The PaddlerUK magazine July 2015 issue 3 | Page 50

P D L RUK 50
A DE

Lee Franklin, Mike Burnett
and myself made up our small team of three. Jokes and
stories entertained our rainy first few days and the
landscape fascinated me – it was like nothing I had
ever seen before. Bushes so thick that access to the
land would be limited only to the rocky banks below
the trees and steep sided mountains framed the
channels with intimidating stature. For hours we
paddled with no possible landing opportunity, as the
mountains seemed to fall directly into the sea.
Streams would pump down the steep inclines creating
white creases through the rocky crags and above the
tree line, lingered the still melting winter snow.
Our journey would take us to the heart of Patagonia,
as close to the ice fields as it was possible to
approach from the sea and to the very tip of a fjord
called Estro Peel, where glaciers flow directly into the
sea. The first week was littered with blizzards and hail
storms as we began to learn the difficulties of locating
a possible camp spot and thanked our decision to
invest in our toasty Palm Dry suits. The first taste of
Patagonia's unpredictable and powerful weather had
us realising the state of play for the next four weeks.

We woke one morning to blue sky and mirror still
waters where hunting dolphins broke the glass-like
surface, sending circular ripples for miles. The
reflection of the mountains in the water added
immense depth to the already dominating landscape.
The rhythm of paddling continually ticked along like
the second hand of a clock as time was now
measured by light and dark, hunger and fatigue. Our
goal was to paddle 30km a day and in the calm
condition this was a pleasure. During this period of
high pressure weather, we reached one of the largest
Glaciers in Patagonia, Pio XI. Standing about 60
metres in hight and 5km in length it was colossal!
Chunks of ice regularly broke from its front surface
and crashed into the calm water below. Shock waves
would travel out, thrusting the large floating icebergs
around with an unnerving amount of ease.

The dry weather was short lived and the inevitable
wet weather soon greeted us again. Winds helped and
hindered us in equal proportions, but always with
fierce strength. Gusts would hurtle down the steep
sides of the fjords, rumbling as they grew closer,
before knocking us sideways as we griped our paddles
tightly. When the waves picked up the Albatrosses
would come out to play. They provided endless
acrobatics and performed breathtaking manoeuvres
on the face of the growing waves. At least they
distracted out attention from the unnerving winds
and occasional open water crossings.

The reflection of the moun
added immense depth