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| Canal Chacabuco |
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| Entering Estero Clemente |
Puerto Millabú, a comforting slash in the rocky southern
shore of Isla Clemente, was our home for a couple of days, anchored by the
river beach at the head of the valley.
The Cascada Salmón beckoned, drawing us to beach then river, through an
enchanted Hans Cristian Andersen-esque forest where pixies might have been
hiding behind every fallen log, along ledges under small cliffs, and across
barenaked rock smoothed by abundantly present rain and wind. What we optimistically referred to as the trail
would have carried stern warnings in a tourist guidebook – myriad routefinding
difficulties, easy to lose the trail once you´ve found it, dense and slippery
vegetation, steep slopes, exposed steps on a moss-covered tree root between a
near vertical bank of loose vegetation and a cliff to cross a stream several
metres below, rapidly changeable weather, risk of mist descending, no
possibility of assistance. Wonderful stuff
– our sort of hike. We left temporary
markers at critical points that were especially obscure – a ribbon, a hat, a
bottle of sunscreen - and they served us
well during the descent. Lunch found us
perched on flat rocks munching granola bars and sipping stream water, pensive
and silent, basking in a panoramic view of the upper waterfalls of the Cascada. Far below Otra Vida swung to her anchor in
the bay, dark tendrils of river snaking towards her through grey-green water
covered sand.
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| Cascada Salmón lower part |
The following afternoon I downloaded the latest weather
forecast : not promising. We needed a 36
hour window of settled weather to reach and cross the notorious Golfo de Penas,
60 miles of water wide open to the Pacific and therefore to the substantial
groundswell radiating from storms that relentlessly pummel the southern ocean between
Cape Horn and Antarctica. As if that was
not enough, add in a rapidly shelving bottom amplifying those swells, tidal
currents pushing north and south, and intense and frequently changing weather. It´s a recipe for dangerous wave conditions
with anything more than modest winds, and one of our pilot books warns that “even
large ships do not cross the gulf in bad weather”. Finding a 36 hour weather window in
Patagonia, we are discovering, is as likely as Donald Trump improving life for ordinary
Americans, and rather less likely than finding a herd of pink unicorns. So, acceding to metrological reality, we replanned
our crossing into sections and looked again at the forecast. Our choice was to leave immediately or wait
about a week. Up with the anchor, quick
stowage of loose items below, and on our way within minutes. Emerging from the protection of Estero
Clemente the ocean swell greeted us as we followed a course dodging small
islands and shoals through the mist and light rain. The VHF burst out “Embarcación Otra Vida” summoning
Allie to a friendly chat with the captain of a research vessel closing with us
through a pass. “You are very brave” he
told Allie, hearing our plans to sail to Puerto Williams.
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| Belated Valentine´s Day celebration lunch |
The islands behind us and conditions fairly benign, we discussed
options, and jointly decided to continue overnight to Caleta Suarez, a safe and
secure anchorage just shy of Cabo Raper at the northern limit of Golfo de
Penas. It was Léa´s first passage in
the open ocean on a sailboat, ever, and Allie´s first overnight passage. Straightforward, chilly, wet … we all had
pleasant watches, and even more pleasant slumbers in the warm passage berths,
lee cloths holding us in. Cosily
huddled behind the spray hood in the dark, I was reminded how much I enjoy
night watches … the tranquillity brought back lovely emotions of those nights
at sea between Ecuador and Chile in the last months. |
| The boat sign tree at Caleta Suarez |
We arrived a little after dawn, our mooring plan for Caleta
Suarez at the ready. Another boat in
such a small caleta could add complications, but cruising boats here are as
rare as the aforementioned pink unicorns.
As we rounded the corner we noticed the five commercial fishing boats
rafted together. Undeterred, we stuck with
our plan, dropping the anchor, launching the dinghy, and tying shore lines to
trees. One of the fishing boats left,
manoeuvring around us. We were almost
done, eagerly anticipating a warm drink below, when a fishermen pointed out that
our lines would block all movement, including the boats returning later, and
invited us to tie up alongside. Sounds
pretty straightforward, but with our anchor down, their anchors down, our lines
ashore, their lines ashore, other lines floating on the water … it took an hour
or two to sort it all out. In the rain,
of course. Allie, dressed provocatively
in black oilskins and rubber boots while retrieving our shorelines, attracted
plenty of interest from the young fishermen.
The captain of the fishing boat we tied to gave us two perfectly
filleted fish, and we were gifted more fish and seafood later, eventually refusing
some as there is only so much fish two women can eat. Léa reminded us we had bypassed Valentine´s
Day so a quick ceviche was rustled up (and a chickpea rice salad for me) while
Allie prepared the table with a candle and a white silk rose. We enjoyed a
celebratory Valentine´s Day lunch just two days late - who´s counting the days
here anyway?
After a few days at anchor waiting for weather, including an
attempt to reach a natural hot springs aborted due to too much of the wrong
type of wind, Allie and Léa painted a sign to go alongside those of other yachts
on a tree ashore. Otra Vida´s longstanding
philosophy, “no rules, no limits”, has evolved, and the sign reflects this: “no
rules, no limits, no conspiracy theories.”
Yes, there is a story there … several, actually … but they are for
another time, perhaps with a lovely Chilean artisanal beer in hand.
When we fixed the sign to the tree it wasn´t raining. I take that as a good omen.
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| It doesn´t always rain |
