This is a translation of an article by Gerard Kozlov, published by Salemagazin, in which he talks about the crash that happened to them and their family's 28-foot old Pearson "Vento Dea" near Colombia. One of the hardest crossings in the world, the Caribbean, absolutely impossible, was practically all that my wife Josie and I heard when we announced our intention to walk 500 miles non-stop from Cartagena (Colombia) to Bonaire Island (Antilles). I brushed aside these arguments, because those who said this consider it impossible oreverything that is more difficult than gulffind is difficult. “Impossible” is more than a strong word. I also knew that for our old 28 foot Pearson Triton, Vento Dea, it would be difficult. The transition required careful planning, we were expected at least six days of inconvenience and headwind.

Cartagena

Bonaire Island

Mouth of the Rio Magdalena

We settled in Cartagena, waiting for the right weather, following the forecast. As soon as the wind began to die down, we got ready, loaded ourselves with provisions and went out towards the toughest transition in our life. The first day everything was pretty good, but then our life became much more complicated. As soon as we approached the mouth of the Rio Magdalena, we seemed to be stuck in molasses. The current of the river did not allow us to move more than 1.5 knots in relation to the shore. Recent rains, which have scattered logs, branches, and even entire trees here and there, have slowed our pace even further.movement. We constantly had to maneuver and push away from floating obstacles. At night came the trade winds and occasional squalls. Battling against the wind and the current, we barely covered 30 miles in 24 hours. This went on for a couple more days, but the wind gradually grew stronger and the current weakened, so that our progress gradually improved.

Then a strong wind blew with a wave of 20 feet. Every passing wave rinsed us to the bone, and our waterproofs didn't do much to keep us dry. The seams were literally blown out of our triple reefed mainsail. It was obvious that we needed to go to the nearest parking lot, and urgently repair if we did not want to be left without a sail. Fortunately, we were only 20 miles from the best anchorage in the area, so we headed for safe waters.

At that moment it was harsh and damp, but everything was under control. We lowered the mainsail, and the weather vane promised a good course. Cold and tired from the constant rinsing, Josie went downstairs to lie down. After surveying the horizon, I followed her to dry and warm. After changing my clothes and joking about our little progress, I looked out the window and saw a hefty wave towering above the rest of the waves. The wave was coming fast. There was no time to change course or do anything else. We grabbed the handrails, the wave hit, the boat I turned around and, suddenly, we were already swimming in the cabin.

In an instant, our home went from being a haven and a safe haven to a trash can. After the boat capsized, everything became completely unfamiliar. The blood drained from my face as we stood in 3 feet of water and watched everything we owned turn to trash. The disbelief did not last long, and after a few moments we began to assess the situation. There was a 4 foot dent in the hull. The junction of the deck and hull parted from bow to stern and pressed in about a foot. A hefty crack was discovered in the area of the waterline. We didn't have electricity, GPS, padio, and our paper maps are gone. The porthole on the leeward side was simply pressed into the boat during the coup. Everything fell off the shelves and cupboards. The steering wheel is broken. One of the guys putens vomited, and our kayak, miraculously remaining on the deck, was broken in half. We had an hour before dark, and it was still pretty windy. I had a feeling that the night would be long.

Deck torn off by a wave from the hull:

Three things required immediate attention. It was necessary to remove water from the boat, determine if there was a leak, fix the helm and prepare to leave the ship if necessary. In such a situation, everyone on board needs to work - not only because every minute counts, but also because it helps to cope with panic. I had Josie pump out the water and see if any of our phones, GPS or satellite trackers survived. I found the helm, but all my tools were gone, so I just tied it to the stock with all the ropes I could find.rye only managed to find. All this held and even worked, although not too responsive.

I found a butcher knife and used it to cut off the wires from one of the batteries, connecting them directly to the radio, only to find that it was covered. While I was contemplating how to get the dinghy out from under the bunk in the forward cabin, Josie burst into the cabin with the satellite navigator, asking how to activate the SOS. She had worked in pomp for an hour, but this did not change our situation in any way. We slowly sank, and just as slowly moved towards the land, but there was no certainty that the boat would hold up. The hull cracked under the impact of the wave, and our rigging was damaged. HOur situation did not improve, the sun was setting, and since the satellite was our only hope of contact with the outside world, I gave Josie the go-ahead. She pressed the SOS button, the LED blinked, and we could only hope that he told someone somewhere that we needed help.

Access to the forward cabin was blocked by one of the partitions, shifted from the impact of the wave, so that we could not get the dinghy. The only way out was to pull her out through the front hatch. Somehow I managed to get her out into the cockpit, where our dog, Gidget, was recovering.

I rolled out the dinghy and Gidget immediately jumped in and refused to come out. She looked at me. “This boat is not going to inflate itself,” her look said. And I earned a pump. By the time the dinghy was inflated, launched and tied to the boom, loaded with everything needed, it was almost dark. Looking at the dinghy, I knew that if circumstances drove us into it in the middle of the ocean in such conditions, our life would cease to depend on us. I also knew that if we stayed overnight and kept our Vento Dea buoyant, I would make it to a calm harbor.And.

Around this time, Josie found her cell phone and found it to be dry. This was great news, because all the other cell phones on board were gone. We turned on the mobile phone and found that the charge was very low. As soon as the application loaded, I quickly memorized the map and our current position, decided on the direction and main landmarks. After that, we immediately turned off the phone, hoping that we could use it later. After another two hours of continuous operation of the pump, it was found that the water level was slowly decreasing. Thisthere was a big battle and we won it. As soon as I realized this, I turned off the satellite tracker (SPOT). I did it for two reasons: I knew we could do it. And I have heard that people are often forced to abandon their pets when they are rescued at sea. After about six hours of hesitation, taxiing and fanfare, we saw the coast line. Without maps, GPS and knowledge of the area, on a moonless night, it was extremely dangerous to even try to anchor. We circled for the next four hours, thinking about our journey. This ending after almost 4000 miles and sixmonths of sailing seemed impossible. And it certainly seemed unfair.

When we embarked on this journey, I could not even imagine what difficulties and trials would fall to our lot, just as I could not imagine what victories and delights awaited us. That we will meet the most amazing, beautiful and generous people. That we will be supported not only by those sailors with whom we met, but also by people from all parts of the world whom we have never seen. This journey was a lifetime in itself, and such a death was more than I could bear. For the first time in my memory, I sobbed.

At dawn the next day we entered the harbor and dropped anchor in the calm blue water. Our sea trials were completed, but it was not at all the “god-we-done-it” moment you might think. Rather, it was an “all-I-want-to-sleep” moment. I was too tired to worry about the fact that we were in a remote area of Colombia on a completely non-working boat, and there was no village or city in sight. Before I got to bed, the Colombian Coast Guard showed up. Our appearance was reported by the fishermen, plus theyreceived a signal from our satellite tracker. The SPOT office notified the Garda Costa De Colombia, but the only free patrol had a boat too small to look for us on the high seas in the dark

The energetic, friendly Coast Guard officer introduced himself and said he spoke English. This meant that he himself did not speak English, but Google translator was installed on his smartphone. I explained to him in Spanish, and also wrote this into my smartphone, that we needed a place to sleep and the possibility of an international call. It was decided that the patrol would take us to the nearest village and find a place to stop. The officers genuinely cared for us and were very helpful.

We found the place of the last shelter for Vento Dea right after the exit from the bay. It was another never-try-it-at-home maneuver when we were towed ahead of our own squeal by a boat on three 250 hp engines. every. Moreover, there was a feeling that they all worked strictly at the maximum. We took the dinghy and some personal belongings, after which the Coast Guard put us ashore, where we found a place to spend the night. As soon as we put our heads down on the sheets, we passed out. We were sleeping toWell, I don't think a lot of people were sleeping. We spent 48 hours in almost continuous blissful oblivion, not thinking about what to do next. Nothing threatened our lives on the shore, but bureaucratic nightmares were just beginning ...

What I did right: Started acting immediately and stayed active. I carefully studied all the anchorages along the route even before the exit and the port, even those in which we did not plan to stop. At the slightest deterioration in the weather, we buckled up. We had a SPOT where our location was established and an SOS signal could be sent. We duplicated all navigation systems - GPS, chartplotter, paper maps and three phones with Navionics maps. All broke except for one. If there were not so many of them, we would, in general, be left with nothing. U nfrom a "disturbing suitcase" was assembled with food, passports, copies of documents, fishing rods and other essentials, as well as 9 gallons of drinking water.

What I did wrong: We were in too much of a hurry, trying to replay the hurricane season. If we had planned a few stops at Santa Marta, Cabo de la Vela and Bahia Honda, we would have covered this distance in a few small crossings and would have been better able to react to the weather. We didn't have a handheld VHF radio in reserve. All of our wired electronics burned out. This means that the SOS signal via SPOT was our only means of communication.

Article by Gerard Kozlov, the original article, and the one who translated