After the Superhighway’s bid for freedom on the high seas, we needed a down day in a major way. Our friend Raul had told us about a lake that was several miles up a river that emptied into the sea not far from our anchorage in Bahia Tic Toc. Clint and Reina were also keen on a little exploratory mission and the weather was slated to be sunny – a nice change from the torrential rain and high winds we’d been getting beaten up by for the past few days.
We had the poor fortune of arriving to the river’s mouth at low tide and after transiting the bar with breaking waves on either side, we found that progress up the river was pretty slow. We inched our way up for an hour or two until we came upon a glorious looking black sand beach, clearly eroded from all of the volcanic rock in the mountains above us.
Our thirst and hunger were both strong and our wills were weak and when the sun started splitting through the clouds we had no choice but to stop. Beers were cracked, fires were built, and the party commenced on the spot. 80s rock could be heard echoing through the jungle and across the glacially fed river as it swirled past our beach of choice.
Clint and Reina were planning to head down to San Rafael as well, so we started planning out where our next few anchorages would be and what we’d do once we got to the glacier. We cracked into a few ciders and hung around the fire, watching steam rise off the beach as the sun worked its magic.
Eventually it was time to eat and when we had a good bed of coals, we threw the ribs on and dove into some pasta salad. They slowly smoked and sizzled and we chowed down right there on the beach with the sun shining and plenty of cold beers to quench our thirst.
It was exactly the warm, relaxing day we needed and we decided to slow-boat our way back down river with a couple of bottles of wine and some classic oldies ringing out across the water.
After a quick afternoon nap, the girls went out kayaking and Clint and I hung around on the front deck of Karma, watching dolphins frolic around the boats and waiting for the sunset to come.
A tasty crab appetizer and a big dinner of chipotle cream mussels followed and we all went to bed early with full bellies.
We turned out early the next morning and were greeted by the perfect quartering breeze just after we left the anchorage. The Rascal sails really fast on a broad reach, but Karma caught up with us after a couple hours of sailing and we were close enough that we could take a few pictures of each other as they passed.
The wind rose and fell a lot throughout the day and we did a lot of reefing and unreefing, but generally made good time and pulled into a delightful little anchorage by the name of Pozo de Oro that evening. It was a little sheltered lagoon with a bottom of golden sand and stones.
The next day of sailing wasn’t the fastest, with a fluky headwind and thick clouds, but we had several dolphin escorts, sailed past a few interesting fishing villages in the islands, and sailed close to a couple of sea lion colonies. In fact, one little sea lion pup followed us for more than a half an hour, splishing & splashing and peeking up at us from the water.
On the final approach to our anchorage, the breeze that had been light all day shifted around a bit and we finally were able to scoot along at 5 kts under sail alone. It had all the makings of a superb sunset and all the worries of the day melted away. There were a few dark clouds to our south, but nothing that looked particularly troublesome, and we figured we would make it to our anchorage about an hour before dark.
All of a sudden our light breeze from the side suddenly turned into torrential rains and violent gusty wind from dead ahead. It climbed from 10 knots to 25-30kts in less than five minutes and the Rascal had her rail under water despite a double-reefed main and the little jiblet up front. We cranked up the motor and tacked back and forth into it with the sea rising, the clouds darkening, and our on-time arrival looking dubious. A particularly big wave swamped us at one point, stole our crab trap from on deck, deposited a couple hundred liters into the cockpit, and receded back into the ocean with a rude splash.
The entrance into the anchorage looked exceptionally sketchy, with no soundings and a few sizable rocks, but we had little choice and we plowed ahead with Jess on the bow scanning for rocks in the gather darkness and me watching the depth sounder from the helm. We made it through a little pass just as the wind began to die off and finally got the hook down about an hour after sunset. It was a stressful evening, but luckily the Rascal pulled through nicely and we made a big mussel dinner (garlic butter wine sauce? Why not?) to recharge our batteries before bed.
The next day had more south winds predicted, so we decided to take advantage of the sunshine to dry out the boat and do some exploring. A beautiful sunrise greeted us in stark contrast to the previous night's foul weather.
The entrance into the anchorage looked exceptionally sketchy, with no soundings and a few sizable rocks, but we had little choice and we plowed ahead with Jess on the bow scanning for rocks in the gather darkness and me watching the depth sounder from the helm. We made it through a little pass just as the wind began to die off and finally got the hook down about an hour after sunset. It was a stressful evening, but luckily the Rascal pulled through nicely and we made a big mussel dinner (garlic butter wine sauce? Why not?) to recharge our batteries before bed.
The next day had more south winds predicted, so we decided to take advantage of the sunshine to dry out the boat and do some exploring. A beautiful sunrise greeted us in stark contrast to the previous night's foul weather.
The anchorage was a cool little nook with lots of islets around and we went out in the dinghy to see what we could find.
Unfortunately lots of parts of Chile, despite their remoteness, have bit of floating garbage from salmon farmers and litterbugs piled up on shores and this otherwise pristine little nook was no exception. We decided to collect some to build into a new crab trap for ourselves.
The views were still exceptional and we spent a good bit of time traipsing through the woods to find a little lake that showed up on the chart.
Not a bad spot for a nap, I reckon.
We spent the rest of our afternoon drying things out, editing photos on our laptops, and drinking gin and tonics. All of a sudden, to our surprise, we saw Karma steaming into the anchorage! After leaving them at Pozo de Oro, we hadn’t been expecting to see them until San Rafael. It was great to catch up with them again and we spent the evening eating steaks, a rich mussel stew and dispatching the last of our gin supply.
We again split off from Karma again the next day and we made good distance, broad reaching and sailing straight down wind. The big channels start to choke down into smaller tighter fjords at this point and the wind is pretty much always either coming from dead behind or dead ahead because of the funneling affect the cliff walls have.
The views were quite spectacular and we spent plenty of time slowly sailing along, dancing to funk music, playing cribbage, and drinking plenty of Chilean wine.
As we continued further south, we saw fewer fishing boats and the anchorages showed less signs of human activity. We spent one afternoon constructing our new “recycled” crab trap out of the beach garbage while a light following breeze slowly pushed us further south.
We looked up part-way through the traps construction to find a big motor catamaran bearing down on us, the first big ship we’d seen in days. They were clearly a sight-seeing mission headed down to San Rafael and they swept pretty close to us as we went by, breaking up the peace of the afternoon and rocking us with their wake.
The day wore on, and a little while before sunset, we saw them returning in the other direction. In good spirits, and with a few glasses of wine in us, we decided mooning them would be a pretty damn good idea. They were several hundred yards away, but someone must’ve had their binoculars out as they were passing because we could just make out the sound of a wolf whistle above the drone of their engines. We waved in reply and we each continued on our way.
The day wore on, and a little while before sunset, we saw them returning in the other direction. In good spirits, and with a few glasses of wine in us, we decided mooning them would be a pretty damn good idea. They were several hundred yards away, but someone must’ve had their binoculars out as they were passing because we could just make out the sound of a wolf whistle above the drone of their engines. We waved in reply and we each continued on our way.
We spent that evening finishing up the crab trap on the beach, eager to resume our nightly fresh-seafood appetizers.
That night was nice and clear and we decided to head to the beach to take some long-exposures of the beautiful night sky. There was no light pollution for hundreds of miles and the moon had yet to rise, so the Milky Way was crystal clear.
Just before bed we christened our new crab trap “Carmen” with a bottle of pisco, baited it with some old steak grizzle, and dropped her over the side to try our luck. We’d gotten a good weather report (strong north winds slowly tapering off) from Porter that afternoon and decided that we’d try our luck at entering Laguna San Rafael the following day. There were south winds predicted for the following few days, so we knew if we didn’t make it, we’d be stuck just short waiting for a new weather window.
The San Rafael Glacier spills into a big circular body of water that looks like a lake, but is actually still affected by tides. Its attached to Estero Elephantes (named for the sea elephants that used to frequent the area before they were all hunted to extinction) by a long narrow channel called Rio Tempanos, which is guarded by two very shallow narrow passes. Because of the huge tidal swings and all of the melt water coming out of San Rafael, strong currents of up to 6 knots sweep through each of these passes daily and its very important to time your passages carefully.
We couldn’t transit the passes until about mid day according to our tide tables, so we had a fairly leisurely morning and eventually hauled up the crab trap to see what had happened by in the night. It had twisted itself around the anchor chain, so it took a while, but when I finally got it up on deck, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was, by far, the biggest jaiba I’d ever seen and its claws were big enough to dismember me if I wasn’t careful! We decided to name him Goliath.
We couldn’t transit the passes until about mid day according to our tide tables, so we had a fairly leisurely morning and eventually hauled up the crab trap to see what had happened by in the night. It had twisted itself around the anchor chain, so it took a while, but when I finally got it up on deck, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was, by far, the biggest jaiba I’d ever seen and its claws were big enough to dismember me if I wasn’t careful! We decided to name him Goliath.
It was an auspicious start to a pretty goddamn righteous day and we pulled anchor and navigated back out into the channel. The tide was still running against us so big waves piled up, and the wind was blowing at least 20 knots with the rain coming in droves. Jess decided to spend the morning down below and whipped up some savory French toast that was just the thing to warm me up. We were going a bit too fast for our anticipated bar-crossing, so we decided to drop sail and putter along under bare poles for an hour until the tide changed.
There were several shallow banks where the water and waves were piling up and by the time we got to the pass, we were getting lots of waves jumping into the cockpit and the wind was gusting up to 25. We decided to switch down to the storm jib (a sail I very rarely use) because I didn’t want to be overpowered going into the maelstrom of the currents rushing through the pass. We managed to sail through the pass at about 5 knots with the storm jib and a double reefed main pulling hard.
Once we got to the other side of the pass it was like a switch had flipped. The wind died off, the sun started to break apart, and all the swell that’d been coming down Estero Elephantes shrank down to a light wind chop.
We had another hour or two of sailing before transiting the other pass, so I decided to slip down below and mix up a big glorious lunch of American fried rice, complete with sausage, cheese, and even some bbq sauce. We ate in the cockpit, bathed in sunshine with the clouds slowly peeling back to reveal some monstrous snow capped peaks behind them.
With the improving weather, we were less concerned about the second pass, but once we got into it we found a counter current of a couple of knots flowing out of the river. This didn’t jive with the tide info we had, but we fired up the engine and powered through up into the river. We were still making plenty of headway despite the failing wind and we had plenty of daylight left, so we just kept chugging along. We’d covered a mile or two, when out on the horizon we noticed a floating white chunk. I let out a whoop and we both went up on the bow to eyeball it. It was our first iceberg!
We each took dozens of pictures and could hardly contain our excitement for this little white bergy bit. Little did we know that we were about to see lots of bergs that were a bit bigger than this little Volkswagen-sized toddler.
The wind had risen again so we sailed on and slowly we saw more and more bergs as we approached the head of the river. We had a decent following breeze and were able to sail up the entire thing after getting through the pass, which felt like a pretty good accomplishment given the counter current, the narrowness, and the fact that we were dodging icebergs left and right.
Eventually we reached the river’s end and popped out into the laguna. We were both dumbfounded. There were several bergs around us that were the size of apartment buildings, just floating around placidly. You could also see the full expanse of the glacier itself off in the distance.
Our friend Raul had told us of a good anchorage on the far side of the laguna and we pointed the Rascal towards it. I was super eager to go and see an iceberg first-hand and I also wanted to get a few photos of the Rascal sailing amid bergs, so I set off in the Superhighway to do some recon while Jess kept the Rascal moving in the right direction. The sunshine was flirting back and forth with the clouds that were piling up on the mountains and it created the perfect lighting for such a dramatic scene.
The intense deep blue color of the ice bergs was absolutely staggering and I moved in towards one in our path that looked like a crouching puma getting ready to lunge.
I also managed to collect some ice for cocktails and I got back to the Rascal just as the wind was picking up.
It turned into a perfect, clear north wind with no swell and we rocketed across the laguna to our anchorage at 6 knots with the wind whipping through our hair and ice bergs scattered as far as the eye could see.
It was the perfect way to end such a challenging day of sailing and there was lots of congratulations and reflection once we dropped the anchor. It felt like we’d “finally made it” – whatever that meant for each of us. It was an emotional evening and we wasted no time in celebrating.
Bulleit poured over ice that was literally thousands of years old. It tasted awfully sweet.
The next order of business was dinner – Goliath was on the menu and we could barely fit him into the pan. Each of his claws on their own would’ve been enough to feed us and he paired perfectly with the ice cold bourbon.
Not surprisingly, that put us right to bed and we woke up with a thirst for exploration. The north wind continued throughout the night and kept all of the icebergs at bay, but it was fairly calm by the time we ventured out.
Just after the glacier came into sight, some dolphins appeared out of nowhere and started jumping and frolicking in front of the dinghy. It was the perfect escort.
As we got closer to the glacier there were more and more icebergs. Some were the size of a football, but others were the size of a 12-story building. At times, our path would be totally blocked, but we were able to find leads through the ice that brought us up closer and closer to the face of the glacier without having to push much ice out of the way.
I’ve been impressed by how much abuse the Superhighway can take, but I never dreamt that it was capable of pushing big blocks of ice around.
We eventually got within a couple hundred yards of the glacier and decided to just stop and enjoy the scene. The sheer size of it is absolutely incredible and we both sat in awe for a while.
All of a sudden, a loud thundering sound echoed across the quiet stillness of the icepack and we looked as a ginormous skyscraper of glacial ice calved off from the face of the glacier. It slowly tipped away from the face and then, gathering speed, slid down into the sea with a smack and an enormous splash.
It’s tough to imagine the exceptional amount of water that gets displaced by such a huge object and the cloud of spray it created was several football fields long. We were sort of expecting a big tsunami to come and cream us, but all of the surrounding ice damps the wave out and it just turns into a long, slow swell. As the swell moves through all the dense pack ice, all the bergs bump elbows and make this incredible grinding, rumbling noise.
We sat there for several hours, moving back and forth with the floating ice and watching as more and more large bergs broke off. Each time it happened was just as exciting as the first time and we couldn’t help but let out oohs and ahhs each time a chunk would calve off. It is one of the most incredible displays of the power and strength of nature that I’ve ever seen.
There were also lots of different types of calving. Some bergs would tip off while others would slide in. Sometimes a big chunk would break off all at once while others would slowly crumble piece by piece. Some would hit the water like a cannonball while others slid in pretty quietly. There were even icebergs that broke off from deep underwater and burst up from below!
The bergs that came from down below (and from the corners where the glacier was getting pinched) were a glorious deep blue color. Because there was so much pressure on these areas, all of the tiny air bubbles were squeezed out and they were perfectly clear unlike the whitish opaque pieces on top.
Eventually the wind started picking up and we decided that we ought to work our way back to the Rascal. We picked our way along the shoreline and saw that some numbers were written on the rock in white paint. Each number corresponded to the year when the glacier had been calving off in any given location. Because of global warming, the face has slowly been receding and by the time we got out to the mark for 1978, we were more than a mile from the face of the glacier.
You could also see the areas around the glacier where trees and plants were starting to move into places that’d been under hundreds of feet of ice just a few decades ago. This painted a very real, tangible picture of climate change and the tremendous rate at which our world is heating up.
The wind and waves had risen substantially and we had a long, wet ride back to the Rascal that afternoon. We decided to hunker down, cook a hot meal, and relax for the rest of the day.
The following day, the weather was really horrendous and there was no way we were going anywhere. We both caught up on our journals, played a lot of cribbage, and did some reading.
When the clouds finally lifted the following day, we could see that the storm had created lots of snow in the high country.
The following day, the weather was really horrendous and there was no way we were going anywhere. We both caught up on our journals, played a lot of cribbage, and did some reading.
When the clouds finally lifted the following day, we could see that the storm had created lots of snow in the high country.
We knew about a trail that wound up through the woods, so we decided to venture off on a hike. San Rafael is part of a national park and the trail has several spots that overlook the glacier. On the way, we passed an old burned-out hotel that was built to stimulate tourism back in the 30s and 40s as well as a decrepit airstrip that is apparently still used at times.
It was a warm day, and we spent lots of time at the overlooks watching the glacier calve off and listening to the cracking and splashing of the icebergs.
We were trying to scope out good zones to try our hand at skiing and we noticed a shoulder on either side of the glacier that seemed to have a good smooth surface without any big crevasses. Most importantly, they’d be accessible by dinghy, because all of the approaches via land were blocked by cliffs and drop-offs.
With that important piece of recon completed, we started working our way back down towards the anchorage. We both agreed that we should try and ski on the flanks of the glacier the next day and the weather forecast sounded promising. We were just wondering aloud what Clint and Reina had been up to when we rounded a bend and there they were walking along in matching outfits. It was a joyous reunion and we decided to cook up a big tex-mex pot luck dinner (complete with cocktails and a great sunset) on Karma.
We woke up in a haze and I started gathering my things together for the ski mission. I’d broken my skis weeks before in Argentina, but a friend had offered me one of her old pairs and I still needed to move the bindings over. Mounting bindings isn’t a particularly easy thing even with a jig and all the tools you need, but doing it on a rocking sailboat with a raging hangover and makeshift tools was really taking things to the next level. First I had to troubleshoot the inverter that seemed to be on the fritz. After disassembling a few electrical panels, I traced the fault to a blown fuse and we were back in business.
I made a quick, shotty paper jig and taped up an old, worn drill bit to avoid drilling too deep. Against all odds, everything came together pretty well and by 9AM, I had a pair of early 90’s Salomon X-Mountains all mounted up and ready to shred. We got on the radio with Karma and started planning our next moves. The south wind we’d had during the night had started pushing a lot of the pack ice up towards our anchorage. That said, all of the bigger bergs had run aground short of the shallow zone we were anchored in and the wind seemed to be dying off a bit. We decided to make a run towards the glacier in the dinghies, but retreat if the wind kicked up or the weather turned threatening.
I made a quick, shotty paper jig and taped up an old, worn drill bit to avoid drilling too deep. Against all odds, everything came together pretty well and by 9AM, I had a pair of early 90’s Salomon X-Mountains all mounted up and ready to shred. We got on the radio with Karma and started planning our next moves. The south wind we’d had during the night had started pushing a lot of the pack ice up towards our anchorage. That said, all of the bigger bergs had run aground short of the shallow zone we were anchored in and the wind seemed to be dying off a bit. We decided to make a run towards the glacier in the dinghies, but retreat if the wind kicked up or the weather turned threatening.
We loaded all the ski gear into the Superhighway and Jess rode with Clint and Reina in their high-powered dinghy.
It was a gorgeous morning, and we started exploring a bunch of the bigger bergs, getting up close and checking out all the nooks and crannies. It almost feels like you have an enormous museum all to yourself, able to freely cruise around these glorious natural sculptures.
We even hopped off to walk around on one that seemed particularly stable without much risk of rolling.
But was we moved deeper into the pack ice, we found that it was much more dense than it had been the day before and we weren’t sure if we’d be able to even make it to the far shore like we did on the first day. In retrospect, this change in the character of the ice was almost certainly due to the prevailing southerlies. Right around this time, the wind started to kick up again and we decided that it was probably time to turn tail and get back to the anchorage to make sure our boats weren’t getting swamped with ice. We were also a bit worried that the leads we’d used to enter the pack would close up on us and our exit would disappear.
We mixed up a couple of pisco lemonades and began our retreat back to the anchorage. The pack was slowly closing up around us, so it was a good call and we found the sailboats unmolested when we got back.
We mixed up a couple of pisco lemonades and began our retreat back to the anchorage. The pack was slowly closing up around us, so it was a good call and we found the sailboats unmolested when we got back.
Since we hadn’t gotten to enjoy our picnic lunch on the icebergs, we decided to crack into it on Karma instead. We spent the afternoon watching 180 Degrees South (Jess hadn’t seen it yet!), napping, and casualizing. Jess and I whipped up some stuffed cabbage leaves for dinner and then went over to Karma to drink wine, play hearts, and watch the sunset! It was an exceptionally clear night and there was an incredible display of stars out.
I was a bit disappointed that we hadn't gotten to do any skiing, but the boats were safe and we had better confidence in our anchorage after a full day of south winds. The high pressure was predicted to last for another couple days and we decided to make another run for the south coast (and our ski objective) the next day.
Stay tuned for the dramatic ski attempt on the San Rafael Glacier in the next installment of the Voyage of the Rascal.