Cape Horn is the Mount Everest of Everest Horizontal, and it's just a few days away. The Cape is the southern tip of South America, the point of crossing from the Pacific to the Atlantic Ocean. The seas down here are rough and dangerous. Leaving port in New Zealand to cross this part took a leap of faith in my own abilities and the safety of the boat that we have prepared.

	Tim Kent aboard Everest Horizontal. (Photo: Everest Horizontal)

Life is lumpy. During the storms, the wave action is at times wild and unpredictable. Down below, looking through the windows, I feel like I'm in an aquarium. But the boat has taken storms in stride.

The big problem is a lack of heat. The heater broke down because of a combination of soot and then an overly aggressive cleaning in New Zealand. So now it is 40 degrees in the cabin. I can see my breath all the time. My damp, sweaty clothes take a long time to warm up and dry. The only relief comes when I run the engine to charge the batteries, but even then I need to leave the hatch cracked to avoid accidental carbon-monoxide buildup. And this is "summer" down here!

Other than the dead heater, life on board is pretty good. I have to deal with the chronically leaky water ballast system, which is worse than ever on this leg. The ballast system is a set of tanks that hold water in the hull to give the boat more stability. But the leaks mean I scoop and sponge up about eight gallons of water every day from the main cabin of the boat. The water soaks socks and wrecks books that get dropped or ejected when the boat is tossed around. Just a constant annoyance more than anything else.

A few days to the Horn!

Tim

February 9–21
Heading for Cape Horn

I am almost two weeks out of New Zealand now, more than halfway to Cape Horn, the tip of South America. Next stop is Salvador, a port on the Brazilian coast. This is the longest and hardest leg of the race, about 8,000 miles long.

This leg is the one that we all came for. Cape Horn beckons, with all of the danger and fear that centuries of sailing can evoke. I am worried about the potential for horrid weather, but confident in the preparation of this remarkable boat.

I can tell that we are moving south; my toes are cold again! I have on fleece and capilene, fabrics that keep me warm and dry. I also wear a warm jacket on top of it all.

The colors of the Southern Ocean are back: gunmetal gray skies, steely ocean, and no sun. And that feel to the air is back as well: It's thick, almost weighty. I also received my first notification of ice. An iceberg was spotted farther north than anyone expects to ever see ice this size. The big danger comes from what are charmingly called "bergy bits," chunks of ice as big as a car that float mostly just underwater. These can rip a boat apart and are virtually invisible. I intend to stay well north of the reported ice.

The boat has had its problems. The autopilot acts up from time to time. One day it turned the boat in 28 knots of wind (32 mph), knocking the boat down on its side. I was down below in my fleece. I had to collect my foul weather gear and boots with pots and pans raining on me.

But the big blow came to one of my sails and some of the hardware used to unfurl it. One night they were damaged beyond repair. So I tossed one of the most expensive sails in the inventory over the side, along with its furling unit. We are talking a lot of money here, well over $10,000. The sail will also be missed strategically.

But I'm still in a solid second place, behind Tommy Hilfiger Freedom America by about 575 miles, but ahead of third-place Spirit of Yukon by more than 200 miles.

Tim

January 27–28
Reflections and Repairs

Tauranga, New Zealand—Everest Horizontal crossed the finish line of leg three in second place. That means a lot to me. I overcame an incredible number of setbacks on this leg: a late start, broken ropes, sail damage, battery-charging problems, and the dramatic failure of the engine. I also withstood a strong charge from Spirit of Canada, which finished only 10 hours behind me after more than 7,000 miles of leg three.

I am now in sole possession of second place overall in the Around Alone race, a position that I never dreamed we could attain. My team and I have MUCH to do here before I start leg four on February 9.

The boat has been emptied. A steam cleaning crew blasted away the accumulated soot and grime from the cabin. The light, airy cabin has returned. Now I can sit down below and see things! The navigation station has been cleaned, and we are ready to get some of the electronics back online after the scrubbing.

It's Monday night here. We are 19 hours ahead of Central Time, and the Super Bowl just ended on Sunday night back in the U.S. We are planning our day for Tuesday, which will include getting our sails to the sail-maker, and getting the wires and ropes that support the sails off the boat and out of the mast so that we can replace them.

We also have to lift the boat out of the water to do some painting and repairs. The towboat that brought us into the harbor dragged the sailboat over a rock. So we need to fix the keel bulb, a big weight that rests underneath the hull of the boat. (A keel gives the sailboat stability, preventing it from tipping over in the wind.) We will also clean the bottom of the boat, and repaint the keel and rudders. On Wednesday, the mechanic will come to repair the engine.

Tonight, a bunch of us are going to watch the Super Bowl on tape. This will be the first NFL football game that I have seen this year—I spent the entire season at sea!

Tim

January 13–15
Searching for Wind

Over one eight-hour period I averaged only 1.5 knots (1.7 mph)—and I was GLAD! Because those light winds allowed me to work on my sails. I managed to repair a damaged one.

What faces us now are at least five days of headwinds—or no winds—as we try to work our way up the Tasman Sea to Cape Reinga at the northern tip of New Zealand's North Island. Often I am pounding into a sea that rattles the boat several times each minute. We are going only about 5 knots (5.8 mph) and making little headway toward our goal. Cape Reinga is 1,000 miles away. If we need to sail against the wind the whole way there, we have 2,000 miles of sailing ahead of us at about 150 miles a day. The math is not encouraging. I have some hope that we will speed on our way later in the week. I hope!

After two days of starting quickly, the engine decided to play coy. After an hour of fiddling and waiting, it clattered and thudded to life. If anything, it is throwing even MORE sticky soot into the cabin. I have given up trying to keep my hands clean for more than a few minutes.

The high-pressure system has parked over the top of us and there is nothing close by to move it along. Derek has gobbled up almost 200 miles on me in the last five days. He's doing a masterful job of staying in the right breeze. All we can do is go as fast as we can in the breeze that's available.

Simone ran out of food three days ago and has been subsisting on a handful of crackers and a liter of water. We won't run out of either food or water unless the wind gets even lighter!

Tim

January 9–13
The Boat That Luck Forgot

I'm south of Australia, approaching the Tasman Sea—the body of water between Australia and New Zealand. Winds have been light, so I thought I could do some work on the sails. Unfortunately—at least for this week—Everest Horizontal has been "The Boat That Luck Forgot."

With winds about 10 knots (11.5 mph), theoretically it wouldn't be too hard to get one of the damaged sails down and shoved below, where I could stitch and sew in peace. Yet the sail I wanted down resolutely stayed where it was. The problem was that a piece of hardware for the sail had started to come apart. I had visions of climbing up the rig, knife in my teeth like a buccaneer, slashing the sail loose. Not something I particularly cared for. Instead, I went to the next project.

I dragged on deck another sail from down below to work on. Yet soon enough, it wrapped itself around one of the lines. That was the last straw. After much pushing and shoving, I threw it down below.

Later, I looked up and saw trouble with the main sail. The bottom batten was hanging eight feet out of the back. (Battens are long strips of wood or other hard material that give a sail more weight and stability.) "Don't fall out, don't fall out!" I thought as I ran to it. Just as I reached it and started letting the main down, the sail gave a mighty shake and spat the batten into the ocean. "Excellent!" I cried. What could be next?

But I put my superstitions aside and went below to drag out another sail buried beneath two others. Oof! Grunt! I finally dislodged it and got it on deck. Wonder of wonders, it set in the wind beautifully! Later, I turned on the engine for the evening smokefest. It started on the first attempt.

Will the good luck continue? Or will the bad luck return? Tune in for the next installment of "The Boat That Luck Forgot."

Tim

January 6–8
Engine Disaster
The engine has become very noisy and smoky, making it impossible to see down below when it is running. A critical part has gone bad, which means the engine is shooting exhaust right into the boat.

I need the engine to recharge the batteries, so I am hand-steering as much as I can. This conserves power, reducing the number of times I need to start the engine. I plan to steer at least half of the daylight hours every day. Steering at night is not difficult, but it's cold, so I'll do that as little as possible to conserve energy. One of my advisers told me by telephone that the engine should work until New Zealand. I could make a quick stop in Tasmania for a portable generator, but this would lead to a 48-hour penalty. I'm in second place, and I am not 48 hours in front of third-place rival Spirit of Canada.

Each time I start the engine, it leaves me filthy. It fills the cabin with smoke, soot, and a gas called carbon monoxide. The gas is called "the silent killer" because it is deadly and invisible. But on this boat, there is so much smoke I know when to stay out of the cabin.

After getting the engine going, I head up on deck while it bangs away down below. When the time is up, I take a deep breath, dive down below to shut off the engine, and then dash back on deck to breathe again. After 20 minutes of smoke pouring from the cabin, it's safe to go below.

The boat looks like it has been in a fire. Every surface is covered with soot and grime. My pillow is blackened, food boxes are filthy, white surfaces are either dark gray or black. My foul weather gear is destroyed; it looks like a fireman's suit, black with filth and oil.

One night, after clearing the cabin of smoke, I went to lie down and set the alarm for three hours. I slept right through it. For the first time since the start of this race, I got five straight hours of sleep. Two more weeks of this fun! Cleaning the cabin in New Zealand is going to take days.

Tim

January 2–3
The Secret Weapon
I am past the halfway point of the 7,200-mile length of leg three. At the 6 a.m. satellite reading on January 2, I had only 3,539 miles to go! It took 19 days to get halfway; another 19 would put us in Tauranga, New Zealand, on January 21, ahead of my target date of January 24.

One of my sails is out of commission with a tear. The line used to hoist it also needs fixing. So I pulled out the Secret Weapon, a new sail that I had made in Cape Town. I had not flown it yet—my crew had put it up at the dock to make sure it fit, rolled it back up again and stashed it below. Basically, it is a spinnaker, which are those lightweight, big puffy sails on the front of the boat. But unlike a spinnaker, it is made from heavy cloth for heavy air. So getting it on deck was a chore. Yet once attached to the lines, it was vastly easier to put up and take down than a regular spinnaker.

This is THE sail to have—perfect for the moderate air conditions now. I logged one of my best eight-hour runs on January 3, averaging 14.9 knots (17.1 mph), covering more than 119 miles. I am smokin'! I broke the boat's top-speed record, hitting 26.7 knots (30.7 mph) at the height of one booming wave.

After starting this leg some 22 hours after the other boats, I'm now in second place, about 500 miles behind Tommy Hilfiger Freedom America. and 140 miles ahead of Spirit of Canada. I'm about 300 miles from Cape Leeuwin on the southwest coast of Australia. I've passed far to the south of India and Indonesia. I still need to pinch myself (or just rub my cold toes) to realize that I have made it this far, that I am really in the Around Alone race about to reach the longitude of Australia!

Tim