Photo: Jess Oundjian
When I first hatched the plan for this voyage and decided to quit my job, I told everyone that I was sailing down to South America so that I could ski from the boat in the fjords of Chile. I wasn't sure if that was a pipe dream or not at the time, and I didn't really care. I needed a new challenge and the goal of skiing from the boat seemed like the right challenge to light a fire under a real adventure.
I knew all along that this adventure would be more about the voyage and less about the end destination, and I've gotten to do some incredible things along the way: sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge, cruising the Sea of Cortez, crossing the equator in the Galapagos, and making a successful landfall in Chile after 37 days at sea. But looming in the back of my mind was this end goal: skiing directly from the boat. I knew it wasn't going to be easy and it certainly wasn't. Snowline sits more than a thousand feet above sea level and the brand of jungle that grows in the fjords is especially impenetrable. I spent several months exploring some of the wildest corners of Patagonia for easier access points and I hadn't found anything that looked very promising until we arrived in San Rafael.
This was the best chance I was going to get.
I knew all along that this adventure would be more about the voyage and less about the end destination, and I've gotten to do some incredible things along the way: sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge, cruising the Sea of Cortez, crossing the equator in the Galapagos, and making a successful landfall in Chile after 37 days at sea. But looming in the back of my mind was this end goal: skiing directly from the boat. I knew it wasn't going to be easy and it certainly wasn't. Snowline sits more than a thousand feet above sea level and the brand of jungle that grows in the fjords is especially impenetrable. I spent several months exploring some of the wildest corners of Patagonia for easier access points and I hadn't found anything that looked very promising until we arrived in San Rafael.
This was the best chance I was going to get.
Crocodiles swimming through the anchorage
Without any clouds to hold the heat in, it had gotten really cold, and we woke up to a layer of ice on the Rascal’s deck. Despite the south winds, no bergs of consequence had entered the anchorage and we felt good about the security of the boats. I decided that we were going to do whatever it took to get some turns in on this fine day, and we reloaded the dinghy with all of our ski gear.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
The pack ice looked a lot like it had the previous day and we slowly worked our way into it, switching off between the two dinghies every five minutes or so. One of us would push ice chunks out of the way for a while and then the other leapfrogged to the front to do the icebreaking. As we got towards the south coastline, where we’d expected more open water because of the south wind, we found that the pack was just growing more and more dense. Clint was rightfully worried about the possibility of popping one of the dinghies and he offered to stay behind in a close (but safe) location to help us out in case we ran into trouble.
This was the moment when Jess found her true calling as a black-belt Ice Ninja. She took the pair of bamboo staffs up at the bow of the Superhighway and we charged into the fray, with her blocking and deflecting bergs and flows left and right.
We found that once you were into the densest parts, you could kind of push a bigger burg in front of you to serve as a blocker. This pushed all of the smaller bergy bits out of the way. The only issue was the occasional chunk that slid underneath the dinghy. I’m sure our propeller didn’t appreciate these chunks, but no calamity befell the outboard and if anyone had been following behind us, they would’ve had the perfect ingredients for a margarita.
After more than an hour of pushing through dense pack ice, we finally gained a lead on the south shore and made it to our intended landing spot. We parked the dinghy in a zone where a small river came out and it was protected by some rocky islets that kept it relatively free of ice. From there, it looked like a relatively straightforward jaunt along the rocky / bushy shoreline to get up to the shoulder of the glacier.
It was slow going in ski boots, but we wound our way up through the twisted trees and jumbled rocks until we got to the crux of the approach, which Jess colorfully nicknamed “The Pantshitting Death Ladder of Doom”.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Some glaciologist must’ve attempted this same approach at some point and was unable to get over or around this cliff without a little bit of aid. It was built of stripped trees and rusty nails and it looked like it hadn’t been used in about a decade. That said, it was our only ticket over this section of rock climbing and we had no choice but to pick our way up it. I managed to edge my rubber-soled ski boots onto a small flake of moss-covered rock and that, combined with the remains of the ladder, was enough to get me up and over onto the ledge above it.
Jess came up behind me and was making a similar ascent when one of her feet started to slip. She was already well beyond her rock-climbing-in-ski-boots-comfort-zone and the slip was enough to send her into tears. I dropped my pack and worked my way back down to where she was clinging on for dear life. With some encouragement and a few extra footholds, she was able to mantle up and over the sketchiest part and we were back on our way.
The weather was absolutely spectacular and the views of the glacier and the laguna were absolutely spectacular. The rest of the approach was pretty straightforward, slowly working our way up and over a bunch of rocks that’d been rounded and smoothed by the glacier. There was moss and small bushes growing in the nooks and crannies but none of the horrendously thick jungle that typically characterizes the shorelines around these parts.
Eventually, our objective finally came into view and it looked just as perfect as it had from afar.
We were both stoked to get on snow and we charged up the last section of rock with considerable spring in our step.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
We decided to ski one-person-at-a-time for safety’s sake and I threw my crampons on to work my way up the face of the glacier. I went a couple hundred feet up and kicked out a platform with my crampons to change over.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
It was definitely firm, but totally edge-able and it only took a couple turns before I was hooting and hollering like a little kid! I came to a big sliding stop at the bottom, with little bits of glacier ice spraying out from my skis and a huge smile spread across my face.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
We decided to head back up together for the second run and it was just as glorious as the first.
It felt totally surreal to be skiing in this place. Icebergs lay bobbing around in the distance. 4000 meter snow-capped peaks surrounded us on all sides. You could hear the cacophony issuing from the face of the glacier far below us. The ice crystals glinted in the sunshine and the clear blue sky made the perfect backdrop.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
Photo: Jess Oundjian
We skied that glacier for all we were worth and high fives abounded at the bottom.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
With the mission accomplished, we packed our bags and once again started working our way across the rocky expanse. Eventually we came upon a long cascading waterfall dropping into a perfect little pool. Between our heavy packs and the hot sunshine, we were really roasting and we decided that a little dip was in order.
It felt great to cool off and the setting couldn’t have been any better.
The ice had cleared away from the shore while we’d been skiing and we decided to leave Jess with all the gear on the shoreline while I worked my way back around to the dinghy solo. The “Pantshitting Death Ladder of Doom” was much easier to finagle without a big pack and I was back to the dinghy in no time. I motored around to meet Jess at our rendezvous and we decided it was time to crack into a bottle of champagne and some lunch.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
The return trip to the anchorage was much more casual than the entrance and we pulled up to Karma with big smiles and were greeted with loud cheers!
It was then and there that we decided cocktails were in order and we all hopped into the dinghies to have a little party on an iceberg. We tethered the dinghy to the berg with an ice axe and Reina donned crampons for the ascent to our chosen partying locale.
Clint and Reina had all the fixings (Jack Daniels and rock & roll) and we couldn’t have asked for a better view of the glacier. We took some self timer photos, chipped bits of ice off as our cocktails melted, and sang for all our lungs were worth! The sunset that night was spectacular and I felt like the happiest man in the world.
Clint and Reina had all the fixings (Jack Daniels and rock & roll) and we couldn’t have asked for a better view of the glacier. We took some self timer photos, chipped bits of ice off as our cocktails melted, and sang for all our lungs were worth! The sunset that night was spectacular and I felt like the happiest man in the world.
The day wasn’t quite over, however. We still had dinner to knock out and we decided to make a bunch of dumplings on Karma. I’ve been in love with dumplings ever since my time living in China and its always fun to get everyone involved with mixing filling, rolling wrappers, and stuffing dumplings. They were absolutely delicious and it was the perfect cap to an exceptional day.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
The Voyage of the Rascal has been much more about the journey than any end goal or destination, but I must say it was tremendously satisfying to have finally accomplished the challenge that has been my sole focus for more than two years.
Photo: Jess Oundjian
My heart was content, my belly was full, and it was about time to start the long trek back north.
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