THE DOWN-STREAM NAVIGATION OF THE RIVER LEONA
Boat necessary for farther exploration -- Steam-launch on
shores of Lake Viedma our only hope -- Start to find her
-- Difficulty of crossing Santa Cruz River -- River Leona
-- Old camp -- Hills and guanaco-tracks -- Lake Viedma --
Finding launch -- Damaged by wanderers -- Down-stream trip
discussed -- Repairing launch -- Our one chance of
penetrating Cordillera -- Risks of down-stream passage --
Gathering firewood -- Cold work -- Launch of _Ariel_ --
Aspect of Leona River -- Good intentions -- Califate fuel
-- Desolate evening -- Getting up stream -- Start in bad
weather -- Obliged to put back -- Second start -- Sucked
into current of Leona -- Bernardo puts on steam -- Rain --
Stop for the night -- Dangers of Leona channel -- Second
day's trip -- Launch turns in squall -- Rushing down
stream -- Racing ahead of the current -- Awaiting the
finish -- Reach after reach -- Rounding a cliff -- Choice
of many channels -- Narrow passage -- Safe -- Sup off
armadillo -- "If."
As it was impossible to make any further exploration without a craft
of some sort, I began to cast about for materials for boat-building
or, rather, for boat-repairing. There were a couple of canvas boats on
the spot, left on the shore by a Commission some three years
previously, with which I thought perhaps something might be done. But
these, on examination, proved to be so worn with the stress of
weather, and when launched shipped so much water, that it seemed
hardly practicable to use them for our purpose, the more especially as
their holding capacity made it impossible to take more than a small
quantity of provisions.
I next heard of a boat on the River Santa Cruz, but that was also in
very evil plight, added to which the odds were against our being able
to get her up to Lake Argentino, owing to the fact that the River
Santa Cruz was in flood and the current more than usually fierce.
_Note._--The author regrets the comparative absence of
illustration to this chapter. The launch shipped so much
water through her broken plate and in other ways that the
photographs taken were destroyed.
I have mentioned in an earlier chapter the boat which Dr. Moreno had
during his last expedition in the year 1897 brought, at much cost and
labour, to Lake Viedma. There lay our hope. It was a steam-launch, and
the Argentine Commission had packed her up carefully and snugly on the
shore; but, although we knew nothing of her present condition, we were
aware that the chances against her remaining undisturbed for that
period of time were small, as Lake Viedma is not difficult of access,
and in all probability wandering bands of Indians or Gauchos had got
at the boat, stripped off her covering of canvas, and looted such of
her contents as seemed to possess any value in their eyes.
[Illustration: THE LAUNCH
WITH MR. CATTLE AND BERNARDO ON BOARD]
However that might be, this launch appeared to be our only resource,
and I was lucky indeed to have been given leave to use her if
necessary. On my speaking to Cattle on the matter, he was kind enough
to offer to accompany me. Burbury possessed a good knowledge of
engineering, which would be of invaluable service to us, and, as it
happened, Bernardo, in the course of his adventurous career, had had
some experience in the engine-room of a Brazilian steamer.
So on February 15 we set out for Lake Viedma, with the idea of
bringing the launch, if possible, down the River Leona, which is the
connecting waterway between the Lakes Viedma and Argentino.
To travel from our starting point at the foot of Mount Buenos Aires to
Lake Viedma it was necessary to skirt Lake Argentino until the
southern outlet of the Leona was reached, and then to follow that
river to its source in Lake Viedma. The distance was about eighty
miles more or less, and included the fording of the River Santa Cruz.
Our party was made up of four men and twenty-one horses, and upon one
of the packs we took a light canvas collapsible boat and a pair of
oars with which to negotiate the Santa Cruz.
On the following evening we arrived on its southern bank. There we
found an old Commission boat that was used as a ferry, but it was
beached, with the usual contrariety of things, on the wrong side of
the stream, which is from one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards
wide at this spot and runs with a swift current. Many a Gaucho has
lost his life in attempting to cross lower down.
Next morning it was still dark when the plume of smoke rose from our
camp-fire of califate-wood, and as we sat round it waiting for the
_asado_ to cook, we smoked (a bad habit when indulged in before
breakfast, against which one would warn everybody else) and drank
_maté_. It was a cool dawn I remember that developed later into a hot
day. We put the collapsible boat together, and Cattle, after a mishap
with a rowlock, brought the old and leaky ford-boat across, as we
needed her to transport our baggage. We piled the cargo into her, and
such weak places as we could deal with we strengthened.
The theory was to take the filly through the river behind the boat,
trusting that the old black bell-mare would follow her offspring, and
the troop in its turn follow the mare, as had occurred on the occasion
of our former crossing of the river near the settlement of Santa
Cruz.
So we dragged the reluctant and much-protesting filly down to the
riverside, conveyed the boat a few hundred yards up-stream, and then
Bernardo and I got aboard and shoved off. I had put a collar round the
filly's neck, and by this supported her in the wake of the boat. All
would have gone well had not one of the rowlocks, worn by weather and
worm-eaten, struck work and smashed. Left with but one oar the current
took charge of us. Soon the unfortunate filly began to turn over in
the water like a catherine-wheel, and I was unable to help her much,
as I was holding a rowlock in place with one hand and supporting the
filly with the other. Eventually we were obliged to put back, and were
lucky enough to make the south bank just in time, for at that part of
the shore there is but a small stretch upon which it is possible to
land; immediately below high cliffs descend sheer to the water.
After this we resolved to drive the troop over before us, but although
they had had a long-journey experience of river-crossing they did not
care to face the Santa Cruz. In spite of our efforts they broke back
five or six times. Once we nearly had them in the water, when the
little Zaino got away and galloped up the bank. At last, however, by
dint of bellowing and brandishing oars or anything that came handy, we
succeeded in convincing them that the south shore of the Santa Cruz
had become unhealthy to remain upon, and so they swam over. We started
at once with a boatful of gear, and landed barely in time to defeat
the ambitious intentions of the leading spirits of the troop, who on
getting out of the water decided to make off and regain a life of
freedom.
As soon as we got the baggage over we saddled-up and rode through a
very sandy tract of land, and by evening made our camp under a bare
hillside by the River Leona.
I believe that a German expedition had once encamped there. Both wheat
and beans were growing near the long-deserted camp-fire. No doubt the
seed had fallen from some of the provision-bags of the Germans. There
was also a miniature _corral_ formed of bushes.
On the next day we made a very long and tiresome march, which led us
into more than one difficult place. We rode on league after league
over the worst sort of ground, including the descent of two or three
really bad _barrancas_. Bernardo, who acted as guide, became shy after
awhile of telling us that Lake Viedma lay only two leagues ahead. As
the day wore on we rather pressed the question, and he grew
correspondingly coy in his replies.
One of the _barrancas_ led us into a sort of maze of conical mud
hills, confusedly huddled together. Through them lay a tangle of
guanaco-tracks, which mostly ended on the tops of the hills. The troop
followed these tracks in various directions, and you were surprised at
all points by the startled faces of the horses glaring down at you
over unexpected bluffs. The going was very heavy, and deep holes
betrayed the horses' feet. Altogether it was some time before the
troop was put through.
Late in the evening we reached the shores of Lake Viedma, and found
the launch. She was lying behind a bare and very low promontory. The
Commission which had used her three years previously had packed her up
with care in canvas and raised her on rollers. But I was sorry to find
that needless and wanton damage had been inflicted upon her by some
roving passers-by. They had torn off the canvas covering and
appropriated many important tools, including quite a number that could
have been of no possible use to any save a party meaning to use the
launch herself. A few of these missing details we picked up in the
adjacent bushes, where the irresponsible unknowns had thrown them.
As to the condition of the boat, her three-years sojourn on an
isolated beach had not improved it. Her boiler was in rather a bad
state with rust, and one of her plates was cracked. Originally built
for a pleasure-launch, the Argentine Commission had raised her
gunwales and decked her in; without these alterations she could not
have lived in the rough waters of the lakes of Patagonia.
The evening and the surrounding scenery were equally grey and
depressing, but with an ostrich, and a guanaco I had shot in the
morning, we made ourselves very comfortable round the fire, while we
talked over our contemplated voyage down the Leona. Cattle, whose
knowledge of the subject under consideration was of immense help,
agreed with me in thinking the thing could be done.
Next day Burbury, who was, as I have said, a very fair engineer, set
to work with Bernardo's help to get the launch into working order,
while the rest of us went to cut and gather fuel.
The two canvas boats which belonged to the launch were later found a
couple of leagues down the shore, but a bit of wind began to blow, so
it was impossible to bring them up, and in the event they had to be
left where they were.
In making ready the launch Burbury was much hampered by having only a
small supply of screws to draw upon. Time and exposure had dealt
hardly with her, her pump was strained as well as being imperfect,
some portion of it having been taken away. The craft was about
thirty-five feet long with a displacement of about three parts of a
ton. She was by no means an ideal boat for the kind of navigation that
lay before us, for which a good wooden craft would have been much more
safe and handy. Had her length been less it would have been another
advantage, as the seas upon the lakes are very short. Weather-worn as
she was, however, she represented our sole chance of getting really
deep into the unpenetrated Cordillera. It was a case of take it or
leave it, and which of the two it was to be gave me some thought that
night.
I could not conceal from myself that it was a peculiarly risky affair
taking her down the River Leona. The up-stream navigation of the river
had been made by the launch when the Commission brought her up-stream,
towing her through the difficult places from the bank. But that, of
course, was a very different matter.
The Leona is a comparatively large river, very cold, and running, when
in flood, from five to eight knots an hour, with, in places, a very
strong rip. There are a good many rocks and shoals, but at the time I
write of the water was high, snow-fed by the warmth of the preceding
months, and therefore with luck we might hope to slip over most of the
reefs in safety. This was fortunate, as what with the cold, the
eddies and the cross-currents the chance of a swimmer reaching the
bank was not great.
Should the current, however, get the launch broadside on, we would
have to give her full steam ahead, and charge down the unknown and
rock-set river. Besides, the channel was, we knew, very hard to
follow, for among the islands the stream divided into four or five
arms, and we had no guide to help us to choose the main channel.
The risks were very real and looked large enough in my eyes that
night, but in case I should be charged with foolhardiness in deciding
to carry out our design, I think I may say that the average man would
have decided as we did. Few, after so many weary miles and months,
coming at last to such a crucial moment, would very closely consider
the risks, since outside of running them the single course open was to
turn back defeated, leaving one of the most interesting unexplored
portions of the Cordillera unvisited and untrodden.
In the course of the next day or two we worked hard at the launch and
in gathering firewood. On the 18th we got the boat afloat after eight
hours of hard labour, for during her three years rest she had sunk
deep into the shingle and sand. It was quite impossible to use the
horses, as they would not pull forward into the lake, and thus into
the water, so we got at the work ourselves. About mid-day a wind
sprang up, and the water, fed by the melting snows, was perishingly
cold. It seemed for a time as if we should never succeed in getting
her afloat, and as we had not been able to bring up either of the
canvas boats, wading was very much the order of the day, and after
every few stretches of work we were uncommonly glad to take spells in
the sleeping-bags to warm our half-frozen limbs. Hot cocoa, also, was
kept going from time to time.
At length we got her off into the little shallow bay, where the waves
were breaking, for a wind was rising out of the north-west.
[Illustration: THE WORLD OF ICE]
During the day Cattle and I went down and viewed the Leona. We fixed
upon a little backwater some distance down stream, where wood was
abundant, as the goal of our first venture. The river had swollen
and was rising, and the current looked menacing, but we thought that
with great care and slow movement we might bring the launch through
all right. Care and slow movement! We did not foresee to what an
extent the elements were destined to take charge of our affairs.
Our plan was to descend the river stern-first with only enough steam
to enable the boat to answer her tiller; for fuel we had no choice but
to burn wood, and although califate made no bad firing, still the
results to be expected were not by any means the same as if we had
been able to put coal into the furnace.
In the evening the horses strayed, and I went to bring them in. The
landscape on this side of Viedma is the most desolate imaginable,
being made up chiefly of sand, sparse yellow grass, low thorn-bushes,
and the skeletons of dead game. It is a place only fit to die in, a
fact the guanacos seem to have grasped, for their bones lay all over
the ground in far greater profusion even than upon the shores of Lake
Buenos Aires. The mountains about Viedma differ in outline from most
of the other ranges in Patagonia. The peaks are more pointed and rise
against the cold sky in a line of pinnacles and minarets.
My way led me along the banks of the Leona. It was a grey and
miserable afternoon verging towards evening, and the strong wind was
sending a large volume of water racing and moaning between the bare
and treeless banks of the river. I remember thinking with great
longing of warm and comfortable England, of good friends and true, of
home, and of all the many small things which make life worth having. I
suppose every one is attacked with this kind of feeling sometimes. Not
very often, luckily, nor when the sun is shining, but on these
miserable, grey, whimpering evenings everything takes on a sombre
shade.
I found the horses collected in a _rincon_, beneath the shelter of a
few thorn-bushes; they were looking very forlorn, especially the
Alazan, who was etched out darkly against the bleak sky. They seemed a
bit tucked up too after the tiring marches of the previous days.
We hoped to start in the launch on the following morning. When we woke
it was still blowing half a gale. I, however, told Bernardo to get up
steam, and we put the baggage aboard, and as the boat had no name we
christened her the _Ariel_. She was given other names before we were
done with her!
Burbury was to take the horses by the banks of the river, while we
steamed down the channel. It was blowing pretty strong when all was
ready, and Bernardo, to inaugurate the start, raised a feeble whistle,
thereby seriously diminishing the amount of steam in the boiler. The
_Ariel_ got under way with some wheezing and groaning, and soon we
were heaving up and down, head to swell. The waves were all breaking,
and the seas short, with the consequence that we had several duckings.
Presently, however, the wind lulled and I thought all was about to go
well with us.
But soon I noticed that the figure of Burbury, standing upon the
shore, remained ominously stationary. The wind was rising again, two
or three heavy seas broke over us, and the launch would not answer her
tiller. Bernardo shouted that the boiler was leaking, and it looked as
if we should soon be in trouble.
Ultimately we were obliged to put back into the bay, which we managed
with difficulty, and there anchored.
We determined to try again to-morrow, and then got up the tent and
turned in.
On the morrow the wind had dropped somewhat, though the lake was still
white with breakers. We had a _maté_ by the fire on the promontory and
prepared to start again. It was 9.30 when all was ready, and by that
time the Cordillera was shut out by a big purple rain-cloud. As the
rain began to fall we took our places and heaved in the anchor.
We started at one knot full steam ahead, and the _Ariel_ creaked as
she crept out into the lake. The rain and mist from the direction of
the Cordillera had blotted out all sight of them, and were beating
down on us steadily. The rain, however, was in reality favourable to
our attempt, as it served to smooth the water. The short waves leaped
up under every puff of wind, but the launch ran along past the mouth
of the river, attaining to a quite respectable speed as she proceeded.
A nasty little squall struck us for a moment as we were broadside on,
but it passed, and then, with her nose pointed toward the Cordillera,
the launch described a large circle, and we allowed her to be slowly
sucked stern first into the power of the fierce current of the Leona.
At length it got hold of her, and, adopting a cautious policy, we gave
her full speed ahead against the current, which had the effect of
letting us drop down stream at about two knots an hour.
Just before we entered the rip of the current I saw a rock a couple of
feet off on the starboard side; it was only a few inches under the
surface, but luckily we slipped by without harm. We got on pretty well
in this fashion through the whole afternoon; it was raining pitilessly
all the time. Bernardo, who was acting as engineer, at one period ran
the engine at a pressure of 30 lb. above safety, until it was
explained to him that, if he continued doing so, it was probable he
would see Sweden no more.
Towards evening the weather cleared into the most lovely blue
afternoon, and we camped for the night at the spot we had before
chosen, having some fifteen miles of our voyage behind us. We pitched
the tent and I crawled into it and lit a pipe with a vivid question in
my mind as to when I should do so again. You could hear the river
growling and gulping at its banks. I felt I had never before realised
how warm and comfortable that little tent was. The next day would
decide the success of our expedition or otherwise, and all the worst
of the river lay before us. I cannot deny that I disliked the thought
of the morrow. Familiarity with the River Leona is not apt to breed
contempt. Its channel was made up of sharp bends and curves, and if
the launch by any untoward accident were to swing round, we should be
forced to steam faster than the current, and at that speed she would
certainly split herself from stem to stern if she touched. Besides,
she answered her helm badly, and the river in places was very narrow.
But, for all this, our success so far had had its effect, and we
resumed our voyage next morning in high spirits. We began by
negotiating a nasty passage among the rocks with neatness. The river
then became very erratic and winding in its course, and almost at once
the current caught us, and it seemed as it some gigantic hand were
pushing the panting launch slowly round. Steering was no easy matter,
she was canted badly, and we discarded some of our heavy clothes, raw
as the air was, preferring the cold to the chance of sinking should
anything happen.
In places the rip was very strong and the curving pearl-grey water
gave but a poor opportunity of observing any rocks that might lie in
our course. We were by this time able to manage the launch better and
were beginning to understand more or less her special peculiarities.
Then the dreaded event came to pass. We were sagging down with about
70 lb. of steam in the boiler, when a heavy squall, which had long
been brooding darkly over the Cordillera, rushed suddenly upon us. The
launch, under the fury of the wind, turned almost broadside on to the
current, and it became necessary to give her her head.
Bernardo, who had had his orders as to what to do in case such an
eventuality occurred, flung open the furnace-door and piled on wood to
get a heavy head of steam on. The _Ariel's_ powers had much improved
with use, and she was able to race along ahead of the current, a fact
which gave her steerage-way.
"She's steering a bit better," shouted Cattle; "if Bernardo can keep
up the pressure it may be all right." Bernardo, evidently feeling that
the moment needed commemoration, blew the whistle and grinned.
Now that she was turned prow-first, any attempt to get the boat back
to her old position would have been more risky than to go forward, for
the river at this part was much narrower and the current
proportionately more rapid. Bernardo poked his head up from the
engine-hatch and laughed, "She go fine this way," he remarked. At the
moment a rock glimmered up close to the bows, but we slipped over it
with a few inches to spare.
There was now no straining and grunting from the engines as there had
been while we were battling against the current. You barely felt the
throb and vibration, and it was only when you looked at the banks that
you realised how swiftly the boat was rushing onwards. Perhaps we
achieved seventeen knots. The shores slid by.
We were now shut in in a world of our own, whose boundaries were the
curving banks and the reaches of the river as they opened out in front
of us. One's senses were too much occupied, one's nerves too much on
the stretch to be aware of anything beyond. We, the launch and the
river were playing a gigantic gamble, in which the stakes on our part
were perilously heavy. This continued to be for five minutes one's
most prominent idea. It was very exciting, for we had nothing to do
but await developments.
[Illustration: BERNARDO HÄHANSEN]
Very soon, however, this feeling wore off. It seems that a very strong
emotion cannot in the nature of things last long. Undoubtedly _c'est
le premier pas qui coûte_. I looked round and saw the other two
grinning.
At the pace we were then going our voyage was not likely to last more
than four hours. This was a rough calculation allowing for the
windings of the river that lay between us and Lake Argentino. We
afterwards found that we ran the distance in three and a half hours,
but they passed like a quarter of an hour. I do not suppose that any
suicide club has ever invented a more acute form of excitement.
We rarely saw half a mile in front of us. At first the banks were low
and the coarse grass upon them blew and shook against the pale blue of
the sky-rim, but soon they began to give place to high and rocky
slopes. Now and then one caught the glitter of a submerged rock. The
wind and the current made the main channel difficult to follow with
the eye, and round several corners we were positively feeling for it.
In places it seemed as if the launch were running into an _impasse_,
and at such times it was necessary to send her along at her highest
pressure in order to have the more command of the tiller. We would
rush down upon such a place, and not until we were within forty yards
would the river open out grey and shining, the helm be put over, and
we find ourselves flying down another reach. We always kept to the
rip, and by so doing attempted to follow the main channel.
About midway down the river came some more difficult places where the
cliffs narrowed. One of these gave us a curious experience for the
water seemed to absolutely go downhill, so steep was the angle of
incline. Before reaching this spot we had come in sight of the top of
the cliff that overhung it, and whose base, we could judge by the line
of the channel, must be washed by the water. On turning a corner we
came within full view of the place, and a strange view it was. The
river appeared to race downhill and to end in a froth of yeasty foam
at the foot of the towering black bluff. Look as we might, we could
not see any way out of that tumbled smother of water; we knew there
must be one, of course, but the question was in which direction did it
lie. There was nothing for it but to pile on fuel to make the boat
answer handily.
The sun striking obliquely on the river dazzled our eyes and turned
all our forward course into a golden splendour. We knew that somewhere
lower down the river there was a bad place where its bed was thick-set
with rocks, but we had no idea how soon we might come upon the spot.
Presently, as we drew rapidly nearer and nearer to the cliff face, it
became evident that the channel bent very sharply to starboard, and
that we should have uncommonly little room to turn in. We were now
running in shadow, the high banks having blotted out the sun. We
rushed on towards the cliff, and almost at the last moment saw that
the channel bent away to the right; Cattle put the helm hard over, and
our craft whirled round the point with small space to spare, and we
found ourselves snaking through the eddies of another reach.
We shouted to each other that the worst of it lay behind us, and such
for a time seemed to be the case, the river widening out to about
eighty yards across. Here the main channel was clearly marked. It
might be supposed that we should have taken this opportunity to turn
the launch into her original position, but we had twice during the
morning been in difficulties with the pump, which, as the injector
would not work, was our sole means of filling the boiler. I was afraid
that the strain of steaming against the current might prove too much
for the launch. The decision to go on without turning her was, I
think, under the circumstances, the right one, the more so as directly
after the descent of the river the pump became further strained, with
the result that it was impossible to refill the boiler save by hand.
Presently the hilly shores once more gave place to low banks, and
islands began to appear in the stream. The lower river has many of
these groups of flat islands covered with stones and coarse grass.
When we got in among them the river broke up into a dozen channels
which all looked alike. We, of course, chose the largest. Again it
branched. Again we chose the largest, and again.
At length the channel we were following, instead of opening off into
the main river, subdivided into a couple of very small streams. The
current was as strong as ever, and the depth of water appeared to be
about three feet. A small crested grebe was uttering its peculiar,
melancholy cry. Ahead the banks seemed to draw together to a jutting
corner, beyond which we could not see. Cattle was at the helm, I was
standing up on the fore-hatch trying to catch sight of what we were
coming to.
All this time we could not slacken speed, for the current tore along
and we outdid the current. The water had the same strange appearance
of running downhill; it seemed to drop away from us at an
extraordinary angle. The force of the current forced us to keep steam
up to a high degree of pressure, up to 45 lb., which was 15 lb. beyond
safety.
At this point the stream was not above eighteen feet wide, and we
could almost touch the banks on either side. We were now about
half-way downhill, so to speak. The rush of the water, the zipp of
the wind as it swept past our ears mingled with the cry of the
astonished waterfowl. Nearer and nearer, clear water showed under the
left bank, and in a moment more we had swept round the corner of rock
and out into the main channel of the river once more. We flew along in
the strong rip, the launch shook and quivered, and we discovered with
joy that we had gained the wide lower reaches.
Our troubles were at an end for the day. A dozen miles still lay
before us, but in fair and open water. In due time we recognised a big
stone which marked the site of our old camp where we had rested on the
way up. We secured the launch a little way below it, where the Leona
enters Lake Argentino.
After landing we pitched the tent and sat down to talk it all over. In
the meantime we cooked and ate an armadillo, which Burbury had caught
on the previous day. It tasted very like sucking-pig.
Then a curious thing happened. The launch, which was bumping slightly
at her anchorage, had to be moved, and going on board we found that
the pump had again struck work, as it did on many subsequent
occasions. One could not help thinking what the result might have been
if it had broken down a little earlier in the day. What a wonderful
word that little "if" is! Two letters long, but it may mark the
distance from pole to pole, the difference between life and death.
That night a series of heavy squalls blew out of the west. We lay in
the tent and listened to the wind with the luxurious feeling that
comes of good shelter.