The Day I Killed Gannet2

In my defense I did manage after some panic to resurrect our home but for a couple of hours there I thought we were in some seriously deep ruination.

I had this idea that being as how we had decided to stay another day to enjoy some sunshine (the nearby national parks being closed to Rusty) I should do some van light maintenance before I sat down with my book (Berlin Noir by Philip Kerr to celebrate the recent elections at home). 

So I pottered around going some greasing and level checking and so forth feeling like I was earning my time in the sun until unhappily I decided to check the front winch, our Hail Mary for when we get stuck, a 12,000 pound WARN winch with 100 feet of rope. I pulled it out a bit to air the rope and when I went to reel it all in the winch made a popping noise and stoped spooling. Seat I said, or harsh Eurasia that effect, a blown fuse so bother new annoying problem with this dreadful winch installation. The photo is when I had it new at home in the Keys:

With a screwdriver I spooled the excess rope back in and decided to call it a day. When I stepped into our home to get my e-reader I found we had no power. None at all. No 12 volts for the lights, no 110 volts in the outlets. Nothing. Zip. Nada. The engine ran normally but the house system was totally shut down. I was frantic. 

We spent two lovely hours ripping out our bed and tracing cables in the house battery compartment and the inverter area and the breakers and  I felt like an idiot because if only I hadn’t touched the damned winch…if only…if only… the two most painful words in the English language. Cucao the village as we left the area:

It took me a while as we struggled with the risk absence of voltage but eventually I had a brainwave. After we crossed the Darien Gap the van had flat house batteries from two weeks in total darkness in the container. My solution, on the docks in Cartagena Colombia had been simple. I turned in the engine and pressed the magic button.  That’s a control installed by Custom Coach Creations that allows you to jumps start the engine with the house batteries, or to get the engine to power up the house batteries direct and kickstart the camper. So that is what I did and it worked perfectly; everything was back to normal as was my heart rate after some heavy breathing. The magic button:

So now I could take credit for wrecking our home and restoring it all in one afternoon. And as Layne, the sage member of the crew put it, not only did we get to do some deep cleaning but we also learned something new: when all else fails hit the magic button. That’s a lesson I shan’t soon forget. 

It was a pleasure to have everything magically restored and working lie nothing happened.  I take the Promaster for granted even less now than I did before. We Chinese’s with salmon in the air fryer and a bottle of red wine for dinner. All was well. 

Wednesday morning, the day after the fiasco we left the campground with a plan to shop for some fruit in Castro and get some lunch in Quemchi (the town, not the Korean  preserved cabbage which I don’t much like).

Rusty got a town walk in Castro the Island’s capital. Layne went into the fruit and vegetable market, the Féria Campesina, and I followed my dog around the streets, those streets with fewer local dog gangs hanging out. Mapu Libre refers to freedom for the indigenous locals, those that are left. 

I often read how people are intimidated by the size of the 21 foot Promaster and how it’s difficult to park. It is large but parking isn’t the problem that it is for some people.  I find our nine foot height (including the air conditioner) is much more of a limitation. 

We got on with as we had a lunch to get to, a place we stumbled on in December wanted to check out one more time. 

Chiloé isn’t that big, about 120 miles long and 30 miles wide more or less on the big inane which is surrounded by a flock of small islands and islets. And yet the impression you get most of the time is that this is an island dedicated to agriculture. 

But the sea will intervene and I saw an example of that on the road. A ferry terminal turned the nearby highway into a traffic jam.  The vehicles on the right were waiting for the ship the other two lanes were struggling to get past each other. Look long because chaos is rare on Chilean roads. 



And then Team Lost took over and we missed a couple of turns and found ourselves on gravel. 

Always pretty countryside on Chiloé  even though the ocean is not often present. 







I like this pastoral countryside, not dramatic or spectacular. 

Tidal water! 



Good eats. 

Rodolfo, the owner with his wife Paz, dedicated to local products and a summer spent feeding people. 

We shared a plate of raw clams with grated cheese. Cheese and seafood is not allowed by good taste in the US. In Chile it’s common and delicious; if you get a chance try it. 

You get hot rolls in this cute little bag. 

I had hake which is a kind of cod served here with tomato broth. I’ve never had a cold water fish like this with tomato but it was perfect. Imagine a gentle pasta sauce with a big chunk of flaked white fish. 

Layne had crab claws. Quimche is a fishing port. 

Pudding dog me was a slice of chocolate cake drowned in some Pisco (brandy) type liquor. 

Layne had flan. Two beers, a Pisco sour, mineral water and two coffees totaled eighty bucks. A great treat. 

A blackboard to keep up with whatever the fishing fleet brings in that day. 



It was a sleepy little place in December but hopping with visitors in high summer season in February. 

Too cold for us to swim but not everybody felt that way. It’s still 42 degrees south latitude which is a long way down. 





And then off to Andy’s a town at the north end of the island. 

We were going to camp on the streets at a viewpoint but we got a rather bad vibe, a run down neighborhood so we retreated to a campground. $25 and a hot shower. It’ll do.