Saints of Barranco Amarillo

Barranco Amarillo (pron. Ah-mar-EE-jo) has three newly-sainted fishermen: appointed by me October 30 2009; when a(-nother) hooley blew through, bounced the boat around like a champagne cork, and busted the bow line: Saint Luis, Saint Joe, and Saint Cesar.

The rest of the crew were going to town in the afternoon, however I elected to stay behind, organize my stuff, and do some writing. I was looking for, I said, “a little bit of relaxing, alone time.”

Typical of Tierra del Fuego, the weather had been squirrely: snow flurries in the sunshine, then clouds and gusty wind. But shortly after the others left, I noticed one of the fisherman on the dock surveying our boat. “Mas viente,” he said (“more wind”) and I nodded.

Things continued to pick up, jounce us around. I moved and readjusted fenders, often with a small audience of fisherman – all pointedly saying, “Mas viente.” One even pantomimed that I should call “El Capitan.” But I had no phone.

And soon … mas viente. The wind rose. The surge swelled. On deck, in my long johns and foulie jacket, with hail ping-ponging all around, I stood vigil: rearranging the fenders a-million times, checking the lines, studying the sky, looking for (LONGING for) the taxi bringing the rest of the crew home. Although the boat (weighing 40 tons) was amply moored with a half dozen dock lines as thick as my wrist, the new wind direction pressed us against the concrete pier. So I assembled a chorus line of every fender we owned along our starboard side, rearranging these with the dropping tide and shifting wind. Contemplating that I might rig another line to keep us from jitterbugging along the pier, I dragged one of our massive ropes from the forepeak up on deck, and onto the dock. But not knowing what, or how … (nor how I was going to get up on the dock) I left it there, and continued to keep lookout for another 20 minutes.

Suddenly, with a loud “CRACK!” … our bow line snapped apart. I looked at the frayed end as it plopped in the water, and breathed, ‘Okay … we have another bow line.’ And then … the second bow line slipped off the dock cleat, in that surreal ‘I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening’ slow motion I know too well; and fell into the water. (Was it just one line, looped around the massive cleat, I wonder?)

A fisherman who had been surveying the seas, and later became known as Saint Luis, snapped out of his reverie with my howl, “SEEEEEN-YOR!!!” Grabbing and uncoiling the dock line – which was almost as big as he – he threw me an end and side by side we scurried forward – me along the deck of the boat, he along the pier – and each simultaneously attached our ends of the line. Already the bow had started to drift away from the dock, and it took a whole lot of tugging on the part of Luis (a slight, snaggle-toothed, older man) to get us back alongside. Soon my other ‘neighbors’ from the big fishing boats appeared with a second line. Saint Joe secured the line on the dock while Saint Cesar hopped on board. We had to take off the new bow line I’d hastily attached and clear away the remnants of the old broken ropes, before we could really secure the new lines on the cleats. It was reassuring to have this host of sturdy saints on hand!

The boat secure, I parroted “muchos gracias” 1,000 times, declared them all ‘saints’ and blew them kisses. Saint Cesar pointed to his chest and said, “The navy watches you.” I felt secure that behind the hatches and doors of the surrounding fishing fleet (and above, as well) someone was watching over me.

THINGS I LEARNED

Thank God I decided to stay behind! If the bowline had parted while no-one was onboard … :-O

Two separate bow and stern lines (with evenly distributed loads) are better than one.

It doesn’t hurt to have an extra dock line on deck or on the dock in crappy weather, either! And …

It NEVER hurts to be friendly with a fisherman!

Posted Oct 30, 2009 – Barranco Amarillo (local fishing harbor) 7k north of Punta Arenas, Chile in the Strait of Magellan