True gypsy of the sea
‘The day you stop dreaming, you are as good as dead.’ - Kris Larsen
I FIRST saw Kris Larsen on the road between Gingindlovu and Empangeni, peddling his heavily loaded recumbent bicycle at a steady pace.
He looked like an upcountry hobo who has found an ingenious way to get around, but told me he’s from Australia, a yachtie, and has just finished a three-month cycle tour of Swaziland, Zimbabwe, Botswana and Namibia.
He invited me for coffee on his boat.
Kahaar
Kris calls his boat ‘Kahaar’, after a rouge seagull in the adventure novel Watership Down by Richard Adams.
It’s a black, 33-foot, junk rigged steel vessel.
Amongst all the white fiberglass moored at Tuzi Gazi Marina, Kahaar stood out like a shark in a koi pond.
I could see she’s been many places. Kris invited me inside, through the single small hatch down below where we sat at the only furnishing in the almost bare hull; a roughly made chart table.
Where an inboard engine usually sits was a big mattress on some elevated planking.
Kahaar is engineless.
For the last 30 years the Chinese junk has been sailing the Indian and Western Pacific oceans without the aid of any electronics.
Who is Kris Larsen?
He was born in Prague, Czechoslovakia, but left at 21 to work his way across Asia and Australasia to eventually settle, temporarily, in Tasmania.
After a decade of unsuccessful attempts at leading a domestic life he bought a half-finished steel hull and created Kahaar, to his preferences, from bits and pieces of scrap metal.
The mast is a 40 foot, freestanding spar from an Oregon tree, and for rigging Kris scoured around shipyards for discarded lengths of rope.
His first sail was a green truck tarpaulin, which he sewed-up himself.
He’s a resourceful man, who only forks out hard cash as a very last resort to get what he needs.
Lack of money has never slowed him down, or prevented him from reaching his next destination.
Rather, it opened his eyes to alternatives.
But don’t take Kris for a scallywag…
On the contrary, during my visit on Kahaar I quickly realised he’s one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met.
He’s had a very good education, speaks several foreign languages and has mastered the art of navigation – the old way with a sextant.
Battles with bureaucracy
Kris, with his craggy appearance and weather-beaten boat, is not always welcome in ports or yacht clubs.
Firstly, when they hear that he travels under sail only, harbour authorities tend to be quite reluctant to let him enter, but in the end they have little choice.
And sometimes he just ‘disappears’ under the cover of darkness without notifying the relevant authorities because he’s a free spirit who doesn’t like to be dictated to.
He’s also not very popular amongst barstool yacthties at clubs where it’s about what you own and not about what you know or where you’ve been.
But Kris can’t be bothered because he loves the life he’s chosen to live.
True accounts of mischief
Since leaving Tasmania 30 odd years ago, Kris and Kahaar have sailed extensively between Australia, Madagascar, Zanzibar, India, China and Japan.
From his adventures, trials and tribulations, he has compiled three books.
The first, Monsoon Dervish, is a brutally honest, yet well-written account of the first few years on the sea.
Kris gave me a copy and it is unlike any other cruising book I have ever read – a real eye opener.
The books can be ordered through his website; www.monsoondervish.com, or if you lucky enough to find him still in port, you can buy a copy from him at R200.
This man, on his rustic Chinese junk, is as unique as they come and perhaps one of the last true gypsies of the seas.
