It was raining almost the whole day, and we left in the evening before sunset. We were saying goodbye to our local Chilean friends between the rain and cloudy patches.
The sunset was beautiful, and it reminded me so much of Patagonia. I assumed it was South America’s way of saying goodbye to us.
Two hours later, we were out of the harbor mouth and the wind shadow from the land. The wind was south-southwest, blowing 12-15 knots, sometimes stronger, and we sailed at around 4 knots with the main reefed to the second point and a small headsail. We were careful, as a night sail lay ahead.
The wind didn’t last long, and we had to use the engine, cutting it off whenever the boat speed could stay above 2.5 knots.
Early in the morning, at around 4 o’clock, we found the autopilot was off course. We were drifting at about 1.9 knots. Then came another problem: automatic transmission fluid (ATF) started leaking. Without the autopilot, we had to hand-steer.
The cockpit was full of smells—ATF and engine exhaust. And, of course, I was seasick. The seasick pills helped a bit, but they couldn’t completely stop the nausea.
Pierre tried to connect the Starlink, but it stayed in the stowed position, looking west towards the horizon. It didn’t swing or rotate like before to search for satellites. Very strange behavior. Why do problems always seem to come at the same time?
We kept trying with the Starlink. After hours, it finally connected, likely picking up signals from somewhere very far away. Anyway, we managed to contact people in Chile to ask about the autopilot pump.
The pump will cost over 3.5 million Chilean pesos. If the issue is with the control unit instead, it might cost 900,000 pesos. But the parts can only be shipped to Santiago or the mainland, not to Juan Fernández Island, where we are heading.
Decisions, decisions: mainland or island?
For sure, we don’t want to go back to the mainland, not even to Juan Fernández Island, unless absolutely necessary to restore the autopilot. I couldn’t bear the thought of hand-steering for months across the Pacific. This is only our first day of the ocean crossing, and hand-steering is already a full-time, exhausting job. Luckily, there are four of us, and after a second try, Sus managed to hand-steer too.
So for now, our decision is to head to Juan Fernández to remove the autopilot pump. Ordering a new one could take up to four weeks, and we might have to fly to the mainland to collect it.
We caught our first fish—a long, blue one over half a meter in length. It tasted very nice, like snoek. A gift from the ocean to cheer us up.
We covered 104 nautical miles in the first 24 hours, from 8 p.m. to 8 p.m., mostly under engine power. Now, we’re sailing again—hopefully all the way to Juan Fernández.
We sailed the whole day, only using the engine briefly to reduce the main to the second reef before evening. The wind grew stronger, steady at 15-20 knots, occasionally gusting to 28 or 30 knots.
The kids are quickly grasping hand-steering skills. Even Rulin can steer for an hour straight. This is a big difference from our previous ocean crossings. They will definitely be able to take on night watches, giving Pierre and me more time to rest.
For the watch schedule, we can’t let the kids work alone just yet—they need to learn from both of us. Normally, Pierre and I take turns with 3-hour watches, starting at midnight and alternating throughout the night. With the kids, we adjusted the schedule: each of them takes 1.5 hours alongside either Pierre or me. For example, Ruwan will be on watch from 01:30 to 04:30, then he’ll swap with Rulin. Later, when we’re in the trade winds, they might be ready to stand watch independently.
A second problem appeared today as well. At night, we couldn’t leave the fridge and freezer on anymore. On the first day of sailing, the solar panels generated 1,066 watts. Even though the engine was running most of the time, the battery showed full. However, at midnight, the low battery alarm went off—Bank 1 was down to 10.55 volts. We had to switch to Bank 2, which we reserve for engine starts.
The electronic instruments draw about 5 Ah, and if the bilge pump starts, the consumption doubles to 10 Ah.
On Day 2, we had patches of sunshine, giving us 2,300 watts—a good charge. However, we decided to turn off both the fridge and freezer at sunset to conserve power. We’ll keep monitoring this. It’s livable but not ideal. We haven’t even used the autopilot yet, and when we do, it will add to our power consumption.
We know there are no lead crystal batteries available in South America, so where should we replace them? Our batteries still seem to be in good condition, but this situation makes us wonder.
Later, we switched the freezer back on and found it wasn’t working. Oh no! That worried us since all the fresh meat is stored in the freezer. Thankfully, it turned out to be just a blown fuse, which was a quick fix.
Early this morning, we got our second catch—a big one. Unfortunately, our scale broke just in time, so we couldn’t weigh the fish. We estimated it to be about 10-15 kg. It looked like tuna but had scales and white meat. Regardless, it tasted very good. I saved some meat for dumplings, as Pierre suggested.
The wind grew stronger today, blowing from the south-southeast. We sailed on a broad reach. Using a gybe preventer line made things much easier when our hand steering went beyond the angle. Before nightfall, we changed the headsail from the Hankon light-air Genoa to a smaller one. We also put a second reef in the main, which made us feel much safer.
The waves were big, shaking the boat in every direction. I couldn’t even make a cup of filter coffee anymore because I had to hold the coffee pot on the stove the entire time. Nothing on the counter could stay still unless I held it. At times like this, you wish you had more hands to hold everything while trying to manage your tasks.
Then, I discovered that one of my egg holders had gone flying during a bad wave hit. Of the 12 eggs inside, three were broken, and one was missing. Eventually, I found the missing egg behind a food basket in the cabinet—but only its empty shell remained. You can imagine where the yolk and egg juice ended up.
We haven’t experienced seas this rough in a long time. Cleaning up the broken eggs made me seasick again. Luckily, I’m the only one feeling seasick this time; the rest of the family is fine.
Both kids are steering the boat very well now, each managing an hour at a time. I can’t stand for that long anymore—my heel hurts, and my leg has gotten stiff.
There’s a strong southwesterly blow forecasted for this Friday, lasting three days. It’s best that we sail to Juan Fernández to find shelter.
With the south-southeast wind, we were being pushed farther west on a broad reach. So Pierre decided to try our long-prepared Wing-on-Wing downwind sailing. It’s a combination of our Genoa and a large headsail with a track.
Setting up the poles is never an easy task, especially in the ocean with 18 knots of wind. The boat rolled constantly, and the bow scooped up water, flooding the deck where we were working. An hour later, the job was done, and we were all soaked—except for Rulin, who was steering safely in the cockpit.
With the Wing-on-Wing configuration, we could take a better angle to the west and manage the sails more easily by rolling them in when the wind strengthened. However, it only lasted for eight hours. The wind shifted slightly to the south, so we had to take the setup down and switch back to the light-air Genoa for the night as the sea calmed.
In the early morning, we experienced a lot of rolling. Later, I discovered more open items in the kitchen. For example, the lid of an airtight coffee bottle filled with soybeans had somehow popped off, and the beans were sliding back and forth across the shelf, with bottles rolling alongside them. It was quite a funny sight, as if everything in the kitchen had come to life! Then I noticed the lid of a plastic container with cornmeal (Pap flour) had also come loose. I spent the morning cleaning up yet another mess in the galley.
Customs responded to our inquiry about making an unexpected stop at Juan Fernández. They informed us that we’re allowed to stop at the island to perform necessary repairs as long as passengers don’t disembark and the boat doesn’t dock. But are we considered passengers? We’re a family, and we’ll be anchoring, not docking. So, I suppose we’re fine.
Hand-steering has proven to be an exhausting task. Even with four of us taking turns, each person steers for about six hours a day on average. Sometimes, when the sail and wind are set just right, steering is easier. But it still requires constant attention to keep the course. Our once-relaxed ocean life feels like it’s gone. Steering becomes especially stressful when the wind picks up. After our shifts, we’re so tired that all we want to do is sleep—we feel like working zombies.
We’ve never had to hand-steer like this before. It was always KiKi’s job. We named our autopilot "KiKi" during our Atlantic crossing. After a good calibration, she transformed from a tiger into a cat—so KiKi became her name, inspired by the Ghibli movie KiKi’s Delivery Service. This is the first time KiKi has gone on strike, and we need her back at work. Even the kids are asking for her return!
Life at sea feels better today. First, the rolling eased up significantly. The wind dropped around 2 a.m., so we had to start the engine again.
The morning was cloudy, but later the sun came out and shone brightly. Then, we caught our first big, fat tuna! The ocean is rewarding us. For lunch, we had fresh pan-fried tuna and plenty of leftovers for sashimi and ceviche.
After lunch, a large group of whales made an appearance, putting on an ocean show. At first, I mistook them for dolphins because they were much smaller in size. But as they came closer, I realized they were whales. We often see dolphins swimming in groups, but not whales. I wonder what type of whale they are. They had rounded heads, black bodies with irregular white patches, and were about 4–5 meters long.
Later in the afternoon, I tried making tuna ceviche using chopped onions, salt, and the juice of two fresh lemons. The tuna meat absorbed a lot of the lemon juice; even two lemons barely felt like enough for a fist-sized portion of meat. Should I add more lemon juice to make it juicier? The bottled lemon juice from the store doesn’t taste right for this dish—it’s such a pity!
We’ve been blessed with fishing on this trip. We haven’t had to take a single portion of meat from the freezer, with plenty of fresh protein every day. In this family, Ruwan loves fish the most. He often competes with Pierre to see who can catch the most.
When the wind blew steadily on Days 2 and 3, we had hoped to reach Juan Fernández before dark. But today, there’s been a light wind patch ahead of the stronger southwest wind forecasted for Friday. Even with motor sailing, the boat couldn’t maintain a speed of 6 knots like it did during good sailing conditions.
Now we face a decision: should we approach the anchorage at night or slow down to arrive in the morning?
After receiving the updated weather report, Pierre decided to depower the boat. During the evening sail change, we swapped the light-air Genoa for the smaller headsail and reefed the mainsail to the second reef again. Even with Beaufort 6 winds, Ithaca is only making 2–3 knots, just enough to stay above drifting.
The island is now in view. We’re slowly approaching its wind-shadowed waters.
The full moon was beautiful. Whenever it emerged from behind the clouds, shining brightly over the ocean, it brought a sense of peace.
As we waited for sunrise to approach the island, the moon disappeared into a thick, dark cloud behind the mountains. Only faint village lights indicated the direction of the harbor. I don’t like the darkness.
We were almost there.
At 05:30, we started the engine and headed toward the port, just 7 miles away.
With guidance from the locals, we anchored in 7–8 meters of water, close to the shore, in preparation for tomorrow’s strong blow. The bay seems well-protected, but it’s still rolling and windy. The tall mountains create williwaw-like gusts from time to time.
Earlier, when Pierre radioed the local port, there was a little misunderstanding. We thought he needed to report to the Armada office at 9 a.m. after arrival. Ah, the challenges of Spanish! Later, the port master clarified that we must stay on the boat and communicate solely via WhatsApp to submit the necessary documents.
Isla Juan Fernández is no longer a port of entry or exit as it was five years ago. This change explains why international sailboats heading to the Pacific rarely come here anymore. There’s only one local Chilean sailboat anchored in the bay.
That’s fine with us. We need Starlink internet to search for an autopilot solution and consult a technician. Thankfully, we can still use Starlink here under the Regional option, though not as Priority.
At noon, while we were preoccupied with the autopilot problem, our dinghy went loose without us noticing. We nearly lost it.
We had lifted the dinghy off the boat to access the snubber line and anchor buoy stored in the lazarette. We thought Pierre might also need it to visit the Armada office. While working, we heard people shouting from the shore. At first, we weren’t sure what they were saying until we caught the word "Ithaca." That got our attention.
When we looked out, we saw the dinghy drifting halfway to the shore—right toward a sea lion colony. It was a completely helpless situation! It was too far away, and swimming to retrieve it wasn’t an option, especially not near a group of sea lions.
Fortunately, the crew from a neighboring sailboat reassured us not to worry. Shortly after, their dinghy returned from shore, and at the same time, someone from the nearby land attempted to retrieve our drifting dinghy. After several tries, the person managed to get in the dinghy but struggled to paddle it back to us against the headwind.
With help from both the locals and the neighboring sailors, our dinghy was finally delivered back to us. Thank goodness! We are so grateful and deeply appreciative of their kindness.
The series of troubles today kept us busy, leading to more small, avoidable mistakes. We really need some proper rest to recover and relax.
After a good night's rest, we enjoyed our first warm, proper breakfast since leaving Valdivia. Although the anchorage conditions here are far from ideal, with constant rolling, it’s still manageable enough to cook compared to the conditions at sea during our passage.
A local port agent named Marcelo came to assist us, along with the captain from the neighboring Chilean boat. After obtaining permission from port control, they came aboard Ithaca. After all, how can you properly inspect a hardware problem just by looking at photos and videos?
However, we still couldn’t identify the issue. The autopilot pump is functioning, and during the rudder sensor setup, it works fine when moving to port but refuses to go to starboard.
We couldn’t remove the pump for a deeper inspection yet—not until we have a secure buoy to tie onto. The wind here is strong, and frequent, fierce williwaws make the situation even more challenging.
We checked the weather update: there’s no chance of leaving soon. We’ll need to stay here for at least a week. Strong southwesterly winds are forecasted for the next two days, followed by calm conditions and then north winds. We couldn't sail away. It’s still early in the season for the trade winds.
The wind picked up tonight, and the anchor chain dragging over the rocky seabed created a strange and unsettling noise, even with two snubber lines. The williwaws and shifting tides caused the boat to swing in all directions. The halyard sheets clattered noisily against the mast in the wind.
This is not a peaceful night. We set up the anchor drag alarm. I couldn’t help but think: I need a holiday—a truly worry-free one.
If we can’t fix the autopilot, we’ll leave as soon as we find a suitable weather window. We were determined. We’ll hand-steer all the way to French Polynesia if we must. This land of Chile feels like it has cast a small curse on us, threatening to drain all the passion and funds from our dream of sailing around the world.
I woke up early because I couldn't bear the frightened noise coming from the anchor chain anymore. I wanted to see what movement was causing the sound.
Pierre got up with me and went to the deck first, only to find that both the snubber lines were off. The noise came from the anchor chain dragging over the anchor arm and the windlass.
Luckily, the chain hooks were still hooking onto the chain. This was because our chain became slightly larger after the re-galvanizing process. But the soft shackles of Dyneema, which connected the chain hooks to the snubbers, were the problem. One was gone, and the other was broken. This had never happened before. The anchorage is a bit rough here. We used a mooring buoy in this place 5 years ago, not anchoring.
After a quick oats breakfast, Pierre and Ruwan started to work on the autopilot problem. There was help from Nic, a young Chilean-English man, talking through WhatsApp. In the end, Pierre took the pump out and inspected it thoroughly to spot anything unusual, but found nothing.
All the ATF oil was drained and then reassembled with some hope, but when we tried it again, there was no luck. That’s it! We will have to commit ourselves to hand-steering to French Polynesia. There is no way for us to go back to the mainland to re-check into Chile. Also, we don't want to spend another month or more waiting for the parts in this rolling anchorage.
The flies on the island are really big and nasty. The dried fish we left hanging in the cockpit were caught by them. But the dried salty butterfly kingfish (I found the name later from the internet) tastes really good. I used a piece of mosquito net material and sewed it together to cover a sock hanger. I hung the fish inside and hid it away. It seems to be working well.
It is time to use the fish meat for Chinese dumplings. We need good food to cheer us up. The fish meat is quite unique, and I couldn't think of adding other common vegetables, only some spring onions with some cooking wine to reduce the smell, salt and pepper, and of course some soy sauce to mix in. The result is really good. Pierre gave a compliment—he said they were the best dumplings ever.
The boat power is still bothering us. We can only switch on Starlink when there is sunshine. The router needs the inverter. When the evening comes, we almost switch off everything except the anchor light and the bilge pump. Even for room lights, we have to use the dimming LED lights instead of the newly installed brighter ones.
So when we arrive at French Polynesia, we will not only replace the autopilot pump but also our house bank batteries. Two big expenses are ahead and waiting for us. But first, we need to get there.
Maybe it would be easier to go back to the mainland and re-check into Chile, but NO. I already feel a headache just thinking about going backwards and waiting for another month or two for the parts. A hard no!
If this is our fate, let's face it! Many people have crossed oceans without an autopilot—we can do it too.
It was raining almost the whole day, and we left in the evening before sunset. We were saying goodbye to our local Chilean friends between the rain and cloudy patches.
The sunset was beautiful, and it reminded me so much of Patagonia. I assumed it was South America’s way of saying goodbye to us.
Two hours later, we were out of the harbor mouth and the wind shadow from the land. The wind was south-southwest, blowing 12-15 knots, sometimes stronger, and we sailed at around 4 knots with the main reefed to the second point and a small headsail. We were careful, as a night sail lay ahead.
The wind didn’t last long, and we had to use the engine, cutting it off whenever the boat speed could stay above 2.5 knots.
Early in the morning, at around 4 o’clock, we found the autopilot was off course. We were drifting at about 1.9 knots. Then came another problem: automatic transmission fluid (ATF) started leaking. Without the autopilot, we had to hand-steer.
The cockpit was full of smells—ATF and engine exhaust. And, of course, I was seasick. The seasick pills helped a bit, but they couldn’t completely stop the nausea.
Pierre tried to connect the Starlink, but it stayed in the stowed position, looking west towards the horizon. It didn’t swing or rotate like before to search for satellites. Very strange behavior. Why do problems always seem to come at the same time?
We kept trying with the Starlink. After hours, it finally connected, likely picking up signals from somewhere very far away. Anyway, we managed to contact people in Chile to ask about the autopilot pump.
The pump will cost over 3.5 million Chilean pesos. If the issue is with the control unit instead, it might cost 900,000 pesos. But the parts can only be shipped to Santiago or the mainland, not to Juan Fernández Island, where we are heading.
Decisions, decisions: mainland or island?
For sure, we don’t want to go back to the mainland, not even to Juan Fernández Island, unless absolutely necessary to restore the autopilot. I couldn’t bear the thought of hand-steering for months across the Pacific. This is only our first day of the ocean crossing, and hand-steering is already a full-time, exhausting job. Luckily, there are four of us, and after a second try, Sus managed to hand-steer too.
So for now, our decision is to head to Juan Fernández to remove the autopilot pump. Ordering a new one could take up to four weeks, and we might have to fly to the mainland to collect it.
We caught our first fish—a long, blue one over half a meter in length. It tasted very nice, like snoek. A gift from the ocean to cheer us up.
We covered 104 nautical miles in the first 24 hours, from 8 p.m. to 8 p.m., mostly under engine power. Now, we’re sailing again—hopefully all the way to Juan Fernández.
We sailed the whole day, only using the engine briefly to reduce the main to the second reef before evening. The wind grew stronger, steady at 15-20 knots, occasionally gusting to 28 or 30 knots.
The kids are quickly grasping hand-steering skills. Even Rulin can steer for an hour straight. This is a big difference from our previous ocean crossings. They will definitely be able to take on night watches, giving Pierre and me more time to rest.
For the watch schedule, we can’t let the kids work alone just yet—they need to learn from both of us. Normally, Pierre and I take turns with 3-hour watches, starting at midnight and alternating throughout the night. With the kids, we adjusted the schedule: each of them takes 1.5 hours alongside either Pierre or me. For example, Ruwan will be on watch from 01:30 to 04:30, then he’ll swap with Rulin. Later, when we’re in the trade winds, they might be ready to stand watch independently.
A second problem appeared today as well. At night, we couldn’t leave the fridge and freezer on anymore. On the first day of sailing, the solar panels generated 1,066 watts. Even though the engine was running most of the time, the battery showed full. However, at midnight, the low battery alarm went off—Bank 1 was down to 10.55 volts. We had to switch to Bank 2, which we reserve for engine starts.
The electronic instruments draw about 5 Ah, and if the bilge pump starts, the consumption doubles to 10 Ah.
On Day 2, we had patches of sunshine, giving us 2,300 watts—a good charge. However, we decided to turn off both the fridge and freezer at sunset to conserve power. We’ll keep monitoring this. It’s livable but not ideal. We haven’t even used the autopilot yet, and when we do, it will add to our power consumption.
We know there are no lead crystal batteries available in South America, so where should we replace them? Our batteries still seem to be in good condition, but this situation makes us wonder.
Later, we switched the freezer back on and found it wasn’t working. Oh no! That worried us since all the fresh meat is stored in the freezer. Thankfully, it turned out to be just a blown fuse, which was a quick fix.
Early this morning, we got our second catch—a big one. Unfortunately, our scale broke just in time, so we couldn’t weigh the fish. We estimated it to be about 10-15 kg. It looked like tuna but had scales and white meat. Regardless, it tasted very good. I saved some meat for dumplings, as Pierre suggested.
The wind grew stronger today, blowing from the south-southeast. We sailed on a broad reach. Using a gybe preventer line made things much easier when our hand steering went beyond the angle. Before nightfall, we changed the headsail from the Hankon light-air Genoa to a smaller one. We also put a second reef in the main, which made us feel much safer.
The waves were big, shaking the boat in every direction. I couldn’t even make a cup of filter coffee anymore because I had to hold the coffee pot on the stove the entire time. Nothing on the counter could stay still unless I held it. At times like this, you wish you had more hands to hold everything while trying to manage your tasks.
Then, I discovered that one of my egg holders had gone flying during a bad wave hit. Of the 12 eggs inside, three were broken, and one was missing. Eventually, I found the missing egg behind a food basket in the cabinet—but only its empty shell remained. You can imagine where the yolk and egg juice ended up.
We haven’t experienced seas this rough in a long time. Cleaning up the broken eggs made me seasick again. Luckily, I’m the only one feeling seasick this time; the rest of the family is fine.
Both kids are steering the boat very well now, each managing an hour at a time. I can’t stand for that long anymore—my heel hurts, and my leg has gotten stiff.
There’s a strong southwesterly blow forecasted for this Friday, lasting three days. It’s best that we sail to Juan Fernández to find shelter.
With the south-southeast wind, we were being pushed farther west on a broad reach. So Pierre decided to try our long-prepared Wing-on-Wing downwind sailing. It’s a combination of our Genoa and a large headsail with a track.
Setting up the poles is never an easy task, especially in the ocean with 18 knots of wind. The boat rolled constantly, and the bow scooped up water, flooding the deck where we were working. An hour later, the job was done, and we were all soaked—except for Rulin, who was steering safely in the cockpit.
With the Wing-on-Wing configuration, we could take a better angle to the west and manage the sails more easily by rolling them in when the wind strengthened. However, it only lasted for eight hours. The wind shifted slightly to the south, so we had to take the setup down and switch back to the light-air Genoa for the night as the sea calmed.
In the early morning, we experienced a lot of rolling. Later, I discovered more open items in the kitchen. For example, the lid of an airtight coffee bottle filled with soybeans had somehow popped off, and the beans were sliding back and forth across the shelf, with bottles rolling alongside them. It was quite a funny sight, as if everything in the kitchen had come to life! Then I noticed the lid of a plastic container with cornmeal (Pap flour) had also come loose. I spent the morning cleaning up yet another mess in the galley.
Customs responded to our inquiry about making an unexpected stop at Juan Fernández. They informed us that we’re allowed to stop at the island to perform necessary repairs as long as passengers don’t disembark and the boat doesn’t dock. But are we considered passengers? We’re a family, and we’ll be anchoring, not docking. So, I suppose we’re fine.
Hand-steering has proven to be an exhausting task. Even with four of us taking turns, each person steers for about six hours a day on average. Sometimes, when the sail and wind are set just right, steering is easier. But it still requires constant attention to keep the course. Our once-relaxed ocean life feels like it’s gone. Steering becomes especially stressful when the wind picks up. After our shifts, we’re so tired that all we want to do is sleep—we feel like working zombies.
We’ve never had to hand-steer like this before. It was always KiKi’s job. We named our autopilot "KiKi" during our Atlantic crossing. After a good calibration, she transformed from a tiger into a cat—so KiKi became her name, inspired by the Ghibli movie KiKi’s Delivery Service. This is the first time KiKi has gone on strike, and we need her back at work. Even the kids are asking for her return!
Life at sea feels better today. First, the rolling eased up significantly. The wind dropped around 2 a.m., so we had to start the engine again.
The morning was cloudy, but later the sun came out and shone brightly. Then, we caught our first big, fat tuna! The ocean is rewarding us. For lunch, we had fresh pan-fried tuna and plenty of leftovers for sashimi and ceviche.
After lunch, a large group of whales made an appearance, putting on an ocean show. At first, I mistook them for dolphins because they were much smaller in size. But as they came closer, I realized they were whales. We often see dolphins swimming in groups, but not whales. I wonder what type of whale they are. They had rounded heads, black bodies with irregular white patches, and were about 4–5 meters long.
Later in the afternoon, I tried making tuna ceviche using chopped onions, salt, and the juice of two fresh lemons. The tuna meat absorbed a lot of the lemon juice; even two lemons barely felt like enough for a fist-sized portion of meat. Should I add more lemon juice to make it juicier? The bottled lemon juice from the store doesn’t taste right for this dish—it’s such a pity!
We’ve been blessed with fishing on this trip. We haven’t had to take a single portion of meat from the freezer, with plenty of fresh protein every day. In this family, Ruwan loves fish the most. He often competes with Pierre to see who can catch the most.
When the wind blew steadily on Days 2 and 3, we had hoped to reach Juan Fernández before dark. But today, there’s been a light wind patch ahead of the stronger southwest wind forecasted for Friday. Even with motor sailing, the boat couldn’t maintain a speed of 6 knots like it did during good sailing conditions.
Now we face a decision: should we approach the anchorage at night or slow down to arrive in the morning?
After receiving the updated weather report, Pierre decided to depower the boat. During the evening sail change, we swapped the light-air Genoa for the smaller headsail and reefed the mainsail to the second reef again. Even with Beaufort 6 winds, Ithaca is only making 2–3 knots, just enough to stay above drifting.
The island is now in view. We’re slowly approaching its wind-shadowed waters.
The full moon was beautiful. Whenever it emerged from behind the clouds, shining brightly over the ocean, it brought a sense of peace.
As we waited for sunrise to approach the island, the moon disappeared into a thick, dark cloud behind the mountains. Only faint village lights indicated the direction of the harbor. I don’t like the darkness.
We were almost there.
At 05:30, we started the engine and headed toward the port, just 7 miles away.
With guidance from the locals, we anchored in 7–8 meters of water, close to the shore, in preparation for tomorrow’s strong blow. The bay seems well-protected, but it’s still rolling and windy. The tall mountains create williwaw-like gusts from time to time.
Earlier, when Pierre radioed the local port, there was a little misunderstanding. We thought he needed to report to the Armada office at 9 a.m. after arrival. Ah, the challenges of Spanish! Later, the port master clarified that we must stay on the boat and communicate solely via WhatsApp to submit the necessary documents.
Isla Juan Fernández is no longer a port of entry or exit as it was five years ago. This change explains why international sailboats heading to the Pacific rarely come here anymore. There’s only one local Chilean sailboat anchored in the bay.
That’s fine with us. We need Starlink internet to search for an autopilot solution and consult a technician. Thankfully, we can still use Starlink here under the Regional option, though not as Priority.
At noon, while we were preoccupied with the autopilot problem, our dinghy went loose without us noticing. We nearly lost it.
We had lifted the dinghy off the boat to access the snubber line and anchor buoy stored in the lazarette. We thought Pierre might also need it to visit the Armada office. While working, we heard people shouting from the shore. At first, we weren’t sure what they were saying until we caught the word "Ithaca." That got our attention.
When we looked out, we saw the dinghy drifting halfway to the shore—right toward a sea lion colony. It was a completely helpless situation! It was too far away, and swimming to retrieve it wasn’t an option, especially not near a group of sea lions.
Fortunately, the crew from a neighboring sailboat reassured us not to worry. Shortly after, their dinghy returned from shore, and at the same time, someone from the nearby land attempted to retrieve our drifting dinghy. After several tries, the person managed to get in the dinghy but struggled to paddle it back to us against the headwind.
With help from both the locals and the neighboring sailors, our dinghy was finally delivered back to us. Thank goodness! We are so grateful and deeply appreciative of their kindness.
The series of troubles today kept us busy, leading to more small, avoidable mistakes. We really need some proper rest to recover and relax.
After a good night's rest, we enjoyed our first warm, proper breakfast since leaving Valdivia. Although the anchorage conditions here are far from ideal, with constant rolling, it’s still manageable enough to cook compared to the conditions at sea during our passage.
A local port agent named Marcelo came to assist us, along with the captain from the neighboring Chilean boat. After obtaining permission from port control, they came aboard Ithaca. After all, how can you properly inspect a hardware problem just by looking at photos and videos?
However, we still couldn’t identify the issue. The autopilot pump is functioning, and during the rudder sensor setup, it works fine when moving to port but refuses to go to starboard.
We couldn’t remove the pump for a deeper inspection yet—not until we have a secure buoy to tie onto. The wind here is strong, and frequent, fierce williwaws make the situation even more challenging.
We checked the weather update: there’s no chance of leaving soon. We’ll need to stay here for at least a week. Strong southwesterly winds are forecasted for the next two days, followed by calm conditions and then north winds. We couldn't sail away. It’s still early in the season for the trade winds.
The wind picked up tonight, and the anchor chain dragging over the rocky seabed created a strange and unsettling noise, even with two snubber lines. The williwaws and shifting tides caused the boat to swing in all directions. The halyard sheets clattered noisily against the mast in the wind.
This is not a peaceful night. We set up the anchor drag alarm. I couldn’t help but think: I need a holiday—a truly worry-free one.
If we can’t fix the autopilot, we’ll leave as soon as we find a suitable weather window. We were determined. We’ll hand-steer all the way to French Polynesia if we must. This land of Chile feels like it has cast a small curse on us, threatening to drain all the passion and funds from our dream of sailing around the world.
I woke up early because I couldn't bear the frightened noise coming from the anchor chain anymore. I wanted to see what movement was causing the sound.
Pierre got up with me and went to the deck first, only to find that both the snubber lines were off. The noise came from the anchor chain dragging over the anchor arm and the windlass.
Luckily, the chain hooks were still hooking onto the chain. This was because our chain became slightly larger after the re-galvanizing process. But the soft shackles of Dyneema, which connected the chain hooks to the snubbers, were the problem. One was gone, and the other was broken. This had never happened before. The anchorage is a bit rough here. We used a mooring buoy in this place 5 years ago, not anchoring.
After a quick oats breakfast, Pierre and Ruwan started to work on the autopilot problem. There was help from Nic, a young Chilean-English man, talking through WhatsApp. In the end, Pierre took the pump out and inspected it thoroughly to spot anything unusual, but found nothing.
All the ATF oil was drained and then reassembled with some hope, but when we tried it again, there was no luck. That’s it! We will have to commit ourselves to hand-steering to French Polynesia. There is no way for us to go back to the mainland to re-check into Chile. Also, we don't want to spend another month or more waiting for the parts in this rolling anchorage.
The flies on the island are really big and nasty. The dried fish we left hanging in the cockpit were caught by them. But the dried salty butterfly kingfish (I found the name later from the internet) tastes really good. I used a piece of mosquito net material and sewed it together to cover a sock hanger. I hung the fish inside and hid it away. It seems to be working well.
It is time to use the fish meat for Chinese dumplings. We need good food to cheer us up. The fish meat is quite unique, and I couldn't think of adding other common vegetables, only some spring onions with some cooking wine to reduce the smell, salt and pepper, and of course some soy sauce to mix in. The result is really good. Pierre gave a compliment—he said they were the best dumplings ever.
The boat power is still bothering us. We can only switch on Starlink when there is sunshine. The router needs the inverter. When the evening comes, we almost switch off everything except the anchor light and the bilge pump. Even for room lights, we have to use the dimming LED lights instead of the newly installed brighter ones.
So when we arrive at French Polynesia, we will not only replace the autopilot pump but also our house bank batteries. Two big expenses are ahead and waiting for us. But first, we need to get there.
Maybe it would be easier to go back to the mainland and re-check into Chile, but NO. I already feel a headache just thinking about going backwards and waiting for another month or two for the parts. A hard no!
If this is our fate, let's face it! Many people have crossed oceans without an autopilot—we can do it too.
我刚学航海时没自动舵开了3次6000海里一个人太累了晚上睡觉都在舵旁
