Puerto Chacabuco is a small town of @2000 residents whose main occupation is salmon farming so there are several salmon farms relatively close by.  At the top of a fjord, it has a stunning setting and involved tendering ashore.  Excursions included fly fishing, horseback riding, and kayaking; we took a bus tour through the broad valley where cattle and sheep grazed to a natural preserve with a small museum where we walked along the Simpson River where some of our fellow guests fished. –Cynthia

The Captain’s Noontime Report.  “Good Af..ter…noon, L..a…dies and Gentlemen!” begins the Captain every noon we’re at sea, speaking with a gravelly Scandinavian (Norwegian?) accent. “This is the…Captain speaking from the…navigational bridge.”  What follows then is his litany of maritime data: our latitude and longitude, in degrees and minutes; the barometric pressure in millibars; the air and sea (and swimming pool) temperatures, first in Centigrade and then in Fahrenheit degrees; the distance we’ve traveled since leaving our last port, in both nautical and statute miles; the distance to our next port, again in the same distance units, and our estimated time of arrival; our current speed in knots, usually 17 or if the seas are rough or visibility is reduced, 12 or lower.  I may have left out some of the details, but the script never varies; the blanks just get filled in.  Cut and Dried!

     What is neither expected nor cut and dried, even after six weeks at sea, is the Captain’s final sentence in every noon time talk.  “Take good care of each other!” 

     And you know, I think we do; and certainly try to!  The passengers seem remarkably pleasant, courteous and helpful…an Australian and fellow bridge player never fails to appear at my elbow, or so it seems, with the steadfastness of a tank, as I teeter down a passageway trying my best to gauge the swells and rolls. —Chris