Inside Passage, Chile: Everybody was anticipating the stop at Puerto Edén. It is a tiny village, the most remote destination in all of Chile. The only feasible way to get there is a Navimag ferry. There are no roads, only boardwalks. On average, it rains there 350 days per year. The 200 or so people who live there are either fishermen and their families, indigenous natives or military and national park personnel. At 2:30 in the a.m. we stopped in mid channel, did not tie up or drop anchor. The rear clamshell doors opened to accommodate five or six fishing boats loaded with fresh fish, muscles and cargo bound for Puerto Montt.
The ramp was lowered even with the decks of the attending boats and the pace of activity turned frantic. The boatmen offloaded their stuff onto the ramp and then took on food, supplies, mail, tools, gasoline and diesel fuel, propane tanks. They got back a 30 hp outboard motor that had been to Puerto Montt for repairs, bags and boxes of who knows what. Whatever they need to survive that they can not do for themselves, Navimag shipments every few days has to meet that need. I saw Carmen, in uniform, climbing down into one of the boats. The scene was either washed out in a blinding glare from the portable lights or it was pitch dark. I didn’t have to be reminded, keep my distance. There was a maelstrom of bodies and materials, all perilously close to dangling cables, chains and winches. A short reach away were bobbing boats and treacherous, dark, deep water. 20 minutes later it was over. In the blink of an eye, the heavy laden fishing boats tooted their horns and sped away. A Navimag officer I’d never seen before was prodding us up the ramp. Before we could reach the stairwell the clamshell doors banged closed and you could feel the propellers start to turn. Underway, I went to the dining room where the juice machine and ice maker were always available, drank down some pineapple juice and reflected. It was 3:15 and if you didn’t know better, it felt like a lazy winter night on the inside passage.
At breakfast all we talked about was the midnight rendezvous in Puerto Edén. Carmen had shared with us that life there takes some getting used to. She grew up in Santiago and could take leave, go home, she could live the familiar, urban life for a while. But for the natives, life was basically fish on the menu, rendezvous with Navimag and a lot of rain, and they seemed content.
The engineer from New Zealand’s name was Murray. In his late 40’s I would guess, we shared digital photos and he downloaded mine onto a CD for me. He told some great stories about offshore drilling adventures in the Indian Ocean. He was between jobs, traveling like the rest of us. He knew somebody at Navimag, had a larger, more comfortable room in the crew’s quarters and free run of the boat.
There are two places on the inside passage where the route skirts the outside islands with nothing between us and the Pacific Ocean. The two Jeffs, Murray and I were on the bridge with Chris the next afternoon. He asked if any of us ever got sea sick, that we should expect heavy weather and a rougher ride soon. The Pacific is not so peaceful at that latitude. As if waiting for his cue, we watched as the bow began to slowly rise and fall, sending spray over the foredeck. For the first time you could see swells rolling across our path. Then you could feel the roll; lean left, lean right. “If you feel queazy, either Benadryl or Dramamine help; check with the cook at dinner.” We looked around, smiled silly smiles but nobody admitted to a weak stomach. A little smug, Chris added, “The cows aren’t going to like this at all. The drivers will be up with them all night, get them back on their feet when they slip and fall down.” In bed, in the dark, pitching and rolling I didn’t have any stomach issues but I did think about Davy Jones’ locker. By breakfast time we were on flat water again, in the shelter of the outer islands.
It was never an issue but I figured out the arrangement between the two Jeffs and Susan, the Peruvian student. They were not actually traveling together, she had been tagging along for a couple of weeks. I remembered what Esra told me back in Valdivia; women traveling alone have to be doubly concerned with safety. Alone, you attract attention, especially in a male dominant culture, looking vulnerable even if you are not. I think she tolerated me easily but certainly, she enjoyed not having to watch her back in my company. So Susan made friends with the boys, hung out with them, enjoying the advantage of their proximity. They liked her well enough but were always sneaking off, always alluding to extra baggage. I sat with her at breakfast after Port Edén thinking the boys would join us but they went to another table. She was cool in her own right. Quiet and plain around the guys, she made good company, good conversation without them. Born in Washington D.C. to Peruvian parents, she had dual citizenship. After visiting family in Lima, she went on holiday before returning to Maryland for classes in the fall. From Puerto Montt they would go their own ways.
Our Navimag sister ship was on its way south, a day out of Puerto Montt. Like ships passing in the night: the saying suggests a near encounter at best but these two boats crisscross the same passage every week. We would see them at just about lunch time. Chris cautioned us, it happens fast. “When you hear the horn you only have a few minutes.” We were up on the observation deck; weather was still low clouds and rain but if there was no reason to be down in, we all preferred to be up high, looking out. Even with wind whistling through the railings and antennas, we heard Sister Ship’s horn before we saw her. Almost dead ahead, coming at us, her small silhouette came out of the gray weather. Then there was a profile, red, yellow and blue markings and the horn blowing began in earnest. We passed close enough to see truck tops on her cargo deck. Waving, cheering, you’d have thought we knew someone over there. The noise stopped, they disappeared and Chris was right; “If your camera isn’t in your hand, you won’t have time to fetch it.” Not that night but late the next, the small boats from Puerto Edén would be waiting like pirates, like desperados waiting for the train.
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