Suddenly we were back in Quellon, with its gorgeous yellow fishing boats and that spectacular volcano backdrop. It is such a frontier town. Martin was impressed, Dave was appalled and I just love it. At a local restaurant I ate dripping red fleisch with pane fritas washed down with Pepsi. For the lads, something mariscoid which looked like stuffed sheep vulvas.
From Quellon a fresh northerly took us quickly south across Golfo Corcovado, into the canales. Now, a cluster of lows hovers off the coast and the weather deteriorates – fresh squally NW winds, everything grey and bleak. On deck it is cold enough for thermals, polartecs, beanies, gloves, oilskins and side dodgers for the cockpit. Below, with 3 heaters, Tainui is snug. The Dickinson diesel in the saloon is held in high esteem by all of us, but with winds over about 35 knots backdrafts are a nuisance. When the engine is running, coolant circulates foward through a radiator under the companionway steps, where a 12 volt fan can blow out more BTUs than we have ever needed. The aft cabin, which misses out on all these comfort devices, has a venerable Taylors primus choofer which vents on deck.
At 6 pm we anchored at Pozo Delfin, with those wonderful dolphins circling the boat as last time. The crossing of Golfo Corcovado was smooth but there was no sign of the blue whales who entranced us last time. Now, anchored in glassy smooth water, I have put 2 lines ashore. In anticipation of what?
The boat is shipshape again and I am starting to relax. After a splendid stew, we imbibed. A Dylan and munchies kind of night, calm with rain pattering on the deck.