04 Feb Taking the Road Less Traveled to The South Pacific – Featured in the OCC Flying Fish Magazine

The following article was published in the the Ocean Cruising Club’s (OCC) Flying Fish 2024 Magazine. You can find the complete magazine and article here: https://issuu.com/oceancruisingclub1954/docs/ff_2024_pages_for_e-zine/272

When we set out to sail around the world via Cape Horn, we had little knowledge of what we were getting ourselves into aboard our J/46 Sweet Ruca, even though Kate and I were experienced racing sailors from the Midwest USA.

We both grew up sailing on the Great Lakes. Kate started in Optis and Thistles, winning a Jr. National Championship and later becoming a US Sailing instructor. I was cruising with my parents on Lake Erie at a young age. I moved on to racing both one-design and offshore, culminating in an overall win of the esteemed Chicago to Mackinac race as a navigator with Kate as a helmswoman.

Kate, Curtis and Roxy the sailing dog at anchor in Rikitea

When I was young, I read the tales of the Whitbread and Vendee Globe races in my father’s sailing magazines. Visions of palm trees and tropical islands were not lodged in my head, but towering waves of streaking foam attempting to overcome grimacing sailors in oil skins while water washed the decks clean cemented in my consciousness.

Cruising sailors, we were not, at least not at the beginning. Anchors, dodgers, and refrigerators were outside our sailing vocabulary. However, we were quickly hooked on the lifestyle after spending a month cruising through the beautiful waters of Lake Huron’s spectacular North Channel and Georgian Bay on a spartan J/105.

Something drew me to this challenging route. When we left port in Newport, RI, I thought I knew what it was, but later, I would learn there is much more to this route than screaming down frigid waves to go around a rock! 

The obligatory Cape Horn rounding photo.

Only now, at anchor again in the crystal blue water of Rikitea (Gambier Archipelago in French Polynesia), I can look back at the experience gained sailing a route around the bottom of the Americas. The experience is more than a sailing accomplishment. Becoming closer to nature and spending time amongst cultures that live very simple and remote lives resonates most with me about this journey. It has changed my perspective.

Sailing Cape Horn & The Canals of Patagonia

“The tales of rough usage are for the most part exaggerations, as also are the tales of sea danger.” ~ Joshua Slocum

This quote by one of sailing’s most famous authors sums up our thoughts on sailing in this area. Don’t read this wrong; the passage is fraught with challenges and no place for beginners. The forces of nature will brutally punish mistakes in these areas, and there is no one to call for help. It is not an easy place for yachts, still very much the Wild West of sorts, but this is also the draw.

With the advantage of a well-prepared modern boat, an experienced crew, proper planning, local knowledge passed on from other sailors, and today’s improved weather forecasting, most of this area’s dangers can be avoided. As in the books, there are still 70-knot williwaws (violent squalls), snow storms, uncharted areas, and ice to sail through. However, with proper planning, careful navigation, and waiting for weather windows, these dangers can be effectively mitigated.

Kate and Curtis on the foredeck of the Micalvi – Puerto Williams Chile

The place to gain local sailing knowledge is the Micalvi Yacht Club and Cedena Sailing School in Puerto Williams, Chile. Here, a mixture of newcomers, seasoned Cape Horners, and Antarctic adventurers come together in what may be the ultimate high-latitude sailing brotherhood. OCC Port Captain Lalo Cruz & his compatriots there both teach the next generation of young Chilean sailors in Optis and Lasers and share their knowledge of this area with cruising sailors arriving from all corners of the world who have left their flags on the hallowed walls of the Micalvi.

The interior and bar of Club Yate de Micalvi showing the flags left by sailors from around the world. We recognized many other OCC boats.

After leaving Puerto Williams, we were again very much on our own for the next 600 miles in the cold and icy Beagle Channel. This is perhaps the most awe-inspiring and challenging section of the journey. Towering mountains and glaciers dramatically meet the deep fjords in an intimidating but beautiful way. 

Sweet Ruca at anchor in front of the Seno Pia glacier.

Due to the dangers and inaccuracies of the charts in this area, one should only sail during the day and take refuge in one of the many well-protected notches during the evenings. We secure the boat every night with not only the anchor but also with 4 100-meter shore ties, as the conditions can change quickly and strong gusts can materialize from almost any direction.

As the climate here is driven by large storms that continually roll through the southern ocean, it is possible to take advantage of some very beautiful and sunny days between weather systems. On days with no wind, the silence and still air is only interrupted by the sounds of falcon wings moving through the air and cracking glaciers in the distance. 

Waiting out a storm in Caleta Brecknock

Moving northwards in the canals, the Beagle Channel meets the Strait of Magellan, and the scenery begins to change from snow caps above the tree line to barren, windswept rocks as the storms moving across the South Pacific crash into the shores of Chile with uninterrupted force. 

Glacier Pio Xi unleashed a sea of bergy bits in Canal Wide, many were larger than our boat.

Our next stop and sign of civilization would be the remote island village of Puerto Eden, where the last of Chile’s indigenous Kawaskar people still reside. This is a place where the changing of time is apparent. Once a disconnected village that thrived on local artisanal fishing, the shift toward the influence of tourism and technology is evident by the building presence of the cruise ship industry and Starlink. The island’s sole diesel generator still turns off every evening; when the lights go out, the feeling of wilderness returns in the hours of darkness.

Puerto Eden

We again set sail north through the Messier Channel towards Chile’s next big challenge. The Gulfo de Penas (meaning gulf of despair) separates Patagonia’s fjords from north to south and is the gatekeeper of the southern canals. A compulsory journey into the heavy seas of this area must be timed well, as the winds, waves, and currents here can damage even the largest of ships, as evidenced by the famous story of the Wager which lies wrecked at its entrance. This area is perhaps even more challenging than Cape Horn itself. 

Once into Patagonia’s northern section, one feels much safer and free to explore. Fuel, food, and civilization are now in reach if needed. We enjoyed this area very much, deciding to double back and spend another summer here, taking in the glaciers, hot springs, hikes, and most importantly, the kindness of the local people who still live a remote lifestyle but are beginning to create a good network for eco-tourism. Perhaps this area, between Gulfo de Penas and Puerto Montt, including the beautiful island of Chiloe, is the best of both worlds and may give the sailor all that is needed if Patagonia is on the bucket list. 

 

Caleta Sisquelan at the entrance to Laguna San Rafael

This area’s resounding beauty and culture is only interrupted by the influence of commercial fish farming. These aircraft carrier-sized complexes, which run diesel generators 24/7 and fill the sky with light, now reside in almost every nook and cranny of this beautiful area. After months in the pristine southern fjords surrounded by nature, we began to see the sad effects and pollution of these behemoths. The impact of mankind’s consumption and industry is stunning and concise. 

 

Sailing in front of snow capped volcanoes.

After so many miles in harsh sailing conditions, the boat needed a bit of refreshment to prepare for the 4000-plus nautical mile jaunt to our next destination, yet another of the world’s most remote places, Gambier. In Puerto Montt, we checked and refreshed maintenance items on the boat: running rigging, autopilots, sails, safety items, engine, and chain plates, and replenished our provisions for the upcoming trip. We also met many local Chilean sailors here who were wonderful hosts and became great friends.

Puerto Montt’s Club Reloncavi, much has changed here since the cruising guides were published.

Venturing Across the Pacific Ocean

After enduring the difficult climate of southern Chile for so long, we were ready for a change of scenery and temperature. Venturing into the Pacific Ocean, it was difficult to leave not only the beautiful mountains but also the kind people we met in our wake. 

We were finally ready for palm trees and coconuts again, though what we would find ahead in our next destination would once again encompass the kindred spirit of those who live a remote lifestyle. 

The archipelago of Gambier and the island of Mangareva, French Polynesia, was now the next destination, set firmly in our Expedition routing software. The journey would be 23 days of nonstop sailing, skipping Easter Island and Pitcairn due to weather conditions that would prohibit landing there.

The weather was poor, cloudy, rainy, and there were large swells. What we had hoped would be warm water spinnaker sailing for days on end in a deep blue ocean was not the case! Beam seas of gray and white crashed the deck as we reached at speed under reefed sails away from the mainland. Occasionally, we would have respite, the sun would come out, and we could set the gennaker again. Easy sailing was always short-lived, as the kite was doused again, and the stormy weather pushing up from the south returned.

Testing out the storm jib to slow the boat in big on the way to Gambier.

 We spent the last week of our passage under a heavily reefed main with little or no headsail as we ran in 3+ meter seas and winds gusting into the 30s day in and day out. A large breaking wave sheared an internal pin in our autopilot ram, requiring us to switch to our spare unit underway. At one point, we decided to get our unused storm jib out to balance the boat and limit flogging of the Genoa while surfing, all while keeping speeds under control and at a cruising rather than racing pace. I usually want to go faster, but this was one of those occasions where slowing down was prudent.

Arriving in French Polynesia

Exhausted from a fast and wet trip, we made landfall in Gambier early in the morning. The steep peaks jutted from the sea and were a welcome sight after the long and rough passage. Entering the western pass over the top of a visible coral reef contrasted the endless blue we had been sailing in for almost a month.

 Few boats venture to this remote archipelago, roughly 800 miles south-southeast of the Marquesas. We found ourselves the only boat flying the OCC burgee. The cruisers that do make it here, though, are a very diverse group from all points on the globe, many of whom were on their second circumnavigation. They are both blessed to experience this unique place, home of the black pearl, and be well lined up for a downwind journey through the less visited portions of the Tuamotu atolls. 

Rikitea, surrounded by an internal reef and again by the outer islands, is a great place to relax and take in the local culture while enjoying essentially the same views of the tall ships that arrived here hundreds of years ago. The islanders are friendly and welcoming to cruisers. The economy is still supported mainly by pearl farming and is not yet overrun by touristic tendencies. 

Here, it is wonderful to see the cruisers who arrive tend to blend with and adopt the local culture and language. Many family boats were here, with children attending the local school. 

Youngsters played football (soccer) in the streets, and the social activity amongst the adults included dinners of local fish and grilled chicken while exchanging stories between islanders and cruisers. While not apparent at first glimpse, the Polynesians, some of the world’s original ocean voyagers, have much in common with the sailors that arrive here. Living in close harmony with the environment around them, here is an unsaid understanding that the ocean is a great equalizer.

The island of Mangareva in Gambier, French Polynesia

We spent time here sailing the majestic outer islands and exploring uncharted coves. There are deserted islands, which you might see in a postcard, but they can still be fraught with danger. Care must still be taken as the outer reefs are still very wild, evidenced by a cruiser that was attacked by a shark while freediving there. With little medical care available on the island, he had to be flown to Tahiti by an emergency military medevac as civilian airplanes were not allowed to land on the airstrip after dark. 

As we sailed through the Tuamotus on our way to Tahiti, it was apparent that these islands are people’s homes, farms, and ways of life passed on from generation to generation. In these remote places, material goods and possessions are not what make a person wealthy. Here, riches are not shown in dollars and cents in a conventional way but in smiles, family, friendship, and congregation. 

Manu has an entire island to himself, great respect is needed to gain permission to access his island, but despite our language barrier we enjoyed wonderful conversation, sharing details of each others lifestyle

When I left the USA to cruise and sail around the world via Cape Horn, I thought it was about checking a box—checking the 1000-mile box to join the OCC, sailing around famous bits of land, gathering stamps in a passport, etc. Now, that is no longer so. What we have found aboard Sweet Ruca after all these miles in far-flung places is that cruising is an adventure into the human spirit. It is a way to connect more deeply with people and nature. 

Dinner with Blanca on Isla Magdalena – If you sail in Patagonia make sure to stop in and see this wonderful woman who lives alone and off the grid

Traveling this less-trodden route via sailboat has given us the unique ability to gain new perspectives and introduce us to new and diverse experiences, people, and cultures. We can also share a newfound wealth of knowledge with other sailors and those we meet ashore. The road less traveled is undoubtedly a bit more difficult, but a path worthy of the choice.

You can find out more about Kate and I and our boat at our website, www.sweetruca.com, and watch the Patagonian adventures on YouTube.