March 23rd, 2006, We Awake to the Sea

I don’t know if the sun was up yet when we were awoken by Deborah in her soft, high, peaceful voice. “We’ve got to start the motor, so why don’t you move to the main cabin” she told us, and as we were on her boat, it was not a question, and not a command, but to be performed without question. It was clear already to us that what they requested of us was for our good, and they certainly always new best. We grabbed our blankets and pillows out of courtesy to them, to go back to sleep on top of their bedding, for they had already given us their bed, and we did not want to take any more.

It became clear to us later, and I’m not too sure how much later, that the wind had picked up and shifted, making our anchorage unsafe. I was giddy laying there with Jojo, our adventure underway, it seemed like something new and exciting lay around every contour, or wave, or night’s sleep. I do think I fell back asleep giggling and grinning, because I remember waking up to a sudden change and Deborah’s face… the absence motor noise must have noticeable even to my dormant body, because as soon as my eyes were open I knew what was happening. We were under way, and under sail.

Jojo and I pulled on our foul weather gear.
I must pause here for a HUGE thank you to Charlie Adams, Jojo’s father, and an extremely knowledgeable outdoors man. It was at his urging and advice that both Jojo and I purchased our own foul weather gear (which means high rubber boots, warm socks that stay warm when wet, durable waterproof bibs, and jacket. We both also brought good sunglasses and strings to keep them on, warm wool hats (although Jojo acquired another one from Yoyo in Santiago.. another story already told), and our warmest gear. Charlie not only did research himself but contacted friends and other knowledgeable individuals to consult, and thankfully we followed his advice.

So Jojo and I now bedecked in our bright red (and a yellow jacket for me) gear we made our way on deck for our first true glimpse of sailing. The wind was at our back and the sky was as grey as the sea. White tips blew off in strings of mist and flattened ripples. The learning began in earnest, and this is what I learned today: A sailboat is not pushed like a kite, or blown like a leaf. It is controlled like a wing, and if understood and known and loved, like the wing of a great raptor, streamlined and precise. But when the wind is at your back you fill your sails like the first breath of autumn in your lungs, and unleash the hull to it’s most willing desire, that of surging and pushing, lunging and slicing through the backs of waves that crash, rolling behind.

Of course all of this is dependant of the wind. At the right wind speed (and direction as this was solely a downwind experience) the sails are as full as they can be and unfurled all the way to achieve maximum speed. We were flying “wing and wing” with the main sail and boom pushed all the way out to one side, perpendicular to the boat and direction of travel, and the genoa pushed all the way out to the other side with the fly boom. Now this is some tricky sailing. The fly boom is a tubular piece of steel that attaches to a sliding hook on the front of the main mast. Using the boom gets the bottom point of the front sail way out to the side to catch as much wind as possible, however it also makes for very difficult jibing because the lines and the boom all have to be switched.

Later that day we hoisted the gennaker, a sail that is large and light, most like a kite, in place of the genoa. It’s full (and nearly symmetrical) shape, and it’s bright yellow color warmed us as we were pelted by rain and wind. The gennaker is the foremost sail and attaches to the front mast at the top.

The wind was blowing 20 knots and we made excellent time the whole day. But sailing is a lot of work, it’s draining at times and requires full concentration in daunting conditions. So we made sure to enjoy tea and coffee, with treats occasionally, and by the time we made it to our anchorage the weather had calmed, and the skies cleared.

We anchored in Quemchi, a small port and village in a protected bay on Isla Chiloe, the largest and main Island of the Gulfo Ancud. Again we were neighbors to a fish farm, but this one was serviced by a fish processing center, which seemed to be a significant part of the industry. Nearby was a dock that serviced this center, and the farm. Jojo and I decided it was time for our first adventure from the boat. Rolf showed me how to pump up the dingy, and the proper way to tie her up, and position our bodies for optimal rowing and safety. Once inflated Jojo and climbed in with our backpacks and set off, I rowing, and she sitting in the stern giving bearings and headings.

We made it to the dock after a fair amount of wandering and swerving, thanks to my inexpert rowing, tied her up, and set off towards town. As soon as we had exited the driveway of the processing center Jojo set off on a jog, and moments later a pickup truck can speeding along, and stopped next to me. A man from the Armada (the Chilean maritime authority) got out and began to question me in Spanish. Since I do not speak Spanish fast or fluently, it was very difficult to understand, but I got his meaning. Whomever the captain of the sailing boat we had just arrived from had better radio the Armada and report. Aye aye. Yo no soy capitan, soy marinero.

I continued walking in on the curving, hilly road typical of the Chiloean coast, and had many excellent vistas including this on of Northern Light, anchored below. The town and outlying buildings were diverse and interesting. A cobbled mixture of new and old, shanty, shack, and familiar. Some truly beautiful and interesting examples of working with what you have, and paying for what is standard. The contrast was blurry though, perhaps due to the slow, steady, pace of life that everyone there shares. This house had a beauty all it’s own;
and that beauty was accented by it’s conspicuous lack of a satellite tv dish, which was so very common throughout the area, regardless of apparent wealth. Another point of beauty, and sadness were the many and obviously loved shrines to deceased family members on the side of the road. Seeming casualties of the high speeds and blind curves exhibited even during our short stay in Quemchi.

We walked into town together after Jojo finished her run. Quemchi is a quiet town, with a small dock and a terraced plaza in the center. Across the water to the island that bisects the bay sits an old run down mansion with tall tapered deciduous trees on either side creating an image of symmetry and order. We imagined the colonial lord overlooking the town of locals, kicked out many years ago, his manor abandoned to the native elements, and the wear of the sea and ages.

We walked back to the boat with a few goods we purchased in town. Rowing back was easier but I almost capsized us getting in. That night we cooked dinner on board and relaxed afterwards with tea in the quiet comfort of Northern Light. Jojo and I were feeling much better by then as well, and I felt normal and slept well that night. Our first day of sailing had been excellent, with high winds and a fast passage, with more on the horizon.

Check out this short but growing list of sailing terms to help you out