The wilds of Patagonia

OTWAY WATER AND SKYRING WATER

During the Swedish South Polar Expedition of 1901-1903 the question of surveying the great Otway and Skyring Waters also had been discussed, but we could not proceed further. At that time the inner part of Skyring was completely unknown, and, as it later became evident, a geographical discovery of great importance was in store. Already, before the outburst of the great Peruvian War (1879) the Chilean Government had started a survey, but the war put a stop to all work of that kind, and it happened that a long period elapsed before a new investigation was undertaken. Not until 1902 did we get news from Skyring. Then, however, Captain Ismael Gajardo discovered the channel later named in his honour, a channel which unites Skyring Water with a bay from the Magellan Straits, the Xaultegua Gulf. Thus the “white spot” began to disappear, and in 1905 the Government published a new Admiralty chart of Otway and Skyring. But many scientific problems awaited solution, and, as far as we could, we wanted to contribute towards it. I submitted a scheme to Admiral Rojas, and, having gained his approval, we prepared for the new excursion. We were to use the same vessel, the Huemul, commanded by L. Diaz Palacios, captain in the navy. We engaged Pagels for this trip also. On April 11 we steamed out into the Straits. As a period of storm had prevailed for some days, we got a very heavy sea, which made the small ship roll in a most perilous manner; the clinometer indicated 33°, and I believe one seldom gets more. We remained on deck, enjoying the grand spectacle of a turbulent sea. At nightfall we reached the San Isidro Lighthouse, one of the very few down here. The morning was bright, and we weighed anchor early, but had not proceeded many miles before the storm recommenced. We could not venture to pass Cape Froward, but had to seek a harbour, where we stopped all day. Cape Froward, or Forward, is the southernmost point of the American continent. Here the heavy seas from the strait and from Magdalena Channel meet, and here, too, is the limit between the April weather of the east and the west’s rainy mist, dense as a wall. The point also is of appropriate shape; it lies like a big clenched fist. Next day we rounded the cape and entered Jerome Channel, connecting Otway Water and the Straits. It is very grand scenery, and if you look at the west shore you will believe that you are in the Western Channels, with their high mountains, dark forest patches ending in snowfields, fine cascades, and waters, black and deep, close to the cliff.

Our first station was Cutter Cove, where several years ago was found copper ore in considerable quantities, to work which a company was formed. Here we got a good idea of a rather tragic chapter of Patagonian history. Prospectors and mining engineers, often without the slightest right to such a title, collected like flies on a piece of sugar. Every day new people had mining claims granted to them; the deposits were described in glowing terms. At once people in America or Europe formed companies, sometimes with a big joint capital. The gold-fever raged, and it was taken for granted that immense riches must exist in Patagonia! Engines and machinery were bought, houses built, and then the end came. For as soon as work was started one or another disagreeable discovery was made: the quantity of ore was too small, the quality inferior, or the methods unsuitable; and the company failed! Speaking of claims, I cannot help telling the following story. When we went to Admiralty Inlet, and the newspapers in Punta Arenas reported the fact, a poor fellow who had once prospected for gold there laid claim to a big piece of land, evidently dreading that we should get sight of his sleeping millions. The day after our departure his claims were published. Heaven knows what he had not found in the way of valuable things down there, all carefully enumerated. We do not envy him, however, for there was absolutely nothing there to speak of.

After having visited some places on the south side of Otway Water, we crossed it in order to follow the north shore. The land here gradually rises towards the interior of Riesco Island; the slopes are clad with tall forests. In the south part it is covered by the evergreen trees that by-and-by are mingled with the light green roble (Nothofagus pumilio), which reigns alone for a short stretch. Where the water narrows to Fitzroy Channel the country once more changes its nature, and we are on the edge of the Patagonian pampa, where groves of N. antarctica form a brushwood. Of course these changes depend upon the climatic conditions, especially the decreasing rainfall.

At several places we saw traces of habitation. In one little snug harbour, surrounded by a beautiful forest, full of screaming paroquets, and with the wild fuchsia (F. magellanica) still in bloom, was a small abandoned saw-mill; at another place we saw human beings, who fled as soon as they caught sight of us. They must have had some reason to hide, and probably the uniforms of our naval officers frightened them.

On April 16 we anchored at the entrance to Fitzroy Channel, connecting Otway and Skyring. It is a very narrow, shallow, and crooked passage, through which the tide rushes at a great speed. The passage entails innumerable changes of direction, soundings, and great caution. The shores are flat; we have entered the pampa zone, and find the outposts of civilisation on both sides. Los Amigos, where we had the doubtful pleasure of staying longer than we wished, can boast of two hotels, stores, an American bar, and a billiard saloon. We had some work to do there, as we made an interesting discovery of stratified clay from the glacial age, but when we were ready to leave, Skyring was not at all willing to welcome us, to judge from the south-westerly gale, which caused us to drag anchor more than once. We made an attempt to enter the open water, but encountered some heavy seas, that swept the whole vessel and led us to turn back. You must not forget that the Huemul only boasts 180 tons! Not until the 22nd could we repeat the attempt. The waves still swept over the decks, but the north coast afforded some shelter, and we cast anchor in Puerto Altamirano. We had gone westward again and back to the forest. Here lives the pioneer who has penetrated furthest west, a Frenchman, M. Guyon, in his lonely blockhouse. Here he has lived several years with his wife and his children, some hundreds of sheep, some cows and hens. The house looked poor, but clean, and the mistress made some nice coffee and showed us all the kindness she could, insisted on our taking the last raspberries in the garden, and finally made us a present of a fine head of cauliflower. Happy, contented people! We pressed their hands warmly when we said “Good-night” to them and “Good-bye” to houses and people.

All traces of man have not disappeared, though they present themselves in a different way. It is a bright morning when we come pulling towards Isla Escarpada (i.e., the Precipitous Island) to look for a place to land. And lo! the cliff opens, we glide into a charming cove, where the waves break softly on the fine white sand, and on the shore is a confusion of green Winter’s bark, rich in foliage, and high-stemmed beeches, clothed with tiny mosses and thin, elegant hymenophyllums, thickets of fuchsia and large-fronded ferns. In this peaceful paradise stood the skeletons of two Indian huts; shells, bones of seals and birds proved that they had been inhabited not long ago. Could we only have called up the wretched brown figures, the picture would have been complete. This encounter with natives’ work put us in a reflective mood: here was a Nature, still virgin, with man as one of her numerous beings, not as the absolute master, and here we stood, members of the white race which makes all originality vanish under its hands.

The landscape in the west part of Skyring has a great deal in common with the famous Patagonian Channels. Everywhere long, narrow inlets penetrate far into the Cordilleras. Some of them are extremely beautiful and exhibit the true fiord-nature, with the entrance barred by a threshold and deep water inside; but the steamer cannot enter, and one has to pull in in small yawls. For the most part the scenery is perhaps more sombre than grand. Generally heavy clouds rest on the black, splintered crests, so heavy that even the ice-fields lose their whiteness; the reddish bogs and the deep, dark forest patches, which cling to the steep cliffs and get thicker and closer towards the sea, becoming a solid, impenetrable covering to everything down to the water itself, make a solemn impression. You hardly hear a bird sing or an insect hum. But even here Nature may smile; when the sun rises over precipitous summits, that stand clear against the sky, and paints the forest with light green bands and the snowfields with pink; or when the midday light is reflected with the splendour of diamonds from the glaciers, where caverns and cracks gleam with that magnificent blue colour, varying from deep cobalt to light ultramarine. Then you also notice all the more minute details in the forest, that you hardly pay any attention to when the rain is pouring down and fog is on the water. I do not speak as a botanist now, for I naturally found the forest as interesting in the bad weather, and I had every reason to rejoice at the results of my studies in Skyring. The geologists also were contented; they got a natural section through the mountains, older layers appearing as one proceeds westwards.

We still hoped to meet Indians. In many places we found abandoned huts, but never the natives. We had heard of a passage made by Indians from Excelsior Inlet to Obstruction Sound, and spent a day visiting it. The inlet is barred and the ship had to stop outside. We found the way, but I shall tell of it in another connection.

Estero de los Ventisqueros, the Glacier Inlet, is one of the longest and most narrow, penetrating south-south-west far into the Muñoz Gamero Peninsula. Its innermost part was hardly known, which gave us a special reason for going there. The entrance is very narrow, and has the character of a rapid stream. Up it we forced our way between stones and heavy logs. The stream seemed to us somewhat strange, and we were not surprised to find the water in the inlet fresh, a lake having been formed where the tide played no part. Between imposing mountains, clad with snow and glaciers, we pulled towards the end, round a point that has shut off the interior, where was the gigantic glacier, stretching a tongue out into the water, which is full of ice. The ice-wall is about half a mile broad, and has a height of about 90 feet. We spent some hours here collecting, and late in the evening came back on board very pleased with our day and anxiously waiting for the next, when we were to make the acquaintance of Gajardo Channel. The outer part produced the same impression as the other inlets we had seen, but it gradually became very narrow, and finally no passage could be found. We had reached the place called Angostura de los Témpanos, or Icefloe Narrows, where even rowing-boats can hardly pass. Here the tidal current rushes through a narrow gorge over stones and reefs at a speed of up to eight knots. Heaps of ice from the surrounding glaciers are brought to and fro through the Narrows, and have given rise to its geographical name.

The Huemul anchored close to the cliff, a boat was lowered, and we set out to pull through; we had the tide against us, though not with its full force, and hardly got away from the spot in spite of eight men at the four oars. At great risk we got past the whirlpools round the shallow places. Excitement could be read in all faces, and with loud “hurrahs” we came out into calmer water. To our right a small inlet opened, and as we rounded the point the sight of the glacier in the background called forth renewed cheers. I think I have seen much ice in all shapes and forms, but hardly anything that made so strong an impression on me. In frozen cascades it comes through a narrow chasm, broadens out again, and protrudes into the green, transparent water with a tongue 100 feet high, crowned by millions of fantastic needles. Hardly a fleck on it, but what a play of bright colours—Prussian blue, ultramarine, and cobalt! In silence we rested on the oars, watching the sight. There was a narrow crevice in the rock at the edge of the ice where we could land; on one side we had the glacier, on the other the high ice-clad cliff; huge pieces had fallen down where we now stood. As the place looked dangerous, we hurried on with our observations; now and again the big glacier discharged large pieces of ice, giving rise to a swell, that made our position uncomfortable. Quensel got specimens of the rocks. Halle and I found some Alpine plants that thrive at sea-level, refreshed by the cool breath from the icy surroundings.

We had just left when with thunder a large ice-block plunged down into the water, followed by a wave so great that an accident might easily have happened had we remained there; the place was swept by water and pieces of ice, and we had trouble enough to keep the boat clear from the rock where we landed to watch the imposing spectacle. As we did not want to stop with the ship near the Narrows, the anchorage being miserable, we resolved to go back. Pulling along the cliff, where a hanging glacier looked down on us from above, happily enough without paying us any other attention, we arrived at the critical place, and beheld a sight not particularly encouraging. Our calculations had failed; the current had turned and rushed full speed in the opposite direction, playing with the icefloes that were on their way to the other side of the pass. We tried, but were caught by a whirlpool, and were only saved by the efforts of the oarsmen from being crushed against the rocks. We crossed and landed on the east side, and climbed the rocks to look at the surroundings. On the other side it was not possible to get along, on this we could certainly pass if we kept at a height of 30 to 50 feet above the water; we should thus be able to get down on the north side and signal to the ship. But the boat? We could not leave it there. We had almost made up our minds to wait five or six hours when Pagels made a suggestion: he thought it possible, though dangerous, to climb along the precipice, dragging the boat by the painter, which was rather long. Step by step we advanced. It was not easy to find foothold; the tiniest shelf was taken advantage of; our fingers grasped the smallest irregularities on the face of the high, precipitous cliff. The boat seemed to cling to every irregularity or projection; the current pressed it against the cliff with such force that some of us had to jump into it, cutting our fingers in trying to fend it off. We got past the worst rapids and gained a place where the mountain sloped gradually down to the water. Another critical moment: we all embarked, only Pagels, firmly squatted on his broad hams, pipe in mouth, still grasped the painter. Ready with the oars! Pagels swung the bow round, jumped into the boat, and at the same instant four oars dipped and strained against the current. The least carelessness and the boat would have been hurled back into the rapids again. A last effort, making the oarsmen drip with sweat in spite of the cold weather, and we were back on board.

It was too late to look for a new anchorage. We lay in a very disagreeable and rather unsafe place, the bottom being rock and the water deep close to the shore, where several shoals unexpectedly appeared. Now and then a strong puff of wind came from the high mountains, giving us a foretaste of the weather we should get. We had hardly got on board when the ship went adrift; hastily we got sufficient pressure in the boilers to heave up and anchor again. There was not much repose on board that night. It was pitch-dark, the channel narrow, the current strong, and the shore dangerous. The captain had thrown himself on a sofa with his clothes on, and we were disturbed by heavy boots tramping over our heads, and every ten minutes soundings were taken in order to see if we were drifting. At 5 A.M. I heard the noise of heavy squalls, and noticed that the vessel trembled in a curious manner, as if she were aground. I fell asleep once more, but woke up with the engines working at full speed and the hull shaking terribly. I was right; we had dragged anchor and struck a flat rock, not more than 100 feet from the shore. With the engines alone we made no progress, but we tried a kedge with better result. Nothing serious had happened, and in the grey dawn we steamed out of Gajardo Channel.

A few words on the peculiar hydrographic and biological conditions in Skyring Water might be of some interest. As the narrow and shallow Fitzroy and Gajardo Channels are its only connection with other water, the tide is hardly noticeable, the difference being only some few inches. From glaciers and rivers volumes of fresh water are discharged into Skyring, and the result is brackish water. That the organic life is influenced thereby is evident: the plant life is different, seaweeds are miserable, no big kelp is found, and animal life is very poor.

In the central and east part of the large water several landings were left, and we crossed from north to south and vice versâ a number of times. The country further east has nothing of the wild beauty of the west, but is not less interesting. The tertiary layers were surveyed by Halle at two places, Mina Magdalena and Mina Marta. On the last-mentioned place you may see a Patagonian mining enterprise in its last stage—ruined houses, rusty machinery strewn all over the ground. The coal was no coal, which the “engineers” did not discover till everything was ready for a start, but lignite, whose value may be scientific, but hardly more. Halle found plenty of fossils.

When we came back to Los Amigos we wanted to make some additional excursions in Otway Water, but unhappily there is a telephone line to Punta Arenas, and the admiral requested us to return as soon as we could.

This made us pass Jerome Channel at night; the captain did not like it, but he had been asked to do it, if possible. We were not very pleased at returning so soon. It was a fine evening; we had crossed Otway Water, and the Huemul made its way along the coast of the Jerome Channel, where mountain and water merge into black darkness. We were approaching the outlet, when the engine suddenly stopped. The current is in our favour, thus giving us a moment’s breathing-space. What’s the matter? The engineer does not know; something has gone wrong; he cannot risk going any further. “But we shall drift ashore within a minute or two,” the captain shouts; “we must continue.” Again we try, very slowly; a noise of thunder is heard from the big cylinder, as if the cap would burst. A conference is held. We cannot reach a safe harbour; the nearest is Arauz Bay, but the water is dirty there, and it is not sheltered from the prevailing wind. However, we try again, and being outside the harbour a yawl is sent ahead to make soundings, and by means of fire-signals the officer in it leads us to an anchorage.

The damage proved to be very serious. We had broken the shaft, and there could be no thought of repairing it here; all we could do was to keep it tight till we could reach Punta Arenas. Good luck had helped us hitherto—had it happened half an hour earlier we might have lost the ship—but we still wanted a good deal. The bay is open to the south-west. If a gale comes now, when our fires are out—what can we do? We had good luck; all the time the rare north wind blew! After working without a moment’s stop for thirty hours the clever engineer declared all to be ready, and on the evening of May 4 we were back in Punta Arenas again.