[password] rachel25
[position] 54 56.686s 069 46.082w
[status] Anchored in Caleta Cinco Estrellas, Bahia Tres Brazos, Isla Gordon
In this game you sometimes have to take the hits. After yesterday's sublime beauty, today was one of hard knocks, thankfully all turning out well in the end, and only money and time required to fix things.
We left the safety of Caleta Alakush intent on another meeting with the glacier at the head of Seno Garibaldi. The GRIBS showed some wind coming our way, well actually 25-30 knots from the NW. But it was a beautiful morning, not the sun of yesterday but a pleasant breeze from the west. We entered Seno Garibaldi and started beating north, some 11 miles to go and the wind a brisk 20-25 knots. Double reefed main and 3 reefed yankee and we were very comfortable making 6.5 knots. Then the wind instrument went blank. I squinted at the masthead and could see the anemometer and vane complete with their mounting strut swinging around and not at all in the right orientation. I surmised the unit was swinging form its delicate electrical cable and would not stay there long. Time for a trip up the mast, but the wind had other ideas and chose this time to kick us in the teeth, we guessed (no instruments) at 40 knots. We furled the yankee and started the engine in the hope that we could reduce the motion and eke the last of the life from the electrical filaments. Ten minutes later, I am on deck, harness on and tied to the halyard, ready to climb. I look aloft - nothing there, the mast tip strangely naked.
Not much enthusiasm for beating into 40 knots, glacier or not. We turn and run, bare poles, 6.5 knots. Head back across the Beagle Channel aiming for this three-armed bay. The wind moderates briefly as we cross and we raise full sail. Five minutes later I take a glance behind, a smoke grey cloud obliterates the western view, the sea white-streaked black below it. We furl the yankee, but too late for the mainsail. We run before it praying that the mainsail can withstand the onslaught. Thankfully it does and we make the lee of a small headland in the entrance to the bay which gives us a couple of minutes to lower the sail.
No sails again and still scudding along amidst the white spume. The faithful Volvo comes to life and we claw our way into peace. The peace of a perfect caleta, a hiding place from the rage outside.
[END]