UNDER SAIL IN ANTARCTICA

GEORGE KARPENKO
This book was created for my friends, and is dedicated to two women - my mother Galina
Ivanovna and wife Lyudmila.

Chapter 1. DON'T MISS YOUR CHANCE, <URANIA-2>!

Chapter 2. FIRST MILES or AROUND THE WORLD
Chapter 3. MOSCOW EMPTY
Chapter 4. FLIGHT TO ANOTHER DIMENSION
Chapter 5. ISLANDS IN THE OCEAN
Chapter 6. On the wings of the Passat
Chapter 7. SOUTH AMERICA ABOARD
Chapter 8. IN SOUTH AMERICA
Chapter 9. FIRE EARTH, SPILL OF DRAKE, ANTARCTICA
Chapter 10. ON THE SOUTHERN POLAR CIRCLE TO THE WEST!
Short afterword

About the author

Civil engineer
1970-1984 - sports rafting on mountain rivers. A number of first ascents.
Prizewinner of the USSR Championship in sports alloy. In 1984, his team at
participation of forty countries ranks second in the rally on the river. Smelling.
1972-1994 - during this period organizes and conducts winter hiking and
expeditions in the regions of the Polar Urals, the Yamal Peninsula, Taimyr and Northern
Arctic Ocean.
1987-1989 - the team is building a yacht <Urania> (plain)
1990 - the first exit of Urania to the Baltic.
1991 - captain of "Urania" along the route Leningrad-Murmansk (around Scandinavia).
1992 - captain of Urania on the route Murmansk-Svalbard-Yanmaen-Iceland-Faroe Islands-St.
Petersburg.
1992-1994 - Designed and built at <Severnaya Verf> ketch
<Urania-2>.
1995-1997 - Sea trials of Urania-2 in the Baltic and North Sea.
1997 - 1st stage of the transglobal expedition: St. Petersburg-Northern
sea-portugal.
1998-1999 - 2 stage of the expedition:
Portugal-Brazil-Argentina-Antarctica.
Yacht captain. Master of Sports in Tourism.

Chapter 1. DON'T MISS YOUR CHANCE, URANIA-2!

Our expedition, called "Transglobal", assumed movement on a sailing yacht around the globe in
the meridional direction. The expedition was to be the first in the history of navigation a sailing
round-neck sailing from north to south and from south to north. Until now, all the numerous
sailing round-the-world circled along parallels.

According to the plan, having left St. Petersburg, we had to go down the Atlantic to Antarctica
and then go along the South Arctic Circle along the Antarctic coasts to the west to traverse with
New Zealand. After that, climb the Pacific Ocean from south to north to the Bering Strait, from
which go to the Atlantic by the Northern Sea Route and end this journey where it started - in St.
Petersburg.

By the fall of 1994, at the starting point of the route - at the Severnaya Verf shipyard, a yacht
with a metal hull 22 meters long, called Urania-2, was built. For the yacht, sailing equipment
such as ketch was chosen. Over the next two years, we completed it afloat and tested it, going
to the Baltic and the North Sea. By this time, out of the entire large team that participated in the
construction of Urania-2, only two had a desire to go further - I and Valera Timakova. This was
preceded by a complete "zeroing" of funds and the inability to independently finance the
remainder of the meridional round-the-world project.

Winter and summer spent on the promotion of the expedition with the help of the Aurora
advertising agency, its inclusion in the list of expeditions of the UNESCO IOC and in the
Russian section at the Expo 98 exhibition in Lisbon were pleasant events in themselves, but did
not bring any money. In order to somehow save the matter, it was urgent to go to sea - on my
own enthusiasm and complete at least the first stage around Europe: from St. Petersburg to
Lisbon. We hoped that this would be appreciated and would further raise funds for the
expedition.

Two days before the start, snow fell ankle-deep in Moscow. From this it became lighter in the
morning and more alarming. Valera Timakov, who had left for Moscow three days ago, said by
telephone from St. Petersburg that the "situation" had already been removed from the fairway
and this had caused me sleepless night. Everything was bad, it didn’t work out for the money
either, but the worst thing was that the time allotted to the project was leaking. Serega
Rozhdestvensky stayed for another day - to finish off our Schengen visas, and I, having
abandoned all our hopeless affairs, with two backpacks of equipment, went to the northern
capital by day train.

In St. Petersburg, "it was not dawn anymore," morning twilight almost immediately passed into
the evening darkness. Urania-2 was stationed in Galernaya Havana, next to a diesel submarine.
Our yacht was made for the "extreme" seas, so it had a powerful mast, a thick standing rigging,
everything was securely loosened and inspired confidence. From the cabin it was possible to go
down to a large wardroom, with a table at which fifteen people could sit. Here, in the wardroom,
on the starboard side, there was a galley, where food was prepared on a two-burner stove and
served at the table.

The yacht had five double cabins, four latrine, two of which we converted into storage facilities
for expeditionary equipment, a large cabin and, tiny, for one person, a sauna. <Uranium-2> our
team members have lived in for two weeks now and when I arrived I found the situation not so
critical: the wardroom was comfortable, the music was playing, the people were not sad and, it
seemed, had no problems getting out on a sailing yacht in the month of November in the stormy
Baltic. We still had to do a lot of work on the yacht, mainly prepare the sails, the corrugation
system, accept and sort the products, eliminate the imperfections in mechanics ... And for all
this there was only one tomorrow. It had been snowing all night and in the morning we had
difficulty opening the shutters of the main hatch - they were filled with snow, and the harbor itself
was covered with ice. Snowdrifts lay on the deck, in the cockpit, and we began our last day in
St. Petersburg with snow removal.

Soon we became witnesses of how our mutual friend Sergei Kudryashev brilliantly fulfilled the
obligations undertaken in Moscow to supply the expedition with sponsorship vodka of the
Smirnov company: the new Volga, packed to the ceiling with boxes, slowly, with a groan,
clinging to the belly all the bumps in the road crawled to Galerian Havana. The Urania-2 team,
having thrown shovels, rushed to reload vodka into the Urania-2 holds.

There was no end to the boxes, and it didn’t please me anymore, it was clear that until things
were finished with vodka, other things would stand. By 14 o’clock to the arrival of journalists, we
raised the grotto with large logos of our non-existent sponsors: Aeroflot, Global Initiative,
Intourist, Ingosstrakh, and in the morning we went to the starting pier of the sea terminal, where
Misha and I froze on the hard the wind, while waiting for customs and border guards. I was
worried because, at the very last moment, the “frontiers” had to come up with something to
break our plans. But two ensign girls came and even showed interest in the expedition, asked a
few questions, after which I realized that they were letting us out. These two girls, releasing us
almost to infinity, became the last countrymen. On the asphalt, between the frozen cranes, the
November westerner sweeps snow, and Urania-2 quietly leaves the desert pier. Pushing and
crushing ice floes beneath itself, leaving a black trail of the November Neva behind the stern,
the yacht goes along the chain of ships that have already embarked for the winter. A leisurely
contemplation of not entirely joyful landscapes is violated by the appearance in the cockpit of
Valerika with a large tray, on which row are glasses, lard with meat veins, bread and a bottle of
Smirnovskaya sticking out over this splendor. <For the exit!> - he announces, with a radiant
face, and puts the tray at the feet of the crew sitting in the cockpit.

<Urania-2>, rumbling with a motor, is already entering the expanse of the Marquise Puddle. We
drink a little and perk up. The team seems to have the same feelings: on the one hand, it is
anxiety due to late sailing, which is unusual for sailing ships, and an unknown route through the
long seas lying beyond the autumn horizon, on the other hand, the same strong courage, the
collective by nature, and balancing, first.

We are distributed among the shifts. I am with Serega Rozhdestvensky, Valera with Serega
Semenov, father and son - Michael and Cyril. Accordingly, the first, second and third shift. The
first night is a thick fog, but, suddenly, moonlight will fly out and flood the yacht and, illuminated
by the stern lamp, three meters from the transom, a gull will hang. And when it disappears, you
will not follow. For the first night - the day is also good, it is clear, the wind from the south-south-
west. Good traction, speed up to seven knots. There is almost no wave and the boat goes well
in a badewind, you can throw the helm and run to the galley for a cracker - the same figure on
the compass. Good moves, change quickly on the chart table, cards. They have taken off the
coast and this is a great sense and tradition for us: border guards will be less concerned. But
bitter experience, suggests that you can consider yourself safe, you can only go under the
Swedish coast, where ours will no longer be available. All this is sad, but it is. Gradually get
used to each other. Actually, half of the crew on the yacht are almost native people: with Valera
Timakov and I, along with the student’s bench, on all hikes and expeditions, as well as with
Sergei Rozhdestvensky, we were still vigorous youths on rafts in Sayany and Altai, and in winter
skiing in the Kola and Polar Urals, then, too, they quickly made a turn to the sails in order to
ever get out and cross the Ocean ... We met Misha Lupal a year ago, all this time he was
nursing in St. Petersburg "Urania-2>, and managed to put his talented head everywhere and
knew how Wow hands. How could he endure my impatience and the situation of lack of money,
which came to us at about the same time as Misha and still remain in the team. Working at the
plant of the fertilizer giant in the city of Rossosh, Ivan Ivanovich Kuznetsov carried the dream in
no way related to chemistry, the dream of a long journey. From his youth, Ivan was
professionally engaged in amateur radio and had great success in this, became a master of
sports, participated in many radio expeditions. And when our request for a radio operator
appeared in the Radio magazine, he did not hesitate to come to me in Pushkino for a personal
meeting. And a week later he went to St. Petersburg, where he went headlong into the
preparation of the yacht, surprising everyone with practical knowledge of electricians and
mechanics. I know that he didn’t doubt for a minute when he left his factory where he worked for
many years, the place where he became famous and could live comfortably. With the rest of the
guys I still had to meet.

We go across the Baltic, where before we went many times on a small, wooden "Urania". Then
they were still reckoning, having a compass, trip maps and a stopwatch. Having such a set, one
could safely embark on a sea voyage. Now this is a distant past, but the reaction to the
lighthouses has remained the same, with its mobilizing property, confirming your confidence, or
giving support and some time for quiet reflection. Ivan Ivanovich is all in business - there is a lot
of work on electrics, he continues to equip his radio corner, has adapted to take the weather
from the Swedes, and now every night we know what awaits us tomorrow. Communication twice
a day, and in between - free radio communication, which lasts with Ivan for about thirty years.
He lives an interesting life in which there is almost no place for sleep, and does not stop shining
for a minute. Igor, also a radio operator by profession, but does not have such energy and
experience as Ivan, so he calmly accepted my proposal to be a cook at this crossing. Cyril, a
thin guy, all in his father, and as for yachting, he immediately adapted his past yachting
experience to a large boat and now steers normally, and, in general, correctly discusses marine
processes.

Darkness over the gray Baltic. Fog, drizzle. The oncoming steamships seem to think only about
how to reach the port, where to stand for wintering and repair. Igor found a bottle of beer, and
we, with great pleasure, drank it with the whole team in the cockpit. A few sips of this earthly
drink contributed to the emergence of firm confidence: with this late exit we saved the
expedition. Otherwise, we would not have reached the next year.

Chapter 2. FIRST MILES or WORLDWIDE

At night we go like in milk - fog. Visibility is zero, behind the stern, illuminated by a lantern,
bleached with lime, a wall. At times, foam is not visible flying along the side from the bow to the
stern. We are without a radar. <Urania-2> flies in the fog at high speeds. We accompany this
movement with looks of fear and, at the same time, with the opposite desire - to fly like this and
on. The VHF radio is turned on. Somewhere nearby, ships are sailing in this milk. They see the
yacht on the radar and we ask by radio to let us know when we will be in danger. That night we
shouted to us twice: <Urania>, wait !!!> And we stopped, droning buzzing into the foggy furnace
and squeezing the handle of the rocket launcher to pain, we heard the noise of the steamer
coming towards us and, then, receding. And before that, Valeraka, who grabbed four hours of
driving in full milk, gave us advice in a hoarse voice. And Sergei and I dressed everything that
we had and fell into the cockpit like bears, to steer. But after a couple of hours the fog
disappeared and the moon appeared, mysterious, and knowing something about us. In the
morning it blew out. They took two reefs on the mainsail and one on the mizzen. But after the
yacht began to lead, it was rolled tight. There were problems with taxiing, and it is characteristic
that at the same latitude as last year, only now we were walking on the other side of the island
of Gotland. On the fly, they added oil to the hydraulic system and it began to work better. We
walked along the highway, but did not find any leaks. They lay with Misha on the frames in the
afterpeak, watching the stocks go. The rustling of water overboard is heard a few centimeters
from the ear. It was pleasant to lie deep in the stern, because we enjoyed the view of the
working pushers and the fact that we were already approaching the Warnemuende range, from
where it was close to Kiel. Lies and bastards. But, returning to the steering system, it must be
said that the life of Urania-2 has always remained a mystery to all mechanics serving it without
exception. At night, the pressure began to fall and Ivan received a forecast about the
strengthening of the wind. But we were already ahead of the storm and managed to get to Kiel
earlier. Only five days we needed the first transition. Early in the morning of November 13,
having already been nervous enough about possible surprises when mooring in an unfamiliar
port and observing the happy and carefree faces of my crew, I carefully led Urania-2 to the
concrete pier of the German city of Kiel.

With pleasure, always experiencing the extraordinary sensations of the first steps along the
earth’s firmament, we start mooring lines. <Bah, what a clear water in the Baltic !!!> - even the
keel of Urania-2 is even visible. Yellow and red maple leaves lie in quiet water, in the air there is
a spicy smell of foliage and autumn. Two-story houses, a neat street in the schedule of clear
curbs and sidewalks, not a soul! that is, not a single German. We do business on a yacht and
wait for border guards. In general, according to established procedures, they do not need to be
looked for, they always come by themselves, and if they do not, we write it off to their account
and consider the issue closed. They soon appeared - two half-bald Germans, previously
offended by something with us. Passport verification, silently, and no side conversations. We
get freedom from hand to hand and go along the street, we gaze around. Heaps of maple
leaves on the sidewalks. Disciplined by nature, the Germans do not take them away, probably in
order to prolong the feeling of this light and quiet autumn. In half an hour they walked around
the city and twice met Russians, or former Russians. Ivan saw the antennas and was ready to
run, get to know the local radio amateurs, but was stopped by a closed gate. We visited a
supermarket and under the guidance of a very versed in our culinary preferences, Valera got
some grub, and beer, of course, and hastened back to arrange a festive dinner. In the evening,
in the wardroom, the guys watch the Whitbrad races around the world, and I sit in my cabin,
read Mesner, his “Crystal Horizon” and think about my meridional round-the-world.

A year ago, I realized that the <Meridian> can go through autonomously, that is, to make the
Transarctic and Transantarctic <without support>. Later this idea was strengthened and turned
into a firm conviction. The only question is money. I think that travelers worthy of this idea can
be cooled not by the difficulties of the trip itself, but by the impracticable grandeur of a money-
raising enterprise. Although, at first glance, autonomy is cheaper. What we did now is, as
climbers say, an approach to grief. But the good thing is that the mountain itself was clearly
visible and we were already trying on it. From these heights I’m crawling to my problems, and
I’m thinking how we can reach Lisbon. Remembering the attitude to our enterprise <Aurora>,
and Zobov, gives me optimism, and I go to the guys in the wardroom.

The whole next day is spent in emergency repairs and preparing the boat for the next stage.
First of all, we re-wiring the corrugation system on the mainsail and mizzen: it was revealed in
the Baltic. We repair the latches of the pockets, tighten the seal of the deadwood, once again
dive into the taxiing.They started a 4H diesel generator and set up a sauna until midnight. And
in the morning an early rise. Darkness, even if the eye if. The wind is bulk, stormy. Somehow we
tear <Urania-2> from the pier and, being late in time, we approach the lock chamber. We moor
near the right wall, to the mucus logs, Valera falls, slipping on the mooring and miraculously
does not fly away from the six-meter pier. We pay for the passage of the channel and go into
the gateway. Closely, we are driven under the stern of a bulk carrier, turbulent flows, lifted by
the propellers of ships, walk along the airlock, so that Urania-2 breaks from the mooring lines
and makes throws like an unbroken mustang, compressed from three sides. We hung all our
fenders and are trying to hold the boat. It is scary to look up, where the mast of the yacht waving
almost touching the concrete wall of the pier. Finally, the steamer ahead is slowing down and
we get the opportunity to relax.We fly out of the gateway and go along the channel. The nature
is dull, there are no coniferous trees and pleasing birch eyes. But everything is well-groomed,
tidied and equipped. Blowing hard from the west, you can imagine what is happening in the
North Sea. We slip past villages, ferries, bridges. I saw a man dash from the tables of the
restaurant terrace to the flagpole and the next second the German flag went down. The fact that
this is done in our honor, we understand a minute later, having already slipped this place
forever. I know that normal Germans, whose life was spent on the sea, by the appearance of
our boat and the time of year, perfectly understand where we are going and that this walk is not
for a couple of days.Almost the whole day we walk under the motor along the canal and already
in the dark we pass the last gateway and fall out at the mouth of the Elbe. Again fog and strong
currents, and somewhere nearby invisible steamers hum. To the touch we return to the lock, to
its saving lights. We hit the wall and see a jet sweep along the side with a roar. A boat comes up
and offers us to go into the gateway.

We agree and go into the same gateway from where we left forty minutes ago. It has quiet and
bright lighting. The three of us climb the stairs to the eight-meter concrete wall of the gateway,
the English-speaking Misha and Serega climb even higher, to the gateway control tower - to
agree on the possibility of staying here until the morning, and I admire Urania-2 from the height
of the lock chamber.

I had never watched it from above and the unusual, strong impression fascinated. A truly
"combat" boat opened up for me, having perfect, finished shapes that appeared predatory from
the depths of the chamber. What I saw convinces of the infinite possibilities of her revived
organism. In the movements of the yacht one can feel the life of distant seas. She and they are
from the same element, familiar to me by some intuitive, perceived at the subconscious level
signs of life. We are allowed to spend the night in the inner part of the channel, in front of the
exit gateway. In the morning, some local peasant demands money from us for an overnight stay
and because we are adamant and he sees that he does not create an image of a person from
the authorities, he agrees to compensation in the form of a bottle of Smirnov's vodka.

And we go to the enchanting expanse of a large river and call our friends from St. Petersburg,
who have been standing on two Aleftina and Tui yachts in the port town of Kunshavn for a year
now. Answers Seryozha Andreev. We agree that in half an hour he will come to the pier and
show where to moor. Soon, with binoculars in a thin, tall, bearded man, I hardly recognize
Serega. He points towards the free wall, mooring. Kunshavn, hello!

A year ago, the brigantine "Aleftina" just built in Petrozavodsk fell under the steamboat a few
miles from Kunshavan. As the investigation later found out, the accident occurred at the
moment the steering was switched to auto mode, as a result of which the ship drove to the side
and literally planted the Aleftina heading towards the stem. The guys were lucky: the blow was
so strong that the yacht flew between the in-depth bulb and the stem of the ship and remained
stuck in the nose. Otherwise, due to the resulting holes, the wooden brigantine did not stay
afloat. We must pay tribute to Boris Cristal - the captain of Aleftina, who, in a foreign land,
managed to win a lawsuit with a shipping company and force the shipowner to pay all the costs
of this disaster.

The Germans were engaged in the repair of the "Aleftins" - a private shipyard, and although
financial payments were made on time, the "Aleftins" for almost a year "mocked" - they kept
them on the slipways of the inner harbor of Kunshavn. Cristal during this time perfectly
mastered the German language, found many sympathizers and completely reached a state that
would forever remain on the northern shores of a well-fed and prosperous Germany. Waging a
desperate struggle for a fair court decision, Boris became an almost national hero and the
"good" Germans went and complained about the "bad", making him unexpected confessions
that Germany consists, on the one hand, of talented people, and on the other hand of stupid
and narrow-minded, which unfortunately most.

At one time, Serega Andreev, being an old post at Urania-2, did a lot to equip it, especially
regarding rigging. With the advent of financial problems on Urania-2, he switched to Aleftina and
now, together with Cristal and the third St. Petersburg guy, Volodya, made up her crew. We did
not wait for the border guards and went to Aleftina, which was in the inner harbor, a three-
minute walk from Urania-2. She stood on high stocks ten meters from the water's edge. Serega
said that all the work was finally completed and they were ready to launch it on the water,
fortunately, that at this crucial moment Urania-2 came.

In the narrow forests surrounding the yacht, we went up to the deck, where we met with Boris
Davidovich Krishtal. He was glad of our arrival and not without pride showed his ship. We had
something to tell each other, and this lesson took more than three hours in the cozy Aleftina
messroom. Knowing about our arrival, the familiar Germans of Cristal related to the sea began
to approach here. The next morning, by agreement with Boris Davidovich on the purchase of a
radar for Urania-2, we went on a visit to Aleftina. It was freezing at night and the puddles on the
pier were covered with ice. Suddenly, through a web of props and racks of forests, we saw
Cristal rushing under the yacht. Unkind premonitions wave swept through the body ... Below,
between the metal and concrete remains of the structure, buried face in the ground in a twisted
and defenseless state,Seryoga Andreev was lying. The place where he fell, slipping, from the
high forests, was about five meters from where he was now. Puddles of dark blood marked the
places where Sergei was crawling to where Cristal found him. The sailor was unconscious, it is
not known how many lay almost naked in the cold.

We lifted Serega in an inflatable medical container with a halyard from the Aleftina main mast.
He lay in a container like in a cocoon, covered in blood and dirt, without regaining
consciousness. The container did not enter the opening of the main Aleftina hatch and we blew
part of the air out of it, dragging it down a steep staircase into the corridor between the cabins.
The corridor was narrow and it was impossible to approach Serega from the side. While Cristal
ran away to call an ambulance, our Rozhdestvensky was breaking ampoule nozzles, passing
me filled syringes one after another, and I pricked Seryoga. I had to stand in a narrow long aisle
in twine, with my second foot resting on the ceiling..

Soon an ambulance arrived, police and firefighters. This guard instantly overrun "Aleftina" and
we began to fear for the strength of slipway supports. The most curious were the firefighters,
who in their enormous taunts and rude robe tried to climb into the aisles and get inside the
yacht. Looking at the Tatar-Mongol arrogance of these people, I remembered that derogatory
characteristic of which normal Germans awarded such firemen. We <brutalized> and pushed
out all this army. Thundering their boots on the deck and scaffolds, the Germans retreated.
There was no need to think to drag Seryoga along the narrow boards of forests. The police
called a truck crane, Serega was transferred to a transport stretcher and he "swam" over the
roofs of the workshops towards the road where the ambulance stood.After his hospitalization,
we switched to the radar problem. Without it, it was unsafe to go further in these shipping-
saturated waters, piercing the autumn fog with a bowsprit, and no one wanted to extend the
"strain" of the Baltic marathon.

Radar <Furuno> in the port store cost about three thousand marks. Puzzled by new problems,
Boris Krishtal could hardly help, although yesterday we were sure that with his help we would
sell part of our strategic reserves to the Germans (not all of them choke on schnapps, you need
to try real vodka). But to talk about it after the morning events was inappropriate and we
scooped up the last dollars from the treasury, having pitied our possessors, Ivan and Igor. In the
evening we went to the hospital, where we were informed that Serega was taken to Bremen and
had already had an operation. She went fine, the patient regained consciousness and two days
later they promised to bring him back.

In Kunshavan, apart from the radar, there was nothing more that kept us, and we helped Kristal
to throw Aleftina into the water, and we ourselves began to prepare Urania-2 for the exit.

It’s been blowing very hard for the second day. The storm warning of November 18 has not yet
been lifted. Even here, in a sheltered port, in the autumn, persistent winds shake Urania-2,
standing under a bare mast, creating a roll. At night, an idea came up, and not put me a
mortgage board? But it's good to sleep in a storm in a yacht by the wall. With measured calm,
without waking up to the end, two or three times a night, you jump out onto the deck to check
the moorings, and in order not to finally wake up from the cold, you quickly return and dive into
the warmth of the bed.

The first time I slept <like watchdog>. In the morning we ran for a run with Sergei
Rozhdestvensky, he showed me an interesting set of exercises, stretched out, had breakfast.
Bought a radar. While Misha and Cyril installed it on the mizzen mast, extending the cable and
followed, Valera and I, having grabbed a bottle of vodka, went to the fishermen for fish. But it
turned out that they have not gone to sea for three days due to a storm, and in stores there are
9 brands a kilo.

Ivan Ivanovich, having soldered the modem, received the first wishes of Urania-2 on the
computer. And I think that as soon as I return, I will lead my daughters to the theater. I must say
that such thoughts are always visited at the moment when you begin to eat up romance and
regret comes for the missed opportunities of worldly life.

In principle, we have already done everything on a yacht and could have left if it had not been
for the storm. Ivan Ivanovich all went into radio communications and does not emerge from the
amateur broadcast. Valera becomes an ardent fighter for Ivan's "return", and organizes a swara,
shouting proving that it is necessary to finish things on a diesel generator, connecting a radar
and a bunch of little things. Serega Semenov, this romantic of the sea, put all the boatswain
economy in order. Working with ropes and blocks, he looks somewhere farther, piercing the
German port buildings, hiding the expanse of the sea from him with his blue eyes. I'm ready to
rush out of here. Valera suggested going straight to Brest, without going to Amsterdam, you can
win lost time on this. But Serega Rozhdestvensky and Cyril, tuned in to a filthy thought - to shed
home as soon as possible. In all our trips, there was always fear that someone should leave us.
Invented by the sea, painfully desired, free life is not so stable and comprehensive ... The
foundation of that faith is destroyed before our eyes, by the efforts of your beloved men and you
are powerless to change anything. But then the moment comes, and we give the mooring lines.
Having given the ends from the pier eye, the lonely figures of Cristal and Volodya are moving
away. We leave the narrow gate of the harbor and fully feel the crowd of water compressed by
the wind. Raise the sails and quickly leave the dangerous coast.

In fact, <Urania-2> in the North Sea. Going around the northwestern coast of Europe, we are
approaching the English Channel. Igor talks about how Volodya from Alephtina, generally a
normal and handsome guy, was asking him how much he was paid to participate in the
expedition. Igor convinced that they did not pay anything, that he, of his own free will and desire,
took part in this matter, because he wanted it himself ... Volodya did not understand such
explanations and after a while he went from the other side and again tried to find out about the
money. This largely recognized the St. Petersburg approach, the foam that sprawled faster than
Perestroika. Even the "bourgeoisie" didn’t even have such a mass commercialization, sacred
and holy of holies, as far as I could tell by the "Transglobal" of the same Faynes, whose
homeland was about to open on the starboard side. Strangethat those fifteen - twenty people
who passed the Urania-2 purgatory were looking for the same opportunity to earn money in this
business, and received good money while Valera and I were in power, but left immediately
when the brook was drying up. There was no dream, the idea of a world around the world for
some reason did not hold people.

We are walking past the Dutch shores, and just as we don’t turn away from them, it still doesn’t
leave us feeling that we are losing something. But there is no strength to fight for Amsterdam,
because after buying the radar the treasury has $ 75 left. I am comforting myself with the hope
that we will look here on the way back, circling the Earth. We quickly enter the English Channel
and go in a dense environment of ships. In the evening it blew out on the approach to Gorlou,
it’s good that the gulfwind and Urania-2 rush under the mainsail, mizzen and rake staysail so
that sometimes we begin to step on the heels of the ships ahead. Nevertheless, we do not turn
off the engine, because across our course at speed enormous, light-filled ferries run between
the mainland and the island. Throughout the night with an increasing wind, we unravel the
navigation puzzles, which boil down to the following: how to keep a distance in a caravan of
ships,as without turning away, let a ferry or ship snooping across the English Channel. The
wave is low, but rolls be healthy! England on the right side, flooded with islands of light. Early in
the morning went a gray exhaust, and then the engine smoked so that it was like we were
burning. The bear standing on the steering wheel was not visible in the smoke. A helicopter flew
in and began to circle above us, I probably wanted to tell us that we had a fire.

We turn off the engine and go sailing to Portsmouth - the English port to which Urania-2 is
currently closest. There are natural concerns about how to sail, and even in an unfamiliar port.
The seventy-ton Urania-2 can do this ... These fears hold me with steel fingers until I stood at
the helm just before the port entrance. And then there was a brutal chalk at metal piles. We
managed to dampen the inertia of the boat and managed to catch on shore. A few minutes later,
a motorboat jumped to Urania-2, in which two men, dressed in neat, blue overalls, over their
snow-white shirts, offered their help - to drag us to the pier of the yacht club, which we did not
reach 75 meters.With pleasure we surrender into the hands of our rescuers and watch the call
on the radio of reinforcements. Another boat came up, accepted the towing ends, and in two
thrusts they smoothly brought Urania-2 to the pier.

It was worth starting the calculation of statistics on safe calls to ports without an engine. Judging
by previous practice, the probability of a successful outcome is incredibly high, it’s only a pity
that so many nerves burn in the firebox! One of our assistants, Peter, the manager of the yacht
club, invited me to the office. We walked through the floating bonnets in teak, a large yacht
marina and got into the office. Serega Rozhdestvensky, talking on the phone with the border
and customs services, said that we went to Portsmouth accidentally, and as for the amount of
vodka in the bins, so who measured it! - so Seryoga honed his English, and I stood nearby and
died, but the humor worked and the customs untied. Then the time came for the main procedure
- we slowly washed in the shower. He divides time into two parts: life in the sea and life on the
shore, as if returning from the sea,why you always feel pleasure, forgetting that all that has
recently been a real life goes away forever. But the pleasant moments are continued in the form
of dinner, where all the tasty supplies are laid out on the table in the wardroom without regret.
They still have the last testimony of the past hours. I haven’t been so tired for a long time and
after dinner I just collapsed into bed. Later, Peter and his wife came to visit us, but I had not
heard that.

Of course, we cannot, without going into a port, disassemble half of our engine or diesel
generator, untwist all the panels on the yacht in search of "shorty" in the wiring. And our engine
is a little smaller than the piano. They untwisted it, in cylinders - outboard water! She came
down the exhaust when we were "applied" to the English Channel. The exhaust from the engine
is not delivered to the stern, but to the side, and which bends are not provided for, water will
pass through them, do not even hesitate. For some reason, they did not know about this at the
shipyard when they made Urania-2. We drive the engine with a starter, throw out salt water from
the cylinders, and Peter carried the nozzles into the workshop on the stand. While we are
waiting for the verdict from the English mechanics, we are engaged in other matters. Serega
Semenov, making out the ends on the deck, sipping his nose with air, says: <Spring>! Really,as
soon as he said this, we immediately felt the atmosphere typical of spring, which saturates the
warmth and the already cool coolness that coexist. Fifteen degrees of heat, for us it was
implausible a lot. Opposite us, across the bay, a huge old frigate trembles in the air, the weather
is asleep. I wipe away the dark spots from the boat that remained after mooring on the red sides
of Urania-2, Misha and Kirill are engaged in the engine, Ivan and Igor call the electrician, Valera
- everywhere, Serega Rozhdestvensky accepted the galley and is preparing dinner.

In the evening they brought polished nozzles and a bill of 165 pounds. This is beyond our
financial capabilities, but, strangely, there is no panic. Launched "Scania". Works like a clock,
clean exhaust, pressure is normal. Although the affairs of the yacht were up to the mark, after
lunch they went to the city, walked through the streets of Portsmouth. Everything here is
connected with the sea, maritime history is saturated with old buildings of the embankment, port
structures of three hundred years ago are preserved, but the main thing that catches your eye,
in this country, these are children walking in flocks along the sidewalks. The boys look alike, and
together they look like the boys from the Beatles ensemble. I don’t know as adults, but English
children, this is a special breed. It's not just about the same school uniform, this is a very
specific set of rules that has undergone great evolution and is subsequently replicated many
times through genetics.Serega Rozhdestvensky told me that he was leaving, he decided so,
leaving tomorrow. I immediately remembered the bill brought by the nozzles and our prospects.
Although I knew that this would happen sooner or later, that Serega was not wholly owned by
himself, that any delay on the route would make him frantically search for ways to quickly return,
at almost any cost. It was useless to dissuade him, I had enough of our joint experience for this.
On the contrary, I was even grateful to him for the fact that he, by his presence at the start,
made an almost hopeless case real. It was just sad, because when our roads were laid, it was
always great with Sergey.

The weather deteriorated before our eyes and at night whistled in guys. I hear this whistle
through the soundproofing deck and think about my own. I can go to the Transarctic even at 52.
The main thing for me will not be overloaded, but to evenly distribute the weight kilometers in
time. According to my calculations, my Transarctic will be held from January 15 to June 30 - five
and a half months. It will be a "shuttle" on drifting ice with one full return from 83 degrees north
latitude to Cape Arctic. Today, Peter brought a parking bill, another two hundred pounds. This
did not spoil my mood, not because I was completely insolent, there are simply options, and
maybe Petruha (as Sergey calls him) will go to them. But it is in the morning.

I was determined to leave immediately, as judging by the latest forecast for four days there were
good chances to reach La Coruñe. Valerika, however, did not share my optimism and was more
inclined to enter Brest, and that would be nice, France, nevertheless. But first, it was necessary
to solve financial matters with Peter, and I offered to leave him a letter of guarantee for
subsequent payment. Peter, for several minutes, clarified this issue with the leadership of
Marina, returned and said that you need to pay now. Then I invited him to think about the
question of how to sell vodka, I myself did not hope that this technique could work in a country
like England. Peter did not lead his ear, although there was some animation in his gaze against
the backdrop of hopeless longing. With the same hopeless infantilism, he dialed a number on
his mobile phone and talked, then made a couple more calls.It was difficult to expect such
commercial agility from the British: less than twenty minutes after Peter's calls, as in the Urania-
2 cabin, anxiously looking for support for their legs, the representatives of free trade timidly
descended, but after ten minutes, they were with beautiful boxes Smirnov vodka ran up the
stairs as fast as if it had carried out more than one navigation on Urania-2. The yacht was
lightened by thirty boxes, but the logbook was bursting with a chubby bundle of pounds. We
settled with Peter, in our movements there was already more cold English dignity, well
complementing the friendly attitude and, without wasting time, we gave the moorings. The
vector of our interests now pointed to France, it lay east of us, beyond the sheer death of the
English Channel.

It began to rain, the weather turned bad, even the clouds left a mark on the locator and it was
clear where they were moving. Got a forecast that confirmed a wind gain of up to eight points on
Tuesday. Wind from the south, almost headwind. In the wheelhouse, the music is an English
station, but for some reason there are almost no Beatles. But now, the song of John Lennon,
which immediately took me to the last winter and spring, when on Sundays I took Galka to a
tutor, and while she was studying, I spent four hours in the car, engaged in an expedition,
compiled lists, wrote business letters, and even managed to study English. At the same time, he
drank tea with lemon from a three-liter thermos, ate sandwiches, which Lyuda prepared in the
morning, and from time to time went to the bushes to relieve tension. It was a time of hope,
pleasant, and inevitable dreams. By the way, for many of us, the preparation of the
expedition,especially in terms of thinking it over, it is largely the expedition itself. This is pure
pleasure, not yet blackened by reality itself.

It blows well, the wave is chaotic, next to it again a bunch of ships. Flurries with rain. Tension on
watches, in constructions, people. The night watch stood on the helm unchanged, the yacht
constantly brought. Valera, following me, also <grabbed the storm>, he got even stronger and
he requested to Brest. In the darkness, we rolled an overtag, and in the morning, when
approaching Brest, the three of us left in the harness and took off the mainsail. The squalls in
this case were no less than 30 meters per second, but the wave fell - they went into the shadow
of Cape Saint-Mathieu, which was invisible for the time being. The mainsail was torn in several
places, and while we walked quite quickly on a storm staysail and a sharpened 6isan. Walking
on the sea is your life now, even though you have already lived almost a whole life on land -
your life is just now beginning, and you are observing how it happens to you. <People, - said the
philosopher of antiquity,- there are three types: those who are alive, those who are dead and
those who swim in the sea>. Those who walk on the sea are neither living nor dead. In the sea
another life visits us and for some time we live in it, in this state of estrangement from earthly
life. No, we think the same way: clearly and tenaciously, and we know what to do to save
ourselves and the boat. But most likely this is happening to us on the way to another world. And
then we return to some new ports for us. And in the ports we return to ourselves.

We went into a commercial port and for a very long time the port police searched for a place for
us and, finally, put the third side to the same poor fellow, two large schooners. The Pole, with
one of them, pleasantly pleased us with a long tirade of Russian speech, spoken with a
moderate accent, which guaranteed against forgery. He jumped to our deck and got, in
exchange, a glass of vodka and again did not let us down - he drank right away. And we have a
whole day ahead: we are engaged in drying things, repairing the mainsail, and cleaning the fuel
system. We learned the forecast, the weather will improve. Tomorrow must be torn to Biscay. In
the evening we walked around the city. The general opinion is this: France is an interesting
country, it is closer to us more than any other. We leave at 10 in the morning. The weather is
shining, the face is tanning. At the exit from the Brest Bay, fishermen from the boat pull out on
the ropes some boxes similar to our faces.In these wicker boxes, we guessed, either shrimp or
crab crawl. For the entrance buoy we go to the course 214, on La Carunia. On the DPS 7 knots,
the yacht shakes, we start Biscay. The weather is calm, but yesterday’s swell still roams the
sea. A lot of trash floats here. We talked with our Moscow radio operator Volodya Bonishevsky.
I mentally saw his house surrounded by enormous pines in the Ilyich Testament near Moscow,
and over the pine trees an array of antennas towers just as high, with the help of which there is
radio communication with a yacht going across the Atlantic. I imagine that looking at this
antenna economy, any Westerner would say, meaningfully: "the Russians don’t have that>." In
<Aurora> revival about our progress. Now it's their turn to make an extraordinary move. By the
way, today they started saving on bread. The stomach resists.In the morning we thought, as if
not going to A Coruña, to go straight to Lisbon, but by the evening we were informed that there
was a 10-point storm in the Portuguese region, it was sobering right away and now we are
tearing to Spain. European countries are small, in a day, a maximum of two, you slip any of
them.

Biscay is calm now, but a year ago, in his northeastern part, Yevgeny Smurgis died. His
inverted boat and himself found by the locals - the French. The reasons are the same -
unresolved financial problems and, as a result, technical unpreparedness, forced haste. What
can the poor have to oppose? Only your own life. Eugene spent about twenty years on his
expeditions, and when he walked on a rowboat along the coast of the Arctic Ocean, and took
this ocean with his bare hands, his people helped their walls there. And here money was
immediately required, it is hard to imagine how he pulled with all his might, and went so far into
foreign countries, struggling with all the problems, really alone.

30 miles before La Coruña was blown into the face, but we are already in the future, and our
mood from this is very good. In general, we were terribly lucky in life, because we have this
opportunity to go somewhere, right up to a trip around the world. And they could spend their
whole lives in the Gulag, or be restricted to travel abroad, or, just, work hard for days to feed
their family. The alien uncle forbade my parents to set off around the World, my father dreamed
of sea wanderings until his death, these dreams remained serious even after fifty years of life.

We go to the white city flowing down from the hills. Resurrection. The Spaniards walk along the
promenade decently, women in expensive fur coats, despite the warm weather. The city is
beautiful, the streets are packed on New Year's, everything is prepared for Christmas. Moored
to the embankment in the city center. The Spaniards go <to the tricolor> in droves, stand for a
long time and look at the yacht. Ivan Ivanovich caught local hams, talked with them, and after
half an hour, six Spaniard friends arrived at Urania-2. They were young people of the same age,
all about thirty years old, they were temperamental in reacting to a yacht, radio equipment, but
Ivan had enough energy for everyone. These young Spaniards told us that there are three nodal
points on Earth, this is Cape Horn, Cape of Good Hope, and the third place is a few miles from
here. We happily got into their cars and rushed across the city,at its northwestern tip. Green,
chic palm trees growing in the middle of the dividing strip, stopped the gaze. It is incredible that
only two weeks ago our yacht pushed ice. Instantly forgotten all the misfortunes, constant
doubts - our most faithful companions, they slipped away and their trace caught a cold. It was
as if we were freed from gravity, everyone received a reward of a pure soul, oriented towards a
brighter future. And, indeed, the windshield and the blue, endless sea beyond it, cut through the
real trunk of an ancient lighthouse, made of granite boulders. The lighthouse Hercules on Cape
Fenisterre was built by the Romans 200 years before the birth of Jesus Christ. The ancient
Romans first climbed north along the coast of Portugal and where the coast abruptly went east,
built this lighthouse. This place was called "End of the Earth".

The day went towards evening, but it was still light enough. On the inner, narrow stairs,
describing an endless spiral, we began our climb. All the details of the lighthouse - the round
trunk of the walls, the steps of the spiral staircase, the arches of intermediate platforms - were
laid out of granite, light brown stone. The stairs led to the upper platform, from where a view of
the Ocean opened. He lay far below and was unusually huge from this, as if I was looking at him
from Space. The rumble of the surf, barely heard from below, this is the only earthly sound
breaking through to us, only fixed our location at the moment of Eternity. And I realized: what we
do on this journey is part of an existing, continuous movement coming from outer space by an
invisible river that glides easily over the ocean in its endless path to the horizon. The movement
we are doomed toby virtue of its original purpose. In the three minutes that we went down the
stairs, we got into the night from the evening. <Whoever rounded <Fenisterre>, he can hang an
earring in his ear> - so say the Spaniards. Perhaps this was relevant in those days, we had
other problems - potatoes and flour would have been enough.

The yacht on long mooring lines drives along the pier with the tide and, the buildings that are on
the other side of the city harbor, as if floating. I sit in the cockpit and observe this movement.
And below, in the cabin there is a gulba, Misha’s birthday. Wow, almost a lifetime of permanent
residence in St. Petersburg, and now, come to Spain, in the beautiful city of A Coruña, where
you can celebrate your fiftieth birthday. In the wardroom, Russians, Spaniards, Dutch and North
American. The conversation is already in seven languages, and everyone understands each
other. And they scream, <so it is from awareness and enlightenment ...> Only potato remained
from the food on the yacht, and vodka the night before, Serega, taking a bottle of vodka, went to
the fishermen and brought two octopuses from them. He caved in with gravity as he dragged
them in a plastic bag. Seeing the octopuses, Oslan called on his mobile and after half an hour to
<Urania-2> flew Chevrolet, from which the wives of our Spanish radio operators fluttered out.
These girls were eighteen years old, no more, and they were dressed exactly like the young
ladies of the South American series. Oslan was not at all embarrassed; he slapped his wife in
the pope, indicating thereby for other wives the general direction in the direction of the galley.
The girls asked us for a hammer, but the head of a mallet, Ivan Ivanovich, undertook to "beat
off" the octopuses, but he overdid it so that he broke his pen. But a solution was found - the girls
fed the octopuses through the hatch, and the men beat them tirelessly on the metal deck. Then
the octopuses were cleaned, cooked, finely chopped and served on the table with boiled
potatoes, surrounded by a dozen sauces and dark bottles of fine dry wine.

There are moments in life that, with their gastronomic plan, reach the level of high matters. It
was an unforgettable evening in which, in addition to physical bliss, we received support for our
expeditionary future: during this evening I did not leave the image of Urania-2 flying to the ice
shores of Antarctica: Spain was good for us, who were tired of fighting in Russia Yes, tumbled
into this heat from the cold ....

Gradually, we tidied up the electrics and mechanics of the yacht. We must pay tribute to Misha
and Ivan, who tirelessly <twisted nuts and plugged holes>. Misha seemed to know everything,
to understand all technical issues, the rest <provided for mass character>, but worked selflessly
and amicably. Finally, the lingering autumn storm ended. For the last penny we buy two loaves
of bread, three kilograms of flour, five heels of lemons and go out to sea. A swell walks in the
Atlantic, into which Urania-2 falls through the lower spreader, but there is little wind. Once again
we see the lighthouse "Hercules" and, soon, the coast of Spain dissolves in our past. And also,
much earlier on old sailing ships cattle yelled and there was a lot of work. There was a primitive
compass, sails, steering wheel. There were no lighthouses, good ports of refuge. These open
spaces were dangerous in themselves,although people adapted, their mental potential
outstripped the real possibilities of technological evolution, forcing them, unlike us, to walk the
sea on the verge of life and death. I suppose that the stronger were the impressions of the
sailors.

The weather is excellent for two days, while we go to the final destination of the first stage of the
expedition - the port of Lisbon. On the right, the entire expanse of the Atlantic without any two
tens of miles, and on the left dissolved in the sea, almost invisible coast of Portugal. But we
enter the mouth of the Tezha River and, in view of the buildings marked on the port side, we
pass by a sculptural group of white stone in honor of sailors, pass under a gigantic bridge and
pass through a gigantic sculpture of Christ. And all this time, while we are climbing the river
along Lisbon, the diesel generator is working and the sauna is warming. We approach the free
wall of the city harbor and moor. There are two equally high thoughts in my head - the end of
the journey and a hunch about the bath. Valera complains of heart pain.

We find the Russian sales office, Misha and I are received by trade representative Vladimir
Nikolayevich Melnichuk. Families of employees live in a commune, on the territory of a sales
office, they reach out to new people, breaking through the fear of wallowing in big worries. I try
to forestall their fears and divert them from their worries. We visit yacht clubs with Misha and try
to agree on the parking of Urania-2. Yacht clubs are packed with small yachts and we ourselves
see that there is no place for us. Valerke is getting worse, he is lying on my bottom bunk. By
evening, a representative of the Expo 98 exhibition arrived - a young Portuguese man and we
asked Valera to be taken to the hospital. Have time. Valerika began to “leave”, doctors literally
on the threshold of the hospital picked up his soul and body. <Myocardial infarction> - two
terrible,words that did not fit in the head were clearly translated from Portuguese. Valerika
remained in intensive care, and we poked around on the yacht, stupidly and slowly realizing the
meaning of what had happened. The next day, the attending physician informed us that the
worst was over and that the patient should stay in the hospital for at least six more days. I
phoned my brother in Moscow and entrusted him with our destinies. In other words, Jura had to
borrow money and buy six air tickets in Moscow for our return to Moscow. I really hoped for
Zobov’s connection with Aeroflot and some of the obligations of this organization, whose logos
we carry on the grotto. For some reason, I was sure that Aeroflot would solve the issue of six
tickets easily.

In addition to waiting for Valera’s recovery, there was still another issue that has not been
resolved so far, these are the conditions of the yacht’s wintering. This problem was solved by
itself when the port captain called me to his place and instead of hearing the verdict leave the
parking lot, he suggested that we stand in his harbor until the summer, and at the same time,
completely free of charge. He was able to see our real problems against the background of
general plans and wanted to help us. I understand him. He said that provided that someone
should stay on the yacht. The captain of the port, Carlos Saares, was very handsome, he was in
a marine uniform, with a beard and smoked a pipe. The next day, for which several meetings
were scheduled, the Christmas holidays arrived, and we could no longer find anyone. Phones
did not answer, there was no one in the institutions, life stood up.The last Aeroflot aircraft of this
year flew to Moscow in two days. Valerika was in the hospital, we had no tickets. The day
before departure to Lisbon non-existence, Yurka broke through and said that he had bought
tickets and was trying to push this information to the Aeroflot representative office in Lisbon.
Happened.It remains to persuade the doctors to release Valera. Having received a copy of
Ingosstrakh insurance from me, they easily agreed to release it by the time of departure. The
plane took off on the penultimate day of 1997, taking the entire Urania-2 team to Russia. Our
new friends remained on the yacht - the British, who agreed to look after her on the terms of
living in her. Ahead was a meeting with relatives and loved ones. As for the rest, I knew that in
Moscow I would have a tough sweatshop system for preparing the expedition, work, a busy,
regulated day. I was sure that I could still get a little money.

Chapter 3. MOSCOW EMPTY

Moscow met us with a worse situation than it could have been foreseen, breaking the waves of
the Atlantic. U Aurora clearly expressed optimism about his own project, the Global Initiative;
Deputy Chairman of the Russian Chamber of Commerce Yevgeny Zobov, with whom we started
well a year ago, already accepted me, almost, with diffused indifference, the Togliatti VAZ did
not give in to Arthur’s efforts Chubarkin ... It was necessary to look for new connections, "dig" in
other places. At the moment of realizing the futility of our affairs, a smiling, agile young man
appeared, one of the leaders of the Youth Maritime League. His name was Marfutin Yuri. He
was from the latest generation of Komsomol top-level workers who were able to adapt to the
modern conditions of the Russian market.The Youth Maritime League inherited a ten-square-
meter room on Old Square, but the Ministry of Maritime Transport, Government House, and the
Duma were their favorite jobs. Yura demonstrated virtuoso work within the walls of these
institutions, where he worked with communications and the legacy of the unshakable firmament
of the past. Marfutin drove me along the corridors of these institutions and I seriously believed
that a little more, and there would be that reinforced concrete base on which the expedition
would rely. But time passed, we were drawn into more and more new events, which only
ricocheted past the expedition. Marfutin was preparing a photo exhibition around the
Kruzenshtern around the world at the White House and gathered a representative team of
ministerial workers and potential sponsors for this event. The exhibition itself was to be opened
by Deputy Prime Minister Boris Nemtsov,in the presence of almost the entire top.

The scheme was as follows: in the late evenings, we walked several kilometers along the
corridors of the White House, at which time the local people were in an imposing state of an
already ended working day and was pacified waiting for the moment when it was possible to
leave the building. At this time, Marfutin was catching customers no less than department
heads, invited to the exhibition and represented the captain of the first Russian yacht, gathered
in the framework of the Youth Maritime League to once again glorify the entire Russian fleet,
that is, me. I frantically puffed out my cheeks and managed to insert my few words
complementing the folding song of Yura Marfutin. In our grandiose plans, we devoted
Stepashin, deputy chairman of Sysuyev, finance minister Urinson, and several department
heads and could have satisfactorily expected results if it were not for my hunch that nothing
would come of all this.

At the photo exhibition, which nevertheless took place, the stand of our expedition was
presented, I made a small report, after which, at the buffet, Zobov introduced me to Boris
Smirnov, the owner of the Smirnov trading company, who promised financial assistance for my
expedition. It was about twenty thousand that could close the largest holes in the body of the
Transglobal. This was the first positive moment of the whole epic started by Marfutin. Secondly,
I received an almost free ticket to Lisbon with an open return date throughout the year, from any
city served by Aeroflot. My every day began with a call to <Aurora>, Zobov, to St. Petersburg,
where there was a complete set of travel cards and locations. And about fifteen installation calls.
Then I had time for one or two meetings,and by six o’clock in the evening we met with Marfutin
in the White House. I got home in Pushkino by night, often furious like a dog, but Luda made it
so that I quickly “skimmed off” and was ready to repeat it all over again the next day. On
Sunday, running my 18-kilometer circle through the winter forest of the Klyazma reservoir, I
came up with new moves and exits. My dog - a middling schnauzer named Schwerth - ran
ahead, from time to time, falling on the track and gnawing ice between his paws. A serious
matter that was still to be decided was the yacht team. Of the old squad, except Ivan, no one
went further. My friends in St. Petersburg from yachting circles would have agreed to participate
in the expedition only on payment terms. My close friends, unlike them, would go without any
conditions, but the situation that has fallen on Russia, in view of the unexpected end of
socialism,forced everyone to forget indefinitely about free life and engage in self-assertion in the
new formation.

Then I remembered the letters that people sent to us in response to our announcement in the
Radio magazine when radio operators needed expeditions. By the way, Ivan Ivanovich came to
us in the same way a year ago. In a letter to Valera Pikuleva from Nikolaevsk-on-Amur there
were words and explanations that I would probably use if I were in his place. I called in
Nikolaevsk-on-Amur and we talked. Valera found himself in a difficult situation, he did not
expect that he would be invited anyway, all the more a year passed, and now he had to give an
answer in accordance with the spirit of his letter. Valera did not flinch. Not only that, he took
upon himself the work of "getting" for the expedition five thousand. He was sure that the district
administration would give him that kind of money. Looking ahead, I must say that Valera turned
out to be with a good head, with good skills of a classical mechanic,having his own opinion and
always able to give a real answer to the real situation. All this was combined with an almost
endless tolerance for the many difficulties of our enterprise. After this call, I felt like a happy
person, but I naturally did not expect that for Valera to get on the yacht, I would have to
compete and, specifically, me. Two years ago, in one of the next trips to the Baltic on Urania-2,
Dima Sharomov, a guy from Vladivostok who was crazy about traveling and went up to Urania-2
on a hump to Alaska, participated. I heard rumors that at the moment, Dima with his wife and
ten-year-old daughter are going to go to the Himalayas for a year. I found him on the phone in
Vladivostok, sitting literally on suitcases. I didn’t have to prove to Dima that the sea passage
around the world along the meridian would be more desirable,than thinking about the meaning
of life in the peaceful valleys of the Himalayas. But then there was one big problem for me,
which I ran into like a wall - I could get Dima only with his wife. By the way, she also participated
with him in a hike on a bogey and from America flew to Vladivostok to give Zhenya, and Dima
traveled around the States for another year and sent greeting cards from there.
What was to be done to me at this time, exhausted by the complete lack of funds and a team,
what decision to make? In this stalemate situation, two options could be distinguished. If Dima
and Lena are on board Urania-2, this will bring some money to the team (Dima sold his
Vladivostok apartment the day before and was ready to travel), and they will strengthen the
team with Dima and Kok Lena. A week after this telephone conversation, the Sharomovs rushed
to Moscow with their whole family - Zhenya participated in chess competitions here. We must
pay tribute to Dima that he thought out the whole process of processing my consciousness. He
gave information in portions. At first he announced that he could only go with Lena, and
received my consent. Then, after a few days, he "broke" me about his daughter Zhenya. We
agreed that Lena and Zhenya on arrival of Urania-2to Brazil they will fly to New Zealand and will
be waiting for us there, walking the Antarctic path. Dima quickly got into all the problems and we
raced around Moscow with him, solving and settling expeditionary affairs. A little later, Dima, a
kochi swimming friend, Sasha Kharitonov, came to Moscow from Petrozavodsk.

One short conversation was enough for him to come with a backpack and a bag on a trolley,
fully prepared for a year and a half trip. Sasha was ready for three months to live in our office on
Sibirsky passage and prepare an expedition, and fly to Lisbon in July, a month before the arrival
of the team, change the English to Urania-2, prepare the boat and wait for the rest to arrive.
Photojournalist Arkady Kolybalov came to me himself. He came to my home in Pushkino and
asked for an expedition. I understood that the absence of the slightest tourist experience, and
even more so sailing on a sailing yacht, still could not be a reason for refusing to participate in
extreme travel. The fact that for many years Arkady has been "flowing out" with hopeless
dreams of a sailing round the world meant more to me than the yachting experience of any
other person,but not having this deep yearning for the impossibility of gaining your prescribed
life.

We were overwhelmed in attempts to "untwist" the expedition. Every week, the central press
published notes and articles on our subject. Speaking on the radio, I pretended to be brave and,
without blinking, lied that everything was fine with us. But I must say that only journalists
showed real interest in us, they literally hunted for us and made material on the basis of two or
three of my phrases. Days flickered, bringing us closer to August, at the end of which a flight to
Lisbon was planned, but no money appeared. We "wool" organizations, enterprises and banks.
Two managers worked for us, each of them had impressive victories in the past, but their
projects also brought nothing. Marfutinsky options obviously did not work. We were in a hole
and could not move beyond its edge. Valera in Nikolaevsk-on-Amur was also denied money,but
these troubles did not end. With each of our telephone conversations, Valera clearly “died” and,
in the end, announced that he could not even reach Moscow. The expedition was left without a
mechanic at once. I told him that he would get it out of my head, borrow money for a flight to
Moscow, and then, I will take care of it myself. Valera was silent. And then I heard a female
voice, his wife intervened, apparently on a parallel tube. <Alright, he will come>, she said. I
rejoiced. But all too often lately had to die and come back to life.

The last blow, which was intended to knock me down, has not yet arrived. I noticed that all of
our expeditions suffered most from high politics. Twice, our access to the Atlantic coincided with
the election of the President of Russia, and therefore all our potential sponsors almost
unanimously announced to us that all available funds went to an elected company. This time,
the August collapse of the ruble in the chain reached the Trading House "Smirnov". The tax
service found a diplomat with money at one of his factories (the minister for taxes and duties
Boris Fedorov told about this flagrant violation and this was shown for three days on all
channels). As a result, when I made my way to Boris Smirnov’s office on Pyatnitskaya Street, he
affectionately said to me, as if to his own, from which my heart stopped beating: <I have not
forgotten anything, but you see, George,what is happening in the country, my plants were
closed, I have to suffer losses and can’t do anything. Come before the New Year>. I told him
that at the end of December the yacht will be on the way to Antarctica. What he shrugged, and I
could not continue to break myself and ask for at least a LITTLE money, this would already be
like alms.

Two weeks before the departure, I simply did not know what to do and how to save the
expedition. We clearly crawled into self-financing, which is absolutely impossible in the variant
of large expeditions. But even here our capabilities were disproportionately low, even taking into
account the maximum personal unpretentiousness. Needless to say, three of the team could not
contribute a penny to the expedition. I wrote a large number of estimates of estimated costs all
the time cutting back on initial appetites. The very last one was called the “prison” one, which
was 18 times smaller than the average estimate and completely did not take into account such
items as payment for parking at the ports, and for food gave no more than 70 cents per person
per day, and we didn’t get any money for it. The turning point was that a few days before
departure, Arthur Chubarkin did receive a small amount from the Togliatti VAZ,and a day after
that my friend Vitya Savonin found a thousand dollars for me. Taking into account the
contributions of the expedition members themselves, the “prison” estimate turned out to be 150
dollars closed.

So, the result of the Moscow period was a complete failure for sponsorship. We did not get what
any serious expedition should have - the means to carry it out. Its financial base should have
been those crumbs that the expedition members themselves had, no more than ordinary people
in a poor country. The only plus, instilling calm before the start, was my combat boat, the
confidence that I could lead it and quickly teach the whole team about it.

Chapter 4. FLIGHT TO ANOTHER DIMENSION

Candidate of Medical Sciences Alexander Vasilievich Gaykin, the last time I "straightened" my
spine and, just four hours later, at the Sheremetyevo-2 airport, I said goodbye to my brother
Yura, Valera, <Colonel> and his wife, who were accompanying me Rita. I stepped behind the
fence of the turnstile marking the border of the country, and found myself face to face with my
expedition, the oceans that I was about to cross, and the continents behind which the treasured
Antarctica lay. The expedition team, consisting of people almost unknown to me, was already
waiting for me in Lisbon, on Urania-2.

And immediately, from the first steps of this independent path, completely unpredictable events
began to occur. In line to the passport control window, I found myself behind a handsome tall
guy whose face seemed familiar to me. I tried to remember where our paths crossed. As it
turned out later, he, like me, was trying to resolve the same issue. And a minute later we
remembered that about a year ago, I was in his workshop, then Alexander Ponomarev, so the
name of my friend, having won the project competition, became the Chief Artist of the Russian
section at <EXPO-98> in Lisbon. He knew about our expedition and complimented me on the
fact that we were the only team from the entire Global Initiative project who was able to start the
expedition. Communicating, until the last day with Zobov and <Aurora>,he possessed some
information on other expeditions and their people. The Arthur Chilingarov project (towing an
iceberg from the coast of Greenland to Lisbon at <EXPO-98>) on which, spinning the entire
project of the Global Initiative, the Aurora advertising agency relied, did not take place.
Moreover, he drew to the bottom the whole chain of other expeditions. Alexander expressed the
opinion that everything went to pieces because of the suspicious disappearance of Chilingarov
from Moscow, and it was at that very moment when, after almost a year of work, Aurora found
him sponsors overseas. Arthur Nikolaevich went beyond reach for a couple of weeks. This was
enough for the sponsors, having drunk on coffee, and listening to the optimistic plans of Volodya
Filippov, the president of Aurora, looking at the clear horizon, turned around and
disappeared.Maybe there were other reasons here, but presenting the kitchen of the large
expeditions, I agreed that Arthur "left", apparently reasonably believing that he himself would not
take up this matter in addition to his official work in the Duma. And there was no time left at all,
so only an adventurer could join in the preparation. <Fighting swimmers> from the <Walrus
Association>, who were supposed to swim next to the iceberg, across the Atlantic, from
Greenland to Portugal, also lost a chance to go down in history. The Yellow Submarine project
also fell to the bottom, although the Navy allocated a diesel submarine for this expedition and
Sasha went to Murmansk to paint it. Writers, artists and musicians received invitations to
participate in this peaceful voyage from Murmansk to Lisbon, with a call to Europe. But this did
not go beyond this. And further,about five expeditions ended without having begun.

Sasha took a flat bottle of whiskey purchased at Sheremetyevo from the side pocket of his
jacket and we, sitting in the aft part of IL-62, regularly applied to it. A wonderful drink contributed
to the emergence of travel topics and, discussing them, we did not notice how we flew across
Europe. During this conversation, there was a second, in an interesting case, when we wrote in
the cards that the stewardess handed out in the column <purpose of arrival> - visiting the
exhibition "EXPO-98>. Such a formulation corresponded to reality, since my expedition was an
active exhibit of the Russian section at <EXPO-98>, and Sasha was an official employee of the
exhibition. It was evening when our plane landed in the capital of Portugal. At the turnstile, now
marking the border of Portugal, first Sasha, then me, was stopped and taken to the side. After
that,as all the passengers of our plane successfully passed us, the border guards explained to
us that for our departure from the airport, we need to send written confirmation by fax to the
manager of Expo-98 about the need for our participation in the exhibition. If such a fax does not
arrive at the border service office, then at five in the morning we will be sent back to Moscow on
the same Aeroflot flight, at our own expense, of course. Sasha found his pass issued by the
exhibition administration and was passed through the turnstile. He shouted that he would find
the guys meeting me and together they would try to do something. I saw Vasily Konstantinovich
Agapov, the deputy sales representative for Portugal, as he showed his documents and tried to
make his way to me, but he was deployed on the "second redoubt" and pushed to the first. We
were separated by twenty meters of the hall,we saw each other and silently understood
everything. Then the border guard led me in long corridors and with my liver I felt that I was
stuck in a wild, irreparable situation. All documents were seized from me and I ended up in a
large room, filled mainly by black young people. These people were sitting and lying on the
floor, their children, playing ball, screaming like in a stadium. Soap opera was on the TV, turned
on at full volume. A wild amount of bottled water was placed on the tables, reducing the idea of
the authorities about the needs of those arrested to basic concepts. The horror of my situation
was also that the police who drove me to this prison did not know not only Russian, but also
English, and therefore did not perceive my attempts to explain something to them. In the end,
after a long sentence sent by the guard, I realized I’m not allowed to leave this hellish room until
a fax arrives, and if it doesn’t exist, they will not forget about me and send me back to Russia
early in the morning. These were the measures taken by the Portuguese side, to block the
numerous flow of all the people who swept Lisbon under the guise of visiting Expo 98. I
understood that at this late hour the exhibition offices were closed and no one would write or
send the fax I needed. My fate now completely depended on the actions and luck of meeting me
at the airport and, first of all, Vasily Konstantinovich. For me, who had overcome many
obstacles to the expedition before, returning to Russia and having to re-search for money for an
air ticket could be the last and already insurmountable obstacle. Mentally meeting the dawn, I
almost knew that this was the end and, even when I,already automatically went to storm the
police office, suddenly, they gave me my documents. I realized that the fax came.

Anger was expressed only in the fact that I did not thank those who returned the documents to
me. The officer on duty escorted me to the turnstile, said something to the soldier, who, with a
movement that was noticeable only to me, showed that I could go. I quickly walked through the
deserted halls, grabbing a backpack and bags in the luggage compartment on the go and flew
out into the street with a bullet, where I saw Sasha-boatswain and Vasily Konstantinovich
completely exhausted by waiting. It turns out that Vasily, convinced of the impossibility of pulling
me out through Expo 98, found the Ambassador of Russia, who was out of town this night and
rescued me from captivity through him. There was a car of the trade representative, in which
Vasily’s wife, Galya, also sat all night. We loaded things into the car and, along the still deserted
streets of Lisbon, rushed to the embankment of the Teja River, where Urania-2 was waiting.

Accompanied by empty eyes, the buildings flickering outside the window, square trees and the
vacuum of squares, I felt my new life begin. In this situation, you had to completely break with
your past, or simply try to get out of it for a while. If it doesn’t let you go, you can break and it will
be a quiet disaster. And yet, we must always remember: this is your trip around the world and
you should get not only suffering, but also pleasure (I can’t only remember that I once found it in
such enterprises), otherwise it all makes no sense.

The meeting with the yacht that you left for a long time is an exciting event that always painfully
answers the question: how will she meet you? Going to my expedition often in advance, without
feeling my own and others ’pain, we cautiously return to the world of relations with an apparently
living yacht. Whatever you say there, if she suddenly does not accept your abstract idea, then
all human efforts will turn into nothing. For she, equal to you, is a companion in this enterprise.
In the first minutes of such a meeting, you fly from the stern to the sailing, feeling all of it with
your palms, and gradually free yourself from fear and, leaning against a mouther, kiss her,
asking for forgiveness, and returning her love to yourself.

On my boat in my absence, her life went on and she met me with unexpected news. Dima and
Sasha got a job at a local construction site and, now for a week now, instead of preparing the
yacht for the exit, they are injected from seven in the morning to eight in the evening and return
to the yacht without any strength. Valera and Ivan work on a yacht, but deal only with a diesel
generator. Lena mastered the galley and manages to take her ten-year-old daughter Zhenya,
this chess prodigy, to various chess competitions in Lisbon. The arrival of Sergei Insarov, his
friend Misha Rybochkin and photojournalist Arkady Kolybalov, was expected the next day.

Still at Urania-2 lived Vladimir Lysenko and the artist Vitaliy Melnichuk, who made the world
expedition by car and arrived in Lisbon from Africa. They rested on a yacht, preparing to throw
across Europe. They had to get to Moscow and further, across Russia to Magadan, Alaska and
Panama - the place where their round-the-world rally started. It was a serious trip that our
compatriots made without noise, having received a passport and having several hundred dollars
for all expenses, including gasoline - this may be enough to travel around the world. Once
Lysenko and I, knowing about each other, but not being familiar, were equally passionately
engaged in sports rafting on the mountain rivers of Russia. And then they changed <horses>:
Volodya to a car, I to a yacht; expanded the field of expeditionary activity, which would be
far,already outside of Russia, unexpectedly, meet and get to know each other.
Soon after my arrival, Dima and Sasha quietly slipped away to their construction site, and I
undertook to compile a list of work on the preparation of the vessel. The boat stood for almost a
year. All of its systems needed to be tested and run. All this could resist and respond with
surprises, mostly unpleasant. The batteries that Sashka saved in our absence, carrying them on
a trolley to charge the Russian ship, which was then a kilometer from Urania-2, reached our
arrival, but were weak. Ivan calculated that in order to charge them properly, you would have to
drive our small diesel generator for a week without a break. Starting the main engine was also a
problem, as a year ago, in the English Channel, outboard water got into its cylinders and,
although then it all ended happily, but it could manifest itself now.

The diesel generator was cracking incessantly, the blue smoke of its exhaust flowed from the
engine room to the wheelhouse, where I selected the necessary maps for the Atlantic from a
large 50-kilogram roll of travel cards and put them in a certain sequence on the navigator's
table. It was also necessary to examine both masts centimeter by centimeter, check the mast,
the connection of the lanyards, cables, paints, cable joints - any crack or loose connection could
lead to the loss of the mast. The sails, dried by us a year ago and laid in large pouches, were in
the sailing, bow compartment of the yacht. The four of them had to be dragged through the
hatches and doors of the yacht, dragged out and there, on the deck, the staysail was fastened
with carabiners to the headquarters, the front and lower cradles of the grotto and mizzen were
brought to the masts and booms and, after that, without rushing, with relish,make all the
corrugations - these elements will work during future storms. It is necessary to spread the
sheets and make sure that they do not come into contact with other gears, but go freely from the
clew angles of the staysails along the entire length of the side, to the clew winches in the
cockpit. It was necessary to set up a radio station, fasten life rafts, located aft, behind the
helmsman, restore order in forepeak, paint the deck and sides. In addition, it was necessary to
fill in the tanks with three and a half tons of fresh water, refuel with kerosene for the galley
stove, and stock up on provisions. It was necessary to make an attempt to find a food sponsor
from the local Portuguese, using the contacts of our staff at Expo 98, get Brazilian visas, settle
all questions with the migration services and the port captain.

What happened on the yacht and how things were going on in preparation did not suit me at all.
There was a lot of work, not enough hands. Lysenko and Vitaly, resting in the evenings from
their circumnavigation, drank a large amount of dry wine, actively attracting the limp and supple
part of the team to this occupation. But, after a couple of days, when I was “heated” and was
ready to tear my head off, there were some positive changes. There was an unfamiliar but
undoubtedly kind person who drove up to the construction site where Dima and Boatswain
worked and photographed them during this occupation, thereby recording the fact of violation of
Portuguese law. This fact made them so impressed that they, having thrown shovels, instantly
ended up on the yacht. On the same day, having bought his car, which was waiting for them in
the parking lot,and leaving a battery of empty "geese" on the yacht, Lysenko and Vitaly
immediately rushed towards Paris, hoping to get hold of money on gasoline and food there. The
third positive moment was the arrival of the last members of the expedition. I had a list of all
affairs on the yacht ready and work began. The work was in full swing and interrupted only by
the cries of Lena, calling for lunch. She did not stop when dinner was ready, she could not stop
the darkness of the approaching southern night. Each led his own business and did not want to
hit his face in the mud. Dima and I examined the masts, adjusted the tension of the cables with
the lanyards, controlled all the joints, started sails and sheets. Dangling in the gazebo at the
mast top at a 24-meter height, it was clear how the team below was painting, moving, tying to
the gambling music that came from the wheelhouse. Lena and Boatswain drove food to the
yacht.There were so many boxes and bags that the Boatswain scored the entire wheelhouse
and by the evening we lost the opportunity to get into the wardroom. The boatswain beamed,
wishing he showed a box full of liter paper bags- <bricks>, fantastically cheap dry, red wine.

The day was filled with work, and the night brought me misery about the unsteadiness of our
enterprise: already now I came up against a wall somewhere between Antarctica and Australia,
from where our non-monetary existence was supposed. I knew that on that end of the globe,
somewhere half the way around the world, there would be nothing to pay for groceries, diesel
fuel, parking, possible repairs, visas. The coming day, filled with work, led away from these
apprehensions, but at night I was in their full power.

The mechanics of Ivan and Valera, it did not go. The liners that we brought from Moscow did not
fit and the diesel generator had to be assembled not repaired, in the hope that in the Canaries
at the Russian base we would get them. The emergency drainage system for Urania-2 holds
was designed for a 10-kilowatt 4CH diesel generator, which continued to remain a half-ton
ballast. The Severnaya Verf Shipyard, for the first time creating a sailing yacht, made a beautiful
hull, applying all the principles of domestic shipbuilding, saturated its systems with heavy and
unreliable Soviet equipment.

There were about a kilometer of pipes of various calibers in this boat, more than a hundred
valves and cranes, four electrical networks - 12, 24, 220, 380 volts !!! To support all these
systems, a large staff was supposed to have nothing to do with yachting. Powerful pumps,
designed to pump outboard water that got into the case, worked from 380 volts, but the power
source of these pumps - the famous diesel engine <4CH>, of course, was in its usual
inoperative state. Therefore, we bought a yacht pump of an American company, with a decent
expense and running on batteries. The security issue has been resolved.

So, the team gathered. The first to come here was Sasha Kharitonov - our boatswain, originally
from Petrozavodsk. Three years ago, he participated in the construction of sailing Kochi and
went to them from Vladivostok to Alaska. Then, traveled in a free state in the United States and
Canada for almost two years. Returning to Russia, Sasha realized after some time that these
two years were the best moments of his thirty-two-year life. And therefore, when I went through
Dima with a proposal to circumnavigate the world, he immediately found himself on Siberian
Passage in Moscow, where among the globes, maps and business letters, the blue of the
Ocean was increasingly visible. He perfectly knew English, disposed to himself, suddenly
"caught fire", exposing such cliffs and depths, surprising even his own. The boatswain
possessed two more passions, it is a guitar and a harmonica hanging on a neck.At the same
time, playing the guitar and harmonica and singing English songs at the same time, Boatswain
did it masterfully, one thing is for saying that Beatle songs in his performance could be listened
to. Although ten years ago, engaged in the construction of kochi in Petrozavodsk, working on a
circular, the boatswain managed to saw off the phalanx of his index finger. But, by a happy
coincidence, the doctors managed to sew a finger, and now it was imperceptible - there was a
small scar around the finger. The second passion of the boatswain always preceded the first,
since he could not take the guitar without sipping from a tall yacht glass of good red wine. In our
absence, he sat in Lisbon, on a personally invented diet - white bread, dry red wine and greens.
And his favorite book: <The science of drinking with health benefits> Arkady Matches,met us in
the most prominent place in the wardroom at the portrait of the godmother of Urania-2 Tatyana
Savonina. With Sasha, we occupied the aft cabin on the port side.

It was gratifying to see how Valera Pikulev quietly, without further ado, does a lot of useful
things. Radio operator by education, has skills in electrical and mechanics. Ivan finally got a
voluntary and capable assistant, and now they are everywhere together, and judging by their
cooing coming from the engine room, they became friends. Valera took a bow on the starboard
side of a double cabin. He lived there alone and, by virtue of his natural modesty, voluntarily
occupied the upper bunk. Ivan, traditionally occupied the middle cabin. There were no
unnecessary things here in the military, and the cabin was as if empty, not like the mess we had
with Sasha. When it was storming, Ivan lay down on the floor, between the bunk and the
bulkhead, and snored so that he drowned out the roar of the ocean and the blows of the waves.
It seemed to me that this was the only place on the whole yacht where it was only worth
covering my eyes,how could you feel the delicate aroma of rum.

Dima, his wife Lena and their ten-year-old daughter Zhenya, generalized by Boatswain to the
short word <family>, were lodged in the aft cabin on the starboard side. Lena assumed
responsibility for cooking, and we washed the dishes in turn. Zhenya studied at the school,
where there were only two teachers, father and mother. Dad taught exact sciences and chess
(Eugene was a capable chess player and, in her incomplete ten years, became the champion of
the Far East among children of her age), but her mother got all the rest, not so exact as
mathematics and physics. Looking ahead, I must say that the school worked ten hours a day
without a break on weekends. The child switched from textbooks from teacher to teacher, and if
dad, for example, steered in the cockpit, the child sat nearby and answered the lesson, or
solved the next chess problem. Moreover,as usual in any school, teachers constantly argued
with each other, everyone believed that he was given less hours than necessary.

Sergey Insarov, this shaggy lion, and Misha Rybochkin are two paratrooper friends serving
tourists arriving at the North Pole in April. A yacht is their new hobby, at least for the next month
or two. I see how interesting it is for them to plunge into a new environment for themselves and
how they cannot wait to quickly go to sea. They settled in the bow cabin of the port side and got
full access to the simplest work on preparing the yacht - full painting of the deck and sides.

Arkady Kolybalov was still in Moscow interested in the location of cabins on a yacht, explaining
this by the desire to retire and create. He flew to Lisbon with a roll of large black and white
photographs and a Moscow typewriter. The exhibition of photographs taken mainly in the
Russian outback was a serious work of a talented photojournalist and made a strong
impression. Arkady planned to show this exhibition in ports of call. By the time he appeared on
Urania-2, all cabins were populated, but there were still free bunks in them. But Arkady
resolutely began to settle in the sailing boat, located in the very bow of the yacht - a narrow
room, poorly suitable for housing. In the neighborhood of the bales in which the sails were
stored, he made a place for himself, built a table, put a typewriter on the table, and from that
moment, I believe, his long-awaited the expeditionary life that he had been waiting for, as he
himself had spoken his whole life. Having pumped up a rubber boat and stripping to the
bottoms, Arkady undertook to clean the bottom of the yacht with a spatula, which over the year
was overgrown with algae and shells. He glows with joy and says that he is quite happy if at
least one good shot can be taken.

The commissar of the Russian section at Expo 98, Yevgeny Zobov, and especially his assistant
Igor, still worked. Their long promises finally culminated in the arrival of the sponsor on the
yacht. It turned out to be the elderly owner of a group of enterprises for the production of beer
bottles. With the efforts of Lena, the table was laid at the Urania-2 cabin, we talked about our
plans, and after that he opened the trunk of his large car, in which boxes and cans of food were
stacked in even rows. Starvation did not threaten us anymore, at least before Tierra del Fuego.

<Expo-98> was dedicated to the Year of the Ocean, and once again, before the exit, we went to
the exhibition. Here, each country, having its own pavilion, demonstrated its understanding of
the essence and history of the Ocean, from the physical diversity of its forms over a period of
several million years, to the mystical idea of universal origin. Gradually, passing from the
pavilion to the pavilion, we irrevocably plunged into the world of the Ocean, the history of
navigation. Numerous exhibits, videos on large screens, music accompanying the pictures of
the sea, all this thousand-year experience of living together between Man and the Ocean was
put at our disposal at the moment when we ourselves had to take the last step to enter it
physically. We did well on business and in five days of working together almost all items were
deleted from my list.The yacht acquired a completely different look - a freshly painted deck, sails
trapped on booms. In the afternoon the sun was burning mercilessly, from the city side came
the rumble of cars rushing along the highway. <Urania-2> swayed on a wave raised by
numerous pleasure boats and was ready to leave. On the fifth of October, despite the fact that it
was Monday, an hour and a half before dark, we gave the moorings and walked away from the
pier, where Urania-2 stood for almost a year. Coming out of the harbor of the port of Urania-2
with an ebb, she passed by a gigantic figure of Christ on the left, high bank of the Tagus River,
past a memorial to mariners, a stone burning with white light, and disappeared into the open
spaces of the Atlantic at night ....from the side of the city came the rumble of cars rushing along
the highway. <Urania-2> swayed on a wave raised by numerous pleasure boats and was ready
to leave. On the fifth of October, despite the fact that it was Monday, an hour and a half before
dark, we gave the moorings and walked away from the pier, where Urania-2 stood for almost a
year. Coming out of the harbor of the port of Urania-2 with an ebb, she passed by a gigantic
figure of Christ on the left, high bank of the Tagus River, past a memorial to mariners, a stone
burning with white light, and disappeared into the open spaces of the Atlantic at night ....

When we got out from under the cover of the northern cape of San Julian under the motor, a
wave immediately started. She picked up the yacht and she responded to her with the whole
hull. It was already dark and I turned on the salings on the main mast. The deck, illuminated
from above, appeared to us as a launching pad: ropes, blocks, mast structures and the black
ocean water around the illuminated deck. We went out into the wind and sails went up: the
mainsail, staysail and mizzen. A lot of people, it's good. They stuffed the halyards, went to
respect, poisoning the sheets. Sails <took>, turn off the engine. Silence comes, soft beats of the
waves against the board, the murmur of water behind the stern and the even, barely audible,
but constantly present sound of the sea. The huge grotto became an obstacle to the wind freely
walking over the ocean. The sail, tailored and stitched in a certain way, took the form of a large,
elastic wing. Sheaves pulled up and the yacht leaving a bright wide trail of phosphorescent
microorganisms behind the stern, it flew along the wave. It was possible to add more moves,
and I was happy to set up the sails, went to the tank and, lighting up the front axle of the staysail
with an electric torch, and Dima in the cockpit worked with the sheet on the winch, and I saw
how the taut die of the sail moves overhanging and accepts the optimal form. Arkady, the first
time he got the helm in his hands, tried to keep the desired course 220 on a compass
illuminated by a light bulb. Then, too, set up a mainsail and mizzen. The grotto was from a thick
dacron, with long armor and kept its shape well. He constantly attracted his eyes, it was nice to
admire this militant, but at the same time, it seemed, vulnerable wing. The weather was good
and there was no worry about the fact that the yacht carried for the first time, and even at night,
almost a complete sail. In the afternoon with the same wind it will be possible to put genoa, or a
second staysail on the inner headquarters. And now - the half-tack of the right tack, the yacht
sways in the wave, but is going well. The deck lights were turned off and the sails and masts
crashed into the black, starry sky, the waves of the ocean are guessed overboard, and the even
sound of the sea suggests that everything will be fine. In any case, the beginning fell out better
than I imagined. On the port side, the lights of Portugal still flicker. Everything. Began.
It's late, but no one goes to bed. All gathered in the cockpit, around the helmsman, eyes turned
to the sails, the sky and the sea. There is a pleasant, somewhat romantic conversation. Our
watch, Arkady and Misha take turns "rule". Imagine what they are experiencing now. What can
happen in the soul of any person who first got on a large sailing yacht on a beautiful night and,
right away, at the helm, but into the Atlantic? Probably, this will become one of the strongest
impressions in their life. I also could not leave the deck for a long time, although our shift ended
and we were replaced by Dima and Sergey. Everything was done as it should, the sails tuned to
the course and the wind. The boat cuts small waves well, the wind is even and it’s nice to see
<Urania-2> going across the ocean. For me and Ivan, the expedition continues, for the rest it
has just begun. The shift was as follows:Hera, Arkady and Misha from 0 to 4 and from 12 to 16
hours. Dima and Sergey from 4 to 8 and from 16 to 20 hours. Valera and Sasha from 8 to 12
and from 20 to 24 hours. Ivan Ivanovich, who was involved in radio communications and the
electromechanical economy of the yacht, Lena and Zhenya, was released from shifts, since it
was already October and classes at the school were in full swing. The morning met us with
good weather, the Portuguese coast disappeared, the ocean surrounded us from all sides. The
wind stopped and we had to change the tack (move the mainsail, mizzen and staysail to the
opposite side). This simple, average wind operation, Dima and Boatswain and I tried to
demonstrate in an exemplary manner, explaining the sequence of actions and what was
absolutely not recommended. Then, for forty minutes, I worked as a guide, having walked with
the crew all over the deck, from the forestay to the afterstaff.We had to hurry with learning while
the weather was calm and the wind that dominated us and the ocean allowed us to quickly gain
experience at a low cost. The lethargy associated with motion sickness began to pass in the
majority and for lunch almost everyone gathered in the cockpit - in nature. Lena had ambitious
plans for the menu, and this starts to bother me, although I continue to smile, listening to her
ideas for dinner. The Boatswain and I discussed the product strategy in Lisbon so that starter
products would be enough for New Zealand, this is his question, even if he keeps his finger on
the pulse, arguing maliciously with Lena in the galley. They have an old relationship that has
developed under the tarpaulin canvas of Pomeranian Kochi.

Ivan Ivanovich, finally breaking away from the shores, was given the opportunity to make the
first radio link with Russia. Then he tries to find the nearest radio stations in Spain and Portugal,
broadcasting the weather forecast for our area. We had a good Japanese transceiver and
amplifier for it, Ivan personally assembled at home in Rossosh. Having received the signal and
passing it through the modem, I received the image of the weather map on the computer and
then, through the printer, printed out the weather map and sent it to the navigator's desk.
Everything was simple and clear when it turned out. I had my own, rather pleasant duty. It
consisted mainly in determining our location on the map, which with the advent of GPS became
an elementary matter, choosing a general course, then, given the influence of currents, the wind
drift of the yacht, the magnetic declination of the compass,I gave out steering compass course.
The watchmen, taking a point at the beginning of their shift and putting their watch at the end,
measured the distance covered in their four hours. This was a special moment of each shift,
since we are all normal people who want to go more than others. This competition had its
indisputable plus: an interest in tuning the sails, the desire to go faster and closer to the general
course. Now they headed 220 degrees to the island of Gran Canaria, the port of Las Palmas. To
the Canary Islands from Lisbon we had to go 720 miles. There is enough work with sails. We
put additional blocks for zavaltaly both geeks, an additional swivel on the rack of the inner
staysail, blocks for sheets of the second staysail.

The busiest person on the yacht is Zhenya. Early in the morning, while dad slept after the shift,
Lena studied Russian with her, and followed by English. Awakened dad drove the child further -
along the potholes of mathematics problems, where he had to go from point A to point B. The
child had no time to leave the dining table, when he was planted to learn a geography lesson,
while dad had a suspicion that he was again cheated and now is the time to play chess. Using
this technical problem, the child ran to the deck, because the faithful uncle Arkady shouted that
dolphins had approached. The day was ending, but not at school. An electric torch was used,
since it was already difficult to distinguish the queen from the elephant. Everyone sympathized
with Zhenya, but no one has yet decided to argue with his parents. As a way out, the boatswain
advised them to have a second child and not torture the first. True,he expressed his proposal
not to his parents, but to Arkady.

In the evening of the second day, it began to blow and we, before night, took two reefs on the
grotto. And at night in the aft part there was some extraneous sound, similar to a rattle, and
soon Sasha complained that the helm had become harder to turn. In the morning, the
Portuguese radio station broadcast a storm warning in our area. The wind from the north-east
was gaining strength literally before our eyes, the yacht began to be brought in and we
completely finished the grotto and mizzen. After that, immediately felt relief on the steering
wheel. A pair of sea water buckets flew into the cabin through the hatch, and in two stages. The
first time the wave swept across the deck from side to side, the second time, after two seconds,
returning to the ocean. I rushed to save things, papers, books.

Powerful squalls went, the wave grew. The yacht shakes, hollows, but it goes well. Towards
evening, behind the stern, two opposing paintings changed each other: a wall of water, under
the height of the first mosaic of mizzen, rolled onto the yacht, lifting the stern and opening a
deep, white trail of foam, a cavity where three yachts could fit, such as Urania-2.

The wind continued to intensify, the yacht began to be brought under a fully riffled grotto. In
order to keep her on track, I had to work intensively at the helm, to anticipate the moment when
she <went into revelry>, substituting a large area for the rudder's feather to the stream. At night,
when Urania-2 flew over huge hills and was doing crazy work on the steering wheel, the
steering began to wedge and, at one point, we could not crank the helm. By this time, we had a
riffled mainsail and a small staysail. The four of us removed the sails. The yacht continued to go
under the bare mast with a 5-knot course, and we sat in the cockpit and, under the roar of the
ocean, thought what could happen to taxiing. After a while, Valera, standing at the helm, said
that "taxiing went>, it became easier. Ivan and I went down to the forepeak and watched as the
hydraulic rod was walking.All this was accompanied by the same crunch. So far, it could be said
that the bypass valve does not hold pressure and the oil runs freely through the pipes without
performing work. Hydraulics began to work better after the pressure on the rudder feather from
the ocean decreased, due to the fact that we dropped sails. It was clear that excessive force
should not be applied to the helm, which in all likelihood created a lot of pressure that the
damaged valve could not hold, and the oil, breaking through it, filled the volume, which at the
moment should be empty.

Under the bare mast, the yacht was good at steering, we sat in the cockpit in nepomakantsy
and harnesses, came to our senses and figured out what to do next. After some time, we
matured to the point that we would nevertheless put the staysail. In a gale, it was not easy. For
the entire operation, we had no more than ten seconds, otherwise the wind would have torn
apart a heavy lavsan sail. The team, surprisingly clearly worked, and, after the halyard, instantly
pulled it into the sheet. Staxel froze, taking away the pressure of a hurricane wind with its entire
area. Urania-2 made a leap forward and flew along the water hills, leaving a foamy mark behind
the stern. It was delightful and scary to watch this run in a storm and for a long time we sat in
the cockpit, enjoying this flight. Staysail did not create forces on the drive like a mainsail, and it
was much easier to steer. The yacht almost went the right course.
Before the unrest associated with taxiing had subsided, the water in the stern flooded from
under the payol. It was undoubtedly a more unpleasant moment than a steering failure. Quickly
removed payola - there walked water and swam things. While the rest of the floorboards were
opened, in the wardroom and bow cabins, they brought the pump hose into the stern and began
to pump out water through the hatch. The pump worked well and the water flowed in full cross
section of the hose. Her level began to decline, along with pressure in the temporal arteries.
After an hour and a half, the stern was drained and the inspection began. Groped all the pipes,
flanges - no income. Wonders! From where, within an hour, three cubes of water got into the
stern? Four crawl on a yacht, look at suspicious places. Most likely the water came through the
old system of draining the yacht, through channels that are designed to drive water in the
opposite direction,from a yacht to the ocean. Something similar happened three years ago
during sea trials, when we almost sank under the blue cloudless sky of the Baltic. We block all
the taps of the old system, once again inspect everything and close it with payols. And outside
under the moon, hanging like a lamp, a complete revelry of the elements. Arkasha steers like a
real sailor, Boatswain is sitting next to him for company and Arkashin’s peace, both are fastened
at the helm, and are in good spirits. In the opening of the entrance hatch, dressed in a bulky
nepokanets, loomed Valera.

- Shut up, a hole ?! - Boatswain shouts to him. Valera examines the ocean, looks at the sky,
takes her time to get acquainted with the situation, then says:

- And you try, find it. Heaped his cans, you can’t get on board! - but he is satisfied. And Arkady
with Boatswain according to Valery’s intonation they feel - there’s no hole!

Specially for smart heads to think, not be distracted, I keep a conversation around this incident.
Once again, we sort through with Ivan and Valera all possible and impossible options. It seems
that this is a feature of this boat from time to time to put us on our ears. Well, we agree to rush
around you Uranyushka, but you don’t really drown!

I am writing the text of the radiogram to Yura and Tim, so that they would contact Dima Rysin in
St. Petersburg, who did the hydraulics at Urania-2, let him think about the reason and send an
answer. And spare parts, if needed, can lead Arthur Chubarkin to Brazil. Strange, but there is no
fear. We are going in a storm with a half-active taxiing, with the reason for the arrival of sea
water not yet fully understood, but I am almost calm. Through the hatch in the cabin, I see how
the top of Bizani continuously draws across the starry sky, making instant throws from side to
side, about fifteen meters. A situation like this was always accompanied by longing. I do not
know the reasons for my calm, but now, this is very helpful. I also like how the guys behave. I
partially attribute this to my own account, believing that outwardly I am behaving correctly. And
that also supports me. It seems I found in myself what I wanted to be, felt for.And now this
acquisition for no reason, I won’t give it back! I go out to the deck in Dimina shift and feel the
changes in nature.

- Souring?

Dima, continuing to twist the steering wheel and, without even raising his eyes above the
compass,

almost whispers: - Quietly, scare ...

It really was a half hour lull. Then the storm resumed with renewed vigor and drove us forward,
and ran out of steam just before the Canaries. On October 13, a mountainous island appeared
right along the course. By this moment, the wind, blowing for more than three days, began to
weaken and we enjoyed a bright prospect. In general, the end of the storm, especially the
protracted and difficult, is perceived as the permission you deserve to continue life. As soon as
you feel that the wind is turning sour, tired and exhausted, there are joyful emotions in your
body, tormented by a storm and physical inactivity, along with joy, your forces return, displacing
the fears that have just dominated and strange moods that have dominated you most recently
become dominant when it still blew hard. Somewhere, at the time of the change of such moods,
we saw the island of Gran Canaria on the horizon.An emotional uplift helped us get out of the
boat: each one “cleaned” his cabin and a piece of public territory — cabin companies,
wheelhouses, decks. The wave was still a decent wave, so that the fishing longboat going
towards the sea towards us, sometimes went out of sight with all its superstructures. In two
hours, we phased out the reefs of the grotto and mizzen; lifted a large staysail.

The first stage, in which we <seized the storm>, came to an end. Subconsciously, I felt - there is
a hit! a team gathered, most likely responding to this expedition. Indeed, not everything was as
bad as it might seem in Moscow. But even then, I was already confident in my companions, as I
saw in them the same springs that twisted me myself. As for their experience, he was valuable
in that these people went through many extreme moments, and in combination with the deep
motivation of each of them and the persistence with which they went to this, I was sure for them
back in Russia.

Dima, Lena and Boatswain marched to Alaska. Valera nearly died in his first and so far last
yacht trip along the Sea of Okhotsk and, instead of drawing the right conclusion, he made his
way to the expedition to Urania-2. Sergei Insarov and Misha Rybochkin made half a hundred
parachute jumps and a dozen extreme jumps to the North Pole. We traveled half the world,
parachuting to the tops of the mountains. Ivan Ivanovich, run in at the stage from St. Petersburg
to Lisbon, behaved as if he had spent his whole life sailing on a yacht, and not at the chemical
plant of the continental Rossosh. Arkady, a complete novice who did not soak his feet in any
ocean, did not flinch when he received what he had dreamed about for most of his life. He
borrowed money, quit his job, and at the appointed time in marsh boots appeared in Lisbon on
Urania-2. As for myself,I was not a professional yachtsman, but the experience that I gained
over the last ten years or so, carrying out my sailing expeditions on a wooden Urania in a forced
manner, allowed me, almost calmly, to go to the ocean with newcomers. The weak point for me
was maintenance of the engine and electrics of Urania-2, but this gap allowed me, nevertheless,
to have a healthy sleep, since Ivan Ivanovich covered up the issues of mechanics and electrics
with a good margin of competence. Valera successfully brightened Ivan’s loneliness and, now
they, in two heads and four hands "spud" the engine room. I tried to emphasize, with respect,
their mechanical activity, and this, I think, brought my results, since Ivan, like most smart, able
golden hands and successful people, was normally ambitious.

When it got completely dark, the lights of Las Palmas were already clearly visible, and later
scattering dandelions of distant fireworks appeared. By the way, these holiday fireworks will
always meet us, no matter what ports of Brazil and Argentina we call. They began any night at
world-famous resorts. Already at night, Urania-2 entered the long harbor of the port, where on
the left, in the large harbor, saw ten dozen yachts anchored. Fearing a pile on them, we,
breaking the chain, gave our anchor more maritime than this fleet.

The moment of arrival at the port is always an emotional event. Here, at once, the last negative
emotions associated with the experiences in the sea and compressed by chatter to a high
degree of density go away. This conglomerate has any sensations and feelings. There can not
be only one thing - the state of security, which appears only upon arrival at the port. By the way,
it always appears. And now, sitting in the cockpit, we “looked” at the city, which was burning
with lights and, 150 meters from us, cars flashed along the coast ... We looked at all this with
such greed, as if we had spent a whole year without a coast. And below, in the wardroom, a
gala dinner was already ready. Indeed, the first transition this year was completed safely, the
expedition began to be carried out, in any case, we reached the Canary Islands.

Las Palmas is a compact resort town located on the narrow isthmus of the island of Gran
Canaria, in its northeastern part, so if you go along the main street, you will see the expanses of
the Atlantic Ocean to your left and to your right.

Crossing to the coast was carried out on our red inflatable boat, equipped with a 4-horsepower
gasoline engine. As soon as one of ours appeared on the shore in front of the yacht, and to
speed up the process, it also hangs loudly, as an air bag departed from the yacht to the shore.

With Las Palmas, I had hopes for solving two problems. It was necessary to find a Russian
organization calling itself "Interflot" and try to get through them the liners for our diesel
generator, as well as refuel with diesel fuel. Canary Islands - a place on the planet where the
cheapest diesel fuel. Vasily Agapov was supposed to send here our passports with Brazilian
visas issued in Lisbon. So far, we had to pretend that everything was in order with us and not
make any sudden movements, so that the Canary authorities would not suspect that we had no
documents. Of course, this was a risky undertaking, but the loss of a week, for me, was more
undesirable than even an explanation with the authorities. I was already starting to feel a delay
in the timing of the approach to Antarctica by the liver. And if someone wanted to ruin my
mood,he could safely start a conversation about the timing of our arrivals at the ports.

In the morning, crossing the shore, I went looking for Interflot. In fact, he was not far from our
parking lot and, twenty minutes later, I entered the office.

The Interflot chief Peter Rotar turned out to be an assertive, seemingly simple, typically Soviet
guy of 45-47 years old, who seemed able to do business and was not embarrassed to spill his
speech with strong, unprintable expressions. I told him about the expedition and asked for help.
He abruptly pressed the buttons on the table, then shouted to his deputy and, in an orderly form,
not forgetting to insert words from folklore into his speech, transferred our problems to him. I
took the deputy’s business card, received assurances that most of the questions are simply not
difficult and, no later than tomorrow, we will receive the first of them.

Pleased with the meeting, returning to the yacht. Here the first bad news awaited me on this
day: the anchor on which we embarked spontaneously surrendered and remained lying on the
bottom, now no longer having any connection with the yacht. This happened due to the fact that
the threaded connection of the bracket was not locked. I must say that the loss of the anchor
has always been considered a very bad omen ... Boatswain's eyes looked down, he said that he
would dive and the anchor would reach. He was not embarrassed that the yacht stood at a
depth of ten to eleven meters and the port water was hopelessly muddy. While we brought in a
second anchor, but the loss had to be made up. Unfortunately, the troubles of the day did not
end there. By evening, at the side of Urania-2 we did not find our inflatable boat. Once on the
island, binoculars examined the port water area, but the boats were not found. The wind
blewand it was possible to determine in which direction it had been taken ... However, if it had
not been stolen in a trivial way ...

A motorboat passing by, with a Frenchman on the steering wheel, we explained what was
happening and the search began. The second motorboat joined the first one and they were
already in the dark bartering along the harbor, off the coast. I was neither alive nor dead.
Already in the dark, they nevertheless dragged our boat and met our rescuers, the French -
Irwin and Jacques.

Irwin owned a yacht on which he lived with his wife and three young children. They have been
standing here for two months and have been waiting for November to go to the Cape Verde
islands. Jacques also had his own yacht, which stood forty meters from Urania-2. He was not
going anywhere, living here on a yacht for several years. Both Frenchmen liked the Smirnov
vodka and we parted as friends, having received invitations for tomorrow to visit both yachts.

In the morning, Irwin arrived on his motorboat and said that he had found an anchor suitable for
us in the yacht club. Dima and I got into his boat, went to the yacht club, where for 40 dollars we
bought an excellent 35-pound anchor. The seller of the anchor, he was the captain of a large
and already non-walking yacht, seemed to be no less happy than ours. Along the way, we
combed the entire yacht club, found out where to refuel with fresh water, and looked at the
approaches. Everything in the yacht club, from the territory it occupied to the yachts in the
marina, was compact and economical. To come here on our live was like an elephant in a china
shop.

The little white house of the marine prefecture, we prudently bypassed. I thought that crew
passports with Brazilian visas should already come to the Canaries. On the phone, standing in a
picturesque place under palm trees, I called Vasily to Lisbon. He sent our passports to Interflot
only yesterday and tomorrow, according to his calculations, we should receive them. I knew that
Vasily, with his characteristic thoroughness and care, without the slightest neglect of the little
things, would accurately carry out the whole operation.

Under the palm trees, on the territory of the yacht club, Dima and I seemed to see for the first
time that we were surrounded by an exotic southern landscape. The warm wind of the Atlantic,
saturated with the smell of eucalyptus, rustles with hard leaves of palm trees, all nature is
immersed in a drowsy state of warmth and peace. For some reason, it reminded the Khibiny of
the Kola Peninsula, where my daughter Galya, most recently, knee-deep in the snow made our
way to the Yuksporlak pass. There, too, as here, light-protective glasses were needed.

A good start to the day - the anchor and information from Vasily, gave us strength. Together
with Dima we hastened on a yacht to run from there to Interflot and get liners for a diesel
generator. Irwin, brilliantly playing the role of savior, was no less happy than ours. After
breakfast, the team went about their business: Boatswain with Lena to the city, to study food
prices and search for wholesale points, Ivan and Valera - to disassemble the diesel generator
and prepare it for the installation of new liners. Zhenya, due to the fact that social affairs piled on
her parents and they physically could not cover the child's activities, she could go to the city with
one of them; Sergey and Misha packed their things - their yacht trip ended in the Canaries and
they flew to Moscow. Arkady remained typing. When we were going to the city, a large sailboat
entered the port.He was dragged past two tiny but persistent tugboats anchored at Urania-2. It
was Kruzenshtern, I recognized him immediately, although I saw him for the first time.

Chapter 5. ISLANDS IN THE OCEAN

This time Peter Rotar did not offer us coffee, and this meant that it was time to switch to his
ZAM. No one looked at the inserts, as we understood, and the question was postponed until
tomorrow. There were also problems with diesel fuel, since it was necessary to apply for a
permit to pass the yacht to that part of the port where Interflot had a refueling. ZAM did not
undertake to solve this, and I returned to Rotar's office. Peter called ZAM, his first words and
gestures were harsh and decisive, but after two or three reciprocal phrases, he wilted and I
realized that our affairs were bad. But, nevertheless, he said that tomorrow an agent named
Antonio will deal with this issue. A fax from Valera came here to <Interflot> with information on
hydraulics, which contained detailed instructions on several sheets from Dima Rysin. From the
windows of Interflot it was seen how Kruzenshtern moored at 300 meters.We arrived at
Kruzenshtern in the midst of border and customs checks, and began to pace along the pier to
which this black and white colossus with a forest of masts and tackles had landed. Gennady
Vasilievich Kolomensky, like all normal captains, was in high spirits upon arrival at the port. He
had many affairs, but he led Dima and me to his cabin, where our conversation and
acquaintance took place. Gennady Vasilyevich, without losing the thread of a conversation,
signed them and gave orders to the captain constantly carried for signing papers. Kruzenshtern
also caught a storm in which Urania-2 fell. The captain did not downplay his strength in the
conversation, and Dima and I appreciated this. The first officer and the second mate on
Kruzenshtern heard about our expedition, openly began to admire the idea, I noticed that
between the idea and its implementation a large space. They understood this, but nevertheless,
in their estimation, it was a bold decision. Two years ago, "Kruzenshtern" passed around the
world and they had an idea of the South Ocean, they knew that from Cape Horn to the west you
can go only in two ways - 30th latitude, along a chain of tropical islands, or south of 60th
latitude, close to Antarctica. Nobody has passed the second way on the yacht.

The next day, having evaporated the whole team in the Kruzenshtern’s sauna, we soberly (just
two bottles of dry, good wine) discussed with Gennady Vasilyevich the possibility of
Kruzenshtern’s passage along the Northern Sea Route and the captain’s eyes radiated a
determination to realize this beautiful idea how they spoke under Peter the Great <for the good
of the Fatherland>. We had a good, sincere conversation, because, as they say with us, they
were blinded from one dough. Returning to Urania-2, Valera exclaimed: <How could I have
dreamed that I would get to Kruzenshtern and sit next to the captain?!> Yes, it seems that all
extremists and nuts are not found in Russian cities, but on highways of the planet. At Urania-2
in Lisbon, two weeks before me, Fyodor Konyukhov visited. Then, Vladimir Lysenko, about
whom I heard a lot,and met - on his yacht, and with his travel companion Vitaly.

Vitaliy is an interesting artist, with a lot of paintings and exhibitions in other countries, but sits in
the Urania-2 wardroom in ripped jeans and a faded T-shirt and tells Valera about his adventures
five years ago in Valery, the Far East, where, it turns out, they , at the same time, went on
different yachts on the same Sea of Okhotsk, and still met, but for some reason in Lisbon, on
another yacht!

On the same day, the Las Palmas newspaper published two articles: one about our expedition,
the other about the arrival of Kruzenshtern to the Canary Islands. Passports have not yet
arrived, according to Interflot inserts, he gave his definite and categorical refusal, the issue of
diesel fuel slid to the beloved in Russia, a semi-legal basis, according to which, we had to
approach our bunker, who was standing at the roadstead at the entrance to port and, right
there, frankly and confidently refuel diesel fuel.

Ivan and Valera studied the hydraulics instructions given by Dima Rysin for half an hour, and
then climbed into the afterpeak with wrenches. Having done nothing substantial, but having
unscrewed and twisted a sufficient number of joints, they still did not find an obvious reason for
the steering failure. One thing was good - now we knew almost everything about our hydraulics.

Ivan, who had long dreamed of making a good antenna, using a 24-meter high mainmast and
an 18-meter-wide mizzen, finally overcame my pessimistic sentiments about this. The radio
operator fulfilled his dream in the Canaries: Dima hung on the grotto for half a day, and then on
the mizzen masts. Ivan troublesome ran around the deck, sending Dima cables and tools,
sweating with excitement. As a result, between the masts, which are already sufficiently
entangled with rigging, an additional grid of cables and cables appeared, which looked quite
impressive. Subsequently, one exit to the sea was enough to gum frayed on the pitch, creating
tension throughout the structure. The remains of the antenna hung in two pieces from the masts
... Ivan did not give up, he already had another plan for the absolutely rigid construction of the
antenna mount, and he was preparing to implement it in the very near future.

Yura conveyed from Moscow that <Apostle Andrey>, not passing the Northern Sea Route,
wintered in Tiksi. That was good news, especially when combined with a beer. But I did not
allow myself to dream about how we could famously arrange them, knowing that everything
would change ten times.

Immediately dreary thoughts came about a gearbox that did not work backward, about sails that
could not survive 25 thousand miles, money that New Zealand, Australia and, in particular, the
Vladivostok shipping company would need to allow passage along the Northern Sea Route,
people who went to Petropavlovsk -Kamchatsky will be neither alive nor dead. But anyway, I
asked our Moscow radio operator Volodya Boneshevsky that he would find out the possibility of
renting Inmarsat for the four summer months of the Northern Sea Route and, more and more
often, was thinking about who would go there as a mechanic. In addition, you need to agree
with Ingosstrakh on the extension of insurance, and, taking a deep breath so that the fuse is
enough for four months, start the northern part of the road. But this was the prospect of next
year, and now everything had to be done so as not to be late for Antarctica.

Here, during a forced parking in the Canary Islands, I thought that the most important thing now
is the movement along the route. Any approaches led us away from the goal. I wanted to reduce
the number of ports, but it was difficult to do without ruining the relationship with the team. It was
possible to reduce the time of parking, which was more humane than going non-stop, but the
duration of the parking depended largely on the amount of repair work, and there was nothing to
be done.

Our meager budget moaned from the inability to cover all expenses. In connection with the call
at the port, I, as an automatic machine, retrieved more and more banknotes. But this was fatal
when the Boatswain announced that four liters of kerosene had been consumed in the galley in
four days and the supply of legumes, condensed milk and canned meat had come to an end.
Indeed, at any time in the galley one could taste any of the three dishes, enclosed in three large
pots and two impressive pans. All this was cooked and fried by Lena, I think, based on no less
than twenty people.

Perhaps the steering could wedge due to the fact that the welds of the reinforcements that we
made in the Peter dock burst just before the expedition left. This could happen in a storm in
front of the Canaries due to the dynamics of the heavy feather of the rudder, as a result of which
the thrust supporting the feather from below could move down, which threatened, in the worst
case, loss of the rudder feather, at best, its jamming. I put on fins and a mask and dived under
the yacht. The bottom turned out to be as clean as it was then in the dock, after we covered it
with a “nezarastka”. Welds looked powerful, with no signs of cracks. Green slime on the hull
was only in the area of the waterline.

Eugene got into the schedule of the Las Palmas chess competitions and her parents almost
every evening took her to these competitions. Competitions, as a rule, were held by the sea, on
large verandas, where tables were set, in which chess players sat in pairs, sometimes, up to
fifty people, and the fans were located in plastic chairs along the periphery of the veranda - they
had time to go to to the table, pour coffee and take a light snack. Little Eugene played with
adults and sometimes won, and often reduced the game to a draw, although her rivals were not
random people on these verandas. We paid tribute to coffee, shanezhka, actively rooting for
Zhenya and were ready to move on as soon as the passports arrived. Dima played volleyball on
beach venues located opposite the Urania-2 parking lot, Ivan and Valera disappeared in the
city, Boatswain buying food,sorted through his boatswain economy and, peeing something in his
notebook. Arkady "hollowed" typewriter texts of romantic prose, as well as several hours a day,
was engaged in the preparation of a photo exhibition: cropped photographs, pasted into frames,
made mounts.

We visited neighboring yachts, where I had the opportunity to use my English, but each time the
interlocutors slipped out of my hands, preferring to talk with Dima, or Boatswain. Boats
anchored around Urania-2, most of them traveling around the oceans of a yacht. Their team, as
a rule, is a married couple, sometimes families with children. They thoroughly knew how, where,
when to go, where there are good parking lots, where cheaper products and so on. After
spending a couple of evenings in the cockpit of a small Irvine yacht, we listened to a series of
lectures on fishing in the Atlantic, on parking and fishing in Cape Verde (Cape Verde Islands),
and we received many practical tips for sailing in this area of the Atlantic. At the same time, from
the cabin came the harmonious singing of his young children, then the laughter, sometimes
there was complete silence for several minutes.

The weather in the Canaries was warm and calm. Towards the end of our stay, the fronts of
thunderclouds that rained several times went. At first we drove on our boat under the engine,
and when gas ran out, we began to move with the help of oars. Suddenly, the sensations that I
could get as a little boy returned to me, when I first saw a floating boat, and a little later I could
feel the viscous resistance of the oar, the surf in which the boat was dancing and it was
necessary to push it off the coast, and have time to drop into it to quickly and quickly move on
the oars. Nothing was forgotten, everything remained as it was for the first time on the Irtysh
River, almost thirty years ago, and bare feet in wet sand, and soaked in water, rolled up trouser-
legs, and the smell of air after a downpour, and the accessibility of fish lying at the bottom of the
boat, and, having come, forever, freedom.Our expedition was chained to the shore with a
commonplace reason - the lack of Brazilian visas. Columbus hardly worried about this problem
and here he can only be envied. Finally, before we seriously began looking for a company
engaged in the transfer of securities, passports came. Nothing else kept us on the island, the
only thing left was to taxi into the yacht club and refuel with fresh water to the eyeballs. The next
refueling could only be on the other side of the Atlantic, in Brazil. While water was pouring into
the tanks, counting what time it is now in Moscow, he called Lyuda to work. Surprisingly, I
immediately got through and got it on her.

- When do you come? - there was so much tender perseverance in her question that it made me
experience one of the happy and touching moments. Oh my God! She looked at it as if I had
gone to the bakery and was about to return. I hung upon myself another, but pleasant task this
time, to return as quickly as possible. And it doesn’t matter that I didn’t know how to do this. We
did not fix our 4CH diesel generator in Lisbon and postponed repairs to the Canary Islands,
where we got an even worse situation for spare parts. And they hardly resolved the issue of
refueling the yacht with diesel fuel. Not hoping for 4H, we still bought a powerful, but fairly light
and cheap yacht water pump from an American company in Lisbon, abandoning a whole block
of heavy Soviet equipment designed for 380! volt, with a large and heavy diesel generator
based on a 4CH engine. We had a small, 4-kilowatt Japanese diesel generator weighing 35
kilograms, a sponsorship gift that produced 220 volts and easily “stuffed” all our batteries and
could paired with a new pump replace our entire unreliable unit weighing about two tons . On
the side of the Japanese was a clear, reliable operation and a surprisingly low amount of fuel
consumed. We decided not to worry about this anymore. The next day, saying goodbye to new
friends, lifting the anchor, we left the harbor and lay course on the Cape Verde islands. Looking
at the wind-covered sails, the stubborn course of the yacht, I again ask myself the question:
what will prevail in this expedition? Fear? Lack of strength? Money? Or the eternal, irresistible
thirst for travel, this painfully familiar, welcome run in space? I look at the men working on the
deck and calm down.Although I would not undertake to talk about our prospects definitely yet,
there is too much sun and heat above us, time will tell ...

Out of ten, eight are left. The guys from Tolyatti - Arthur Chubarkin and Sergey Shvagirev,
should fly to us in Rio de Janeiro, and Lena and Zhenya fly to New Zealand and wait for our
arrival.

An unusually calm sea made me think of fishing. And then everyone began to pull out their
stash, hooks and fishing lines. Ivan Ivanovich, who had long dreamed of real fishing at home,
pulled out a hook of incredible size, welded from reinforcing steel of a periodic profile. After tying
multi-colored threads from a nylon rope to him, he put pork ears on the hooks, which came as a
free addition to the soup set bought by Lena at a market in Las Palmas. Ivan threw this wild
tackle, past which it was dangerous to walk along the deck, on a thick rope ending in wire, from
the stern. He laid down <switch> - a mallet of 5 kilograms, and fishing began.

The main fisherman, Dima, who had previously caught the entire Far East, prepared his gear
very thoroughly and patiently. These were real baubles and fishing lines, which were
recommended by Irwin and for which Dima <lied> in Las Palmas a lot of money. He knew that if
he had now caught a big fish, which the team had long wanted to eat, he would have turned
from a squandering person into a hero in an instant. The people "put" on Dima and did not go
far from him, pushing him, but Dima extended the training for half a day. Finally, the baits were
abandoned, they dragged behind the stern on fifty meter nylon cord. The sea was calm, the
course was small, but the fish did not bite. A few days later we were already accustomed to
pulling out the baubles, Dima showed us the unfolded hooks and deep grooves on the body of
the baubles, from the teeth descended from the prey hook. But one day,the silence of the early
morning was heard with heart-rending cries: <Yes !!!> Having jumped out onto the deck, I saw
Dima, straining with all his muscles, holding the rope, and at the stern, fifty meters from the blue
and white-gray waves, a big tuna flew to the surface. He soared a candle three or four meters
into the sky and returned to the ocean. <Watch how you fight! look how struggling!> - shouted
Dima. I rushed to the sails and pounded the mainsail and staysail, the yacht slowed down and
we began to choose a rope little by little. Tuna did not want to put up with its position. He was
strong, but a seventy-ton steel colossus inexorably dragged him along, and with every minute
he lost strength. There were no problems raising tuna to the deck, thanks to Ivan Ivanovich’s
homework. We had a supporting hook, with which we caught a fish by the gills, lifting it aft.The
excitement around the capture of tuna lasted almost a day, while it was cleaned, gutted, and
then fried and boiled an ear, remembering how he fought valiantly, wanting to be saved. The
yacht, meanwhile, with tuned sails made 6-7 knots, reducing the distance to the Cape Verde
islands.

Considering that long cruising on a cruising yacht, due to a sedentary lifestyle, is detrimental to
physical health, $ 25 was allocated and a training bike was bought in Lisbon. They installed it in
the stern, behind the spasplots, and now that the weather is fine, I forced myself to approach
this shell and pedal for 5-6 minutes, then I went to the tank and jumped through the rope a
hundred times without a break. Then he did push-ups on his hands from the deck. Due to his
sporting passions, Dima, less often Valera, did the same. The boatswain, if he sat in the saddle,
only with a cigarette in his mouth and, looking thoughtfully into the distance, left his thoughts, it
seemed, very far away. Lena, singing English songs, could pedal for a long time. Ivan and
Arkady generally avoided this place. Five minutes of pedaling Squeezing out three approaches
25 times and jumping a hundred times over the rope, lazy by nature, I considered the task of the
day to be completed. Having finished this painful business for myself, I switched to other, more
interesting things for myself, for example, setting up sails. For me it was a favorite pastime on a
yacht and an outlet from expeditionary problems. It was always a pleasure to work with each
sail, setting it to maximum thrust. Ivan had his own sport. It’s not that he was a master of sports
in radio communications. It was a real sport and the most devoted love for the radio transmitter,
with which he did not part all day, and if he did not work on the air at the moment, then walked
around him and dreamed of how he would turn it on and plunge into it, incomparable with
anything, almost narcotic state of work on the air. I often got angry that with the abundance of
affairs on a yacht,Ivan could not live without a radio transmitter and two hours, and each time,
without washing, so skating, he returned to him and burst with a key on the air. His clients were
amateur radio operators from around the world. From South America, he got the Franz Josef
Land and had a warm friendly conversation with the radio operator nicknamed Pidersiya, our
common acquaintance from past expeditions in the Arctic, and from the middle of the Atlantic he
talked with Japan, where according to statistics there are radio amateur radio enthusiasts like
him as much as one and a half million. Successful radio communications were promoted by the
powerful amplifier made in Rossosh by Ivan himself.

According to the weather forecast, everything was fine before the Canary. Every day we had a
forecast from the British and Germans, and with good passage, from someone else. But after
the Canary, as it was cut off, the southern zone began, other stations had to work here, with
their callsigns. Ivan rushed about on the air and could not find the necessary stations, their
frequencies and the transmission time. In the best case, the radio signal was weak and did not
leave a picture and description on the computer. But, in fact, in these waters, the forecast did
not particularly require. Good on this occasion said the radio operator passing the ship: <10
degrees before and 10 degrees after the equator, a weather forecast is simply not needed.
There will be heat and calm>. Indeed, the sea in which Urania-2 lies is calm as bath water. A
wave is a little guessed. The breeze, like all living things, is barely alive. It’s hard for him even to
raise a light sorcerer,made of red Ankin bow. Turn on the engine - enough, tired of standing,
let's go! At least an hour.

It is good to do eight knots in calm water. Warmly. The sun. The surface of the sea is almost
specular and speed. Pig ears behind the stern begin to glide, frightening the fish.

And silence at night. The tinkling, creaking of blocks on the tops of the masts is like the cry of
geese breaking through the rustling of the sea ... In a dream, my father and I, after an evening
dawn on the lake, spend the night in a kopeshka, and flocks pulled up and down ... I woke up
with good mood and saw that Arkady steers nearby. He thinks more than he steers, such
weather has gone. Seeing that I woke up, he says that it would be good for him to get rid of the
<wheel> if Arthur and Sergey came to Rio. Right thoughts. The artist should be at least free.

Somehow quietly went into the water Ursa Major. November came, but it became warmer.From
the side of Africa there goes a haze and lays down on sails with red dust. A cricket appeared
from somewhere and sings, like in Pushkino’s native, and hides in a cockpit locker during the
day. At night, the moon with the stars is such that you can read.We sing songs on shifts and
drink tea with sweets. <Urania-2> goes quietly in the calm ocean, measuredly shifting from side
to side, flying fish flocks flock out from under the bow of the yacht and fly away, rattling their
transparent wings. Somehow you need to adapt to this almost faceless life, when nothing
happens for days. This is similar to the expectation of not coming events and from this comes a
nervous tension - a normal reaction of the body to a vacuum. To save you need a drug. Red,
dry wine returns to life and fills the vacuum, but this is only half an hour or an hour. Fleeting
salvation for our team (we drank yesterday at the intersection of the northern tropic), and in the
history of navigation a vital tradition: rum, brandy - this is what drove blood through my veins
and raised to Olympus, or at least to the level of a normal life. Really,our lofty deeds, to what
extent, in fact, are ordinary and every minute of them is as simple as a monetary coin.

The weather is beautiful. The sun. Warmly. Dolphins came up, probably a few hundred and
small dolphins. Go along the sides of the yacht in layers, layers and jump out of the water. But
the center of gravity of their attention is the place where the bow of the yacht cuts the water.
They even lined up to slip in front of the yacht’s nose. All do not fit and therefore go in tiers and
at the same time you need to float to breathe air. It turns out some hustle and bustle. They walk
mainly in pairs, hugging, at high speed, make synchronous turns, continuing to touch each other
with fins. Their little children go with the same great speed and also, from somewhere they know
how to make synchronous turns. Sometimes one of them, as it were, hangs down - this is a
team and the dolphins disappear at once, and it is useless to peer into the deserted sea, today
they will no longer be. Along the shores of Africa many gulls appeared including black, pot-
bellied, not like gulls, but with their habits. There were long-tailed like our magpies and heavy,
long-necked like geese. They dived from a height into the water and grabbed a small 8-10 cm
fish. Passed by the side of the strict, black fin, the very tip. It is interesting how animals control
the height of this periscope, constant even during a wave.

We never saw Africa, even going up to it for 15 miles. There was a haze on that side, and the
shores of Western Sahara should be low. Birds flew from invisible land, a size slightly larger
than our sparrow, some boarded a yacht and rested. Somewhere in these waters, Calahhen lost
his yacht ... starting his 75-day drift on a tiny spasplot across the Atlantic, with virtually no food
or water.

In the morning, Dima asked for a piece of Ankin’s bow for his next fishing lure, said that he now
knew what tackle to make, and promised to catch up. In general, he is clearly not lucky with
fishing. For the entire time that we left Kanar, only a few times his tackle was attacked by fish.
Her size could be judged by the hook she had unbent and which scars she had left on her body,
which, for some reason, turned out to be hard and hurt her. It was on the coastal banks of
Africa, where the wind drove us, and then we went into the sea to great depths and the attacks
stopped. Days by days pass in anticipation of a favorable wind, when you can go a lot in a day.
This is perhaps one of the few meanings of our sluggish expeditionary life. And when the wind
really comes, you hurry to inspire the yacht with sails and see how it went and you think without
blinking that your life is going well.
Every morning I force myself to go spin a bike and push up. And today, after a bicycle, he
swam, jumping from a bowsprit into the water of the Atlantic. Cool. Sailed along the side, which
collapsed from the wave at arm's length. I remembered the shark fin and hit along the waterline.
He got out of the stern and was greeted as a hero.

During the morning walk, an impressive abrasion was found on the lower scaffold of Genoa,
where it met with a metal pick on the railing. Genoa was dropped and Sashka began to repair it.
In general, I have not had any problems with the team, especially with Sasha. He was lying on
the bowsprit on a pile of canvas, and was engaged in its repair. Around were laid threads,
matter, cigarettes, matches. I aloud noticed to him that there wasn’t enough guitar and
harmonica. <And a couple of bricks>, added the Boatswain, plunging into a job with a dreamy
smile. Ivan and Valera repaired the radio station in the wheelhouse and deepened the repair to
such an extent that they turned it into a large number of unrelated spare parts. Looking at this
heap, I realized that we will no longer hear the voice of Banishhevsky. But here I was
treacherously mistaken,underestimating the sophistication of Ivan - in the evening we heard
Banishhevsky rushing around on the air, calling R3AM. "Now I will calm him down," Ivan said,
blowing smoke from the tip of the soldering iron - another transistor is left>. And, indeed, a
minute later he told Banishevsky about our weather, coordinates ... In these calm days, with
even wind, it was good to lie on the bowsprit site, see the staysail bent by the wind above and
hear how the stem in a meter below you cuts the wave, breaking it up like a plow into two glassy
components. From here, the whole yacht and, especially, the dynamics of its movement are
clearly visible. She is like a big fish with a pointed nose and a wide body, goes along the wave,
swaying from side to side. Belonging to the ocean with only a hull, it masts into the sky, where it
sails with the wind. And lying on the bowsprit you see this harmonious combination of two
elements in a yacht, simultaneously flying across the sky and the sea.

On the left side is Mauritania and, judging by the haze constantly hanging on that side, Western
Sahara continues. Thousands of tons of fine dust blown off the mainland constantly hang in the
atmosphere, and if you run your hand along the ropes, sails, then a reddish trace remains on
the palm. Red-hot air currents rise along with sand for tens of kilometers, butterflies and even
heavy crickets. Crickets settled down the yacht, chirping at night and sucking moisture from
flying fish falling onto the deck, and butterflies fluttering over the ocean joyfully and carefree
and, accidentally touching the waves, can no longer return. We are heading for the northeast
Sal Island of the Cape Verde group of islands. In fact, Cape Verde is a Cape of Africa that goes
far into the Atlantic Ocean and, as it were, indicates the direction to the islands in the ocean
named after him. They are on the same latitude with Dakar,three hundred miles west of him.
Here we once were already with Exupery ... For some reason I remembered his famous: <There
are no atheists in the trenches!>

Only a little time passed, and I was horrified to see how quickly the ropes and sails wear out.
The yacht’s wardrobe, consisting of two sets of sails, was 3-4 years old, and we had almost no
new supplies. Geeks and mizzen shekels were already so shaggy that the pile flew from them
into the open entrance hatch, covered the floorboards in the wheelhouse, which in itself was
unacceptable on a warship.

Classes in elementary school were in full swing, this made Dima wander and bomb around the
boat. He could be found sleeping in the wheelhouse, in the wardroom, and in the sailing. At that
time, the teacher’s offensive remarks and, offensive, with tears in her voice, students, came
from the hatch of his cabin. Snoring on the tank, Papa gained strength in order to bring down
the power of mathematical concepts on the child upon waking.
Fourth of November. All in anticipation of the Earth. After breakfast, they began to clean up the
deck and the interior of the yacht. Zhenya, freed from school by a special captain’s decree,
joyfully sweeps our carpets in the wardroom, Ivan Ivanovich restores order in the wheelhouse,
Boatswain sweeps away everything superfluous from the galley into the wardrobes and under
the floorboards, Arkady, showing rare patience, neatly, turn-by-turn , coils the ends of sheets
and halyards into coils, Valera on a tank prepares a windlass for recoil of the nasal anchor,
Dima coils fishing rods. Everything in business, only the captain will get off the wheel, enjoying
the sweet-hearted picture of cleaning. Soon the island itself appeared, mountainous, light
brown, with no signs of greenery. We walked to the right of the cape, beyond which opened the
large Gulf of Madeira. They wrapped it in it and in the northwestern part with binoculars saw two
crosses of the masts.The island itself was a lonely sight of deserted hills and cliffs of brown
stone, ready to shoot a Martian landscape, dried out by the scorching sun, unless the white
broken line of the surf, born of a strong wind from the coast, plowing a slow swell, freely coming
from the expanses of the Atlantic, enters the frames.

The guys themselves <chopped down> genoa, mizzen, and then the mainsail. The captain only
had to open his mouth once, when they forgot to take the boom on the topenant. Three hundred
meters from the coast, at a depth of eight meters, in absolutely clear water, they anchored. But
the brutal wind, flying off from the hot pan of lifeless spaces, dragged us back, to which another
15 meters of the chain were calmly given, drowning it with all its weight. The last sentence said
on this subject was as follows: <crawl, give another 15>. The mask and flippers are dressed
instantly, and now I am swimming along the anchor chain, I see it and the bottom in clear water.
I was surprised that she walked so hollow (the wind was such a force), and then also along the
bottom. And finally, he saw the anchor itself. I saw what we never saw at the bottom - how a
heavy steel chain ends with a tenacious mass of metal.The anchor lay on its side at a depth of
about seven meters, clinging to the stone only with the left plow and barely tolerated. Before, I
would panic back to the yacht, and everything would spin on the deck there ... But something
has changed in a series of endless tasks, events and deeds.

I swam along the chain over the anchor and, without slowing down, headed towards the shore -
for the first spearfishing of my life. My ability to “crumble” ducks in the lakes and swamps of the
Omsk Region and knock out a few doublets from the flock ended at the age of 25 with a firm
decision: not to kill more birds and animals, including guns, not to shed anyone’s blood, killing,
and I still hold this vow. In the bay, I thought about it and decided that this does not apply to fish.

Walking closer to the shore, I suddenly found myself in a world where, close by, slowly, a gray-
brown-raspberry fish with yellow sides, a meter long, could swim. Some fish-like creatures
snooped around the bottom, suddenly freezing between stones. It was a large beautiful
aquarium with countless variety of fish. I immediately chose a group that seemed particularly
meaty and began to hunt them. He made dozens of useless shots, I asked myself, master of
sports in trap shooting, - what's the matter, Hera? And he already made a promise - I’ll get this
one home! But another miss followed, the spear of the gun flattened against the stones, after
each miss as if on command, a leg cramped. This went on for about three hours, when I
realized that now I would begin to sink, because there was no heat and strength in the body. I
emerged, the waves rolled through me, rushing to the shore. It got noticeably dark.Distant
masts and the dark hull of Urania-2 flickered. But closer to me, our boat departed from the
shore, and I swam across, hoping to intercept it. At the same time, he thrashed flippers, but
hardly progressed - there was a powerful bulk from the Atlantic. I screamed and raised a hand
with a gun over the water.Dima somehow heard my scream.
He climbed into the boat from the stern. His teeth were chattering, everything was shaking, sea
water corroded his fingers and eyes. In the boat lay Dima’s trophies, several fish and moray
eels that were the first to attack him and paid for it. Dima was still in the heat of the hunt, he
turned out to be more prudent than me - he was sitting in his pants in a dry suit and a T-shirt. I
was only good at shaking and silently listening to Dima’s impressions. They reached the yacht
in the dark.- Well, that dry? - impressively asked the Boatswain when Dima and I rolled into the
wardroom. None of us even bothered to answer him. And only looking at me briefly, the
Boatswain realized his mistake, his hand, making an arc, dived into the niche of the table and
returned with a bottle of Smirnovskaya. First they poured the victim. And they did not forget
themselves. They drank for getting to the islands, for Dimin’s catch, for me, who had nearly died
to death near the equator ... And they poured again ... Valera said that people appeared on the
yachts near Urania-2, on each yacht a man, single French: man and woman. Valera invited
them to visit Urania-2 for the evening.

While we were warming up in the wardroom, the guests arrived. These were sea gypsies, who
travel alone mostly in the area and on the west coast of Africa. They anchor for months in bays
like this, then move to other places. All the money that kataya tourists manage to earn goes to
groceries. The man's name was Michel, he was fifty-three years old, a brown tan of a large
body, gray hair and a beard. The woman was middle-aged, her name was Jacqueline, and like
everyone, without exception, the French had a divine smile. One could not know that it was the
French, it was worth only looking at the woman and there was no shadow of doubt what kind of
blood she was - so she responded to your look. They, as Arkady said, begin to form what
corresponds to the concept of a Frenchwoman, not earlier than by the age of forty. Young is
simply not visible.Such an observation absolutely coincided with our common one with Ivan,
since only he and I had bypassed almost the whole of Europe, and therefore we could judge this
with full responsibility. After some time it became clear that Michelle and Jacqueline travel
separately, but always, in certain places, connect, for a while, as is now in this bay. They had
wooden, 13-14 yards each, with canvas sails. Michel said with pride that he was one year
younger than his yacht.

While we were receiving the French in the respectable Urania-2 salon, in the cockpit, suddenly,
there was a dog barking. The Frenchman calmly knocked over a glass of Smirnov vodka and
also, without haste, explained to us that it should be his dog, which he let go ashore during the
day, but only until MORNING. The dog jumped from the yacht (this moment Boatswain saw
from the board of Urania-2) and sailed to the shore to which there were at least three hundred
meters, along the waves and the surf. Further it was even more interesting. Knowing that the
owner let him go until morning, the dog decided to return earlier, perhaps because someone
else's yacht came and rightly considered that some interesting events should happen in the
evening. Late in the evening he sailed to his yacht, made a circle around her and realized that
there was no master in the yacht - this could also happen,therefore, it did not contradict the
dog’s logic and the dog swam to the Jacqueline yacht. But there, too, it was dark and
unrequited. The dog was smart and swam to Urania-2. He possessed another interesting
property - in vain not to bark. Therefore, when Valera, also quite by accident in the midst of fun,
went on deck, then I saw how some kind of dog silently floats around the yacht. And even when
Valera saw him, the dog did not bark. Valera called the dog to the yacht and pointed to the
ladder, lowered to the water, the dog swam to the ladder and tried to climb the vertical metal
stairs. Valera pulled him by the paws onto the high side of the yacht, the dog helped him with
the power of two hind legs, all the while LOOKING IN THE EYES of Valera. Only in the cockpit,
not daring to get into the yacht, he called with the voice of his master.
Hearing the dog barking, we jumped onto the deck and saw a simple, large mongrel of white
color and still, despite the darkness, that this is a very smart and modest dog. The owner was
the last to board the deck and, first of all, scolded the dog and forbade him to go down into the
tasty room of Urania-2. The wet dog would have remained on the threshold if we had not
begged his owner, and then the dog, to go to the wardroom, where they gave him sausages and
fish.

Then the time came for the music department and the Boatswain threw an accordion around his
neck in a well-worn movement, and picked up a guitar. And he got to the point - Michel sang not
only beautifully, he conveyed all the nostalgia that the Russians always found while listening to
French wartime songs. Michelle, living in the Ocean, survived civilization and, probably, due to
this, preserved the songs of the fifties, when he himself still lived in France. We sang well all
night. Michelle and Jacqueline stayed with us until the morning. It was a soft meeting, with
strong intuitive insights, and many surprises. Meeting on Cape Verde, Cape Verde Islands. And
before dawn, when the whole team, on a return visit and an incessant song, buried on a boat to
Michelle’s yacht, another story was born in Arkady’s head: to film sea gypsies and then to make
a photo exhibition.

Going down to the wardroom, which was the only room on the yacht, we were struck by the
fantasies of the man who arranged it. As if the whole world of the Ocean penetrated here and
freely fit in ten square meters of square. Separate objects, paintings silently told you about the
incredible turns of History, about Time, as a reality not so much ours, but as past millennia.
Arkady, regretting that there is not enough lighting, took a number of shots. According to his
plan, it remains to make the last series of photographs of a sea gypsy naked, namely, in the
form in which we found her on deck when Urania-2 unexpectedly flew into Mardera Bay.
Jacqueline did not argue with Michelle, unlikely because he drank “Smirnov” up to a liter of
Russian vodka, and did not object.But the lighting was clearly not enough and the shooting had
to be postponed to the next day.

The next day, Arkady, diving with his underwater camera, photographed us, swimming in large
numbers on a brown background of the enormous underwater part of Urania-2, then climbed the
mountain to look for camera angles, and returned only at night. Meanwhile, it was necessary to
think about how to refuel with fresh water. Urania-2 had stainless steel tanks under three and a
half cubic meters of fresh water. It was a pretty decent supply, which would be enough for more
than three months of autonomous navigation. But during the construction of the boat, during the
assembly of pipelines, parts of black steel were supplied in some places. Everything would be
fine, but the water became red due to rust and Dima authoritatively declared that we would
“plant" kidneys if we drink this water. Therefore, back in Lisbon, we bought plastic canisters with
a total volume of 200 liters,besides this there was a small container from the Boatswain farm,
numerous "geese" and plastic bottles. This was enough to hold out for two weeks. Now, after
coming to the Cape Verde islands, the canister was depleted, Dima and Zhenya and I
transported empty cans to the shore, tied them in three, hung them like Christmas tree
decorations and wandered along the scorched plain to the east, where the movement was
guessed at the horizon cars on the road. Not even an hour had passed before we reached a
decent asphalt highway, stopped an old jeep, threw canisters into the back and, riding on them,
flew towards the village. Shacks appeared at a chic gas station, which also signified the center
of the village and the only place where there was a water tap, we landed. While we were
pouring waterour ZIL-131 drove up to a gas station in the back of which there were fifteen black,
thin youths holding our Kalashnikovs in their hands. It was the army of the Republic of Cape
Verde, which won independence 23 years ago and turned out of Portugal's weakened arm. But
nothing good came of it, earnings were scanty, and the work itself was not enough. The soldiers
were dressed in what, multi-colored T-shirts shorts. With them was an officer, the only one who
had a military uniform. Volunteer brought us and our cans back to the boat itself.

Here, the same perpetual motion machine - the wind overheated in a giant frying pan, broke off
the land and went into the expanses of the Atlantic, exactly where our path lay. It acted on me
quite definitely, and, anticipating possible resistance from the team, I tensed up when I hung up
an order-issue that tomorrow morning I had to go out. This strong tailwind, apparently, had the
same effect on the team, in any case no one objected to me and I hurried to consolidate this
success with quite specific orders to Ivan concerning the engine and the Boatswain, reminding
him of the torn genoa. Arkady, in his trip to the shore the day before, climbing the rocks, chose
the angles for shooting the yacht from above and now before going out to the Atlantic we had to
sail under the cliffs, exposing the yacht to shots from his cameras.

In the morning, thanks to the excitement of Arkady, they got up in the dark. Dima quickly fried
that beautiful fish that he had caught the day before, but the taste of her meat did not match the
exotic beauty that she possessed. Arkady vigorously sets sail on an inflatable boat and, floating
on board, calls on others to follow suit. The people, as always, are not ready, there is a bustle of
fees on the yacht, there are clearly more senseless questions than the situation requires. Ivan
comes up, asks ashore - letting go. Lena too - letting go. Dima, hung with cameras and video
cameras, also descends into the boat. The three of us remain on the yacht: Valera, Boatswain
and me.

Through binoculars you can see how Arkady climbed to the top of the mountain. We raise the
mainsail, mizzen and staysail. While the yacht is in leventik, we try to choose the anchor chain
in eight steps, with respite and a forward run under the engine, it succeeds. Sails "took" the
wind, turn off the engine and go past the French to the rock. Michelle blows into the sink and
basses the familiar classic tune across the bay. Sea wanderings, this is an incredible routine of
the sea, formed by your own consciousness to the category of high value, these are ports and
cities that tell you only how far you are from your home, and only in people wandering around
the oceans like you do you find support expired soul. We say goodbye with a wave of hands
and go to the rock. Arkady takes off. It’s scary to walk near the rocks, but my instinct tells us that
it’s deep here. We make a U-turn and go to the second, then the third circle.As we agreed with
Arkady, this should be enough for filming, but for now, while holding the yacht in place, we
observe how our orange air-bag falls off the coast. We wait while she is bouncing on the shafts
and, hiding from view, passes the surf zone and go forward. We fall under the next
photography. We make a turn, put out the speed and go to the livyntik, snatching the boaters
onto the deck, and with their help the boat itself. On the move, having spread the sails, we lay
down at 250 degrees - the course across the Atlantic, to Brazil. The sun. Slightly cool, taut wind.
Gulfind the right tack. Eight knots on the lag. What else could be better than this situation ?!

Chapter 6. On the wings of the Passat

The number of miles traveled per hour, day, the amount of time spent on the transition,
gradually became the main figures on which the success of our expedition depended. We were
late, lagging behind the passage of time, slowly transferring its seasons on the surface of the
planet. The speed of movement of Urania-2 around the globe, taking into account parking at
ports and other constraining factors, should still ensure that the yacht was in the same time of
year, at any time of the expedition. This would allow us to go through the extreme regions of the
Antarctic and the Arctic at the best time for this - the end of summer. In the southern
hemisphere, things should be done at the end of January and all of February, in the northern - in
August and September. The delays that I attributed to the costs of civilization, such as waiting
for visas, etc., could be covered only by money,which the expedition did not have, or the speed
of movement in the ocean. Therefore, at the intersection of the Atlantic, the task was set to go at
least 120 miles per day, about the same speed as was at the transition from the Canary Islands
to Cape Verde. This low daily run figure for Urania-2 was real for the calm of the equatorial
zone. A couple of calm days on crossing the Atlantic would be enough to make even this figure
unrealistic. Now, on each of my night shifts, I counted the number of miles traveled over the
past 24 hours, and displayed these numbers in large numbers in the logbook. If you managed to
get more, the mood improved markedly.

But by and large, everything was decided by the wind, the presence or absence of it. The self-
preservation instinct clearly began to work out, which dulled all fears related to the future
expedition: overcoming 4,500 miles south of the Arctic Circle, lack of money, lack of a team to
the Northern Sea Route, the possibility of a forced winter in the Arctic Ocean, if we are “seized”
by the Northern Sea Route, and finally , returning to Russia as <NOWHERE>, since there is not
enough money to pay for the parking of this huge oceanic layba either in St. Petersburg or in
Vladivostok. Now, thank God, the dynamics of the expedition began to save us from these
problems, and they no longer killed me as it was in the Lisbon nights before the start. Gradually
we became involved in the expedition and it led us farther and farther from our shores.I began
to believe in my lucky star again and bit the bit.

On the third day after we left the island of Sal, Passat took our yacht thoroughly in tow. The
excitement intensified and, with an average wind strength, Urania-2 made up to six knots. At the
beginning of November there are no strong winds here and we carried full sail from the islands
themselves. It was also tempting to lift the staysail at the inner headquarters, but at the
backstage it shaded a huge genoa, 150 square meters of which hung with a tight sickle above
the water behind the left side of Urania-2. Very often we could keep no more than 220 degrees,
at the rinsing limit of Genoa, but always preferred not to lose speed, even to the detriment of
deviations in direction. In general, the wind was stable in strength and direction, the wave was
mainly not more than one and a half meters. Life on a yacht, obeying the general state of
nature, flowed without noticeable events,somewhat monotonous and revived only when
changing shifts. The expeditionary life froze, Antarctica departed and did not bother, because
the red-hot brain was half asleep, when you were half-eyed, lazily glanced along the horizon
that was invariably desolate, languishing in a yellowish haze. This silent heat was violated six
times a day by a sharp, impatient, with a drop of resentment in his voice, cry: "Watch!" This
helmsman, who was crazy in the sun, did not wait for the change of workers to arrive, reminded
him that his time was over and it’s time and honor to know>. The communist holiday was
celebrated on November 7, as it should be, with a demonstration of workers' solidarity, holding
magazines with photographs of Zyuganov and Lukashenko in their hands, some red objects.
We walked one after another on the deck around the cabin and shouted “Hurray!”, Each time,
after the Boatswain,putting a scarf on his bare neck and posing as an anarchist, he shouted
health resorts and familiar from childhood greetings addressed to the crowd from the
Mausoleum. It was a real celebration of freedom, aboard a Russian yacht, one might say, both
in time and space, and we had a lot of fun. Then, there was a gorgeous festive dinner, right
there in the cockpit, around the helmsman. We ate tasty things and washed it down with dry, red
wine. In general, our nutrition gradually became scarcer, vegetables and fruits left, the end of
the baking - a stable symbol of expeditionary well-being. More and more, naked noodles began
to appear and Boatswain already looked displeased towards the one who tried to fix the
hopelessly dreary look of this dish with a thick layer of red ketchup. We did not consume bread
at all, because of its high cost. When someone started talking on these topics, I pretended not
to hear or it doesn’t concern me.

Thanks to the calm sea, for several days in a row we were engaged in household and other
work. The boatswain with his head went into the bulkhead and hauling products. He opened the
floorboards, transferred cans and bags there, and made notes in his notebook, which he had
never shown to anyone. Ivan found in the afterpeak an old 12-volt compressor and adapted it to
pump water into the shower. The compressor was in the engine room and worked silently.
Everything would be "sewn - covered", if not for the wet, after the shower, Ivan's head. When he
realized that he was spotted, he gave me the secrets of turning on the compressor. The next to
our washer company was Lena, then, when all the others fell off at once, we immediately
agreed on limits on fresh water. It was pleasant, every three days, to wash my hair and take a
shower.

The color of the water, from blue, suddenly changed to green - we entered the coverage area of
some kind of new branch of the current. At night, such a blackness came to the left that we
removed genoa from fear, started a grotto and mizzen. Then it shed powerfully, with the wind. In
the morning, a clear blue sky, but by noon it started to burn and soon clouds appeared and very
quickly surrounded the yacht. We are sitting at the ready in the cockpit with the whole team,
waiting for a barrage and rain. The clouds move somehow strangely, simultaneously
progressively and rotationally. The cloud that was on the beam, then went into the stern, and we
excluded it from the applicants, suddenly, set off in pursuit of the yacht and covered it almost
instantly. Then we saw how in the quiet nature, having connected the space between the ocean
and the sky, a murky, opaque environment is approaching the yacht soundlessly. As this
SOMETHING approached the yacht, at first it was static and seemed almost motionless,but
after a few seconds we already felt the dynamics of the approaching wall, and after a moment
we were already late with our understanding of what was happening, when the last remaining
200 meters to the yacht, crushing the ocean and whipping it to black water, this force consisting
of wind and water hit according to us. Each of us must have squeezed into himself and grabbed
for something when, a moment before the blow, a sigh of nature came. A rain fell upon us. The
border of the flurry rolled further, flattening the waves like a road roller, and on the yacht we
were suffocated by the density of fresh water. And only then the understanding came that she
was WARM. The flurry went on with its fierce force, now it was just heavy rainfall that drove us
off, we threw off our wet clothes and put our tanned bodies, covered with a layer of salt, under a
continuous stream of fresh water rushing down the grotto and a waterfall tearing off the boom.

Large silver carifen-hunters kept close to Urania-2, which, flipping side to side, raised flocks of
flying fish to the surface. Some carifenes walked for a long time with the yacht a meter from her
side. If we took this calmly, then Dima regarded this as a direct challenge to his fishing dignity.
Spinners flew into the water, directly to the carifen’s face, but the fish didn’t react to them at all.
Then, to establish contact with the fish, our lunch stock of delicious flying fish went overboard.
Karifena ate them instantly and completely invisibly to the prying eyes. But Dima was not so
simple and already put a savory piece of flying fish on the tee and threw this tackle directly into
the mouth of the carifene, the predator reacted to this delicacy with a short movement, but at the
very last moment nevertheless slipped by.Dima almost cried out of despair, but he had another
way and he fled to the cabin. From there he appeared with joyful passion in his eyes and with
an underwater gun at the ready. It was a direct, reliable way of mining. Dima lay on the deck
and hung overboard above the fish, which was a few centimeters from the surface of the water.
As a rule, at that moment Ivan ran to the afterpeak, where he kept his much-needed fishing tool
as a large six-kilogram mallet, which is used in everyday life with the simple word “SWITCH”.
Usually, after several shots, Dima nevertheless fell into a carifen, threw a gun, because, in the
opinion of the same Ivan, <such a colossus could even tear off a hand>. The fish, together with
the gun and the strong kapron line tied to it, went down to the depth, then we saw how it flies
above the waves twenty meters from the yacht,and began to gradually pull it to the yacht. In this
process, I also had my own “front of work”, I untied the yacht's detachable hook, hung it from
the side, and waited for the carifen to be brought to me. As a rule, she no longer resisted near
the side, I hooked her by the gills and the two of us dragged her to the deck, right at the feet of
Ivan standing ready. One fish could feed eight hungry people for two days <until the fall>, or
until it was impossible to think normally. Usually, after such a roasting, everyone could only fall
dead and sleep, crawling into the shadows from time to time. Walking with the trade wind across
the Atlantic, you get used to feeling the wind with your right cheek. It’s completely not clear
whether the expedition is in order or not. If you look at all the breakdowns and unresolved
issues calmly and do not relate to this avalanche of events that you do not like,as a catastrophe,
we can say that the affairs of the expedition are not so bad. <You exaggerate everything!> -
Dima tells me. “A man should not follow the path of his imagination,” a cardiologist in Moscow
told me. And now, when the yacht fell into sheer calmness and froze in the radiant, sun-pierced
sea, I walked around the deck, wrung my arms, and all the time looked at the "witches"
hopelessly sagging on the cables. And where do you think Dima was at that moment? He swam
around the yacht in a mask and fins, and let out exclamations that touched me for a living!

And today, November 17, two minutes before sunrise, at 7:46 GMT, making 7 knots along the
sea, shaken by the wind, Urania-2 crossed the equator. That night there was a star-filled sky
and heavy meteor shower was falling. Flying meteorites could be seen every minute, and
sometimes three at a time. They left behind a bright feature of the light that persisted for a few
moments after the disappearance of the meteorite itself. Bonishevsky could not make his way to
us because of the lack of passage, due to the most powerful meteor shower in the last 70 years.
Finishing my night watch, when 22 miles were left at the equator, going to bed, I told Dima that if
IT happened on his watch, he would wake me up, if not, he would pass me on a watch. Eugene
woke me when 0.2 miles was left to the equator.In the east, the sun was preparing to be born of
God. We stood in the cockpit and waited for Urania-2 to cross this invisible line, and we heard
Ivan in the wheelhouse, loudly reading from GPS the number of meters remaining to the
equator. Everyone was terribly happy and shouted loudly when the top line of the latitude
indicator was designated by six zeros, and the letter N turned into S. Now we are in the
southern hemisphere, this was the first time for the seven of us. Closer to dinner, as it should be
for these places, an exotic trinity came: Neptune, Mermaid and Damn. The mermaid was so
good that I kept going astray all the time, reading Neptune’s command written in a narrow, two-
meter papyrus. Damn really moved into Dima, he smeared the whole team with engine oil,
made everyone drink salt water and diving into a bucket of sea water,catching mouth on his
bottom shells. After that they drank two bricks and again ate too much.

The third day blows in the forehead. Genoa has long been removed, there are two staysails, a
mainsail and a mizzen. Sharp badewind of the left tack. And this is in the very center of the
trade wind, which should push us into the stern to the very Brazil. Apparently we flew into the
oncoming spur of the southern trade winds, which in this area goes from east to west. This spur
was strengthened by a steady southern wind and ate 2.5 knots from us. Overboard, the water
flickers as if in a 7-knot course, but the GPS calmly gives out 4 knots. With the course, too,
everything is not normal, the wind and current push us north of Recife. If this goes on, then in a
couple of days we will get into the zone of the Brazilian current, which will pull us towards the
Caribbean Sea. I will tell you that for true polar explorers, this is a disaster.

At night warmly and through the open hatch of the cabin, the mizzen mast is visible with the
cross pointing upward, the top of the mizzen makes sharp throws and draws on the stars and
the black sky. The excitement does not let go and you get up and go on deck and you are
convinced that the wind is not as strong as it seemed to you from the darkness of the cabin, that
the waves are not aggressive, and the night is not so dark and the calm voice at the helm does
not correspond to your excited state. And you yourself still stand in the night, breathe in the
fresh wind and calm down. Dive down to your cabin, go to bed and quickly fall asleep.

In the morning, Eugene burst into the cabin, shouting: <Fire!> I grabbed a blanket and jumped
into the wardroom. In the galley, smoke, flame. Ivan fire extinguisher fills the stove. I did not go
in there with my blanket. Asleep, but realized. And the following happened. The ring went out
and Lena, to re-ignite it, poured alcohol into it - this is what we did, but always, on the cold ring.
Alcohol turned into a white cloud, which "exploded" from the burning second burner. The old oil
accumulated on the pan immediately caught fire, so much so that the flame rose to the ceiling.

Arkady sits in his bow cabin for free time on a typewriter. Sometimes he slips out from under it
and dancing, exclaims: "Ah yes Arkashka, oh yes son of a bitch!> - and then, with one
movement, he comes back and already with a serious face continues to burst further.
Sometimes he went out to the people, bursting with craftiness with a smile from under
Chapaev’s mustache and reading out some scenes from our marine life. It was a lyrical,
spiritualized, always riddled with humor, prose. I also started a <new life> and in a hurry
mastering the computer, I write notes for the magazines <Around the World>, <Boats and
Yachts>, <GEO>, they will need to be sent from Recife.

It's nice to think that these lines will add adrenaline to Nikolai Litau in the blood and I think that
during the winter he will find the money and prepare to move APOSTOL ANDREY over Cape
Chelyuskin in the summer and end his round the world in the third year. In general, here on the
expedition, as in Moscow, there is not enough day to do the things that I plan. We need to lead
the boat, monitor the materiel, anticipating breakdowns, think about what is happening now,
where and where we can get involved. You need to write and print, communicate with the team,
and sleep, in fact. It seems that they “pushed through” the oncoming stream - less than six GPS
nodes do not show. On our watch, Arkady and I walked 22 miles, Valera and Boatswain - 24.
But the southerner got stronger, the yacht lay on course 220 and abruptly went. We took along
the reef on the grotto and mizzen, closed the hatches. This was the last flurry thrown into fate by
Urania-2.By evening, the wind began to recede and twisted almost to a gulfwind. The chaos of
multidirectional waves was walking along the sea. <Urania-2>, feeling that it was breaking out of
the badewind, and leaving behind a wide trail of waves broken into foam, flew like a cannon.
The helmsmen stole up, went into a solemn feeling of what was happening. 280 miles were left
to Recife.

I don’t know how others do, but our expedition is a constant, painful state of expectation that
something will happen and is necessarily bad. I think that Scott and Amundsen were in jitters no
less, but what helped them fight this? Probably a great goal, but individual properties? And as a
confirmation of these fears, in the evening we had a big emergency. Someone ran into my
cabin: <Hera, fast!> I jump out into the wheelhouse. From the wardroom, pale, in blood, all
covered with some kind of white-gray coating, in some swimming trunks, Boatswain rises. Eyes
already rolled out, and here even more.

<Burn! Burn> - yelling. They brought the half-blind into the cockpit, managed to slip a sheet, put
it down and, quickly, in two spray cans, poured foam over the whole body. It turns out that he
opened a can with a knife and cut his hand hard, went to the galley sink to wash off the blood,
but lost consciousness at the sight of blood and collapsed onto the galley stove, on which a
vermicelli was boiling in a ten-liter pan, knocked over the pan. A burn from the neck to the heels
all over the back. While reading aloud a smart, medical book, it got dark. The boatswain was put
on my bunk, and I moved to his upper one.

Boatswain's recovery began from the first minute after he got burns and one could hope that he
would soon get back on his feet. And the morning began with a break in the sheet and a break
in the back of the staysail. Abalone for replacing staysails smoothly switched to an abalone for
preparing a boat for coming to Brazil. The boatswain has a continuous bubble on her ass,
another fifteen bubbles the size of a child’s fist are scattered on the back, neck, and legs. Eats
nothing. We make you drink. Is drinking. I try to "finish off" the article for "Around the World", I
am sitting in the corner of the cabin and typing on the computer. A meter away from me, with my
legs wide apart, holding on to the top bunk, covered with ugly blisters, with pieces of sliding
dead skin, exposing barely covered living flesh, stands naked Sasha and moans, grunts softly.
He had already managed to lay down his stomach on the bunk, his onlya place not touched by
boiling water, but lying on his stomach because of burnt knees is just as painful, but it’s easier to
stand. I look at him and see pictures of the underwater world on the Cape Verde islands, two
gypsy yachts under the scorching sun swaying on the green waves and try to "blind" something
out of it.

In the evening, a blue clot over the horizon showed the earth. They spent the whole night in
suspense, walking along a long chain of lights of fishing boats, standing at the transition depths
from 3000 to 50 meters. At this sharp uplift of the mainland, fish were eternally well caught and
for the forty miles that we walked along the coast to the south, the chain of fishing vessels was
not interrupted. At dawn, we went to the Recife range and began to enter. They started the
engine, one by one they took off the sails, pulled into a narrow and long harbor. And the first,
small company of sailing yachts gave anchor. It happened at exactly 9:00 GMT. We crossed the
Atlantic from the Cape Verde Islands in 15 days. An hour after the return of the anchor, the ebb
began. They lowered the lot - under the stern three meters at the beginning of low tide, at the
bow - three and a half. We start, select the anchor, move closer to the fairway.Going to the city.

Chapter 7. SOUTH AMERICA ABOARD

And so, we are in Brazil. We inflate an air bag and almost all swim to the shore. We pass the
port hangars and immediately get to the market. We are surrounded by a crowd of sellers and
each of them begins to lament in an incomprehensible language, inviting us to buy something
from him. We wander our eyes around faces, giving no preference to anyone, we are satisfied
with this one-way communication, where you can look at these children of nature and enjoy their
active reaction. But they are not as simple as it seems at first glance, and we, already spring-
loaded by the crowd, voting in our own way by the Brazilians, enter the ranks on which the gifts
of THEIR nature lie in the mountains. This is a real agricultural market, but instead of potatoes,
carrots, beets and pickles, here are the fruits of South America. A small part of all this, we could
see in the Russian markets. We ask the names we try to remember and type in a little bit of
everything, but even this is hard to bear. Women are constantly harassing Ivan, but Dima and I
seem to not see. Fruits were taken to a yacht, where Lena was left to cook a festive dinner, the
basis of which was to be four chicken bought, an abundance of exotic fruits and "geese" of fresh
dry wine. Then we went with a boatman for water in his long and light boat. While sailing along
the muddy shore, we saw very black and very thin men of an indefinite age who, knee-deep in
water, deftly threw the net to the depth, she flew open, still in the air, and fell into the water
already stretched. The fisherman pulled the rope and pulled the net ashore. More often she
returned empty, but sometimes a fish the size of a children's palm jumped up in mud and silt,
and the fisherman was very happy about it.We scored 300 liters of fresh water in our cans, but
on the way back the wooden boat gave a leak and we almost sank a hundred meters from
Urania-2 when a motorboat passed by and a wave from it filled our boat. I grabbed a can and
started scooping up water, and the black boatman, as soon as the side of the yacht appeared,
literally soared up and ended up on the high board of Urania-2. It was then that I remembered
the local pirates, whom we had been warned about in the Canaries.

On the shore opposite our parking lot, there was a large summer cafe where Ivan and I went for
a shower, and then sat down at a table, admiring Urania-2. Slowly, they began to drink beer (the
first beer after crossing the Atlantic). Not far from Urania-2 there were three English sporting
maxi-yachts on board, also arriving the day before, moreover, they were anchored from the
outermost yacht. Blew. We look, the trinity has gone. Not a soul on their decks. Ivan and I
began to spring and drink beer nervously. We look and our Uranyushka followed. We have a
beer, but she went! We quickly finish, without taking our eyes off the departing yacht, we run
through the cafe and jump into the boat, rowing in the cross. There is not a soul on our deck
(what to do there in such heat), then Valera appeared and judging by the fact that the rest
followed, Valera saw that Urania-2 had been dropped from the anchor.We see that ours gave
another chain and the yacht stood up. Do not stop and row to English yachts. We catch up with
them simultaneously with a motorboat flying up from the coast, full of Englishmen. Anchors fly
from the extreme yachts into the water and the whole trinity stops. Get to know each other.
Yachts are around the world, but with a claim to call in Antarctica. The entire program is
designed for three years, the key point is the 2000 meeting in Tahiti. The captain of one of the
yachts is called Chris. He promises to arrange a medical consultation tomorrow morning for our
boatswain in a yacht club located two kilometers deep in the lip - their circumnavigation has
sponsorship support there, including medical support.

In the morning, at the appointed time, Chris with two girls drove up to Urania-2 in a motorboat.
Chris boarded to look at the patient before taking him to the yacht club. He assertively and
quickly went through the cabin, and saw the boatswain standing in all its glory. The Englishman
made two jumps back, not hiding his impression of what he saw.

We plunged into the boat and went to the yacht club. Yachts and motorboats came across to us,
they were probably surprised when they saw a picture of Caesar standing in a boat, wrapped in
a white sheet from heel to neck, with the same powerful forehead framed by light curls. Around
Caesar sat as if his disciples, and he leaned on their shoulders. In the large medical office of the
yacht club, stuffed with nickel-plated equipment, Sasha was asked to take off his white clothes,
this impressed even the doctors on duty, they told us that they themselves would not do
anything, they would call an ambulance and take him to the hospital. Fifteen minutes later, a car
came and took Boatswain and one escort. Dima went, knowing English.

But two hours later Sasha returned all packed in bandages and covered with a beautiful, in
pictures, new hospital sheet. At the hospital he was told that for five days he had to be under the
supervision of doctors and go to dressings. The Boatswain began a new interesting period,
something like an adventure, a journey into the world of Brazil with a medical bias. Tired of a
long single bombing in Lisbon, and then a large sea passage, Boatswain, I think, was tempted
to dive for a week into the silence of a room, cooled by air conditioning, and stop this frenzied
stream of impressions, stresses, and an equally destructive surge of luck when the soul is not
even manages to enjoy the event. It was strange that they didn’t do anything to Sasha, they just
wrapped him with dry bandages and that’s all. And in the evening, one of Chris’s girlfriends
arrived organizing coastal activities of their expedition, a very energetic Portuguese named
Alexandra and said that Russian Alexander needs to be observed here for at least ten days.
This message changed everything and for a long time I could not fall asleep, discussing the
situation we were in. At night I blew and every half hour, got up and went to watch how he holds
the anchor. Would Chubarkin be here, would he heal Boatswain instantly! But Arthur will only
appear in Rio.

In the morning, Lena took Boatswain to the hospital, and we started preparing the yacht for
further sailing. Finally, Ivan talked with Bonishevsky and he told us one more unpleasant thing,
that he was promoted and now he is a colonel, his work has increased, it will not allow him to
work with us on the air. Then Ivan scattered the morse code with someone else for half an hour
and smiled, then explained: <I respect those radio operators who understand it perfectly!> On
the navigator's table, lit by the sun, some kind of comedian put our thermometer and it shows 42
degrees. Lena arrived and reported that Boatswain had a suspected infection and was put in a
hospital. We went with Dima to the hospital. The boatswain lay in a separate spacious room, in
which, besides his bed, the refrigerator, there was also a sofa for visitors. There were remotes
on his right hand,with the help of which he confidently controlled the air conditioning, TV and
window blinds. Touching the small levers, he showed us how the bed on which he himself lies
can be transformed into a chair, for example, or only lift the head part, or legs - please. It was
evident that the Boatswain was terribly fond of lying here. A sister came and offered him,
absolutely nonsense - a woman to calm her down. Dima and I looked at all this with our mouths
open and Dima swears that he was not mistaken in the translation. The boatswain pretended
not to understand Portuguese to such an extent and asked his sister to repeat her sentence in
English. My sister knew only English, she was persistent and in other interpretations she
repeated her question twice, from which Boatswain probably sweated twice in his bandages. As
it turned out from the diagnosis, Sashka was affected by 25 percent of the skin with a burn of
the first, second and third degree. In the morning I finished the story for "Around the World",
printed it, put it in print films shot on Cape Verde, called Yura. Valera sewn up the staysail,
Arkady cleaned the hull of algae in the waterline area. Ivan accidentally contacted the Antarctic
Bellingshausen station. By chance, but, in my deepest conviction - completely natural! As if a
second person had appeared who harnessed together with me into the straps, which, tearing
alone, I pulled. Now, the call to go to Antarctica will come not only from me, now from that side
they will pull us towards us,to King George Island. Underground talk about not to go to
Antarctica, but to whirl in the Strait of Magellan and leave for Easter, and then go through exotic
islands, the air is already saturated with Urania-2! We agreed on the communication time,
frequency. The guys from Bellingshausen are intrigued - they are being visited by them, a
Russian yacht !!! Questions come true and we are happy to answer.

The next day, Alexandra sent a boat for us and Dima and I went to the yacht club. She did not
recognize us at once and this angered even her admirer Dima. Then the three of us went to
Sasha’s hospital. The day before, he underwent surgery to transplant a skin from his buttocks to
his calves. When he made his way from his super bed to the window to smoke, it was evident
that it was very painful for him to go this way. We were lucky that in the same hospital lay an
Australian from the team of Chris, who upon arrival in Recife unsuccessfully dived into the pool
of the yacht club, so he broke his neck vertebra. Now the Australian, dressed in a mighty plaster
neck corset and having the ability to drive his eyes 180 degrees, was in the same hospital as
Boatswain. Alexandra launched a vigorous activity to cure two men who fell on her shoulders
and was ready to turn the whole hospital inside out,to improve the situation. The boatswain,
although he was joking, was clearly not like a man who could continue sailing on a yacht in the
very near future. Alexandra brought the attending physician to the ward and we had a good
conversation. The doctor said that they would keep Sasha here for another five days, giving him
serious therapy, and then he could be discharged, but he would certainly stay nearby under the
supervision of doctors and come to the dressings. Alexandra, turning only to me (probably it
was written on my forehead that the yacht should leave urgently) said she would try to negotiate
with the yacht club for the stay of our Boatswain for 5-7 days. I immediately express my idea to
everyone that the yacht goes to Rio de Janeiro, it takes her about ten days to go there, the
Boatswain during this time is completely cured and flies to us in Rio.I pulled my head into my
shoulders expecting a rockfall of reproaches in my spiritual callousness and concerns only
about my expedition, which everyone already got tired of with a constant race, but Dima was
silent, and the doctor and Alexander nodded approvingly. It remained now to agree with the
yacht club.

They returned to the yacht in a large city bus that flew along the narrow, clogged streets with
such frantic speed that I always expected a blow. But this flying colossus, literally at the last
moment with a gap of several centimeters, drove away with poles, oncoming cars, carts,
pedestrians. The driver, fenced off from the passengers by a roughly welded metal grill,
accompanied his ride with victorious cries and did not care that he had not closed the doors. A
partner-boy worked with him, who, 100 meters before the stop, leaned out of the door and
began to vote throughout the district, calling the people on the bus. The sharp wild cries in your
ear were a characteristic detail of Brazilian exoticism. Dima was happy, and I, like a wild, but
European cow, shied away and cursed in Russian. Here, as well as in port Europe,there were
many small pubs where the captains could have found shelter, having just brought their ship to
this dirty but earthly harbor, and having gained experience and charter in the sea, could drink
hard here and develop their philosophy further, talk, or, conversely, keep quiet about all this.
The sailors knew where to look for their captains, they came for them and woke them from this
dream and the captains returned to their ships. And then they went into the sea and were
cleared of the earth there. In Recife, time passed very slowly. Its speed was equal to the rate of
wound healing on Sashka’s ass, legs and shoulders. Alexandra easily agreed with the yacht
club about housing and moreover, the club manager was attached to Boatswain to overcome
possible problems associated with aftercare and flight to Rio de Janeiro. We left Sasha with
money for accommodation and flight,and ourselves were ready to go out.

At night, from November 27 to 28, Dima’s birthday was celebrated, and it seemed to me that I
had fallen asleep for only half an hour and that Valera was already waking me up, and we, dirty
with gray clay, white pentaphthalic coating of our deck, we select the anchor chain, and then on
the engine, raising sails one by one, we pass the port breakwaters and lay heading for Rio de
Janeiro. Getting away from the coast is always a pleasure, precisely because the only thing that
is implemented is what is most important to you. This is especially noticeable when you,
wrapping the ends that you just connected to the ground and watering the deck from a bucket,
look at the shore from time to time, and see how the space of the ocean grows between it and
the yacht, and at some point you don’t find shore, where he was recently, from this moment
begins your life on the high seas.

Dimin’s birthday dropped the crew’s fighting efficiency, and now I sit for the fourth hour at the
steering wheel and wake up every minute in horror. But the yacht is tenaciously following the
course, it is understood instantly and again I fall into sleep. The team sleeps in a dead sleep,
and, accordingly, improves their condition every hour - this is the only comforting thought that
supports my strength when I bang my forehead on the stainless steel steering wheel. The heat
is unbearable, although it is not yet noon. Surely this will be one of the hottest days that we had
at the equator. I recall the table in the wardroom when we just sat down and filled the glasses
with red wine. This was not easy to do because of the mountains rising above the table from
fruits, melons, durian, coco, prickly pineapples and mighty brown rice stuffed with rice, in a large
dish in the middle of the table.We felt like one family when we were sitting at the table. The only
thing that was abnormal was that we did not talk about Antarctica, no one touched this topic,
although it hung above the table. I, too, was silent, although it was not easy, something held
back the words, ready at any moment to break the tongue. In general, I’m a lucky person in life
and I was very lucky again: Ivan completely accidentally got in touch with Bellingshausen, and
we want you do not want to have to go there - this is the first, and, second, the British said that
they would also go to Antarctica, it’s like I understood strongly hurt MY pride and now they were
silent. I enjoyed the fact that, perhaps, I do not have to “break” them, but everything will be
decided in their heads in a natural way. Although the British are unlikely to go to the real
Antarctica, lying south of the southern polar circle,most likely they will go to their beloved
Falklands, which anyone can call Antarctica, but not to us. With Sasha, it was also decided
optimally and clearly, he remained in the hospital under the care of good doctors and the
expedition was saved several times and went on, almost without delay in Recife. So I thought,
tormented at the helm on that hot morning, feeling pacified after all the events that switched off
the day before. The heat hanging over the sea, in the evening led to a change in weather. A
haze appeared on the horizon, which very quickly grew into concrete clouds, which almost
touched the sea and blackened before our eyes, crawled onto Urania-2. We removed the genoa
and lifted the middle staysail on the second headquarters, and then a flurry began with a
downpour. <Urania-2> hit him, carrying a full grotto and mizzen. The speed of the yacht in
squalls reached 12 knots.Such a heavy boat, overloaded with expeditionary equipment, has not
yet shown. I got ready for the worst ... The sea instantly became whipped to foam and we
rushed for twenty minutes at an unbelievable speed, and then another hour the squalls were
replaced by just a strong blast. The excitement was smoothed out by the downpour, but the
wind took its toll and fanned the wave. This time everything worked out, and we got out of this
bashing without loss, leaving a strong impression in our memory, replenishing our knowledge of
nature with a rather powerful episode. I went to bed, and in the evening a clear strip of sunset
significantly added optimism.

The distances on this boat were quickly covered, for this it was only necessary to go, and not
burn up your time and energy in the ports, staying there because of seemingly important
matters. When the yacht was at sea, we covered two degrees per day. This is a decent distance
on the spaces of our planet. 30 degrees in two weeks. And 12 of these pieces, this is the whole
world. Being at sea <Urania-2> every second of the day went along the route. This was the only
indisputable advantage of the sea expedition compared to our previous Arctic expeditions,
where skiing or sailing in a snowmobile were possible only a few hours a day. Compared to the
Arctic routes, where for weeks with forty degrees of frost, having no other sources of heat to
warm your body, except for food, and cool equipment,you had to drag the 100-kilogram sledges
along hummocks and zastrugi, sailing retained physical strength, giving you thirty times the
speed of movement. It was enough to go to sea ...

At night, powerful squalls and downpours continued to get on my nerves, but we raced under
black heavy clouds under almost all the canvas. By morning, the wind began to sour, the sky
cleared, and by the middle of the day that famous calm began, which stopped Urania-2. The
yacht was thrown in the gently sloping swell, we rolled in bunks, as in a good storm. It was
difficult to move around the yacht, and all because we lowered them to save the sails so that
they would not clap and rub without load. Her health was bad, and the forecast with a wind of up
to 18 knots, which Ivan caught, did not materialize. We drifted south at a speed of 0.5 knots.
Some kind of salvation could be found in the water and the guys, wearing fins and masks,
bathed near the yacht.
The water is blue, plankton is visible to the eye, the yacht is surrounded by countless flocks of
small fish, black-nosed, red, colorful, and very similar to our guppies. Zhenya catches them with
a simple plastic bag. The underwater part of the yacht is visible to all. I dive under the steering
wheel feather and watch the electric welding of metal plates that strengthen the heel on which
the feather hangs. All OK! That young welder from the Almaz factory who did not drink almost a
half bottle of vodka in one and a half hours of work in the November, icy wind did not lie. Not for
nothing did he say, pointing to his work: “Why are you worried, such a seam does not break!>
And I put additional linings on him, he was dissatisfied with this, but cooked and did not argue.
And at the end of the work, instead of falling dead from the amount of drunk, he caught me with
his prickly phrase: <Well, now come on, so that it doesn’t fall apart ...>,to which I, with a silly
expression on my face, trying in vain to find the hidden meaning contained in his words, poured
for the completion of the work ... Yes, the bottom is in good condition, only small tubercles-
shells appeared at the tip of the stern, and more or less .

Calm crawled into the night. The spilled sea seems calm, but the boat winds, she waves and
waves the masts. And all this grace is bathed in moonlight. Strange, but in the middle of the
Brazilian current we are drifting to the north, that is, against the current. Probably because the
peaks below us are 3000 meters high and do not reach the surface a little - by 12 meters, 23,
44. The peaks stand in the direction of the current and twist it, in some places of this labyrinth it
goes in the opposite direction.

<Urania-2>, creaking in blocks, rises up on the swell, where we look around and go down into
the pit. From there again up a wave. The mighty swell is piled up, then goes down and all this
slowly, majestically, in an oceanic way. Strange, but it is in this calm and vicious ocean that
again comes a sense of despair, disbelief, moral fatigue. What will happen to us? Without diesel
fuel, without a penny to return, and already run out of products. If something happens to us,
what to do? Still, how am I missing here Valera Timakova, my Tima! I needed support here in
word and deed, especially when I had to make a decision, something that was always
categorical and somewhat emotional, Valera did. He expressed his opinion on key points and at
the same time, very often, repeated my own thoughts, concerns, etc. The guys were new and to
my misfortune,they too literally mistook me for the captain, leaving only the prerogative to fulfill
them. And no one took the trouble to care, think how, respond.

Almost any business started with the captain’s team. After a month of swimming, it started to
annoy me. Initially, I thought that Dima, as a start-up, would take on some of the problems. He
was more experienced than others, we had traveled to the Baltic before, and had never even
had a fight, and in Moscow, as it seemed to me, he understood very well my running around
with an expedition wrapped in swaddling clothes. Then he accepted my offer to be the old-timer
easily and, as it turned out later, without any obligations on his part. On a yacht, he was
overloaded by the family and was far from the mechanics of moving on a yacht across the
ocean and even nervous when, not knowing the materiel, he had to participate in a sail change
and, out of ignorance, got confused in the ropes, he could give a topenant instead of a guy
boom. And silently left the yachting and expeditionary problems, leaving me alone with
them.Gradually gained strength and became a key figure of Valera. He very quickly learned the
materiel, understood the mechanism and sequence of working with sails, and remained quite
independent, not seeking benefits for himself - this was his main feature. In addition, he had
good experience in mechanics and so helping in the sea of intuition. Now that we were having
problems, I called Valera.

Oddly enough, at night you do not feel such inner decline as during the day and in the evening.
Sitting at the helm at night, I considered the situation and, as a rule, found for myself some
solutions. I admit that often, these were just some kind of psychological tricks in order to calm
oneself and look at the old situation from the other side. At night, it seemed to me that I found
ways to solve the problems that tormented me and slipped out of the tenacious clutches of
hopelessness, and it seemed like I was starting to live, and I said to myself out loud: “Everything
is fine, Hera. All is well>. And the starry sky of the southern hemisphere was already hanging
over the Atlantic Ocean, and the masts of the Urania-2 cache rushed over it. To the constant
rustle of the sea, there was added a louder, more insistent splash of waves cut by a rod, and
rhythmic blows of waves drumming across the hull.

It is hard to imagine that after a day of calm in the still, mercury sea, by evening, Urania-2 could
fly under sail, making eight knots. Just before the darkness, there was an increase in wind and
the yacht, tearing in insane sailing thrust, ripped up a wave and, not having time to level out,
flew into the hole following the next shaft. Four of them jumped onto the deck and swung to the
fullest. It was pleasant, having discussed everything in the wheelhouse, at the same time going
out and extinguishing all the passions on the deck at once, pacifying a huge grotto filled with
wind, dumping its endless flesh into a trap while the yacht on the drive cuts through the wave.
And the wind, almost headwind, made it possible to rip off all 150 meters of the dacron at once,
tearing it from the mast, paintbrushes and cables and send it into a trap. Usually we do this with
Valera, cheering each other with hoarse strained cries, then, at the same time,Valera clogs the
reef-krengels on the front crib, I pull the back crate through the winch, and two of them already
stuff the remains of the grotto on the tack winch. Everything happens quickly, from the grotto
only one third of it remains, well stretched. For some reason, she urges me to look at her all the
time, to admire. Then, at the same pace, but without the lava of human energy, a “clean-up”
takes place: the topenant, the hiccup, and the ends are cleaved. The same thing is done with
mizzen, but mizan after the grotto - generally children's fun. Having thrown off the excess
canvas, the yacht straightens up, and, as a rule, gives out all the same knots, only without
tearing, it goes more elegantly and relaxed, without fear of waves and wind.Everything happens
quickly, from the grotto only one third of it remains, well stretched. For some reason, she urges
me to look at her all the time, to admire. Then, at the same pace, but without the lava of human
energy, a “clean-up” takes place: the topenant, the hiccup, and the ends are cleaved. The same
thing is done with mizzen, but mizan after the grotto - generally children's fun. Having thrown off
the excess canvas, the yacht straightens up, and, as a rule, gives out all the same knots, only
without tearing, it goes more elegantly and relaxed, without fear of waves and wind.Everything
happens quickly, from the grotto only one third of it remains, well stretched. For some reason,
she urges me to look at her all the time, to admire. Then, at the same pace, but without the lava
of human energy, a “clean-up” takes place: the topenant, the hiccup, and the ends are cleaved.
The same thing is done with mizzen, but mizan after the grotto - generally children's fun. Having
thrown off the excess canvas, the yacht straightens up, and, as a rule, gives out all the same
knots, only without tearing, it goes more elegantly and relaxed, without fear of waves and
wind.but the mizzen after the grotto is generally children's fun. Having thrown off the excess
canvas, the yacht straightens up, and, as a rule, gives out all the same knots, only without
tearing, it goes more elegantly and relaxed, without fear of waves and wind.but the mizzen after
the grotto is generally children's fun. Having thrown off the excess canvas, the yacht straightens
up, and, as a rule, gives out all the same knots, only without tearing, it goes more elegantly and
relaxed, without fear of waves and wind.

We continued to watch with Arkady from 0 a.m. to 4 a.m. and from 12 a.m. to 4 p.m. We were
replaced by Dima, whom Ivan had come to in the absence of the Boatswain, and Valera stood
in the third shift, from 8 to 12, and from 20 to 24 hours, and volunteers helped him. Ivan tried his
best to push himself away from the watch, she teared him away from his favorite radio
connection, depriving him of freedom, which he managed to get used to, being the only person
on the yacht with an optional visit to the shift. The shift, finally, kept him awake, confused plans
for learning English, which he furiously began to improve. He could sit behind the wheel at any
convenient time, whenever he wanted, and then he came to steer specifically, twice a day, for
four hours. Of course, he was terribly dissatisfied with this, and tried his best to change the
situation, sat down to me, started conversations, complained about his hard life.At times, he
really got it when sessions of radio communications and electric repairs were superimposed.

Ivan encouraged me to find more sparing options for his work, but I suggested that he think for
himself and find a way out, knowing that there was no way out without infringing on someone.
That was where it ended. Ivan was looking forward to coming to Rio, where three people were
supposed to appear at once: Boatswain, Arthur Chubarkin and Sergey Shvagirev. But then the
radio operators reported that Arthur was flying alone, without Sergey, it was an unpleasant
message. Sergey was a yacht captain with good experience on long trips, he was well versed in
mechanics and was a chronic comedian. He turned simple life situations so that we clutched at
our bellies and crawled to the floor. This happened during the inevitable visits to St. Petersburg,
when we were preparing a large team of Urania-2 for launch.

The eighth day of the journey has gone, and we cannot reach Rio. It is a pity that twice,
dangling in large calm, did not even try to overcome them on the engine. Partly because our
request for the possibility of refueling Urania-2 at Bellingshausen was almost refused. Indeed,
who on the walkie-talkie will promise us free diesel fuel, we must go there and there, in a quiet,
intimate conversation with the icy polar explorers, solve the problem. But just in case, we
decided to strictly save the last liters and wasted time hanging out in the calm, without moves.
Arkady, <exhausted by narzan>, almost falls into a hungry, without beer fainting. Zhenya, as he
can, supports his beloved uncle Arkady and, instead of doing homework, sticking his tongue
out, painstakingly draws him a mug of foamy beer with fish. And then, after an hour, he returns
to him, who is behind the wheel, and draws a second mug.

Following my own principle, born in the early campaigns, I constantly thought about the dangers
that could visit us. I tried to see a full bunch of troubles that could suddenly creep out of any gap
and appear before our eyes. The most extreme, I considered flushing a person during a storm,
a fire on a yacht, and global breakdowns, such as loss of a mast, steering failure, flooding of a
yacht. Therefore, during the storm, no one was allowed to go on deck except the watch; the
watchmen were in harnesses that fastened to the steering column guard.

On the deck from the stern to the bowsprit, shturtrosy were pulled to which we fastened when
during the storm we had to work with the staysail on the tank. Safety measures were followed,
but nevertheless I announced to everyone that I couldn’t pick up a yacht going overboard in a
storm with jammed rock on both booms. Like it or not, someone who fallen does not survive. Of
course, the crew will make a feverish attempt to deploy the yacht, and one of them with an
outstretched hand in the direction of a person flickering among the waves will peer there until
the eye loses sight of him. By day, is there a small chance to return and find, but at night? I had
a useful experience losing the main mast at Urania-2. This nightmare occurred on my watch
four years ago, at night during a storm in the Baltic, three miles northwest of the island of
Bornholm. We didn’t reach the Swedish coast a bit to hide from the wind and waves, when the
24-meter mast, with its roar drowning the roar of the sea, was formed, and its lower 18-meter
part flew overboard, and the upper six-meter piece, hung on the cornstag, and flew in the
darkness of September night, crushing everything around that lay on its trajectory. Since then I
have had a favorite pastime tirelessly checking the connections of lanyards, guys, paints.
Although at that time the mast flew away due to a structural error in fixing the main cables.

After the gas explosion tore off the metal deck of the Nikolaev yacht "IKAR", and when we felt
the gas cylinder on the small Urania poisoning, the appearance of a kerosene stove on Urania-2
was received with tremendous relief and confidence that at least from the explosion we don’t
drown. But there were subtleties, for example, it was impossible to pour alcohol on a hot burner,
or to burn kerosene on an insufficiently heated burner, all this somehow led to two ignitions, and
only the uncompromising and decisive actions of Ivan Ivanovich, who lives near the galley, and
who turned out to be always in the right place, did not result in material damage. The third
dangerous moment is the arrival of sea water inside the yacht through the drainage system of
the holds, which the Severnaya Verf Shipyard awarded us.Due to this remarkable property of
our drainage system, we almost twice in broad daylight in the same Baltic almost went to the
bottom after our mast.

There were about a kilometer of sewer and other pipes in the yacht, which completely covered
the engine room and the hold with a dense network, because of which it was impossible to show
the technical part of the yacht to foreigners so as not to completely compromise the domestic
yacht building. I don’t know what they thought about us, but they laughed heartily.

So, to stop self-flooding, there was a single crane, among about forty of the same ones
scattered around the engine room and the tight holds of the yacht that knew how to do this.
When, with the help of the third mechanic who was replaced on the yacht, I calculated this
crane, the dream returned to me, and the feeling that life can still be wonderful. Now, after Ivan
finished pumping out the holds, I slipped quietly into the car, ran my hand along the neck into
the palisade of pipes, felt my treasured tap and calmed down. The fourth, very subtle point was
the hydraulic steering device, I think, the pride of a young but confident group of mechanic
yachtsmen from the team of Dima Rysin. We suffered with him in the same troubled years of
sea trials. In trips to Germany and Norway, this steering device refused in the most crowded
places for shipping ...In any case, I no longer wanted the repetition of that nightmare when you
feel your hair moving under a hat. Now taxiing was heard normally, but only until the wind
intensified to six points. Further, if the yacht was sailing along the course, the stream of water
returned the rudder feather, but the helm had to be constantly twisted in one direction. It was
just as amazing as if the driver constantly turned the steering wheel in one direction, while the
car continued to drive in a straight line. If the wind intensified, the steering began to creak and
wedge, and then it was necessary to sharply reduce the windage.the stream of water returned
the rudder feather, but the helm had to be constantly twisted in one direction. It was just as
amazing as if the driver constantly turned the steering wheel in one direction, while the car
continued to drive in a straight line. If the wind intensified, the steering began to creak and
wedge, and then it was necessary to sharply reduce the windage.the stream of water returned
the rudder feather, but the helm had to be constantly twisted in one direction. It was just as
amazing as if the driver constantly turned the steering wheel in one direction, while the car
continued to drive in a straight line. If the wind intensified, the steering began to creak and
wedge, and then it was necessary to sharply reduce the windage.
The hatch in my cabin was a meter away from the helmsman, and he could call me at any
moment and two seconds later I was already on deck. I didn’t hear the words, but I caught the
intonation and, at times, it seemed that something happened, since they screamed like that and
I jumped out and saw a picture of a calmly sitting people, talking calmly to each other, only
louder than usual, because the wind blows and the sea is noisy. And then they saw me
disheveled, and in turn glanced at me, and someone said: <What are you? Everything is fine,
we are going>. I examined the sea, sails, calmed down and returned to the cabin. Instead of the
advanced career Volodya Boneshevsky, Valera Begunov appeared on the air. He led a daily
round table - radio roll-call of radio operators from all over Russia through the Ministry of
Emergencies. It was like a conference call that Valera controlled with a firm hand.Having the
only bridge connecting us with Russia, in the person of a radio operator and given our appetites
and thirst to connect with our homeland and chat, we can imagine what kind of load lay on it. He
typed and sent dozens of faxes, made many phone calls, always knew the state of affairs with
accuracy, and correctly understood our expeditionary kitchen. Being undoubtedly a very busy
man, he probably fiddled with us out of pity, but his patience was phenomenal. The team by this
time had already reached the limit of wildness, dumped all its information and demanded a
response.he always knew the state of affairs with accuracy, and he correctly understood our
expeditionary kitchen. Being undoubtedly a very busy man, he probably fiddled with us out of
pity, but his patience was phenomenal. The team by this time had already reached the limit of
wildness, dumped all its information and demanded a response.he always knew the state of
affairs with accuracy, and he correctly understood our expeditionary kitchen. Being undoubtedly
a very busy man, he probably fiddled with us out of pity, but his patience was phenomenal. The
team by this time had already reached the limit of wildness, dumped all its information and
demanded a response.

Lena and Zhenya will have to fly from Rio to Australia and wait for the arrival of Urania-2 from
Antarctica there. Predicting all sorts of delays and indecisiveness in the implementation of this
idea, I began to set Dima up to speed of action in Rio in advance, thereby sweeping away side
options with the goal of going round Antarctica.

It was difficult for me, but undoubtedly timely conversations, forcing to defend Antarctica and
recall our Moscow agreements, according to which women and children do not go to the
Antarctic. Dima’s mood completely deteriorated, and there was a reason: he had to apply for
visas, arrange by phone with his friends in Australia, so that they would shelter his women and
put in a ton of money on air tickets. I became more and more convinced that an extreme
expedition was, to a lesser extent, a struggle with the harsh nature, but basically overcoming the
human psyche.

In Rio, we also had to get Argentine visas. A premonition of this operation spoiled my mood
already. Start inflating in the morning. By evening, it blew hard, taxiing loosened again and
began to wedge. At 20 o'clock, the mainsail and mizzen were fully riffled. There was a hard wind
at night and I was afraid that if something fell off, then in this dynamic the sea would be risky to
work on deck. Until four in the morning it blew like a cannon. The staysail with a high clew angle
several times <caught> the wave, but withstood it. Two waves, one after another, came into the
high cockpit of Urania-2 and carried off the sheet winding ends, leaving me full boots of water
and a muddy shroud of salt water in my eyes.

All would be fine, but taxiing spoiled the mood, which is unknown for how long.
I went down to the wardroom, where it was dark and deserted, there were blows of waves
above my head, canisters of water rolled on the floor and some dishes, it was damp and
uncomfortable ...

The whole next day on December 7 we were going with a good wind from 8- nodal speed.

A flock of animals came up. Larger than dolphins, blunt, dark brown, with a hole in the back for
breathing. Played with the yacht and disappeared. The wind turns sour before our eyes and we
give up the reefs and change the staysail. Rio is 150 miles away. I am writing a list of repairs on
the yacht. At two nights a terrible flurry flies up, and we are full of canvas! Downpour, you can’t
see anything, the stern lamp illuminates the wall, whitewashed with lime! Geek flew over the
backstage and the grotto in this position took the wind. The flurry was about forty minutes and
stopped at once, so Urania-2 didn’t take a turn, and Arkady and I suffered for a long time with
the overstack, and then spun through the fordewind. In the morning the land loomed right along
the course, it was mountains, and apparently not small ones. I went to count the losses caused
by the night flurry and counted about a dozen breakdowns, cliffs, scuffs in the rigging and
sails.But there were no moves, and before dinner we were languishing in anticipation of the
wind, and then we wound up and went under the motor. Soon they saw a boat that very quickly
began to catch up with Urania-2. This made us remember the warning received back in the
Canaries. The entire male population of the yacht fell out into the cockpit very quickly, armed
with an underwater gun, a montage, an ax, a heavy bat and a “switch” Ivan Ivanovich. On the
boat, too, they probably got their bearings on time, counting us over the heads, and instead of
pirate attacks, they offered fresh fish. We quietly hid our crowbars in the cockpit under the
bench and without ceasing to smile we exchanged fish for vodka. Black Brazilians are not
accustomed to such a currency, however, were satisfied. With that, we parted in different
directions.which very quickly began to catch up with Urania-2. This made us remember the
warning received back in the Canaries. The entire male population of the yacht fell out into the
cockpit very quickly, armed with an underwater gun, a montage, an ax, a heavy bat and a
“switch” Ivan Ivanovich. On the boat, too, they probably got their bearings on time, counting us
on our heads, and instead of pirate attacks, they offered fresh fish. We quietly hid our crowbars
in the cockpit under the bench and without ceasing to smile we exchanged fish for vodka. Black
Brazilians are not accustomed to such a currency, however, were satisfied. With that, and
diverged in different directions.which very quickly began to catch up with Urania-2. This made
us remember the warning received back in the Canaries. The entire male population of the
yacht fell out into the cockpit very quickly, armed with an underwater gun, a montage, an ax, a
heavy bat and a “switch” Ivan Ivanovich. On the boat, too, they probably got their bearings on
time, counting us over the heads, and instead of pirate attacks, they offered fresh fish. We
quietly hid our crowbars in the cockpit under the bench and without ceasing to smile we
exchanged fish for vodka. Black Brazilians are not accustomed to such a currency, however,
were satisfied. With that, and diverged in different directions.heavy bat and <switch> Ivan
Ivanovich. On the boat, too, they probably got their bearings on time, counting us over the
heads, and instead of pirate attacks, they offered fresh fish. We quietly hid our crowbars in the
cockpit under the bench and without ceasing to smile we exchanged fish for vodka. Black
Brazilians are not accustomed to such a currency, however, were satisfied. With that, and
diverged in different directions.heavy bat and <switch> Ivan Ivanovich. On the boat, too, they
probably got their bearings on time, counting us over the heads, and instead of pirate attacks,
they offered fresh fish. We quietly hid our crowbars in the cockpit under the bench and without
ceasing to smile we exchanged fish for vodka. Black Brazilians are not accustomed to such a
currency, however, were satisfied. With that, and diverged in different directions.
Meanwhile, the earth moved closer, these were real mountains and somewhere between them
lay our bay, which we still could not figure out. The sea was quiet, I stood on the bowsprit and
peered at the coast, and when I looked at my feet, I immediately saw a two-meter swordfish,
which at that moment was swimming under the bowsprit. It was so unexpected, very close and
completely unbelievable from it, but I still clearly see the leisurely movements of her rapidly
elongated body and the incredibly strict tail geometry. And then there was a call into the bay.
We seemed to squeeze between two rocks, on the tops of which tiny cabins of funiculars ran
along the barely visible cobwebs. The bay opened spring-loaded with mountains, in the hollows
of which, under the protection of the open arms of a huge statue of Christ, lay a white city. It
was Rio de Janeiro,the city of Ostap Ibrahimovic’s bright dream, which in itself was sufficient for
the city to receive our love in advance. On the map is a small but long Botafogu Bay, to the left
of the ship's passage, with a red sail mark at the far end - a yacht club. We turn into the bay, we
see a forest of masts at its end. Two hundred meters before entering the yacht club, several
buoys scattered across the bay sway. We dump the boat and with its help we cling to a bright
yellow buoy, hammer the return end into a duck. Everything! Arrived! - this is the moment of
truth. Relaxing, look around. <Urania-2> calmed down at the foot of a tall rock, which, one of
ours, immediately christened Cucumber, it has such a shape. In fact, this bald rock, completely
devoid of vegetation due to the steepness of its slopes, is called "Sugarloaf". On her
crownwhere the cable cars of the funiculars crawl in the distant blue, there is a lush park. To the
right of Cucumber in the depths of the bay is dominated by the higher mountain of Corcovado,
on the top of which a gigantic figure of Jesus Christ froze. Spreading his arms, the Savior
hovers over the fifteen millionth city scattered along the ocean, among the bays and lagoons.

We did not have time to really look around, the motorboat jumps, two in uniform report that a
man is waiting for us in the yacht club. Boatswain! Our dear and beloved Boatswain! We even
miss you. But who, if not Boatswain, is waiting for us in Rio de Janeiro? Already wild at the
hospital service, he came. We understand. We are going with the Brazilians on their motorboat
for the Boatswain. I look around the pier - no one. That is, there are many Brazilians, but our
Boatswain is not. The boatman points to some grandfather in white pants and a shirt - here he
is. And the grandfather goes to the boat, smiles.

- Speak English? - asks. And he begins to tell us how he also went on yachts for a long time,
and only then he saw us, he immediately came to get acquainted. It would be better if he
brought our Boatswain. Grandfather descends into the boat and without ceasing to crack, rides
to us, watch <Urania-2>. I feel sick. Get instead of the Boatswain! But let's go. Grandfather
blurted out that he saw through binoculars from his apartment as we entered the bay. I recall the
obsequiousness to the grandfather of our boaters, and his strange obsession, not characteristic
of yachtsmen. All these are links of one chain. The mood continues to deteriorate. Dima
scratches in English. Grandfather inspects the yacht, indecently lingering in each cabin for a
long time, allowing himself to go deep and spread for any reason for a long time. This
grandfather, working as an informant, worked out his membership in this elite yacht club well,
but those who needed itreliably knew the ins and outs, the purpose of the parish, and other,
probably, interesting information about the coming yachts.

We’re going to the city, only on our air bag and finally we’re stepping on solid ground.
Compared to the dusty and dirty Recife, Rio is a completely different city. And the thing is not
even that there is a lot of greenery in the form of lawn-plantations, or powerful, simply giant
palm trees, with an almost ancient, exotic look of the texture of the trunks. The mountains. This
is what was most delicious here. The mountains that covered the city. They hung constantly
above you, no matter where you were or under what palm, that's how we are now, drinking cold
beer and walking down the slopes, to the sea with a bright surf line, gliding easily along the
blue, frozen to the horizon the ocean, from where they just arrived today ... In the supermarket
we recruit a traditional, upon arrival at the port, set: beer, vegetables, fruits and meat. We call
Recife and find out that our Boatswain is still there, finishes the course and,that in a few days,
perhaps, will fly to Rio. I just can’t understand how Boatswain can end the course so calmly, and
not be here in Rio, covered with a small tremor of impatience, to swim further and be completely
run wild, from long lying ?! But the view of Rio leads further, to where dusk lights the sky with
turquoise, and the spotlight makes the figure of Christ soaring above the city. Cars rustle along
the highway, from the entertainment establishments located near the yacht club the drum
rhythm of "Latina" is heard. We are in the cockpit of Urania-2 and we are driving with a
gorgeous dinner, looking around, watching the changes occurring in the evening. We are well,
we really like it here.and not be here in Rio, covered with a small tremor of impatience to swim
further and be completely wild, from a long lie ?! But the view of Rio leads further, to where dusk
lights the sky with turquoise, and the spotlight makes the figure of Christ soaring above the city.
Cars rustle along the highway, from the entertainment establishments located near the yacht
club the drum rhythm of "Latina" is heard. We are in the cockpit of Urania-2 and we are driving
with a gorgeous dinner, looking around, watching the changes occurring in the evening. We are
well, we really like it here.and not be here in Rio, covered with a small tremor of impatience to
swim further and be completely wild, from a long lie ?! But the view of Rio leads further, to
where dusk lights the sky with turquoise, and the spotlight makes the figure of Christ soaring
above the city. Cars rustle along the highway, from the entertainment establishments located
near the yacht club the drum rhythm of "Latina" is heard. We are in the cockpit of Urania-2 and
we are driving with a gorgeous dinner, looking around, watching the changes occurring in the
evening. We are well, we really like it here.We are in the cockpit of Urania-2 and we are driving
with a gorgeous dinner, looking around, watching the changes occurring in the evening. We are
well, we really like it here.We are in the cockpit of Urania-2 and we are driving with a gorgeous
dinner, looking around, watching the changes occurring in the evening. We are well, we really
like it here.

In the morning we set off with Dima to the Argentinean embassy, which is not far from our bay.
Fill out the questionnaire, pay money for visas, pass passports. After that, we go for
reconnaissance to the neighboring yacht club, where we see a flotilla of familiar English, at the
door of the yacht club we encounter Alexandra and the second manager of their expedition,
New Zealander Bill. We kiss, as it should be in Latin America, and as old friends we crack,
"spudding" common topics. New Zealander Beale knows all the staff in the Brazilian prefecture.
With a face as if he had just chewed a fresh lemon, he told us about the lawlessness that was
going on in the prefecture when registering arriving yachts. He said that if you didn’t come to
them on the day of your arrival, God forbid if something is wrong with your visas or documents,
they don’t need anything to put you in jail,and to arrest a yacht is not a question at all. We are
listening to the nonsense of the New Zealander, who was so hot that I thought that only a right
jab can stop him, especially since we were standing on the porch of the yacht club, and I, as I
stood a step higher, had it with my hands. But here Bill, almost without preparation, suggested
that we solve all our problems for 300 bucks, although I did not understand what they consisted
of. We said that if we have problems, we will turn to him, but for now we have taken
questionnaires in the office of the yacht club, with detailed diagrams of which institution is
located. Before arriving in the prefecture in order to arrange a yacht arrival there, we had to visit
several services in order to receive the "go-ahead" for the entrance. We reached the medical
service in an hour and a half, it was located in a large building,where in the halls there were long
lines of mostly black people. We traced where they flowed in, there was a lady in a jeans suit,
tirelessly vaccinated everyone and wrote out certificates, her fingers with long nails were stained
with ink. Dima said that he would not lead Zhenya to this fury, and I well remembered that we
were not supposed to get any vaccinations, because we were not going to climb inside the
country. Without saying a word, we headed to the door, demonstrating our attitude to this
establishment. Dima, having traveled the floor of the world, and never having used strong words
aloud, cursed in his voice. Excited, we ran to the other end of the city in the prefecture to either
sit down, as Bill promised us, or tell them what we think about the laws of their country. The
central prefecture occupied a chic building with a colonnade on the bay.We asked the
policeman on duty where to contact us and he pointed to the corridor, from where noise and
screams came. We made noise and in a large glazed room saw several policemen sitting on a
tattered trestle bed and, distraught with excitement and sound volume, watching football on TV.
Before we had time to enter the room, they yelled so wildly and in unison that Dima and I,
nervous and excited, took it into our own account, and were thrown back.and were thrown
back.and were thrown back.

We nevertheless approached the table on which various seals lay in a heap and waited. Without
leaving the narcotic state, and without looking at the ship's role, which I slipped in, one of the
prefectors put stamps in it and said nothing, resolutely returned to football. Dima and I looked at
each other and with a feeling still not understood to the end, suddenly fallen out of luck, quickly
left this decent place. Indeed, football in this country is above the law. Now it was possible to
calmly prepare the yacht, yes, just live, explore the city.

The next day, we continued to hang around the area of the Argentinean embassy, trying to
figure out that rare moment when someone would appear there. But the personnel of the
migration service each time hid behind a heavy metal door leaving for tea, mats, lunch, which
went one after another in the same breath, and we could not adapt to their regimen. We needed
to follow up on the questionnaires, pass on the photos that were demanded of us yesterday.
Therefore, we split up: Dima went to the airport to meet Arthur, and I remained to finish off the
Argentines. An hour later, when I returned to the yacht and already saw it, standing alone on a
barrel and decorating the harbor, a motorboat pulled up to the yacht, and someone landed, and
it seemed to me from afar, something was loaded onto the yacht. I took a step further,
wondering how Chubarkin could have arrived at <Urania-2>. Arthur Chubarkin really appeared
on the yacht. Arthur, by nature, is overly sociable, who, being an ordinary therapist and
supported by abilities from within, quickly reached the heights of the profession, and due to the
tirelessly active desire to maintain full relations with thousands of existing individuals and the
constant hunt for new ones. Therefore, he rejoiced when, at Sheremetyevo-2, he saw the
complete Boeing of every nation, put at its full disposal for twenty hours. And of course, flying
across Europe and the Atlantic to Rio, Arthur Chubarkin did not waste time looking at the clouds
pointlessly through the window. He met everyone. He had a sufficient vocabulary of 20-30
words, so as not to mumble, but to conduct an interesting conversation and keep any
interlocutor tied up. Physical resultall of this was the fact that the Brazilians first transported him
from the airport to the city, then transferred him to a speed boat and drove, checking each
harbor and yacht clubs, to search for Urania-2. And those who did not get among the lucky ones
to deliver Arthur to a Russian yacht, gave him their phones and invited him to visit. With a
generous hand, Chubarkin invited everyone to Urania-2, without really knowing where she is at
the moment. As soon as we hugged and exchanged the first phrases, how did the visitors go -
they shouted from the embankment and wondered if Arthur got on the yacht? He came with his
whole family (wife and five boys) Jura - the son of the Secretary General of the Communist
Party of Brazil, followed by his business companion, with his wife, respectively. They sat with us
on Urania-2, were satisfied, and immediately invited our entire team to a restaurant.It was a very
timely and practical step, appreciated by people sitting on a pasta diet.
Chapter 8. IN SOUTH AMERICA

Expecting the return of Boatswain, who had risen from the ashes, we did two things - preparing
the yacht for further sailing and receiving the Chubarkin guests. On the deck, the sails were laid
out for repair, the engine room was wide open and the figures of Valera and Ivan were visible
through the hatch for the second day trying to reanimate the <4CH> diesel generator. The
Brazilian children were instructed in safety measures and were released onto the deck, where,
freeing their heads from unnecessary instructions, they chased and screeched so that their
parents would run up and down to restore order. Dima and his family disappeared in the city,
Arthur and Ivan went with them. Valera and Arkady were mostly on the yacht. This social
stratification, which was already evident in the Canaries, dictated by the complete absence of
pocket money from the latter, made parking at ports unbearable. I've seen it allbut because of
his inertness, he could not give money from the expeditionary cash desk, he himself was
tormented by this situation and scolded Boatswain, who was stuck in Recife.

The question of sending Lena and Zhenya did not decide. Dima hoped that he would send the
girls to Australia freely and for little money from Rio. He was focused on prices for Aeroflot. But
"Aeroflot" at the time of our arrival in Rio, for reasons of commercial competition, was forced to
leave this fertile country. Dima visited several airlines and returned from there with great thought
- of course, we were at a time when the prices for air travel reached astronomical figures. And,
having burnt up with Dima for a couple, they decided to take the girls further, to go down
another fifteen hundred miles to the south and, already from Buenos Aires, send them to
Australia. In the meantime, looking for cheap airlines, we wandered in the morning to the five-
kilometer-long Capacabana beach, famous throughout South America. Dima was already here
the day before and dragged me to show him.And then I remembered all of us known Antalya,
where Luda and I spent the most beautiful ten days two years ago. I remembered Antalya with a
kind word when, running across the top three freeways and barely dodging cars rushing along
the sea, we finally plunged our feet into the hot sand of the famous beach. The beach of course
was good. It was an ocean beach, with a gentle long wave and a wonderful surf, which simply
cannot be on sea beaches, even in the same Antalya. But in everything else: huge hotels and
banks that stepped directly onto the sand of Capacabana and these noisy express roads, could
be the pride of the Brazilians themselves and the gloom of the Europeans.

The day came when changing shorts for trousers and slippers for more appropriate shoes, we
on the embankment opposite Urania-2 plunged into two cars and went to a restaurant. It was a
“meat” restaurant, of which there are many in Brazil and even more in Argentina, in which you
are offered about forty to fifty different meat dishes. We will not talk about the quality of meat:
any dish is prepared from the best meat. The presentation also deserves attention, because
around the long table at which we were sitting, a string of men of waiters constantly circling,
carrying meat dishes in ingenious devices, and with your permission they cut off a piece of your
choice on your plate. The background to this meat kitchen was a buffet with such an offer of
assortment that it was possible to live here for more than one week, never repeating itself. Yura,
the son of a communist,apparently did not share his father’s bright ideas for building a happy
communist society in Brazil. He took his lessons somewhat differently and now strengthened
the prosperity of his own commercial firm. Nevertheless, he spoke warmly of the period of
several years when they, as a whole family, lived in Moscow under the protection of the CPSU.
In any case, such a turn of history was quite suitable for the crew of Urania-2, otherwise we
would not have been so cool here.otherwise, we wouldn’t be so cool here.otherwise, we
wouldn’t be so cool here.

We had a good rest, and it was nice that I did not forget to drink two tablets of the festival before
this unheard-of bacchanalia in order to digest the volume of meat that was pressed with beer
and red dry wine and took the stomach. Our benefactors, Jura and Garazio, were in full family
composition and, therefore, at least twenty people were sitting at our long table. The guys were
interested in our expedition, and we, in short intervals between toasts, gave them information.
The vegetarian and translator Dima complained that when translating back and forth, he does
not have time to properly bite. Probably from this, he suddenly suggested that I take the girls to
Antarctica, and from there they would safely get to Australia from there by a passing ship! It’s
good that even though I had a snack, I would certainly have shook hands and sent our girls to
hell.

As soon as Chubarkin arrived, everyone began to hurt. Moreover, these were mainly colds,
despite the wild heat, from which it was difficult to fall asleep even at night. Arthur spent days in
the wardroom sorting out medicines and writing us instructions for the future, how and how to
treat the disease. He started the <Patient Admission Journal> and wrote down everyone there,
their illnesses and what he prescribed for them. In general, it was nice to whimper, complaining
to Chubarkin about some kind of illness, even a trifle, and, with joy, give him his body. We could
be understood, deprived of affection, care, and a quiet, soothing word. Arthur fully possessed
the whole wide arsenal of healing, he was caring and gentle. I was surprised by his unobtrusive
but stubborn care with which he made us heal and especially heal.

Yura agreed to fill us with diesel fuel at a yacht club, at a good discount. The yacht club was
very crowded for such a boat as Urania-2, especially since, for three years now, there had been
no reverse gear on it. But we did not pretend that we did not have it, listened to numerous
advisers from among the attendants of the yacht club and did it our own way. This allowed us
not to sink several plastic toys standing next to each other, worth at least five hundred thousand
each. In general, always when trouble seemed inevitable, I immediately calmed down and did
as it turned out later, everything was clear, the guys felt it and also didn’t “flicker” and we were
“carried”. After visiting the yacht club <Uranium-2>, they began to treat us differently, and it was
nice in this foreign country. Soon, the Boatswain arrived, a healthy and brilliant face,somewhat
constrained by the movement, but, as Chubarkin said, this is just a reaction of the body, which
will disappear with time. The boatswain, right away, with a notebook, pencil and calculator,
plunged into his bins and by the evening said that the main product, such as rice, noodles,
vermicelli, millet, sugar, flour, we had about 220 kilograms. This should be enough to
Kamchatka, but such tasty things as stew, canned fish, condensed milk left for three to four
weeks. The olives, biscuits, baking were over, but knowing Boatswain, it was easy to guess that
he had hidden something for the time being. Finally, we received Argentinean visas, the
Boatswain did not fall into the number of their holders, and from that moment moved to an illegal
position, having prepared a place for a consumable tank in the engine room, which was
supposed to be at the moment of crossing the Brazilian border with Argentina.

With Valera and Arkady, we finally climbed the Sugar Loaf and were impressed by watching the
flight of almost tailless eagles soaring in the space below us in a race one after another. They
selectively bought vegetables and fruits under the general name <sport>, put stamps in the
prefecture we knew, and on the morning of December 19, we got rid of the barrel. Slowly they
moved to the exit from the harbor of Botafogu.
The time I take Urania 2 to the open ocean. Because two women are waiting for me - my
mother and wife Lyudochka, my children Galka and Anka, brother Yurka and my friends. And I
go to them in my circumnavigation. What became a revelation in the expedition, I absolutely
cannot do without them. This is torture, and I literally shed tears when I turn the steering wheel
and drive Urania-2 into the ocean towards a gentle and mighty swell.

Somewhere there, in the middle of the Atlantic, it blew well, and this swell, in which the yacht is
now tumbling, came as a messenger. But while I am leaving my house farther and farther, and I
will leave for about another four and a half thousand miles, before we run into Antarctica. Well,
after Bellingshausen we will only do what to go to our home. And nothing more! And nothing
more. Some kind of firewood under the bench, rags, cans and even a shovel for snow underfoot
in the cockpit bring me back to reality. All this was absolutely necessary for Ivan Ivanovich,
these tools literally swarmed around him. And it stinks terribly from the starboard side of the air
vents of a family latrine. Dima lies in a layer with temperature and teeth and there is no one to
pump out. The girls will leave - I will close the latrine! I’m calling Ivan and showing him to the
mess that he bred in the cockpit on a warship, one might say, a ship.Ivan well done, he does not
argue, he understands such moments no worse than me and quickly puts everything in its
place. In general, it is interesting that Boatswain and Dima would argue in this case. The
boatswain is more for pro forma, and after a while he would have cleaned it up at its best, and
Dima was a more serious client, he did not seem to understand why they were harassing him,
although he was kind of like a professional sailor, where on the first voyage anyone begins to
guess what the fleet is and begins to feel the inviolability of the Basic Concepts operating on
any ship, little changed, say, in the last two hundred years. But, again, I am almost doomed to
think that as our forces melt away, we will more and more aggressively defend our owning
considerations. And I am able to maintain my point and not to engage in controversy on every
occasion. But we have the wise Chubarkin Arthur!It is good that he nevertheless got to us,
firstly, fresh, and secondly, before that clever - not just in words, but simply, he is like that in life.
I saw that he understands and accepts me, and therefore, will go with me to the end. For me,
realizing this was a small spiritual holiday here, 30 thousand kilometers from home, without
money, almost without grub, on the eve of the great trials of the Southern Ocean.

In the meantime, we left the coast and went along the wave to the south-south-west. The wind
came, big waves crawled in the direction of our path, Urania-2 went to the backstage under all
sails and at times went to the fordak, throwing adrenaline into the blood of the helmsman,
forcing him to shift the steering wheel with lightning speed, returning it to a safer backstack. The
wave rolled from the stern, lifting it high into the sky. Urania-2 appeared to be sitting between
two waves in a cradle, and now the shaft, which was under the stern, picked up the yacht and
accelerated its progress, passing under the hull, foaming in front and above the bowsprit. The
yacht dived into the formed hole and rushed on the crest of the next wave in some awkward
position - nose down, until the next wave leveled it, passing under the hull, and again failed the
nose, and went forward. We ran welldoing 30 miles per shift and entered with this wind in the
night, and again I stayed with Arthur on his watch, because Dima had a fever. By morning, the
wind had set, it began to blow into the face from the south stronger and stronger. Let's go
ashore.

I handed over the shift, lay down, but after 40 minutes Ivan wakes up - you need to riff. I’m
leaving, Valeria, a watch in neprokans, ready for work, I take off my pants and in swimming
trunks, into battle. Ruffled, removed the front staysail. And seagulls sit in packs on the water! In
the southern hemisphere, not like ours in the northern. Here, when it blows hard, the seagulls
land on the water and swim through the storm. Sometimes it will cover it with a foamy comb, it
will fly off a little and sit down again, and dances in the wave.

Usually we tried to get away from the coast for our own peace of mind, and here, after three
days by the will of the wind, and the great depression of the South American mainland, we were
200 miles from the coast. I began to think how to quench this component, which grew every
day. Now we were not afraid of the south wind, it could be kept in reserve, to return to the shore.
He came on December 22, even earlier than I expected it to. While "Urania-2" with two
staysails, one after the other, fluted with a grotto and mizzen, struggling with a headwind and
wave, walked two hundred miles from the shores of South America, Ivan, tapping a radio key
letter by letter, interpreted Valera Timakova some ideas born at night in my sore brain. In a
nutshell, she expressed the following: Tim, urgently run and tail up Marfutin, Kudryashov and,
little, Insarov,since money on their part does not smell until now!

It seemed that the Argentine weather service, which was hosted by Ivan, used the same
numbers and popped them into each forecast, although during the last week the weather
changed several times dramatically, and the wind speed was given in the same range 28-33
node. And we remembered what exact numbers the Germans and the British always gave, they
even fell into the details.

The wind is still in the face, go to the shore. A wave beats the yacht, the mast rattles and
vibrates. I crawl along the deck with pliers, tighten my lobes, check the lanyards.

Worse not, when in such weather, something falls off. Gradually, the wind departs, allows you to
go already 270 degrees, and then 250 degrees. But then Arkady "floated" in his bow cabin.
While we were a submarine, breaking through the wave, through the ventilation of the ram
compartment, Urania-2 took in about three tons of water. I had to lie down on course 300 and
walk for an hour along the wave until we pumped everything out of the nose compartment.
Arkady in a trance: all black and white photographs of his exhibition are flooded with sea water,
he tears them and throws them to the floor. Barely tearing him from this occupation, collected
photographs and laid them out in the cabins to dry. Arkady is already in crisis - for the entire
stay in Rio he did not write a single line, no films were shown, no photos were printed. He wants
to find Baptists in Buenos Aires and ask them to show our films and print a photo.These are the
expeditions! I only have to grit my teeth and pray to God that he would give us a move and keep
the crew and the boat.

We climbed farther and farther south. Valera appeared less and less on duty in his red
underpants and began to put on his pants. I used to be in a centepon anorak, pants and a hat
for a long time at night. The wind went to the east and Urania-2 with hydraulically-tuned gulfind-
sailing sails, easily ripping off a wave, quickly glided over the night ocean. It's been a wonderful
night. It blew well, but the wind had not yet dispersed the wave. The yacht flew quickly, with
some persistent and continuous rustling of water, white foam sweeping along the side. On the
right side of the board, on the water there was a trace from the moon, it went from the horizon
and rested against the Urania-2 board. And it was not necessary to look at the compass to
navigate the yacht, it was enough to use the side vision to keep the moonlight path on the right.
So we flew in this agreement and Arkady said that there are moments in life and this one is one
of them.It was very good and calm, and because we trotted the mainsail, and the two staysails
standing behind each other we could reset at any moment. The sky is in small clouds and
pierced by piercing stars, and I still searched for the Southern Cross, but found nothing like it.
Everything changes. Just yesterday, there was still a strong headwind and the yacht buried
along the wheelhouse into the oncoming wave, and we, gathering water in the hold, hopelessly
went ashore, it seemed there would be no end to it, that everything was so nasty, and we were
just unlucky, and we would not break through . Ivan first caught a picture of the weather along
the Drake Channel. In the photograph, between Tierra del Fuego and the tip of the Antarctic
Peninsula, we counted five cyclones. The Drake Strait was dotted with isobaths, eclusions,
fronts, which were tied in a tight ball of terrible winds. Ivan happily showed everyone who
wished this picture.The people were quietly plague, but did not let go of emotions. We tried to
figure out this steeply brewed weather kitchen, but the first time it failed. Ivan, meanwhile, was
already getting a forecast for our area, he obviously didn’t have enough of his desk, and he
brought down weather maps and weather directories on the navigator’s desk. All this economy,
with Ivan rushing between tables, was poorly lit by two dim lights.

Urania-2 went on its own in the night, completely not noticing our fears, not stopping the run on
an expedition not conceived by her. Gliding in the night Ocean, she wisely and persistently
prompted us the only way to which we, one way or another, tired of excessive excitement and
worries, would still come. And you had to join her, go to the cockpit and steer. After illness,
Dima first went on shift, put on his head an awkward hat with a cutout for his face, and in his
underpants sits and steers in the cold. And he always looks at his fishing rod, abandoned from
the stern. I’m hungry for fishing, I don’t notice the frost. During the day, it inflated imperceptibly,
and only in the evening twilight did we start to grotto, watching a young, bold wave with white
foam marks grow. At night we went backstage with good speed strictly south, although our
course should be southwest.A good wave came and put the yacht into the left shell several
times, so the dishes inside Urania-2 flew away with a roar. Nok geek kept clinging to the tops of
the waves, which was accompanied by an injection of adrenaline into the blood. Arkady, holding
the yacht from the drive, turned the helm frantically, leaving him worried and dying from the
terrible forebodings of the captain. Only when the geek went into the wave for a third and
dropping waterfalls from himself, came out whole there, I stopped trying my luck, picked up the
geekshot and we were brought about fifteen degrees. The bright half of the moon, cut in two
places by thin strips of clouds, went beyond the horizon. He poured out the Milky Way, touching
the faint light of the deck and marking a yacht diving among the hills going continuously from
north to south. I see Arkady going to bed, as I walk past a chart table, looking in the dark for a
GPS toggle switch.I respect the yacht for the gulf, it is torn like a horse and the speed is great. I
see Arkady hastily returning, getting confused in the cramped openings and informs me
enthusiastically: “Almost ten, Hera!” I laugh in my heart, I wish Arkady good night and return the
yacht to its former course.

The wind was still set, my shift was over, and I woke Arthur and Dima, and we, turning on the
saling lights on the grotto and mizzen, changed the tack through the fordewind. Arthur was on
the steering wheel, Dima and I were engaged in sails and ropes. Watching the yacht cross the
wind line and the geeks one by one fly over to the leeward side, I shout to Arthur how much he
should keep on the compass now, and I make my way to the staysails and when I light them
with a torch, Arthur loudly reads the degrees from the compass and finally leads wild mustang
on course. Then Dima, working on winches in the cockpit, begins to pick up the sheets and I,
illuminating the staysail lamp, see the sails taking the wind away and, panting in a strong wind,
they become rooted to the spot. And I immediately stop Dima. Then we sit a little bit together in
the cockpit, relaxing, and more enjoying our work, satisfied with that,what we did IT, which was
difficult to decide. We are pleased to sit together when everything is already behind.

A hitherto unknown feeling of calm and confidence came over a yacht at sea. This experience
came, he somehow sharply declared himself and only after last year's stage to Lisbon. I wasn’t
scared now by what simply caused panic in the past, for example, when I saw a sharp drop in
pressure on the barograph, or a storm warning for the area where Urania-2 was going on. Now
there was peace within you, you believed in your boat and knew what to do to help it. But only
after this evolution, sailing on a yacht turned into a pleasure. And this pleasure was kind of
farewell here, since I was not going to carry out offshore projects anymore, but I was thinking
more and more about the Arctic, about the North Pole, about the Trans-Arctic, which could only
be done on skis. And now, as soon as I was left alone, I again saw friends,but still unrealized
pictures of how Urania-2 is torn, more like a submarine, when surfacing and dumping tons of
water from itself, it goes along icebergs along the stormy Southern Ocean and only bare masts,
and the storm jib will sometimes stick out from the cold sea . Of course, it was more of a
psychological barrier - to go from east to west, this was a violation of centuries-old traditions,
which obeyed even the big ships that went in the winds and never descended below the fiftieth
latitude. We were about to go against the coat and about 1,000 miles south of the shipping
lanes. In the midst of the polyphony merged into an even rumble of people unanimously
dissuading me from this, I hear a distinctive remark by Sasha Struzhilin: “Well, if I decided, then
I need to go>. And, the captain of the diesel electric ship,walking several navigations in the
Antarctic waters, who, seeing <Urania-2>, standing on a clear autumn day in the calm harbor of
the BMP yacht club, told me only two words: <You will pass>. And now it was necessary to do
everything so that Urania-2 really became a submarine, it was important to know that everything
was securely closed, and no hatch could be torn off by the Ocean - that was to be done in
Ushuaia for two or three days. Valera and I have already figured out how to tightly screw up a
large sail hatch and metal hatch covers of an afterpeak. The second problem, which I fear more
than the first, is the lack of moral strength among the crew, especially among those who have
been in a difficult situation for several months now. The boatswain, Valera, Arkady, and Ivan, for
half a year now, have not a cent behind their souls and them,as well as it’s unbearably difficult
for me, parking at the ports, which should bring rest, but bring suffering, moreover, a person’s
desire to see a new country, depends on the amount of money and time. There is no time
either, and not because I am driving the expedition forward and not giving a stop. It simply is
already chronically lacking, we do not have time for the summer, in which we must move around
the world. At other times of the year, we simply can’t go along the expedition route due to ice
conditions. Therefore, we have to "drive", with which everyone has already come to terms.
Everything except Dima. Another thing is whether everyone needs it or not. But it was
necessary to think about this earlier. They have chosen an expedition in the meridional direction
and now understand that if anyone is to blame for their torment, then first of all, they
themselves. I am in the same conditions, but it must be easier for me,since this is my world tour,
I invented it myself. But thank God, common sense is found, and they can figure it out and not
express discontent, and courageously endure hardships, and go along the route, and do yacht
work: sails, repairs, starving life, under constant pressure of dubious prospects, whose name is
<0>. But somewhere at the end of the Atlantic race, when we went down to the south and
Antarctica was still in our thoughts, but it was already quite real, as if it would clear over the
horizon, I felt that the guys accepted the compulsion of this race and calmed down
somewhat.under constant pressure of dubious prospects, whose name is <0>. But somewhere
at the end of the Atlantic race, when we went down to the south and Antarctica was still in our
thoughts, but it was already quite real, as if it would clear over the horizon, I felt that the guys
accepted the compulsion of this race and calmed down somewhat.under constant pressure of
dubious prospects, whose name is <0>. But somewhere at the end of the Atlantic race, when
we went down to the south and Antarctica was still in our thoughts, but it was already quite real,
as if it would clear over the horizon, I felt that the guys accepted the compulsion of this race and
calmed down somewhat.
Finally, they started it after many repairs and attempts <4CH-a>. He worked for about ten
minutes, during which they found out that the water pump does not work in the engine cooling
system. The water pump, due to its popularity as a result of systematic breakdowns, has
become for everyone the main element of the engine. Ivan grinned when he found out about the
pump, and now he and Valera were already twisting a huge and heavy vice, the size of a small
lathe, from the engine room. They are located in the cockpit, having driven the helmsman to the
bench, and they begin to scoff at the pump clamped in a vice. Both in soft slippers and black
overalls. On the backs, in large blue letters, solemnly displayed: <Urania-2>. By the way,
without ceasing to delve into the depths of the mysterious life of "mechanical" people, I myself
was struck by my ignorance,when I had just arrived in Lisbon and found these old and worn
slippers in a boorish way, as it seemed to me then, lying in the most prominent places of the
wardroom, I immediately sent them to the bin. The fact is that Ivan and Valera always needed to
wear them before they went into the car to crawl along the hot main engine, servicing the
various systems that the Severnaya Verf shipyard generously awarded.

December 26 passed the "border of the greatest distribution of icebergs". This meant that the
Falkland Current could throw some remnants of ice from the Antarctic into this area. Eugene
and Lena cleaned the wardroom with paper snowflakes, hung flags. Arthur from the house
brought dried mushrooms strung on a string and they, like garlands, were hung on bulkheads,
and exuded a pleasant, spicy smell. Our observations convince us that the south is more severe
than the corresponding northern latitudes. It blows almost constantly. At a latitude of 30
degrees, it’s cool at times.

On the evening of December 28, they received a storm warning: 9 points from the north-east.
Just what we need to fly to Mar del Plata and not be late for the New Year.

The night shift went quietly, creeping in three knots. In the morning in the cockpit Arkady and
Arthur sang: <Mordoplatinsk town, restless I ...> And then suddenly it hit from the south. So
much so that the rake staysail, sewn from a heavy dacron, scattered across the backside. While
they mined the mizzen, we saw how it breaks due to vibration in the area of the taly corner.
They managed to save the grotto. We put a storm staysail, we help with a motor, but GPS
shows that it throws us north. The wave grows before our eyes, breaks out the oak lattice on the
bowsprit, fragments from which tear the front staysail attached to the rail. We stop the engine,
remove the storm staysail and drift under the bare mast. The yacht obeys the helm well, a
compass course of 50 degrees, which allows you to leave the coast, but then the wave goes
into the shell and puts the yacht. The average drift speed is 4.3 knots, it still blows us to the
shore,which is about a hundred miles away. Seals appeared in the ocean, many gulls, and they
sit on the water, despite the waves. Strictly showing his 40 centimeters of fin, he walks around a
shark. The pressure, which fell strongly the day before, stabilized and scratched horizontally.
The wind breaks, so you need to hold on to the helm. The Argentines no longer give a forecast,
they are silent. With longing, I think about the need for major repairs of the sails.

Night watch is a very strong blast, we are also going under the mast. Spray flies to the
helmsman and water flows across the cockpit floor. The barometer arrow slowly climbs up. In
the morning the wind is the same, the wave is bigger. He sent a radiogram to Tim. Happy New
Year. This is how it always happens when you get ahead of events and pack your victory in your
pocket. Who knew that the New Year would catch us at sea, even after we were eighty miles
from Mar del Plata on December 29 and the worst-case scenario was 20 hours. They went the
second day as we were thrown and carried back by the will of the elements. The wind went from
210 to 240 degrees and began to pull the yacht into the ocean from the vast bay of La Plata. We
try to keep 50 degrees, but it’s difficult to keep Urania-2 on course, it walks in the sector from 30
to 90 degrees. The shaft goes mighty and does not flood the boat.Rarely does a wall come and
collapse on the wheelhouse. The helmsman showers once every ten minutes. The shower is
warm.

By evening, the wind was sour, the excitement decreased markedly. We are forty miles from the
Uruguayan coast and the closest port to us is Punta del Este. Ironically, or in the execution of
the highest justice, Urania 2 nevertheless came across in its wanderings to the city with which
we were all connected by a strong tragic connection for seven years now. Here the captain of
the first Soviet yacht participating in the Whitbrad round-the-world race, Alexey Grishchenko,
passed away. The last time we met with Lesha was in my Pushkino, where he was on round-
the-world affairs and I persuaded him to go to Khotkovo, where, under a canopy in the garden of
my friend Viti Savonin, striking even us with his own lines, a rack building of our first-born -
<Urania> was woven . It was made using technology that Lesha put in a few letters and which I
still have. A year later, Alex went to <Fazisi> to the Atlantic, and we at the same time - on
"Urania" to the Baltic. The wind turned and now blows from the side of Uruguay. Naturally, we
do not have their visas. Home holiday, New Year. Yearning. Something we got to the handle,
and there is nothing special to eat.

On the morning of December 31, it flurried again. This was completely incomprehensible. But
drift in the wind towards Rio is already tired. One by one we set the sails and tuck to the shore.
We hope to catch up to the New Year in Punta del Este. But the ebb began from the gulf of La
Plata, Urania-2 rested against this stream and makes 2.5 knots. We start the engine and bring
the speed to 4 knots. But this is clearly not enough, the New Year is faster than the yacht and at
14 o’clock, away from the coast, we slide into the wardroom, from which Boatswain eagerly
shouts, gesturing with poured glasses and drinking with Vladivostok, congratulations to Valera
and all the Sharomovs. New Year is rolling fast across Russia. Urania-2 is almost standing,
struggling with the ebb-stream, accelerated by the wind.

In the Gulf of La Plata, the speed of tidal currents reaches 8 knots. They burned 70 liters of
diesel fuel and got to the New Year in Moscow. The cork flies into the open hatch, there is
nothing on the table except baked test balls, the boat is thrown on the wave, the taste of
champagne is recognized, but does not return to life. At night I see a glow over Punta and tall,
thick, chic fireworks - the New Year got to South America.

In the morning with binoculars we look at a beautiful resort town in the pink light of dawn. We go
into the harbor protected by concrete breakwater and spin for a long time around the many
luxurious yachts standing on the buoys. There are free buoys, but they are very close to yachts
and the superheavy, large <Urania-2>, which does not have a reverse gear, poses a great
danger to them. My men, having scattered across the deck and standing ready, are muffled
silently. As it is customary with us, it's up to me to decide. Usually in such situations, according
to the old stand habit, calm comes. I’m going into the wind for about 150 meters, the team - <to
neutral> and after five seconds - <give bow>. Valera and Boatswain are rattled by a chain and
the duration of this sound reduces the overall "strain" and means only one thing that the chain
comes out freely and does not wedge in the winch. Everything. We stand. I want a drink.

But, we inflate our boat and go with Dima to surrender to the authorities. We go along many
yachts towards the building of the yacht club. People walk along the promenade under palm
trees, and nobody needs us. We find a small neighborhood, but the phlegmatic policemen do
not understand us and we reserve the right to no longer engage in our own legalization, but with
their tacit consent, and to our deep pleasure, simply do not give a damn about it. We go to the
store along a deserted street, indicated by the decoration of the houses. The road, paths, steps,
trees, everything that surrounds us here, seems to us fake. In the store, as I can, I restrain the
onslaught of <family>, nevertheless we pick up a lot of things and inspired by the purchases, we
return to the yacht. And here the people organized in repair crews on their own initiative simply
plow. Repair of the rake staysail and mizzen is in full swing.Such a picture is better for me than
any other, even the most beautiful. But the wind is already roaring in guys and we are being
dragged towards a white, chic catamaran, the height of a two-story house. For <Urania-2> this
is not an object, it would instantly sink to the bottom, but we didn’t give it - we start up and try to
anchor. The helm is spinning heavily, the wind is bulk, <Urania-2> hardly obeys the helm, and
rushing into the thick of pretty yachts with good moves. The boatswain jumps and the two of us
barely turn the steering wheel and get the yacht out of the harbor. We go to the green island,
which is a mile from the entrance to Punta del Este and drop anchor from the leeward, 100
meters from the coast, under the protection of tall conifers. The chain rumbles again, and I run
downstairs and take three large sips of wine. I have not received such stress since the time
when we lost the main mast in the Baltic.

While Lena is preparing a festive dinner, we continue work on the yacht. We throw it into the
components of the steering column, with a feisty mood to deal with it once and for all. In the
evening we go six together in a boat to the island of Goriti. A crosswind blows and carries us to
the reefs. It’s worth getting on the oars as they fly out of plastic oarlocks. With some doomed
interest, we look at the approaching mess consisting of foam and shiny, black stones and
understand that we are not raking. But over the past three days we have probably completely
squandered our ability to be surprised and afraid, and now everyone is sitting at attention,
silently surrendering to fate. 40 meters before the rocks, the boat picks up the shaft and almost
through the air it flies to the shore. Ivan and Arthur make a desperate effort, thrashing the oars
through the air and foam, and throws the boat onto the sandy shore, literally a meter and a half
from the rocks. Interesting,that the tired people didn’t react at all to these events, no one even
said a word, but only silently pulled the boat dragging deep into the coast, straightened their
backs and looked around. The island was magnificent! The mighty trees stood by the wall, they
looked like our pine, only the needles are longer and the trunk is brown. We go into the forest,
along a clean forest path and rest against the wall of the eucalyptus smell. Something bright
flickers between the trees here and there. Heart pinched from a familiar image. I look closely.
Right, hares. They are white, gray and yellowish red. We walked slowly along the island and
there was always, on the left side, the sea and the screams of hundreds of gulls swirling over
white foam and shouting the roar of the surf, and on the right there was a forest. The path along
which we walked was with short, elastic grass and smelled very strongly of needles and
eucalyptus.We enjoyed a walk through the woods after three months at sea. And no matter
what lawn they went out to - they had always seen a hare - he was fleeing from us into the
bushes, and for a long time rustled with branches very close by. We go ashore and stumble
upon an old Spanish fort, laid out of granite slabs and six cannons brown from rust half hidden
by grass.

These guns fired at Drake’s ships when his people, who were crazy about the sea, corned beef,
with their minds clouded by the proximity of women, responding inappropriately from their guns,
climbed ahead and took the city. A giant frog jumped into the barrel of a gun, I bent down and
saw her again, hiding in the vent, and she took another leap from me.

It began to get dark quickly and we turned back to the place where we left the boat. It smelled
very strongly of eucalyptus, it was good and alarming. Lena said that it would be nice to build a
farm and live here. I replied that - yes, good. But here there are no our friends and there is no
long-suffering Motherland, and therefore this is impossible. In the dark they saw the light and
went out to some buildings. They turned out to be a real telephone booth standing in the forest,
from which a real forester with a Russian name, Vladimir, called someone and, seeing us, was
frightened, and for a long time could not cope with his fear, and could not believe his eyes. If
during the day people visited the island, then at night no one here, for some reason, stayed.
Volodya led us to the barn in which he lived, where he had a kerosene stove, a table, a bed and
a refrigerator, from which he extracted several cans of beer. He kept the island cleancounted
hares and arranged recreation places for rare visitors. In his room it was cozy, through the wide
open door a lively sound of cicadas poured and a dark broken line of the forest was visible
against the background of the starry sky.

The forecast is still the south-west wind and we, staying near the island, will storm the priority
business on the yacht. I climbed both masts twice a day. Rearranged sails, Valera and Ivan
repaired the steering. By evening, almost all things had been completed. A wave from the
Ocean rushing from 180 degrees is already good, the pressure rises. We plan to leave the next
morning. We leave in a passing breath of the breeze, which calmed down after seven miles,
where we were again greeted by the headwind, south wind. La Plata Bay, spreading its body of
water in all directions, invited to a dismal tack. At night lightning flashed continuously ahead and
to the right, illuminating the blackness of the global cloud. The moon to the left on board in the
fight against the clouds, entangled in them, disappeared. We removed the mizzen in the
evening, and left the mainsail and staysail for moves. We endured with Arkady to the end,until
the cloud crawled onto the yacht, marveling at our insolence. Arkady slipped down to wake
Valera and Arthur. The cloud was so impressive and black in the night that we, to calm the
nervous system, simply threw the grotto into a trap. Just managed to throw neprokontsy - a
flurry flew with the rain.

<I thought that the geek would tear off> - so Arkady appreciated the pressure of the elements. It
raged for about fifteen minutes, during which we swept under one rake staysail, as under all
sails in a good wind. If only in the direction where necessary! A cloud crawled through Urania-2,
firing lightning at the coast of Uruguay. We lifted the upper part of the grotto and taking the wave
with our right cheekbone, we raced in a dreary badewind. The yacht made 8 knots each,
dousing itself along the very wheelhouse, and after a while Arkady started to flow again. The
ram compartment filled with unknown channels and a small wave was walking along the payol
in the sailing room. I went down to Arkady's lair with a lantern and sat there under the thunder of
the wave, feeling the vibration, the throws of the hull and the water that walked from the
bulkhead to the bulkhead, leading to dreary thoughts.

The wind situation at the southern end of the continent, along with the overwhelming dominance
of winds from the southern points, was complicated for us by the presence of three cyclones
rising from Antarctica to the north, along the coast of South America. It is these cyclones that
make the weather and create strong southwestern winds, in which we rested against the wall.

The first time they stopped Urania 2 80 miles in front of the Mar del Plata and drove it 180 miles
to the northeast. Now Urania-2 is flying again in a cloud of spray, breaking through the waves
that again come from the south. We could already lose the expedition here, spending an extra
week to overcome this simple site. It seems that the entire remaining section to Ushuaia will
pass under the sign of headwinds, which my beloved Urania-2 just does not go. So in any case,
my intentions cried for the January passage along Antarctica.

Until the end of January, God grant us to get to Bellingshausen. The black wave, walking in the
yacht caused longing and was extremely untimely in our situation. A saving idea, capable of
leading away from vile thoughts, has not yet come, although I feverishly figured out what to do
and which courses to prefer. But as always, when hopelessness seemed to have already won,
what comes gives a new life full of joyful brilliance: Ivan came with a forecast and said that the
wind should depart to the southeast by 18 o’clock the next day.

The whole next day we fought with a headwind, changing tacks and gaining miles from the
ocean. At some point, through the water dust that tired Urania-2 enveloped itself in, we
distinguished the shore, and after a few hours we already saw the buildings of Mar del Plata.
The engine, put on start, did not start, and the big wave that the yacht hit, and the proximity of
the coast, changed Ivan's face. There was no need to push him. Winning time, I took the yacht
for a U-turn, while Ivan and Valero tried to start the engine ...

From the sound of a working starter, it was clear that batteries that were dying in front of our
eyes would never start the engine. A terrible, completely unrealistic thought came as a
sentence: we had to go to an unfamiliar port only under sails on a 70-ton sailboat in a storm. An
inflamed brain almost instantly “gave out” three equally real options: a yacht in bulk onto
concrete breakwaters, which powerfully met a six-meter wave dispersed in the ocean. If we
don’t miss and, nevertheless, successfully pass them, and then also the concrete corridor, will
we start to sink the yachts standing on the barrels? And only the third option promised victory if
the Lord leads us. The plan was as simple as possible. It was necessary to enter the port water
area at a good speed and, seeing yachts, pull in their direction, cut the sails in time and
anchor.A possible nuisance could turn out to be a course in fordewind, in which we probably will
not quickly lose the grotto. It is terrible to imagine what Urania-2 can do in a yacht club in this
case in this wind. Then, how will it be surrendered and will the anchor be taken right away?
What kind of soil is there? But these were trifles already. All the same, I was most worried about
the grotto so that it would not be capricious in the most important moment. The boatswain, Dima
and Arthur were to dump the grotto <nosebleed>. Valera, with the support of Arkady, to give the
bow anchor, Ivan, in the case when there are absolutely no cranes - to give the feed anchor. I
stayed on the steering wheel. The sun was bright before sunset. <Urania-2> with sails filled with
wind and falling into six-meter pits, I went to the concrete wall, where a narrow passage was
guessed.The boat was sailing with some kind of anguish, she was driven very strongly by
waves, she scoured. I directed her, then she dived into the pit between the waves and for
several seconds I did not see anything in front of me, except for the gray water wall, but I clearly
felt the yacht wrink

ling, and when the yacht lifted another shaft over the ocean, I saw with horror that she managed
to go aside. In the bulk zone, different directions of the jet acted, which dragged a heavy boat
like a chip. But the sails, especially the mainsail, did their job. <Urania-2> she went over and
walked widely, yet she went where necessary. At that moment, I definitely knew that the boat
also wants to live, and in combination with the furious efforts of people, this becomes
insurmountable for the elements.

We flew into the hole in the very center and it was harmful at that moment to look around and
see what was happening dozens of meters from both sides of the yacht, and no one I thought
looked, there was no time. We immediately saw several yacht masts in the far right corner
behind the second concrete bump. And almost immediately they heard screams, not from our
yacht, by outsiders, but by the Russian screams of people standing densely at the stern of a
large dredger transport. These were Russian sailors who saw a yacht with the Russian flag in
the stern. We, realizing this, also yelled like wild ones and flew past to the yacht masts. We
were lucky when we walked along the internal breakwater and turned to the yachts, the wind in
this section was oncoming and we easily “chopped down” the grotto, and Urania-2 still went for
some time by inertia, reducing the distance to the large, anchored yacht .Our anchor lay on the
ground when, having squandered its fuse, Urania-2 stopped and already went back without
sails. Valera descended in the wind, baiting the chain, and at some point turned the helm of the
anchor windlass. The yacht froze. A motorboat separated from a large yacht, very familiar, and
rushed to Urania-2. Chris, captain of the Futuro yacht, sat in it.

We were NOT, when Chris flew to Urania-2 in a motorboat. If I had not been with my peasants,
but had met them, having fallen out of the sea, I probably saw gray people from fatigue, in the
shackles of bulky, stiff neprokamans, with barbed wire of unwashed hair and black, shapeless
bristles. Through all this pierced the joy emanating from within. The movements were flexible
and graceful, we hugged each other, we were close to each other and each was a savior. We
grabbed Chris from the boat onto the high deck of Urania-2, he seemed to us an alien from the
Togo of the World, in his civilian clothes and a neat beard shape left only on his chin, although
he probably had similar associations on our account. We were excited, still struggling with the
ocean and the wind. Without further ado, although everyone spoke excitedly, they slipped into
the wardroom.Opened the bottle cap. Glasses along with a simple snack appeared on the table
automatically. It was evident that our excitement turned to Chris, he did not even give up
Russian vodka and drank it like us in one gulp, although I still have not seen a foreigner who
would drink vodka like the Russians did.

<Futuro> fell into the same storm that threw <Urania-2> to Uruguay. Both yachts experienced
the power of <pampero> - this is a local, completely frantic south-west wind breaking off from
the Andes.

Chris said that after their headquarters broke, they drifted under the mast at a speed of 12
knots! It sounded fantastic, but it was clear to me that Chris wasn’t lying and that, plus this, they
got into a strong passing current in the coastal zone of Uruguay, which Urania-2 went around
more than the sea. They came to Mar del Plata on a motor a day ago, and already got in touch
with the house, from where they were now expecting a new mainsail, headquarters and a new
staysail fairing.

We stood in a bay protected from all sides, the yacht club itself began a hundred meters later
and was behind the third concrete pier. We went onto the deck under the currents of fresh wind,
which rang in hundreds of masts and sang the familiar melody of reliable yacht parking. Chris
left for his yacht, and we remained our family, knocking over the shoulders of the heavy burden
of the last passage and overflowing with a sense of security. In the dark wheelhouse to the
music of Credence, turned on at full volume, three men in neprokanites - Ivan, Valera and I
gave out such a desperate dance, which probably none of us had before. So the sea came out
of us, we opened all our valves completely, but the flow from the inside did not dry up and we
calmed down only in the morning. By morning, the wind was still stronger. <Uranium-2>, as it
seemed to us, gradually pulled to the pier, to which there remained seventy meters.It was too
late to etch the chain, we contacted the yacht club on the walkie-talkie and asked them to tow
the yacht under the leeward, closer to the yacht club. A few minutes later a small boat
approached, which took the moorings and roared the engine, pulled us towards the yacht club.
More precisely, we remained standing still, and only barely dragged our nasal anchor with a
block of ugly bottom mud. The boat rested, whipping the screws with water, its bow hung over
the water, straining to numbness, but Urania-2, blown away by the wind, continued to remain in
the same place. It was time to get up from behind the wheel to the old captain, shrug and give
the moorings. I was terribly afraid of this moment, but immediately the same tugboat jumped up,
we quickly gave him the second end, and, already in two thrusts, Urania-2 was slowly pulled to
the yacht club. She was pulled to <Futuro>, and while holding back from drift, we launched our
boat and put in a long bow, behind a large coastal stone. Then they brought in a stern anchor in
case of wind transition. By this moment, the wind was already whistling, the trees on the shore
stretched in a horizontal line; overturned and flew like paper, several plastic tables of the coastal
zucchini. The boats left, we removed the stern moorings and only brought him to the shore
(Valera and Arthur did this), like a large stone on the shore, to which Urania-2 was tied and
turned over and rolled down the slope into the water from a height of three meters. <Urania-2>
freed from the ropes that tied it to the shore, immediately fell on board onto the plastic <Futuro>,
and while we pulled it apart, left it with a wrinkled railing.

Who knows the scrupulousness of yachtsmen in relation to the appearance of their yachts, can
understand the state of the terrible, irreparable disaster that hit us and Chris. We re-finished the
ends, tied all the sheets and caught them on the side pier, where the wind seemed to go. The
ropes could rub on the stones, and we shifted them with rags and a fin. Now, three ends went
from the shore to the yacht, the wind turned up and rested on the side of the yacht, pulling the
sheets connected to each other to the ringing. The danger again loomed over Futuro, now more
serious: once our feed end burst, anchored and tied to wooden Futuro piles, it would be crushed
with a crunch of Urania-2 like a solid chicken egg. We hung all the fenders off the port side and
went with confession to Chris. I must say that Chris courageously suffered this incident,he
immediately rejected my offer to rearrange the racks from <Urania-2> to <Futuro>, he did not
even want to listen to my proposals for paying for the repair of the railing. <Futuro> was
stranded and while we grieved and talked with Chris, the yacht very hard hit the bottom. These
blows could break the keel beam, or delaminate the plastic at the bottom of the hull, but Chris
had no other options, he said that the anchors are simply not kept here and that he has only this
option, and the hope that the wind will die down earlier, than his yacht will grind the keel.
<Futuro> was a maxi-yacht, well-packed equipment, was at the very beginning of an interesting
world tour and I could imagine the state of Chris. I thought that the incident with the broken rail
could not end without my participation and reassured myself that I’ll come up with something,to
get out of this situation with honor. In the meantime, we had to find out what happened to our
engine and at least start to get involved in the repair, send the girls to Australia, and quickly get
out of here.

The laws of Spain applicable to foreign ships have not changed significantly since Columbus
brought them to South America. Therefore, before setting off for the prefecture to register the
parish, I entrusted the men in detail on the boat in detail and eagerly, as if I had left them for a
long time. I really didn’t make a lot of mistakes: I made out the parish of Urania-2 for three days
and several times I was ready to send them, but you can see the patience that is not inherent to
me in civilian life, and acquired only in recent months, pulled me out of this swamp, I swallowed
lumps of anger, and moved on. The prefectural staff working with foreign captains, as a rule, did
not know English, it was strange that they were not forced to learn it, but all the staff of this
peaceful in essence establishment was hung from head to toe with arms and all kinds of iron -
handcuffs,with batons. Various seals were piled up on the captain’s desktop and I scooped
them up to make room for the next form, the prefect captain, filling out the computer form for the
second day, jumped up from the table and literally wringing his hands, he began to run and run
in a 1.5-meter space between two tables. And all, as I understood, due to the fact that Dima with
Lena and Zhenya left for Buenos Aires to buy plane tickets and took their passports with them.
In the evening I talked about my adventures in the prefecture to the manager of the yacht club,
the Argentinean Jorge, to which he, twisting his face, said that they themselves were tormented
with their prefecture. In general, diametrically opposite relations have developed with another
team - the staff of the yacht club. To repair Urania-2, we needed the full potential of the Nautiko
Yacht Club,which was transferred to us without any restrictions. Around the clock, we charged
all our batteries, transporting them on a boat and carrying them to the workshop. Jorge himself
wrapped up the phone and caught a sailing master, minder, looking for cheap diesel fuel. But
against the backdrop of many small successes, as if scattered under our feet, trouble struck:
outboard water was found in the cylinders of the main engine.

Weighty, 120 kilograms the owner of the machine shop, the red-haired German Adolf Kung,
dipped his finger in the muddy oily liquid ejected from the collector and boldly licked it and,
slowly tasting it, said: "salt". My heart stopped for a while, while I tried to understand how much
it could cost us. But in any case, it was necessary, at a minimum, to save the nozzles and Kung
carried them away in our oiled rag, and the next day he returned them, shiny and packed in
polyethylene. He said that the nozzles did not have time to fail and I appreciated his decency.
He appreciated the testing of nozzles and the replacement of some spare parts for them very
inexpensively, and once again gave me joy because the expedition was continuing. Our
mechanics came up from the “already dredger” and spent several hours resuscitating the
engine,it was like a treatment for a seriously ill patient, when relatives pray for the power of
chemistry and the doctor’s hands, spying on what is happening over his shoulder. The sailing
master loaded three bales of our sails onto the rear bumper of his Volkswagen and, grabbing
them with a rope, drove out the gates of the yacht club, tearing off the front of his car, easing us
for only $ 150. I was ready to love Argentina as Russia. It remains to finish with the debts on
<Futuro>. Urania 2, meanwhile, was already standing in the distance on the barrel, which the
same indefatigable Jorge had begged for from the owner of the local shipyard for her. Nothing
better came to my mind to present Russian vodka to Chris, and we, having immersed
Smirnovskaya’s box in our air bag, sailed with the Germans to Arkady. Arkady rowed and
squinted at "Futuro", at the stern of which the German flag was developing,said, dropping his
nose and as if concentrating on rowing: <My father knocked out four German tanks, and he
himself was very respectful of the Germans. He said that these were normal people, and for the
fact that we had a little crumpled of their pulpit, we must, of course, give them vodka ...> It was
an unexpected but pleasant point of view on the situation for me, that I was ready to crawl onto
it and put out their possibly excessive experiences. In any case, while I will be able to pay my
bills, I have nothing to worry about and worry a lot.that I was ready to crawl onto it and put out
my, perhaps, excessive emotions. In any case, while I will be able to pay my bills, I have nothing
to worry about and worry a lot.that I was ready to crawl onto it and put out my, perhaps,
excessive emotions. In any case, while I will be able to pay my bills, I have nothing to worry
about and worry a lot.

<When the yacht is at sea, she goes. When she is in the port, then there is no movement> .- It
was a scrap thesis, which I came up with mainly for Dima. Therefore, to our mutual agreement,
Dima remained in Buenos and, not hurrying, completely in accordance with his temperament,
sent the girls to Australia, and after that he flew to Ushuaia, where she should have come to
Urania-2. The costs of this plan included the fact that Arkady again will not be able to fling out
for photo freedom, and Ivan will have to turn the helm on a regular basis and change the radio
waves to the trivially gray wavestf of the Atlantic.

We could not pass by the seductive offer of sailors from Odessa to replenish our food supplies.
Remembering the wise sign that it is simply indecent to refuse that people like you, people
wandering the seas offer you. Moreover, by this moment I had to raise my hand to the sacred
and reduce the sugar norm, which the monster of the people, the Boatswain, could not even
agree to. All movements in the water area of the port without coordination with the prefecture
were prohibited, therefore, when the dredger, which worked to deepen the port, passed Urania-
2 at night, dropped a plastic bag for the children from Urania-2 into the water. This message
was transmitted to channel 72 for conspiracy in Russian on channel 72. <Package>, illuminated
by a searchlight from a dredger, tumbled in the waves 300 meters from the yacht.We dropped
the boat and the Boatswain cellar replenished the supplies of grub. The wind for the boat was
oncoming and it hardly moved, although Sashka thrashed with oars and several times they
jumped out of the oarlocks. We stayed in touch with the dredger, commenting on what was
happening on channel 72, knowing that the maritime authorities, by definition, could not know
the Russian language. Finally, the parcel sailed to the boat with the Boatswain, for a long time
he could not turn it into a boat, and then with a fair wind I got back to Urania-2. Some water fell
into the bag and the three of us barely dragged him onto the deck. Sea water always penetrates
into everything that is even well closed, everyone who at least lived a little at sea knows this.We
stayed in touch with the dredger, commenting on what was happening on channel 72, knowing
that the maritime authorities, by definition, could not know the Russian language. Finally, the
parcel sailed to the boat with the Boatswain, for a long time he could not turn it into the boat,
and then with a fair wind I got back to Urania-2. Some water fell into the bag and the three of us
barely dragged him onto the deck. Sea water always penetrates into everything that is even well
closed, everyone who at least lived a little at sea knows this.We stayed in touch with the
dredger, commenting on what was happening on channel 72, knowing that the maritime
authorities, by definition, could not know the Russian language. Finally, the parcel sailed to the
boat with the Boatswain, for a long time he could not turn it into a boat, and then with a fair wind
I got back to Urania-2. Some water fell into the bag and the three of us barely dragged him onto
the deck. Sea water always penetrates into everything that is even well closed, everyone who at
least lived a little at sea knows this.Some water fell into the bag and the three of us barely
dragged him onto the deck. Sea water always penetrates into everything that is even well
closed, everyone who at least lived a little at sea knows this.Some water fell into the bag and
the three of us barely dragged him onto the deck. Sea water always penetrates into everything
that is even well closed, everyone who at least lived a little at sea knows this.

The time has come to raise the anchors that we gave south of Urania-2, protecting Futuro, in
case it blows from the south. We tried to raise anchors from our air bag, but two people who
could do this did not have enough strength, and three on the same side or stern trying to pull the
anchor simply could not stand the boat and scoop up water. We asked for a boat from the yacht
club, and the three of us went to the anchors. At the wheel was a cheerful Argentinean working
in a yacht club that treated us well. When the three of us tried to pull the anchor out of the silt
and were torn under this weight, the free end that connected the anchor with the buoyer was
wound around the boat screw. The engine immediately stalled and began to drag us to the
same breakwaters, to which <uraniya> <Uraniya-2> upon arrival at the port. Without thinking
twiceI fell overboard and diving under the boat began to unravel the rope. But the screw tightly
tightened it on itself and from tension it seemed to be petrified. They gave me a knife and I
began to cut it. While I was doing this, the boat drifted close to the breakwater and he entered
the surf zone and flew already five meters from the coastal stones. The Argentinean called a
second boat on the radio, but he was clearly late for a climax. When the boat pulled close to the
stones, Arkady and Arthur fell out of it and dangling in the water between the side and the
stones, they began to push the boat away. This went on for about seven minutes and the risk
that someone would fall between the side and the stone was great, but everything worked out,
the boat jumped up and dragged us from the shore. He pulled us in tow to the entrance to the
yacht club, we sat on the sides wet and swelled. Hundreds of some small leeches settled on
Arcadia when he was fighting the boat.He was wearing a T-shirt and swimming trunks. And
when we sailed past Urania-2, he said that <where would I go>, rushed into the water and
sailed to the yacht. We continued to swim to the shore, and he swam like a walrus, healthy and
large, washing off from these leeches.

Everyone agreed and everyone considered it his duty to dissuade us from Antarctica. That is
what distinguished professional sailors from us sailboats. I was enraged by their lack of
understanding that we ourselves want this. They believed that we should think carefully and
instead of Drake go the Strait of Magellan. I was enraged by their professional blindness, they
did not understand that I would never go here if I were forbidden to put my head in the Drake
Channel. Of course, it was necessary to understand these people, tired of the sea and the hard
work of making money. They lost any romance, and talking with us, approached swimming in
terms of absolute safety. There were no other motives in their reasoning.

Now I began to guess why professional sailors, less often than any other professions, do some
serious things at sea under sails. While we were chilling in Mar del Plata, several of our ships
working under the flags of others already came here. They rose from the south, very pleased
with this, and told us: <Guys, where are you going? We are only from there! Do not go there!>

Our stay in Mar del Plata was drawing to a close. We were able to reanimate the engine, do all
the work of repairing the yacht, a little replenished the supply of products. We had three
hundred dollars left for the whole team, but we looked forward with hope. It seemed that we
were getting involved in some qualitatively new, unlike the past, stage of our life, lying beyond
what was with us before, in our former and, in general, happy life. Yes, the most striking
impression of Mar del Plata was that I called home.

After a long stay at the port, very often you just force yourself to leave. Your whole being,
suddenly, begins to resist this exit, as soon as it becomes clear that you can already go. I very
often had to literally push myself out of the port, the body grabbed at any excuse not to go out
now, but to spend the last night. It starts to work your fear, accumulated over the years of
swimming and the negative emotions left in you in your relationship with the sea. In this regard, I
want to quote the revelations of Reinhold Mesner from his book “Crystal Horizon”: <Fear is my
worst enemy on the way to the goal. I am a very cowardly person and, like all cowardly people, I
strive to overcome my fear. Victory over fear makes me happy. Three times I went alone to
Najgaparbat, three times because of fear I turned back,until he gained strength to overcome
himself and reach the top. I want to be stronger than my own fear, for the sake of this I am
looking for danger again and again> (page 77). But what kind of reward you get for your
"courage", often, simply - stellar. So it was when leaving Mar del Plata. Unrest about the
possible friction with the prefecture at the exit, as well as due to the headwind, began to contort
my being like in case of severe flu. Part of the fears came true when we went out to sea and
reported this by radio to the prefecture. She invited us to come to her again. They didn’t even
have the elementary idea to apologize to us when they watched our ship's role for the second
time in the last 24 hours and, as if nothing had happened, confirmed the withdrawal. We lost
about four hours of nervous waiting on this, I tore up and metal,recalling the loyal orders of
Europe and swore to himself that I would never again go to Latin America. On the other hand,
the headwind did not begin to torment us for a long time and, an hour after leaving, moved to
the east and gave us the way.

Now there are six of us. The shift was divided as follows: Ivan and I, Botsman and Arthur,
Valera and Arkady. In the evening, a beautiful scarlet green sunset. <Urania-2>, under all sails,
slipping off the wind stream, makes seven knots and pleases with such a move. Arkady is
driving and I waved to him from the wheelhouse. He smiled and waved to me. It seems that
something in nature has changed and we, after the Mar del Plata, have entered a different
climatic zone, somewhat reminiscent of our north. There are 1300 miles to Ushuaia, and you
just have to finish the miles. Ushuaia, this is the turning point of the expedition. From Ushuaia it
will be easier, after it, the balance of all difficulties will be high motivation. But if we now, God
forbid, break, quarrel, etc., this is almost the end. It is necessary to find strength to stretch along
these deserted shores to the south, under pain of south-westerly winds. In Antarctica, it will be
easier for me.Because there will be rocks, ice and icebergs, all that is why we actually started
an expedition. I knew from experience that they would give us strength. Arthur Chubarkin said
that men are already giving me involuntary resistance, mainly because of fatigue and, further, it
will be more - this is objective. Since I did not feel this yet, but I was sure of the correctness of a
psychotherapist who, in addition to his purely theoretical beliefs, could see the whole backstage
kitchen, invisible to me. Thanks to Arthur that, as they say, he warned me, but I had no choice
but to take the whole convoy forward without taking the road apart, there was simply no other
way out. On the contrary, after Mar del Plata, I watched a certain warming of our relations: this
could happen for two reasons, firstly, we were not stopped by breakdowns, lack of money and
other problems, <Urania-2>not stuck on the route, but continued briskly cutting the wave, in her
careless movement, descending already to Tierra del Fuego. This was a definite and important
result of the team. Secondly, we left Mar del Plata as a purely male crew. There is no longer any
need to be offended without showing this, and put offense in some kind of complex verbal form,
tormented and put up with. And Arthur said that this expedition is only necessary for me, no one
else needs it. I had heard similar statements before, it was three years ago, then the Urania-2
crew consisted almost entirely of people who claimed that the expedition was a work that,
among other things, should bring them means of subsistence. There was not one among them
who could speak voluntarily. This for me, until now, is a hard negative experience,I cannot find
an explanation to this day.

At the time when Urania-2 successfully crossed its parallels in the southern hemisphere, the son
of Arkady, taking advantage of the absence of his father, married trivially, for which his father,
unable to somehow influence the situation, as he was in the opposite from the house of the
hemisphere, on the walkie-talkie cursed him in various ways. But late - the wedding in Moscow
was dying away, and here we got up a new day. But the depression of Arcadia was caused
mainly by the inability to print photos in Mar del Plata, and then there was the wedding! But
soon, after he took several, in his opinion, successful pictures of nature, sunsets, he perked up,
smiled and began to joke, and seemed to get out of this difficult situation. Without further ado,
he prepared several dinners for us with Ivan, which we certainly appreciated. Of course, Ivan
and I were busy to the neck,Ivan remained part-time radio operator and electrician, and besides
my shift, I oversaw everything else. It was like that. But in reality, neither I nor Ivan liked cooking
more than anything else, although, unlike me, Ivan could even wipe the nose of musician
Makarevich in this matter.

Indeed, the ocean was changing as we descended south. We had almost no other course
components except the south one. A sharp "growing up" of the team occurred at Mar del Plata,
the place where the South Ocean showed us its teeth twice, and we saw what could be with us
when the first time in 40 seconds two sails were seriously torn, and after an hour and the third,
and in a day we were thrown back 180 miles. And the second time, about the same place, they
suffered no less. And the parking itself in Mar del Plata was quite severe in weather conditions.
We went further, taking into account this sad experience and of course it helped us: we began
to solve the issues of survival in storms easier and the top of it was the day when in a strong
oncoming blast, putting a storm staysail and tying the emergency tiller shortly to a bollard, we
ALL went down to the wardroom,dined there, even drank wine (on the occasion of the marriage
of his son Arkady), while Urania-2 successfully resisted the wind, not drifting mediocre as
before, and did not lose altitude. And we ourselves at that time sang to the guitar and from time
to time looked out, look at the riot of the elements. Moreover, when the wind began to depart,
Urania-2 itself went after it, thereby approaching the best course.

As always, when the weather is calm outside, we received a storm warning from the southwest.
Fifty miles on the traverse was San Jose Bay and I climbed into Lotsia and read that there the
tidal currents were up to eight knots and the anchorage depths were 20 meters. It’s better to
hang out at sea, especially since the Argentines could make a mistake with the wind, about
thirty degrees in any direction, but for us, arrogant, this would be enough to fly almost at the
heading.

The fifteen-hour expectation of a south-west wind gave way to a premonition that everything
would be fine. When lightning thundered right and left and Urania-2 rushed through for two
hours piercing all these clouds, and escaped from this area. Arkady stood on the steering wheel
and from time to time I leaned out and we shouted with him. So, a good foreboding ended in the
fact that Ivan adopted a new forecast, in which there wasn’t even a smell from the south-west
wind! The new forecast promised the north-east to be rolled up to the southeast. I could not
even hope for the south, and the southeast in our situation was really a royal gift. At that time
night came, and the wind went to the storm, and we flew through the stormy space illuminated
by cobwebs of lightning. Ivan swore in the wheelhouse, where electric discharges erased the
weather picture on a computer. It rattled and howled alreadyas a fighter flying overhead
rumbled, I even lifted my head in search of an airplane, and then I realized that it was the wind
that broke into the geek of Bizani and hummed above my head like a jet plane. And I haven’t
seen this kind of sea: white lamb phosphoresce so that they cast light on the sails in such a way
that their lower part literally burns. White lines of foam are visible in the night to the horizon, and
the water itself is, as it were, muddy, brown. In the morning, the sun rises at once and
illuminates Valera's gray, haggard face. The wind is fierce, the yacht flies under one storm
staysail and riffled mizzen. The wave is incredibly powerful, in white crests and water haze from
the wind. This night I saw the Southern Cross for the first time. Two piercingly bright stars
showed a direction towards him, and he himself was expressive, even magical, as soon as you
saw him, how you were transported in times of darkness,storms and clippers, and above you
there was the same sky and sea, just as now, I wanted to destroy you. Valera crawls to the guys
and tries to meet a small need. I look at this with doubt, because I know that with such a wind
not a single drop will reach the water, everything, having barely arisen, immediately turns into
invisible dust and flies into the sky. Valera, it seems, was convinced of this himself and with a
tired movement of his hand runs across his wet face.

You get used to the Ocean, you get drawn into the Ocean. The first two days are sad and bad,
when excitement and fear do not allow you to live happily. But then, it leaves, especially if there
are no big breakdowns, and the yacht goes well, and you already begin to enjoy what you have
done, and rush to increase success. This new feeling displaces all excitement, and you are
calm in any storm until calm comes, in which fear always returns, according to a future storm. It
seems that the nutrition problem is again coming up, judging by what rations went from the
Boatswain. Breakfast: rice porridge in milk powder, tea with sugar and a slice of lemon. Lunch:
soup - noodles with a bouillon cube, sauerkraut, garlic, tea with sugar. Dinner: vermicelli, two
cans of canned fish at all, tea with sugar. I was surprised that there was not a single rebuke.
Usually Dima beat out the grub from the boatswain,but now Dima was in Ushuaia and could
order what kind of food he could please himself. On the right side, the invisible bay of San
Julian, where the ships of Magellan wintered, where there was a riot of the team, for which he
killed two leaders of the rebellion. The other two, and it was even worse, were left in Patagonia.
The strait that Magellan was looking for was already nearby, two degrees to the south. Starting
from the fiftieth latitude, we even more broke away from the coast, which, by the way, we did not
see from the Mar del Plata, and cutting off in a straight bend of South America, we headed
towards the Le Mer Strait. I gladly led Urania-2 away from the temptation to dive into the Strait
of Magellan, thereby killing the last chance to distort the expedition, abandoning Antarctica. I
optimistically pulled out maps on the Beagle Channel, in which the southernmost of the cities of
the Planet, Ushuaia, lurks. We had no lots for this area.
It seems that calm in this area is rare, the wind is changing its direction, it is piling up from one
side, then from the other, and gives almost no respite. This is clearly visible on the weather
maps that Ivan takes. Almost all cyclones passing through the Drake Channel cover this area.
Obeying the unchanged laws of the Antarctic, they go here one after another in the narrow
passage of the Strait, and their speed is high. We use small respects to recover, sleep off, and
repair. Day became noticeably longer, night - only five hours. By evening, powerful clouds with
lightning and a bloody sunset between them came along the course and to the right. Solemn
silence. We removed the sails, started the engine and set off in a compass course of 230. It got
dark quickly, lightning flashed, but the pressure did not drop. The clouds spread across the sky
and gradually went into the stern,freeing the same black, but star-strewn sky at the rate. Then
the engine stalled for a second, then it started working again. Ivan reacted to this and turned off
the engine: the oil pressure, instead of four atmospheres, was less than one! Almost all the oil
was kicked out. Where? No oil marks were found on the engine. Meanwhile, we were drifting
northwest at a speed of two knots. They put the staysail and the mainsail. But for a long time
they could not catch the wind and set up the sails - something was upset that night in our heads.
Then we drove little by little. Morning met with a strong wind from the south. When I went on
deck, I realized that a breakdown in the rigging was about to happen - "Urania-2" was literally
torn under all sails. He picked up Valera and we trotted a grotto and mizzen. The yacht, before
being buried in the water by the entire starboard side and making four knots, straightened and
rushed,showing six to seven. When he woke up a second time, Ivan is engaged in a computer,
engine - no one! I talked sharply with him, then gathered the rest and announced that the four of
us should provide all the shifts, enabling Ivan and Valera to engage in the engine. The yacht,
meanwhile, was racing eight knots. Mechanics, having received a new appointment, the positive
moment of which was avoiding boring taxiing, dressed in black overalls and slippers, plunged
into the car. They are used to working together, and have already stopped working individually.
At first, it touched me because of the chronic abundance of repair work on Urania-2, but I soon
convinced myself that this exclusion from reasonable actions could have a right to exist, I felt
that it was leading them away from expeditionary despair. In this bare desert of salt water they
found an outlet in each other. When I told Valera that he would do something on the mechanical
side, he sadly looked towards Ivan, who was busy with some other affairs, and dumbly went
about to carry out my instructions alone. But of their own free will, they were always inseparable
and even screwed some kind of bolt together. Here Valera, of course, gave leadership to Ivan,
and Ivan, it seemed, did not stand on ceremony in expressions, but Valera forgave him
everything, since between them, it was still a game. When engaged in repairs, they constantly
teased each other, or told each other an infinite number of their life stories. It was an
inexhaustible dialogue throughout the endless repairs of our expedition.who was busy with
some other affairs, and wandered down to carry out my instructions alone. But of their own free
will, they were always inseparable and even screwed some kind of bolt together. Here Valera, of
course, gave leadership to Ivan, and Ivan did not seem to stand on ceremony in expressions,
but Valera forgave him everything, since between them, it was still a game. When engaged in
repairs, they constantly teased each other, or told each other an infinite number of their life
stories. It was an inexhaustible dialogue throughout the endless repairs of our expedition.who
was busy with some other affairs, and dumbly went to fulfill my instructions alone. But of their
own free will, they were always inseparable and even screwed some kind of bolt together. Here
Valera, of course, gave leadership to Ivan, and Ivan did not seem to stand on ceremony in
expressions, but Valera forgave him everything, since between them, it was still a game. When
engaged in repairs, they constantly teased each other, or told each other an infinite number of
their life stories. It was an inexhaustible dialogue throughout the endless repairs of our
expedition.but Valera forgave him everything, because between them, it was still a game. When
engaged in repairs, they constantly teased each other, or told each other an infinite number of
their life stories. It was an inexhaustible dialogue throughout the endless repairs of our
expedition.but Valera forgave him everything, because between them, it was still a game. When
engaged in repairs, they constantly teased each other, or told each other an infinite number of
their life stories. It was an inexhaustible dialogue throughout the endless repairs of our
expedition.

After spending four hours in the car, and not finding the reason for the disappearance of oil, the
men explain that the yacht was lying on its side, and then maybe not refilled to normal in Mar
del Plata! This reassures me a little, although it remains suspicious that the pressure has fallen
sharply. We start the engine - the pressure is normal. But the repair fever continues: cooling
water is removed from the exhaust, a paronite cut-off is set, while the engine is not working.
And, suddenly, towards the yacht, then along the side, a meter from it a large dark spot floats. I
grabbed a flashlight, began to shine on the water, but it was too late. In the morning, islands of
algae sailed past the yacht, and a large white seagull usually sat near each of them. Also
appeared unknown creatures that lie under water, and flippers protrude outward, and some
other parts of the body.A seagull sits nearby and is not afraid. Diving birds appeared. Everything
is the same as in the northern hemisphere, closer to the cold - more life.

Ivan climbed into the car and again did not find oil on the dipstick of the engine. I wring my
hands again, say goodbye to the expedition. Without the engine, we really will not only go
nowhere, but it will not be easy to return to people. I get down into the car, pull out the dipstick.
There is oil !!! Ivan was absent due to overwork.

When approaching the Le Mer Strait, the headwind pressed us west and we saw the distant
mountains of Tierra del Fuego. The speed was decent, so we saw the pink mountains in the
sunset grow before our eyes. There was no hope that we would drive one tack into Le Mer, at
this gate between the island of Estados and the eastern cape of Tierra del Fuego. Already in the
dark, we changed the tack and flew back to gain height before the last turn into the strait. Now, I
am guided only by the DPS, we left east of the strait, where we twisted the last turn and went
into the strait. The sky was overcast and therefore we did not see the shores of Estados and
Tierra del Fuego. Although I, according to our old Baltic habit, when we were calculating,
counted and handed over to the Boatswain that after so many minutes, the lighthouse would be
hammered at the right 30 course and reported its characteristics. It was very nice,when at the
expected time we heard the exclamation of the Boatswain, who said that he saw the lighthouse.
We had to go through the strait and not plunge into rips that went from the direction of the Drake
Strait at a speed of up to eight knots and created standing waves, which Lotzia very respectfully
told about. The wind was strong enough and favorable in the direction, we went a full badewind.
At some point, our speed dropped from seven knots to two, although we did not catch any
changes in the course of the yacht. We put almost all the canvas and Urania-2, like a mustang,
went on the waves to overcome the powerful current that was pouring into Le Mer from the
Drake Strait. Further, the situation worsened and we began to move at a speed of one and a
half knots, but only BACK. Ivan sat on a chair at the helm, twisted it and looked forward and
thought that he was going forward fast. Really,there was a roar of waves and gear, waves of
five meters rolled along the stern and Urania-2 like a duck, diving sharply and often, and threw
themselves up in these really powerful risers. And when I crawled out and stared at this sight,
Ivan shouted:

- What, Hera ?!

- How do you?! I shouted to Ivan.

- I am ok! - Ivan answered, continuing to turn the helm quickly in all directions, assuming that he
was also fast forward.

“You know we're going north!” I yelled into his ear.

- It's alright! - shouted Ivan.

It is good that there has not yet been a headwind, which could have been. So we “stood” for two
and a half hours until Ivan was replaced by Arthur and by five in the morning the DPS showed a
small positive speed. The Suloevsky steep waves disappeared behind the stern, it began to
grow light, <Urania-2> added moves, moving away from the enchanted place, life was getting
better.

Overcoming Le Mer at dawn, we fell out into the Drake Strait, and how specially to go to
Bellingshausen, he was calm. And we still need to go to Ushuaia for Dima. The transmission of
the radio waves was good, and we spoke with Valera Timakov's voice, without Ivanov’s morse
code. Tima "pleased" that my mother was worried and was waiting for me to return to her
birthday. And he also said that according to the forecasts of our Hydrometeorological Center,
the weather in Antarctica will deteriorate from January 31, which means two days later and will
not return to the summer. We turn west and go Drake into the Beagle Channel. Again we feel a
strong oncoming current with an almost complete absence of wind. We cut under the engine,
but advancement is no more than three knots. We go ashore and speed increases. To the left is
the calm Drake Channel, followed by Antarctica.

We enter the Beagle Channel. Sunny weather abruptly leaves us - clouds fell in the gorge of the
strait and a cold, headwind surged. It was just like ours in Taimyr, where winter could peek in
the middle of summer. Cold rain began and the hail fell. Low, shaggy clouds, combing the tops
of the mountains, left them white. <Urania-2>, overcoming the headwind, ran under the motor in
a narrow strait. Early in the morning ahead at the foot of three mountains, girdling a small bay,
we saw a city. Although the city this settlement could be called a stretch - the largest houses
here were two-story. In the right corner of the harbor, near the small pier there was an
icebreaker of red color, and, sparkling with whiteness, the “scientist” was “Professor
Multanovsky”, in the left part there were a dozen and a half yachts with anchors and barrels. We
made a circle boldly searching for free barrels in a businesslike way and after some maneuvers
anchored between the icebreaker and the yachts. The first time during the entire expedition I
came to the port, as to my home, in my element. Confidence was a direct pearl from me, and I
enjoyed this wonderful state of mind, which always appeared, every time I arrived in the Arctic.

Inflate the boat and go ashore. We disembark and pull the boat along the sand spit inland,
fearing the tide. “We should have gone further,” we hear advice in purely Russian. Above us, on
the upper terrace of the coast, is Dima, dressed in some kind of civilian clothes. Emotions, as if
they had not seen each other for a year. We rise to the terrace and get into the city. Dima here
already knows everything and leads us through the streets, and talks about his adventures. He
safely sent his family, flew here, and now lives in the company of very interesting people, in a
tent outside the city. In twenty minutes we pass through the city of Wushuayu. There are three
parallel streets running along the coast and about a dozen across, that's the whole of Ushuaia.
But this is a special town. Here, at this gate of the Antarctic, hundreds of tourists gather, wishing
to touch the ice continent in this life.The adventurism of these people rushes in the narrow
streets of Ushuaia, this large Indian village on the territory of Patagonia, lying in a dense ring of
pointed, white from snow and glacier cliffs. In the eyes of passers-by, delight and gaiety - they
go to Antarctica! Walking along the main street of the city, we almost constantly see Urania-2,
waiting in the wings and receiving charges of rain and snow on their red side.

Dima says that his new friends today are arranging something like our booze, and without any
hesitation we agree to go to them, probably for the first time with such ease, we leave things on
the yacht and rush into new adventures. But not all: Ivan, Arkady and Boatswain, for some
reason, are not enthusiastic about this idea and remain on the yacht. And the four of us,
grabbing the sleeping bags and Smirnovskaya vodka, led by Dima, go to the outskirts of the
village, stop the passing jeep and go to the mountains. First, the road goes along the sea, and
then turns into a valley of a cheerful stream and follows another five kilometers along two snowy
ridges. Looking at the snow-capped mountains stretching along the stream, I gradually
understand that it was necessary to take double sleeping bags. But it’s strange that everywhere
except Russia, green grass, green leaves on trees can quite get along with snow,and when we
got out of the car at dusk, we smelled the herbs, to which the sense of smell responded with
lust. We found ourselves on a clean, grassy terrace, covered with individual trees, a fast river
gurgled nearby and it was surprisingly warm. Under the cover of large trees there were two
tents, one Dimina, the other of his new friends. They turned out to be a charming young couple
Pete and Julia. The children were twenty years old, they fled from their parents from the States,
because Julia's parents forbade her to meet with Pete. And now they travel to South America,
they earn money for food on the streets of small cities when they demonstrate their acrobatic
numbers. Dima said that they would like to show us them. Acrobatics with juggling with sharp
daggers. And Dima saidthat Pete used to sail on yachts and would love to go to Antarctica on
Urania-2. I noted to myself the merits of Dima, guessing that he dissuaded Julia from traveling
with us to Antarctica. It would be nice to pour fresh forces into the team, and Pete, whoever he
was, clearly fell into this situation, and I told Dima that I would not mind if Pete came with us.
While we were talking, standing by the tents, it turned out that the asado would be in a different
place, a hundred meters away, from other friends. It began to get dark, only the snowy peaks of
the mountains remained lit with pink light, I tirelessly inhaled the air infused on the grasses and
rejoiced at the feeling that we were in our native Sayan mountains, where there are many
places like this: terraces with lonely standing fir trees, mountains and the noise of rapids ...that
he dissuaded Julia from traveling with us to Antarctica. It would be nice to pour fresh forces into
the team, and Pete, whoever he was, clearly fell into this situation, and I told Dima that I would
not mind if Pete came with us. While we were talking, standing by the tents, it turned out that the
asado would be in a different place, a hundred meters away, from other friends. It began to get
dark, only the snowy peaks of the mountains remained lit with pink light, I tirelessly inhaled the
air infused on the grasses and rejoiced at the feeling that we were in our native Sayan
mountains, where there are many places like this: terraces with lonely standing fir trees,
mountains and the noise of rapids ...that he dissuaded Julia from traveling with us to Antarctica.
It would be nice to pour fresh forces into the team, and Pete, whoever he was, clearly fell into
this situation, and I told Dima that I would not mind if Pete came with us. While we were talking,
standing by the tents, it turned out that the asado would be in a different place, a hundred
meters away, from other friends. It began to get dark, only the snowy peaks of the mountains
remained lit with pink light, I tirelessly inhaled the air infused on the grasses and rejoiced at the
feeling that we were in our native Sayan mountains, where there are many places like this:
terraces with lonely standing fir trees, mountains and the noise of rapids ...a hundred meters
away from other friends. It began to get dark, only the snowy peaks of the mountains remained
lit with pink light, I tirelessly inhaled the air infused on the grasses and rejoiced at the feeling
that we were in our native Sayan mountains, where there are many places like this: terraces
with lonely standing fir trees, mountains and the noise of rapids ...a hundred meters away from
other friends. It began to get dark, only the snowy peaks of the mountains remained lit with pink
light, I tirelessly inhaled the air infused on the grasses and rejoiced at the feeling that we were in
our native Sayan mountains, where there are many places like this: terraces with lonely
standing fir trees, mountains and the noise of rapids ...

Siege, this is a traditional and beloved Argentinean dish - grilled beef, without the addition of
any spices. The first time we tried the siege in Mar del Plata, it’s still not clear to me how meat,
cooked with charcoal and not cooked with any spices, can be so tasty. I don’t think that our
sense of touch has changed a lot due to the hunger strike, but the meat tasted fantastic. The
Argentines themselves were somewhat alarmed by the situation in their country, everyone was
talking about the crisis. The most murderous was the fact that of the three cows that were
previously per capita, now only two remain. This was a big blow for a country where coal-fried
beef, being history itself, was elevated to the level of spiritual value. The second idol was mate,
the third - football.

Finally, we went to friends. They turned out to be an incredibly fat policeman, his wife and four
children. Sitting on a low chair, the policeman turned over pieces of meat sizzling in fat on a
large grill. There was so much meat that they could feed a whole platoon of policemen. I was
shivering and shaking from the cold, although I saw that the rest was comfortable and good.
The siege in Patagonia on Tierra del Fuego, by definition, was a pristine act. But the mountains
that surrounded us now did not say anything to this aborigine - a policeman who was turning
pieces of meat on a grill. Only once when he asked us, when was the last time we ate a siege
and Valera replied that we had never eaten, the policeman’s hand hung motionless and he
wondered for a minute whether this fact was treated as a joke, or somehow differently.We
washed down the siege with dry red wine, and I still couldn’t keep warm and finally left this
company and went to bed to the tents. I spread a sleeping bag under a tree and climbed into it
all, with my head, and, not having time to warm up that I would not warm, I quickly fell asleep.

In the morning, we somehow got up at once and went to the river along the frosty grass,
dropping everything off ourselves, plunged into the cold jets of a mountain river, than plunged
into the repeated amazement of the policeman who had left this warm jeep at that moment. He
looked at us swimming, then returned to the jeep, and from there he watched this interesting
movie.

In the city prefecture, the officer, stamping our passports, said that there were no Russian
yachts in Ushuaia, at least the last eighteen years that he had served in this place.

Over the last day, while we were eating meat and drinking wine in nature, another former
scientific ship, hired by Canadians for cruises to the Antarctic Peninsula, <Professor Shuleikin>
came to the port of Ushuaia. Dima and I went to visit him. Immediately struck by the new look
that the ship received. The rooms sparkled. A dozen stewards, clad in orange uniforms brought
out the final gloss, dusting the carpet paths and wiping the wall panels. Female managers, from
whom it was impossible to look away, were preparing to receive customers. In the corridors
through which the smell of perfume flowed unhindered, English throbbed. The crew of the ship
was Russian. We were taken to the captain, who delegated us to his first assistant, with whom
we spoke. The interest was energetic and mutual. We were interested in everything what was
connected with Antarctica: route, weather, storms. Regarding the weather forecast, the start-up
responded as follows: <We have a schedule and we go without forecasts. Yes, and what's the
point? There, anyway, grab somewhere. We will leave in good weather, and in a day there will
be a storm, then it will end. The main thing is to cross Drake, it takes us about thirty hours.
When blowing hard, we try to follow the wave>. At <Shuleikina>, on its carpets, the first
passengers began to pass. Mostly they were single people, and almost all were in their sixties.
With timid curiosity they looked around the rooms, and went through the cabins, to where the
stewards led them. Each of these people paid ten to twelve thousand dollars for two weeks of
real impressions, lying on the uncompromising basis of the torment of seasickness, which was
prepared for everyone by the Drake Strait.

Next to <Professor Multanovsky>, stood a large Polish yacht <Frederic Chopin>. They cruised
around South America and came to Ushuaia after visiting Easter Island and Valparais. The
captain and the start-up were aged, but they were completely different people, without
orientation to the past communion of Poland and Russia. However, yachtsmen who meet below
the fiftieth degree of south latitude had their own community, a special nationality, and we could,
without getting tired, spend hours chatting about our marine life, drinking an myriad of wine, or
coffee. In the morning <Frederic Chopin> left Ushuaia and for a long time we heard how the
Chilean port of Williams, through which he passed, persistently and unsuccessfully called
through the 12th channel. And only fifteen minutes later, when the yacht left the port, <Frederic
Chopin>cheerfully and politely responded, filling up the Chileans with a confident and beautiful
overflow of English speech, but it was too late: the Poles slipped by without paying. At a
minimum, we had to make minor repairs to the sails, refuel with fresh water, buy some products
and run faster south. At the same time, I began to seriously think about whether and why the
hell we go to the island of Horn ?! The island of Horn, this is the territory of Chile, and in order to
even land on it, you need to obtain official permission in the Chilean port of Williams, by which
we, one way or another, had to go, heading to the Drake Strait. I told Pete that if he wanted to,
we would take him to Antarctica, and now, they, Julia, were sitting on the stern can of Urania-2
and trying to come to an agreement. Julia, as I understood, was afraid for Pete and for herself,
she was sure that if they parted now,then it will be a major event. Pete was eager for us, but he
saw the condition of his girlfriend and could not step over it. They cried silently in front of each
other and, after an hour and a half of such communication, Pete announced that he was not
coming with us. Honestly, I was relieved to take this news and hastened to announce to them
that this was the right and courageous decision and that the guys were still ahead. We all
gathered at the table in the wardroom and to the sad songs of Boatswain, we celebrated the
past and future events that were visible from here.that this is the right and courageous decision
and that the guys are still ahead. We all gathered at the table in the wardroom and to the sad
songs of Boatswain, we celebrated the past and future events that were visible from here.that
this is the right and courageous decision and that the guys are still ahead. We all gathered at
the table in the wardroom and to the sad songs of Boatswain, we celebrated the past and future
events that were visible from here.

Having stood for two days in Ushuaia, having done something on a yacht, we were ready to go
to the Ocean, in our last stage in front of Antarctica. Just before the departure, a guy came to us
and asked us to the port of Williams. He introduced himself as an employee of a local travel
agency and all the time "moved out" on the topic of huge, 25-meter waves in the Drake Strait.
My guys were wary, but I said that even waves of fifteen meters are very rare at this time. We
did not take the guy because we ourselves did not know whether we would go to the port or not.
But he told us that the captain of the Valhala yacht, who has been chartering here for several
years, can answer any question in this region. The yacht "Valhala" with the French flag in the
stern, stood at the pier two hundred meters from <Urania-2>. It was bigserious cache with bright
yellow masts and a metal body. The captain, with an Indian face and long hair, was called
Pascal. He understood everything from the first word, invited us to his place, and quickly and in
a businesslike manner answered all our questions. He recommended that we go to Drake on
the tail of the cyclone, only in this case, there is a chance of not getting into the zone of the
second storm following him. He also said that most likely south of the sixtieth latitude will be
east winds. I could remember such statements with pleasure for the rest of my life. This meeting
prompted me to take quick action and after a couple of hours escorted by Pete and Julia, to the
sad music of Boatswain's harmonica, aft at the flag, gave Urania-2 moorings, made a circle and
went towards Drake Strait. Actually, while we were leaving the labyrinths of the islands of
Patagonia,they all knew by the same Beagle Channel that if we were forced to stop by the port
of Williams, we would stop by, although we despised the Chilean requisitions like Frederic
Chopin, but for this we would take permission from them to visit the island of Horn, since it lay
on our ways to Antarctica.

Three hours of moves and on the starboard side appear single-story houses of the port of
Williams. Miracle did not happen, they cause <Urania-2> and oblige to come. We go into a
narrow bay, where four yachts stand at the wooden pier. Around the shallows, we take a seat
on one of them, but we don’t shoot and I do nothing, I want the Chileans to bother to put us in
our place, especially if they decided to fight with a sailing yacht. Soon they sail as a whole team,
on a large inflatable boat, all in uniform, with pistols, but in the end they begin difficult
maneuvers for the mooring of Urania-2, which in no way goes into narrowness. The darkness
caught the policemen for hard work, but finally the yacht agreed to fit in a narrow bay. Having
taken the documents, we go to the prefecture. On the wall is a large map of Antarctica, where
the bold dotted line indicates the property sector of Chile. A bit, a lotbut this is almost the entire
Antarctic Peninsula, where long before the appearance of the Chilean station, our
Bellingshausen station already existed. The officer on duty repeats the memorized phrase that
in order for us to leave the port, they must obtain permission from Valparais of their central
prefecture, located at least two thousand miles north of the port of Williams. I would like to tell
them: <Relax, guys, there are so many really enjoyable activities in the world, such as our trip,
or your siege, mats, football, finally!> Oh, well done Poles from <Frederic Chopin>! We
immediately hammer in their application for visiting Cape Horn, which they send by fax to the
same Valparais. And we leave to <Urania-2>. On a yacht, I bumped into a team about a
vermicelli scattered on the floor and, apparently, explained longer than usual,that the yacht
should be in perfect cleanliness. And here, always quiet, and courteous Arkady broke like a mad
dog. He threw at me terribly insulting and unfair phrases in my opinion that I was a monster, that
I did not understand anything in order, that everything was fine with us, but I was begging. I,
stunned, remained to sit on the steps of the wardroom, continuing to silently listen to the cry of
Arkady. The rest were silent. Intuition at the moment suggested that nothing terrible was
happening at all, although I was naturally not used to someone shouting at me like that. But I
didn’t want to <give Arkady a worthy rebuff> and, moreover, to prove that I was good. I felt that
it was Arkady's fatigue. And he was tired more than others. He first got into such a mess.
Everyone else, who is more, who is less, was already in extreme situations.And then there was
extreme in all respects: the sea, weather, deadlines, fear of the elements, lack of money, there
was nothing to eat, and most importantly, what killed was the still unfulfilled hope in the photo,
which was the biggest disaster for Arkady. And here Cap stuck with noodles, I would think better
where to get the money! It was a cry from the soul of Arkady, in which part of the reasons I
should have attributed to my own account.

By the evening of the next day, permission came to leave us the hospitable country of Chile. We
paid fifty dollars and the officer wrote us permission to visit the island of Horn. This was a clear
skew, invented by the Chileans and, immediately, I remembered those happy times when we,
together with not yet SIR, but with Drake, walked these deserted waters, considering them to be
our own.

Chapter 9 FIRE EARTH, SPILL OF DRAKE, ANTARCTICA

In the morning we leave the port of Williams. Quiet. There is no wind, we go under the motor.
We go around the large island of Navarino and go down south between it and the island of
Picton. Horn is no more than fifty miles. The weather is calm, we see Lennox Island, after which
a group of Hermite islands, including the Horn Island, should open. And it was worth us, instead
of premature feelings and joy about what had not yet happened, to flatter ourselves too much,
and talk less about what we would do on the island ... We were not destined to land on this
island, because, suddenly, without any preparations, from somewhere, as it seemed to us, from
above, a flurry struck - another cyclone came to Drake. In a matter of minutes, the sea of blue
turned white from foam, through which powerful layers of green water broke from the depths to
the surface. Around the same place two years ago,leaving the boys below, the boatswain of the
masts cut the sheaves in the upper streams, saving Kruzenshtern. Out of the corner of our
eyes, watching the pictures of this onslaught wrapped in transparent shafts on the tank, we
fasten the massive carabiners of the storm jib behind the steel bowstring of the headquarters. In
this situation, it was inappropriate to regret that we did not land on the island of Gorn. It was
possible to turn around and fly along the way to Ushuaia. Or, look for the anchorage, which is
marked on our maps Pascal. But we were ready for the horrors of the strait, well-read, heard
enough and accepted this wind relatively calmly. Leaving off and gradually freeing ourselves
from the captivity of the islands that sailed one by one on our sides and, losing the last bays
with anchorage, we fly out to the expanse of the Drake Strait. <Urania-2> to head for Antarctica.
You can lose a lot. You can’t lose the main thing.There was a complete right-handed bedevind
when <Urania-2> under one storm staysail began to count the first miles of the Strait. Soon a
wave began to sweep the yacht along with the wheelhouse. Through, loosely covered, the main
hatch flew into several buckets of water, which disabled the equipment, Ivan Ivanovich, who
was preparing to take the weather. The yacht was beating.

The full moon illuminated the black waves, slowly rolling and wallowing the yacht from side to
side. And looking at this powerful dynamics, it seemed that the wind was abating. In the
morning, a magnificent picture: Drake rolls his mighty swell shafts. You climb one of them and
you see the ocean plowed by a storm. It became clear that the Drake Strait, this is really a
special area. It does not look like more than one district in which both Uranias walked. Unlike
the Arctic seas of the northern hemisphere, everything was more unpredictable here, and when
the millibars promised the absence of wind, he suddenly came with such fierce force that it was
difficult to get used to and quickly spread a wave that would throw a yacht like a chip in an hour,
and nobody, definitely, could know where he could collide with at the next moment. You had to
be constantly <on the stream>,because the work was added to replace the sails with storm sails
and back, which made me fear that someone could fly overboard in these operations. I, like the
“ass,” constantly kept saying about caution, the phrases were the same and I was tired of it
myself - the only thing I could do in this situation. <Urania-2>, like a duck diving in Drake’s
mighty oxen, dousing itself with water, and when the wave hissed, I, as a command, bent to the
steering wheel, squeezed it harder and the wave darted around me. Such "irrigation" waves I
determined by the sound, they hissed and, contrary to everything, rose from the side above the
yacht and collapsed into the wheelhouse. This almost vertical wall, growing at one moment near
the side of the yacht, could be seen from the corner of the eye, then for two seconds everything
was plunged into darkness when the elements met with the metal superstructures of the ship
and at some point absorbed them.It was a short moment of death, which always ended with the
ascent, very similar to the ascent of a submarine, then pushed up by the terrible effort that the
designer of Urania-2 Sasha Struzhilin spoke about, and dropping tens of tons of ice mass from
himself, the yacht flew upstairs and immediately, as if nothing had happened, it very easily flew
up to the next mountain.
I did not get enough of the team, the only negative that my men had was the lack of yachting
experience. But in matters of perseverance, lack of hostility towards each other, not to mention
open hatred, even after almost six months of swimming together - it was a great hit. The chair
was removed from the cockpit, because the people fell from it. Now I had to steer while
standing, legs wide apart. Rain was replaced by hail and it was better, warmer. Squinted,
literally for an hour, and now new squalls began. Something, then, the Boatswain was guilty.
Indeed, today is February 7th, Sasha’s birthday. 33 years. A glass of vodka brought by
Boatswain, with a tomato and a piece of tortilla, took me out of pessimistic thoughts. The first
glass was intoxicating, and the second sober. I drank and I thought: a drunk man standing on
the steering wheel in the Drake Strait needs to be fastened,and on the compass with lipstick, or
a felt-tip pen to draw a line that would lead the yacht normally. A birthday man came out,
dressed in combat, is changing me, and he is terribly pleased that he had to be born in Drake.
And immediately a wave comes and dives it from head to toe. The boatswain, wiping his face
with a gauntlet, is terribly glad of this. He is really booming. Today, Ivan organized radio
communications with Petrozavodsk and Sasha very correctly and, military, clearly talked with
his mother - Rimma Borisovna. Could, for the sake of order, put a tear. Quite wild.Today, Ivan
organized radio communications with Petrozavodsk and Sasha very correctly and, military,
clearly talked with his mother - Rimma Borisovna. Could, for the sake of order, put a tear. Quite
wild.Today, Ivan organized radio communications with Petrozavodsk and Sasha very correctly
and, military, clearly talked with his mother - Rimma Borisovna. Could, for the sake of order, put
a tear. Quite wild.

There is a mess in the yacht, in the pilgrimage there are heaps of wet neo-Crocodiles, boots,
warm, but already wet things. The hand does not rise to fight for order. We all just survived, bit a
bit and went ahead to Antarctica, to ours and to ours, almost like to our own home. It was
necessary to keep the goal, but there was no strength on the other, and all this was secondary.
They pressed together, cold and damp. The cabins, of course, were not heated. My legs didn’t
have time to warm up in a few hours of sleep, and I blissfully recalled our winter nights in
Taimyr, in a nylon tent at minus forty-five degrees. It was really warmer there. Some strange
pattern: the most powerful radio stations and the best amateur radio enthusiasts in Russia could
not reach us.But Valera’s neighbor in Nikolaevsk-on-Amur with the help of sophisticated
equipment (I think - irons and some spare parts of their own manufacture) constantly sat on the
air. And Valera talked to him leisurely, then a neighbor knocked on the wall to Lyudmila,
Valery’s wife and they very calmly talked to each other, discussed all the news, almost every
day at a distance of fifteen thousand miles diagonally across the Pacific Ocean.

Where does the wind come from? We are in the center of the cyclone, the pressure has leveled
off, and it’s blowing like a gun! The second day, the wave and the wind to the starboard side,
from a full badewind to the backstage. But Pascal was right in telling us that the most serious
winds near the Horn, to the south they are weakening. The way it is. The psychological thread
with Arkady, which seemed to break off on Tierra del Fuego, existed and, moreover, we both
went to restore relations. Arkady helped me to fasten the harness and even joked about it. King
George Island is 120 miles away. The sky is blue and the sea is blue. The waves. Dolphins
came and frolic around the yacht. They walk along the edge of the surface and something helps
them to repeat the instantaneous shape of the wave. And you can see right through the wave
and in it the dolphin, its side view. The wave is high and blue, blue and transparent. Sometimes
you lift your head up to see it in clear water,a dolphin is racing over you. They fly in the water
and therefore they can be called seabirds. There are more birds too. In addition to large gulls,
duck-like diving appeared.
The last day before Antarctica, Urania-2 is surrounded by thousands of Adélie penguins
swimming, like us to the ice shores from the Ocean. In large flocks, they purposefully and
persistently move towards Antarctica. At the same time, about 80 percent of this movement
occurs in water the rest of the time they fly through the air above the waves. As far as you can
see, from both sides of Urania-2, the sea is full of dashes from their bodies.

And now, with a white low cloud of glaciers, King George Island rose from the sea. We got in
touch with Bellingshausen station. They are waiting for us. They told them that we were
separated by two hours of progress. Is this really what we were striving for with such tension?
With the Nelson Strait, we go around the island from the west and get into the Bransfield Strait,
we turn another 60 degrees to the left and enter the Maxwell Bay. Urania-2 briskly cuts the calm
water of the bay, rushing into its far corner - Ardley Bay, the location of the Russian
Bellingshausen station - the final destination of the first stage of our expedition, where we have
been tirelessly going for the past four months. On the shore, near the red houses, there are
fifteen people meeting, and about the same number of Adélie penguins, about ten meters from
the people, spreading their wings in greeting, waiting patiently for us to land.Leaving the yacht
on a barrel 150 meters from the shore, we drop our air bag into the water and immerse all seven
of it. A rocket leaves in the sky towards the station with a sharp noise. The earth responded with
a short pause, sufficient to escape into the trailer and snatch rocket launchers and rockets out of
the safe. Over Ardley, barbs of multicolored lights hang. This is already in our honor. On the
shore, in anticipation, under the soft rustle of humorous remarks, are the polar explorers of the
Antarctic Bellingshausen station. In the boat there is a quiet (each one holds his own plastic bag
with bath accessories) but completely relaxed crew of the yacht that first arrived in Antarctica. A
few meters of this 22,000-mile journey remain.Strangers, Russian speech, but as we are united,
in these dumb and solemn places. Without hesitation, quite naturally, the two teams mix, hug,
patting each other on warm, thick jackets. The head of the station, as he introduced himself: Dr.
Konstantin, cuts off the ritual of fraternization and leads us to the main building - the dining
room, which is seventy meters from the place of our landing, where he announces possible
options for this evening - a gala dinner and a bathhouse. We change the sequence of these
events and, for an hour and a half, we ask ourselves for a bath, which is flooded in advance for
us, and has already gained 110 degrees. We run to the bathhouse, impatiently throw off our
clothes and plunge into an incomparable state of pleasure of the Russian steam room. We are
all silently immersed in the magic of the main event - our arrival in Antarctica.We enjoy it in a hot
steam room and take our time in relishing this state of an accomplished, incredible event. We
are proud of ourselves, we are a family, we are well done, we did it! But full! A mountain feast
awaits us and the hot embrace of souls aspiring to each other! We slip away from the heat-
soaked baths and, looking at the white mountains dissolved by the distance and twilight, we run
towards the dining room's house, its cheerful lights - windows. And on the table, mountains of
bread and cubes of butter. Of course, hodgepodge, pilaf, slides of cutlets, fried fish, potatoes.
But only the bread stops, gliding easily over the long table, a look. Strong drinks are poured and
Konstantin Konstantinovich begins his soulful speech, he speaks very pleasant words to us and
we learn how the spirit of Urania-2 was in these walls after they found out that we were going to
them.He represents to us all the staff of the station, this is about twenty people sitting next to us.
Before that, we read a lot about our stations in Antarctica. Now we were sitting next to the elite
units of this guard. There were several people who went to the "East" and wintered in the
"East". Some of our friends had a dozen seasons in Antarctica. The economic situation closed
many stations and some of the polar explorers spilled over to Bellingshausen this year. It was
possible to observe the selection and now we saw a family reveling in themselves, a rare,
almost tender attitude towards each other. The people constantly showed their kindness,
unpretentiousness. Others dropped out earlier, in previous years, since they violated some kind
of polar laws - they apparently simply did not take them. There was no pause for getting used to
strangers, we immediately went into each other. Beautiful,for each of us, the evening was
interrupted by bursts of laughter, toasts, and an endless stream of words. We ate, drank, spoke
with such pleasure as never before. Far after midnight, we were taken to a hostel on the
mountain, it was a warm module, which included several rooms, a small kitchen and a toilet.
Snow-white sheets. Before I went to bed I went out onto the porch. Nature has frozen.
Moonlight gleaming on the glaciers touched the slopes of the mountains. And what silence is
there! And it’s warm. On the opposite side of the bay are the lights of a Korean, or Chinese
station. How good it is here, probably when sweeping! When the wind roars and you can come
to a warm house! Which class! In this, I am sure, there is the beauty of polar wintering.

In the morning, having slept plenty, we go to the dining room and pay attention to the daily
routine posted today, where one of the items is <technical assistance to the crew of the first
Russian yacht visiting Antarctica>. Next to the second leaflet - with the birthdays of employees.
Those born in April are twice as many as the rest. It is clear what kind of people can gather in
Antarctica. I can’t wait to be on the first Russian yacht faster and receive technical assistance.
Therefore, quickly, but densely eat and sail to Urania-2. We begin to remove the batteries for
charging, we prepare containers for fresh water. We see a boat being brought from the shore to
the water, barrels and diesel fuel being transported to Urania-2. We pump diesel fuel into tanks
and agree with the proposal to put three more barrels of fuel on the transvar. The operation is
striking in its national scale.It turns out that it is so nice that the song goes in his throat, breaking
into a wild victorious roar. Meanwhile, Bellingshausen receives another friendly delegation. This
time the Chinese arrived. A delegation of three makes a traditional inspection of the premises,
equipment, and then drinks tea and cookies in the office of the station manager. And finally,
they get into a motorboat and go to Urania-2.

What can really surprise the Chinese in Antarctica? Of course, a sailing yacht! The head of the
Chinese Antarctic station, a sociable, smiling man whose name is Professor, frolic on the yacht
like a child, is photographed everywhere: at the helm, in the wheelhouse, in the galley and even
lying on Arthur’s bed. Konstantin Konstantinovich tells him about our expedition and the
Professor invites our team to his station, to have dinner. Meanwhile, on the frontal site of the
station, where a pole was dug with an indication of directions to cities and the distances to them,
Arthur launched an advertising company for the VAZ plant, which helped the expedition. The
Chinese flag was lowered from a high footstock and replaced by the flag of the VAZ. Arthur
drove Niva to the post, the only passenger car in Bellingshausen, set it up so that all these
components would be on display, and even <Urania-2> standing in the harbor on a barrel. He
recklessly plagued the second film when Arkady came up and told him that the car was dirty,
and this would be seen in the photo. Without thinking twice, having got a bucket and a brush,
they began to wash the car, which plunged Konstantin Konstantinovich, who returned from
Urania-2, into amazement.

From Bellingshausen station we intended to go west towards New Zealand, but not against the
well-known westerly winds blowing in the "roaring forties" and "frantic fifties", and to the south,
closer to Antarctica. My intuition, backed up by some kind of knowledge, suggested: in order to
avoid a headwind, one should go at least south of the 60th degree of south latitude, that is, in
the immediate vicinity of the mainland of Antarctica. Where cyclones coming from west to east
create an east wind in their southern half. Undoubtedly, sailing yachts did not go this route yet,
and when I shared this idea with yachtsmen, most of them did not support it and predicted to me
terrifying, by force, headwinds, still problems with drift ice, icebergs and icing of the yacht at low
temperatures .In official locations, I found more support than rebuttal.
So, on the second day after our arrival, the entire scientific community of the station, led by our
beloved, Nikolai Alexandrovich Teleshenk, decided to solve the problem of optimizing the
further route of the expedition and, after several hours of debate and debate, decided: 65-66
degrees south latitude. I was pleased that the idea itself received such powerful scientific
confirmation. I gladly shook off part of the responsibility and was entitled to share it with
specialists. As if, sensing the importance of the moment, the Hydrometeorological Center of
Russia, its marine department, headed by Sergei Timofeevich Sokolov, sent his
recommendations to Bellingshausen - 68 degrees south latitude! And in the evening, on the
same Niva, for two times we moved to the Chinese station, which was located 11 kilometers
west of Bellingshausen. The road was punched along loose slopes of black stone,through
streams from melting glaciers and corks from blackened, water-soaked snow. The hilly and
somewhat monotonous landscape of the island, like all the miles traveled across the ocean,
easily fell under the wheels of a car. And now we are already greeted at the lobby of the Great
Wall station in China, changed into house slippers, the radiant Professor comes up and leads us
through the station. On the main wall, in the office of receptions, there was a large carpet with
the image of the Great Wall of China. I was struck by the exact similarity of the landscape to the
fact that it was stuck in my head back in the pre-pioneer period. I told the Professor that this
picture is familiar to us, because before it was in all school textbooks. And he suggested that,
until recently, a portrait of the Great Helmsman hung in its place. The return of true values was
pleasant for the Professor, and I was surethat I read this confirmation on his face. With this
joyful supposition, we crossed the threshold of the dining room. And here was simple Chinese
cuisine, and what we confidently conquers the world, we learned after half an hour. About fifteen
kinds of dishes were offered to the slightly hungry travelers. The Chinese themselves were
young, smiling, energetic. Everyone except the Chinese boatswain, who was impressively
smiling relaxed and seemed to do nothing to improve Sino-Russian friendship. It was a team,
united not only by work and making money, this team bore the imprint of past discipline and
great internal energy. We exchanged welcome toasts, then there were a dozen and a half
toasts, and late at night, inviting the whole team of the Chinese station to <Urania-2>, with a
loud performance of Russian songs,departed to their own at Bellingshausen.

In the evening, someone on the run said that a cyclone would come tomorrow. It was hard to
believe that the weather changed, because the sun was shining, glaciers glittered breaking off
into the sharply blue sea. And indeed, waking up in the morning, they saw white landscapes,
there was a snowstorm outside the window, and snow was falling. Urania 2 appeared through
the fog and loomed in the same place as last night. Our trip to Ardley Island, where there was a
large colony of penguins, was automatically canceled. But the changes in nature did not frighten
the Chinese, and they almost all came to Urania-2. The Chinese are shocked by the sight of the
yacht and the fact that you can touch everything and try to imagine yourself sailing on the
ocean. They seem to be longer than we were kept away from normal civilized and human ideas
and objects.

At Bellingshausen, we plunged into the abyss of a mutually interested, even tender, relationship.
Not only that, the station staff itself, surprisingly and contrary to the laws of psychology, was
united, demonstrated equal relations. Sharp lunges and gloomy faces remained in their long-
suffering homeland, while polar explorers were more like vacationers in a closed sanatorium,
from strangers. It was evident that they were interconnected by a long-term and not spoiled, for
some reason, friendship. Here I really saw what I read about in books before, and which did not
require translation, from Soviet, into human language. And over all this, unobtrusively and
completely naturally soared the image of Konstantin Konstantinovich. He was his own among
these steep polar explorers, because he had no less experience than themselves. In addition,
Dr. Konstantin was the leader,where polar ethics did not allow his talent to go aside and ruin the
cause. So now we wandered into his office, where people were already sitting and Dr.
Konstantin boiled and poured tea, poured baking on a plate, fussed around the audience and,
without fail, offered to drink something, but was refused and this, for some reason, wasn’t it was
amazing. My guys were literally drowning in this aura. Day turned into night, the guys migrated
from room to room and did not leave the state of round-the-clock communication. Arthur
Chubarkin was choking with happiness, and Ivan moved to the radio room and did not go out
the second day. The boatswain, before he began to sail seriously overseas, could have climbed
caves with even greater zeal. His acquaintance with the Bellingshausen minder became
disastrous, because he, to my misfortune, was in the past as a steep caver,like our boatswain.
So <Urania-2> temporarily rested, temporarily losing its patron. Valera was sprayed. I myself
hardly saw him, but they told me that the area of his interests lay between the diesel and the
radio room. It was a great pleasure for me to talk with Nikolai Alexandrovich Teleshenk. This is
not only because we had interests in the Arctic and many places in common there. Nikolai
Alexandrovich was a naturalist in life and recorded all the events with which the life of an Arctic
scientist was full. He had his own approach to the description of events, it was an interesting
chronicle in which contained both dry facts and the delights of life. He kept original diaries that
narrated about scientific ideas, simple timing, scenes from simple life, photographs were
immediately pasted. He told me confidentially: “Go along the 65th latitude and everything will be
fine.”It was also interesting for me to communicate with Oleg Sakharov and Valera Fedorov.

- What else is needed? - Konstantin Konstantinovich asked the same question when he saw
me. He is in constant care of receiving various foreign delegations who come on zodiacs, fly by
helicopters and everyone needs to show the station, drink tea, and have a bite. But he is a
companionable man, hugs guests, shouts out English words, all of whom are terribly happy.
Everyone is waiting for the arrival of our former ships, the Academician Shuleikin and the
Academician Multanovsky, who are transporting a bunch of foreign people to Antarctica who will
participate in the marathon on King George Island. This marathon, it turns out, is held in
Antarctica every year, at the end of the season, and despite the fact that a trip here for each of
them costs at least 10 thousand, there is no end to those who want to “run 42 kilometers along
the glaciers of Antarctica or die”.Three Englishmen have already arrived, the organizers of this
event, who mark the track on light all-terrain vehicles. However, they can not do without our
station and, Konstantin Konstantinovich, become here the main acting figure. In my mind, a
wonderful idea, in my opinion, is born: <We will try to collect some money for your expedition
through the organizers of the marathon!> - says Konstantin Konstantinovich, and my heart dies
from a premonition of a happy event in our life. In this case, of course, we must participate in the
marathon as a yacht team. And we agree to run, despite all the destruction of the body that our
beloved, sailing, gave us.Konstantin Konstantinovich, and become here the main acting figure.
In my mind, a wonderful idea, in my opinion, is born: <We will try to collect some money for your
expedition through the organizers of the marathon!> - says Konstantin Konstantinovich, and my
heart dies from a premonition of a happy event in our life. In this case, of course, we must
participate in the marathon as a yacht team. And we agree to run, despite all the destruction of
the body that our beloved, sailing, gave us.Konstantin Konstantinovich, become here the main
acting figure. In my mind, a wonderful idea, in my opinion, is born: <We will try to collect some
money for your expedition through the organizers of the marathon!> - says Konstantin
Konstantinovich, and my heart dies from a premonition of a happy event in our life. In this case,
of course, we must participate in the marathon as a yacht team. And we agree to run, despite all
the destruction of the body that our beloved, sailing, gave us.and my heart dies from a hunch of
a happy event in our lives. In this case, of course, we must participate in the marathon as a
yacht team. And we agree to run, despite all the destruction of the body that our beloved,
sailing, gave us.and my heart dies from a hunch of a happy event in our lives. In this case, of
course, we must participate in the marathon as a yacht team. And we agree to run, despite all
the destruction of the body that our beloved, sailing, gave us.

Finally, the weather cleared and Arthur and Dima and I went to the northern shore of the island
to the rookery of elephant seals. An hour's walk and again we see the Drake Channel. Within
three miles of the coast, he is gray-haired. You could see many small islands and guess about a
large number of pitfalls. The wind was from the southwest and the sea in the area of five miles
was gushing with geysers, where the waves coming from Drake came across the ground. A mile
from the shore, a pyramidal iceberg sat aground and a wave of water flew through it. The
spectacle was grandiose, in emotions the same as the "Haishi" waterfalls on Inguri, which we
were planning, in our youth, to pass on a raft. Sea elephants lay beneath us on a sandy beach,
we went down to them along the snow-clad trough. A hefty male elephant, no less than five
meters long and seven females around it, exuded a sharp,bad smell. Females as we
approached raised their heads and began to roar, showing small teeth. Thirty meters from the
harem, two cats were lying, one of them was aggressive and lunged in our direction. A flock of
Adelie penguins ten meters from us climbed a steep snowy slope and, seeing that we were
approaching, began to vilify sharply, and I remembered the instruction that Valera armed us
with, that if you decide to grab a penguin with your hands, you should immediately turn it back
sharply on his own, faster than he aptly greets you. There was a lot of living creatures, there
was a sense of haste of life, indeed, before all the frost killed here, there were only a few days
left. So we, returning to the base, came under Valerinos to fish for the zeal - something that was
still postponed due to bad weather. We boarded a motor boat and drove to the southern part of
Ardley Bay,dropping anchor thirty meters from the black bulk of Cape Suffield. Probably running
away from the past isolation and holding the future, we were saturated with conversations that
flowed abundantly and without any delays. Valera talked about his life, starting with his studies
at the Arctic School, which he graduated in 1978 and has since been on all the leading
expeditions in the Arctic and Antarctic. Notothenia continuously and phlegmatically took it, we
hooked it and dragged it from the dark sultry depths, stretching out a long loess, and at the
same time did not interrupt the conversation, which covered everything interesting, from the
poles, before feeding the family, after returning to our long-suffering homeland. Again, we were
in no hurry and calmly fishing and freezing, and no one was especially attached to the open
bottle of alcohol. Near the boat diving with a fish in its beak, penguins recklessly fished,skuas
were flying, bowing their heads with interest in our direction and watching the fishing. We
continually dragged brown-golden, tadpole nototenia from the water, unhooked it and threw it,
peaked, into a canvas bag.

In the morning we got into the GTT and drove to Artigas, the Uruguayan station, from where the
marathon was supposed to start. To the same place from <Shuleikin> and <Multanovsky>,
anchored a mile from the coast, large inflatable boats, the "zodiacs", carry colorful dressed
foreigners. Having stepped on the land of Antarctica, they vigorously show their feelings, hug,
kiss and go to the station's large mess room. In a warm room, a pandemonium, people are
overexcited, they are making final preparations for the long-awaited cross-country race. People
cover the faces with a thick layer of cream, jogging suits are dressed, rooms are pinned, and an
incredible amount of coffee is continuously drunk. The Urania-2 team is also here, and is ready
to start. And then, finally, a start was given and two hundred people, gradually stretching into a
line, ran up the glacier. To the left from the mountains it blows sharplythere are twenty-
centimeter-wide cracks that are visible only close up, meltwater flows on the ice and feet are
sinking from the water and snow. A helicopter rushes over us, in which Arkady flips the shutter
of the camera. Gradually, the body gets used to it, a familiar series of life-affirming and
completely decadent bursts come in, which muscles and consciousness exchange with each
other. But consciousness drives forward and the body submits. Dima is in front, as if I am the
second among mine, and, from time to time, I look back and, for some reason, do not want
Boatswain to "get me". I want my sober system of life to win this fight. But, one way or another,
we run to the Bellingshausen station, it is eight kilometers, and with a whistle we brake at our
beloved dining room. Dima, on the other hand, is configured for combat and runs on.For the first
time I give up my path and, instead of the natural one, run to the end, begin to investigate this
failure, explain to myself that I need to concentrate on passing the Antarctic, these are iron
arguments for me, but bitterness remains. In the evening we were informed that the
marathoners raised $ 900 for Urania-2. The people wanted to see the yacht and in the evening
we received guests and talked about the expedition. It was evident from the reaction of visitors
that, after the usual luxurious apartments of Shuleikin and Multanovsky, Urania-2 corresponded
to the very image of Antarctica. Wandering around the deck among the cables and masts, and,
looking at the mountains and glaciers through rigging, people enjoyed their involvement in true
discoveries and did not spare words, expressing their feelings. For us, it was the last evening at
Bellingshausen, the next morning a departure was planned.It was really sad to interrupt this
holiday, it was felt at the farewell party. And in the morning, despite the fact that we agreed to
leave immediately after breakfast, unaccounted for and malfunctions in the system started - we
spent four days at the station, we simply grew into the team so much that we couldn’t break
away at once. First of all, all of a sudden, they remembered and decided to send postcards
home from the Chilean station. It turned out further that the Boatswain had left his sneakers to
dry in the sauna yesterday and now could not get them out of there, since the female personnel
of the Chile station had been steaming there already in the morning, and for this reason they
had to bypass the steam room for this reason. I was not embarrassed that Pinochet’s
granddaughter was steaming there and I asked Oleg to rescue the Boatswain sneakers from the
bathhouse. Oleg as a well-known lady, and knowing, to the extent necessary, the Spanish
language,returned from the bath calmly, holding sneakers in his hands. Everything was ready to
leave. In a festive atmosphere, by a pillar on a frontal place, with a huge number of polar
people, Konstantin Konstantinovich made a warm parting word and handed us a bottle of vodka
in a beautiful box. She slipped out of the box that I was holding, fell on the stones and did not
crash !!! While we sailed to the yacht and suffered with the return of the mooring from the buoy,
the polar people stood in a heap on the shore, and did not disperse anywhere. Finally, when we
raised the sails, a distinct command of Konstantin flew from the shore: <Weapons ... load!> And
after a desperate shot in the sky, the next sharp command flew up to us: <Hand over the
weapon!> We made a farewell circle to the exclamations of mourners and went out of the bay.
Our friends waved for a long time from the shore, filling our hearts with loneliness. Answering
themmore and more we felt the line where a carefree life ended and a new, full of suspense,
several thousand miles long in the South Ocean began. Autumn hung over white Antarctica in
white silence and we were already very late. Again the rustling with which <Urania-2> cuts
water. We are walking along the wide Brandsfield Strait, the chain of Shetland Islands has
frozen with white caps on the right side and, while the yacht is on, they turn around, revealing
their hidden sides to us. Actually, before going to the Bellingshausen Sea, we had to go south-
south-west along the entire Antarctic Peninsula through numerous islands and straits, where the
real Antarctica lay, with glaciers, icebergs and drifting ice. It was the Palmer Archipelago, where
we sent our yacht. On our way, sixty miles from King George, lay Deception Island,and he soon
appeared in black coal on the white expanses of Antarctica. Deception Island is a large volcano,
eight miles in diameter, inside of which the sea splashed in the crater itself. It was possible to
enter the crater on a yacht through a narrow gap in the rocks several meters wide. The depths
inside the crater were more than sufficient and we slipped in there. We cautiously made our way
along the blood-brown, turning into the blue of rocky slopes, with which the crater itself broke
inward. In some places, where magma lingered on the gentle slopes, it was represented in
incredible colors, mainly red, blue and black colors were mixed here. The steep slopes were
black, there the molten rock swallowed the sea. The volcano itself has been silent for more than
a thousand years, but hot geysers still hit the perimeter of the crater,the sea soared and the
rocks barely showed through the whitish dregs of steam. We made circles inside the crater and
figured out how to adapt and swim in hot water. The matter was aggravated by the harsh wind
from the north-west, which was falling from the slopes, sweeping the snow from them and
throwing it into our sails. <Urania-2>, with a slight windage, darted between the rocks without
leaving time for thought. It was difficult not to fulfill their desires, and even more difficult to fulfill
them. We turned the boat around and went out. Jumping out of the crater, we saw <Professor
Shuleikin>, who drove tourists to the island. We talked with the captain on channel 72 and
diverged from Deception in opposite directions, through the Drake Strait to Ushuaia, and we
further south. For a long time we saw him. The ship left, and then turned into an iceberg on the
horizon, and after a few minutes,when I looked that way again, the ship was gone. And we still
needed five degrees to go down to the south and from there go west.

Light squabbles went between the crew and the Boatswain. The initiator is Dima. When he
cooks, he takes what he wants and in any quantities, without restriction. Worse than this,
Boatswain cannot be invented. He begins to scold Dima, he snarls roughly, there are a couple
of other people's exclamations in this dispute, which brings Boatswain, who is sitting on bags of
food, to hysteria. He gets drawn into a general debate and begins to curse with the peasants,
who are great fellows in relation to eating. Seeing that both halves were seriously incandescent,
I spoke separately with Dima and separately with Boatswain. Dima inspired our new rules,
which appeared on the stretch to Ushuaia, consisting in the fact that grub should be stretched to
Australia, at least, because even there it will have nothing to buy. Sasha tried to persuade to
relate to this problem at least partially philosophically,try to tolerate other people's opinions and
do not get nervous again. Tired, deprived of the previous agility, we nevertheless went further
and entered a difficult period, where even the external obstacles and the things that we
prepared for each other could turn out to be the most unpleasant.

Icebergs and individual ice floes became more common. Icebergs were safer in that they were
visible constantly and even at night, and it was up to us to avoid a collision. The ice floes were
also well visible, but only during the day, and nights passed in tension, in constant foreboding of
the blow. The total darkness at the end of February at this latitude was four and a half hours and
we restored the spotlight that our sailors gave us in Mar del Plata, and now kept it in the cockpit
at hand at the helmsman.

The Bransfield Strait ended shortly after Deception and now we walked between the islands of
the Palmer Archipelago, the narrower Crocker Strait. These were rocky, glacier-covered islands
lying on both sides of Urania-2. The mountains were serious, some reached three thousand
meters, their peaks were above our heads, the remaining peaks rose to one and a half
thousand meters and were so steep that they did not hold snow. Their mainly black color
dominated the sky, and ice and snow dominated below, at the bottom of the blue icebergs froze
in the dark blue sea. The Cracker Strait was much narrower than Bransfield. There were
icebergs in it, between which there was a yacht. For a long time we could not adapt to the
height estimates, and the distant fragment of ice, when we came close to it, turned out to be an
iceberg with a height of five of our main masts.The wind was from the stern and did not cause
us much trouble, and we could enjoy nature unfamiliar to us. The captain of <Multanovsky>
after that cross-country, told us the following: <There is real Antarctica. She doesn’t look like
that>, and he waved his hand towards King George Island. Now, maneuvering between the
islands and looking for ways among the icebergs, I remembered these words, said just three
days ago, but it seemed a lot more time had passed. Now we went around the Winke island
along the Neymeyer aisle and walked to its northwestern bay, where on our maps, an
anchorage was marked with a cross. The peculiarity of this voyage was that we didn’t have
normal maps in this area where we wandered. There were separate vykaperovki from maps
<Shuleikina> and then without a grid of coordinates around the perimeter of the map. This was
explained by the factthat according to the original plan, we intended from Bellingshausen to go
to sea and there, clear water to fart further south, holding all the islands of the Antarctic
Peninsula to the left on board. It was a safe, but less interesting option. But on the last day at
Bellingshausen, under the impression of the captain’s stories from Shuleikin, we decided to go
close to the peninsula, between the islands and the inland straits. It was starting to get dark, the
moves were good at halfway and we drove along the strait and in a hurry. Already at dusk, we
slipped past the entrance to the narrow, two-thirds avalanche-covered ice fjord and proceeded
further in great doubt that it was our entrance to the harbor. As a result, we got lost in our
sleeves and straits and the night caught us in the most uncomfortable place: the yacht was
locked on the island of Vinke from the north, and from the south - three icebergs drifting in the
strait,each the size of Red Square. It was possible to rush sharply to the right, on an exit to the
Bellingshausen Sea, but before its saving clear space there were at least thirty-five miles
densely dotted with rocky islands and icebergs. I did not want to go through it at night. Already
in pitch darkness, we threw off the sails and lay in a drift. We were not sure that we could start
the engine at the right time, so we wound up and left it to work at low speeds. The boatswain,
with whom we shared a night watch, assured me that he <all clearings> and stayed to look at
both, and, just that, promised to "yell foolishly" if the iceberg suddenly decided to push us, or,
worse, bear us to the rocks. And I dozed off on the couch in the wheelhouse. I again had a
dream that I was begging the weather for a night without wind and currents, moreover, I saw
that a little more and I would agree.The characters were not visible, but the bargaining itself was
very much like a showdown in the Argentine prefecture. What could be worse than chatterboxes
near the earth in pitch darkness? And even when there was no wind, the yacht was carried near
the cliffs by tidal currents and we did not know how many there were under the keel. How, in
comparison with this, it was good on the high seas. Anyway at night. When I woke up and
crawled out, I saw the silhouettes of mountains and icebergs, I realized that the situation had
changed and we were demolished, or the icebergs were demolished. Sasha cheerfully reported
the situation and I realized that he had adapted to determine in the dark and knew whom he
was drifting to. He proposed to run away from the icebergs to which we were brought, now we
saw their uneven tops and, right next to them, a white strip of surf and heard the roar of waves
crashing on ice. We set off and "got it"along the icebergs into the black hole of the strait.
Twenty-five minutes passed before we returned to the place from which the drift had begun and
Sashka, standing on his nose, peered into the darkness while I was taxiing. They left the
icebergs, but the coastal cliffs approached, but here Sasha, by some instinct, measured the
distance to them and said that everything was fine and I believed him. Somehow the night
cantered, and when it dawned, they saw, quite close by that narrow and long bay under the
protection of the high banks, which slipped yesterday in the dark.and when it dawned, they saw
very close by that narrow and long bay under the protection of the high banks, which slipped
yesterday in the dark.and when it dawned, they saw very close by that narrow and long bay
under the protection of the high banks, which slipped yesterday in the dark.

We went into this narrow passage, unsuitable for quiet parking, ending with an almost round big
bay protected by cliffs on all sides. A glacier flowed from their base, breaking off into the sea
with a hundred-meter discharge. Upstairs, on the surface of the glacier, a snowstorm chalked.
The wind drove a wall of snow several hundred meters high, leaving the base of the mountains
invisible. The view was grandiose, something that so far, I have not seen in my life. Before our
eyes, there was a collapse of ice from the barrier in the sea. And after a second there was an
explosion and a little later <Uranium-2> a wave rocked. We lowered the boat and Arkady and
Dima, hung with cameras and, burning with impatience, went ashore, to a rocky ledge, and we
continued to maneuver. After photographing, we took the boat landing and returned to the place
where we spent the night in the drift, and now it was possible to go to sea.It was a beautiful
sunny day, so rare for these places, icebergs shone with the sun, black rocks and pink glaciers
hung over the blue sea, so we raised sails and went further south, penetrating this fun space.
Walking south, we walked to the ice mountain, which stood out among other icebergs in size,
and after more than an hour, we did not come close to it, but on the left we guessed the
entrance to the Le Mer Strait, and before the entrance we saw two black peaks with white with
caps of snow on their tops and recognized in them "Breasts of Younesi". It was simply
impossible to mix them up. Especially whalers fighting in these waters in the middle of the
century, and admiring this, increased by nature, copy of the charms of their common girlfriend
Younesi, waiting for them all in the port of Stanley in the Falklands. I bet, but the look of these
two rocks is the same,something turned in the souls of each of us, and added agility, before
deciding to go, or not to go into the strait. The fact is that beyond the strait on one of the islands
was the English Antarctic station "Faraday", which Ukraine had rented for the second year now,
calling this station "Vernadsky". I even wanted to go to it before going to the ocean, although I
hid this desire as best I could. But most likely the view of the narrow Le-Mer filled with drifting
ice and the fact that we were suddenly at the entrance to it solved the problem in favor of an
attempt to pierce. And with thoughts, whatever happens, we started tacking among the ice floes.
It turned out to be a gambling activity - swimming in ice. The yacht was heavy and it was not
necessary to count on easy tacking, although it was nice to go between the ice floes at a good
speed and quickly determine where to steer at the moment. Little ice floesdimensions up to one
and a half meters, were not taken into account, <Urania-2> easily coped with them, just
crushing them for ourselves, but sometimes, traveling around large ice floes one after the other,
<Urania-2> still did not fit into the trajectory , then the yacht received a blow to the stem, and
after a second Ivan’s face appeared with a dumb question in the opening of the main entrance,
and a second later, from under the stern, a large fragment of an ice floe with a red mark flew
out. The ice drifted in separate, pronounced fields, inside which the ice was rallied, and we rated
its divinity at seven points. Between the fields there was more open water and we passed these
sections without any special difficulties. Seals slept on separate ice floes, they raised their
heads when the yacht approached them about five meters, long looked perplexedly at the red
apparatus, slowly returning from sleep,some crawled a couple of meters, and if the edge of the
ice flooded nearby, then gracefully without a splash slid off into the sea. But basically they
watched the red monster and dropped their heads on the ice, and continued to lie in the same
place. The underwater part of the ice floes and icebergs was blue and shone through the
surface layer of water. The water was clear and the underwater masses of ice, going into the
abyss, darkened with each meter of depth, and completely dissolved in the thick blue, after
fifteen meters. Some icebergs burned with blue, as if illuminated from the inside and we enjoyed
this magic. Whales frolic along the edges of the ice fields, they walked two or three, showing
their backs, but low fountains and clouds of steam could be seen at any time. We always
determined them by deep, noisy breaths when they emerged to the surface for air.Sometimes a
whale flew almost completely out of the water and was somehow awkward, spreading its pimply
fins-wings, as if freezing, and fell back into the water. Then they became interested in the yacht
and began to walk alongside, exhaling with a noise, so that we, standing on the deck, could
smell and moisture of their breath. Arthur climbed into the mizzen and filmed our passage from
there, shouting to us: “The whale passes under the yacht and now emerges on the right side!”
Makhina was no less than Urania-2 indicated on the right, a strip of the back appeared, the
whale snorted with pleasure, dousing us with a water cloud and disappeared into the abyss.
Arthur, probably from extreme excitement, dropped the battery, made up of several batteries
from the Dimina movie camera, she flew eighteen meters (the entire height of the mizzen mast),
hit the deck and bounced overboard. Dima began mourning, and I have a second life,because
this same battery flew a few centimeters from my head. The strait itself was magnificent. On
both sides it is compressed by high cliffs, between which glaciers hung with uneven chips of ice
masses torn off into the sea. And all this was very high above our heads. A lone bird, stretching
its way high in the strait, and not even reaching the bottom of the glacier, emphasized the
grandeur of the landscape, seemed small and distant against the background of this silently
overhanging community. Getting ready to see the unusual, now we were stunned by the
pictures of the wild. The strait itself, eight miles long, was cleared of ice in the middle, so Ivan
Ivanovich no longer jumped out with the sensation of hair moving on his head, and our
swimming was calm. All the same, almost continuously, the cameras were buzzing,because it
was impossible to look at all this with the naked eye. According to our maps, ten miles beyond
the strait was the Ukrainian station of Vernadsky. I called her by walkie-talkie, not expecting that
the signal would leave the stone bag into which we swam, but the Urania-2 cabin suddenly filled
with Russian speech - Vernadsky answered, moreover, he invited me to visit the station, and My
insolent question about the bath, said it was already on. At this moment, we were a little dizzy
with happiness, because such a gorgeous day promised to end not at all by a vile night, but by
an anchorage, the promise of support for the foot, the bathhouse and meeting people.
Everything happened again on time and after a couple of hours, already at dusk, we broke
through the ice into the light of a powerful spotlight, turned on by the caring hand of the Slav
brothers. Station <Vernadsky> was located on a small, low, rocky islet of Galindes. Through
narrow passages, we went around several islands until we reached a rocky cove, in which,
together with a small iceberg, somehow miraculously got here, Urania-2 barely fit. It was so
quiet, and already completely dark, when we rumbled anchor chain, stopped. The yacht was
propped up on all sides by rolling pin, the place was super-sheltered, as if we had gone ashore.
Just like at Bellingshausen, we drop the boat into the water and row towards the station. The
station itself, assembled under one roof, was compact and occupied almost the entire rocky
island. On a small wooden pier, several people awaited us, who took us in their arms one by
one and after that, without delay, they led us into the house. The station turned out to be a
wonderful office,by some miracle brought here from England, being in which, you will never
guess what is behind the threshold of Antarctica. Here the acquaintance with the whole team of
the Ukrainian Antarctic station "Vernadsky" took place. The people were of different ages, the
old people were engaged in the maintenance of the station, the young ones were creating a
scientific program. The old ones were with huge beards, some young ones were bald with a
tufted hair like that of Taras Bulba. They spoke Russian with us. The station itself was a block of
separate offices, about twenty laboratories, a block of kitchen - a dining room and cultural
recreation, and a block of bedrooms. At the station, the rules established by the British and
dictated mainly by fire safety motives were strictly observed. For strong adherence to these
measures, the Ukrainians needed to become a little English, which, to our surprise,
succeeded.They had a tenacious host's vein, thanks to which the station was like a needle, and
round-the-clock vigil on duty went in strict order, and were performed as a holy duty. It remained
a mystery how the British could inspire the Slavs with their understanding in a few sessions of
the station’s transfer, and even so hard! Exchanging greetings and shooting cross-questions at
each other, out of the corner of my eye I tried to determine which side the bath was in, and after
the invitation to the table, we firmly stated that this could only happen after the bath. The
bathhouse is the only separate building that representatives of foggy Albion did not need, which
appeared with the arrival of the Slavic brothers. Twenty meters from the station in a stone bed
lay a small lake from which the British had been pumping fresh water for centuries.The
Ukrainians first of all sweetened the bathhouse on the lake and, well, let's wash. But soon
something happened that could not have happened before. Maybe because of the bathhouse,
but probably because of general warming, the ice platinum, which had kept water in the lake for
thousands of years, suddenly started to leak and the lake was emptied into the sea in a matter
of hours. Now we had to make snow and ice, carry it on a sled and drown it in water. Otherwise,
life at the station was extremely civilized. We quickly grabbed the pair and less than an hour
passed before appearing in the bar for further pleasant events. By this time, there were already
all the people of the station and two guys who came here a week ago on a small yacht: the
Norwegian is a very young yacht captain and his friend, an American filmmaker, whose 33rd
birthday, and our parish, all gathered to celebrate station owners.This bar was the only one in
the whole of Antarctica, and for its appearance two English carpenters were dismissed from
work long ago, who built it of their own free will for a long polar winter, which was not positively
evaluated by the representative of English taxpayers who arrived in the summer with a check.
The dismissed carpenters left for their homeland, and the creation of their hands remained
soon, faster than the pioneering discoveries on the "Faraday" of the azone hole, the Antarctic
people found out about the bar. Women who came here were obliged to leave their bra here,
their collection was hung on the mast, standing in the bar model of a sailboat. There were
already so many lingerie items that the sailboat was not visible, and nearby, our boatswain,
together with the bartender, tried on their two heads the largest item from this collection. A
snack was laid out on the counter,of course, beautiful fat, with strips of pink meat unchanged as
a quality mark, red caviar with a wooden spoon smugly sticking out of it, freshly baked bread,
good, seven kilograms, a piece of ham. All this corresponded as much as possible so that the
people, without hesitation, could drink and have a drink. Drinks were also in a large assortment,
but having tried some, people, quite voluntarily, wanted to drink vodka, and then did not change
the shell the whole evening. Moonshine was created by the Master. Many strong toasts were
said, in honor of the birthday boy, in honor of the crew of Urania-2, in honor of the friendly team
that had wintered here, and a bunch of exclusive but emphasized respectful sovereignty of the
two Slavic peoples. In the morning, seeing bright sunlight from the station’s window, we went for
a walk, contemplating and not getting tired,marvel at the amazing views surrounding us from all
sides. From time to time, the silence of the white silence was broken by unexpected, deafening
explosions, signifying the birth of a new iceberg. Many years ago, a wave raised to a height of
thirty meters, as a result of a giant piece of ice breaking away from the glacier and falling into
the sea, washed away the first English station. The British suspected their old opponents, the
Argentines, in a terrorist attack, but then they nevertheless bowed to a natural disaster.The
British suspected their old opponents, the Argentines, in a terrorist attack, but then they
nevertheless bowed to a natural disaster.The British suspected their old opponents, the
Argentines, in a terrorist attack, but then they nevertheless bowed to a natural disaster.

In the morning, sailed on a yacht and still looking like masts sticking out from behind the rocks, I
felt that something had happened. We leaned on the oars and when the boat left the corner, it
became clear that the feed of Urania-2 had risen half a meter. Nearby it was clear the
submarine plate on which the body rested at low tide. It was stressful. The guys threw two feed
ends into the boat and I buried ashore to bring them there, but as soon as I stepped ashore, two
skuas attacked me violently, they went <to the bombing> one after another, and tried to get to
my heads when I tied the ends around the stones. Then I saw their nest with chicks and
understood the reason for the extreme courage of these birds. We filled the ends with winches,
but the yacht did not even move. There was a tide and she had to go aground on her own, and
while we began to clean the shells from the underwater with a shovel,first appearing at the
general discretion of an ugly, black stripe. A lot of repair work has accumulated at Urania-2,
and, to the great happiness of the crew, we postponed our exit until the next morning, giving
ourselves a wonderful opportunity to spend the night on the ground again. Here we were given
the opportunity to sleep off, but just like at Bellingshausen, we sat up late this night and talked
and voluntarily missed this chance.

In the morning before departure, the Ukrainians and I went to Urania-2. There, on a small,
almost round, plastic ace, the Norwegian captain Ello and his only sailor David sailed. The boat
was so small that there seemed to be one careless movement and it would roll over. In fact, in
the Le Mer Strait, filled with ice, in calm weather, with the help of this tuzik they managed to tow
their yacht and reach the "Vernadsky". They were like Vikings when they swam to Urania-2,
dressed in bulky clothes made of rough pieces of skins, they themselves were long-haired and
bearded. The sight of these guys caused the laughter of the Ukrainian team standing on the
deck of Urania-2. I could not tear my greedy gaze from the approaching sailors, and was afraid
to frighten away the picture, which probably took place a thousand years ago. They inspected
Urania 2,and although there were about twenty people on the yacht at that moment, for me
there were only these two. They really liked the yacht, we drank a glass of wine in the
wardroom, and the guys probably went out sooner than necessary. We parted and knew that we
would probably never see each other again - a week later the Norwegian left for Drake to Cape
Town on his seven-meter plastic yacht. He left, so that there, in the middle of the gray, reared
up by the storm of the Southern Ocean, after two coups, still slip out again from the cold, gray
death of the Strait. We hugged goodbye and my mind left him only 70 percent that he would
survive. The remaining 30 were a smaller but serious enough piece to be realized. We were
similar and both were cornered, although this was not visible, but we then unmistakably
guessed what was happening in each of us.The Ukrainians, having taken a picture of
themselves at the stern, three times loudly burst out on their “Bud Get!”, And soon sailed away.
And then a second whim happened, the reluctance of Urania-2 to begin the next stage: in a
harmless place, in this incredibly transparent bay, I twice managed to land it aground. The
second time she sat down thoroughly, the ebb was on and her nose rose half a meter. We
pulled two ropes to the shore and stuffed them with clewed winches to the ringing. But this, of
course, did not help. Then we rocked her from the shore for the top mast mast. The engine
worked at high speeds, and we, five of us, ran along the shore plate, rocking the yacht more
and more, falling into resonance of her own vibrations and, at some point, she got aground, and
went. We gently stepped out into the narrow passage between the low, rocky islands of
Galindes, then between the icebergs,sitting aground, behind which there is free from ice and
islands space, the Bellingshausen Sea turned blue. And for a long time, looking back, we saw
the cliffs and glaciers of the Antarctic Peninsula and icebergs sparkling in the sun, even when
the grotto riffled, because the first flurry came from the northeast.

Chapter 10. IN THE SOUTHERN POLAR CIRCLE TO THE WEST!

And so, on February 19, we pushed off from the mainland and set off into the unfamiliar, unseen
by yachts area of Antarctica. Even the French, and especially the British, who consider the
Antarctic Peninsula region to be part of their yachting fate, did not make an attempt to break out
of here along the latitude of the Arctic Circle to the west through the Bellingshausen and
Amundsen seas, and come to New Zealand from the southeast. The icy mountains of the
Antarctic Peninsula for a long time burned with pink sunset light on the port side, and then
slowly went out until they disappeared into the dark of the night, and in the morning on that side
lay only a vast, uncontaminated sea, in which fragments of icebergs froze. After a night shift,
lying under three blankets in a damp, cold cabin, I thought about what to do, as long as the
weather allows, and until I get involved in the work of replacing sails, or in problems,arising
when sailing on a yacht in the polar sea. There was a urge to write a story for the magazine
"Around the World", based on the impressions of the last few days, I even undertook to slander
the proposals on the recorder. Meanwhile, Urania-2, driven by a fresh wind from the southeast,
ran well at the very beginning of its southern run. In fact, she stood still if she looked at her from
outer space, from where one could see that gigantic deserted area filled with icebergs and
cyclones, into which the yacht had just entered. We are heading southwest, and intend to go
down to 68 degrees south latitude, and then go west. The feelings that we experienced on the
first miles of this journey were as exotic as the very beginning journey in the polar seas, in
which, in addition to ordinary curiosity, a new vein was already pulsating,always accompanying
the sensation of involvement in the First Ascent, this long-awaited event, which, pushed by our
perseverance, finally began to emerge and form. For the rest, the same constant state of
chronic tension, afraid of only cool humor, which was less and less, but surely stronger, burst
into our time, and then we "neigh", and in these short minutes, we were close and dear to each
other. I noticed that more often humor appeared in places where Boatswain and Dima were. It
seemed that they did not leave stone upon stone on each other, but it was worth remembering
and Boatswain, almost with tenderness, remembers his expeditions and leaves a place of honor
in their beloved Dima. The latter also did not suffer from a short memory and liked to remember
the past, exposing the Boatswain, if not in good, then at least in a neutral light. After that,how
our food supplies were replenished on Vernadsky, on Urania-2, the differences and talk about
gutting subsided somewhat. The boatswain calmed down, relaxed and, like a well-fed cat,
looked almost indifferently towards the mice. The people, basically, silently experienced the
essence of our situation. I attributed this to the same routine, with the openness of the global
idea, to solve all issues individually. Therefore, no one spoke out particularly about what was
happening, and this was very opportune. Arthur Chubarkin, as a real psychotherapist and, to the
extent necessary, an intriguer, kept me informed about ship moods, which, due to my complete
immersion in the idea of an expedition, often did not catch me. I myself threw a few naive
questions that forced Arthur to react and open my eyes. Often it was a cold shower, to my
pachyderm,and the egoistic principle, which, at that time, I was endowed with in full. We steered
and stubbornly led the yacht into the "terra incognita", relying on good luck, from fatigue,
somewhat losing the sharpness of perception. It was already a race, passing, in strengthening
silence and, each more and more went into himself. As soon as the storm began, icebergs
appeared immediately. They loomed with impressive mountains through a snowstorm and have
already encircled Urania-2 from four sides. The yacht was thrown from wave to wave, it took off
abruptly, and then, for a brief moment, we saw the masses of ice giants that had already
surrounded us, but at the next moment it fell down between the dark walls of water in which the
snow whirlwind of the blizzard was dying. But when, suddenly, ice debris appeared and one of
them, the size of a truck,Tumbling and disappearing passed five meters from the side - this was
the last blow to our condition. More and more ice floated out of the fog and we flew through
them. By this time, the grotto was torn and removed, and the staysail was removed, because he
no longer held such a wind, and we walked on the same trisel. There were seven - eight knots,
the boat was driven and it was difficult to control. For the first time in the entire expedition, we
felt that we had been visited by a fundamentally new situation, close to saying that this was the
end. Team as a substitute. Now it was also a rather formidable wall, gathered in the wheelhouse
with a formidable, insistent demand to go north. <We do not want to die in the name of your
ideas, we need to turn off and go north!> - Ivan’s demands, reinforced by the silent, gloomy
threat of the men standing behind him, did not tolerate objections.I also shouted something to
them about the north, that there was a headwind and rushed into the cockpit. Strange, but my
soul was calm, maybe because the engine was in stock and taxiing was working. I taxied and
managed to track and go around the ice floes located a hundred meters from the yacht. The
boatswain stood nearby looking for more distant ice, led them and passed them to me for about
a hundred meters. I saw a flat ice floe, carried along the wave, and it flew down from the wave,
turning over its head and going into the abyss. The main difficulty was that the ice floes went at
an angle to the course that Urania-2 could go under the trisel, and the ice floe caught by the eye
disappeared between the waves and, suddenly, appeared contrary to its trajectory at the
intersection with the yacht. She went into the water and no one could know where she could
come up the next time.This wild slalom lasted about two and a half hours and, suddenly, it was
all over. I scanned the waves for ice, but there were none. They disappeared with the icebergs
once and for all. And then an inner voice told me that we had run into a giant field of ice debris,
it was over, and there would be no more. I threw the steering wheel and shouted into the hatch
that it was all over, and NEVER this will happen !!! Valera even laughed lightly and with relief,
he believed me recklessly. And now, for several days, when the people appeared after sleeping
in the wheelhouse, and out of habit rushed to the radar, I shouted that there would be no
icebergs on it, and defiantly turned it on to the farthest mode with a radius of 16 miles - the sea
was clean. The men calmed down and we, as before, went west. The storm continued for
almost a day,the yacht was thrown even under one storm staysail, she often went to the drive,
and turned around in a lag. At that time, we were repairing the mainsail in the wheelhouse,
removing it only from the front luff and extending it into the hatch. By evening, we began to fear
for the survivability of the yacht, because the wave went through the deck and water flows
through the main hatch, clogged by the grotto, collapsed into the wheelhouse. We turned the
mainsail and dragged it into the cockpit, where we tied it tightly to the steering rack and free
winches. They closed the hatch from the inside - the last danger was eliminated. The helmsmen
with gray faces were in harnesses, besides them no one climbed out, and did not want to - the
ocean roared there, snow flew in a fast horizontal layer, it was damp, cold and gloomy.removing
it only from the front luff, and extending it to the hatch. By evening, we began to fear for the
survivability of the yacht, because the wave went through the deck and water flows through the
main hatch, clogged by the grotto, collapsed into the wheelhouse. We turned the mainsail and
dragged it into the cockpit, where we tied it tightly to the steering rack and free winches. They
closed the hatch from the inside - the last danger was eliminated. The helmsmen with gray
faces were in harnesses, besides them no one climbed out, and did not want to - the ocean
roared there, snow flew in a fast horizontal layer, it was damp, cold and gloomy.removing it only
from the front luff, and extending it to the hatch. By evening, we began to fear for the
survivability of the yacht, because the wave went through the deck and water flows through the
main hatch, clogged by the grotto, collapsed into the wheelhouse. We turned the mainsail and
dragged it into the cockpit, where we tied it tightly to the steering rack and free winches. They
closed the hatch from the inside - the last danger was eliminated. The helmsmen with gray
faces were in harnesses, besides them no one climbed out, and did not want to - the ocean
roared there, snow flew in a fast horizontal layer, it was damp, cold and gloomy.They closed the
hatch inside - the last danger was eliminated. The helmsmen with gray faces were in harnesses,
except for them no one climbed out and didn’t want to - the ocean roared there, snow flew in a
fast horizontal layer, it was damp, cold and gloomy.They closed the hatch from the inside - the
last danger was eliminated. The helmsmen with gray faces were in harnesses, besides them no
one climbed out, and did not want to - the ocean roared there, snow flew in a fast horizontal
layer, it was damp, cold and gloomy.

In the morning we received a telephone message from Jura and the Hydrometeorological
Center that on February 22 and 23 we were recommended to go to the shelter because there
was a storm. I wonder how a yacht can go into the shelter, being two thousand miles from the
nearest coast. Antarctica did not count, because it was more dangerous to seek salvation
among the ice floes flying over the sea than any storm in the clear sea. On the weather maps
obtained the day before, there was a completely harmless cyclone with two isobaths that did not
portend exceptional weather changes. But the next forecast, adopted by Ivan after six hours,
dramatically changed the picture - in place of the last small cyclone, there was already a large
spider and was already entering the area where Urania-2 was walking. The pressure fell for two
days in a row, so that the barograph's arrow at 837 millibars, rested against the metal rim of the
drum, indicating its lower limit. The people were gloomythe jokes were over, a heavy, slow wait
went. The ocean was boundless and unpopulated and was ready again for the storm. The
powerful swell lazy in motion, left over from the wind of yesterday, was now slowly surging. The
yacht went along this swell, falling for about eight meters, then rising along the wave, from
where fog, fog, fog could be seen. Even the birds have disappeared. Everything was dead,
lifeless, prepared for winter.

Somewhere in the same places, almost 180 years ago, Thaddeus Bellingshausen wrote in his
diary: <Ignorance of the ice, storm, sea, pitted with deep holes, the greatest rising waves, thick
gloom and the same snow that hid everything from our eyes, and at that time night fell, it was a
shame to be afraid, and the hardest person internally repeated: "God save me!" Who but the
crew of Urania-2 knew this feeling of fear, combined with utter fatigue and mental exhaustion. At
such moments, perhaps death was not the worst outcome. Keeping up and living was harder.
About how difficult it is for men, I could judge by how I had to myself. People have long become
introverted and act more by intuition, which leads and tells how to save their last strength. Any
movement is designed only for the progress of the yacht,her survival in these gigantic open
spaces. Arkady had the most terrifying conditions, there was water on the floor, the blankets
were wet, but he still did not want to move closer to the stern, and continued to value freedom
above physical conditions. Valera walked like a shadow and was silent for days. In the
wardroom, even during the day it was gloomy and uncomfortable, as in the premises of a
sunken ship and did not want to go down there, once again. My greatest desire was to hold out
at a latitude of 67-68 for at least another fifteen hundred miles and not turn north. The first
danger of retreating whizzed past, but after my fiery assurances (in which I wholeheartedly
believed) that there would be no icebergs anymore and the demonstration of turning on the 16-
mile radar, the men seemed to calm down. Urania-2 went west with little pressure to the south
and the helmsmen obeyed this. True,after Valerina and Arkasha watch the line left on the map
as if enchanted climbed up. The boatswain suggested that Arkasha, under the cover of a
Basurm night, lays an ax under the main compass. On the third night shift, the yacht obviously
went northwest, in this situation, the only thing I could do was ask Valera to keep the course.
Valera was explaining to me something that made him fall away, but that was not convincing.
Here, in the ocean, near the Antarctic coast, one thing was constant - the ever-changing
weather. Very often a fog lay over the sea, but it could disappear and then the horizon opened,
but even less often the sun came out, this could be only once a week. The sea almost did not
calm down until the end, the wind came, haze and snowy snowstorm. In such cases, leaving the
outside of one helmsman,the team gathered in the wheelhouse to talk conversations. But in
general, it was a sin to complain about the weather, because the temperature has not yet
dropped below minus five degrees. Solar radiation was still quite active, judging by the fact that
the snowdrifts in the cockpit melted after the blizzard. The stern barrels that the Boatswain tied
at Bellingshausen loosened up and walked with a shiver. It looks like we both are building up
strength before dressing them up. We are no longer driven by the understanding that if there is
a strong storm, the barrels will leave. The cyclones went one after another from west to east,
and on the weather maps that Ivan received, it was seen how they moved south in the area of
the Bellingshausen Sea. The fact is that at this moment in the southeastern part of the Pacific
Ocean, with an epicenter in the vicinity of Easter Island, a large anticyclone arose. Its southern
edge reached the fifties latitudes and pushed passing cyclones to the south.The ferocious
cyclones squeezed from both sides bounced off the anticyclone and even crawled onto the
mainland of Antarctica. For us, this meant only that we, instead of the desired southern one,
began to fall into their northern part, while receiving a headwind. The deterioration of the
situation occurred in the second week of our sailing along Antarctica when we passed 88
degrees west longitude. The wind, still mostly full courses, has more and more persistently
begun to blow from the south-west-west. The abundance of excellent weather along the entire
western part of South America automatically meant wind forehead for us, and nothing seemed
to be done about it. We try to go at an angle to the wave and the yacht is constantly dipping
from above. From the closed hatches, water flows into the wardroom, the temperature inside is
about five degrees. The damp cold became our fellow traveler in sailing along Antarctica.When
the wind came from the west, we fastened the steering wheel and quietly walked south towards
Antarctica. This gave us the opportunity to gain height and engage in repair and household
affairs. During the day, we repaired the mainsail, pumped out the holds, bandaged the barrels
on the trans-conveyor, replaced worn sheets, added hydraulic oil. The people developed and
cheered, which could result in the intake of a certain amount of alcohol. This day is over. But, it
should be noted, the former excitement disappeared and the drinking process itself faded. We
are squeezed and devastated. Even (it is impossible to believe) vodka is rejected. Now we know
that she also needs energy, good stimulation and support.

All the next day we went south in a 3-knot course, we sewed the grotto and drowned the bath.
By evening, the wind went south and we immediately set up the grotto, and brought all the
corrugations, replaced the staysail and went west. There was enough wind, for a complete
badewind, the yacht was sailing well in a meter wave, the compass needle propped up the
treasured number 270, the words easily broke from her lips. Towards evening, the wind turned
to gulfwind, and this fact, together with the melted bath, sounded in my soul an almost major
chord, which flew to the horizon. The bath was taken already in the dark. It was more warming
than a bath, but, nevertheless, it ended traditionally - by pouring seawater from a bucket,
followed by warming and final washing, already with fresh water. The light bulb barely pierced
the veil of steam, the naked people giggled and, at times, shouted loudly. We completely forgot
where we arein any case, the circumstance of complete isolation from the whole world has
sidestepped. After the bath, I prepared to stand on the wheel of our entire shift while Sashka
was washing. But he went out and with the words: “we must take care of each other”, replaced
me. The holiday soon subsided: over night the wind returned to the west and forced Dima and
Arthur, instead of the west, to go south. It seems that in between cyclones, it always blows from
west-south-west. For the tenth time, we are extracting information from weather faxes with Ivan,
hoping to find even a faint promise of any other, but not westerly wind. But cyclones go strictly
along the same corridor, their lower whirlwinds accompanying us sweep snow over the
mainland and coastal ice. <Urania-2> is not a balloon, and cannot get there. Up to 130
Meridian, from which it would be best to turn to New Zealand,about a thousand miles left. To do
this earlier means to accept all the oncoming storms and double your path. Even Arkady, a
proponent of tropical options, it is clear that we need to go as close to Antarctica as long as
possible, and then, cut across the <frantic and roaring> and fall to New Zealand from the south.
And so we move along the Arctic Circle, as if holding onto this invisible thread, constantly
crossing it, in one direction or another.constantly crossing it, in one direction or
another.constantly crossing it, in one direction or another.

To somehow change the situation, we start the engine and go on the wave. About three knots
come out at medium speeds, which is very small, taking into account how much diesel fuel we
lose. Nevertheless, we test this idea and spend all the diesel fuel from the supply tank. In the
afternoon, when I tried to start the engine, the starter smoke - my old sore spot. From that
moment on, solid blackness began, it was already irresistibly falling without delay, as a piece of
ice falling into the sea, falling into the sea, turning into an iceberg, fell into the sea. Starter
removed, viewed. The coil burned out, but the starter itself is still alive. March 1 calm, the first
calm off the coast of Antarctica. <Uranium-2> swells from side to side. The wave is gentle and
smooth, without wind chipping. Started the engine, went almost the whole day to the west.And
in the evening there was a festive dinner in honor of the birthday of my wife Lyudochka and
father Dima. Dima conjured for a long time at the stove and made a very decent omelet from
egg powder. We made fundamental toasts, addressing the birthday people and drank for their
health and an early meeting.
Very often we walked in the fog. Visibility was limited to a mile, sometimes two hundred meters,
the rest was behind the curtain. All our countries and islands, and the 130 meridian, after which
we had to turn right - all this was somewhere in front and lay behind the fog. We did not turn on
the running lights, we knew that no one was here. And if this desert area slipped any ship, going
from the Antarctic station, home to the north, so the probability of meeting it was impossible. We
walked the second week in the deserted ocean and still almost every night I continued to beg
someone to park for the night. I dreamed that the yacht was dragged by the currents between
the islands and the shallows and I was waiting for a strike in the dark ... Nightmares live in night
dreams, and during the day - no islands and shallows, the depths are quite decent - five
thousand meters, in general, everything is calm.The staysail hooked on the headwind and
rowed, trying, the grotto also pressed, as if, ears, harnessed. We hammer on four knots, this is
a good speed. But, in general, with rare exceptions, it blows from the west and southwest. I
measure the remaining distance dozens of times. I can do nothing but this. The world consists
of three parameters: distance, speed, fatigue. With the same opportunity to go north or south,
always choose the south direction. In the morning, another onslaught: Valera starts a
conversation again to go north. Arkady picks up and fervently campaigns to rise north, and after
that go along the chain of tropical islands to the west, to New Zealand. This is a six thousand
mile hook leading away from Urania-2. I cannot accept this, for reasons of principle, and say ten
minutes without interruption, and in complete silence. Steam from the mouth.The people are
half-stressed, so the main conversations are yet to come. In the meantime, we drown the butter
donated by the Ukrainians, Ivan is repairing the diesel generator exhaust. Still go south,
southwest. Felling windows are clogged with snow and, to see the staysail and mainsail, I wipe
the fogging with my palm from the inside and in the white muddy sails appear, strained from
work. the 5th of March. Today went the third day, as we are locked in by the west wind. The
wind and wave are strong enough to “pierce” them on the motor. Ivan, Valera, Arkady almost
require a change of course to the north. As luck would have it, a lot of icebergs, now they are
guarding Urania-2 from all sides. This is a bad psychological factor. Only 130 miles are left to
the 130 meridian, but how to get there? We actually stand in one place, cyclones send us only
headwinds. When anything blows into our sails,just not a Westerner ?! I kept the option of going
north with the intersection of the South Ocean as the extreme. When we become unbearable,
we will use it. We can always rush up and soon get a breath of warm, sun-warmed air. Of
course, before that it will be necessary to break through the 800-mile strip of western storms.
But that was not the problem. Turning now north, we went out of the race and got any status
you like, but not around the world. That was the main thing. There were several secondary, but
rather serious reasons: for example, the lack of maps for that region clogged with islands, the
lengthening of the route, which would knock us out of the seasons, which would mean
lengthening the circumnavigation of the world for a whole year, with the ensuing
consequences.When we become unbearable, we will use it. We can always rush up and soon
get a breath of warm, sun-warmed air. Of course, before that, it will be necessary to break
through the 800-mile strip of western storms. But that was not the problem. Turning now north,
we left the race and got any status you like, but not around the world. That was the main thing.
There were several secondary, but rather serious reasons: for example, the lack of maps for
that region clogged with islands, the lengthening of the route, which would knock us out of the
seasons, which would mean lengthening the circumnavigation of the world for a whole year,
with the ensuing consequences.When we become unbearable, we will use it. We can always
rush up and soon get a breath of warm, sun-warmed air. Of course, before that, it will be
necessary to break through the 800-mile strip of western storms. But that was not the problem.
Turning now north, we went out of the race and got any status you like, but not around the
world. That was the main thing. There were several secondary, but rather serious reasons: for
example, the lack of maps for that region clogged with islands, the lengthening of the route,
which would knock us out of the seasons, which would mean lengthening the round-the-world
trip for a whole year, with the ensuing consequences.

Of course, it was tempting to say goodbye to Antarctica, with this every minute cold and rush to
the north, where it will be warmer and sunny with every degree. But these thoughts did not
interest me, even in the last days.

On March 7, at 5 o’clock in the morning, when the dawn broke and a chain of icebergs stretched
along the port side and a more or less calm sea, Ivan Ivanovich, trying to start the engine, "flew"
onto the jammed gearbox. The engine did not turn, although the starter turned on. The first
opinion turned out to be ruthless: something broke inside the gearbox - bearings, gears, shaft.
Without the shore, it was impossible to repair the gearbox. Everything. Arrived. At DLS 67
degrees south latitude 107 degrees west longitude, we are in the middle of the Amundsen Sea.
I remembered how, three years ago, standing in St. Petersburg, we changed the electric coils of
the gearbox, for this it was necessary to pull it up from the engine room. But here, in the wake,
this 300-kilogram piece of iron will certainly begin to fly on a yacht. I immediately recalled the
stubbornness of Urania-2 when we left with <Faraday> and she twice ran aground. Of course,
she knew everything then, did not want to go here and resisted. But full of lamentation. There is
only a few minutes for this, and then things went. Ivan, Valera and Boatswain, while we take
turns driving, remove the gearbox from the mounts per day, unscrew the cover and look inside.
Ivan scoops up a handful of black from oil metal fragments of bearings and gears. All this
happens in deathly silence, without any comment. This is a verdict. Expeditions and to all of us,
bending over a piece of iron at the beginning of winter, in the middle of the Amundsen Sea,
three hundred miles from Antarctica.remove the gearbox from the mounts per day, unscrew the
cover and look inside. Ivan scoops up a handful of black from oil metal fragments of bearings
and gears. All this happens in deathly silence, without any comment. This is a verdict.
Expeditions and to all of us, bending over a piece of iron at the beginning of winter, in the middle
of the Amundsen Sea, three hundred miles from Antarctica.remove the gearbox from the
mounts per day, unscrew the cover and look inside. Ivan scoops up a handful of black from oil
metal fragments of bearings and gears. All this happens in deathly silence, without any
comment. This is a verdict. Expeditions and to all of us, bending over a piece of iron at the
beginning of winter, in the middle of the Amundsen Sea, three hundred miles from Antarctica.

So, the only driving force was the sails. From the Antarctic Peninsula, we went west for about
one and a half thousand miles where we ran into the west winds, like a wall. Over the past six
days, we have hardly progressed towards New Zealand and continue to stagnate. It is snowing
more and more and we climbed too far south, and I am afraid that winter will come to this area
any day. It is already dangerous to wait for tailwinds - the sea has died out, the birds and
animals have gone, making room for winter. From here to the Mar del Plata, about two and a
half thousand miles. About the same to New Zealand, only in the opposite direction. It was
possible to climb north, which suggested Arkady with Valera, and then go west to New Zealand,
but this option, not accepted until now, became completely impossible after we lost the motor
drive.There was another option that attracted the largest number of fans, while staying in the
Pacific Ocean, climb north along the west coast of South America, and, somewhere there,
perhaps in Valparaiso, to repair, and then go anywhere, even west , even to the north, or, a year
later, again to Antarctica. But this option was not supported by our capabilities: we did not have
Chilean visas, cards for this area, money for repairs, time to rebuild the expedition - four out of
seven intended to return to Russia from the first port. In Mar del Plata, there were Russian
ships, with their help we could solve our technical and food problems. On March 8, I decide to
return to Mar del Plata. Again through the Drake Channel and Cape Horn. March 9 on a
windy,gloomy morning at the coordinates of 108 degrees 30 minutes west and 66 degrees 44
minutes south latitude, Sasha and I lifted the staysail and mizzen and drove Urania-2 to the exit
from the Antarctic trap. Before us lay a path to the northeast from the middle of the Amundsen
Sea to the Drake Strait, one and a half thousand miles long. We had to go through the first
thousand-mile piece among the icebergs without an engine on tired, shabby sails, and after that,
another fifteen hundred without ice, until the first civilization, where, after taking a sip of repairs,
we started the path to the 11 thousand-mile-long house. March 9 morning blew sharply from the
west. We set with the Boatswain a staysail, mizzen-trisel, we turn the turn and leave here
forever. A storm begins, which lasts two days. We leave through the iceberg fields in the
constant hope that they should end.The pattern is confirmed that ice appears when it begins to
storm. Arkady informs me that he is leaving Mar del Plata with Valera. This is a blow below the
belt. I speak with Valera, that he would go further, perhaps to Peter. Refuses, says he is tired.
That tired is visible to the naked eye, but still! Arthur had long had to return to work. Ivan, always
reliable in business, remained on his mind, besides he had the same problems with work. Dima
is thinking about the problem of how to get to his family in Australia. We stay on Urania-2
together with the Boatswain. Quietly losing my mind. The team gathers in piles, develops
options. Further work with the gearbox due to the storm is suspended. Winter, hesitating for a
long time, came at the moment when we turned to the northeast.

In the morning in the cockpit of snow drifts, somehow cleared the compass. Could not put the
mainsail - the winch froze. We go on two staysail and mizzen. It is squalling, the wave is
chaotic, it does not let you deal with the reducer, and especially no one is torn. We talk
fundamentally again. Together, a new option is being worked out: if we repair the gearbox to the
Drake Strait, then we go up to Valparaiso (Chile), and after visiting the Easter Islands and Juan
Fernandez (Robinson Crusoe), we pass through the Panama Canal to Bermuda, then through
the Atlantic to Peter. But this option may begin with a fixed gearbox. On this they decided and
even perked up, because again loomed new lands and new seas, not like returning to Mar del
Plata. I am inspired and pleased with the conversation: the team was saved. And yesterday he
was dying of the thought that Sasha and I would have to drive <Uranium-2>to Peter alone.

<But the circle didn’t wash off!> - Boatswain stated with quiet, poisonous joy, getting out on a
watch and seeing the only life buoy dangling in the nest of mounts. He had to go to sea, as the
waves walking on the deck "combed" everything that was possible, pulled ropes from all the
nooks, washed everything that was hidden a year ago. Only the copper pipes of the systems
removed from the engine room during the dismantling of the gearbox lay in the cockpit where
we tied them. A day passed after a serious conversation and it seems that the people didn’t
especially move to go to Russia on a yacht. Dismantled the gearbox. We found out that 9 out of
12 bearings were broken, and the teeth on the main shaft gear crumbled. All due to the fact that
the retainer plates holding the bearings in the seats were given (some of the bolts were
unscrewed, the rest were cut off). Skewed axles, as a result - bearings flew.The plates, and
then the bearings themselves, fell between the rotating gear and were crushed into pieces. This
meat grinder with a powerful drive from "Scania" worked well for self-destruction. A small
probability of returning the gearbox to life still remains if you manage to find nine new bearings
and several gears. We didn’t have such parts on board, and now we had to sail to Mar del Plata.
Joy gave way to hopeless longing and despondency. <God, give me the strength to endure all
this, and bring <Urania-2> to Russia!> In the morning of March 13 it was blown out from the
southwest. The rake staysail was removed, but even on a storm staysail and trisel the yacht
was driven and she walked along the wave. Horn is about a thousand miles away. Lot! Far we
climbed. Albatrosses appeared at 64 degrees south latitude. Every day snow, snow, snow.
Wind and waves.I tried to reanimate the halyard winch on the mainsail; none of this worked, but
I froze my fingertips. Tima said that a storm of 10 points is expected in our area on March 16-
17. Where is even more ?! Cold. The body does not consume water and pushes it out of itself;
you have to constantly visit latrine. We have to go east along this wave, but at the first
opportunity we will turn north, it’s time already. I have to get to my daughters. And then I see the
men around me and I start to think that I need to get them out of this nightmare alive. March 16,
the wind turned sour. Horn is 400 miles away. They put the grotto, but missed the trap and
Arthur climbed to the first spray. We checked out new lobes, combed a little deck, all in
anticipation of tomorrow's storm. Blows with N-NW, when amplified, it can blow to
Bellingshausen. The night began with an increase in wind.We changed the tack with Valera, but
I had to cut a rope with a knife, which engulfed the staysail sheet. On a new tack we went to the
north-west, it is better than to the islands of the Antarctic Peninsula. But during the night the
wind went down and we began to go 250-260 degrees, losing an hour a mile in latitude. I
applied it very hard several times, and I thought I would break it when I flew from the cabin to
the far corner. But the cyclone did not get together, we are waiting for the main cyclone. The
pressure has fallen overnight, now it’s going in a straight line, but there will be a big drop.
Weather clearly does not pamper us along the way. We go to the badewind under one storm
staysail and trizel on mizzen. The boat is thrown heavily. We fixed the tiller, and we ourselves lie
on the deckhouse floor and sing songs under the guitar of Arturov.

Last night, the staysail stays apart. For severe weather, we only have a small, patched-shod
rake staysail and that's all. I am in a panic - <Urania-2> without an engine and without sails!
Ahead of watering Drake. North winds push us to Antarctica. I recall the words of Chris, to which
I did not pay attention then that it’s easy to get to Antarctica, but returning back is hard. The
wind presses from 350 degrees, from where we need to go, it’s to the peak of Sokolov, who
says that there are always westerly winds. Ivan is gray, thin, does not speak with anyone, lies in
his cabin. Valera is also already out of bounds. Arkasha, all wrapped in some rags, does not
show his face, probably not in vain. Everything breaks off inside me - this condition is already
chronic - with the thought that before and after Le Mer the winds of the northern rumbas,and we
ourselves can’t get out of here on torn sails, not be in time until we start going crazy one by one.
Again it’s very cold, there is a roll, there is nowhere to attach your body, throws torment him. I
can’t enter my cabin; it is lonely, cold, hopeless and gray. I try to hang around in public.
Towards evening it begins to inflate from the north. Waves with a white coating of foam around,
the howl of wind behind the deck, sometimes shy away into the glass of the cabin.

Early in the morning, the wind started from the south. They put the mainsail, mizzen, rake
staysail, let's go. Soon, a warning squall several times and the wind began to gain. Start to lead.
But we went to NSN, very well. Managed to remove the mainsail and rake staysail. The rake
staysail was already blown up - dragged into the wheelhouse to repair. We went on one mizzen
and then the yacht began to be brought and pulled into the wave. They drove off the mizzen and
went under the mast, the wind still added, it just started a hurricane that was tormented by the
sea, "Urania-2" was already dropping from a fellow traveler. We frantically turned the helm and
changed each other, remaining without hands. A wind howl erupted through the closed hatches,
which even drowned out the blows of the waves when it hit the deck and covered the yacht.
Weaknesses in the clew of the sheets, the fastening of the batteries that could fly out of the
nests with the result of a fire climbed into my head.Sitting in the wheelhouse, we tried to make a
staysail from the lavsan trisel, putting carbines on the front axle. At night it became easier and
the boat began to hold a companion under the mast. In the morning, Valera and I put the trisel
in place of the staysail. Its clew angle, unusually narrow, began to be indignant until we pulled it
around. We ourselves did not expect anything to come out of this idea, now the place of the
missing storm staysail was taken by trisel, which was from the same breed of sails for severe
weather, it was sewn from a thick dacron and that it was enough for several storms, it pleased It
seemed to extend our life. They received a telephone message from Jura: <Today it will be bad,
tomorrow it will be better, and there will be no cyclones in the foreseeable future!> It would be
nice, of course, but not to believe that it is so easy to stop the process. One and a half hours
pranced on the deck,adjusting the staysail-trisel, and did rewiring of sheets. The wave is lateral,
swirls around, and you can’t hide anywhere, you take it to its full height, without a trace. By
evening, the speed under storm sails fell to five knots, but we pull with the rise of the grotto,
there is a wave with ridges, though the foam has become less. Almost simultaneously, two
burners on the galley stove broke, the last one remained. But Dima is actively preparing Sunday
lunch; people are walking nearby, in anticipation of the Sunday cup. And, suddenly, the sun
came out, the first time in five days, and we set up the grotto (or rather its upper part to the third
reef) and briskly rushing to Cape Horn. Clouds are coming, pouring snow pellets, but the grotto
seems to be suffering. They ate Dimin pilaf (rice and Chinese stew), drank a glass. Good! Most
importantly, the yacht goes along eight knots, moreover, directly to the Horn.Cape Horn is 90
miles away. We saw to the shore and at night I twitched to change the tack, even lifted Dima
and Arthur, but we decided to stretch it until the morning, because breaking masts and breaking
sails is better in daylight. By morning, the wind weakened, changed the tack, put the second
staysail on the inner headquarters. Our sheets are all worn out, they have run out of hair, the
outer braid has flown off in places, the sight is pathetic. Finally, the four-day repair of the rake
staysail was completed, but they decided not to put it, but turned it and carried it to the sailing,
on a rainy day. The cabin immediately became spacious.the outer braid flew off in places, the
sight is pathetic. Finally, the four-day repair of the rake staysail was completed, but they decided
not to put it, but turned it and carried it to the sailing, on a rainy day. The cabin immediately
became spacious.the outer braid flew off in places, the sight is pathetic. Finally, the four-day
repair of the rake staysail was completed, but they decided not to put it, but turned it and carried
it to the sailing, on a rainy day. The cabin immediately became spacious.

In Drake, seagulls appeared in color like our grouse (ruby brownish-gray). But the wings are
huge, narrow, with a kink. Seagulls are the creatures most indifferent to humans. But the gulls
that live in the fifties have the most beautiful wings in form: narrow, giant, broken. At 15 o'clock,
once again jumping onto the deck, I saw a distant land - the mountains of Tierra del Fuego.
Clouds, clouds, overcast, but pretty fair weather. On a four meter swell, a meter wave. What
happened next was hard to foresee. Running away from Antarctica to the north, and taking
mainly headwinds on this path, we came to Tierra del Fuego within sight at that moment when
the wind disappeared and we felt a fairly strong tidal current that carried us to the rocks at a
speed of 5- 6 knots. Even at night, we realized that we were falling into a trap, tracking on the
radar, like us,literally, it is sucked into a huge bay full of rocky islands, between which fast rivers
of tidal currents flow. The bay was locked in bulk by the mighty current of westerly winds. I
already felt this situation with my liver, my intuition suggested that there was only one way out of
this bag, into which we were sinking more and more tacks: put a full mainsail, lightweight
staysail and try to get rid of the trap using these full arms. There was total darkness when the
whole team rushed to put the grotto. But, lifting it, one of the sliders skewed and we blew up the
front axle at the eyelet, the grotto jammed. Drawn by the Urania-2 current, it went so deep into
the bay so quickly, and what we saw in the gray haze of dawn was a great shock: not only the
front of the sea, black cliffs of islands were sticking out of the sea.Although in the evening I saw
them far on the horizon, towering in a light, transparent haze. And now they were very close and
we were approaching them every minute. We discussed on the run with Valera the frequencies
at which the SOS service worked, and made a second attempt to put up a full mainsail, for this I
had to climb the mast to the first spreader and pass the grommets through the problem spot.
This attempt was a success and the mainsail stood at its full height of 22 meters. Then, just as
quickly, we rolled out a large bale of "stump" staysail from the Arkashin’s cabin, and lifted it
instead of a trisel. The team worked for the first time quickly, clearly and prudently. We filled the
sheets and Urania-2 with a full grotto and a large staysail, so not characteristic of these dumb
places, let's go. I went into the wave snappily and abruptly, and then once again I was
convinced that this is a living organism,who, like all of us, did not want to die. I stood at the helm
and walked on a thin, between the weathered sails and as far south as possible, and felt that I
was succeeding. Then, giving the helm to Arkady, he went down to the wheelhouse and saw the
gloomy, significant faces of men, but shining from the inside. Valera said we were going 120. It
was unbelievable. I glared at the changing cable-latitudinal coordinates - they grew, snapping
up units, like a payphone in a taxi. <Urania-2> burst out of the trap. I returned to the cockpit and
stood at the helm. I enjoyed the move, I saw two fragments of rocks go behind the stern, and
the black rocks of the islands gradually turn blue. The wind was weakening and then the sails
were rinsed on a wave, then it was inflated, and then Urania-2, casting off a glass wave, went
away from this damned place.In the afternoon, quite by accident, I drew attention to the dashes
on the cable legs of the main cables of the main mast. I stared at them for a long time and
stupidly, realizing very slowly and frantically that these dashes were nothing but through cracks
in the mighty stainless steel plates and that the main mast, which had flown overboard in the
Baltic Sea five years ago, could do the same now the most in this forgotten place of God. I
vividly presented our perspective, without an engine and sails. In a rush order they dropped the
mainsail and staysail. While the men dumped the sails, Ivan and Valera bowed our heads over
the breakdown and figured out how to repair these places. It was possible to pickle the lanyard
and throw out the vantputenz adapter by shortly connecting the vantputence and lanyard. But it
was to be determined whether the boatswain had 32 mm diameter bolts? The boatswain really
wanted to find such bolts in his household,but judging by the expression on his face, he had no
such bolts. Remembering the distribution of efforts among the guys, I told Ivan that the load per
one main guy is 70 percent of the total displacement, in our case it is almost 50 tons. Similar
bolts stood on the earrings of our anchors and we rushed to untwist them. Drake had already
woken up by that time, the wind began to increase, and an hour later, when we were tightening
the last bolt and stuffing the lanyards, we were already covered with waves with a frequency of
several seconds. We lifted the grotto on the last reef, our favorite trisel to the staysail and raced
towards Cape Horn, which was about forty miles away. The wind was getting stronger every
minute and by the evening the Drake Strait was already tormented by the ultimate storm. The
grotto has long been removed, on the inner headquarters, covered with two sheets, was our
new staysail-trisel.Speed exceeded ten knots. The Bakstag of the right tack did not allow us to
go to the Horn and we rushed purely to the east, and already at dusk, miles 12 to the north, we
saw the distant, washed away by the weather outlines of the island of Horn. The boatswain, who
was given the task of getting a bottle on this occasion, had already yelled foolishly several
times, confirming his willingness and fighting the throws. We fell into the wardroom, where
Boatswain and Ivan, somehow miraculously avoiding a spill of vodka, poured it into glasses and
gave it to us. With the words: <For you, Horn>, we drank vodka and the next moment the yacht
received a mighty blow to the starboard side and Valera and I, sitting at the table, flew away
with the sofa towards the galley stand. The sofa, torn off its mounts, hovered, and Valera and I,
flying at least three meters, found ourselves in a galley space. Of course, I violated the basic
law, and before,than to drink for Cape Horn himself, you had to treat Neptune, and ask him to
let us through Drake. Grabbing an unfinished bottle, I flew out onto the deck with a bullet and
corrected the mistake by sprinkling vodka on both sides of the sides. It was necessary to
change the tack and I was afraid for mizzen. We had almost half an hour before dark, we sat in
the wheelhouse and gathered our strength in order to make a turn. Boatswain and I fired 50
meters of clew rope with a buoyer at the end, in the event that someone flies overboard. We
crawled along the deck, and out of the corner of our eyes saw what was happening on both
sides of the sides. But with such throws and pitching, it was not easy to send our safety gear
overboard without risking being pulled back by her stern. Then, in the last light, we made a turn
through the fordewind because the trisel was small,we saved the mizzen and, taking the wind
from the port side, the yacht raced, aimed to the northeast.
This time, Drake decided to meet us not as we had hoped, having passed it two months ago. It
was difficult to expect such a frenzy from this place of the Southern Ocean, excluding any
existence of life on the border of water and sky. At night it was scary. Every one and a half
minutes the yacht went to the drive, which ended with a powerful vibration of the masts, smoke
was coming from taxiing. Urania 2 erupted in some kind of chaos consisting of wind and water
and seemed to go deeper than usual, under a layer of dense, whipped foam. The night was
long, black and the proximity to the cliffs did not allow to relax. Although everything rattled
around, I clearly caught those critical moments when the trisel on the mizzen, with its tight fit
over it, flew to the right side, and this blow of the four-square-meter panel was palpable, and
shook the heavy, 70-ton boat.The helm had been working the other direction a few seconds
before, but the boat soaring up and falling down, as if it had not heard it. Upstairs, in life jackets,
there were always two people fastened to the guards of the helm rack. One turned the wheel,
and the second sat next to the catch. From time to time they shouted. The moon, flying out of
the windows of the sky, illuminated their gleam from the water, the white deck visible in the
night, which went under the wave, in its place remained the silhouettes of two masts with shreds
of small sails. Those inside the yacht froze in a nervous numbness that was difficult to
overcome. It was the last, frantic onslaught of the elements and the fact that he was the last,
each of us understood, and how it will end, I think, hardly anyone undertook to answer. Tired
and silent, spread with legs and arms, we waited for dawn.As soon as the sunlight dissolved the
darkness of the night tormenting us, we were already five miles from the southern part of the La
Mer Channel. In this sense, in time, everything turned out well - because at night climbing into
the hole of the strait, where the great acceleration of the wave stumbles on the bottom cliffs and
takes off in a giant wave, was dangerous even for large vessels. Soon ahead, on the port side,
we saw cliffs of Tierra del Fuego gray from the fog and, a few minutes later, on the starboard
side we saw even higher cliffs of the island of Estados. The ocean flew to the ground, carrying
us on its back, throwing Urania-2 tens of meters in an instant, but despite this we had already
taken aim and headed for the center of the strait. It seemed to us that the storm was exhausted,
but the sight of formidable cliffs in the white cotton wool of the ocean gave us a grandiose
spectacle in the end.We were picked up by the course of the strait and we were already flying
between the shores at a speed of 14 knots. Somewhere here we crossed our old track, laid two
months ago. Between the shores, we have already seen the Atlantic and from the middle of the
strait, headed for 350. Before our eyes, our Antarctic period was ending at that moment, it was
unbelievable and somewhat illogical, but we were clearly slipping out of the World that we now
left forever .

We left the strait. And after a few hours, there was almost nothing left of the eight-meter wave,
the weather was completely different here. The sun, in the clear blue sky, the dark blue sea in
white strokes and the fresh wind in the stern. Although the temperature is only plus five, it
seems that a little more and drive into the Caribbean - what a grace here in the Atlantic. It’s time
to think about the grotto and Arthur and I climb into the trap and try to repair the canvas on the
go. But, anyway, throws it so that it is about to fly out. We unfasten the halyard and pull the
halyard angle of the grotto into the wheelhouse and with the whole team, with jokes and fun, we
take up sewing. The boatswain, with special permission, brings here <what is supposed to> on
especially solemn occasions, and even some sort of a snack, and we drink a glass for the Great
South Ocean, which also left the beautiful Atlantic, which is already habitually stretched along
the course.The first time we do not close the main hatch.

People and the boat need a port. Everything begins to crumble. Problems with the galley stove
and fresh water running out are added to the engine and the bathroom options. Mar del Plata is
700 miles away. Increasingly, I think about how we will enter the port without an engine.
Good wind, but we can’t "cut" the whole canvas - the guy-ladies. So you have to drag along five
nodes. And the boat itself is no longer the one on which we left St. Petersburg. She has grown
decently and is already <not coming>. There is no yacht that could not overcome the Ocean
and there is no such storm that could not sink this yacht. Old sails were torn, they dragged
shells overgrown with shells through the southern seas home. 42 days have passed already
from the moment when we last saw people. The boatswain, in response to this, began to sleep
12 hours a day, I won’t wake him up when I take a shift - the weather is generally good, and
returning home is also good. I am ironing and admiring the patch that Lyudochka put on my
syntypone pants, which she sewed herself. How I miss you! You can go crazy without my
children, wife, mother, Yuri. How long does it last.I did not think about this problem from the very
beginning. My dog is at home, he got fat and burnt, because I haven’t been skiing him for a year
now! We have been under the Southern Cross for half a year now. It's time to come back. And
now, all heavy thoughts should be discarded, and at least two extremely important things should
be remembered - brushing your teeth before going to bed, and doing 100 squats a day.
Yesterday we ran 160 miles, and today there is a light breeze from the north, almost calm and
we are practically standing. Around penguins and seagulls swim. Shy penguins, they are afraid
even of gulls. In the morning, to throw off the blues, I swam in the sea! Back flew off the cork,
but life instantly changed. The radio station reported that a son was born at Valerika Timakov.
This is the second son after Leshki. <Ah, here, it turns out what he does there!> - Ivan Ivanovich
shouted, without taking off his headphones,continuing to record the following messages. The
hydrometeocenter warned of a deep cyclone. But after what happened, this information easily
passed our ears. It blew from the north, exactly from where we need to go. The second day we
are marking time. The weather is good. At night there was a halo around the moon, I decided
that it was a bad sign, but I met the morning with a calm sea and even, horizontal pressure.
They turned on the Honda and I, sitting in the cabin, almost overprinted the Antarctic part for
Around the World.They turned on the Honda and I, sitting in the cabin, almost overprinted the
Antarctic part for Around the World.They turned on the Honda and I, sitting in the cabin, almost
overprinted the Antarctic part for Around the World.

The next day is a copy of the previous one, blowing from the north. But we understand that this
cannot continue for a long time, the wind will soon turn and we will go. And, surely, by night the
wind died down and after some time pulled from the south. We already set sail in the dark and
went north. The yacht itself goes on its last legs - every day one winch fails. In order to fill the
sails, it’s necessary to bring in, but all this is not difficult, the main thing would not break the
halyard winches - we can manually fill the staysail, but the grotto, perhaps, doesn’t. On the
morning of April 7, I received instructions from Arthur <on a normal human life for the rest of his
life>. We talked, understanding how we would enter the port by sail. Crouched 100 times in two
doses. I read the Arturovsky instructions with the comments of the author himself, life has
become more fun. In the afternoon, a weak wind from 210-220 degrees, the backstack of the
left tack.The first time is just warm. To the left, aboard the blue, transparent caps loom the coast
of Argentina. Introducing the port of Mar del Plata, I knew that we needed the east winds of the
winds to call.

Early on the morning of April 8th we approached the port entrance. The wind was variable and
our sails, from time to time de-winded and the currents that were at that moment had the effect
on the yacht no less than the sails. Trying to stay away from the breakwaters, we described the
circles and figured out what to do next. The situation itself was harmless, calm weather made it
possible to turn corners and keep close to the entrance, and see those who leave the port. Not
worrying about the weather, it was worth thinking about how not to run into the corrosive
prefecture, its obsessive service for guiding the ship, from which we should stay away. I did not
have to wait long and soon the yacht went out to sea and, having seen us, showed legitimate
interest in us, and went on rapprochement. We explained to the Argentine team that we needed
a boat, and we didn’t need noise about our arrival.The yachtsmen always understand each
other, and soon the boat came, accepted our ends, and dragged us to the port. We cut through
the calm water of the port, and already saw the masts of the yachts standing in the club, we
contacted the boat by walkie-talkie and he pulled us exactly to the barrel from which Urania-2
fell off 86 days ago. The harbor was quiet and warm, and it was all strange that we could even
come to that conclusion. The boatswain, with a worked-out movement, fastened himself to the
barrel and informed the captain of this.

Short afterword

We did what we could do, relying only on our own strengths - to reach Antarctica and return. But
a round-the-world expedition, with the passage of the polar regions, can become a real thing if it
is fueled by a second force, the sponsors' finances. Perhaps this is precisely the essence of our
next expeditions. But this idea is not the main one, it is only a technical conclusion. When you
sail around the world, you live another, parallel life, as it were. This is like a temporary departure
from our real life, our involuntary visit to the First-born World. Movement in the vast ocean and
past the islands lying in it is only the outside. The value of long ocean wanderings is that you
suddenly find yourself in a state long before your birth and see yourself from the side with your
own eyes. It’s worth a decision, I assure you,the game is worth the candle.

And, of course, flying at night on a plane over the 25 millionth Sao Paulo flooded at night - this
causes a natural feeling of disappointment, doom and the already felt end. Man steps on and
destroys what was created before him, and the degree of this pressure no longer requires proof.
But it’s worth returning to our expedition, where throughout its course, I was almost constantly
tormented by the same question, how much I myself fall out of the ethical and moral field of
relations in the team. And at the very end of our journey, already in Mar del Plata, the Boatswain
completed this stage of my maral doubts, saying: "Hera, you are an extreme player, but you are
a Man". I still remember this phrase from Boatswain as clearly as Deception Island in Antarctica.

But Boatswain himself, returning to Earth, immediately enrolled in the next marine expedition,
born in the fertile Onega atmosphere. Valera Pikulev in his Nikolaevsk on the Amur became the
Person of the Year. Dima got to Australia, safely connected with his family, and received a
residence permit. Lena found work in a formacological company, and Zhenya studies at an
Australian school and, as before, wins on chess fields. Dima calls me from there and slowly,
with pauses, talks about his real life, bypassing the expedition with screaming silence. I listen to
him and "plague" from the figure that he will have to pay for a telephone conversation, but here,
probably, I do not reach the original values, but I should look at the root and, finally, stop
fussing.Valera Timakov bought a gun and now, twice a year, together with Yura, goes hunting in
Kastroma region, and in between hunts they admire stuffed grouse and kasakas and count the
days before departure. Arkady, as a photojournalist, hit the icebreaker and passed through a
piece of the Northern Sea Route. Ivan Ivanovich is bombing me with calls and needs to be
continued. Arthur Chubarkin decided to build a house, he has a little time for it - soon, I think,
will again distract him from this idea. The untouched Oceans and the frozen Arctic no longer
give me rest. Again the heat went and a desire appeared - a harbinger of a great trip, and soon
we will certainly leave. But more about that next time.Ivan Ivanovich is bombing me with calls
and needs to continue. Arthur Chubarkin decided to build a house, he has a little time for it -
soon, I think, will again distract him from this idea. The untouched Oceans and the frozen Arctic
no longer give me rest. Again the heat went and a desire appeared - a harbinger of a great trip,
and soon we will certainly leave. But more about that next time.Ivan Ivanovich is bombing me
with calls and needs to continue. Arthur Chubarkin decided to build a house, he has a little time
for it - soon, I think, will again distract him from this idea. The untouched Oceans and the frozen
Arctic no longer give me rest. Again the heat went and a desire appeared - a harbinger of a
great trip, and soon we will certainly leave. But more about that next time.