March 24th - 25th 2006, Qhuhui, Chile

We awoke in Quemchi and motored out of our anchorage to set sail East under a light wind. The sun was shining and we were heading for a small island with a bay in the middle and a tight opening like the neck of the bottle. We sailed between islands and openings into the large body of water which is the gulf between Isla Chiloe and the main land of Chile. The wind wouldn’t make up it’s mind weather to blow just hard enough to sail, or just too soft to sail. But eventually we cleared a peninsula to our south and the wind leaped into life and we sailed a beat, strong and steady, beautiful and smooth on an even sea.

Islands jump out of that pure blue sea into a fresh and lively air. Covered in dark green foliage of forests and shrub, and clearings dotting the land clearly marking settlements, with pastoral beauty and imagined lives. Growing up on a farm with the ocean at your doorstep, a horse as your best friend and your only neighbor across the water on the next island over. We enjoyed tea and coffee with fresh baked cake Deborah made with an expertise gained by baking for years at sea. The sun moved across the sky as we tacked south east to south west. Sea birds took flight at our approach, running across the water as they flapped their wings in a long and ripple strewn take off. All I could think of was the Windego, as their ripple inducing footsteps lengthened and separated until with an almighty winged effort they took to the sky, avoiding any contact with our innocent aims.

We approached Quehui from the north, and made oru last tack turning east parlell with another island, to sail into the bay that is formed by the small island. Check out the blowup to the right, you can see the small bay with the bottleneck, and the island mass to the east. Now, this chart is not entirely accurate and we discovered that neither the charts nor the seamap program on Deborah and Rolf’s computer were truly accurate. Isla Quehui’s bay extends almost all the way to eastern side of the island with a low and narrow ridge tying the northern and southern ridges together. These north and south ridges (running east-west) are high and steep, and fully covered in plant life. As we sailed into the neck of the bay the town appeared on the northern shore, and an ancient wooden church dominates the skyline rising beautifully above the smaller homes and shops.
As we came around the peninsula (and we had to give it wide berth due to shoals and sea weed) we made our tack to the south, heading down towards the western end of Isla Quehui, and the bottleneck opening to our anchorage. The sea was a strong blue, and the wind on our nose, but Northern Light holds a strong vector and we were all comfortable and enjoying the serene views offered by the landscape and sea life all around.

We lowered the sails and started the motor as we came through the neck and curved around to the north to our anchorage just off the shore of the town of Quehui, from which vantage point I took the photo at the beginning of this post and this photo. I’ve no experience with which to compare the feeling of arriving at a place you can only reach by boat, except perhaps for arriving somewhere by foot after a long hike. The feeling of isolation and exploration, of newness and possibility are intense and very gratifying. The small town lay before us, her shore exposed, and hidden mysteries just out of view behind hills and treetops. We secured Northern Light, and relaxed aboard ship all evening, enjoying dinner and desert, with tea before bed. We slept that night in the calm of the harbor, after a full day of sailing, and on full stomachs.The next morning the fog rolled back from the sea and we were greeted by an amazing view of placid life and calm waters. We had a later and longer breakfast of pancakes bacon and jams, and afterwards inflated the dingy, and headed ashore with a shopping list and our hiking shoes on to stretch our legs after a relaxing morning.

Once on shore we secured the dingy and walked into town. I looked back at what had brought us to this amazing and rare place and took the photo below.

You can see the far end of the bay where a narrow strip of land connects the south (more shown here) ridge to the north, and Northern Light, our portal to new and different worlds, sits peacefully in the arms of Quehui. We walked east along the bay side of the northern ridge, across a rickety wooden bridge, past farms and farmhouses, along a dirt road.

We walked to the far end of the island where the bay dries into salt marsh and cows swim across the shallows in open peaceful herds. Slipping through a barb wire fence we came to a meadow just above the marsh, and on the other side a beach looking out into the expanse of the gulf, and across the gulf mountains twinkled in the light, blued by distance.

On our walk back to the dingy and the stores where we would buy a whole chicken for dinner the sky began telling us a tale begun in the arctic, where 70 knot winds were swirling through drake passage and penguins darting for fish. It was a tale of ice and air, pressure and the tides, of seasons and change. The sun shining and moving steadily like an iceberg through those great southern waters became obscured by clouds and the tale evolved into a threat of weather and unknown, and as the tale reached it’s climax the sun was obscured by a great building cloud and the sky told us this tale of ice in the sky.

Jojo ran ahead and got in a much needed jog as Deborah, Rolf, and myself walked back to the town and a whole local chicken we intended to purchase for dinner. When we got there the local bird was gone but a frozen one had take it’s place. Oh well, we decided, and took the bird and some other provisions and rowed back to Northern Light for dinner, desert, and our now customary cup of tea before bed. Always sleepytime. The town was peaceful and quiet, the boat gently rocking in the tidal swell, and we were lured off to sleep in dreams of nature, isolation, and the freedom of living off the land, in a place such as Quehui.