My friend Jess and I first met back in 2007. We had both sequestered ourselves to college in the relatively flat and snowless state of Pennsylvania, and in order to get our fix of skiing, we joined our respective colleges’ race teams. Jess went to Penn and was, thus, a rival competitor. A lot of camaraderie existed between teams and we often did just as much partying as we did skiing. Jess and I have kept in touch ever since, and because she lives the life of a seasonal skiing gypsy, she was able to take off for a couple months of adventure in Chile.
I had been jonesing to get back up to the Frey – a backcountry hut in the mountains above Bariloche, Argentina, for months and Jess agreed that it would be a good place to start the trip. Jess rolled into Puerto Montt on an overnight bus and after a whirlwind day of unpacking, repacking, errands, german food, and beer drinking, we hopped a bus for Bariloche.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
We had a lovely sunshiney day for the ride to Bariloche, with great views of snow capped peaks as we crossed over the pass and of the sparkling lake down next to town. We found a cheap hostel, tossed all of our gear down, and went out into town for a huge, meaty mixed-grill dinner.
The next morning, with even more sunshine in the forecast, we started our trek into the Frey. The winds were quite strong, but not strong enough to dampen our spirits and by the time we got up to the hut we were ready for a hearty meal and a cold beer – which is exactly what we got!
Everyone knows that Argentine wine pairs well with cribbage and we tore into plenty of it over the course of the trip. Despite her being British (we did some investigating and apparently cribbage was invented by an Englishman), Jess had never played before. That said, she was a very quick study (it must be in her blood) and she soon was winning games left and right.
You could hear the hut getting buffeted by wind all night long and when morning dawned, the wind didn’t exactly let up. After the typical bread and manjar (its something like caramel) breakfast, we decided to venture out to keep our legs moving and investigate how the snowpack had changed since my last trip. We got spanked pretty good by the wind, but dug a few pits and found generally good avalanche stability despite the wind affected snow on top.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Lots of people arrived to the hut that afternoon and by sunset it was totally packed with standing room only. A pair of the new arrivals happened to be splitboarders (Susan and Tim) from Alaska and we had a great evening chatting with them. Susan happened to play cribbage as well and we drank more than our fair share of wine while we were getting to know each other.
The wind finally abated in the night and it was game-on the following day. Sunshine and big, open couloirs were the “menu del dia” and we feasted like a bunch of famished hobos.
The wind finally abated in the night and it was game-on the following day. Sunshine and big, open couloirs were the “menu del dia” and we feasted like a bunch of famished hobos.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
The good weather held out for several more days and we continued to ski, drink wine, make friends, and soak up the good vibes of this incredible place.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Eventually the time came to slink back down to Bariloche and Susan, Tim, as well as a couple new Argentine friends joined us for the trek out. I managed to crack a ski in half on some refrozen corn, but other than that, it was an uneventful exit, with plenty of sunshine and some great conversations.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
We were famished after a couple of big days in the mountains and a huge fondue dinner as well as some frosty cold beers were in order. Once again, Bariloche didn’t disappoint and brought a gorgeous sunset as well as a couple of big chunks of grilled beef to the party.
Tim likes his Quilmes like he likes his women - Robusta y Persistente
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Susan and Tim had planned to head further south for more skiing in Argentine Patagonia, but the forecast looked pretty grim and Jess and I conned them into coming over to Chile to celebrate Chilean Independence day instead. It was at this point that we christened the four of us the Frey Amigos (a play on words of the Three Amigos!).
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
The skiing was good, the mid-skin wine break was better, and the view of Lake Llanquihue was the best.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Eventually fate caught up with me and my broken ski decided the time was right to self-destruct. This happened in pretty dramatic fashion and I hit the deck in a plume of snow, Spanish obscenity, and splintered ski parts. We all decided they must’ve come from a defective ski factory.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
There was nothing to do but turn on some rock and roll music, put on a smile, and one-ski it back to the trailhead to drink Escudo while everyone else made another lap.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Once everyone had gotten their fill of good views and corn snow, we drove back down into town and grabbed a bunch of the supplies we would need for Chilean Independence Day. Can you guess which shopping basket belonged to me?
We planned to stay in some cabañas near the Rascal and drove all the way down to the marina in Huelmo, a couple dozen kilometers south of Puerto Montt. The poor, overloaded Morning hit a monster pot hole on the drive through the countryside and by the time we were getting close to the marina we could feel the characteristic thump-thump of a flat tire. Luckily a Chilean couple soon happened by and was kind enough to help us re-inflate it enough to limp back in to the stable. After a big pasta dinner, we all hit the hay to prepare for a big day of celebrating.
Chilean Independence Day is best celebrated with roasted meats and gratuitous amounts of wine and my friend Mario invited us to join him on his organic farm. We all showed up with armfuls of wine and got to work chopping wood to roast the suckling pig that Mario had procured for the occasion. The sun shone all day, music echoed from the hilltops, exceptional food was enjoyed by all (all of it grown on Mario’s farm!), and the revelry lasted late into the night.
Chilean Independence Day is best celebrated with roasted meats and gratuitous amounts of wine and my friend Mario invited us to join him on his organic farm. We all showed up with armfuls of wine and got to work chopping wood to roast the suckling pig that Mario had procured for the occasion. The sun shone all day, music echoed from the hilltops, exceptional food was enjoyed by all (all of it grown on Mario’s farm!), and the revelry lasted late into the night.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
We woke the next morning with hangovers that were just as tremendous as the day before had been and slowly stumbled around until it was time for Susan and Tim to return to Argentina. It was very sad to see them go and we decided to take a commemorative photo to remember each other by. There were all sorts of odd props in the cabaña and we put them to good use.
Jess and I hadn’t quite gotten our fill of holiday festivities and we put our party hats back on for another big asado. This one was with our friends Clint and Reina from S/V Karma, the crew of a big steel sailboat boat from Scotland, my friend Raul from Puerto Montt, as well as my friends Alejandro and Ledda who are in the process of refurbishing a big 50 ft ketch. We had another lovely day and played lawn games, drank wine, and feasted until late into the night.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
The next morning, we shifted gears and started to prepare for the sailing portion of the trip. The main goal of the voyage was to try and ski from the boat and we agreed that that would be best accomplished near the San Rafael Glacier. We’d be gone for 6 weeks in total in the depths of Chilean Patagonia so we had to do some serious provisioning before we left.
We spent a couple days gathering all the supplies we would need for the trip and we capped everything off with a big pichanga dinner with Clint and Reina at the oldest bar in Puerto Montt.
We spent a couple days gathering all the supplies we would need for the trip and we capped everything off with a big pichanga dinner with Clint and Reina at the oldest bar in Puerto Montt.
The first day of our sail south was about as glorious as sailing gets in Patagonia. We had the current in our favor, fair winds, and even a few breaks of sunshine.
We even managed to spot penguins, albatrosses, and sea lions all within the first hour after leaving the dock. Volcán Corcovado, some 70 nautical miles to the south, even made a quick appearance above the horizon.
We had to start things off right and our first anchorage was near some hot springs. We pulled in just before dark and made fast the shore lines with our headlamps blazing. When we awoke the next morning, perfect calm reined and the clouds began to lift, revealing all of the grandeur of the fjords.
We’d managed to find a goose egg in the markets of Puerto Montt and we decided this would be the perfect time to crack into it. It was literally as big as my fist and it filled up half of my frying pan. It seemed to have a never-ending supply of yolk to dip into and it was absolutely scrumptious.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Once high tide came around, we took the dinghy over to the hot springs and spent the whole morning alternating between soaking and sunbathing.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Eventually it was time to crack into the wine and we kindled a little fire as well. Our bellies started grumbling around mid-afternoon and we grilled up some burgers and made a big pot of beans.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Our next anchorage was beside the town of Buill, and this time we pulled in a couple of hours before sunset. A couple of young men in a fishing launch pulled up after we got the anchor down and as they got close, we saw they had a whitewater kayak in the bottom along with a bunch of their fishing paraphernalia. We invited them aboard for a beer and they happily accepted. We chatted for a half hour or so and found that they work in tourism for half the year and as fishermen during the other half. They were super friendly and outgoing, which seems to be the case for 90% of the Chileans you run into in the fjords.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
As the sun started to set, they came back by the boat and dropped off a big ole’ fresh merluza that someone had clearly just caught and we immediately started to roast it in butter, garlic, and wine. An absolutely glorious sunset wrapped up the night and we went to bed with big smiles and full bellies.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
We’d thrown the leftover fish parts in our crab trap the night before and when we woke up, we found the trap absolutely swarming with sea life. There were dozens of starfish, sea urchins, and crabs crawling all over it and it took me a while to sort through it all. It was by far the biggest catch I’d ever made and we selected the two biggest crabs for our evening meal.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
We had a blend of sun and squalls that day as we sailed past the town of Chaiten and we made good time down to one of my favorite anchorages of all time. We knew bad weather was on the way, and we were happy to have a good nook to hide out in.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
During the day, Jess was making tea (how very British of her) and all of a sudden, my kerosene stove started acting funny. Once we were anchored (and after a glass of wine and a game of cribbage) I took a closer look and found that the bottom of the burner had cracked. It didn’t look particularly fixable, but luckily I’d bought a spare burner from the states back when I was in Mexico in case of such a conundrum.
I started installing it and the threads were cut a little bit crudely, but if I really gave it the business with a big monkey wrench I could get it fairly well seated. I tried firing it up to no avail and realized that it wasn’t quite sealing properly on the tank. The new burner didn’t have any spare washers and the old burner’s washers had long ago disintegrated so I was faced yet another conundrum. If we couldn’t get it sealed, we couldn’t cook and we couldn’t keep sailing. I started wracking my brains for potential solutions that’d be able to conform to into the crevices of the gap, but also would be able to withstand the high heat of the burner. Eventually some ideas came to mind and I started tearing the boat apart to find pieces and parts I’d stored away in the depths. I had some silicone emergency tape that purported to be “high temperature resistant” but found that it didn’t quite seal properly and started burning a bit when the burner got up to temp. I had a number of washers of different types of metal, but none of them would crush enough to seal either. A bunch of different types of epoxy claimed to be good with high heat, but would take several hours (or days) to cure properly and would mean that I couldn’t fix the burner if it failed again. Lots of bad options.
During the course of trying several of these options out, I managed to start a good number of kerosene fires that required the use of the fire extinguisher to put out. Just when I was beginning to despair and think about planning a return to Puerto Montt for parts, my eyes landed on an old baked potato that had been rolling around our kitchen since our asado with Clint and Reina. I’d wrapped it in foil and cooked it in the coals and it was charred around the edges, but for some odd reason we didn’t have the heart to commit it to the sea. The glint of the foil caught my eye and a plan slowly hatched in my head.
I started installing it and the threads were cut a little bit crudely, but if I really gave it the business with a big monkey wrench I could get it fairly well seated. I tried firing it up to no avail and realized that it wasn’t quite sealing properly on the tank. The new burner didn’t have any spare washers and the old burner’s washers had long ago disintegrated so I was faced yet another conundrum. If we couldn’t get it sealed, we couldn’t cook and we couldn’t keep sailing. I started wracking my brains for potential solutions that’d be able to conform to into the crevices of the gap, but also would be able to withstand the high heat of the burner. Eventually some ideas came to mind and I started tearing the boat apart to find pieces and parts I’d stored away in the depths. I had some silicone emergency tape that purported to be “high temperature resistant” but found that it didn’t quite seal properly and started burning a bit when the burner got up to temp. I had a number of washers of different types of metal, but none of them would crush enough to seal either. A bunch of different types of epoxy claimed to be good with high heat, but would take several hours (or days) to cure properly and would mean that I couldn’t fix the burner if it failed again. Lots of bad options.
During the course of trying several of these options out, I managed to start a good number of kerosene fires that required the use of the fire extinguisher to put out. Just when I was beginning to despair and think about planning a return to Puerto Montt for parts, my eyes landed on an old baked potato that had been rolling around our kitchen since our asado with Clint and Reina. I’d wrapped it in foil and cooked it in the coals and it was charred around the edges, but for some odd reason we didn’t have the heart to commit it to the sea. The glint of the foil caught my eye and a plan slowly hatched in my head.
I rolled the crusty foil into a long skinny snake and then curled it up into a ring and wrapped that ring around the base of the burner. When I cranked it down with all the gusto I could muster, the burner crushed the foil, filled the gap, and sealed the leak perfectly. We turned the burner on and it glowed with a lively blue flame. MacGyver, my childhood hero, would’ve been proud.
It was quite late at this point, so we decided to pack all of the scattered pieces and parts back away, eat some guacamole Jess had put together, and go to bed. When we awoke, we were quite ravenous and the wind was raging hard enough outside that we definitely wouldn’t be going anywhere for the day. It was time to hunker down and put our robust new burner to work.
First on the menu? A quick crab and hollandaise appetizer. In fact, there may be no better way to start your day.
It was quite late at this point, so we decided to pack all of the scattered pieces and parts back away, eat some guacamole Jess had put together, and go to bed. When we awoke, we were quite ravenous and the wind was raging hard enough outside that we definitely wouldn’t be going anywhere for the day. It was time to hunker down and put our robust new burner to work.
First on the menu? A quick crab and hollandaise appetizer. In fact, there may be no better way to start your day.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
The second course? How about a brunch of garlicy roasted potatoes and pan seared flank steak… with leftover hollandaise drizzled over the top. I can’t say I have surf-and-turf breakfasts very often… and this one certainly didn’t disappoint.
After a few games of cribbage and a quick movie, we hopped in the dinghy, braved the wind and rain, and harvested a couple kilos of mussels. It was, of course, time for the third course – steamed mussels dunked in hollandaise-wine sauce.
The winds increased during the afternoon and we had to add a few shore lines to keep us off the rocks in our snug little anchorage.
We got an updated weather forecast from my brother that afternoon and it sounded like things would calm down the following day, but when I first woke up early the next morning the wind was still blowing 25 knots through the anchorage. I let out a quick ‘bah-humbug’ and went back to bed for a bit. Eventually I dragged myself out for a quick spin in the dinghy to see what the sea looked like out beyond the island. Surprisingly enough, the sea didn’t look too rugged and I made the call that we should go for it. I knew that our next hop down the coast was of substantial mileage, but I rationalized that we’d be going plenty fast with such a strong north wind blowing. I also wanted to try and meet up with Clint and Reina from Karma who were one anchorage further south than us. I had no idea just how big a day we were getting ourselves into.
I returned to the Rascal in her cocoon of shorelines with the wind raging and waves gently rocking her back and forth. It was obvious that it would take some time to extract her and we got to work immediately. The trick was the sequence in which we removed them so that we could avoid ramming into the rocks when we only had one line left attached (the wind was still gusting over 20kts in the anchorage). There wasn’t much room to maneuver, so we decided it would be best to just drop the lines from the Rascal, have me motor out of the anchorage with a full head of steam, and leave Jess behind to retrieve the lines in the dinghy and then meet me around the corner.
All of this was much easier said than done and it was around 10:30 by the time we were able to rendezvous. To begin our downwind run, we first had to beat upwind into 20kts for a mile to get around the corner of the island. The waves were piling up on the shallow water and sloshing the Rascal around like a rubber ducky, but she powered through it and we were soon running with the wind like a bat out of hell.
We got an updated weather forecast from my brother that afternoon and it sounded like things would calm down the following day, but when I first woke up early the next morning the wind was still blowing 25 knots through the anchorage. I let out a quick ‘bah-humbug’ and went back to bed for a bit. Eventually I dragged myself out for a quick spin in the dinghy to see what the sea looked like out beyond the island. Surprisingly enough, the sea didn’t look too rugged and I made the call that we should go for it. I knew that our next hop down the coast was of substantial mileage, but I rationalized that we’d be going plenty fast with such a strong north wind blowing. I also wanted to try and meet up with Clint and Reina from Karma who were one anchorage further south than us. I had no idea just how big a day we were getting ourselves into.
I returned to the Rascal in her cocoon of shorelines with the wind raging and waves gently rocking her back and forth. It was obvious that it would take some time to extract her and we got to work immediately. The trick was the sequence in which we removed them so that we could avoid ramming into the rocks when we only had one line left attached (the wind was still gusting over 20kts in the anchorage). There wasn’t much room to maneuver, so we decided it would be best to just drop the lines from the Rascal, have me motor out of the anchorage with a full head of steam, and leave Jess behind to retrieve the lines in the dinghy and then meet me around the corner.
All of this was much easier said than done and it was around 10:30 by the time we were able to rendezvous. To begin our downwind run, we first had to beat upwind into 20kts for a mile to get around the corner of the island. The waves were piling up on the shallow water and sloshing the Rascal around like a rubber ducky, but she powered through it and we were soon running with the wind like a bat out of hell.
The wind was extra gusty and as we got further offshore it started gusting up to 25. It was also raining cats and dogs at this point and Jess decided to head down into the cabin to warm up. I was sailing with a fully reefed main and the jiblet up front and we were making 7 kts, which is notable because the Rascal’s hull speed is supposed to be 6 kts. That was right around the time the tide decided to flip and all of a sudden the waves started getting huge. Whenever a tidal current is pushing against the prevailing winds, the waves get big, but these waves were bordering on ridiculous. Every few minutes a big frothing crest of white would crash into the cockpit and fill the Rascal up until she slid down the side of the way and sloshed half of it back out again. The waves were easily up to 12 feet at this point and we were towing the dinghy (the Superhighway, she’s called) – which had started surfing down the waves. It would sometimes pass the stern of the Rascal until it fell into a trough, where it would slow down and suddenly come taut with a big jerk on the towing line.
My brother’s forecast had predicted nothing more than 20kts decreasing down to 5-10 after noon, but at this point the wind was a steady 30kts gusting higher and the Rascal was doing 8 kts over the ground with the main lashed down and just a tiny scrap of jib up. I was peeking down into the cabin, mentioning to Jess that the waves had gotten pretty big when all of a sudden we both heard a loud “Poppp-TWANG”. My heart leapt into my throat. I turned around to find the Superhighway slowly drifting backwards and the tattered shreds of the towline dragging in the water behind us. “Shit!” I yelled down at Jess, “Get up on deck now!”
I put the tiller over hard and started working back upwind towards the Superhighway. The waves are still enormous, so you could only ever spot her when she happened to be on the crest of one at the same time as you, and at this point the wind was whipping dead into our faces. With that kind of sea running and that much wind, its not easy to maneuver up on a moving target, but we went for a first pass towards her and were off by some 20-30 feet. By this time I’d fired up the engine and Jess was up on deck and we pulled out the boat hook to try and grab the Superhighway on our next pass. This time we came within 15 feet, but still not nearly close enough.
I know that it’ll be easier to maneuver if we drop all the sails, but I also know the Rascal could easily get knocked down in these kind of seas if we don’t have some sail up. After two more closer, but ultimately unsuccessful passes we realized that there isn’t much of anything to hook onto now that the painter is in tatters, but we also remember that there is a bunch of tangled shoreline in the dinghy still and figure that perhaps we can get a hook into that. The shorelines are classic for tangling up on everything in the dinghy when you’re trying to deploy them, but when we finally managed to hook one our fifth attempt, we found that it slowly dragged its way out of the dinghy without wrapping around a single thing until its entire 110m length was dragging behind the Rascal and slowly getting wrapped around the windvane.
This created a bigger issue because if it got caught in the propeller, we would be in an even bigger mess. We had to get it untangled in a hurry, but it took nearly ten minutes and the Superhighway was drifting away the entire time. We were just barely able to keep an eye on her and once all the line was clear we raced off after her, sighting her on the wave tops every 20 seconds or so. At this point, it was still blowing at least 25 with driving rain and our chances of ever boat-hooking the Superhighway seemed non-existent. There seemed to be only one other option to retrieve the Superhighway so and I grabbed the key to her outboard, tightened my life preserver, started giving Jess instructions, and we looped around for another pass.
Our six path was nowhere near the Superhighway, our seventh pass literally hit her in the stern, and our eighth pass seemed like it was as good as it was going to get. Just as we passed her beam, I took to the air, and with the grace of a swan, I dove across the 6-8 feet of ocean that separated us.
My adrenaline addled body landed with a mighty thud in her cushy, inflatable bottom and I gave a quick prayer of thanks to Poseidon for delivering me. Time to get to work. I quickly built a new tow line out of the one remaining shoreline that was in the dinghy and put a backup loop to a ring in the inside of the dinghy should something decide to break off again. I fired up the outboard (started first pull, thank god!) and started blasting off across these mammoth waves in pursuit of the Rascal, which was about a quarter mile away at this point. I was absolutely drenched and every 3rd or 4th wave would crash over the bow and into the bottom of the boat. I’d covered about half the distance to the Rascal when all of a sudden the outboard coughed, sputtered, and with an indignant snort, cut out entirely. Shit.
There was obviously no chance of rowing the couple hundred yards that separated us, so I went to work trying to diagnose what the issue was. Water in the fuel? Totally possible. Water in the air intake? Also totally possible. Luck run out? Seems likely. Finally I looked down in the floor of the dinghy and saw that one of my feet braced against the floor of the dinghy had pinched a fuel line. Five or six pulls later, she fired back to life and before I knew it, we were approaching the stern of the Rascal.
The wind was still blowing 25-30 kts and the Rascal was quite a scene of chaos when I got back to her. Jess had been pointing her into the wind, hove-to, with the jiblet flogging around on the foredeck where the wind had thrown her loose of her sail ties. Sheets were dragging in the water, twisted around each other, and the mast was ticking back and forth 90 degrees as each wave came and passed. Surely she must’ve been shitting her pants, especially when it looked like the engine had given up the ghost, but Jess kept her calm and kept the Rascal on course as I approached. With a dip of a wave and exceedingly lucky timing, I was able to cut the engine of the dinghy and step up onto the Rascal with one hand around the kill switch and the new towline and the other clutching onto the Rascal’s stern.
We cleared that carnage off the Rascal’s deck and soon we were pointed back down wind, and we both breathed a big sigh of relief that we had all survived the ordeal with out any major injuries or mishaps. It was still blowing hard and the Rascal was still making insane boat speeds of 8+ knots.
My brother’s forecast had predicted nothing more than 20kts decreasing down to 5-10 after noon, but at this point the wind was a steady 30kts gusting higher and the Rascal was doing 8 kts over the ground with the main lashed down and just a tiny scrap of jib up. I was peeking down into the cabin, mentioning to Jess that the waves had gotten pretty big when all of a sudden we both heard a loud “Poppp-TWANG”. My heart leapt into my throat. I turned around to find the Superhighway slowly drifting backwards and the tattered shreds of the towline dragging in the water behind us. “Shit!” I yelled down at Jess, “Get up on deck now!”
I put the tiller over hard and started working back upwind towards the Superhighway. The waves are still enormous, so you could only ever spot her when she happened to be on the crest of one at the same time as you, and at this point the wind was whipping dead into our faces. With that kind of sea running and that much wind, its not easy to maneuver up on a moving target, but we went for a first pass towards her and were off by some 20-30 feet. By this time I’d fired up the engine and Jess was up on deck and we pulled out the boat hook to try and grab the Superhighway on our next pass. This time we came within 15 feet, but still not nearly close enough.
I know that it’ll be easier to maneuver if we drop all the sails, but I also know the Rascal could easily get knocked down in these kind of seas if we don’t have some sail up. After two more closer, but ultimately unsuccessful passes we realized that there isn’t much of anything to hook onto now that the painter is in tatters, but we also remember that there is a bunch of tangled shoreline in the dinghy still and figure that perhaps we can get a hook into that. The shorelines are classic for tangling up on everything in the dinghy when you’re trying to deploy them, but when we finally managed to hook one our fifth attempt, we found that it slowly dragged its way out of the dinghy without wrapping around a single thing until its entire 110m length was dragging behind the Rascal and slowly getting wrapped around the windvane.
This created a bigger issue because if it got caught in the propeller, we would be in an even bigger mess. We had to get it untangled in a hurry, but it took nearly ten minutes and the Superhighway was drifting away the entire time. We were just barely able to keep an eye on her and once all the line was clear we raced off after her, sighting her on the wave tops every 20 seconds or so. At this point, it was still blowing at least 25 with driving rain and our chances of ever boat-hooking the Superhighway seemed non-existent. There seemed to be only one other option to retrieve the Superhighway so and I grabbed the key to her outboard, tightened my life preserver, started giving Jess instructions, and we looped around for another pass.
Our six path was nowhere near the Superhighway, our seventh pass literally hit her in the stern, and our eighth pass seemed like it was as good as it was going to get. Just as we passed her beam, I took to the air, and with the grace of a swan, I dove across the 6-8 feet of ocean that separated us.
My adrenaline addled body landed with a mighty thud in her cushy, inflatable bottom and I gave a quick prayer of thanks to Poseidon for delivering me. Time to get to work. I quickly built a new tow line out of the one remaining shoreline that was in the dinghy and put a backup loop to a ring in the inside of the dinghy should something decide to break off again. I fired up the outboard (started first pull, thank god!) and started blasting off across these mammoth waves in pursuit of the Rascal, which was about a quarter mile away at this point. I was absolutely drenched and every 3rd or 4th wave would crash over the bow and into the bottom of the boat. I’d covered about half the distance to the Rascal when all of a sudden the outboard coughed, sputtered, and with an indignant snort, cut out entirely. Shit.
There was obviously no chance of rowing the couple hundred yards that separated us, so I went to work trying to diagnose what the issue was. Water in the fuel? Totally possible. Water in the air intake? Also totally possible. Luck run out? Seems likely. Finally I looked down in the floor of the dinghy and saw that one of my feet braced against the floor of the dinghy had pinched a fuel line. Five or six pulls later, she fired back to life and before I knew it, we were approaching the stern of the Rascal.
The wind was still blowing 25-30 kts and the Rascal was quite a scene of chaos when I got back to her. Jess had been pointing her into the wind, hove-to, with the jiblet flogging around on the foredeck where the wind had thrown her loose of her sail ties. Sheets were dragging in the water, twisted around each other, and the mast was ticking back and forth 90 degrees as each wave came and passed. Surely she must’ve been shitting her pants, especially when it looked like the engine had given up the ghost, but Jess kept her calm and kept the Rascal on course as I approached. With a dip of a wave and exceedingly lucky timing, I was able to cut the engine of the dinghy and step up onto the Rascal with one hand around the kill switch and the new towline and the other clutching onto the Rascal’s stern.
We cleared that carnage off the Rascal’s deck and soon we were pointed back down wind, and we both breathed a big sigh of relief that we had all survived the ordeal with out any major injuries or mishaps. It was still blowing hard and the Rascal was still making insane boat speeds of 8+ knots.
The rain had slowly abated and we both sat in the cockpit, eyeing the Superhighway with suspicion and malice in our eyes. Her bid for freedom had filled her up with a fair bit of water, and the extra weight was making her tow more smoothly, but we also noticed that the fuel tank was starting to float pretty high up. I turned to Jess. “You suppose that will be an issue?” I asked. As she turned to reply, a wave tipped the dinghy a bit more and the gas tank leapt overboard.
It was dragging through the water at 8 kts, attached by an old spongy fuel line, bouncing and jumping all over the place. We quickly put the helm over to heave to and I started dragging the tow line back in by hand. Even hove-to, the Rascal was moving too quick to be able to get the Superhighway alongside and we were both expecting the fuel line to break lose at any moment. I unclipped my safety tether again, and prepared myself for another swan dive.
Jess gave me high marks for form on this dive and, against all odds, the gas tank, with its rusty hose clamps, managed to stay attached through the whole ordeal. I slowly tugged it back in and, as the Superhighway was still attached to the Rascal, getting back aboard was much easier this time. I threw the fuel tank down into the cockpit and we pointed the Rascal downwind once again.
At this point, I came really close to making a sarcastic comment to the effect of, “When I got back from the first dive into the Superhighway, I never expected to be making a second!” yet I decided to hold my tongue. Best not to tempt fate, right?
Five minutes later, we looked back at the Superhighway, who I had decided was out to commit suicide, and we saw that the engine cowling had somehow popped off and was dangling precariously by the pull cord. At this point, I was fully committed to the cause and I made the jump for the third time. I landed atop an oar that has been guilty of cracking ribs before, but my life preserver cushioned the blow and I grabbed the engine cover just in time and latched it back on.
Despite the fact that we were still blazing along at a ridiculous speed (we peaked at 8.7 kts), we’d lost a lot of valuable time in wresting with the Superhighway and we were now way behind schedule. We both agreed that I would’ve been totally hosed (and the Superhighway would’ve likely been successful in her suicide attempts) if Jess hadn’t been there to man the helm of the Rascal while I was practicing my gymnastics.
The wind and current slowly started abating as we sailed south and we eventually made radio contact with Karma to see where exactly they were anchored. We mentioned that we’d had a pretty big day and they offered up a big chili dinner and a sipper of Jack to warm our spirits. As we navigated between islets and around rocks on the final approach, the clouds started breaking up and a glorious sunset spread across the sky.
It was dragging through the water at 8 kts, attached by an old spongy fuel line, bouncing and jumping all over the place. We quickly put the helm over to heave to and I started dragging the tow line back in by hand. Even hove-to, the Rascal was moving too quick to be able to get the Superhighway alongside and we were both expecting the fuel line to break lose at any moment. I unclipped my safety tether again, and prepared myself for another swan dive.
Jess gave me high marks for form on this dive and, against all odds, the gas tank, with its rusty hose clamps, managed to stay attached through the whole ordeal. I slowly tugged it back in and, as the Superhighway was still attached to the Rascal, getting back aboard was much easier this time. I threw the fuel tank down into the cockpit and we pointed the Rascal downwind once again.
At this point, I came really close to making a sarcastic comment to the effect of, “When I got back from the first dive into the Superhighway, I never expected to be making a second!” yet I decided to hold my tongue. Best not to tempt fate, right?
Five minutes later, we looked back at the Superhighway, who I had decided was out to commit suicide, and we saw that the engine cowling had somehow popped off and was dangling precariously by the pull cord. At this point, I was fully committed to the cause and I made the jump for the third time. I landed atop an oar that has been guilty of cracking ribs before, but my life preserver cushioned the blow and I grabbed the engine cover just in time and latched it back on.
Despite the fact that we were still blazing along at a ridiculous speed (we peaked at 8.7 kts), we’d lost a lot of valuable time in wresting with the Superhighway and we were now way behind schedule. We both agreed that I would’ve been totally hosed (and the Superhighway would’ve likely been successful in her suicide attempts) if Jess hadn’t been there to man the helm of the Rascal while I was practicing my gymnastics.
The wind and current slowly started abating as we sailed south and we eventually made radio contact with Karma to see where exactly they were anchored. We mentioned that we’d had a pretty big day and they offered up a big chili dinner and a sipper of Jack to warm our spirits. As we navigated between islets and around rocks on the final approach, the clouds started breaking up and a glorious sunset spread across the sky.
It lit up everything around us and the colors really helped to lift our spirits after such a challenging day of sailing.
Dolphins escorted us into the anchorage and Clint and Reina helped us run shorelines as the light slowly faded to darkness. We went over into the warm, cozy cabin of Karma for dinner and we each told tales of the adventures we’d had in the previous days.
It was the perfect end to a harrowing day of sailing and it felt great to be across the notorious Gulf of Corcovado. We fell asleep early that night with smiles on our faces and adventure in our hearts.
Stay tuned for the next chapter - when we finally reach the San Rafael Glacier!
Stay tuned for the next chapter - when we finally reach the San Rafael Glacier!
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