#18 Summer reading. Around the world on a 6.50-meter boat. Cape Horn/ 4

I am about 900 miles west of the Chilean coast, in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I spend the whole day putting things in order.
I have already decided that the voyage will continue as normal…and that I will build a makeshift rig with the longest piece of mast measuring 6 meters and 37 centimeters. Ground recall. My mother and Romain tell me that they have already arranged for me to get a new tree at a construction site on the coast of Chile and have scheduled my eventual grounding to make the necessary repairs.
I inform them of my decision to proceed nonstop and without outside help.
“I am fine, the hull is not damaged. On board I have what is needed to make a makeshift rig. There is no reason to stop.
THE JOURNEY CONTINUES!”
I catalog the halyards and sheets, collect the steel rigging cables, and clean up at the mast base support area on deck. The next day I reconstruct, with epoxy resin and carbon fibers the shaft base that split in half. Above the repair I make a small construction oven to heat the epoxy in a way that optimizes the mechanical properties. I insert a digital thermometer in contact with the repair to monitor its temperature. To warm I use activated charcoal bags, of the kind used in the mountains to prevent frostbite on fingers, and a pair of electric heating elements connected to the on-board batteries. The temperature stabilizes at 45 °C, which is perfect.
I prepare the boom in such a way that I can use it as a “goat” to hoist the mast. On April 1, I complete the preparation of the mast base and fix the makeshift rigging. I move the new mast toward the stern, fix its base to the deck, and the pen is positioned so outboard. The mast rests on some bags full of sails that I have fixed on the “cocon” to prevent the mast itself from touching the tiller of the rudders. I connect one end of the boom on the forestay plate located in front of the mast base, the other end is headed by two lateral stays, one toward the bow and a circuit that allows a sheet to travel to the mast. All that remains is for me to start tensioning this sheet to begin raising the mast. With the help of a winch I call back the sheet and thus, inch by inch, the mast in a little over an hour is up again!
“Tree hoisted! Yuuuuuuuu! April Fools’ Day for Aeolus and Neptune!” Satisfied, I shed the top of the wetsuit and pose near the makeshift tree for some souvenir photos.
I immediately hoist a jib and the boat suddenly accelerates, moving at three, four knots.
“I am on the road again…” I joke with myself — paraphrasing a well-known American song. I go up to the masthead to stare at a small camera to take a few minutes of footage of the new rig. On April 2, I replace the textile rigging with stainless steel rigging using eye terminals, which I close with the help of two wrenches. At night the wind strengthens, there are still paterazzi missing to be changed, I haven’t slept for more than 30 hours, one last effort and finally the entire rigging is replaced.
I can sleep soundly now. I inform earth of the successful completion of the work and that I have set the bow on Cape Horn!

In the days that follow, the wind is always sustained and I try all sorts of sail combinations to keep the boat moving forward as best I can. When the wind is crosswind I hoist the zero tails positioned at 90°, with the halyard fixed in the sheet angle. On April 6, a large grop- po in the shape of a huge inverted cone passes me by. The waves suddenly become violent, the wind rises to 45 knots. Over the past 24 hours, atmospheric pressure has dropped by 15 hPa. The cu- rious thing is that on the weather charts Romain does not see the wind blow that I am experiencing. It is probably a very localized disturbance. Romain writes: “Aless, you keep super averages. Is your mast okay in 40 knots? Is the temperature dropping? Good sailing. Small breeze on Wednesday the 7th. Reading your positions I don’t see any difference in speed. You’ve been working like crazy!”

Bow on Cape Horn! The days pass quickly and with a beautiful me- dia. The wind is always sustained, often over 25 knots with some gusts above 35 knots. The cold weather is beginning to set in.
To rest properly, I set up my own speri- mental system to warm the inside of the dry suit, from feet to hands. It works great, and one of the most important things is that I can re- gulate the temperature to my liking. At dusk on April 10, a whale appears to the left of the boat, passes under the hull, and emer- ge to starboard, 20 meters away, marvelous!

The next day Salvatore wrote to me, “To think that you put the tree back in the sea is unbelievable. A hug.” Receiving messages like this infuses me with new energy, as do Mario’s words whenever I talk to him on the phone, Alberto’s, Seb’s, Romain’s, and my mother’s of course. The messages of encouragement that my mother sends me and that come nonstop, through my website, are numerous and pleasant to receive.

April 14 is 300 miles to Cape Horn! The breakers are violent and about 2 meters high above the crest of the waves. The ocean seems full of hills and chasms, the wind over 35 knots. I can often estimate the height of some waves between 10 and 14 meters. At ter- ra, for the past few days it has been Fabrice, Romain’s brother who is in charge of the “routage.” Fabrice talks with Yves Parlier about the passage of Cape Horn, and it is finally decided that since there is an incoming gust of wind, the least dangerous solution is to move a few dozen miles away from the Cape, to round it south of Diego Ramirez Island. Away like this, sailing on a leaden ocean with trasluci- di reflections, dark and hellish. But I am fine and the boat is symbiotic with me, with my mood. “We fly” into the waves, the hull slips over them, is engulfed by them for a few moments, is spit back out and, faster than before, sets off in terrifying surf, injures the back of the wave in front, breaks through it by smashing the crest in front.

It’s getting dark and it’s getting colder.
Two albatrosses have been following me for days now, and I think they are the guardians of this lost storm-swept part of the world. I film them with the camera but I often have to interrupt and go back under- blanket to warm the fingers of my hands, which are stiff from the cold and have difficulty moving. When I am inside, I often activate the warming system of the wetsuit and prepare many drinks and cal- di meals. After each maneuver I dry the wetsuit because it is freezing cold!
Cape Horn is approaching. The last night awaits me before I acquire the right to adorn myself with a gold earring on my left lobe….