It's the final day and we're returning, for the last time, to Williams in a dead calm Beagle Canal. As I'm weaving the boat through fields of kelp, two big, black flying chicken-type birds land on the spreaders, halfway up the mast. I'm stuck on the helm whilst captain and crew scramble for cameras and angles. Shortly after, one of the birds takes a shit, landing on the deck and a window. Wolf promptly declares, with only partial humour, "OK. Fun is over.". The birds are dipatched and I'm left to thoughts of what to do next.
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| Photo: Frithjof Behne |
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| Photo: Frithjof Behne |
Over the past few days, I think I've worked out Baby, I Love your Way (Frampton.)
In the evening, we toast with the very last of the beer, then drink many, many more beers and Pisco sours at the Micalvi club.
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