to take in and the heavy work of raising an often kelp-enshrouded anchor, it can take over an hour to get under way. There is little incentive to poke your nose out when you have to put the lines ashore again on re-anchoring.
The next passage would take us around the east end of the island. Cabo San Juan with its notorious race extending eight miles off the point is the local Portland Bill. We had to round it at slack water, close in, and managed to sail all the way and pass the cape in a light southwesterly wind. Even so the water was boiling and I could well imagine what it would be like with wind against tide. We enjoyed a fair current along the north coast to Puerto San Juan del Salvamento where we anchored at the head of the deep bay. There were signs of life here with a big ship buoy and anchoring range marks ashore, as well as a light at the entrance. The next morning we continued our way west. Well, we would have continued if the easterly current hadn’t been so strong that we lost ground on each tack. We ran back in and anchored in the bay behind the lighthouse. The tide would turn after lunch.
Hardly had the first slurp of soup been taken when the williwaws started. A particularly vicious one took the top off the wind vane and we had to launch Ratty and chase after it. The holding was not good and it seemed prudent to move back further up the bay. Not a day to sally forth. Getting the anchor was a struggle. Shirley on the helm motored up between the gusts, while I pulled the slack aboard as quickly as possible. The tricky part was once the anchor had broken out. It was usually a ball of kelp, which was extremely heavy to haul up and made the boat all but uncontrollable. We were soon in our old spot with two anchors out. Later an Argentine navy auxiliary and a frigate joined us. When we left the anchors had to be untwisted and it took two hours to haul them in and clear the kelp. We beat westward for 10 miles in a fresh southwest wind and rain to get to Puerto Cook.
The following morning we went round to Puerto Ano Nuevo and entered Caleta Vila on the south side of the inlet. The water was like a mirror, broken only by a retreating fleet of steamer ducks. High mountains towered over the small cove. Once the anchor was down and a line ashore, I filled up with water from the stream. It looked as though it would be a bad place for williwaws. The tide would turn in our favour later on in the afternoon and we could move on to a safer spot. However, a thick mist rolled in off the sea. It remained calm and I was lulled into a false sense of security. I made the unforgivable error of not setting a second anchor further out.
The first violent gust hit at dawn. We were soon dressed and taking extra lines ashore. The glass was 980 and shooting up and then the real williwaws started. Hurricane force gusts swooped down on the cove throwing up a cloud of spray, at times 100 feet in the air. The 35kg Luke anchor was all that was holding us off the rock beach astern. Slowly but inexorably, the anchor was dragging and after a couple of hours the starboard rudder hit a rock shaking the whole boat. Something had to be done. It was impossible to get another anchor out, but by taking a line from the port quarter it might be possible to pull China Moon clear of the worst rocks. Between gusts I pulled myself ashore in Ratty and ran along the beach with a line as Shirley fed it out. I tied it off to a tree and turned to see a huge williwaw approaching, a wall of spray over twice the height of China Moon’s masts. Ratty was picked up and cart wheeled in the air until she was slammed into a rock. She was a sorry sight. There was a large dent in the aluminium, the oars were scattered down the beach and I could only find one rowlock. I re-launched her and pulled the badly leaking dinghy back along one of the lines. Shirley was hauling away on the rope and we moved down the beach where at least the underwater rocks were smaller.
The williwaws were still ferocious and as the water surged in and out of the bay we were banging the rudder and keel of the starboard hull. Not long after the bottom of the skeg and rudder broke off and was swinging about in the water, held on by the middle rope pintles. Things were looking serious and I suggested to Shirley that we pack some survival gear, in case we were forced to abandon. Shirley had already started but had kept quiet about it, not wanting to appear a rat. We had done all we could and now it was time to wait, very frightened as the williwaws continued to hurl themselves at us. We stopped dragging as the tide had dropped and we were grounded on the starboard hull.
By 1100 the wind started to ease and in a lull I rowed out a line to the other side of the cove. Winching it in tight, we pulled off the beach on a particularly big surge. It was now time to assess the damage. The starboard rudder was broken completely and half the self-steering trim tab on the port rudder was missing. The keels were chewed up, but not leaking. We sorted out the mess of ropes and I saw a propeller lying on the bottom in the shoal water. While it obviously couldn’t be China Moon’s, it seemed a remarkable coincidence. Shirley then pointed out that she could no longer see our prop from the port stern deck. Oh dear! I put on my wet suit and went to retrieve it. To say that the water was cold was something of an understatement. I spent about 20 minutes wading chest-deep until I found the prop. No sign of the nut, of course. Using a kedge we re-laid the Luke and lay to two anchors with lines still ashore.
China Moon – Puerto Celular – Staten Island
While we were both extremely thankful to have survived the ordeal, we were by no means out of the woods. Obviously we couldn’t continue our cruise in Staten Island (big sigh of relief from Shirley) and we needed to get somewhere to repair China Moon. The first problem was how to get out of the cove with only one rudder and no engine. After a sleepless night, I decided we really needed the engine. Our rather desperate situation spurred me into putting on the clammy wetsuit and getting back into the water. I slid the prop onto its splines on the drive leg. A large washer and a rather frail-looking split pin held it on. “Whatever you do, don’t put it in reverse.”
The wind was light. We decided to get out while we had a chance and before the next gale arrived. We got in the lines and hoisted the dinghy into the davits. The Luke came up cleanly and now there was only the kedge. It had kelp wrapped around it and I struggled to haul it up. Meanwhile the wind was pushing us sideways towards the steep rocky side of the bay. Shirley was trying to manoeuvre China Moon with the engine but with no rudder behind the prop, it was exacerbating the situation, turning us to port. Shirley shouted a warning and I cut the anchor free and jumped onto a rock as we came alongside. When the gust had passed I pushed the bow off and Shirley gunned the engine as I scrambled aboard. China Moon immediately started to turn back to port towards the rocks and it was a tense few seconds before the speed increased and the port rudder took effect. We scraped by the rocks and very slowly turned into the bay. I cannot tell you the feeling of relief to get out to sea. But our problems were far from over.
With three reefs and a F5 westerly we were soon past Isla Observatory and out into the South Atlantic. The self-steering, with only half a trim tab, was just about coping if we kept our speed down. The best place to do the repairs would be Mar del Plata, 1000 miles north. I had been forced by the Prefectura (coastguard) to give an ETA, something I am very loath to do. We obviously couldn’t get to Mar del Plata by then and, while quite sure that the authorities would not be efficient enough to notice that we were overdue, I didn’t want to take a chance. So we headed towards Puerto Deseado. By evening the wind had backed to a southwesterly gale. We couldn’t lay the course for Puerto Deseado and ran off towards Mar del Plata. We had to start hand steering. By 2200 the single rudder was struggling to keep control and we decided to lie to the 15-foot diameter parachute sea anchor. I carefully spread it out, blessing the large centre deck, but when I put it overboard between the bows it failed to open properly. I pulled it all in again and we set the top of the starboard sail and hove-to. By the time I had sorted out the mess the wind increased and the waves were quite big. Four hours later I set the sea anchor again, this time to windward, and it opened correctly. We lay head to wind and were much more comfortable.
Make do and mend
By the next evening the wind and seas had dropped enough to get underway again, sailing close hauled. Less than 24 hours later the next gale came through and out went the sea anchor. It quickly increased to F10 and the seas built alarmingly. Down below, with the diesel range on, it was snug, dry and relatively comfortable. At 0200 a particularly big wave broke under us and lifted the cockpit grating. I put on oilies and jumped out on deck to sort it out. Struggling to lift and twist the grating back into place I heard a breaking sea approach and crouched low facing aft. The wave swept over us, knocking me against the aft beam. Stupidly I had no harness on, but a very tight grip saved me. Ratty was gone from the davits. I noticed a shaft of light coming from the galley hatch. The wave had taken the hatch and poured into the galley. I had a piece of tarpaulin in the workshop and while Shirley stretched it over the hatch opening I put a lashing under the rim. It was not easy in the wind. When we went below the cabin was no longer quite such a haven, now being cold and very wet. The rudder seemed to be banging about so, leaving Shirley to mop up, I went to re-lash the tiller. The whole rudder head had broken off, doubtless with the strain of the backward surges. There was nothing I could do about it until daylight and the weather improved. We rode well to the storm and no other waves were quite as big but it was rather tense waiting it out with the rudder thrashing about, trying to self-destruct. I turned 53 that day, but we didn’t celebrate.
We were not alone. China Moon was now west of the Falkland Islands, on the 100 m line and among the squid-fishing fleet. Spaced a couple of miles apart, each vessel was a blaze of lights and gave off an orange glow. We were drifting at about half a knot, but the fishing boats were also lying to parachute anchors. The worst was over and by the afternoon the seas had gone down enough to bolt on the rudder head from the starboard rudder. We were back in business, and luckily the trim tab was not damaged. A new problem was the remains of Ratty’s painter wrapped around the prop. Getting the sea anchor in was not easy. I usually motor up to the trip line, collapse the parachute and haul it aboard. Now we didn’t have an engine and anyway, couldn’t manoeuvre with only one rudder so it had to be winched in by hand. The trip line remained tantalizingly out of reach. In the end the parachute had to be under the bow before I could grab a cord with the boat hook and collapse it. It put an enormous strain on the bow roller. The wind was westsouthwest F5-6 and we sailed on with two panels up on the windward mast. I counted 18 squid boats. That night the wind backed to southwest and increased. We were down to just one panel of the windward sail but in the seas the trim tab couldn’t cope and we had to steer by hand. It was cold, wet and strenuous work.
The next morning the wind dropped, so back to self-steering. There were several squid boats and I managed to call one up on the VHF and he said he would pass on our new ETA to the Prefectura. So that was one worry less. The barometer was falling again with the wind veering to the northwest as the next depression tracked across. We were closehauled and the self-steering was managing. That night the lights from the squid fleet shone out to both horizons. There must have been hundreds of them. A big line squall overtook us at sunset. It hit before I could drop the sail but thoughtfully the sail dropped on its own. The 12mm eyebolt at the masthead had sheared. The wind was on the quarter and we didn’t need any sail, but it was hand steering. As the seas built, the steering became more difficult. When a wave broke against the stern it would slew China Moon round so we ended up beam on to the seas and effectively hove-to. To bear away we had to hoist the windward sail a bit to get some way on. Easier said than done with no halyard. There is a spare halyard block, but with only a light line rove. A rough dark night was not the time to change it. We managed to get the head of the sail up with the boat hook, and hold it up by hauling in the yard parrel. Once off the wind we dropped the sail to keep the speed down. We steered all night, watch and watch. By dawn we had had enough and set the sea anchor. Shortly afterwards the rudder head broke off again. ‘To lose one rudder, Mr Hill, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness.’
It blew hard all day. We were riding the seas well and there was never any fear of capsizing, but things were not looking too good. I put a large clamp on the rudder and lashed it to stop it destroying itself and the stern. We now effectively had no rudder and bits and pieces were breaking at an alarming rate. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Shirley was seriously worried that China Moon might break up. She kept her fears to herself and while it was obvious that she wasn’t having a good time, continued to do her share of the work and never complained. I could not have asked for a better crew.
The wind eased overnight and I was hoping that at dawn we could repair the rudder. As it got light the wind picked up from the northeast and it started raining, hardly ideal conditions. But I decided to have a go in case another gale was coming. I had all my power tools onboard and a 1500w inverter. I pre-drilled a 2 x 6 inch plank and, leaning over the stern, clamped it on to the top of the rudder and re-lashed the clamp. I now had to drill 4 holes at arms length. Using a power drill in the rain did not seem too sensible but we wrapped the joint in the cable with plastic bags and I had rubber boots on. At the signal, Shirley switched on the power and, drilling on the up roll, I soon had the holes for the bolts. One of them had an eye each side so that the rudder was firmly lashed. We just got the job done as the wind continued to rise and it blew a northwesterly gale all day. What a relief to have a rudder again.
Before we got under way the next afternoon I rove a spare halyard and bolted on the tiller. Winching in the sea anchor, the bow roller broke off. The wind was southwest F5 and there were still 400 miles to go. Unfortunately the trim tab was broken so it was hand steering from now on but the good news was we got the rope around the prop untangled. It was slowly getting warmer and the wind never rose above F6 again. The last day was rather frustrating as the wind switched to northeast and we couldn’t lay the course for Mar del Plata. There was also a strong current against us. As Quequen was just down wind we decided we had had enough and ran down to anchor off the Yacht Club Vito Dumas at sunset. So ended the worst passage in over 30 years cruising, and I still have to go back to pick up the anchor.
I can’t honestly say that China Moon was in all respects ready for sea but, after three years building her in South Africa, it was time to leave, a view the lenient immigration authorities wholeheartedly agreed with.
The idea for China Moon first germinated after reading about Dragon Wings, a 34ft catamaran with a junk rig on each hull, in the Junk Rig Association (the nautical equivalent of the Flat Earth Society) newsletter. Combining the best cruising rig with a catamaran was an intriguing idea. The design that evolved was meant to be suitable for high latitude cruising and, hopefully, seaworthy enough to cope with the conditions there. A junk rigged plywood catamaran would not generally be regarded as an appropriate vessel and so it was a bit of an experiment. “A rather expensive experiment,” a friend of mine dryly commented.
Early in March China Moon set out from St Helena Bay, north of Cape Town, towards St Helena Island and, owing to a change in my domestic arrangements, I was sailing single-handed. Leaving at the same time was Speedwell of Hong Kong, a teak Vertue, also sailed single-handed by my friend Shirley Carter. Port Owen Yacht Club gave us a friendly send off and after they had escorted us off the premises we sailed to nearby Stompneus Bay to finish the stowing and last minute jobs in peace and quiet.
On leaving there was a fresh southerly but by nightfall this had veered to the south-west and it started to blow hard, force 7-8. The wind was just abaft the beam and once the waves built up they started to find the deficiencies in my stowage. Each time a wave crashed into the side 50 tins of pilchards hurled themselves onto the cabin sole. By the time the cutlerydrawer had crashed to the floor I’d had enough and soon all the cupboard doors and drawers had been firmly closed with duct tape. China Moon was well snugged down with just the top panel of the windward sail up, but she still averaged seven knots overnight.
By the next evening the wind had moderated and backed to the south- east and there it stayed for the rest of the passage. I had no problems with loneliness but by far the hardest part of single-handed sailing is the drudgery of waking every 20 minutes for a look out. Navigation was by sextant and, to add to the sport, the log was on the blink. I had allowed for this eventuality and bought an Autonic trailing log, but that was at the manufacturers being repaired, even though it was new. On the approach to St Helena the island was lost in the haze and just when I was about to heave to that night, having guessed I had run far enough, I spotted some lights ashore and sailed on. At breakfast time I anchored off Jamestown, 11 days out. Speedwell arrived later that week having had a very wet time of it in the gale and losing the wind for a few days.
China Moon’s spacious sun deck
Six weeks were spent at St Helena, mostly working on the unfinished interior of China Moon. However time was taken off to enjoy many of the lovely walks the island has to offer. At sea level the island is a desert but the upper plateau, which catches the trade wind clouds, is lush and green. Country lanes and footpaths wind all over the island and it’s like stepping back in time to a rural England. Flax used to be the main industry, with the entire crop going to supply the GPO with string When the post office went over to synthetic, the flax industry collapsed overnight. Much of the flax still remains, but it is now a weed and extremely hard to eradicate. Times are about to change on the island, as a British consortium is going to build an airstrip, hotel and golf course. St Helena’s days as a remote colonial outpost are numbered.
700 miles downwind of St Helena is Ascension Island and the passage there proved to be perfect trade wind sailing. Once anchored, getting ashore is quite precarious. The landing place is a small stone jetty that has hardly changed from the picture in Eric Hiscock’s Around the world in Wanderer III. There’s a constant swell and you have to jump out at the top of the wave, grabbing one of the ropes provided. The dinghy has then to be tethered to one of the long small craft mooring lines, while the water swirls around your feet. If it’s a day of the Rollers then you don’t land.
Ashore the scenery is an impressive volcanic landscape and the island is littered with perfect cones and hardly any vegetation. The exception is Green Mountain and a walk to the summit, passing through the now abandoned farm, takes you to a different world. It was near the end of the green turtle breeding season but at night we were able to see several turtles laying their eggs in the sand and, by day, there was the odd hatchling scampering for the sea.
The airfield on the island refuels the twice-weekly Falkland Islands flight and, knowing that mail is dropped off, I had arranged to have my post sent there in good time. It had not arrived and after waiting for one more flight I gave it up for lost.
Meeting Speedwell in the South Atlantic
Speedwell had left the day before me but China Moon was sailing at her best in the fresh south-easterly and on the second night out I spotted a white light ahead. It could only be Shirley, so I altered course a little and slowly caught her up. As I passed we exchanged salutations by shining a torch on our sails. The other incident on the passage was when the self-steering got wiped out by an unexpected gybe. It was the middle of the night, of course, and after recovering the pieces it seemed prudent to wait till the morning to try and repair it. Not wishing to steer or slow down I set the sails ’wing and wong’ and let her steer herself, which she did quite well until I fixed the wind vane next morning.
A week out from Ascension I arrived off Cabedelo in Brazil, having averaged over seven knots for the passage, and then went to anchor at the village of Jacare. Speedwell arrived a few days later, tacking up the river as the sun was setting. Ravel’s Bolero was playing at one of the bars ashore, a sunset tradition going back 20 years.
Postscript: A couple of weeks later my lost mail was delivered. It had been sent to St Helena in error, where an Australian spotted it, and knowing I had already left for Brazil, took it to Salvador. Via a Swedish HAM net he found out I was in Jacare and sent it on a Belgian yacht going that way.
China Moon is 38ft x 23ft x 3ft, with an open bridge deck and accommodation in each hull. The dory shaped hulls have transom-hung rudders
The unstayed masts are held in tabernacles and support a fully-battened rig of 360 square feet. A 27hp Yanmar sail-drive is located in the starboard hull. The hulls are fully insulated with double-glazed hatches and windows. Self-steering is by wind vane driving a trim tab on the port rudder.
She is very easily driven and slipped along nicely with the articulating battens giving the sail a nice shape. The log was not calibrated but the estimated speed was about 3 knots to windward in a Force 3 and tacking through 100°. There was noticeable leeway, but not excessive.
As soon as the wind picked up to a Force 4 she seemed much happier with very little leeway and was doing about 5 knots. The strongest the wind got up to was the bottom of Force 5 and she was then sailing at about 6 knots and tacking through 100 – 110° with no problems. There was a firm but not excessive weather helm.
A close reach was her fastest point of sailing with speeds up to 8 knots 60° off the wind. With the wind right on the beam in a Force 4 she was sailing at 5 – 6 knots.
Both sails were pulling well but probably not at their most efficient, as the windward sail was feathered a bit and the leeward one was not in clean air. With the wind abaft the beam both sails were working well and once the wind was on the quarter she more or less steered herself. Sailing at about 4 – 5 knots in a force 3 – 4 wind the sea was flat, so of course the ride was very smooth.
The next two sails had up to Force 8 gusts, so it was not easy to analyse the performance.
The 10 people aboard must have weighed in at over half a ton and although she seemed a bit slower it did not make that much difference. The third sail ended up with several of the bat ten joints broken and a couple of the batten tubes bent, as well as flaring of the tubes ends at the joints, so obviously the battens were too weak. I was loath to give up the articulating battens as they give the sail such a good shape and I am sure that a flat sail would ruin China Moon’s windward performance. I have now made carbon fibre battens using the old alloy 38mm OD x 1.6 mm wall tubes. My original joints were of white oak with a 3° taper on each of the cone ends. I have made the new external joints out of 50mm OD x 3mm wall plastic pipe with a heavy layup of unidirectional carbon and plenty of glass and carbon going around the tube, it was not a cheap arrangement, but with 18’ long
The 26’ masts are hollow Douglas Fir and 8” OD at the partners. They are quite stiff and there seems to be little bend. They are mounted in tabernacles and quite easy to lift up, using the big rope winch on the centre deck.
China Moon swallowed 10 people sailing her without being the least bit crowded.
The engine in the one hull works fine and she is very easy to steer going ahead, although going astern and manoeuvring in a marina is very difficult, especially if there is any wind, but with a 23’ beam I could never afford a marina again.
The plan is to finish the essentials such as the self steering gear and a bit of electricity, then sail to Brazil via St Helena and spend several months in Brazil finishing China Moon off, before heading south to Argentina.
If any other members are planning on putting a junk rig on a cat then I hope they will be encouraged by my efforts — it does seem to work. I would say that two important aspects are keeping the masts well apart. (The centre of each mast is 18’8” apart) and having some shape in the sail.
Progress Report December 2003
China Moon made a good passage to Brazil via St. Helena and later headed south to Patagonia, but it was decided not to continue to the South Shetlands as originally planned until the self steering is working better, so we are headed north back to Jacare in Brazil.
On passage we broke new ground by going up the Rio Negro to Viedma and were told that we were the first yacht that anyone could remember having paid them a visit.
Apart from some small problems China Moon is proving herself to be a very able vessel. I am still learning how to get the best out of her. She sails very well to windward, a bit sluggish in a Force 2 but once the wind gets to a Force 3 she starts to move. The stronger the wind the better she goes. In a Force 4 – 5 she will be doing 5.5 to 6 knots and tacks through 100° (in a smooth sea) and 6 to 7 knots in a Force 6, there is little leeway. She sails much better to windward than I had expected. I’m sure the articulating battens account for much of this. The carbon fibre battens are holding up well with no sign yet that they will break, and we have been out in some quite strong winds. There is some interference between the sails on a reach but it is not a problem as it’s a fast point of sailing anyway. Downwind China Moon is a dream with the sails “wing & wong” she will steer herself.
China Moon was designed to be a comfortable cruising Catamaran to be used for long voyages to remote cruising grounds. Fitting a junk rig on the boat was a major consideration. Having read about the successful junk rigged catamaran ‘Dragon Wings’, designed and built by Gary Lepak, I felt it feasible to design my own boat.
China Moon was built in South Africa over a period of 3 years. South Africa was chosen as a country with good access to materials, inexpensive and with a good climate, it proved to be a wise choice.
I used a hard chine design program called ‘Plyboats’. It ran in DOS and was very simple but it gave all the design outputs of displacement, centre of buoyancy, centre of lateral resistance and expanded offset tables for the panels.
The hulls were dory shaped with flaring topsides and the hulls were built in two halfs.
The lower half was built of 12mm plywood sides on 30mm stringers, over bulkheads, with polystyrene foam between the stringers and an inner layer of 4mm plywood.
The bottom was a layer of 12mm plywood.
The lower hulls were built upside down and then rolled over.
The upper hull was then built on top with bulkheads, stringers, foam and 9mm plywood on the outside and 4mm plywood on the inside.
The cabin and deck were built the same way but with 6mm plywood on the outside.
The inside was completely coated with several coats of epoxy and then varnish or paint.
The outside of the boat was sheathed in glass and epoxy before painting.
The low aspect ratio keels are 10 feet long and 18” deep, built of plywood.
The keels are hollow and form the diesel tanks, holding 175 litres each.
As launched there was no cuddy over the front of the cockpit, but the early cruise to Patagonia revealed how exposed the cockpit was and the addition of the cuddy made a huge difference to the shelter in the cockpit.
An 8′ dinghy lives in davits behind the after beam, which makes launching extremely easy. On passage the dinghy is stowed on the centre deck, just forward of the cuddy.
China Moon was originally launched with a 27HP Yanmar 3GM30 saildrive in the Starboard hull. This proved completely adequate, as long as not needing to manoeuvre in tight places with any wind blowing.
The new owner of China Moon subsequently (in 2010) replaced the engine with Yanmar YM30 saildrives in each hull, making the boat very manoeuvrable. The engines have 2 bladed folding propellers.
A 1:12 scale model was built of China Moon to test the balance of the rig in relation to the hull, rudder and keel. It was found that because multihulls hardly heel the COE of the sail does not need any lead over the CLR of the hull.
The rig is a biplane junk rig with the masts set at the outboard edge of each hull in tabernacles.
The hollow masts are Douglas fir built using the “birds mouth” 8 stave method, covered in glass and epoxy.
The rig is a slightly modified Reddish rig with articulating battens.
The battens are made of 1 1/2” alloy tubed with unidirectional carbon fibre covers.
Originally there was a mizzen sail mounted on the centre line, on the aft beam. This was designed as an ‘air rudder’ to help with tacking, but China Moon is exceptionally good at tacking on her own and the mizzen was removed.
The accommodation down below is as follows:
Port Hull
Forward in the port hull, we have a sealed, watertight compartment that serves as a collision bulkhead, keeps weight out of the bows, and provides space for empty jerricans. Some of these will hold extra fuel in case we intend to be away from civilisation for an extended period of time, while others will provide additional water for lengthy voyages.The heads compartment is located abaft of that. The heads themselves are at the forward end, with a wash basin on the port side, with storage underneath.
Heads
The heads’ own hatch makes it easier to use from the deck and eliminates the need to constantly walk through the galley. With floor-to-deckhead vegetable racks on one side and an oilskin locker on the other, the space between the heads and the galley is essentially a vestibule. At the forward end, there is an opening scuttle.
Galley
In contrast to Badger’s fantastic galley, the galley on China Moon is big. Additionally, we plan to use this hull at sea, especially in bad weather, so the counter area behind the Dickinson diesel cooker/heater will serve as a makeshift chart table. In addition, we’ll have a permanently mounted single-burner paraffin cooker, in use when in warmer climates. There will be plenty of room for lockers.
Saloon
The raised saloon along the entire width of the hull, will also heat this area more efficiently.
Six people may comfortably sit in the saloon, which is 6 feet 6 inches long, and eight people can squeeze in.
There is plenty of book-shelves and storage in the galley.
Many, double glazed, windows along the outside of the hull (galley and saloon) offer uninterrupted view and provide plenty of natural light inside, when underway or at anchor, while cooking, reading or just relaxing.
On the inboard side of the saloon there will be bookshelves in place of a window. Another window is looking into the cockpit, which is useful .
Twenty-two fifteen- liter water containers will be stored beneath a table that runs along the centre.
Sleeping Cabin
Past the saloon, there is the after-sleeping cabin which has plenty of headroom as well as storage underneath and at entry. It is placed in the most comfortable area of the boat. This bunk, which is four feet wide at the head, will serve as a berth for guests and is suitable for cold weather or at sea when we are keeping watch. There is plenty of storage underneath it and some shelves on entry.
Starboard Hull
The bow of the starboard hull also has an enclosed, waterproof chamber. There is a workshop with a suitable small workstation where we will store tools, paint, fenders, ropes etc. The workshop is separated from the next cabin by a completely watertight bulkhead. This, yet another watertight compartment, will keep the smell of paints, etc. away from the rest of the accommodation.
Master Cabin
The next cabin aft is a sleeping cabin, which we intend to use as much as possible, but certainly in harbour and in hot places. There is a good, 4ft 6ins wide double berth, with clothes lockers either side and another bookshelf, above which there are windows along the outboard cabin side.
The front of the cabin has an opening scuttle. There is a hanging locker and a little seat for comfortable dressing aft of the cabin. There will be additional lockers here because of the little wings. To prevent water from seeping into the sleeping cabin, a sill separates the floor from the chart room.
Chart Table
There will be plenty of room for charts beneath the full seize chart table and for books above it.
The ladder is across from the chart table.
Additionally, the cabin’s exterior has windows – the same as in the port hull.
As we will have to cross from one hull to another in the pouring rain and subsequently dispose of wet clothes, there is an oilskin locker here.
In order to utilize the entire width of the hull and view out of the windows when seated, the area behind the chart table is raised (as in the port hull).
“Snug”
A portion of our library and a small solid fuel stove will be here. There will be a built-in table for computer so we can write in privacy and comfort. For chilly mornings or evenings, that don’t require a Dickinson range to be lit up, we may use this ‘snug’ space as a place to warm up and relax.
We’ll need to see how it functions in actual use before we can be certain. Another advantage of this arrangement is that if we have a couple staying with us, we can turn this hull over to them in its entirety, which will give both plenty of room and privacy.
Engine Room
The engine room, which is large enough to provide adequate access to the engine and enough room to store a few bicycles, is located in the after end of this hull and is once more divided by a completely waterproof bulkhead. The reconditioned Yanmar 3GM saildrive engine is ideal for a dory hull.
“Won’t we go round in circles?” is the typical question we are asked. Our reading suggests that it won’t really be an issue unless we use marinas, which is not our plan.
Other JR Boats
Bob Bums of Roamer lied here for a whale during his circumnavigation. He visited us a short while ago and might be bringing Roamer here in November. Therefore, there is a chance of three junk-rigged boats being in the water at once at Port Owen Marina!
Cruising seems to be feast or famine. After the non-stop conviviality of the splendid RCC Azores Meet, we now planned to spend nearly three months on our own, sailing down to Cape Town with only a short stop in Brazil to have a break and replenish our water and supplies of fresh food.
On 3 August, a week after the end of the Meet, we motored Badger out of the marina in Horta and set full sail, heading south. What little wind there was came from the south, and the current between Pico and Faial was sending us slowly backwards. In the end, we motored for nearly an hour to get out of the current and then waited for the wind.
About midnight, a south-easterly breeze filled in and we were off. It backed a little and increased to force 4 overnight and we were soon reeling off the miles. Annie’s birthday was a legitimate excuse to have a particularly fine lunch, with a good bottle of wine. For the first week, the wind was light, but at least it remained free and we averaged 90 miles a day. By then we had arrived in the NE Trades and, for the next week, Badger made 120 to 130 miles a day. The Trades also heralded the start of the fishing season, with regular catches of small dorado. Usually, the only luck we have with fishing is in the trade winds, when there are flying fish about.
We passed close west of the Cape Verde Islands, but the poor visibility common to these islands meant that we never sighted them. The next day, 17 August, was officially Half-Way Day – another excuse for Annie to take extra effort in the galley at lunch time. It also marked the end of the NE Trades and our entry into the Doldrums.
We were fortunate in that conditions rarely fell calm, but the winds were usually light and from the south. As the wind shifted, we tacked for the more favourable course and slowly made progress south-east. emphOcean Passages for the World recommends crossing the latitude of 5°N between 17° and 19°W, and then to cross the Equator between 25° and 23°W. After ten days in the Doldrums, we crossed 5°N at 22°W, rather too far west. Then the wind came round to the south-east: the South East Trades at last – we hoped.
We tacked and headed for the Line, close-hauled, with the current pushing us west. There wasn’t much hope of crossing at the recommended longitude, but we couldn’t bear the thought of sailing east on the other tack, away from our destination. As it happened, we crossed the Equator (more celebrations) at 27°W and could then crack the sheets and head for Brazil, with the current now helping us. Five days later, on 7 September, we arrived off Cabedelo (about 60 miles north of Recife).
The coast here is low and featureless, but the city of Joao Pessoa, 10 miles to the south, showed up clearly and a ship at anchor indicated the river entrance. As luck would have it, we arrived in the afternoon, with the flood tide to help us tack the five miles up the River Paraiba to the village of Jacare. It had taken us 35 days to sail the 3,324 miles.
Jacare has been a popular stop for foreign yachts for many years. As well as having a good, safe anchorage and easy access to both Cabedelo and Jo˜ao Pessoa, one of the main attractions is Brian Stevens. Brian arrived in Cabedelo several years ago, by boat, and liked it so much that he never left and started a boatyard in Jacare. Brian’s main business nowadays is building fibreglass catamarans for beach charter, but he is always happy to meet the foreign yachts and help with any repairs or supplies that they need.
It was six years since our previous visit and we were looking forward to seeing Brian again, but he had gone to England for a visit. However his son, Richard, was now involved in the business and was keeping the family tradition going. We stayed for ten days, busily ticking off the jobs that we had to do and relegating many more to the next list. The only fly in the ointment at Jacare is the excessively loud and prolonged ‘music’ at the weekends, but this was easily cheated by going one mile upriver to anchor in peace – up wind of the noise. The biggest change in Brazil since our last visit was in the economy. In 1993, the inflation peaked at 2,500.
Sailing canoe – Jacare /Brazil
Cabedelo is right on the ‘bulge’ of South America and here the Westerly Equatorial Current splits north and south. We had to tack down the coast against a northerly set, in order to get south of Recife and find the south west current. The wind was firmly in the south-east and it took two days to get clear of the adverse current. We had hoped to visit Trinidade Island (20°30’S, 29°20’W), which lies 600 miles east of Brazil. It was more or less on our way and, with luck, we might be able to anchor for a night, even if it was unlikely that we could get ashore because of the surf. In 1890, EF Knight spent three months on the island, unsuccessfully digging for buried treasure and his adventures are related in his book The Cruise of the ‘Alerte’. The only inhabitants of the island are a small, Brazilian garrison. Unfortunately, the wind stayed in the south east and we came no closer than 120 miles. We had had more than enough of sailing close hauled and easily resisted the temptation to take a tack towards the island.
Never mind, Tristan da Cunha was also on the way. Tristan is the most remote community in the world; it is also difficult to visit because the anchorage is a roadstead open to the north. We had passed by in 1995, unable to anchor because of the north westerly sea that was running: maybe this time we would have better weather. On 14 October, we were about 100 miles away from Tristan, but the wind had picked up to force 7 from the north-east. Visibility was poor in the rain. Annie had got a dubious sun sight in the morning and I had snatched a rough meridian passage in the rain, so the resulting fix did not fill us with confidence.
There seemed no likelihood of anchoring at Tristan – even if we could find it in the thick weather. By hauling our wind, I thought we’d be able to clear the island by about 25 miles. The following morning, the wind had backed to the north and dropped to force 4, but there was thick fog. It lifted later in the morning and sights showed we were well clear to the north. Annie even thought she caught a glimpse of the summit of Tristan in a break in the clouds. Maybe next time we will be lucky.
We were now on the edge of the Southern Ocean and the colder water brought the birds – a constant delight. Storm petrels, shearwaters, shoemakers, Cape pigeons, yellow-nosed and black-browed albatross and of course, the great wandering albatross, with its eleven foot wingspan.
The wind stayed in the north-west for several days, blowing at force 4 or so and giving us good runs as we were now ‘running our easting down’. Eventually, it went round to the south, then quickly through east and back to the north. As the barometer started to go up, the wind backed round and then blew hard from the south-east, with a high glass. The wind kept up for the next four days, reaching gale force at times. The seas quickly grew and it was a very uncomfortable time aboard Badger. We continued on our way, most of the time reefed down to the top panels of each sail.
The gale eased on 28 October, by which time we were only 150 miles from the Cape. Frustratingly, the wind then went light, but the visibility was exceptionally good and Table Mountain appeared on the horizon, 60 miles away. It was, however, another 24 hours before we tied up in the Royal Cape Yacht Club.
The last few minutes of the passage proved to be the most traumatic. Our diesel engine is normally very reliable, but as we jilled around in the Duncan Dock, it stubbornly refused to start. Eventually, the much depleted battery summoned up enough energy and the engine fired. All well and good, as we stowed the sails, but then the engine started to die as we approached the marina. As I disappeared below, Annie hoisted the sails and sailed up and down the dock. The fuel line had split, but a hasty repair soon had the engine going again and Badger tied up.
It had taken us 41 days to do the 3,900 miles from Brazil and we were looking forward to a few weeks in harbour. Cape Town is such a friendly place, that within hours we were involved in a feast of conviviality, in stark contrast to our retreat at sea.
