Sailing: A Certain Elation

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Blue-water yachtsmen who have made the 1,200-mile thrash from Argentina to Brazil are convinced that the triennial Buenos Aires-Rio race is the most infuriating test of men and boats yet devised. The prevailing northeasterly head winds often hit 40 knots or more. Complicating matters is the mast-snapping pampeiro, a westerly-land wind that frequently howls off the pampas at even greater force—only to die in a sudden, glassy calm. The Brazilian Curfent—the backwash of the Gulf Stream—is supposed to flow southward at two or three knots. But it weaves like a snake and sometimes dies like the wind.

All this is what Sumner A. ("Huey") Long enjoys most. A Manhattan ship broker, Long, 42, turns into a regular Captain Bligh when he takes the wheel of his aluminum-hulled, 57-ft. yawl Ondine. "He never lets you rest," complains Ondine's mate, Alex Salm. "He'll drive you out of your mind just to make a tenth of a knot more speed." Replies Long: "If you enjoy a sport to the ultimate, the ultimate is your standard."

Twelve to Nothing. In the five years since she was launched at Oyster Bay, N.Y., Ondine has sailed 130,000 miles. Last year she competed in 14 international races, finishing first in Class A six times and first in the fleet twice. Two weeks ago, as 26 boats from eight nations swept out to sea for the start of the Buenos Aires-Rio race, Ondine's chances looked slim indeed. The favorite was Stormvogel, a 73-ft. ketch owned by Dutch Timberman Cornelius Bruynzeel. The heaviest yacht in the race (43 tons), she was the defending champion; in 1962, she won the race in the record time of 191 hrs. 37 min. What's more, she had beaten Ondine all twelve times the two boats had met.

Riding the favorable pampeiro out toward Punta del Este, Stormvogel quickly sailed into the lead. Within a day, all her competitors were hull down on the horizon. Ondine had disappeared entirely. "We kept getting position reports on the other ships by radio—all the ships but Ondine, that is," said Stormvogel's Helmsman John Miles. "We thought obviously that she must be so far astern we just couldn't pick her up."

Unbeknownst to anybody, Skipper Long had steered Ondine 250 miles out to sea—maintaining radio silence. "We steered more for speed than for course," he said, "even if it took us farther out." In midocean, Ondine met no frustrating countercurrents and got the benefit of fresh winds. Day after day, she boomed along at a fantastic average speed of 7½ knots. Grim and tense, Long took at least ten sightings a day, sent deck hands scurrying to change sails as often as every 20 minutes.

Forward & Backward. Aboard Stormvogel, everything was serene. Radio reports had her well in the lead with only 300 miles to Rio; another 48 hours should see her across the finish line. Then Stormvogel hit a calm. "There were no winds at all during the day," said Helmsman Miles, "and at night the northeaster blew up to 25 or 30 knots. Then there was that current, coming right at us. Two of my fixes actually showed we were going backward."