SOUTHERN OCEAN CIRCUMNAVIGATION

(by three senior citizens aboard a 10·6m family cruiser)

Dr Joe Cannon

My crew comprised John Wedd, a retired businessman and a methodical, hard working and thoroughly reliable racing yachtsman who had sailed in Sydney-Hobart races both as a crew member and as a skipper; and Bill Wright, a colourful ocean racing and cruising skipper who had sailed his Swanson 29 Mulberry in numerous Sydney-Hobarts, Westcoasters and Devonports and had also cruised her to New Zealand. A former Londoner, Bill is a retired commercial photographer and a very experienced light aircraft pilot. Our ages totalled 209 years!

For the Tasman crossing Tom Kirkland was also aboard. Tom is a retired gastroenterologist and a vastly experienced yachtsman, his former yachts ranging from an OK dinghy to an 8-metre racing yacht. After Bill had to return home from Cape Town, Richard Bennett, Australia's renowned professional yacht racing photographer, took his place for the 4800 mile leg across the Indian Ocean to Fremantle. I am a 77-year-old retired GP with a number of seasons of ocean racing behind me - including nine Sydney-Hobarts - and a fair amount of cruising, including what may be the only complete circumnavigation of the Tasman Sea.

My interest in a Roaring Forties circumnavigation via Cape Horn and Cape Town arose out of the proposed 1989 bicentennial yachting celebration of Captain John Hunter's voyage in HMS Sirius to bring urgently needed food supplies from Cape Town to Port Jackson. Having purchased Finesse of Tasman to enter this event, I was frustrated when the Australian government forced its cancellation because of South Africa's apartheid policy. Her successor, Avalon of Tasman, is a Martzcraft 35 - a very soundly constructed yacht, designed by Brent Martz and one of 98 built by him at Botany Bay. She is ketch-rigged, and was already 15 years old when I purchased her. I had a new 43hp Beta Marine diesel installed, and fitted hull insulation, doubled-glazed ports and heavier anchors.

October on the southern Tasman Sea guarantees a rough crossing, but we wanted to arrive in South America for the summer season. Avalon of Tasman departed from Fortescue Bay on 8 October, giving us Tasman Island as our final glimpse of home and an appropriate first three days of nor'west and sou'west gales. A few days later the barometer rapidly dropped 33mbs to 977mbs as an intense low intruded from the Southern Ocean. With mounting apprehension we sailed in quiet conditions for two days, waiting for the inevitable. Then the storm came roaring out of the north in the middle of a black night on a stack of compressed isobars. Reduced to a storm jib and trysail we eventually hove-to, but not before I had a heavy fall. Long gone is the nimble footwork for which I was noted at school dancing classes!

The little ship was well below her waterline, with fuel tanks increased from 150 to over 700 litres for the Patagonian Canals, extra water supplies, food for months, four spare anchors etc, but we still made landfall at Captain Cook's Cape Farewell on the tenth day. We found Nelson to be a splendid cruising and wine-growing centre, then proceeded through the daunting French Pass to the Queen Charlotte Sounds. Leaving Cook Strait a gale destroyed the No 1 yankee as we headed down to the Chatham Islands at 45°S and 450 miles east of New Zealand, where the sea-minded locals made us very welcome.

The Roaring Forties did not live up to their name during the 5000 mile leg to Chile, giving more wind from the east than we expected and mainly 12 to 15 knot breezes from the western sectors. We took 60 days to make our landfall at Bahía Corral at the mouth of the Río Valdivia. The most memorable part of this passage was a 48 hour calm, two days and nights without a breath of wind, and the albatrosses grounded (or rather surfaced) by lack of take-off wind speed.

My wife, Enid, sailed in on a jumbo jet to join us at Valdivia. Situated twelve miles up the beautiful Rio Valdivia this large and interesting city was founded by the Spaniards about 400 years ago and still has many old-established German families following immigration from the 19th century onwards. A fine university, great beers, excellent cheap wines, plus street safety, all make it a worthwhile destination. It was our first contact with the all-powerful and ever helpful and courteous Chilean Navy or Armada de Chile, who not only man the nation's warships but staff all port authorities, man the lighthouses and coastal radio stations, control the fisheries and more. Each part of a cruise in Chile requires their printed approval or zarpe, and you are asked to report your position twice daily if possible. We actually saw a naval vessel almost every day during our three months in Chile, some days two or three gunboats.

A colourful 100 mile coastal passage took us down to the shoal-strewn and tide-swept Canal Chacao. With the help of the flood tide, a following breeze, an accurate chart and eleven waypoints on the GPS we went through this dog-leg channel at a hair-raising 11 knots over the ground, and were soon washed into the wonderful 120 mile by 30 mile waterway behind Chiloé Island, studded with many beautiful islands, friendly villages and numerous anchorages. The most spectacular anchorage was Estero Quintupeu, about two miles by half a mile in area. Its sides soar up to 3500ft, with numerous waterfalls, and we anchored beside a large fall in Caleta Matsu. Next night we anchored in the Mechuque Islands.

After only one week in this magic area, which could be cruised for months, we sailed across the Golfo de Corcovado on a gentle sunny day, Thursday 18 January, to the multi-channelled Archipiélago de los Chonos. There we chose the favoured yachting channels of Perez Norte and Sur for our journey through the '1000 and more' islands. Again we were faced with a multiple choice every evening to pick our anchorage. Our final one was the mighty walled Puerto Millabu, which we entered in a westerly gale roaring into Bahía Anna Pink, then sneaked out of two days later at 0230 hours on a windless 24 January, making a successful escape with the radar and a chart that was not GPS accurate. The 40 mile sea passage to the Península Tres Montes produced a fresh nor'wester and a rising sea before we reached Caleta Cliff where we planned to wait for suitable weather to cross the Golfo de Peñas (the Gulf of Sorrows).

At 1420 hours on 26 January - Australia Day - we sailed for the infamous Golfo with considerable trepidation, despite the reassuring advice and assurances of the local fishermen. But they were right, and with increasing confidence we enjoyed an armchair ride, with a breeze moving to give us a 15 to 25 knot beam reach all the way and a favourable tide beneath us. By 0900 next morning we had not only crossed the Golfo and the massive Canal Messier, but had sailed along Canal Baker to find the hidden entrance to Puerto Francisco. With the foliage brushing our rigging we entered its peaceful little world of tiny coves and gurgling rivulets. We were now in the Patagonian Canals, and by 8 February had enjoyed an eleven day cruise to Puerto Natales, visiting glaciers, passing through two awesome narrows, anchoring in caletas of unbelievable beauty, and visiting Puerto Edén where there is more than 4m of rainfall each year.

From Puerto Natales, Enid bussed to Punta Arenas and then flew out to holiday in Scotland and Italy. One week later we set off for the southern section of Patagonia, covering in three days a majestic area that deserved three months. The final night was spent in a tiny, magic place, Caleta Teokita, right on the edge of the Magellan Strait. We used only two anchorages in the mighty Strait - Caleta Notch, which is widely regarded as one of the finest yachting anchorages in the world, and Caleta Hidden, a snug retreat opposite Cape Froward.

From then on we were cruising the Fuegian Canals, which proved to be still another step up in grandeur and excitement. The first day we took a short cut through the colourful Canal Acwalisnan where we were visited by our first confident, little, black cinclodes, which perched on the dodger some inches from the helmsman's face and greedily accepted pieces of biscuit.

A hard, cold sou'wester met us at the southern end of the Canal and soon rose to over 60 knots, dictating a challenging shoreline passage around Isla Clarence to the protection of Caleta Louis. The next leg exposed us to the Southern Ocean, but we were soon into the magnificent heart of the Fuegian Canals with many snow clad peaks and giant glaciers to admire. The most spectacular of the latter was the Ventisquero Italia, rising 7000ft from the water's edge in two giant steps of ice. Enjoying some fabulous anchorages we sailed our way to, and then along, the Canal Beagle to the Chilean Naval township of Puerto Williams where sailors staff the supermarket, barber's shop and laundry! There were two sleek, heavily-armed destroyers at the wharf - designed and built in Israel we were told - but our favourite vessel was the Micalvi, a retired naval storeship donated as a clubhouse for visiting yachtsmen. Most of the other visitors were Germans or French, some with very attractive Swedish partners.

Our next objective was Cape Horn. A glorious sunlit daysail across the shallow Bahía Nassau took us to Caleta Lientur, one of Hal Roth's anchorages, and the only one in which we met williwaws (locally known as rachas). These winds made us decide to move down to the highly recommended Caleta Martial, only ten miles from the Horn. It was only a seven mile move but proved to be a wild one, with a westerly gusting to well over 70 knots in Canal Franklin. This big breeze continued for over 24 hours in the anchorage and the violent yawing twice succeeded in dislodging the Bruce-copy claw anchor. The third time we set the fisherman as well, about 60° apart, and that worked. The next day we went down to Isla Hornos, but a strengthening nor'easter blowing into Caleta León on the landward side of the island prevented a landing.

So it was off to Isla Lennox, and thence to Bahía Aquirre on the southern shore of Argentinian Tierra del Fuego, followed by a tide-stemming struggle through the Le Maire Strait and a sun-filled three day passage to the Falkland Islands with a 15 knot westerly behind us. During a night sail up the east coast of the Falklands the westerly strengthened to 45 knots - right on the nose for a spray-filled plug under diesel into Stanley Harbour.

A great time was enjoyed by all in Stanley, which is like an English village in the South Atlantic. The local people are very friendly and helpful. There are some interesting shopping and fine restaurants, and a number of worthwhile excursions, especially a visit to the 1982 battlefields.

Our departure was delayed for a few days as we waited for the almost everlasting gales to ease and for the ocean forecasts to come down below force 9! The previous two yachts to leave had come to grief, one lost without trace and the other towed back with extensive damage. A cruise ship and an ocean trawler had also been severely damaged in recent months. Apparently all this happened north-northwest of the Falklands, so on Sunday 18 March we headed east-northeast and escaped with no more than storm-strength west-sou'westerlies for 12 hours on the second night.

We then had a relatively peaceful passage to Tristan da Cunha, completing the 2200 mile passage on 12 April after 25 days. The final 14 hours were motor-sailed into a fresh northerly, an onshore breeze at the island's roadstead. The 'Harbour' Master was adamant that the conditions were going to worsen. In case he was wrong we anchored well offshore overnight, but he was right, and we reluctantly sailed on Friday 13 (Good Friday to boot!). Tristan has a neat looking little township with a 200ft heap of volcanic lava dumped right beside it in 1964, which resembles a black stack of ready-mixed concrete. The islanders claim to be the most isolated community in the world, 1500 miles out from Cape Town where we arrived 17 days later on 30 April, despite meeting fresh sou'easters over the final four days.

The wealth, the volume of shipping, and the size and quality of Cape Town's Harbour development amazed us. With some of the buildings 400 years old, the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront seemed bigger than Sydney's Darling Harbour and the Rocks combined, and much older and more tastefully completed than Hobart's Constitution Dock and Salamanca Place. We were made very welcome by the Royal Cape Yacht Club and by a number of ocean cruising yachtsmen from many countries, so it was with some reluctance that we set sail for Australia on Saturday 12 May.

On leaving Cape Town's harbour entrance (which is at almost the same latitude as Sydney's Heads), one is advised to sail over 300 miles south-southeast to find the westerlies and escape from the Agulhas Current, before heading for Australia. We had the good fortune to depart when the prevailing fresh sou'easters were not blowing and needed to motor for the first 24 hours, during which time we had close night encounters with container-ships, bulk-carriers and a number of fishing vessels. The next two days saw us sailing with a light sou'wester, only to be replaced by frustrating easterly weather and the persisting adverse effects of the Agulhas current.

Following this a large low pressure system moved through, giving us gale to storm force winds for three days - initially from the north, then moving northwest and finally turning southwest. During this time we had winds rising to 50 knots, and for the 72 hours from 0900 on 25 May carried only a storm jib. During this time we sailed 300 miles, averaging almost 5 knots.

Some pleasant sunny days followed, and beautiful nights with a waxing moon, but they did not help our bread supplies - eight mouldy loaves were given a ceremonial burial at sea on 1 June. They were undoubtedly the victims of a last minute purchase, with no time to cool off before stowing away in their closed plastic bags to sweat. However, we were feasting each night on a gourmet range of Thai, Indonesian and Italian meals prepared by Richard, and now he was going to cook fresh bread! Sunday 3 June was the 'Day of the Fish', when Richard pulled in a large-eyed specimen, probably hooked at a deeper level when we were becalmed overnight. It provided three good meals, but was smaller than John's Pacific bonito.

During the mid-afternoon two days later the 6 second 'Beat of the Sea' which has been imprinted on my brain over the years was disturbed by the interval between seas lengthening to an ominous 10 seconds. Not unexpectedly the 12 knot northwesterly breeze rose to 20 knots by sunset, then 30-35 knots by early evening and 40-50 knots by midnight. By dawn it had eased and backed to the southwest, but by midnight it had once again strengthened and gone into the south. Through the early hours it rose to 50-60 knots, slowly easing by noon and backing to the south-southeast, only to gather strength and return to 40 knots by sunset and 50 by mid-evening. For the next 48 hours we had gale to storm strength winds from the southeast and south-southeast, though with the barometer at 1030 for a great part of the time!

On 9 June the glass rapidly dropped 22 points to 1008 and we were hove-to for 24 hours. Next day the glass remained steady at 1008, our sou'easterly breeze eased to 25 knots and we started sailing again. Then on Monday 11 June the wind veered south-southwest, and although only 10-15 knots by noon, again the barometer was falling. By sunset there was 35 knots, and by midnight 55 knots from southwest with the glass down to 991 hectopascals! The main had been furled but we were still carrying the storm jib. At 0410 on 12 June I had just come on watch, the wind was blowing 50-60 knots, the seas had obviously grown larger, and I was contemplating heaving-to.

The next moment a giant sea destroyed the dodger about me and threw me violently forward onto the steering pedestal, breaking two of my ribs as it capsized the boat. As the leeward side hit the water, bending a stanchion in like putty, I was thrown back onto a winch cracking some more ribs. Then suddenly I was dropping down out of the cockpit beneath the boat, everything was quiet and fairly still, and there was absolute darkness. My Stormy Seas safety harness checked my fall and the next moment the jacket inflated itself and floated me back up into the capsized cockpit. Just as I was nearing the end of my breath-holding capacity Avalon of Tasman commenced to right herself. She paused only momentarily with the mast at waterlevel, then suddenly flicked upright, leaving me virtually standing on my head in the cockpit! We were about midway between Cape Town and Fremantle.

What a shambles below decks! Many drawers and cupboards had emptied their contents onto the deckhead when capsized, and now they and the cabin carpet had all returned to the cabin sole in an enormous jumble, mixed with the water that had gurgled in through three dislodged ventilators. Richard had been thrown across the aft cabin and sustained a badly bruised and abraded right arm - but it did not stop him immediately photographing the confused mess. We soon discovered that the HF radio and the radar were out of action, but it took us two days to locate our cutlery which had jumped out of the back of its drawer.

Now the sustained misery and tension really commenced. It continued for nine terrible days - until 0200 on Thursday 21 June when the breeze suddenly eased to 10-15 knots and did not return to destroy us. It was the shortest day of the year, but the end of the longest nine days in our lives! On 22 June I wrote: 'The 15 knot southwesterly continues, the seas are abating. Wonderful!'

The complex intense stationary low that had taken us in its grip had played with us like a cat with a mouse. Two days after the capsize the wind was 70 knots or more and the seas enormous, over 15m in our opinion, so we set the NZ parachute sea-anchor. It certainly seemed to help us during the 19 hours before the line chafed through. But the storm continued. The glass would rise a few points and the wind would ease, but only temporarily. Then it would fall again and the wind would be screaming at 70 knots and more. This process of raising our hopes and then dashing them repeated itself again and again. Sometimes the renewal was from the southwest, but at other times it came from the west-southwest, west, or northwest, howling for hours through the rigging. Through all this, and worsening as the days dragged by, we had enormous seas breaking near the boat with the noise of thunder. Some would break right over the boat, but worst of all they would sometimes crash into the hull like a motor car or a charging bull. The whole boat would shudder and ring like a large bell and be thrown sideways. The Martzcraft 35 is certainly built like a little fortress!

In Richard's opinion we had survived ten days of seas very similar to those that he photographed during the 36 hours that the Sydney-Hobart fleet was ravaged in 1998. (He has some great marine photographs on his website, <www.richardbennett.com.au>).

We now headed up to 34°S and found weeks of prevailing westerlies of 15 -20 knots, and on Tuesday 10 August motored into Fremantle, 63 days out from Cape Town. Two weeks earlier we had made our only sighting of a ship, the German bulk chemical tanker, Crystal Dawn, also bound for Fremantle. Spoken to by VHF, they kindly passed our ETA to Perth Radio. Avalon of Tasman was repaired in Fremantle while we returned home, returning in early November for the final leg home to Tasmania - a fascinating coastal cruise worthy of a separate article.

I endorse the opinion of other OCC members that if you have ever thought of sailing in Chile, stop thinking and set a date to go. If you have never thought of it, do so! Long before you go, get the cruising guides by Alberto Mantellero and the RCC Pilotage Foundation, plus the new one by Mariolina and Giorgio Ardizzi of Saudade III. Also useful is a copy of the US Sailing Directions for Chile, which in my opinion gives advice more appropriate to yachtsmen than the equivalent Admiralty Pilot. When you arrive in Chile buy the Hydrographic Atlas and all the charts needed to cover your proposed cruise. Finally, try to find someone to give you the detailed knowledge and sound advice that we received from former Londoner Duncan Hemingway and his charming wife Audrey of Matsu (though I would use shore lines which floated rather than the nylon lines they recommended).

"They went forth to behold the high mountains and the mighty surge of the sea, and the broad stretches of the rivers and the inexhaustible ocean, and the paths of the stars … and in so doing lost themselves in wonderment".(The Confessions of St Augustine).

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