Chasing the Southern Cross 5 -
December 23
We were underway after dinner, after spending the day sailing in a very nice breeze while Franco was taking photographs from the dinghy. While the photo session was going on, tack, and tack, and tack again, downwind, upwind, wide reach, and tack again, I kept on trying to prepare some things for our Christmas dinner. Quite a feat that my Bûche de Noël looked reasonably even!
The sky has finally given way and has allowed me to see the Southern Cross tonight. I have discovered what everybody knows: the Southern Cross is not a star but a constellation.
Approaching Cape Horn - PENGUINS, SEA LIONS AND OTHER FAUNA...
Christmas Eve
“Rolling in the dark night”: Romy’s log entry at 2 a.m. The weather became very rough soon after that and a few sail manoeuvres were needed.
Morning finds us still underway and we finally anchor off Punta Tombo shortly before lunch. Captain Serge had promised me we would not move, so we could cook our Christmas Dinner, but the weather decided not to go along with Serge. Strong winds and currents force us to look for another suitable and safe anchorage for the evening. My turkeys and piglet in the oven were very close to serious seasickness, but they survived.
In the afternoon, we find ourselves surrounded by penguins sitting on the water, and we can see a guanaco standing proudly on top of a cliff. He seems to be alone watching the sea, maybe watching us? Even at that distance, the guanaco looks beautiful, long legs and long neck, thin head looking ahead, the body in tension, ready to jump or start running.
Late in the evening, owner, guests and crew meet on deck for a glass of champagne. The sea looks very black. The glow of Shenandoah’s mast lights give a silver colour to the water around the boat, and reflects on the white bodies of the hundreds and seagulls, cormorants and penguins floating nearby. The birds are in flocks, penguins to starboard, seagulls to port and cormorants right aft, closing in and all moving slowly towards our stern, as if coming to wish us happy Christmas. To the west, we can see the fiery reddish colours of yet another magnificent Patagonian sunset still lighting the sky; to the east a very thin but very bright new moon is rising from the horizon, and some stars can be seen amongst some shiny grey clouds. Again, and not for the last time, I am impressed by the intensity and beauty of nature in here.
Father Christmas, with a strangely familiar face — it reminds me of Nicolas, the mate — arrives with a big sack full of presents for everybody; the birds watch very closely while we all try our new pair of socks on, the moon continues to rise and the sky darkens up slowly in the west. For an instant, most of the crew is silent, or so it seems to me, as if all of us, at once, were thinking of the people we would really like to be with on such a day as today.
The crew dinner starts very late, turkey and piglet are overcooked because of the very long delay, but champagne and wine cover up the dryness of the meats. By the time we reach dessert, several bottles have gone, carols have been sung slightly out of tune and good wishes have been exchanged again.
My bunk receives a very tired and tipsy Rosa tonight, but I think I am not the only one in that state.
Christmas Day
Happy Christmas to everybody! The whole crew and guests receive another unexpected Christmas present: as we sail in beautiful weather towards Punta Dos Bahias, many dolphins swim and play along with us for a very long time. Some of the crew and guests spend a good half hour or more, whistling, hand clapping and shouting “Jump! Jump!” The dolphins jump and swim and jump again and all cameras and video recorders are out for a long time.
Twenty-five knots of steady wind the whole day take us to the planned anchorage in the evening. The crew seems a little bit tired today, it must be the champagne and the wine from last night.
Boxing day
After a very early rise again to bake my daily bread, some of the crew comes down at tea break announcing that they have seen a couple of white whales that came to look at the boat. Luc and Franco were chasing some wild ducks around with the dinghy, and Chris filmed from the boat a band of guanacos ashore. Galley and interior crew become slightly upset because nobody told us any of that. Missed the fun! Apologies from the boys and we carry on.
After lunch, we are underway for a short time until we drop the anchor at Isla Leones. The seawater glitters under a very bright sun, and the land, brown and dry, arid, with no greenery at all, seen stands out against a cloudless deep blue sky. This is the Patagonian steppe at its best, arid and hot, and very windy. We are motoring at slow speed and keep slaloming between and around some giant seaweed floating in the water. We do not want them caught in the propeller; the water is far too cold to go diving. On deck, Seb and Chris are sewing sails.
At the top of the hill, an old abandoned lighthouse dominates the island. We approach it on starboard, through a narrow passage, leaving a rock covered with seagulls, probably hatching, to port. As we advance very slowly into the shallow creek, the tender is detached forward to ensure that we do not run aground: we do not have the detailed chart of this particular passage. On deck, cameras and videos come out again. Cormorants with red beaks, penguins, sea lions and other fauna are all over the place. A bird, duck or cormorant, whatever it may be, flies past us at great speed scaring a flock of seagulls that takes off at once in a flurry of wings.
After a short while, we drop the hooks, almost everyone goes ashore, walking shoes on and cameras in the pockets. The landing on the stony beach is tricky, the pebbles are very slippery and Anne Marie nearly falls. There is a penguin waiting for us in a welcoming gesture, and he seems to be smiling at our clumsiness. Civilisation signs show at the end of the creek: some plastic boxes, probably washed here by the sea, lay rotting away under the sun. Yet, this human litter does not seem disturb the thousands of penguin families living under the dry bushes. Under every one of those bushes, under every little cave, there is a nest with a mother penguin and one or two chicken. It is hard to see them, and a couple of times, inadvertently, we scare a male or two who run away from us and, we believe, from their nests as well. What a coward bird! However, when not in family but with the rest of the flock, sunbathing in the rocks, they let themselves be approached with no fear, at least to three or four meters; then they start shaking their tiny wings and running all together to the sea.
Serge, Anne Marie, Luc and Coralie climb to the top of the hill where they visit the remains of the lighthouse. From the top, the view is magnificent: currents and reefs surround the island, creating whirlpools and waves that seem to be breaking nowhere; the bright blue of the water almost hurts the eyes, and the silhouettes of many fishing boats working in the area break the horizon line. I walk half way up and then climb down again to go back to the boat. Time is running for me, I need to cook dinner for the boss. It takes me a while to find the beach where Felix is supposed to pick me up: the tide has gone down very quickly and I cannot immediately recognise the landing spot. When I finally find it, boarding the tender is almost impossible, there is no water enough and the penguins and a couple of sea lions are too close to my taste, but after a few minutes and some dancing steps on the slippery rocks under the watchful eyes of penguins, cormorants and seagulls, and sea lions, we succeed to bring me back on board.
The rest of the evening has been described by Serge on the log as “unforgettable afternoon”. The wind and currents intensify and the anchors start dragging. We really like this place and the owner wants to spend the night here, so a decision is made to take a line ashore to secure the boat and help the anchors. The shore is at quite a distance, but the boys tie two lines together and fasten them up on to a large solid rock. Then the current gets very strong and pushes Shenandoah away and sideways from the mooring rock, stretching the line at a 90º angle from its original position, same as the two anchors. Everyone moves away very quickly from the overstretched line and ducks somewhere on deck, until the line finally snaps broken. Most of it twirls onto itself like a spring and flies back in coils to the rock without even falling in the water, the rest flies up before falling in the water near the boat. We retrieve all the lines, move anchorages and we spend the night in Caleta Hornos.
