16. Traps

It seemed like a nightmare from the distant past.

Sunlight silently flows from the sky, illuminating majestic mountains. Their shapes and hues of deep blue seem almost unreal, with glaciers glowing on their high peaks. The eerie, rain-drenched mountains and fierce winds of the central Patagonian Archipelago, where I had sailed for a month and a half, now seemed like a nightmare from the distant past.

After a night's rest in Morris Bay at 54 degrees south latitude, Aomi sets sail for the next anchorage. With the winds too slight for sailing, the small 3.5-horsepower diesel engine hums pleasantly, propelling her through the calm, wave-free waters.

About five hours after departure, Aomi approaches the next anchorage, Soffia Bay. The sun of the Southern Hemisphere still shines above the mountain peaks in the northern sky.

"Can I make it to Niemann Bay, about 35 kilometers away? It seems impossible or barely possible."

If headwinds start to blow or the tides are against Aomi, she will reach Niemann Bay only after sunset.

Even while I think about it and postpone my decision, Aomi keeps going. Before I know it, she has already passed Soffia Bay.

At this rate, Aomi should reach Niemann Bay by sunset. I'll keep going anyway; it should be manageable, right? Or am I being too optimistic?"

Ahead, the calm waters reveal capes and islets just as planned, with mountains splendid in shape and color, signaling that all is going well. The peaceful landscape makes me almost forget the days of nervous tension, like holding a sharp blade in my hands, and the voyage through strong winds that lasted until recently.

Soon, Niemann Bay comes into view on the water ahead. As the surroundings darken, I glance at my watch: It's already 7:00 PM.

"Oh no, I miscalculated the estimated time. Did the incoming current push Aomi back? I've made a terrible mistake."

Entering the bay, it's pitch black—I can't see anything around me, not even the deck beneath my feet. I have no idea where Aomi is.

In this darkness, finding a place to drop the anchor in the bay is impossible. If I do nothing, the tide and wind will carry Aomi ashore in the middle of the night. What should I do?

Listening intently, I detect the faint sound of a stream flowing into the sea. Near the river's mouth, the mix of sand and mud deposited on the seafloor makes it an ideal spot for anchoring.

In the deep darkness, unsure whether the shore is near or far and uncertain if my eyes are even open, I move slowly toward the sound of the river, listening intently as if aiming for a lighthouse.

As the depth gauge shows less than 20 meters, I drop the CQR anchor onto the dark sea surface. Yet, if a strong wind arises at midnight, Aomi could be swept into the darkness.

To enhance safety, I must reach the shore and secure a rope to the trees. However, rowing the dinghy in the dark, blind to the bay's exact conditions, could expose me to unknown dangers.

Looking back, I should have prepared for the worst and steered Aomi into Soffia Bay instead of continuing forward. Even though I knew I wouldn't make it in time, I still kept moving forward, didn't I? Perhaps I was captivated by the scenery—the sea was so calm, the mountains so beautiful, and the moment so peaceful...