Take the leap - Life as an Ocean Gypsy - Part 2- Patagonia

by Kristen Anderson on 27 Oct 2017 The beginning of any adventure is often fraught with chaos and mine was no exception. Once it was apparent that throwing in my job and heading to Chile to board Commitment for her four-month journey through the Patagonian channels and across the Pacific was not a dream, I confess to a few moments of panic. The final weeks before departure were feverish as I realised I had left very little time to pack up my lovely inner-city home for what was to be at least a year.

Domesticity is not my forte and as d-day approached and all was in disarray, a queasy sense of mild panic arose. But many hands, as they say, make light work and I am lucky to have extraordinarily wonderful people in my world, who both cracked the whip and, when that failed, pitched in and packed, carted and cleaned. The type of panic, however, that grips your guts was reserved for money matters, and even the best of friends can’t help with that.

Had I really walked away from my job? Did I seriously have no income? What was I going to do when I got home? The good thing though, about this shrill ‘what-have-I-done’ panic, was that it left no room whatsoever to be anxious about the ocean crossing! Miraculously it all came together – tenants were found, bills were paid, precious possessions were scattered between a storage shed, my best friend’s loft, my boyfriend’s boat and the boot of my car and, to the tune of popping champagne corks and John Denver’s “Calypso”, I was on my way.

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By the time I boarded Commitment in Puerto Natales, the gateway to the magnificent Torres del Paine National Park in Patagonia, all ‘real world’ worries over jobs, money and belongings had ceased to exist (too late for them now!), to be replaced by the type of wild excitement that comes with things completely new and unknown. I thought there may have been fear, given our violent knock-down the last time I sailed on Commitment, deep in the Southern Ocean on route from Antarctica, but she felt like home, for which I was thankful.

Commitment had personally shown me that she could withstand a bruising, and I was in the very best of hands with her skipper Tony Mowbray, whose experiences over a lifetime on the ocean certainly gave me the utmost confidence in his ability to deliver us safely home. Whether I was up to it was yet to be determined, but I was well and truly ready to leap into this wonderful unknown and embrace whatever it had to offer.

This first leg of the adventure, cruising north through the Patagonian fiords and channels, was extraordinary in every way and enabled our crew of three, Tony, Max Miles and myself, to settle in before we set out across the Pacific. This is an astonishingly beautiful part of the world – majestic and rugged and mostly untraveled. For twenty-one glorious days we wound our way through pristine waterways, surrounded by the changing vista of snow-capped peaks, glaciers, sheer rock faces and craggy boulders as we headed north from our starting latitude of 52 degrees South.

It was quite a moment when Commitment arrived in the forties after several years of charter work in the snow and ice of the furious fifties and screaming sixties, and as we made our way north to Puerto Montt at 42 degrees South not only did the weather warm but tamer conditions and closer proximity to civilisation made for an everchanging landscape.

Mostly motor sailing, with daily distances determined by the conditions, we anchored each evening in sheltered coves for protection against the prevailing winds, which in these parts can be extremely unforgiving. The three of us quickly established our evening routine for running shorelines once we were anchored: Max driving the inflatable, me scrambling amongst bushes or clambering up rocks to secure lines, and Tony orchestrating events and gesticulating wildly from on board. It is standard procedure here to secure the boat in this manner, which involves running anything from two to eight heavy lines from Commitment to the shore, depending on the forecast wind strength and direction.

This was a new skill for both Max and myself so there were many words of shall we say ‘encouragement’ from the skipper before this routine ran smoothly! At the small anchorage of Caletta Yvonne we ran four lines each from bow and stern before Tony was satisfied and declared us ‘bomb-proof’, a very real necessity with the forecast predicting 60-65 knots! This wild day was capped off by a riotously vivid double rainbow dispensing its pot of gold.

Dolphins routinely greeted us as we left the wider channels and entered the smaller coves and inlets, often staying with us as we lay our lines as though satisfying themselves that we were safe before leaving us for the night. At the beautiful anchorage of Puerto Fontaine they playfully swam beside and beneath us as we ran each line, all but leaping into the inflatable with us, a truly magical moment of absolute communion with these wonderful creatures. Each morning as we departed our anchorage they escorted us back to the main channel, wishing us safe travels and no doubt sending some silent communication to their friends further north to keep an eye out for us!

As we journeyed North these beautiful dolphins were joined by seals, shy but curious animals often spotted peeping up in our wake. Penguins, whales and a myriad sea birds added to the constant menagerie, vying with the scenic majesty of the Andes for our attention. I will long remember the feeling each evening as we left the wind and chop and grand mountain backdrops of the main canals to enter the peace, stillness and serenity of our protected anchorages. Out of the prevailing winds we slid gently into enchanted worlds with names like Caleta Moonlight. My journal entry from the stunningly beautiful Caleta Point Lay reads, “All around us are magical upside-down watercolours, gently rippling reflections of the lush greenery and crazily painted rockfaces that surround us.

Every now and then we spy shoals of tiny fish that look like glittering coins tossed into the sea. We follow a couple of steamer ducks, filming with great amusement their frenetic wingless racing”. These very funny locals cannot fly but dash across the surface of the water with furious flapping and astounding speed. Nights, if they were clear, were especially captivating, and many an evening was spent rugged up against the chill, gazing skyward as outrageous stars reflected into the black depths, totally surrounded by dazzling gems.

One of many highlights was cruising up to the mouth of Glacier Tempanos, one of the last tidewater glaciers on our journey north. On approach to the glacier the waters turned a deep, milky and breathtakingly lovely jade. The glacier itself shone brilliant in the early morning light, vibrant with outrageous colours and textures and alive with creaks and groans. Alone with this majesty we were treated to the awesome sight of the glacier calving, small icy waterfalls heralding the main event where, with a deafening roar an enormous chunk of ice detached itself and plummeted to the sea below, leaving a sheer face of the deepest blue glass, and sending us gently rocking at its base, the only witnesses to this constant and powerful process of change.

Another was the opportunity to explore the remote and ramshackle hamlet of Puerto Eden. Situated at 49 07S, 74 24 W this waterlogged fishing village is home to a small but hardy group of locals who eek out a living in a climate that hurls in excess of 5 metres a rain at them each year. Unsurprisingly it was raining heavily during our visit and our explorations were done in full sailing wet weather gear! Reliant on supply vessels to augment their daily catch, this salty community is holding itself, along with its homes and fishing boats, together with whatever it can salvage and scrounge, but seems destined in our fast-growing world to slide inexorably into the sea that is constantly trying to reclaim it. We bought mouth-watering king crab here to add to our extensive onboard seafood menu (did I mention that our third crew member Max is a marvellous chef?) before waving it a sad farewell.

Once across the Gulfo de Penas at around 45 degrees South, civilisation revealed itself and whilst we experienced wonderful local villages they were far removed from the most likely never-to-be-seen-again gem of Puerto Eden. The aptly named “Gulf of Penance”, which took us just under forty-eight hours to cross, is a piece of water to be treated with respect and was a good trial for the three of us ahead of the first leg of our Pacific crossing.

We experienced the first of many hours hove-to at the southern entrance, lurching and heaving in an uncomfortable swell and thick fog in far from ideal conditions –battling current in strengthening headwinds and teeming rain. The calmer conditions that had been forecast were just a little late arriving! A roughish crossing was counteracted by majestic albatross, dolphins, whales and a large and luminous full moon with a beautiful rainbowed aura surrounding it. Wow, so this is what solo night watches can be like – bring it on!

The second of our blue water sections was Golfo de Corcovado, also rough, and many vessels to be dodged made for a busy twenty-eight hour crossing, but again there were compensations. A breathtaking sunset against a backdrop of magnificent volcanoes was outdone the next morning by a truly astounding dawn as a wildly vibrant ball of intense orange erupted from the sea, creating a canvas of outrageous pinks and reds for 360 degrees – in the water, bouncing off the clouds, streaking the sky and surrounding us – humbling and overwhelmingly beautiful.

The final week into Puerto Montt saw us meandering through increasingly affluent rural villages, supported by the strong salmon farming industry that was in constant evidence. I would very much like to revisit and explore the many islands dotted throughout this picturesque Isla Chiloe region. Perhaps when I return the tiny rustic maritime museum on Isla Mechuque may be open, which is a good enough reason alone to pay a return visit to this small island with its village on stilts to accommodate the seven-metre tide. And maybe on this future visit we’ll give ourselves a little more leeway to avoid waking up hard aground at low tide!

This lovely region is easily accessible from the fabulous port of Puerto Montt, where we were welcomed by the marina’s resident seals. Our time here was hectic as we worked like trojans to ready Commitment for the crossing ahead. I learned many new skills here, some of which I hope never to repeat. Scraping crusted uric acid from the pipes and fittings for the head must be one of the worst boat jobs of all time! And as it so happens, seals love this stuff. They gathered alarmingly, greedily gulping this pungent muck, the moral to the story being, ‘never kiss a seal’! Provisioning was an eye opener in more ways than one.

Not only was the volume of food startling but I’ll let you in on a secret – Tony is a sight to be seen in the chocolate aisle! By the time he was done we had a heaped trolley overflowing with biscuits, lollies, cakes and chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate. Happy days! We found time, however, to explore, and made many visits to the incredible Angelmo seafood markets, attempting in vain to identify the array in front of us, devouring fresh ceviche and mouth-watering salmon empanadas and enjoying the spectacle as the seals invited themselves to dine at the expense of the laden fishing vessels.

A local soccer match topped off our South American experience, the spirited crowd kept under control by the presence of riot police! Finally, once every job on the extensive list was crossed off, Commitment threw off her lines and headed for the open ocean, first stop the most remote island in the world - Easter Island, 1,970 nautical miles away. Life is short - adventure here we come!