Open the above photos in a full-screen slideshow in Flickr
January 28, 2010 – Isla Stewart, Chile
By Herb McCormick
We never got to implement Plan A today, and it’s a shame, because it was a good one. After running ninety-miles down the Beagle Channel yesterday, we tucked into a secluded hidey-hole off Seno Pia, a grand fjord surrounded by blue glaciers, snowy summits and flowing waterfalls. The idea was to enjoy a lazy morning kicking around the ice-strewn waters in the dinghy and kayaks, and taking long walks ashore. But we awoke to steady rain and skipper Mark Schrader made the call to take advantage of the calm winds – even though the visibility was crummy – and keep pushing on.
The skipper, mate Dave Logan and I did have a brief scramble into the woods before untying the two shore lines we’d run ashore the evening before and getting underway. On the way out of the harbor, we made a pass by the face of one of the trio of glaciers and were treated to a huge slab of ice calving into the sea with a splash and a roar. For good measure, new Ocean Watch crewman David Treadway scooped up a big piece of brash ice, a good idea as our 12-volt cockpit cooler had self-immolated the day before.
With that, we were off, back into the murky, misty Beagle Channel.
Before the advent of GPS satellite navigation systems, radar and the like, navigators found their way by a system known as dead reckoning. In practice, the navigator determines his whereabouts by keeping track of his course, speed, heading, landmarks, navigation aids and so on…in effect, using any and all visual clues available, as well as simple but constant mathematics, to find his way. The “dead” in dead reckoning is short for “deductive,” but it’s also a double entendre, for a navigator who lacks the skills to dead reckon surely puts his boat, and himself, in peril.
Logan does the lion’s share of our underway, hands-on navigation on Ocean Watch, and today he got the opportunity to truly practice his coastal piloting and navigational proficiency. The poor conditions were one thing, but the more hazardous element to the day’s proceedings was the fact that the latitude on the electronic charts in the Beagle Channel were off by as much as three-quarters of a mile. At times, the charting software showed us driving right across a mid-channel island. Once, David Thoreson popped on deck from down below and said, “We’re climbing that mountain, right there.”
It wasn’t the first time the charts had been incorrect; on a couple of poorly timed occasions in the Arctic, the same problem arose. “But given the complexity of things down here,” said Logan, “a half- to three-quarters of a mile is way worse than the Arctic.”
However, Logan was on top of his considerable game, and the day passed without incident. Well, almost.
Compared to yesterday, when the scenery for long periods held us in a trance, today’s lousy weather made it seem like sailing by Braille. Our course took us down the Beagle and into a long channel called the Canal O’Brien. Right before we entered, a warship materialized before us, clearly a Naval vessel. But it wasn’t Chilean. That fact was confirmed when the ever-watchful Chilean Armada tried for a good half hour to raise the vessel via VHF-radio. There was no response.
Our translator, Horacio Rosell, solved the mystery for the authorities when he radioed them and told them what we’d seen: a French-flagged ship on maneuvers. Another followed shortly thereafter. We wondered if we were on the verge of witnessing an international incident, but the airwaves went silent.
We did hail a friendlier vessel, yet another sailboat from Seattle in the high latitudes. Like most cruising sailors, Brandy and Mark went by their first names and that of their vessel, a Panda 38 called Restless. They’d been outbound from the Pacific Northwest for four years and had spent the previous seventy days in the Chilean Canals. We’d heard from lots of sailors in the Falkland Islands and Puerto Williams that more and more sailboats are transiting these waters – not two decades ago, they were an extreme rarity – and everything we’ve seen confirmed that notion. Brandy and Mark passed along some recent information about the weather and anchorages, and after wishing each other good sailing, we both continued on our way.
Once through the Canal O’Brien, we transited an open stretch of water before our final approach of the day, to an anchorage called Puerto Fanny on Isla Stewart. The wind was rising and the temperature falling – with the rain slanting sideways – when we finally got the hook down. Big williwaws were whistling down the hills and streaking the water with dark, patchy puffs. But the day of travel was done.
We never did get to enjoy Plan A. But we’d successfully executed Plan B.
- Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson
*This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos
*To add a comment to this story click on the comment link below the post title. Please direct messages for the crew to crew@aroundtheamericas.org instead of submitting them here. Thanks for following the Around the Americas Expedition.
