Caleta Columbine

April 6, 2007

52º53′ South, 73º42′ West

Caleta Columbine

I thought the water tanks might be running a little low by now, so I connected the hose between the awning and the fill pipe to collect (the ever-flowing) rainwater. Many gallons of pure Patagonian rain would be filling my tanks. In the morning I saw that about five thousand Patagonian sand flies had ended their lives on the awning during the night. Why? I thought, be a man, there can’t be that many flies that actually went down the hose into the tank. The very first glass of water I got from the faucet had a dead fly in it.

Spent twelve hours at the helm today, and logged over 50 miles. I ended the day with mild hypothermia, my hands frozen to the wheel. I just penned an article about high latitude preparation, in which I discussed proper clothing in detail, and there I was wearing a damp cotton t-shirt as my first layer. And I got my gloves wet.

I guess I’m trying to make up for lost time. Plus, the scenery wasn’t quite as spectacular, so I wasn’t tempted to stop or take any side trips. It was still amazing, many hundreds of waterfalls and all that, but covering some miles seemed more important. I think it’s more the light than it is the scenery. When it’s completely socked in, as it is most of the time-and raining-the scenery looks flat. A few holes in the cloud base livens things up a bit with rainbows, backlit clouds, and splashes of color.

A lot of today was motorsailing against headwinds. I’m sure there is a science to this and it’s all written down somewhere, but I found that tacking to windward with just the mainsail and the motor seemed to win more miles. Maybe not, maybe it just feels better to be going faster through the water, and heeling, than pounding straight into it. Having the main already up, I just had to roll out the jib when favorable pure sailing winds did come along. I sailed a good part of the end of the day, maybe ten miles out of the fifty.

Where I am now is a perfect cove. Sailors in these parts, including the people who wrote the nautical guide (Giorgio and Mariolina, friends and lovely people, by the way) seem to get addicted to this tying with shorelines business. Shorelines are very secure, and you do sleep soundly when tied into a little caleta the size of a tennis court, but let’s not forget good old anchoring in good old protected waters.

This spot gets sort of cursory treatment in the book, with a caleta a few miles away (where you can tie yourself to half a dozen trees with a spider web of lines) get a more promising description. This place is faultless: protection by a semicircular peninsula, sandy bottom with excellent holding, and beautiful. Anywhere else in the world this would be a ten out of ten. I may be biased because I’m solo, but in the morning I can just raise the anchor and be on my way…no dinghy, no shore lines, no fuss.