We’re sailing between the islands of Patagonia. Wisps of fog, dark green mountain slopes, gray rocks. The wind is chilly, the rain stings your face. It’s magical and eerie at the same time. Islands loom out of the low-hanging clouds and disappear again shortly after you’ve sailed past them.
Perhaps the most special thing is the thought that this area has hardly changed, if at all, since the first explorers sailed here. Still, no one lives here; there are no hiking trails, no huts. Nothing. Just harsh wilderness.
In that harsh wilderness, we looked for an anchorage. We ended up in a sheltered bay, Punta King. We sailed in with strong winds, but inside the bay, it was dead calm. A good place to wait out the westerly storm.
When we stay in a bay for a night (or longer), we usually just drop an anchor. The wind or current makes the ship swing slowly (or faster) back and forth behind the anchor, but that’s usually not a problem at all.
Patagonia requires a different approach. The best anchorages here are as narrow as parking spots and lie close to the rocks. If you only secure the ship with the anchor, the wind will quickly swing you onto the rocks.
That’s why we tie it to the trees. Four long lines go from midships, through the hawseholes to the shore. Rope around the tree, tie a bowline, and you’re done. The ship can’t go anywhere.
The biggest advantage of this method? We don’t have to keep an anchor watch, so we don’t have to get out of bed one by one for an hour in the middle of the night to keep an eye on things. Sleeping through the entire night is a luxury we’re normally only granted in the harbor.
