Crew Log 179 – Snow Job

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January 29, 2010 – Isla Clarence, Chile
By Herb McCormick

In the eight months since leaving Seattle late last May, the crew of Ocean Watch has experienced searing heat, frigid cold, mellow calms, biting winds, mist and fog, torrential rain and absolutely perfect, gorgeous weather. In other words, right up to this very morning, we’d witnessed practically every sort of meteorological and atmospheric condition known to mankind with the notable exception of one: snow.

And now we’ve seen that.

Yes, the ongoing voyage of Ocean Watch – now en route to Puerto Montt, Chile, via the labyrinth of waterways and channels that make up the world-famous Chilean canals – continued today after one of the strangest, most surreal beginnings imaginable: The fluffy white stuff was falling from the sky. But it didn’t snow for long. No, before we could zip our collars up around our necks, it was sleeting, hard and sideways.

They call this summer in the Southern Hemisphere?

Up on the bow, hauling the anchor, David Thoreson and I slipped and slid on the treacherous foredeck as it became buried under a thin layer of icy pellets of hail. Our Spanish translator, Horacio Rosell, whose halting English often captures the moment better than ours, summed it up concisely.

“It’s snowing rocks,” he said.

But David Thoreson also had a cogent observation: “Our summer just became winter.”

Anchored the previous evening in a cove on Isla Stewart laced by williwaws, it had been a rattling night…mostly due to the sound of our anchor chain rattling across the rocks in which it was secured. Still, the hook remained secure for the duration, but by 0700 skipper Mark Schrader had had enough, so he roused the crew and was ready to go. The snow, ice and wind were a rude awakening, but they did serve a useful purpose. We were up and out of there in no time flat.

Once we’d put Isla Stewart behind us, we motored west up Canal Ballenero and past Isla Catalina flanked by tall peaks covered in fresh snow. The scenery was magnificent. Astern, we could see a big squall advancing; ahead, the sky was highlighted with patches of blue. It all proved to be a screening of coming attractions, a day of schizophrenic weather that never could make up its mind.

A significant southwest gale is forecast for tomorrow, so we were mindful of making tracks to the north today, as our route took us outside the protection of the channels for several rough and tumble miles. Once back inside, we found not only shelter from the stiff winds, but a pod of humpback whales that lolled past our bow. One pair of synchronized swimmers, in particular, caught the eye of David Rockefeller, Jr. “I’ve never seen them so much in tandem,” he said.

The whales were accompanied by seabirds galore and even a posse of leaping seals. “There was obviously a lot of feeding going on, but I don’t think they were eating each other,” said Ned Cabot.

Following the whale show, we sailed up another long corridor of islands – Basket, Georgiana, London, Astrea and Aguirre – before hooking a hard right around the Brecknock peninsula at Point Aguirre, a massive face that resembled the Rock of Gibraltar.

Up to that point, we’d seen intermittent squalls with brief periods of sunlight. “Time to shed some layers,” said David T. But before long, the wind kicked in hard from the west and we were again scrambling for jackets and foul-weather gear. It was that sort of day.

Once around the peninsula and into open water, the breeze started to really hum and we enjoyed the best sailing since rounding Cape Horn, running before gusts up to 30-knots and flying downwind at anywhere from 9-12 knots. The peaks of Brecknock were also dusted in what looked like confectioner sugar, providing yet more arresting visuals.

The piloting was tricky, with lots of rocky hazards, as we slipped inside Isla Seebrook, to starboard, and laid a course for the evening’s anchorage, a small inlet called Caleta Cluedo just inside the southwest shore of Isla Clarence. We dropped anchor in the early evening twilight, right in time for another brief, icy squall, followed by more sunshine. If anything, it left us ready for whatever might transpire overnight. We missed a white Christmas this season aboard Ocean Watch, but safe and secure in our taut little haven, we could channel Bing Crosby with confidence: Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

- Herb McCormick with photographs by David Thoreson

*This crew log submitted by Iridium OpenPort and Stratos

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