The last week has been a taught bundle of emotions, trials of patience, and lessons in being grounded within oneself whilst uncertainty and the unknown hold court everywhere else. It has been quite the waiting game!However, if one has to wait anywhere in the world, well then, all I can say is, thank God and let it be here then, by all means! We have had a blast here in spite of everything. Beautiful prairie skies, rolling fields with the pattern of the wind etched in the flowing texture of the grasses, and the constant whitecaps, surf and aquamarine waters washing over white sand beaches. Harbour seals claiming possession and defending us from our own tender, curious cormorants, megallenic penguins viewed from hillside vantage points as their swimming prowess is silhouetted against the clear waters, uplands geese, and wildlife galore!
And of course the daily and daunting puffs of smoke followed by whomping cracks as the sappers rigorously and bravely work to demine the lands around Stanley. There is an expert team of brave Zimbabweans working for a shocking 25 pounds per day risking their lives to deactivate 25 year old mine fields as the Falklands supports removal and prohibition of land mines outlined in the land mines treaty.
The locals are quite upset by the endangerment of lives and the pathetic pay compensation that these brave men are receiving. To give you an idea of the very real, moment to moment danger: these experts experience by crawling on their bellies poking the ground around them with tools similar to knitting needles searching out plastic, can-sized land mines. One blew up recently on a sapper within inches of his face. He luckily came away with only a few scratches due to protective gear, by the hair of his chinny chin chin, and by the grace of God…crikey mc’yikey! When their work is completed, they will invite the community to come out for a game of football on the cleared field. Pretty bold and effective manner in which to back their guarantee, don’t you think?! Brave and obviously, very competent souls!
Some heartfelt gratitude is in order: We have taken up afternoon and evening residence in the Narrows Pub where our friend Chris has given us internet access and good pub feeds to help us put on our lost weight from the voyage here. Janice, our favourite Falklander, for opening her home, her rover (VERY COOL!), internet,
WE HAVE FOUND A NEW CREW MEMBER!!! YAYAYAYAY Bryan!! Thanks Lynn for sparing your spouse for us to take with us to the glorious South Georgia. That's right folks: South Georgia is back on the menu and is very much a go, Go, GO-GO!! We were requiring very specific and exceptional circumstances in order to consider heading south again after our previous attempt. Further, the right person had to be approved with grounded reasoning by each of us and with special emphasis placed upon our skipper Keri's expert assessment in order for us to make this weighty decision to carry on with plan A. And Bryan fits this bill to a 'T'. A PhD in Neurobiology, computer systems guru, sailor/diesel mechanic extraordinaire, and just plain super nice guy thrown in for good measure:) Thanks for making our dream possible Bryan and for reading the Penguin News last Friday!
We plan to set sail day after tomorrow on Wednesday morning at the butt crack of dawn...4ish am...yeep! We loaded up today on the essentials: diesel, propane, and sea sickness medications. Tomorrow is filling the water tanks, last swim in the beautiful pool at the leisure centre, and a final fairwell to our Falkland friends over a last good pint and treat chez Chris fine establishment.
Cheers and lots of love!!
Time for a wee bit of an update, shall we...
Last seen on the coast of Argentina, we set sail from Ushuaia on Jan 31 for Puerto Williams just south and on the Chilean side of things to refuel, fill our drinking water tanks, buy the forgotten and utterly flavour-for-next-two-months important onions, and of course, clear customs for South Georgia more easily than from Argentina…still a bit of a sticking point what with the land claim on the Falklands/Malvinas war and what not…
We had a great day in Puerto waiting for customs that checked us in 'promptly' at 10 am…rather loosely lost in Chilean translation this turns out to mean roughly 1ish pm and then check us out again at 5pm…ish… Needless to say, we sailed the next day instead. However, we had a bit of a walk through town and a lovely visit with friends of the yacht, Denis a Swiss local and Monica another Swiss who biked and boated from home to India and back and now south to the bottom of the earth. She gave us fresh herbs and salad from the garden. Just some of the amazing people and stories we are blessed to meet down here...that and the wife of a fellow solo sailing around the world...crikey!
Feb 1st saw us in full escort out of the last of the Beagle Channel by a beautiful pair of Peele’s Dolphins that frolicked and cavorted on our bow wave for over an hour! Then we cut our continental shelf umbilical chord as the late summer sun set on our last glimpse of land, Staten Island, and headed out to sea and the dreaded Drake Passage. The next day welcomed us with brilliant sunshine and more visits from Peele’s and Hour Glass dolphins. They were heart tickling and kept us grinning as we soaked up the rays on deck and whilst this green horn learned a thing or two about sailing. Then, well, the clouds started to build on the horizon….daunting, to say the least…yeep!
Essentially, just a couple of days after the 'hove to' experience on Feb 4th, Greg got his right index finger caught in the propeller shaft and severed it above the second knuckle. We immediately took in sails and stopped our course south, bandaged his hand, then the finger and were forced to agonizingly hove to in the big winds for 12 hours while we waited for any weather window to start a much needed headway north to the Falkland Islands and medical assistance. It was a bit of a harrowing experience and Greg was a real trooper, to say the least! Luckily we had antibiotics and access via sat phone to the great doctor support and advice from the Stanley Hospital doctors. This is something that was very relieving as we sailed the three day trek back 250 miles north to Stanley to arrive finally and safely with Peele's and Cummins Dolphins to flank us into port. The surgeon here did a fabulous job saving the rest of the remaining finger. Greg will need some rehab and healing time to get fully back on his game as he is an avid climber, cellist (he will still be able to play), sailor, etc. A rough time all round for everyone but he is doing well now and has just been released from the hospital today. It is good to have him back home on board and feel his unbelievable good spirit still shining forth and cracking jokes.
What this means to our expedition is...well, it is on a thin edge right now. Greg and the crew are very keen for us to keep going but we need another competent crew person to keep going. This is obviously a high order as there are few at this time of year with qualifications and availability. We also require permission from the South Georgian officials in order to consider other options of carrying out the expedition. In short, we are feeling a lot is hanging on a fine line as our limited weather window begins to wain. Everyone in town, including the officials, is thinking up sailors and giving us a hand. It has been wonderful to experience the kindness and effusive hospitality of this community. For this, we are so grateful.
We had a pleasant few hours today to lift our spirits with an heartwarming visit with our friends who work on a cruise ship that was in town for the day and on which we have both worked. They graciously offered to give us a lift but that still does not get our safety yacht there but was sorely tempting as a fast and smooth ride down. We are also looking at plan B's and have talked out all situations and variables including what it would mean to nix the expedition or change locations. It would be devastating but it has to be considered as a very real option right now. We are clinging to a glimmer of hope and are still trying to get there safely and responsibly to carry on with Hayley's dream and expedition goal.
Beth Anne
When is it that whim turns to fancy? And at what precise point do dreams take flight and land in the cold, stark, and beautiful of surreal reality? Maybe it is after 23 hours of flight, a week in Ushuaian purgatory getting ready to wait, and a 7-10 biscuit-tossing voyage across the cusp of the Drake, crossing the Antarctic convergence to land in the place of dreams, South Georgia.
There are places on this blessed green and blue orb that have the ability to reach into the very core of one’s being, take hold of one's heart with an iron grip, and then caress one's very soul in the same manner in which the sun is apt to gently kiss one's face on a sun dappled day after a long cold winter.
Places that make you feel so alive that you inhale the crisp air as if it were your very first breath of life. And yet, at the same time, your last cherished breath as you give over to something greater than yourself. You are alive to the very marrow of your being and your soul dances with God on earth.
It is said that we all have a geographical home. A particular place on this earth with which you feel a connection with the land: a cottage by a lake, the coastal surf breaking on a rugged shoreline, a tropical paradise, your back yard when the autumn coloured leaves fall and blanket the ground, a garden as the smell of the soil being turned over fills your senses, the smell of grandma's soup, the sound of rain falling in a cedar forest, the crackle of a pine grove on a hot, dry day... Perhaps it is a place you frolicked and cavorted in your childhood. All of your senses awaken to confirm its place in your soul: the sights, sounds, smells of the flora and fauna, the way the wind ripples across this particular landscape, the upwelling of feelings… It is when you arrive at this place after being away, that one truly feels at home with all of heart-home’s inherent comfort and the easiness of its peace.
For me, I think this local is split between the Pacific Northwest and north and south of the 50th latitudes. The ancient mariner’s used to say that, “in the forties there is no law, in the fifties, there is no god”. I beg to differ. This is where I feel the closest to God and the magic of creation.
Where the majestic albatross both soars and slumbers on the wing amidst the erratic calm and fury of the southern sea, humpback whales pirouette with the grace of a ballerina in the weightlessness of azure seas, polar bears look through your soul and see you as simple sustenance in a shimmering yet monochromatic landscape, crotchety walrus flash you their toothsome smiles, and the spiraled ivory of a narwhal’s tusk emerges as an apparition in the milky, glacially silted, teal waters.
Where the trumpeting and acrid smells of a multitude of pen
guins, seals, and crashing surf welcome you to safe harbour. One moment the ocean’s surface is awash with brash ice and bergy bits and then it is replaced on the ebb and flood of the tide's movements by towering mountain sculptures of ice and grandeur that topple, explode, calve and constantly crackle and pop as centuries of trapped ancient air is released and melts into the sea, where the silence is so profound that you cannot tell if it comes from without or within oneself.
Here you feel you are a visitor that is tolerated but not entirely welcome and the terms of your stay are staked in your heart and wit and determination to embrace it all. Simply surviving means that you never overstay your welcome, exhibit any assumptions or arrogance, or lose your focus for too long. If you do relax into complacency, then the not so subtle slap upside one’s head of a katabatic wind careening down the slopes or the building seas and dumping surf, will soon snap you back to reality and encourage you back to the awareness of the basics such as seeking immediate shelter. It is the land where the works of Creation leave one spellbound in awe and swells one's heart till it wants to rupture with joy as teardrops stream down one's face unnoticed and unsolicited.
This is my soul's home. Where the opposites of the extremes intermingle on an hourly basis. Where beauty really does take one's breath away leaving one feeling winded and alive within the bounds and necessity of heightened awareness. This is the land that I cherish and this is my challenge to you, to cherish and protect yours.
May the albatross continue to hover over the waters infusing the spirits of those who have and those who have yet to take their first breath, with wonder.
ms (electrical tape to antacid to fish sauce to...) in spanish that have me running all over this backwater town. Also, learned today why we have to count our change as this seems to be a money laundering/drug port. Crikey! Who knew?! Sounds like Nanaimo, eh?!
