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December 6th, 2009 – At Sea, 05º 13′S, 035º 07′W
by Herb McCormick
On the far eastern shoulder of the continent of South America lies a jutting chin of land called Cabo Calconhar – it represents the turning mark, or “the bend,” if you will, for voyagers wishing to negotiate the vast country of Brazil. On November 8th, the crew of Ocean Watch had Cabo Calconhar firmly in their collective sights as they set sail from San Juan bound for Rio de Janeiro, as they knew the prominent landmark would mark a significant waypoint on their journey.
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| The pounding has been severe, the headwinds relentless. Everyting, every day, every mile was a struggle. |
In his original voyage plan, skipper Mark Schrader budgeted twenty-four days for the roughly 3,500-nautical mile passage to Rio, a span, we’ve learned the hard way, was wildly optimistic. For late this afternoon, almost a month since gazing upon the receding shores of Puerto Rico, the crew aboard Ocean Watch was still roughly 1,200-miles from Rio. But it was a day of celebration anyway, for it was the day we finally slipped past Cabo Calconhar, a day we were beginning to suspect might never come.
Gasp, alas and at last, we’d made it around the bend.
It’s been said that for sailors, a rounding of Cape Horn is like climbing Mt. Everest. Perhaps that’s true, but for us, if so, getting south of Calconhar was like reaching the summit of K2. Making it through the Northwest Passage felt huge, but so does this, in a completely unexpected way. None of us harbored any illusions about this leg of the trip – we knew it was going to be a bear – but in retrospect, clearly, no one realized how difficult, dreary and even depressing it truly was going to be.
The pounding has been severe, the headwinds relentless, the currents fierce. Everything, every day, every mile, was a struggle. We probably should’ve been better prepared after we were forced into Cayenne, French Guiana, simply because progress was so difficult, and we found ourselves in the unenviable position of having to re-fuel and re-group. We met many a sailor there, all French, and when we told them which way we were headed – south – they looked at us first with shock, and then with pity. We didn’t quite get it. Now we do.
Part of the problem was that for all the miles we sailed, we gained no appreciable sense of accomplishment or satisfaction. That’s because our course was relentlessly east, and never south. We passed the equator – 0º 00′ – over a week ago, and yesterday we were still sliding along the 4th parallel, just south of 4ºS latitude. Go west, young man? Not aboard Ocean Watch: It was all about heading east.
The last day of it, fittingly, was as endless as the dozens that preceded it. All day and all night we ran east along the latitude of 4º 45′S. Always east. Never south. Depending on the slight lifts or headers, barely perceptible in the teeth of the steady easterly trades, we might be a little above it or below it – our Nobeltec navigation software keeps a very accurate record of our track – but mostly we tightly toed the line.
Late yesterday afternoon, we slipped through a series of strange, top-heavy oil derricks that appeared to be
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| The night was long and endless. Even the weather seemed bored and listless. On we sailed. |
standing on one spindly leg, defying the laws of physics and gravity. In the midst of them, photographer David Thoreson was leaning out the cockpit to capture the image and almost lost his long lens when Ocean Watch nearly ran over a stick propelling from the sea marking one end of fishing net. The stifling heat continued to affect everyone’s mood, everyone’s movement, or, more accurately, the complete lack thereof. In the north, the prevailing onboard buzz always seemed to be upbeat, the energy was always positive. Thus far, in the south, lassitude has prevailed, the crew at times on life support.
Still, on we sailed.
At 4:45 in the afternoon, we were at 4º 45′S, heading east. The sun set. The moon rose. On we sailed.
The night was long and endless. A series of blobs appeared on the radar, signifying small cells of rain and wind, little squalls. They came and went, almost yawningly, like nothing we’d seen in the doldrums. Even the weather seemed bored and listless. On we sailed.
Watches changed, zombie creatures passed each other in the companionway with hardly an utter. A rare moment of laughter and diversion: In some strange, distant land, a game called college football was being played. David T was getting email updates on scores and news. Nebraska was winning! A round of Tiger Woods jokes appeared. Nebraska was losing! And more golf tips from Tiger: Yes, one must always maintain control of the putter. On we sailed.
At 4:45 this morning, we were at 4º 45′S, heading east. The moon set. The sun rose. On we sailed.
Yesterday, skipper Schrader’s “Harper’s List” of Ocean Watch facts included this gem: “Consecutive number of 90° days or greater temperature inside OW: 41.” By mid-morning, we’d hit 42: Six straight weeks of it. And still we sailed on.
Finally, at 11:30 this morning, we looked at the wind instruments, gazed at the chart, touched wood, and tacked the boat. Ocean Watch shuddered, settled on to the new course. By golly, she was going to clear Cabo Calconhar with room to spare, money in the bank. We looked at the compass needle, pointing at S, not E. South. Halle-stinking-luiah.
At two this afternoon, we were abeam of the cape. By four, we’d crossed 5ºS. Our next port of call, Natal, was just a few hours away. We’d be safely there by morning.
Yes, we almost went around the bend getting around the bend, but lo and behold, we were finally around the bend. And on we sailed.
- Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson
This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
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