A miserable night in the Beagle Channel. It is snowing on the tops and now sleet lashes the decks. The rigging whistles as we heel steeply to the gusts but we are tucked into a very safe spot – 15′ of water over sand/mud and a windward shore only 5 metres behind us.
With 200′ of chain out and 4 lines holding the stern in to the trees sleep can be sound, although the forest is in a crazy dance and the noise and motion are unsubtle. Ian snores away up forward and my gorgeous daughters are aft watching Band of Brothers. Upstairs is miserable but it is as cosy as can be down here – the cheerful flame of the diesel heater doesn’t falter now that we have extended the flue.