Past Projects
The Voyage (and Loss) of Great American
Fall, 1990
Written by Rich Wilson, President of Ocean Challenge Inc.
In 1990, I decided to try to link a long and dramatic voyage to students in classrooms and at home, little knowing how dramatic the voyage would ultimately be.
We needed a voyage that was long enough so that a school program could cover the multiple topics relevant to this multidisciplinary adventure. We needed one that was dramatic enough to get people's attention.
Knowing that a group of boats had attempted to break the old clipper ship record from New York to San Francisco, and two had, I investigated the record books and found another great record to tackle: San Francisco to Boston by way of Cape Horn. The great clipper Northern Light had set the record of 76 days 6 hours in 1853, during the Gold Rush era. Before the days of the Panama Canal or the trans-continental railroad, sailing ships were the fastest way to get from the east coast to the west coast, and vice versa.
I wanted to use as many distribution mechanisms as possible to reach as broadly as possible. We worked with the Mame Reynolds who had set up newsletters to classes for the BOC Race and would append information from us to those newsletters. We worked with the American Lung Association (because of my asthma) who would print information from the voyage in their newsletters. We set up a 900# (couldn't afford an 800#!) and determined to call in by radiotelephone every day and leave a message about conditions aboard so that people could hear in our voices exactly how the voyage was going.
Steve Pettengill joined me to sail the 60 foot long by 40 foot wide trimaran (three hulls) Great American. Steve had sailed aboard her with Georgs Kolesnikovs when they set the record from New York to San Francisco in 1989. We departed with a terrific story by Bob Dotson on NBC Nightly News on October 22, 1990.
Slowly inching ahead of the phantom ship Northern Light, my mother had found an abstract of her logbook, we streaked south for Cape Horn and Boston. we made all our daily reports to the 900# and delivered information to Mame for her newsletters. All went according to plan until we got to the Southern Ocean, at 40 deg South latitude.
There disaster struck. The detailed version can be found in a story that I wrote for SAIL Magazine entitled "Capsize at Cape Horn". A shorter version follows here.
The usually stormy Southern Ocean became wilder than usual. Leading up to Thanksgiving Day, seas gradually grew from 25 feet (trough to crest) to 65 feet high. Under bare poles (no sails set) Great American was surging to 18-19 knots (most sailboats sail at about 6-8 knots).
Finally, on Thanksgiving Day, 400 miles west of Cape Horn, Great American turned sideways on a wave, and was slowly rolled upside down. Standing now on the ceiling, in 41 degree water up to our knees, we got into survival suits (large ovesized neoprene wet suits) and set off an emergency beacon.
An hour later, a wave that must have been far larger than the rest, atruck Great American and must have thrown her. I was launched upward, my head struck the floor overhead, and I was knocked out for about 15-20 seconds. When I came to I was underwater. Finding something with my feet, I pushed off and came to the surface. Now we were neck deep in water, inside Great American's cabin, and the boat was upright. Fortunately, Steve was OK, and I was OK. No one has ever heard of a capsized multihull being re-righted by a wave.
The beacon had worked, and 15 hours later (we expected a wait of 3-7 days, and that was if the beacon had worked), the New Zealand Pacific, the largest refrigerated containership in the world, on the trade route from New Zealand to Europe by way of Cape Horn, found us, directed to our position by satellite telephone by Coast Guard New York. Captain Dave Watt was awesome as he brought his 815 foot long, 62,000 ton ship, rolling through 60 degrees herself, alongside the awash Great American at 3:30 am in the dark, and Steve and I were given a chance to jump for a rope ladder hung down from the side of the ship.
We successfully made the leap, climbed for our lives to get out of the way should the trimaran surge back to crush us, and got inside the pilot door. We were safe, but it was heartbreaking to watch the valiant trimaran Great American, with her bow held high and proud, wash down the side of the ship into darkness, never to be seen again. She had been our third shipmate, we had guided her, and she had defended us.
Aboard New Zealand Pacific, we kept our 900# recordings going to inform people of the details of the disaster, and to pass information to Mame for her school newsletters.
We travelled to Vlissingen, Holland, and disembarked, eager to get home to New England, but sad to leave the ship. The crew had been our saviours, and were now our friends.
In the months that followed, I had a chance to visit a dozen of the classes that had followed our journey. The young students were so excited!
Although the program had been abruptly abbreviated, a real-life experience had been brought into their classroom, and they loved it. It had captured their imagination, and they had learned about geography, history, math, nutrition, weather, and wildlife during the process. As well, they had seen that our preparation, planning and teamwork had saved our lives.
Our linkage programs to young students had worked. Now if we could organize it better, provide more volume and timeliness of information, we could REALLY make a difference!
I determined to try again.