We’ve just come out of the illegal Canal Sin Nombre, into Beagle North. Pia Este is only an hour away. It’s cold and raining. Rosie is doing nicotine withdrawal cross stitching and Jenny is astral travelling on iPod back aft. A couple of cheerful fishermen emerged out of the mist and we bought a big merluzo from them for 2 beers. Ian is on the after deck gutting it as I speak. Rose plans to lightly flour and fry the fish, for service with tomato/lemon/garlic/onion salsa with avocado slices and a wedge of lemon.
Yesterday afternoon we left Estero Fouque too late and and didn’t get into Coloane until nightfall. Unfortunately there was a French yacht in our little spot. By the time we had found an alternative spot and anchored securely in the approach bay it was pitch black and windy. Rosie had an anxiety attack which settled with beer and Episode 1 of Band of Brothers. Then we all wolfed her splendid cottage pie and went to bed with rain beating on the decks.
This morning we came across a huge sea-lion colony at the entrance to Coloane and were able to motor right up to them. The beachmasters were so busy pumping iron, flexing their pecs and excreting pheromones that we were ignored. We sat on the foredeck just 10 feet from them for an hour and the children were spellbound.
3 hours later and we have anchored in Pia Este. Scattered iceblocks are stranded along the shore. The milky water is mirror smooth under the rainforest canopy. The merluza was to die for, and now to bed. If the rain stops we’ll motor over to the glacier tomorrow.