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Contributed By: Geoff WilsonThe entire sailing vessel juddered as the latest gust smashed into the rigging high above us. The nature of the southern ocean’s fury had revved up a few notches whilst I snatched some valuable moments sleep...
The entire sailing vessel juddered as the latest gust smashed into the rigging high above us. The nature of the southern ocean’s fury had revved up a few notches whilst I snatched some valuable moments sleep... I gazed upwards at two justifiably concerned faces above me in my bunk. Kit and Jordy both felt I needed to be up on deck to assess our storm tactics and determine how best to survive this now terrifying southern ocean storm.
Rolling west to east these low-pressure systems run unchecked by land or ice, spiralling madly, churning up enormous seas, creating havoc for all mariners in their path. We had faced multiple storms on our sail this far south (well into the roaring fifties or below latitude 50 south), our sail from Australia to Patagonia had been peppered with challenges and watery baptisms, however something in this tempest felt different. Its fury reached new levels and tension cloaked the boat.
As we all donned our wet weather gear, survival vests and personal EPIRBS or locator beacons we could hear the scream of a thousand wild cats outside. The anemometer had just topped out at 72 knots, at this speed the tops of the waves turned to foam moving horizontally, smothering all in its path. The Nanook a robust 48 foot, 30 tonne steel sailing sloop was at her absolute survival limit. The mast juddering, surfing down building sized waves, slipping and sliding from beam to beam, threatening to pitch pole or capsize at any moment. As we ran in front of this enormous ball of energy, the tiny bright orange canvas or “hurricane sail” up front kept our bum or stern to the worst of the waves, but it whipped or cracked with a gun shot like noise. Occasionally a rogue set would hit us on the beam or side, this would stop all momentum for a second, then the vessel would lay over, water covering the deck and our exhausted crew of 4 would revert to trust, faith that the Nanook would right herself, shake off, and continue onwards.
In a small brave huddle, we stood together gripping parts of the vessel to stay upright. I wished I could reassure our small team all was to be Ok, but I think instinctively we all grasped that any further deterioration in the sea state may overwhelm even tough Nanook’s Dutch design. We agreed resolutely to do all we could do to survive, but with the nearest vessel over 1000 km to our north, none of us expected to survive if we were forced to enter the frigid 7 degree Celsius water, life raft or not.
Dressed for battle we went above deck, into a world like nothing I had ever seen. Complete chaos, no order to the sea at all, a mess of intersecting swell lines upon an enormous base. The troughs two football fields below our bow as we began to surf with every swell from behind. The entire vessel cried for rest and the only tool we had to do this was a Jordan Series Drogue, or a clever 300 metre long line of thick rope with small parachutes stitched to the main line every 2 metres or so. As we ran this off our stern, we could feel an immediate semblance of control return to our marine world. The line broke the impact of the waves and separated them as they passed to the left and right of us, and the parachutes slowed the hull speed down from over 16 knots to a much more manageable 2.2 knots. The loads on the rig diminished, the side to side slipping and the fear of capsizing disappeared. Suddenly hope returned, in fact, Joy surged through our weary bodies, as we realised our storm tactics had improved our chances measurably. For 16 hours we ran on the drogue, as the boat slowed, the storm started to pass over the top of us. Eventually, when the winds dropped below 30 knots and the sea state became sailable once again, we hauled the precious drogue back in and set a small amount of sail, correcting our bearing to head towards South America once more. 52 days after leaving home we made landfall on the Chilean coast.
Why? Why would any human choose to endure what I have just described? It is a fair question, and for most of us we are wired to avoid hardship, distress and mortal danger. However for the rare few, blessed or cursed as it may be with the “adventure gene” we do run towards such challenges, we choose hardship over comfort, strain over apathy, stretch over stasis. When desperate need, or purpose, meet adventure dangerous dreams are borne.
This challenge was part of Project Zero, the brain child of my son Kitale and me many moons ago. Charts, sea almanacs, guides, Google Earth and copious beer consumption led to the development of a 6 expedition project designed to showcase to the adventure community that not only can we explore carbon neutral, in fact we can’t afford not to. If we love the environments we explore; reefs, ice caps, high altitude peaks, deserts, glaciers, valleys, seas, then we must learn to travel amongst them with no footprint – human, carbon or otherwise.
Having survived the storms (9 in total) our small crew – Kit, Jordy, Crusty and myself made our way to Patagonia where we moored in an eerily isolated fjord at the base of the mighty Patagonian Ice Sheet (southern). Kit and I made our way from sea level through harsh, dense forest to the ice pack. Using Kites and manhauling we crossed from Chile to Argentina and then returned to the vessel having completed the first father/son crossing of the Patagonian ice sheet, and very definitely the first carbon-neutral passage.
Licking our wounds but healing quickly, our crew and the Nanook pointed our noses southward and we crossed the infamous Drake’s passage, graveyard to 20,000 mariners and counting. After a relatively trouble-free passage, we survived 3 days of crushing ice as winds pushed enormous bergs down onto our first anchorage. 3 days of fingernails on a chalkboard screaming, resonating through the hull as bergs scraped and pressed on our hull without mercy. Yet still The Nanook withstood the pressure, keeping us alive and allowing us to reach the glacial base that Kit and I would use to climb towards the summit of the Antarctic Peninsula. Days of intense effort and concentration followed as Kit and I attempted to make good decisions as we gained altitude along a glacier peppered by avalanches from both left and right. Crevassing we had expected and were prepared for, but in one of the driest environments on earth, deep snow, and huge avalanches were a surprise. Reaching the foot of the final 2 km climb we decided to replay the words of Sir Ernest Shackleton in our minds.
“Better a live donkey than a dead lion any day my dear…”
Sir Ernest Shackleton wrote to his wife, and he would set the benchmark for all good decisions in the wild places. Less than 200 km from the South Pole in 1908 he would turn for home, saving his entire crew in the process.
Kit and I used the impetus from the last avalanche that blasted our tent position high on the glacier to force us to make a good decision. Turning with heavy hearts back towards the coast and messaging Crusty for pickup before yet another oncoming storm.
Days later we sat on deck hiding behind an Antarctic Island, anchored behind a huge ice wall, the storm screaming overhead. Our hearts were heavy with the pressure of a goal unattained but resolute in the fact that we would have both died on that final summit push. We both knew we made the right call, the live donkeys would return someday soon.
Over the next months, the Nanook made her way northwards towards the Arctic and another 3 Polar Journeys lie in wait. Travelling at walking speed through the doldrums, passing the Brazilian coast, and then through the amazing islands of the Caribbean. Finally sailing into New York harbour we realised how far from the sunny Gold Coast we had come. Ship damage and crew changes have meant we didn’t get The Nanook as far north as hoped this season before leg IV of Project Zero. In a shed in Nova Scotia Canada, Nanook will miss out on the next epic adventure but will rejoin the story in 2025.
Stay tuned as the team makes its way to Iceland in the next few days. The goal now is a carbon-neutral crossing of Iceland from North to South. Using 2 robust Icelandic Horses, Kit and I will traverse the majestic wilderness of Iceland to the base of Vatnajokull Glacier, then switch to kite and ski to make way southwards, finishing the journey via inflatable kayak to the southern ocean.
33,000 sailing kilometres, 1000s man hours on watch, hauling, trekking, skiing, and a million good decisions have ensured our crew of 4 has made it thus far. Follow us on www.projectzero.earth and @projectzero_earth on Instagram. The mission remains the same, safe passage, carbon-neutral exploring and a reminder we must all try and reduce our impact. Share and help us promote responsible exploration, so our kids kids can do the same.
Project Zero’s Top 10 on their Gear List
1) Arcteryx Shell Jacket Bib and Brace pants
8) Arcteryx Cerium Puffy Jacket
10) Salomon MX Mountain Skis
Not sure what gear you need for your next running adventure? Chat with our friendly team of Outdoor Gear Specialists in-store or online today and don’t forget to share your adventures with us on Instagram by tagging @wildearthaustralia and #mywildearth in your next post.
About the Contributor:
Geoff Wilson is an intrepid explorer of the Polar regions and stands tall among the few who dare tread upon these icy realms. His impressive adventure pedigree includes monumental feats like the longest solo unsupported polar journey in human history conquering the unforgiving summit of Dome Argus, Antarctica, and achieving the fastest unsupported crossing of Greenland south to north to name a few. Follow his adventures on Instagram.
