I Asked You, Why Are You Climbing the Mountain? — The Young Sailors Answer

I asked you, why are you climbing the mountain? The young sailors answer. I’m going to write this post without jokes or wisecracks, so that a carefully considered decision doesn’t look frivolous. May our beloved readers and support team forgive me. Yes, we are bound for Cape Horn. As we wrote, back in April of this year the captain and I had already discussed this crazy idea as an alternative way to spend the hurricane season, which coincides with the Southern Hemisphere summer. The first option, the desirable one, was New Zealand. The second, a hot atoll on the equator, seemed very likely, while the captain tossed out the third option as a joke. Why don’t we, Marinochka, sail along the 37th parallel in search of the Maria Theresa Reef, and then it would only be logical to carry on to the Horn? The 37th parallel and Cape Horn have been my childhood dream, one that could bring me to tears. I stared wide-eyed, asked him not to tempt me, and sighed that happiness had been so close, so possible—but I didn’t have the guts for it yet. The oddity of the route was that it involved 10,000 kilometres across an empty and, for the most part, cold ocean, and in the opposite (!) direction to our circumnavigation. And then, of course, another 10,000 kilometres to return to Polynesia and continue westwards. All of this would have to be pulled off in six months, while the tropical cyclones were raging, so that we could be back in Tahiti in May. Who would want to sail a distance equal to half the equator across the ocean, with a stop at Cape Horn, just for the sake of it? Exactly—no one. Even with an expedition objective of finding all the phantom reefs marked on charts of this remote ocean region. Nastya was horrified and burst into tears. I said I had never wanted to be a polar explorer; the captain concluded that, seriously speaking, we were not yet ready for the Horn. And we decided to remain in the trade-wind latitudes, like normal people. This entire conversation took place during the first week of our passage to Easter Island, where normal people don’t go either. .. .. And then hurricane season arrived. Realising that we would almost certainly not make it to New Zealand in time, and not wanting to go to a hot atoll, we had half a conversation over dinner and one over morning tea. After which we turned south, across the 37th parallel towards the very southern tip of South America, where Patagonia lies with its fjords, along with Tierra del Fuego and Cape Horn. .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Mum, please don’t read this paragraph! The waters around Cape Horn are considered the most dangerous in the world. Around 800 ships have sunk in the Drake Passage. Weather systems follow one after another, the waters of two oceans collide around the mist-shrouded rocks, and icy winds reach hurricane force. Among lovers of adventure novels and seasoned modern-day sailors alike, Cape Horn is the most iconic place of all. In the old days, a sailor who had rounded Cape Horn through the Drake Passage earned the right to wear a silver earring in his left ear, and in dockside taverns he was entitled to a free shot of rum. Have I mentioned the icebergs and forty-metre waves yet? )) Since we had belonged from childhood to the first group of people who knew about the Horn, and after sailing beyond three seas and to Easter Island had joined the second as well, we had thought about Cape Horn. However, the people who usually come here are tough men and equally tough women, with crews or alone, chasing records or an earring for the ear. And this is a long-distance sporting voyage, not moving the family hearth to places poorly suited to cosy family life with children. We had considered a voyage around the Horn and on to nearby Antarctica in the company of reliable people. We had even made our friends an offer they would find hard to refuse. But of course we had not meant to set out now; we had planned to do it after completing our circumnavigation.. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . By now, we have also gained experience of lying ahull in a storm and of the brutal thrashing to windward on the way to Easter Island. After reading diaries from different eras, from Captain Cook to Litau and Jessica Watson, we concluded that Cape Horn did not earn its bad reputation for nothing. But if you round it at the right time of year and with the grain rather than against it, your chances of ending up on the seabed are close to zero. As our friends wrote to us, there must be a reason Fyodor Konyukhov is rowing towards Cape Horn right now—he’s no fool. .. .. Do we understand what we’re getting into? Yes. Are we ready? Yes. I’ll write about expanding the horizon of what is possible in the next post, so as not to overload you. For now, here is a transcript of Nastya’s and Lada’s answers. .. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Question. Why did you react to this idea with horror in April, on the way to Easter Island, but agree so quickly now? .. .. . Nastya. There are lots of little factors for me, but no single great revelation. The first little thing is that it will be cold there. That’s better than spending four months on a hot atoll where there’s nothing but palm trees, sand, fish and islanders. South America is a very beautiful continent; it would be interesting to visit. Before the passage to Easter Island, we hadn’t had any difficult long passages, but after Easter Island and Pitcairn, with all the difficulties of getting there and landing... .. Once we had successfully coped with that, deep down I was already ready. Besides, I saw how determined you were and how genuinely confident you were that we would manage it. So I didn’t hesitate for long. The only thing that frightened me was spending 50–60 days at sea, but I still don’t know how I agreed to such a long stretch. .. .. Lada. At first I protested; I didn’t want a long passage. I even wrote on the board that my parents had gone mad. But then I was told that we would visit Tahiti again, Easter Island, and possibly the Gambier Islands. Maybe even Pitcairn. Something inside me turned another side towards it, something that pushed me not to object, and I began to want to do it myself. .. .. .. . The vocabulary and phrasing of their answers have been preserved.. .. .. .. .. . Is this like what happens to bomb-disposal experts—does the sense of danger fade over time, leading to fatal mistakes? Hardly, in this case. With extensive ocean experience come skill and calm. Our next report will be about what we discovered in this regard. It will be interesting, I give you my word as a woman, mother and first mate. And candid, from a cautious captain. . .. .. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Guys, we read all your comments and letters. Thank you for them! And it’s really cool that you’re writing the coordinates of your cities. We’re looking for you on the map too. We’ve already found the people from Samara, St Petersburg, Krasnodar and Moscow. And we’re sharing your dreams with you too—pretty amazing, considering the distances and everything..! Talk soon! If you come to the website from the FB or VK groups, the shore team usually posts brief details in the comments about the current weather and how we’re feeling. Hugs from the Roaring Forties, at 47 degrees south latitude and 126 degrees west longitude. It’s sunny today; we may even manage to air out our floating little home. The Pole of Inaccessibility is 180 miles away. By the way, our track does NOT appear automatically on marinetraffic.com, but we have started sending them our coordinates. We are waiting for the shore team to tell us whether Lady Mary is visible on the map. On marinetraffic.com, enter our MMSI, 273334590, in the search box. Our tiny little boat should appear on the world map. If it all starts working, we’ll send our coordinates every time we make contact.