Team Mowbray reaches last anchorage on voyage

by Team Mowbray on 23 Mar 2007 Team Mowbray update: 20/3/07 4pm LDT (7am 21/3/07 AEDST)

Pos = 41deg 42 mins S, 72 deg 58 mins W.

Well here we are!! Our last anchorage for this wonderful five and a half month expedition. Half an hour ago we meandered up an inlet called 'Estero Chauqui' on the 'Island of Guar'..'Commitment' is gently tugging at her anchor chain.

From the cockpit we have a wonderful view of the surrounding rural countryside…..sheep quietly grazing on patches of cleared land, small neat cottages with a plume of blue smoke wafting from their chimneys, the whole area a patchwork quilt of colours. Somewhere off in the distance a rooster crows, a dog barks, a lone fisherman slips by in his rowing boat and calls out with a huge grin.' Hola.

We are now just 20 miles from out final destination for this summer, Puerto Montt. Tomorrow will see us wander the remaining few miles...You know what it's like when a part of you wants something to finish but another part of you doesn't?The big fella's going soft I hear you think, sending us a poem in the last update. Well, just when you thought it was culturally safe to go back into the water... here's another one for you!!! As with Paul, Alan's creativity has come to the surface in the time he has been aboard and he has penned a poem as well..

To remind you, Alan is a doctor in Brisbane, no suit, tie, surgery or stethoscope out here for him...he has really immersed himself in the lifestyle that this type of adventure offers...I have attached two photos of Alan to accompany his poem. The first shows him relatively clean cut and a respectable GP on holiday as he wandered around the ancient city of the Inca's, 'Machu Picchu'. The second photo shows Alan working his way to the top…..'From doctor to deckhand!!! Would you send your sick child to this man?

Have fun,
Tony

From Alan:
For many years Banjo Patterson's epic poem, 'The Man from Snowy River'´, a tale of rugged pioneering horsemen and of the courageous ride of oneyoung 'stripling' on a 'small and weedy beast' who hailed from Snowy River, down by Kosciusko's side, has for many Australians, stirred the embers of our national pride as we identify a core part of us that vicariously participates in the story as we read it or hear it recited.

I have fond memories of sitting on the hospital bedside of a wonderful 90 odd year old man, Jack Pobar, with a few of my mates in Toowoomba, just before he died, as he recited the entire lengthy saga with a passion and vibrancy that brought every word alive. He knew Banjo Patterson personally, and roamed the backstreams of the Australian wilderness with him for many years. His knowledge of the man and experience of the era, brought such a touching authenticity to his recitation that it was always a wet-eyed experience for us.

It's a lengthy poem, and few can recite it in its entirety. But it has afew pivotal parts, the clue lines of which many of us recognize fairlyeasily:

The beginning: There was movement at the station,
For the word had passed around,
That the colt from 'Old Regret' had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses,
He was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.

A little later: And Clancy from 'The Overflow',
Came down to lend a hand,
No finer horseman ever held the reins...

The end: And down by Kosciusko,
Where the pine-clad ridges raise,
Their torn and ragged battlements on high,

The Man from Snowy River
Is a household word today,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

Using this rough framework and meter, and taking licence to crudely spoonerize the title, I've concocted this little synopsis our recentfour week sailing epic in the wondrous channels and canals of southernChile.

FROM SNOW TO MANY RIVERS
(A crude sub-Antarctic parody on The Man from Snowy River... with apologies to Banjo)
by Alan (Cello) Hadley

There was movement and gyration,
Was the word ¨we'd gone aground?¨
But the Skip said, No regrets, get under way.
We should join the northern currents,
for we need the miles to mound.¨
So the willing crew all gathered to the fray.

Decked in yellow seaman´s clobber,
We took to ropes and trees,
To loose our boat from moorings overnight.
Our hearts and minds warmed quickly,
But our hands did fairly freeze,
As the early morning temperatures took bite.

By first light she was loosened,
Ropes and anchor stowed away,
Slipping smoothly through the glassy tranquil sea.
We began our daily vigil
making miles, whilst in dismay,
we marvelled at the scenes to wind and lee.

An intrepid Aussie foursome,
Who survived Cape Horn's rebuff,
And chronicled Antarctic ice cavorters,
Aspired to test their metal,
As they hadn't had enough,
Set out to sail the Chilean cruising waters.

Captain Tony had a problem,
As he sized up risk and crew,
And scratched his scone in search of hair and answers.
These three great blokes had pluck enough,
But sailing skills were few,
To make this trip they didn't like their chances.

So Alex from the ´Zephyrus´
Came down to lend a hand,
No finer seaman ever graced our decks.
He brought with him the skills we need,
To help on sea and land,
And firmed our course with navigation checks.

So now we sailed more safely,
And Skip's melon grew some hair.
The cruising waters beckoned us to enter.
As snow-capped mountains thawed their load,
Streams sprang from everywhere,
Such sights that thrilled us to our very centre.

Life-giving streams and waterfalls,
And mountain lakes abound,
The bird and sea-life gain much from their spills.
The mountains stand like sentinels,
Straight up from sea and ground,
And the snow is ever present on their frills.

Huge glaciers hovering tween the hills,
Crawl slowly to the sea,
Their rich blue hues contrast the bare terrain.
They hang as if suspended,
And defy old gravity,
Whilst rivers flow beneath their rough moraine.

Two days of rain is all it needs,
For the hills to come alive,
With waterfalls effusing from the rocks.
High meltings bring the minerals,
The bush becomes a hive,
Nature's larder is replenishing her stocks.

The freezing cold and biting winds,
Add challenge to the trails,
The narrow channels test our skill and pluck.
What good are we if we give up
our dreams for such travails,
We set our course and then create our luck.

Our efforts are rewarded,
Just as we knew they aught,
How many men forsook their dreams and died,
With their song still inside them,
With their battles never fought,
Adventurous miracles of life denied.

Yes, down by Patagonia,
Where the mountain ridges raise,
Their ice-capped ragged battlements with pride,
Where snowfalls turn to rivers,
And awe turns to amaze,
The seamen share the magic of their ride.