Into the channels...and then out again...

It's easy now, a little stir, swirling the froth in my coffee, a tree outside of the window, mountain behind, topped in snow amidst dark crevasses and gulleys. Shelter, concrete, glass, easy. It was a grade one cock up, pouring 15 litres of contaminated diesel into the tank, only realising afterwards, squinting down into the bottom of the jerry can, a big blobby creamy coloured growth, clinging to the bottom... The game plan suddenly changes and the bay I'm in remains impartial to my sudden dilema... I bleed the system with diesel from Chile that I know is good to go, I'm cranking the motor by hand and I hear a noise that suddenly plunges my situation from dilemma to disaster! Squelch, suck, squelch, suck, and suddenly there's water pissing out of the air intake, the cylinders are filled with water and my heart sinks proportionately. There's a small fishing boat moored in the corner of the bay. I paddle over and the guy and his nephew come to have a look. They know about as much as I do, and we all know that it's not looking good. I sleep on it, the next day I take out the injectors and suck out the water, then fill the whole lot with oil to prevent the onset of corrosion. Emails start to ping backwards and forwards via the Iridium and I get the authority to sail directly to Ushuaia in Argentina, from Caleta Olla in Chile, to try to sort things out. I look at the forecast, there's a weather window in a couple of days. The night before I'm due to leave I make grave error number two. Having been tied up with lines ashore in the shelter of the trees, I take in the lines and swing back around to windward. Only this time I'm 40 metres in the other direction. The wind builds in the night and at 7am I realise I'm in the shit, visibly moving out of the bay dragging chain and anchor in 20 metres of water. It's a gamble whether I hit a bank of sand or end up in the channel where it's blowing a hoolie. Mind whirring, don't panic! More anchor rode? No good. Sail into the bay whilst simultaneously helming and pulling in anchor chain? Impossible! Call up my fishermen friends? Absolutely! Within moments of our radio call they are mobilised, 145 Hp of engine verses my wavering intentions and like a mother capturing her young, they come alongside, through the gusts and the drizzle that speckles on the skipper's glasses, the young lad handles the lines, the other one helms and the viejo directs proceedings. They gather me back into the safety of the corner and whilst the bad weather continues I am rafted up and Enrique the skipper comes to visit, we drink tea by the stove and talk and laugh. They come 300 miles from Punta Arenas to fish for crabs in the channels. They stay in the channels for four months solid. A supply ship comes every couple of weeks with provisions, there is a network of about 130 fishing vessels in the channels and they all fish for produce much of which ends up on dinner plates in fancy restaurants in America. It's a tough existence, when the weathers bad they stay in the bay and when it's not they are working 18 hour days, living in cramped conditions under each other's feet. Enrique laments that the fishermen of today are just in it for the money. They have no appreciation of the wild terrain, they want to drink and smoke and watch movies and they rush back home when the ship returns to port. After another two days, my weather window descends and I say goodbye with sadness to the little bay and my new friends. It's a 6 hour sleigh ride back to Ushuaia with a little bit of gib out front, the wind out back and the Monitor taking care of the helm. I am a force majeure, an emergency entry into Argentina, I make a report to the navy every two hours and they call me on the radio. Approaching Ushuaia from the west is tricky, there's a 200 metre channel between two islands which is a little stressful with no motor to escape with if things go wrong. The worst possible thing would be for the wind to drop so I pray that it keeps gusting and I make it through into the bay. I take a tight tack up to the mooring area where I can see the masts of the other yachts, it's too tight and I have to come off the wind to avoid a big cargo ship alongside. There's a launch coming my way with my name on it, I douse the gib and once again I am scooped up and taken in to safety. My tiny boat sits alongside 35 ton charter yachts that go to Antartica with guests that pay $4000 each for the pleasure. I have returned from that other world and I can't wait to go back. Yesterday the mechanic took off the cylinder head and parts will soon be in order. I'm looking for a crew for the channels and I may have someone lined up.