September 2018 – Otra Vida

I write blog posts only when I feel I have something to say, so this blog is updated infrequently. In addition, you can find longer format writing in the Essays section.

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- Of rachas and chestnuts …
  20/05/2018UncategorizedI lie in bed before dawn listening to waves lapping against the side of the boat. This should not be happening. My whole being groans at the implication: the wind is now coming from a direction that, theoretically, is impossible. Patagonia. Again. The two lines we set up yesterday to hold Otra Vida close to shore, protecting us from the forecast northerlies, are now worse than useless – they are holding the boat sideways on to the wind and waves, increasing tension on the anchor. The forecast tells of stronger winds in the coming hours. This is not going to be pleasant. Estero Arboles Espectrales is a deep inlet that lies WNW-ESE. Somehow the northerly wind in the main channel turns and blows straight up the estero as ESE/SE rachas. Rachas – the Spanish word for gust that in Patagonia means something more: very strong gusts. It makes no sense that the wind should behave this way, but the mystery is less important than the reality. In the first light of day I look outside and assess our situation. Not good. We´re 20m from the shore, the lines that last night were straight behind us are now at a 45 degree angle, and the GPS tells me we have moved 30m due to the immense strain on the anchor. I let go the shorelines and we swing free. I check the depth. Otra Vida is floating in just 2.5m of water, and it´s high tide. Staying in this position won´t work. Rachas … a fact of sailing life in Patagonia. This photo is from on board in our secure anchorage in Caleta Mousse, near Puerto Natales, where we sat out a typical Patagonian low pressure system. The spray indicates the gusts are at least 50kts. So, we raise the anchor. At the same time the wind increases, as forecast, and I can see rachas coming down the estero like white brushstrokes on a dark canvas, ripping water from the surface – meaning these gusts are at least 50kts. Otra Vida´s engine pushes us into the wind and we anchor again, letting out all our chain, testing the anchor, and waiting. A procession of rachas hit us one after another. Otra Vida swings at anchor, tracing a banana shaped arc on the GPS. Good. The anchor is holding. This is not comfortable, but it is safe. The wind increases still further. A particularly strong racha hits us, registering 55kts at the masthead, certainly more at deck level. We start to drag. Damn. Not a surprise, but I was hopeful. After over a year down here I should know better than to be hopeful. Hopeful isn´t a good strategy in Patagonia. So, on with the engine. Lison and Jérémie work on the foredeck in stinging spray and howling wind bringing up the anchor, a process made more challenging by Otra Vida´s gyrations as one racha after another pummels us. Powering as best we can against the rachas we inch our way out to the main channel, where the wind is indeed coming from the north as expected. There are a few possible anchorages nearby, but they are all unknown to me and in areas without detail on our Chilean charts, so we decide to be cautious and head 15nm south to a well charted anchorage that will be easy to enter in these conditions and is certain to be secure. The winds in the channel are now approaching 50kts from the north, we have a tiny amount of foresail out, and we are making 7-8kts. It´s noisy from the wind, the rain is relentless, the waves are jostling us, but it´s not dangerous anymore. We head south. Fast forward a couple of hours and we´re safely anchored in Caleta Canal, sheltered from the worst of the wind by a friendly forest. I realise that I´ve let my guard down a little since arriving north of Golfo de Penas. In southern Patagonia I had learned to be diligent about considering all weather possibilities, however unlikely they seemed, a diligence – almost a paranoia – born of hard won experience. North of Penas the weather is better. That´s true. But this was a reminder that Otra Vida is still in Patagonia, even if it´s northern Patagonia. Caleta Valverde Almost everyone you meet here has similar stories. It´s a counterpoint to the stories of heart-stoppingly beautiful mountain vistas, untouched wilderness, and abundant sea life. We share our stories and try and learn from each other. People who sail here for years become ever more conservative in their navigation and anchoring practices, and I more and more understand why. I remember Larry and Mary Anne saying that they sleep comfortably in Patagonia only when their boat is secured with at least four shorelines from four different directions. This from a couple who have sailed Antarctica, the Arctic, and the Northwest Passage, and who cross oceans like others cross a street… A few days later. The wind is less than 7kts and is on the beam. The sun is shining. We are making 2 knots with full sail, pretty islands to each side, a glacier capped volcano on the horizon. Jérémie and Lison are peeling chestnuts, ingredients for a French regional dish they are cooking. Patty is reading, happy, smiling. Emma Goldman, our new canine crew member, stands guard on the bow and enjoys the light breeze in her nostrils. Lunch is ready. We drift along, calmness and beauty providing a sunny backdrop, cuisine grand-mere and good conversation filling the cockpit. Our French crewmates´ food is sublime. Time stops … Moonrise over Caleta Valverde We pull into Caleta Valverde and drop the anchor. Patty and I swim briefly in the chilly Patagonia water while Jérémie and Lison explore ashore. They collect a pile of driftwood and after dark we sit around a fire on shore, Emma running back and forth along the beach, happy as only a city dog in the wilderness for the first time can be. We pop our last bottle of Chilean champagne under the full moon and toast life. Patagonia. Again....
- Southern Patagonia
  11/09/2017UncategorizedEstero Fouque I´m lying in the hammock on a perfect blue sky day in Estero Fouque, a long hockey-stick shaped fjord on the north side of Isla Hoste in southern Patagonia. The air is still and cold, and wrapped in fleece there is just enough warmth from the bright winter sun to remain outside and appreciate the surroundings – on one side cascading glaciers, on the other a view along the fjord to a pyramidal mountain and the snowfield I skied down yesterday. Seno Pia, Western Arm My mind drifts back to trade wind sailing in the tropics last year. The wind blew from the North East at 15-25kts, 28C during the day and 22C at night, and passages were planned and plans followed with rare exceptions. On reaching our destination we´d drop the anchor, put up the hammocks, and enjoy a celebratory drink on deck. Sailing in southern Patagonia is different. Horizontal snow, 46kt wind, safe anchorage From Puerto Williams, where Otra Vida has been based for the last five months, most destinations of interest are to the west. The prevailing winds are NW-W-SW, 15-45kts in strength, southern ocean low pressure systems carrying snow, sleet or rain. Heading west means making a dash between safe anchorages on those occasional days without much wind. Days with winds from the east, while not unknown, are rare. Sailing back to Puerto Williams is somewhat easier, but one quickly learns that easier is relative in southern Patagonia. No, the weather is not the reason to be down here. Everything else is. Perfect reflection in Estero Coloane The scenery … well, I´ll be frugal with words and mostly let the pictures carry their own descriptive load. We don’t have a thesaurus on board Otra Vida. If we did, it would have been well thumbed by now, searching for new superlatives each day to describe the experiences of southern Patagonia. After a few days on board it seems everyone ends up saying “Wow!”, “Oh my!”, “Holy shit!” or some other fairly meaningless exclamation. Words simply aren´t up to the task of processing what our eyes are seeing. Lovely still anchorage in Seno Pia, ice from the glacier floating past outside When the sun shines and the sky is blue these places are magical on a level that is qualitatively different to the tropics. The feeling of space and peace is huge, elemental, humbling. Southern Patagonia remains almost untouched*, nature in a near pristine state, and you encounter situations that are difficult to fit into any normal definition of sailing or travel. The experience can be transformative, sometimes other-worldly. The same anchorage, rather more challenging conditions Then there are the sailors you meet. I first heard of the Micalvi Yacht Club, legendary bolthole for every sailboat down here, from an experienced Antarctic sailor almost a decade ago, and I was hooked. He summed it up: “No one arrives there by chance, and everyone is interesting”. It´s certainly high on the list of contenders for Best Yachtie Hangout in the World. Evening beach fire, Caleta Olla Seno Pia However, there´s complexity in my feelings about Patagonia. It is a place of genuine danger – not glamourised danger, like extreme sports, but tangible real danger of loss of boat and loss of life. Cold, hard, wet, uncomfortable danger. This is not hyperbole. These situations are not theoretical. In 2017 already there has been one occasion where loss of life for a person ashore was a probable outcome (that the person is alive today is a testament to the professionalism and air rescue equipment of the Chilean Armada), and three occasions where boat loss was a real possibility, one of which resulted in damage to the hull below water line. To put this in context, in 40,000 miles of sailing over the last eight years, including five major ocean passages and well over a thousand nights at anchor, I cannot recall any situation where I felt even a slight risk of losing my boat. The view skiing down, Otra Vida just visible to the left in the distance And this sharp awareness of the contingent nature of life here is mixed with sublime appreciation for the inescapable beauty of Patagonia explored with a sailboat. The glaciers, the hikes, the tranquil anchorages. Evening beach fires with driftwood. Whales, dolphins, sea lions, sea otters, guanacos. Condors wheeling high above in an azure sky. Hiking to a rock for chilly sunset beers overlooking glacial lakes, crenelated mountains, perfect fjords, sandy shorelines, windswept trees, spindly waterfalls. Occasional solo hikes and dinghy trips, too. These form a treasure trove of moments that I will carry with me forever, emotions so intense that tears easily rise up in my eyes. These are times you don´t forget, ever. Guanaco There are many amazing places on this beautiful planet of ours. I´ve been fortunate to experience some of them, and for sure there are many more still to experience. But in quiet moments of late I´ve found myself asking a question over and over again, a question without an answer, a question that seems increasingly rhetorical: Where does one go after here? Estero Fouque * There´s a more nuanced discussion to be had on this subject, and I am not engaging in erasure or whitewashing. For the record: yet again colonial westerners destroyed thriving indigenous peoples and cultures; the pursuit of profit by early fur traders resulted in non native animals being introduced, particularly beavers, damaging the ecosystem; the consequences of global warming including glacier shrinkage and changes in seasonal weather patterns are stark and unmistakeable. Still, compared to the abuse we´ve inflicted on much of the planet, southern Patagonia remains relatively untouched. Many thanks to Bodo Will for some of these photos. ...