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.
[Illustration: OTWAY AND SKYRING WATERS.]
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.
[Illustration: THE BOTTOM OF VENTISQUEROS SOUND.]
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.
[Illustration: THE ENTRANCE OF EXCELSIOR SOUND.]
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.