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We sailed January 30 from Puerto Montt, Chile, bound around Cape Horn for Stanley, Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas), continuing our circumnavigation of South America that began October 17, 2002 in Mobile, Alabama. Under Owner/Captain Sonny Parker and First Mate Ray Riccardi, Sea Wolf III had called at San Pedro on Ambergris Cay, Belize, Colon, Panama, Santa Cruz, Galapagos Islands, and Hanga Roa, Easter Island before Puerto Montt. The sail south off the Chilean coast had gone reasonably well with a few nasty days of 20-35 knot winds and steep, choppy seas in the 15-25 foot range offset by a few nice days with 15-20 knot winds and low, gentle swells. Four of the six crew members had experienced seasickness but that had come and gone, and everybody was excited when we reached latitude 56 degrees, 12 minutes south at 5:30 P.M. (17:30) on February 7 and made the turn east toward Cape Horn. Cape Horn is at 56 degrees south. We had begun experiencing gale force winds the night before, and all three of the day watches on February 7 had seen constant rain and winds in excess of 50 knots but we were not concerned because the boat was handling it all very well. We had weather-fax and Single Sideband on board but nobody knew how to use them so we were blissfully unaware that we had sailed into a frontal system that included a line of low-pressure cells. We found that out later when we made radio contact with a passing freighter and got a weather report. We had hanked our storm jib onto the cutter stay in Puerto Montt, but had chosen instead to sail on just the roller furled jib with only about twenty percent of it unrolled. The main and the mizzen were furled.

After we made the turn east the rain stopped and skies to the west cleared somewhat. Winds were still in the 30’s from the northwest and quartering seas were in the 20-25 foot range, but fairly well behaved. Just after 9:00 P.M. (2100) Ray and Richard Pinckney, on watch, were looking aft and admiring the sunset and never saw the wave. We still don’t know how big it was or what it looked like, but it came in on the beam, not the quarter like all the others and it came all the way over the dodger and bimini. Richard had just returned from the head and climbed under the dodger on the port side of the companionway hatch. Just as he got settled he remembered that he had not clipped on his safety harness. He got back up and clipped on, and that saved his life. When the wave hit, Richard went flying, splitting the starboard panel of the dodger and ending up in the water, hanging by his safety harness. Ray, seated at the helm, managed to hold on to the wheel, even though he too was briefly under water. It took less than two seconds for Sea Wolf III to be knocked down and something more than ten seconds and less than twenty seconds to right herself. As she came back up Richard was able to pull himself back into the cockpit, soaked in 44 degree water, but none the worse for wear. Mark Schmidt, my watch partner, was sleeping on the starboard side of the aft cabin and everything in the cabin landed on top of him but although he couldn’t move right away, he too was unhurt. Sonny and his daughter Naomi were also sleeping, he on the floor of the salon and forward passageway and she on the starboard settee, and both were fine, but neither of them knew what had happened.

When it was over we found that the dodger and bimini were split and collapsed and the jib was shredded. This was a big, heavy 110 genoa that had been re-stitched, triple stitched, just last summer. We’re not sure how it got shredded but believe that when the boat went over it filled with water and tore from the weight of the water when she came back up. Even the part that was rolled up was shredded, and we still can’t figure out how that happened. We disassembled and stowed the remainder of the dodger and bimini, rolled up the shredded remnants of the jib, hoisted the storm jib and got under way again in less than an hour.

The gale continued and the rain returned so we stayed well south of Cape Horn, passing it at 1:30 P.M. (13:30) on February 8. Conditions made it impossible to turn northeast toward the Falklands so we continued to run with the storm as the barometer reading continued to drop. During the afternoon winds built back into the upper 40’s with a peak of 51 knots and seas coming off the continental shelf built to 25-30 feet, confused and steep. About 3:30 P.M. (15:30) the autopilot would no longer hold course so I took the helm to steer manually. Big steep waves were coming from both the port and starboard quarters and from directly aft, sometimes at the same time. It was a wild, tense, nerve-wracking ride but I managed to hold course until Mark relieved me at the helm at 5:15. About 5:30 he was steering and I was sitting next to the binnacle on the port side when we were hit, first by a big wave on the starboard quarter that we surfed down, dipping and almost burying the bow (visions of pitchpoling) and just as we recovered from that, pointed slightly to port, we got slammed by a 25 footer on the port quarter that we skidded down sideways. We seemed to skid forever and tilted about 60 degrees to starboard. Mark fell out of the helmsman’s chair but held on to the wheel even though water came all the way over the cockpit. I had two hand grips and a foot braced, so I didn’t go anywhere and no harm was done. Everybody below thought we were going over on our side again, or even a rollover, and we very well could have but we were lucky. After that Sonny and Ray discussed the situation and considered the available options. They decided that it was too dangerous to try and steer under those conditions at night, and to deploy our sea anchor.

We all had misgivings about the deployment and effectiveness of the sea anchor. Nobody on the boat had ever used one, or even taken a close look at one until we were in Puerto Montt. We did not practice deployment but we did take three preparatory steps there that would prove to be critical. First, and perhaps most important, Sonny, Ray, and Mark sat down and read the instructions, making sure they had a clear understanding. Second, Sonny and Richard rigged the bridle on the bow, bringing the ends in through chocks on either side and securing them to bow cleats. Then they brought the bridle itself up and over the outside of the pulpit and secured it at the base of the forestay. Third, Sonny and Mark unpacked and repacked our sea anchor, stretching it out along the dock at Marina del Sur, making sure all the lines were straight and not tangled. They ran the trip line into and through the bag first; then the chute followed by the lines, flaking them as they went. This bag has flaps at intervals inside, to be placed over the chute and sections of the lines to help avoid tangles. Finally, 25 feet of heavy gauge chain was attached to the sea anchor with a swivel shackle, and placed in a bucket. The bag and bucket were secured in the cockpit to be readily accessible.

The deployment itself was quite an elaborate process. Sonny and Ray spent nearly half an hour on deck in the storm making preparations and they did an outstanding job. First, Ray took one end of the rode forward along the port side, making sure it ran over the lifelines and outside all stanchions and shrouds, and attached it to the bridle with a bowline knot. Then the bag and chain were moved to the port side of the cockpit and the other end of the rode was attached to the chain with a bowline through a shackle. The trip line was tied to a fender, which was to serve as a float and a second fender was tied to the first by a 15 foot piece of small line. Finally, they coiled the 300 feet of rode so that when deployed it would pay out from the top. The last item was to drop and secure the storm jib, and preparations were complete.

During preparations, watch had changed and Richard was steering so Mark and I went back up to help with the deployment. Naomi stayed below out of harm’s way. Richard had started and warmed up the engine so everything was as ready as it could be. After all the preparations the actual deployment went quickly and smoothly. We made a final check to make sure the rode was over and not through the lifelines and that all legs and feet were clear. We knew that a mistake here could be fatal, perhaps to all of us. When we were ready Richard turned to port and as he did we threw first the floats, followed immediately by the chain and bag over the port lifelines. As we turned to port the stern went to starboard, keeping the propeller away from the line as we paid it out. Half way through the turn Richard shifted into neutral as the bow blew off and the sea anchor chute opened and caught, and just like that our nose was pointed into the wind and seas. We rocked and rolled all night but all of us managed to get some sleep as we kept one-person, two-hour sea anchor watches to watch the radar for ships. The decision to deploy the sea anchor was definitely the right one, and just might have saved our lives.

By daybreak on February 9 the barometer had risen from 28.80 to 29.35 and winds had dropped to 18 knots and moved to the southwest; both indications that the storm was moving out so we decided that it was time to go. We approached retrieval of the sea anchor with trepidation as we all had heard or read horror stories on that subject but it turned out to be a piece of cake. Our plan was to motor slowly forward, carefully avoiding fouling the line in the propeller, until we were alongside one of the floats and then pick up the float with a gaff hook. On the first pass I hung over the bow pulpit and stretched as far as I could but we were about two feet wide. We couldn’t circle so Sonny shifted into neutral and patiently waited for us to be blown off to allow for another pass. On the second pass Richard snagged the line between the floats and hauled them aboard. We pulled the trip line, collapsing the chute and after that it was simply an application of muscle power to haul in the chute, chain, and line.

The entire retrieval process took no more than 15 minutes and at 7:45 A.M. we hoisted the storm jib and headed northeast toward the Falklands, feeling that we had finally, really rounded the Horn and were beginning our long trip home. On February 12 we sailed into Stanley Harbor, thankful to be alive.

About the Author:

Charley Hester's book, Sailing with Strangers, is now in its second printing. To learn more about his voyage aboard the Sea Wolf III, you'll have to buy the book. You won't regret it! Charley Hester is an experienced sailor and an avid fly fisherman. His article documenting his experience at Cape Horn was published in the July 2003 issue of Sail magazine. He lives with his wife Maureen and daughter Molly in Indiatlantic, Florida, and West Yellowstone, Montana.