+By Sir Martin Conway.+]
Another of the famous Alpinist's fascinating articles, describing
his attempt to reach the hitherto untrodden summit of Mount
Sarmiento, the highest peak in desolate Tierra del Fuego.
To the ordinary reader the name of Tierra del Fuego probably suggests
a region about as remote and unfamiliar as any outside the Arctic
regions. Yet the country, far away though it is, is not really
difficult of access. The Straits of Magellan are daily traversed by
ocean-going steamers, all of which stop at Sandy Point on the mainland,
just opposite this forbidding island. Thousands of voyagers annually
pass through the Straits and, if the weather is fine, behold the snowy
mountains on the southern horizon; but very few stop by the way, and
fewer still ever cross to the inhospitable shore opposite. Nothing
more bleak and uninviting, indeed, can be imagined than the shores of
Magellan's Straits. The weather is generally abominable. Rain falls in
soaking torrents. The lower slopes and flats are covered with dense,
reeking forests. Higher up comes the snow, which gradually looms
forth in a pallid, death-like whiteness out of the heavy clouds, very
different in aspect from the splendid brilliancy of Alpine snows,
standing forth against radiant, sunlit skies. In fine summer weather
Alpine snows attract a man upwards; their loveliness seems to invite a
visit. It is far otherwise in the Fuegian archipelago. There the great
range of Andes sinks into the ocean, its peaks become islands, and its
valleys are straits or fjords. You must go by water to the foot of each
mountain, and the navigation is difficult and often dangerous. Not far
away is the raging ocean, everlastingly tortured by storm and tempest.
A black cloud roof generally passes overhead, dragging skirts of hail,
rain, or snow over the reeking earth. Never is the whole round of view
clear. Now one region is blotted out and now another. If the sun shines
for a little while it is soon obscured, and storm succeeds after a
short interval.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL LANDSCAPE IN TIERRA DEL FUEGO, GIVING SOME
IDEA OF THE AWFUL DESOLATION OF THE COUNTRY.
_From a Photograph._]
To an explorer, nevertheless, this region has great attractions, owing
to these very facts. There is so much to discover, the scenery is so
unusual, and there is the possibility of adventure at every step. All
is uncertain, and the way has almost to be felt. Moreover, if perchance
a fine interval comes, the storm-riven, ice-sheathed landscape is so
astounding, the effects of light in so dense and wet an atmosphere are
so extraordinary, that it is impossible to resist their fascination.
Add to all this the spice of danger which still remained when I was
there, and perhaps still remains. The natives were distinctly hostile
to the white man. They were few in number, an amphibious race living
in booths, practically in the Stone Age so far as tools and weapons
were concerned; not very dangerous foes, therefore, yet subtle, and
delighted to slay a white man if they got the chance. They would
overpower him in his sleep, or lie in wait for him in the dense forest,
through which they can travel far faster than he can. Many a man has
been killed by them with their stone or glass-pointed arrows, shot out
of the dense bush from the distance of only a yard or two. When I was
lying in a small launch off the foot of one of the mountains, in the
blackest darkness of a stormy night, a canoe laden with such Indians
crept silently up alongside in the shadow of overhanging trees. Had
we not been on the alert they would have tried to rush our boat, but,
finding that impossible, they as silently glided away; and no trace
of them was anywhere discoverable when morning dawned, though no
doubt they were hidden somewhere near at hand and kept us under close
observation.
[Illustration: MOUNT SARMIENTO FROM COCKBURN CHANNEL.
_From a Photograph._]
As we came into the maze of channels which surround and penetrate the
mountains, though we saw no Indians, we were aware that our coming
was noticed, because at different points columns of smoke arose into
the air. It is thus that the savages communicate with one another.
They have a smoke language, and news is passed quickly and silently
from group to group. It was only when we landed and climbed to a high
point overlooking the channels that we realized what was going on; for
then we were able to observe the columns of smoke in a dozen or more
different places--signals of our movements, spreading gradually over
the archipelago from family to family of scattered Indians.
[Illustration: THE GLACIER OF MOUNT SARMIENTO.
_From a Photograph._]
The great mountain in this part of the world is Mount Sarmiento.
It is only seven thousand two hundred feet high, but its glaciers
reach to the sea, so that it may be compared on an equality, from a
climbing point of view, with Mont Blanc, if that be thought of as sunk
into water up to the snow region. On clear days Sarmiento is visible
to voyagers through Magellan's Straits. It is a glorious mountain,
surrounded by many other noble peaks. In form it is of supreme beauty,
and its surroundings are of the most romantic character. It was this
peak, of course, that I desired to attempt, and I stopped at Sandy
Point for that purpose. After much trouble I obtained the loan of a
steam-launch for a few days, and set forth in the usual bad weather.
We voyaged up various channels, between steep hillsides streaming with
more waterfalls than, I think, can elsewhere exist in an equal area.
In Cascade Reach, for instance, there are literally hundreds of them,
succeeding one another every few yards.
After a day's steaming we reached the foot of our peak, and with much
difficulty found a treacherous anchorage. There were clouds everywhere
above and below, and wooded banks loomed dimly into view close at hand;
but towards sunset there were signs of the weather clearing up. It was
one of those slow midsummer sunsets of high latitudes, when the colour
comes very gradually and fades equally slowly. At first only the icy
base of the mountain was visible in the grey shadow of clouds, with the
dark forest ring around it, and the calm, black water below. Presently
a soft, pink light crept up the tumbled ruin of the glacier, higher and
higher, as the mist dissolved, and revealed steep ice walls scarred by
serrated ridges, and a great arête set with pinnacles of splintered
rock. Some white points on the summit crest appeared, but a soft cloud
floated just above them, enveloping the top. Suddenly--so suddenly
that all who saw cried out--away above this cloud, surprisingly high,
appeared a point of light, as it were a brightly glowing coal. The
fiery glow crept down and down till we beheld the likeness of a great
pillar of red fire. It was a tower of ice-crusted rock reflecting the
bright afterglow of sunset. Regathered mists wrapped the glorious
vision away even before it had begun to fade. We remained afloat on the
calm water, wondering at the utter silence all around. Not a breath
of air stirred, no stone fell, no avalanche slipped. The babbling
glacier-torrent above alone broke the evening stillness.
[Illustration: THE VIEW FROM THE SLOPES.
_From a Photograph._]
Next day we landed to reconnoitre, and at two o'clock the following
morning we set forth for our climb. We landed at the edge of a forest
and had to force our way through it. The ground was a chaos of stones,
the trees grew close together and were densely matted with other
vegetation. The whole place was reeking wet and it was pitch-dark. We
fought and tumbled our way through this hideous chaos as best we might,
and in an hour or two got out on the other side, near the margin of a
glacier. Here we could scramble along well enough over the moraine, and
presently we had daylight to help us. Nothing was visible ahead; there
was the ice-wall on one hand, rock-cliffs on the other. Presently it
seemed better to climb the rocks, and we accordingly turned aside to
scale them. They were not difficult, and we rose higher and higher,
passing through another narrow belt of forest, where the trees grew
in the chinks and crannies of a wall of rock polished by ice and
precipitously steep. Above that came a floundering bog, and then at
last a reasonable grass-slope that narrowed into a rock-ridge. The rock
presently gave place in turn to snow, and led us on to the mass of the
mountain.
The weather was now tolerably clear, though over all there hung a
dark pall of cloud, through occasional holes in which shafts of
solid-looking sunlight penetrated. Where we rested for breakfast we had
a most striking view over desolate channels and still more desolate
islands, a very labyrinth of waterways and mountain walls. We could see
westwards to the ocean and northwards to the continent; the flat land
of the northern part of Tierra del Fuego was at our feet.
Its great mountain backbone was behind us as we faced north. We
looked along the face of it as along a wall, but all its crest was in
the clouds. Looking down whence we had come we saw our boat like a
little cork on the water. Also we could now look down into the water
itself and discover the countless sunken rocks amongst which we had
so casually navigated. There was one, only a short distance from our
anchorage, close to which we must have steamed. These details, of
course, are not charted; a navigator in such out-of-the-way places must
take his luck.
From this point our way lay right up the great northern face of the
peak, which is covered by an ice-cascade. This empties below into a
huge glacier plateau or lake, which is drained by several glacier
tongues, up one of which we had come. As we climbed on I kept looking
round and gazing on the wonderful panorama, for it was obviously
destined to be soon blotted out. Our way lay amongst huge seracs. Deep
crevasses yawned all about, and occasionally we had to double back and
forth to get ahead.
At last, however, we reached plainer going, traversing a steeper but
less broken slope which led to the foot of a final pyramid of rock. But
these rocks, unfortunately, we never actually reached, for the storm
battalions from the north swept furiously down upon us, swallowing up
the view before ever we reached the crest of the range whence we might
have looked down into the dark hollow of Beagle Channel. The darkness
in the north before the tempest fell upon us was truly appalling. As
it advanced it seemed to devour the wintry world. The heavens appeared
to be descending in solid masses, so thick were the skirts of snow
and hail that the advancing cloud-phalanx trailed beneath it. The
black islands, the leaden waters, the pallid snows, and the splintered
ice-encrusted peaks disappeared in the blackness of the storm, which
enveloped us also, almost before we had realized that it was at hand.
A sudden wind shrieked and whirled round our heads; hail was flung
into our faces, and all the elements began to rage together. The
ice-plastered rocks were now easily accounted for; we resembled them
ourselves in a very few minutes. All landmarks vanished; the drifted
snow itself was no longer distinguishable from the snow-filled air.
To advance under these appalling conditions was impossible. The one
thing to be done, and done at once, was to secure our retreat before
it was too late. How we raced downwards! Not till we gained the lower
glacier did snow give place to rain, which soaked us to the skin and
overflowed in a steady stream out of our boots. We floundered in
swamps, tumbled through brushwood, and at last gained the shore, almost
dead beat with toil, yet delighting in what had been, after all, an
exhilarating experience. A boat came off to fetch us, and we were soon
on board our steamer. Thus we did not reach the actual summit of Mount
Sarmiento--that remains virgin, for I could not wait to try it again.
Whoever climbs it will accomplish a great feat and will have a splendid
experience. Some years have already passed since my attempt, however,
and I have not heard of another. I suppose the inhabitants of Sandy
Point have more urgent interests to attend to.
[Illustration: THE UNTRODDEN SUMMIT OF MOUNT SARMIENTO, WHICH THE
AUTHOR WAS PREVENTED FROM REACHING BY A SUDDEN STORM.
_From a Photograph._]
The Spider's Web.