SCRIBBLES I

Writing is a good exercise, and now that my camera does not want to take pictures, the pen found more work trying to capture random views. Here is one intent from March 23:

Today in the first morning hours our ship Don Baldo started making its way through this North-Patgonic landscape taking its passangers somewhere South. I came on board in Quellon in Chiloe and would be spending one more night on board getting off in a port called Chacabuco.

The sea as gray as the sky has become a narrow passage - tens of little islands have hidden the horizons and calmed its waters. Seems that man has not walked these shores, nor reached these hilltops. Indeed I would like to believe it to be a pure place with no trail leading to the waterfalls.

Yet I am wrong - a small motor boat just approached our ship to pick up two passengers, about ten more are leaving on another boat. We will wait for its return.

What is this place? I see a small house on the coast, a narrow strech of a beach in front of it. Don Baldo has stopped on what I would call a ¨water-plaza¨ from where many water ways go in different directions. The one that catches my eye looks over a mountain, an enormous glacier covering it disappears somewhere in the sky.