The man sailing the world’s most dangerous voyage in a wooden ship – with just a compass

Some call it the ‘Everest of sailing’. Ever since Roald Amundsen became the first to sail the Northwest Passage from 1903 to 1906, there have been numerous attempts to repeat his achievement in various boats, but almost as many failures. 

No one, it seems, has successfully travelled the Passage in a wooden sailing boat that they built themselves. Enter Will Stirling, 44.

On 1 June, Stirling and a crew of three will set sail aboard Integrity, Stirling’s 43ft replica Victorian cutter that he created at Stirling & Son, his boat-building business in Plymouth. Their east-west transit of this ice-bound, polar-bear-tormented passage will begin in south-east Canada and take in western Greenland, northern Canada and finally Alaska, where they hope to emerge in mid-September.

‘Integrity is built to an 1880s design,’ says Stirling. ‘We will sail her in the traditional way, navigating with sextant and compass.’

Stirling is to be found at his boatyard, No 1 Covered Slip. Built in 1763, it shares the same heritage status as Stonehenge. To the wailing and grinding of industrial winches, pumps and saws from the adjoining naval facility at Devonport, he waltzes me around the site.

‘The roof dates from 1814,’ he says, as we pick our way through a working museum of ancient shipwright’s tools. ‘They built ships here for the Royal Navy. In 1798, on this very slipway, my very [four times] great grandmother launched the 80-gun HMS Foudroyant, which became Nelson’s flagship. The yard was derelict when we moved in, but getting English Heritage onside was easy.’

Two boats are being worked on. Vigilance is a 1926 Brixham trawler. ‘We are rebuilding her,’ says Stirling, pointing to a stack of rough-hewn planks seasoning in the gales of Plymouth Sound. ‘It takes ages to amass this amount of oak.’

The other boat, Alert, is a 15-tonne replica of an 1835 smuggling lugger. ‘She is the first boat that I built,’ says Stirling. ‘I was 26.’ 

Where, I wonder, is Integrity?

‘In Nova Scotia, being prepared. I sailed her there last summer.’ 

To steer a small wooden boat through the fragmented and kaleidoscopic 6,000-mile labyrinth of ice, islands and straits of the Canadian Arctic presents immense challenges. If ice conditions are heavy there is a risk of getting trapped. The chances are 50/50.

‘There is always something else to worry about,’ says Stirling. ‘Fog, ice and bad weather are the main worries, especially ice. The real danger is ice floes driven by wind and tides. At one tonne per cubic metre, you don’t want ice hitting you.’

‘But if Integrity gets stuck…’ 

‘I’d rather she didn’t,’ says Stirling with obvious understatement.

‘What happens when you are iced up in the middle of nowhere and the voice in your head sounds like the speaking tube of HMS Erebus?’ I ask. ‘Have you worked out who you’ll eat first?’ 

‘If things go wrong the consequences will be immediate and serious,’ says Stirling sidestepping the question, but adding, ‘There are a few Inuit settlements. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Amundsen had some good lines: “Adventure is for people who haven’t prepared properly” and “Victory lies in good preparation, which some call luck”.’

To maintain esprit de corps, Stirling will change crew twice mid-passage, meaning tortuous logistics and costly flights. Crew members include high-latitude sailors, cold-climate specialists, shipwrights, a former submarine commander and a chef.

‘There are two rules,’ says Stirling. ‘No falling overboard, and no shouting – unless someone falls overboard, then lots of shouting.

‘Personal discipline is essential,’ he adds. ‘If everyone gets on, has fun, we handle the boat well, and we get through, then we win. If we make it to Alaska having fallen out with each other, then we fail. Tired, hungry, frightened, cold or wet, we must be polite, friendly and kind to each other.’

Stirling introduces me to his ‘office’, a Portakabin that feels like an Arctic refuge, filled with fleeced-up Stirling & Son employees warming themselves with tea. One of Integrity’s crew, Col. Kevin ‘Kev’ Oliver, a mountain leader officer in the Royal Marines, turns up looking every inch the trim, chiselled genuine article. His 33 years in the forces include tours in several global hotspots, and in 2009, Oliver and fellow marine Major Tony Lancashire attempted the Northwest Passage in a 17ft open boat, sailing west to east.

‘The people we met were hilarious,’ says Oliver. When he and Lancashire encountered Ocean Watch, a ‘beautiful 67ft steel yacht that was sailing around the Americas’, one of the crew, Herb McCormick, former sailing correspondent of The New York Times, leant over the side and cried, ‘Even for Englishmen, you dudes have got to be out of your minds!’ 

‘We also met a French guy with his gorgeous wife and four kids,’ says Oliver. ‘It transpired she was France’s answer to Julia Roberts. When I asked her husband, “Have you done much sailing?” he replied, “Only around the world three times.” I’d never heard of him either.’ (They turned out to be Philippe Poupon, Vendée Globe veteran, and actor Géraldine Danon.)

After seven weeks, Oliver and Lancashire got stuck in ice and had to drag their boat several miles to Gjoa Haven, where Amundsen put in all those years ago. The following summer, they tried again, and halted at Resolute, a settlement on Cornwallis Island.

In Blokes Up North, the book in which Oliver and Lancashire record their adventure, there is a telling line: ‘Royal Marines do tend to see themselves as somewhat indestructible and it takes a lot to change that mindset and turn down a challenge.’

‘So when an email landed last autumn saying, “Do you want to be on this trip…?”’ Oliver beams. ‘My wife is very understanding. She doesn’t even sail.’ He will crew Integrity up to Resolute, so will be able to connect up a ‘complete’ transit.

‘Is the Northwest Passage beautiful?’

‘Erm, there are a few hills south of Resolute,’ says Oliver. ‘The rest is shingle bank and slight undulations. For me, the attraction is spending time in remote places and making an effort to get there. Bear Grylls, a friend whom I hugely respect, has been through the Passage in a speedboat. Where is the fun in that?’

Besides ice floes and the lacerating easterlies, another risk is polar bears. ‘They could easily climb aboard,’ says Stirling. Oliver (naturally) has previous with both grizzly and polar bears. He had a lucky escape when two polar bears inspected their tent one night on Somerset Island. ‘You do not want to mess around with polar bears,’ he says. ‘They kill for pleasure.’

Other wildlife includes seals, snowy owls, caribou, musk ox, beluga whales and dolphins. ‘I’m always nervous of killer whales,’ says Stirling. ‘They have been known to damage boats.’

Navigating ice, orcas, Bear Grylls and the occasional French film star is one thing; tiptoeing around the eggshells of political and bureaucratic sensitivities is another. Wary of amateur adventurers, the Canadian authorities insist on a laundry list of qualifications, competencies and permits. When we met, Stirling was trying to obtain a gun permit for Alaska. ‘As a matter of courtesy, I have also written to all the Inuit elders about our voyage.’

The Canadian government supports Inuit settlements partly to reinforce claims of sovereignty. ‘Living alongside the Inuit are “qablunas” [Inuit for white men],’ says Oliver. ‘Most qablunas are either in government service or running away from something. The typical answer to the question, “How did you end up here?” is, “I got divorced three times and the money is good.”’

There are geopolitical sensitivities too. Canada regards the Passage as its own; the US sees it as an international strait. ‘The US and Canada agree to disagree,’ says Oliver. ‘There is big oil and gas, especially off Alaska. Russia and America are making moves. You might think the locals want to keep it pristine. But oh no! The indigenous populations can get huge rewards from mineral and hydrocarbon rights.’ 

Ever since the Elizabethan era, explorers tried in vain to find the fabled Northwest Passage. The Victorians obsessed about it as a way of bypassing the Cape of Good Hope, a fixation that led to one of the most disastrous episodes in British exploration. Sir John Franklin’s voyage of 1845 cost the lives of 129 men as well as the losses of HMS Terror and HMS Erebus. Ironically, the main charting of the Northwest Passage derived from numerous expeditions sent in search of Franklin. The wreck of Erebus was eventually located in 2014; Terror, two years later. ‘Integrity will sail directly over HMS Erebus off King William Island,’ says Stirling.

On one such search expedition, Robert McClure, an Irish explorer, entered the Passage from the west. Abandoning ship in the spring of 1853, he survived two winters while sledging east, whereupon he met two ships that had entered from the Atlantic. McClure therefore became the first to travel the Passage, but on foot/sledge. It took another 51 years before Amundsen sailed it.

After Amundsen, the St Roch, a Royal Canadian Mounted Police schooner, achieved the first west-east transit in 1940-42; the first yacht was Williwaw, a 45ft steel vessel skippered by Dutch explorer Willy de Roos, in 1970; the first passenger cruise ship was successful in August 2016. However, according to Oliver, ‘By 2013, only about 100 boats had succeeded.’

The irony of all this effort is that the Passage is not considered a viable trade route. ‘Even if the ice breaks, the Passage is easily choked,’ says Oliver. ‘In winter it is impassable, even with ice breakers.’ 

I ask what has made the Passage ‘fashionable’. ‘Google Maps,’ shrugs Oliver. ‘Anyone can plan and dream from their armchair. GPS has fundamentally changed yachting, and EPIRB [emergency position-indicating radiobeacon] means that a rescue party will probably find you – eventually. Navigating the Passage is easier, more accessible and safer than ever, but not cheap.’

‘I know what the voyage is costing,’ says Stirling, ‘but am not prepared to discuss it!’ They have some limited support: The Gino Watkins Memorial Fund and The Arctic Club have funded cold-climate safety and first aid training. The Andrew Croft Memorial Fund has supported the installation of a ‘cross-reference depth sounder’ to mitigate the risk posed by incomplete nautical charts, and Plymouth Gin has also chipped in. Panerai is gifting two watches: ‘One for Will, the other to be engraved and sold at auction next year,’ says Martina Sklenarova of Bucherer Watches, adding, ‘Profits will go either to fund this voyage or support the next.’ 

Leather goods brand Connolly is supplying lightweight padded jackets for the crew. Connolly came aboard when Stirling restored Life Aquatic, a 1952 yacht, for the company’s owner Isabel Ettedgui. She sold Life Aquatic two years ago, but enthuses, ‘I always have my eye on another boat. It is a financial black hole but a huge pleasure. I love the ethos of what Will is doing. Everything about Stirling & Son mirrors what Connolly is about. I am honoured they asked us. What he is doing is very brave.’

Beneath his affable, friendly, unassuming manner, Stirling is a driven and determined idealist with a curious innocence that can seem eccentric. After Eton, he read languages at Edinburgh but left after two years. In 1999 he cycled to Morocco then in 2000 sailed the Atlantic. An attempt at crossing France by canoe failed when a canal ran dry. ‘I wanted to be an explorer but wasn’t brave enough,’ he says.

After considering, but dismissing, thatching as a career, Stirling turned to boat-building. Learning his craft in Lowestoft, he lived aboard a dinghy. ‘It was the biggest adventure,’ he says. ‘I began to sail around the harbour, which was littered with dead ships like in a Mad Max movie. I was hopeless. But when I got the boat moving, I thought, this is absolutely brilliant.’

In 2001, he bought a 1938 19ft sailing boat for £200, restored her and sailed to Norway. The following year he plied her from Norway to Cornwall via the Shetlands. After serving an apprenticeship at a traditional boat-building yard in Cornwall, he set up Stirling & Son while living in an old fire engine bought off eBay.

In 2007 Stirling sailed Alert, the first boat he built from scratch, to Iceland – his Arctic debut. That year, only the birth of his son prevented further probings north. Stirling has returned to the Arctic every summer since. ‘I allow my husband to go away every summer, all summer,’ says Sara Stirling, Will’s wife and mother of his two children, Alfie and Grace. Sara is in charge of victualling the Northwest Passage voyage, and will join them near Greenland.

Selling Alert, Stirling designed Integrity. Built in traditional wood, copper and bronze ‘with help from a chainsaw’, she was launched in Plymouth in 2012. Below decks, she gleams with oak panelling and leather. 

In 2018, Stirling sailed her to Iceland and based her there for four years. Stirling and his crew explored Svalbard, Norway, and then Jan Mayen island on which stands Beerenberg, the world’s most northerly volcano, which they climbed. He then took on eastern Greenland which is even more remote than the Northwest Passage. ‘East Greenland is fantastic!’ he cries.

Meanwhile, Stirling’s boat-building business was growing. ‘Stirling & Son has 12 employees,’ he says. ‘A welder, engineer, finisher, two apprentices – we fund our own apprenticeship scheme – and the rest are shipwrights. It is entirely commercial. We new-build and restore wooden and steel vessels from dinghy up to 200 tonnes.’

The Stirlings live in a hilltop house outside Plymouth that dates back to the 16th century. It’s a building site. In a brainstorm of restoration purism, Stirling is replacing all the modern plaster with historically correct lime plaster. ‘It will take the rest of our lives and all of our money,’ he says, ‘but quality is always worth it – it will be a much nicer house.’

The couple also have his’n’hers boatyards. While Will restores yachts in Devonport, Sara runs her own 21-acre yard on the Lynher River in Cornwall. ‘After Brexit, boatyards are booked up as boats come back from Europe,’ she says. ‘We are turning people away.’

Sara grew up on an island off Donegal. After reading psychology, she did an MA in maritime history, set up a boat-building business with her ex, and then did a course in child psychology, while bringing up five children: Oona, now 33, Harry 31, Esme, 23, Alfie, 15 and Grace, 13. (‘Will produced the last two.’)

I ask Stirling what qualities are required of an Arctic navigator.

‘Patience and stamina.’

‘Arctic explorers dislike socialising,’ adds Sara. She made ‘socialising’ sound like ‘having to look after lots of children’.

‘These trips stick in your mind,’ says Stirling. ‘They change your personality but I can’t explain how.’

‘Will never thinks about his character,’ says Sara. ‘But when people go to the Arctic, it becomes an obsession. And you have that obsession.’

‘Yes,’ nods Stirling, like a naughty boy. 

‘Men in particular need to challenge themselves to feel alive,’ continues Sara. ‘The Arctic gives them that. They can’t resist that feeling of an incredible environment greater than anything else. They can never conquer it, but it conquers them.’ Sara turns to me and, with a hint of portent, says, ‘Will wants us to take Integrity into the Arctic and become iced-in for the winter.’

‘With a husky dog team,’ he adds, mistily.

‘Is this an ambition?’ I ask. ‘To break off contact and immure yourself?’

‘It’s not an ambition, it’s a plan,’ says Will.