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.

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.

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.

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.

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.