Date: 3/26/26
Type: Blog
In lieu of seeing my first AND SECOND humpback breach, alongside a collection of incredible fluke shots that has grown substantially over the past month, this entry is written in the format of our whale data notebook. This is how we log sightings, conditions, and behavior aboard One Ocean. Paired with imagery, these notes support our lead scientist, Grace Dalton, and our research partners, such as BC Whales, in better understanding whale behavior so that we can protect them to the best of our abilities.
# of Whales (or crew): 3
There are now only three souls aboard One Ocean. Jenn, Mark, and myself. For months, a fourth crew member rotated through, some staying longer than others, each bringing their own energy, perspective, and enthusiasm.
In Puerto Montt, we said goodbye to Jon after nearly three months at sea. We welcomed Grace back aboard, our lead scientist and my favorite bunkmate, for part of the journey south where we collected critical data and lifelong memories. Later came Tortoise Tim, whose time with us down to Puerto Williams and Cape Horn was nothing short of incredible, sharing some of the most impactful moments thus far.
Now, as we make our way north through the Chilean fjords, it is just three.
Lat/Long: S 54.47 W 69.37
Caleta Beaulieu, off the northwest arm of the Beagle Channel
On the way down, we pushed hard, running day and night, guided by tight timing and a demanding schedule. Now heading north, we are moving more slowly, hopping from one jaw dropping bay to the next, choosing our weather windows with care, allowing ourselves to soak it all in. We have been at anchor most nights, which you would think means sleep, but that luxury is only granted when we are not being slammed by williwaws. (I suggest you do not look up whether williwaws are more prevalent at night. You will not find the answer you are looking for.)
In one particularly beautiful bay (Caleta Beaulieu), I took the time to sit down and write, so that is where I am taking you today.
Conditions: No fetch, icy bergs, meltwater pouring into the ocean, rain, and the occasional williwaw.
Navigating into this anchorage meant weaving through ice once again. One of my favorite parts of icy waters is the natural art drifting slowly past One Ocean’s hull. Sculpted shapes, also known as “icy bergs” by some *Grace cough cough,* formed by time and temperature that, to my whale-focused mind, resemble flukes, dorsal fins, and familiar forms we have studied so closely. Even the mountain rising high out of the water mirrors the droopy dorsal fin of a humpback we examined with curiosity just days before. It is funny how the mind starts to see what it has been trained to look for. A reminder that attention shapes perception, and that even in harsh, uncertain environments, there is beauty to be found. The more you look for it, the more you will see.
They say that down here it goes from summer straight into winter, and we are watching that shift happen in real time.
One Ocean sits anchored in Caleta Beaulieu, held by 150 feet of chain and a stern line tied to a tree on the rocky shoreline. Towering glaciers rise above us and spill into the sea, and ice drifts slowly outward with the ebb tide. The water is a striking teal, colored by meltwater, its surface textured by raindrops that scatter like a quiet, steady applause.
Williwaws find us at nightfall, forming high above on the glacial peaks before accelerating down the mountainsides, hitting our beam with sudden, forceful impact, putting our anchors hold and stern ties to the test. We share the bay with another sailing vessel named “Why”... A question we find ourselves asking with each gust that doesn't allow for a peaceful night's rest. A cruise ship is tucked deep into the bay, once again the unexpected company that continues to find us in the most remote places we've been.
Observations & Behavior: Moving slowly, hopping from bay to bay, keeping warm, drawing, cooking, writing, watching.
One Ocean is moving slowly northwest, weaving from one bay to the next, soaking in the beauty that is southern Chile. Where we once rushed, we now linger, exploring anchorages, watching the weather, and taking in the sheer scale of everything around us.
Inside, Mark is in the galley making pizza, occasionally interrupted by “another drop [of water]!” landing directly on his forehead. The windows are fogged, condensation building on the inside, a reminder that we are again very far from the tropics. The frequent wiping of the windows brings me right back to the Arctic, where this was also part of daily life. Jenn and I wipe them in intervals, drawing little smiling faces before clearing them again, one even becoming a proper dinner guest one night. We are not going crazy, I swear.
The heater blows warm air onto my fuzzy socks, as I sit cozy in the corner seat in the main salon and think about how different this experience is from those who sailed these waters before us. Learning from Mark Schrader is not only a generational gap, but also a window into the earliest explorers who inspired him to take to the sea.
And just in case we needed a reminder to appreciate the luxuries on board, our heater quit on us in the middle of a wind and snow storm. After hours of analyzing, troubleshooting, and searching for the root cause of the cold, Mark discovered the issue… a lack of fuel. Turns out you cannot starve it and expect it to keep going. Lesson learned. The work that has gone into making One Ocean safe and comfortable by Mark, Mike, Jenn, and countless volunteers is not lost on me. It makes all the difference out here and is truly appreciated every day.
Spotted: 3/26/26
Stopped tracking: 4/1/26 (FINALLY I came back to finish this haha)
Notes:
I have grown deeply fond of these polar regions. Places so special where environments are often harsh and human presence sparse, but life is all around, from deep below us all the way to high ground.
**As I finish this blog, One Ocean JUST ran out of popcorn; there is no saying how this may affect the crew… storms may be scary but this is scarier.
Best,
Tess