Travelogue: Sailing

A week ago I walked onto the docks at the yacht club here in Ushuaia and, in what was for me an uncommon feat of audacity, asked for a ride. I ended up three days later on Tranquilo, a 57-foot boat captained by a Dutchman named Bart. Bart made millions developing and marketing Vox Vodka. After 17 years of work he decided to hang it up, at age 34, and commissioned a world-famous boat builder--the guy who designed the Maltese Falcon--to build him a state-of-the-art beauty. Like a nice black suit, his boat conveys class, luxury, and confidence in an improbably subtle package. Despite Bart being a relative newcomer to the world of sailing, his boat has afforded him entry to the most exclusive of sailing circles and is the envy of many an old hand.

Bart himself designed the interior in a luxury minimalist style (think this), packed the boat full of toys (jet boat, skis, scuba gear, deep-sea fishing rigs) and set off around the world. Three years later, having crossed the Atlantic and sailed solo to Antarctica, he is exploring Tierra del Fuego and planning to continue up the Pacific coast of the Americas.

In Puerto Williams we moored Bart's boat against another, the Kiwi Roa, from New Zealand. This aluminum-hulled 50-foot boat looks like a tank and was built by the captain and owner, Pete Smith, who has been sailing around the world for 30-years with his wife Jo. Between those on the docks and those moored away, the Micalvi Yacht Club was hosting dozens of sailboats, but almost all were empty, locked up for the winter as their captains have gone home to various places around the world. In fact, aside from Kiwi Roa and Tranquilo, the only boats with owners present were Ocean Tramp and Santa Maria Australis. The town is small (pop. 2500), but the yacht club community is smaller, so within a couple minutes I knew everyone.

Ocean Tramp is owned by Charlie Porter, a legendary American climber turned scientist. Charlie has pioneered solo routes of El Capitan, kayaked through the Patagonian fjords and around Cape Horn, patented a type of climbing nut, made maps for the Chilean Navy, and hunted seals during a winter living with natives in Greenland. He now works as a glacial geologist, studying climate change by monitoring the glaciers of the Southern oceans from his sailboat, which he has converted into a scientific super-station.

Wolf, a German captain not nearly as grizzly as his name, runs charter tours on Santa Maria Australis. He bought his first sailboat at 22 and sailed it around the Mediterannean until it was crushed, made money importing and exporting in Germany, and relocated to Chile 15 years ago. His trips are high-octane (kayaking/climbing/scuba) customized adventures to Cape Horn and Antarctica for Europeans with deeeeeep pockets.

These boats, and the others moored at Puerto Williams and Ushuaia, are made for long-term, offshore "cruising." Bart's and Pete's boats, which are sturdy enough for world travel and can comfortably house a few people, are two of the smaller ones. The larger ones, such as Wolf's and Charlie's, are upwards of 70 feet with two masts and covered cockpits. Below deck, they have sleeping space for 8-10 people, at least three bathrooms, common areas for dining and seating, a well-equipped galley for cooking, and storage space for toys, supplies, luggage, and food (boats going to Antarctica are required to have one year's worth of food).

Certain paradoxes infuse the world of sailing and make it all the more intriguing. Hardy, brave, and practical to the core, each and every one of these captains keeps a clean, organized cabin (shoes off before entering) and, while they will face the harshest of elements to bring in a sail or tie down a line, they just as readily expect to enjoy hot tea and a good snack once below deck. They take pride in their adventures, and in being hardcore, but they place an equal premium on class, cleanliness, and comfort. They can be hard-headed, "type A," and narrowly focused on their boats and their journeys. The yacht clubs, however, are places of sharing and cooperation. For example, due to limited dock space boats must moor against each other, three and four deep against the docks. It is thus necessary to walk on other boats to reach your own--just wipe your feet first and nobody minds. Likewise, when you arrive, the crew of the boat you will moor against should be there to help you tie lines. When we arrived, the couple in Kiwi Roa were cooking or sleeping or otherwise unavailable. Bart blew a loud horn to get them out on the boat, and nobody thought twice about it.

The atmosphere is convivial and familial, with captains hosting each other for dinner, swapping stories, sharing weather reports, and generally looking out for one another. The world of ocean cruising seems relatively small, as sailors who have never met can triangulate their relationship to each other with reference to the names of other boats they have encountered in distant ports and anchorages. A kind of self-monitoring membership system exists in that anyone who sails into these docks has done serious ocean crossings and most have been to Antarctica. Necessarily then, each is worthy of the other's respect and trust.

Supporting the captains in these nautical dramas is the crew. Most larger boats, save for the Maltese Falcon, cannot be sailed safely by one person over long distances. Putting up and taking in sails, making repairs on the fly, mooring, night watches for safety, and, for charters, taking care of clients, generally necessitate an extra hand or two. Some boats have regular crews, some pick them up as they go. Some couples, like Pete and Jo, handle the boat themselves, but for longer trips they might also solicit crew members. Some crews get paid while others share expenses with the captain for the privilege of passage. Others sail in something of a volunteer capacity, working for their bunk and food.

Thilo, from Switzerland, is a 23-year old I met in Puerto Williams, and had just crossed the Atlantic on a six-week voyage crewing for a private boat. He had no prior experience sailing and is simply traveling the world like me, but ended up on a fantastic voyage with an old, party-loving German captain, his girlfriend, and two young fellow crew members. They shared cooking duties, night watches, and general work onboard to keep the boat above water and on course, but otherwise had a free, fun, and priceless journey.

Martin, a former geography teacher from Holland, is in Ushuaia trying to score a job as a crew member on one of the Cape Horn or Antarctic charter boats, such as the one Wolf captains. He sailed down from Buenos Aires and is hoping to get around the world by crewing. He worked as a sailing instructor in Holland and knows what he's doing, so thinks he might find a paying gig, at least one that will cover a plane ticket home at some point.

Websites exist that serve to connect those seeking boats with those seeking crews, but the positions offered are usually for "shared expenses" arrangements (expenses include diesel, food, port fees, etc.). The really great trips, on private boats going to fantastic locations, require patience, diligence, and luck. Thilo, for example, spent two months waiting for his lucky day and Martin has spent three months in Ushuaia cultivating relationships with the sailors here. The season does not begin again until late October, so he has to kill time until then.

It appears that I, too, may have a chance to join the company of these modern-day explorers. Charlie Porter invited me to accompany him and his group of scientists on a three-month trip later this year to the islands of South Georgia and Tristan de Cunha. Not set in stone yet, but this is the trip of a lifetime, so I have accepted the offer. Before entering the open Southern Atlantic, however, I need to address a less exciting aspect of sailing and test my resistance to seasickness.