by Heide Wilts
After eight days of howling storms, the weather finally calms down a little and we set sail with a new crew, destination Ventisqueros. These are glaciers embedded in the mountains of the Darwin Cordillera and can be reached through deep fjords. We sail against the wind, sometimes in the most beautiful sunshine, sometimes through icy rain.
Either you sweat - or you freeze"
Crew mate Herbert complains and puts on his thermal trousers. For a change, wind rollers race towards us. Wisps of black cloud hang down to the whipped-up water.
Mountains and banks dissolve in a dark grey furioso. The "Freydis" doesn't make another mile of headway. When the rage subsides, we fight our way into the shelter of a protruding headland.
We anchor in Yendegaia Bay in front of the largest glacier in the Darwin Cordillera. It shines dazzlingly white between the mountain peaks. We cross raging green glacier rivers in the dinghy, wade through icy streams in the scree bed, hike across meadows and river islands and climb mountains. The glacier always seems tantalisingly close and yet is far too far away for us to reach it in a day's walk.
All around, the slopes are littered with half-charred tree corpses. Slash-and-burn clearing for new pastures for the estancias' cattle and sheep? "Or was it lightning?" says Albert, a sailing-enthusiastic altruist. He still believes in man's sensible interaction with nature. But in Tierra del Fuego there are no thunderstorms, no lightning and therefore no excuse for the scorched earth.
They are eyesores.
Sunburn in Tierra del Fuego
The sun glistens mercilessly through the hole in the ozone layer: sunburn in Tierra del Fuego. Eckart and Herbert apply cream to their bald heads. "If we put up awnings," they fear, "nobody will believe our photos that we are in the cold south and in the stormiest part of the world."
Without exception, the arms of the fjord end in front of imposing glaciers. They crack, rumble, rumble and bang, with chunks of ice constantly breaking off. Eckart, a well-trained man in his fifties, who starts his morning toilet on the "Freydis" with a seawater shower every day, much to everyone's amazement, almost freaks out.
He is exuberant as he climbs small icebergs, jumps down into the ice water or swims in the ice mush, where not even the sea lions dare to go.
Christmas Eve
An evergreen beech tree with tiny, hard leaves is decorated with Christmas baubles, poinsettias and a tinsel angel by our "old" sailing buddy Holger and his newlywed wife Anne - a beautiful Christmas tree! Our "Freydis" has never seen anything like it. She motors through fjords like a Whitsun bull, parades in front of gigantic glacier carpets and poses for the busy on-board photographers. Eckart plays Christmas carols on the harmonica and we sing the familiar lyrics. A truly sentimental Christmas: a waterfall gurgles on the shore, the glacier bangs loudly like a salute.
Feliz navidad! The ship's bell takes over as the Christmas bell. We are finally allowed to unpack or read our parcels and letters from home for Christmas. The fun little gifts that the crew give each other - small wooden souvenirs from Tierra del Fuego, photos from previous sailing trips, books, sweets - are of course also given the recognition they deserve. Even nature has gifts in store for us, beautiful weather and the Christmas menu hanging on the rocks: Splendid specimens of mussels that we only need to pick. Served with garlic sauce, freshly baked bread and white wine, they are a real fire country treat that is hard to beat.
