More From the Straits of Magellan

Clark March 29th, 2007

The Straits of Magellan is a windy place. It howled all night, one of those nights when I put out all 300 feet of chain and hoped for the best, but slept surprisingly well. I went out into the strait this morning, just to check it, and it was slow going against the howling wind. I made it just five miles to the next anchorage and gave myself the day off, but first I had to tie in. I tried a place to swing at anchor first, but the williwaws were too strong. I tried another place and it wasn’t quite right either, so I ended up with the spot recommended in the book I’ve got, but it’s a dreaded 4-point tie-in. This is very secure, but it took me the better part of two hours to set it up. Condesa is tied among three substantial trees, and one boulder. Williwaws be damned.

Continue Reading »

Straits of Magellan

Clark March 27th, 2007

I am now in the Straits of Magellan. I covered a lot of miles today. The genoa pulled out of its track because the cursed sailmaker in Buenos Aires used clothesline or some such crap for a bolt rope. You get what you pay for, and I have several jibs and genoas in circulation, so it doesn’t put me out of commission. I did throw a proper temper tantrum though, which was satisfying. You get to do these things when you’re all by yourself in the middle of nowhere. Once I got the thing into the cockpit (in a heap because I couldn’t fold it by myself) I jumped up and down on it and cursed the sailmaker, his mother, and his ancestors.

That was just before going through Paso Shag, the tenth mile wide narrows between Canal Barbara and the Straits of Magellan. The sailing directions say to wait until slack water before going through because of the tidal rips, whirlpools, and overfalls. I planned it for slack water, but I was moving so fast I got there several hours ahead of schedule. The current was in my favor, and Condesa, with her big engine and seaworthy characteristics, is usually very forgiving in such situations. They weren’t kidding: We got sucked through the narrows at 13 knots with the engine at idling speed. They always talk about whirlpools, but this was the first time I ever really saw them…big ones. I even watched a cormorant get sucked under, but he popped up nearby.

Continue Reading »

March 26 – Leaving Canal Occasion

Clark March 27th, 2007

Leaving Canal Occasion, where my last anchorage was, a boat must transit Canal Cockburn (unfortunate name) to get to one of the several canals that connect to the Straits of Magellan. The west end of Canal Cockburn is open to the Pacific, and this is where a legendary drama took place for one of our seafaring forebears, the great Captain Joshua Slocum. He actually sailed out the west end of the Straits of Magellan and got blown back into the canals by a storm. He named this area the Milky Way, I guess because the deadly rocks dotting the sea were as numerous and widespread as the stars in the sky. He tacked back and forth all night, only to be met by breakers pounding on rocks at every turn. He called it the greatest adventure of his first-ever solo circumnavigation, and finally seeing the region in daylight, he didn’t know how he’d made it. I’ve now seen the Milky Way myself, and hat’s off to Captain Slocum.

I decided to make a slight historic deviation into the Milky Way, but of course with my modern navigation equipment, charts, and engine, it wouldn’t be quite as adventuresome. I was sailing along, marveling at all the gnarly rocks, when I heard the prop shaft stop spinning. Normally it freewheels when sailing, unless I stop it. I started the engine, tried forward and reverse, and the prop was definitely fouled. I went aft and saw a large strand of kelp trailing under the boat. I reached down and grabbed it, and it was like pulling a cow’s tongue. This thing was like no kelp I know, leathery and tough. I pulled as hard as I could and couldn’t budge or break it.

Continue Reading »

March 25 – Caleta Brecknock, Seno Ocasion

Clark March 26th, 2007

54º, 32′ South; 71º, 54′ West
Caleta Brecknock, Seno Ocasion

Wow, this place is really spectacular. It’s like being moored in Yosemite. I can see three huge waterfalls from the boat, and countless little ones, since it never stops raining. I seemed to have crossed into a new zone: Everything to the east of here would be described as temperate rainforest, I think. On this side there is so much rain that it scours most of the topsoil off the islands, so there is nothing I would describe as forest anymore. There are the same kinds of trees (several varieties of Nothofagus, related to the Beech) but on this side they only grow to the size of little bonsais in whatever pockets of soil they can find. To the east they grow to 90 feet. Further east I was a few islands in from the Pacific, and now I’m on the front line for the weather, so all the moisture gets dumped here first. I just have to get used to doing everything in the rain, otherwise I’ll never do anything. To go stretch my legs means suiting up for a deluge…full foulies and sea boots.

Speaking of which, it’s time for my stupid thing of the day, which was actually last night. I balanced my boots over the heater to dry, then went out into the cockpit to shine the spotlight around the cove and terrorize steamer ducks. I smelled something warm and familiar: A ski lodge, the smell of hot ski wax. It was my boot, which had fallen on the heater, and was probably about to burst into flames. The cabin was full of ski wax smoke. I tried to hold the boot in position, so it would congeal in the right shape, but it ended up with two gaping holes. Having holes in your sea boots is like an astronaut having a hole in his space suit. For once I’m prepared and have a spare pair.

I sailed most of the day today, since the wind was favorable. At times I was doing 8 knots. It’s nice sailing since the water is so smooth in the canals, but I needed to be on the ball at the wheel because the canals are narrow. It’s a very tight game with the fuel, and every little bit of sailing helps. The general consensus is that this trip (from Puerto Williams to Puerto Montt or Valdivia through the canals) is 100% motoring. I calculate about 1500 miles to Valdivia, and with my tanks full and an extra 200 liters in jerry jugs, I should be alright. This doesn’t take heating into account, but I’ve only been running the heater a few hours a day. If it doesn’t look like a boat is going to make it, they can divert to Puerto Natales after the Straits of Magellan, but this is a deviation of about 150 miles, which would turn into several days once you checked it, got fuel, got drunk like a sailor in port, and got out. Running out of fuel in the canals would be dire.

March 24, Burnt Island

Clark March 24th, 2007

Logged 45 miles today, sailing about half of it, but since I didn’t do anything notably stupid or injure myself, let me take the opportunity to go back, back to Puerto Williams.

I said Puerto Williams was boring, which is true, but it didn’t used to be. It has one redeeming feature, the Micalvi, a large steel ship that the Chileans purposely sunk to create the southernmost yacht club in the world. It makes for very secure mooring with your boat tied alongside, and it can shelter 15-20 boats. All this ’southernmost’ business gets a little out of hand. Ushuaia, Argentina, calls itself the southernmost city in the world. Puerto Williams is further south, but it only gets southernmost town status, because it’s small. Still further south you get to Puerto Toro, but with only four inhabitants it only gets to be the southernmost village. There are bases in Antarctica with dozens of people, stores, bars, etc, but I guess those don’t count. If you buy into it, you can think ooh, I’m the southernmost guy brushing his teeth in the world, or I’m the southernmost drunk in the world, but the novelty wears off. In the picture department of the website there’s a picture of Puerto Toro, and a picture of the southernmost dog in the world. No dogs are allowed in Antarctica, and unless the family that mans the station at the Horn has a dog, I think we’ve got our southernmost dog captured on film. That was the southernmost digression in the world.

In the Micalvi there is a bar.

Continue Reading »

Position: 54 degrees 53 minutes south, 70 degrees west

Clark March 24th, 2007

Still being an idiot. I had to rebuild a winch this morning, which took hours, and by the time I was done Condesa was sitting about a foot higher than normal out of the water. Apparently the whole sea level changes daily around here. I had to wait all day for the tide to go out. Good thing Condesa is full keel and just sits there on the bottom without hurting anything. You’re supposed to tie yourself as close as possible to the shore to get away from williwaws and drifting ice, but I guess I’m getting carried away. I finally got out around five, made a furtive effort to go up the fjord, but it was pretty full of ice. I didn’t have the patience to slalom at one knot through miles of growlers, so I headed out of the fjord and logged another 12 miles. I got to this place, Chair Island, at dark. It sounds pretty simple on paper-drop the anchor, put the dinghy in the water, tie two lines around two suitable trees-but it takes at least an hour every time, sometimes two. When I asked my friend Ken what you do with yourself in the canals, he answered, “Mess with your shorelines.”

Day Three

Clark March 22nd, 2007

Webmaster note: They are coming fast and furious!

It isn’t exactly easy to get these radio emails out. I tried all day and night, and finally got connected at at rate of 148 bytes per minute. That’s painfully slow, like I could type faster than that.

A banner day today. I made it over 45 miles, and even sailed part of the way. I’m in Caleta Beaulieu, one of the classic anchorages in the region. I’m tied into the trees, looking up at the Romanche Glacier, which occasionally calves thundering ice blocks. The whole bay is pretty choked with ice, so I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the head of the fjord, unless it all blows away during the night. It never stops raining here.

Continue Reading »

Two Days Out

Clark March 22nd, 2007

Webmaster note: Clark is sending updates via sailmail as he heads north through South America. Stay tuned for regular posts.

I finally got out of Puerto Williams, the southernmost boring place in the world. I was across the Beagle Channel reprovisioning in Ushuaia, Argentina, and I hoped to do a one day turnaround in Puerto Williams, just long enough to check into Chile. The weather turned sour, as it tends to do in these parts, and it’s become one of those weeks when the conditions at the Horn range from dangerous to deadly. Three days ago there was another killer storm out there, and I was glad to be cowering in Puerto Williams with many boats much larger than Condesa, all rafted up next to the Micalvi.

I started motoring during a break in the weather, but got shut down by fifty knot headwinds after just twelve miles. I anchored in a lovely little spot and contemplated what the hell I was going to do on this boat all by myself for the next two months. The good part about being alone is that the schedule can run on my body clock: I woke up at 4AM and thought, hmm, let’s go. I made it a whopping 24 miles, almost to the spectacular Brazo Noroeste of the Beagle Channel, before I was once again smashed in the face with fifty knot headwinds. I turned tail and backtracked to Caleta Borracho (it’s really called that), and tied Condesa in for the first time by myself. (Can’t swing at anchor down here, because the coves and fjords are too tight.) It was a project, and luckily Condesa was very well-behaved and didn’t go swinging into the rocks while I untangled lines and tied them to trees. Continue Reading »

On Getting Run Over By A Container Ship

Clark March 14th, 2007

If you have arrived at this website, it is either because you are one of my friends and family who have been following my trip around the world, or because you have recently read about me in a magazine and know me as that guy who got run over by a container ship.

Yes, it is true. A container ship did run over me and my little sailboat, but we both survived. Myself and my two crewmembers miraculously came out without a scratch. Condesa took about six months and $40,000 to be herself again.

I will spare the details, since they were printed in magazines and it is part of my job as a writer to sell magazines, but I can pick up where the magazine articles left off.

I bear no grudge against the ship. They just didn’t see us in the first place and didn’t stop because they didn’t know they’d hit us. It probably didn’t even make them spill their coffee, like running over an ant with your car. Since we all make mistakes, and it’s about how we deal with our mistakes that matters, I give the shipping company full points for dealing with me in a gentlemanly manner and paying for all the repairs.

This happy outcome can be attributed to several factors, which if not present would have made for a different result:

  1. None of us was killed or injured
  2. Condesa stayed afloat (see number 1)
  3. The ship was registered in a developed nation. Many ships are registered under flags of convenience, like Liberia or Panama, and their owners would have just laughed it off.
  4. I had some very good advice from friends and family about how to deal with the shipping company in a forthright and gentlemanly manner, which was reciprocated.

How this kind of thing can be avoided in the future is a big ball of wax.

I don’t believe we could have avoided being hit, unless we get into zigging when we should have zagged and other random odds ways of not being at that exact spot on earth at the wrong time. The crux of the issue, as far as Condesa is concerned, is the VHF radio. We should have been in contact early and making our presence known, but again, the hundreds of Brazilian fishermen who were making a mockery of international radio protocols and rendering the emergency channel useless with their mindless babbling, are to blame. It was the World Cup after all, and you know Brazilians and their soccer.

From the ship’s side, it is a discussion that could go on for days. These kinds of accidents happen frequently. There were two fishermen killed in the same kind of incident, by a ship coming from the same port, just three weeks before my accident. Something should be done!

These incidents and these shipping companies aren’t exactly in the public eye. They are the Masters of the Universe who move the world’s trade goods in a massive, endless march across the world’s oceans. Look around you. Chances are every manmade object you can lay your eyes on was transported in a container at some point, or at least on a ship. These companies have names you have never heard of, and many have been in business for hundreds of years. Their accidents don’t happen in a Southern California shopping mall, where lawyers are scrambling to take the case, those at fault want to hush it up, and those injured are sure to collect. They happen in the world’s oceans, often in international waters, and it is hard enough to even find out who owns these ships and the jurisdiction of the incident, not to mention the hundreds of thousands to be lost on legal fees, all for a case that may take years to be heard in maritime court.

There are no statistics, but I would guess that traditional fishermen around the world, often in unlit small craft, meet their ends frequently in this manner.

Technology can solve the problem, for those who can afford it. AIS (Automatic Identification System) should be affordable for small craft in the next few years. With this, you will show up with name and ID number on ship’s screens, just like airliners show up on an air traffic controller’s screen. But the oceans still belong to everyone, and just because you don’t have AIS, or a radio for that matter, doesn’t mean you deserve to get run down.

These ships move at over twenty knots and cut a wide swath. There are humans on watch, and they keep watch like I keep watch. That is to say, they look around every few moments, take a look at the radar, then go back to reading a book, filling out paperwork, or making a cup of coffee. Most of the time it’s just a whole lot of ocean out there. The difference is that I am moving at six knots in a craft that couldn’t kill anyone unless it was dropped on their head.

The moment before impact still give me night sweats.

« Prev