THE PATAGONIAN CHANNELS
The scheme proposed for the next excursion was a cruise in the
Patagonian Channels between the Magellan Straits and the Penas Gulf,
during which we wanted to pay more particular attention to the natives.
As Halle could expect little if any result from a trip in these parts,
it was resolved that he should take up his work elsewhere and meet us
in Ancud, on Chiloé, in the beginning of July. On May 9 he departed
for Rio Grande, in Tierra del Fuego, whence he brought back fine
collections of tertiary fossils. After his return to Punta Arenas he
travelled on horseback along the Brunswick Peninsula to the place where
Darwin long ago collected the first specimens of Magellan fossils.
Our expedition, however, got another member. On several occasions I had
discussed the Channel trip with one of our new friends, Captain José
Bordes, _piloto mayor_ in the Chilean navy, and intimately acquainted
with those parts and their population. He very much wanted to go with
us, but could not, of course, simply leave his service, and he proposed
that I should ask permission for him from the senior in command of the
navy, Vice-Admiral Montt, in Valparaiso. The latter readily granted
my request, and Bordes got a telegraphic order to take part in the
expedition.
But at first it seemed difficult to get a suitable vessel. Admiral
Rojas declared with a smile that the expedition had already accounted
for one ship, viz., the _Huemul_, and besides she would have been too
small and uncomfortable for an extended journey. Of the two other
vessels stationed at Punta Arenas, one was of no use to us, but the
other, the _Meteoro_, a twin-screw steamer of 650 tons, very well
fulfilled our requirements. Unfortunately, she was bound for a run
to San Felix Lighthouse, taking with her an engineer, sent by the
Government to effect the preparatory work for the proposed Marconi
installation between Valparaiso and Punta Arenas. All telegrams between
the Magellan territories and the rest of Chile have to pass Argentina,
an ordinary overland wire being an impossibility and a submarine cable
being considered too expensive. After her return to Punta Arenas,
the _Meteoro_ had to visit the Evangelistas lighthouse, and thus it
would be a long time before she could be at our disposal. Through
the kindness of the authorities the difficulties were surmounted; I
proposed that we should take part of the expedition to the Evangelistas
rocks, and from there proceed directly to the Channels, and the Admiral
assented. This was rather an advantage, for we won another station
which we had never hoped for. Still one small difficulty remained: we
wanted to get an interpreter, a Spanish-speaking Indian, but could not
get one in Punta Arenas. We had to put off this quest, and Bordes told
us he would try to persuade one or other of his Indian acquaintances in
the Straits to come with us.
On May 21 we left the sunshine behind and once more disappeared in the
rainy west. We anchored in Port Gallant, where Indians used to pass,
selling their otter-skins to an Austrian, who lives there, and has done
so for many years, with a native woman. Few Indians were there now, but
amongst them was a middle-aged woman, who knew Bordes very well and had
great confidence in him. At first she had strong apprehensions about
coming with us, and it required all Bordes’ eloquence to persuade her
to take the decisive step on to the deck of the _Meteoro_. I now have
the honour of introducing to my reader Mrs. Akichakwarrakwiltee--thus
she calls herself. Her mission name, Emilia, is more handy, though
not so euphonious. She became quite an indispensable assistant;
she persuaded her countrymen to come on board, explaining that the
instruments were not to torture them with, that we were no “Cristianos
malos”--evil Christians--which words are inseparably associated in
the mouth of a Channel Indian. Every evening I sat with her in the
laboratory, she always crouching on one of the plant-presses, trying
to teach me a little of her marvellous language, compared with which
both Irish and Scotch appear quite civilized tongues. Unfortunately,
her knowledge of Spanish was too superficial for grammatical studies,
and I had to be very patient to make her understand. A great drawback
was that in Spanish she always spoke of herself in the third person, as
children often do.
It was funny enough to study her in her new surroundings. She came on
board dressed in some queer rags and with naked legs, and we could
not help laughing when she walked about like a fine lady in a grey
gown trimmed with red velvet, and a green cape, over which her black
hair fell thick and wild. And in this dress she became a member of the
Swedish Magellan Expedition. At first she did not seem very pleased
with her new life, walked alone, silent, and almost ill-humoured,
but we soon gained her confidence, and she gradually became more
communicative. One night when, as usual, we were sitting up talking
I wormed some of her story out of her. She had been caught by the
missionaries and was brought to Dawson Island with her husband and
children. She had three of them, one so big, one so big, and the third
so--she measured with her hand above the deck--and “she was such a nice
little girl,” she added. But they lived in a “bad house”; all fell ill
and died, and she was left alone. How she managed to get away from
Dawson Island I do not know; anyhow I congratulated her. She did not
want to go back.
The _Meteoro_ heads west. More and more barren grows the landscape,
more and more dwarfed the forest, colder the storm and fog. We have
left the continuous coast and steam through the archipelago. Home,
sweet home! Hundreds and thousands of islands, skerries, rocks, with a
cluster of stunted trees on the lee side, smooth rocks with some grass
where only sea-birds breed. We have left the untidy slate and have
reached the granite zone, where the glacial epoch has created the same
skerry-nature as in Sweden. The more we look the stronger grows the
likeness; we dream ourselves far away, the beeches become Scotch
firs, the foreign sea-birds our common eiders and gulls....
[Illustration: OUR INTERPRETER, CHANNELS OF PATAGONIA.]
[Illustration: TWO CHANNEL INDIANS.]
We made for a harbour in the offing. With Bordes on board we could make
short cuts not marked in the charts, through interesting passages and
narrow channels not exceeding 300 feet broad, and in some places so
narrow that we almost touched the fringe of giant kelp (_Macrocystis_)
on each side, and anchored in Puerto Cuarenta Dias, the Forty Days’
Harbour--a name that holds a story: here a vessel is said to have
waited forty days before it could approach the Evangelistas rocks.
This perhaps is somewhat exaggerated--I dare not dispute it; anyhow, a
week’s waiting is not a rare occurrence. For us it was of the utmost
importance to land on the rock without delay, otherwise the whole
voyage through the channels might be a failure. No wonder that we
watched the daybreak on May 26 with great anxiety. We had enjoyed light
breezes from north and east, rare but all the more welcome for that,
and calculated that subsequently the regular westerly swell--nothing
less than the whole Pacific Ocean!--would have died down enough to make
landing possible.
Rain and a grey, thick sky and a water like lead met us as we swung out
through the last skerries and made for some black spots on the horizon.
These are the famous Evangelistas rocks. Through the glasses the
lighthouse can be seen. The motion of the sea is comparatively gentle,
and the occasion seems to be favourable; however, it is no child’s
play to land there. We pass the black Pan de Azucar (Sugar-loaf), and
the _Meteoro_ anchors in deep water between two high, black slate
rocks, one of them crowned by a small lighthouse. We went with the
first boat, steered by the steady hands of the boatswain over the soft
switchback of swell towards the point of the rock that is honoured
by the name of landing-place; were it not for the name nobody would
suspect it. The sea does not break there, but only plays with the boat.
One moment we are lifted high up, the gunwale scratching the rock,
the next the retiring wave bears the boat back deep down among the
giant kelp-masses, now for a second laid bare like innumerable slimy
serpents, that the capricious surf winds into graceful patterns. Eight
above our head rises a rough slate wall about 30 or 40 feet high, and
some men stand on the top of it, waving their hands--presumably they
are glad to see us. A rope hangs down in a long loop, by which means
the boat is kept in place, and we are told to use it as we climb.
Bordes is the first to try, old and used to it as he is. The main
thing is to mind one’s p’s and q’s: when a wave lifts the boat up to
the cliff one must jump, without losing a second, on to a shelf two or
three inches wide, slippery with green algæ--without the rope one could
hardly keep one’s footing. If you do not want the next wave to attack
you in the rear you had better look lively, climbing and crawling
with the assistance of projections and the rope: finally you are on
safe ground and have “gone on shore” on Evangelistas. We had but one
adventure. A young officer got a cold bath when he jumped, that was all.
The three lighthouse-keepers gave us a hearty welcome. No wonder; a
worse prison than theirs it is difficult to conceive. Even on a short
visit like ours one feels a certain oppression, as of a prisoner behind
a curtain waved by storm and rain. A high, for the most part quite
barren, rock, steep on all sides; the vegetation a swampy moss-peat,
giving way to the pressure of your feet; a small lighthouse, trembling
in the frightful gales which give these parts of the world their bad
reputation; day after day drowned in floods of rain mingled with the
sprinkle of the breakers; many miles from the nearest shore, hundreds
from civilization, from which a message is sent some few times every
year, when (always with difficulties and often with dangers) provisions
are landed--that is what life on Evangelistas is like! I should not
advise anybody with a melancholy turn of mind to settle there.
It was interesting to find the slates again so far west--on very few
places do they appear outside the granite zone. We had soon collected
specimens of the poor, miserable, and scanty plants and animals, but
it was long before all the stores had been landed. They were hoisted
up with a derrick, worked by hand, and consequently so slow that
people prefer the more hazardous ascent on their hands and knees.
It is curious to think how the iron supports, not to speak of all
the materials for the lighthouse, were ever landed. The story of the
lighthouse would be worth a special chapter.
Sitting on a bag, we allowed ourselves to be lowered by the tiny wire
down into the boat, that with great care was kept beneath us, 60 feet
below--a quick as well as a comfortable manner of getting away from the
island. On board the captain was more anxious than ever. The winter
days are short, the mist was not far off, and we must reach Cuarenta
Dias before nightfall. When at 3 P.M. we weighed anchor the fog was
already so dense that the islands were lost to sight within a few
minutes. The water here in the offing is very dirty; we tried to make
Cape King, but the current played us a trick and suddenly some nasty
black needles loomed out of the thick veil on the port side; we were
amidst the reefs--within the “danger-line.” The course was changed;
Bordes was persistent and we tried again; but night came on, and we
were forced to spend it running to and fro in the entrance of the
Magellan Straits, guided by the flashes from the wee lighthouse, that
has saved more than one Vessel from making nearer acquaintance with the
ill-famed Cape Pillar.
The next day we could start our work in the Queen Adelaide group,
where many detailed geographical observations are still waiting to be
made. We visited Pacheco Island and went out by Anita Channel--just at
the most difficult spot--when a fog, so thick and white that we could
not see the rocks close at hand, descended over the water. Of course
there is no danger of collision; nevertheless it caused some anxiety
among the officers. The fog vanished as quickly as it had come, and we
proceeded to Viel Channel, where for the first time we met the Indians
in their natural state. They were very shy, and refused to come on
board. We continued east, crossed Smyth Channel, and anchored in a
harbour called Puerto Ramirez, on the Muñoz Gamero Peninsula, the only
spot inhabited by white men between the Straits and the Gulf of Penas.
Several years ago, when Chile and Argentina were at odds with each
other, the former country made a coaling-station here, and some sheds
with coal are still left, guarded by two watchmen. Later on we had good
reason to bless this coal-store.
By the last day of May we were again under way, steaming northward
through the Channels. Few places in Patagonia are so famous as these
Channels, where the steamer plunges between black, steep walls,
crowned by snowy peaks reflected in the usually smooth water, where
the open sea is never sighted, where one need not be afraid of storm
or fog, when one has only to seek one of the numerous, charming little
harbours. One can travel from 53° to 48°, a distance of 5°, without
seeing the ocean! Where in the world is there anything like it? What
a pity that sunshine and a clear sky are of rare occurrence; for days
and weeks the rain does not cease, and a cold, wet fog rests over the
water. The Channels have been compared with the Norwegian fiords. As
far as the numerous inlets running east from the Channels into the
mountains are concerned, I think that this comparison is obvious,
even if we treat them from a geographical point of view. But in the
outer appearance there is a big difference. In Patagonia Death seems
to reign. The Channels are so silent; most of the sea-birds, such
as gulls, Cape pigeons, albatrosses, and others that give life to
the picture in the open sea have disappeared; so have the porpoises
which play merrily round the bows; only some kelp-geese, ducks, or
patovapores are still to be seen. But the forest is magnificent, in
spite of the utter silence prevailing there. My work took me there
every day, and every night I returned on board with a fresh stock of
experience and collections. Sometimes the beech--naturally always the
evergreen one--leaves room for yellow and reddish swamps, where the
only needle-tree of South Patagonia, _Libocedrus tetragona_, grows.
People here call it the cypress. Large ferns with arboreous growth
(_Blechnum magellanicum_) are noteworthy. As usual, flowers are rare,
but there is one, the southern “copihue,” _Philesia buxifolia_, which
flowers also during midwinter, that with its large pink bells is almost
unrivalled. To one thing the botanist has to accustom himself: to
return every day as soaked as is the forest itself.
In the Sarmiento Channel, the continuation of Smyth Channel, we met
several Indians; two canoes with their crews we took on board and
brought to Puerto Bueno, where we stayed two days. Between Chatham and
Hanover Islands, in a narrow place called Guia Narrows, we met another
canoe; a naked girl angrily repeated “Cristiano malo,” and the crew
could not be persuaded to come on board. Probably they had been badly
treated by some passing sailors.
The traffic in the Channels is very small nowadays. Almost all ships
prefer to take the open sea, where they may steam day and night, which
is hardly possible in the Channels, but one of the greatest pleasures
on a cruise round South America is lost thereby.
At about 51° we noticed a certain change in the vegetation. New trees
and bushes appeared, especially a curious needle-tree called _mañiú_
(in this case _Podocarpus nubigena_), and beautiful climbing plants
covered the trunks.
When passing Inocentes Channel one comes out into more open water,
but only for a very short distance; soon the high walls close in on
both sides again. Penguin Inlet was full of ice, and in Icy Reach we
met innumerable small ice-floes, probably from Eyre Inlet, one of the
unknown inlets on this coast. Not far from there, in Port Grappler,
we came across the largest party of Indians we saw. They had probably
had disagreeable experiences with white people--it is not uncommon for
unscrupulous people to try to obtain their only valuable possession,
the otter-skins, without giving them anything useful in return; they
sometimes ill-treat them, seduce their women, or rob them of their
children--but thanks to the energetic efforts of Emilia we got on
rather friendly terms with them, giving them what we had of spare
clothes, biscuits, tobacco, knives, matches, and other things highly
appreciated by them. On June 7 we reached the English Narrows, a very
narrow, =S=-shaped passage, where more than one vessel has struck. The
masts of one were still to be seen. In the eighties a German expedition
tried to find another passage--at that time the Kosmos steamers used to
frequent the Channels--and discovered quite a system of channels west
of the main track, but unfortunately they are interrupted by a place
much worse still, where the open sea rolls in, and which is so shallow
that breakers are often experienced, and one may have to wait several
days for a chance of crossing. We intended to run this way on our
return; now we proceeded further along the Messier Channel, and thus
reached our destination, the Gulf of Penas. Towards the east a large
system of inlets, Baker Inlet with its branches, penetrating far into
the mountains, opened, and there we turned in. For several days we had
discussed the coal question, and as the captain argued that we should
be unable to reach Punta Arenas we gave up the idea of going to the
mouth of Rio Baker, with the greater regret as we were not far from it.
In terrible squalls we passed Troya Channel and turned westward, when
we suddenly caught sight of a sailing-boat. We guessed it to be people
from the Baker Company, a Chilean enterprise, which has the leasehold
of large stretches round the river from the inlet to the Argentina
frontier. Of course we stopped at once, took the crew on board, and
towed their boat to a harbour.
Baker Inlet is a very wild-looking place. In consequence of its
west-easterly direction the gales rush through it with unrestrained
force, and the forest has been driven back into sheltered places, where
the company has cut down the big trees. In the coves one can find
scenery of charming beauty, where the slopes with woods, cascades, and
snow-patches are reflected in the smooth, icy-green water. When one
enters such a cove, coming from the windy barrenness of the channel,
one gets the same feeling as coming into a warm, comfortable room from
the snowstorm outside.
As we very much wanted to visit some of the channels outside the
Wellington Islands, we crossed Messier Channel on June 12 and passed
into Albatross Channel. Here every name on the chart indicates that
it was given by sons of _das grosse Vaterland_. The weather was
terrible, and we walked about wet and cold all day long, but otherwise
contented, as every day brought new features under our observation. On
account of the poor store of coal we had to abandon our plan of going
round Wellington Islands, but followed Fallos Channel only to the
mouth of Adalbert Channel, through which we came to the Messier again.
Again we passed the Narrows and took the shortest road through Chasm
Reach, where the echo plays at ball between precipitous walls with the
sound-waves from our whistle. One must not forget to look astern before
the steamer changes its course, for high up the ice-clad summits on
Wellington Island may be seen for a moment.
Still we had an important item of our programme left--the survey of
Peel Inlet; and as I strongly insisted on it the captain had to yield,
and promised to take some tons of coal on board in Muñoz Gamero, which
he had refused to do before. But the probable reason was that he was
in dread of every place not completely known, and walked about always
suspecting danger. Had we not had Bordes with us, who was the real
commander as soon as it was a question of some difficult enterprise,
it is more than uncertain whether we should have been able to do much
work. Certainly I could not force the commander to do anything he
declared dangerous to the safety of the vessel he was in charge of, and
as, unlike most naval officers, he did not take the slightest interest
in scientific work, he took refuge behind his responsibility as often
as he could.
Through Andrew Sound we went towards Pitt Channel. No harbour is known
here, and on the chart one anchorage is marked, in eleven fathoms
of water at the most easterly of the Kentish Islands. In vain we
looked for that anchorage; it was deep all round; and in spite of
the approaching darkness we had to continue our course. We sounded
close to the shore--sixty, forty, thirty fathoms; at last we anchored
in nineteen fathoms, but then the distance to the rocks was only a
hundred feet. We were completely without shelter, the anchorage was
bad, and a squall would result in our dragging our anchors. Before
daybreak we weighed and steamed through Pitt Channel into Peel Inlet.
The _Huemul_, which was here once, had indicated a sandbank on the
place where the inlet branches. We passed with plenty of water. As we
slowly glided into Peel Inlet and the last hiding-point lay behind us,
we became silent, struck dumb by the scenery. Perhaps we never saw any
more grand; it was quite wonderful. Furthest off, but nevertheless not
very far, rise the high crests of the Andes, with fantastic needles
and sharp-cut peaks, round which the continuous sheet of inland ice
has folded its dazzling mantle. Four broad streams of ice emerge from
it, embracing the violet-brown nunataks and joining in a gigantic
glacier with a front nearly two miles broad, one single expanse of blue
crevices and white crests. This all in a frame of evergreen forest and
reflected in transparent, glossy water where the image now and then is
blotted out by the ice-floes driven to and fro by the currents. Inland
ice, Alps with eternal snow, all the details of a glacier, slopes and
shores clad with a primeval forest, the crystalline fiord-water, the
drifting ice, and all this embraced in one single glance! That _is_
wonderful, I think.
We could the more enjoy the sight as we had discovered an unknown
harbour not far off, suitable in every way. Quensel and I pulled
through the ice, densely packed in certain places, to the glacier,
and the officers started to make a map of the harbour, which we named
Puerto Témpanos, _i.e._, the Port of Icefloes, as owing to the tide the
cove is filled with small pieces of ice twice a day.
We found ourselves in a world of ice, moraines, and muddy rivers, where
we got on capitally, and did not return before dark, very pleased with
the results, which included, amongst others, important observations
of the geology in the High Cordillera. The next day broke calm and
fine, but with a fog so thick that we could not see even the shore
of our little cove. In the afternoon work could be continued round
the harbour, which is fringed by a swampy forest of deciduous beech
(_Nothofagus antarctica_). Fortunately we got another clear day. The
last thing we did was to erect a tablet at the entrance of the harbour,
with this inscription: “Meteoro. Comisión sueco-chilena. 16 . VI .
1908.” I suppose it will be long before anybody finds it. As we came
out, the old Channel weather met us again with rain and a gale of
wind--but what did it matter? We had been successful with Peel Inlet
and our spirits were high!
Silence now reigned in Puerto Bueno. The huts stood empty like grinning
skeletons, their inhabitants gone on their everlasting wanderings.
Further south we came across some more families, and the last were seen
at Muñoz Gamero, where we made a short stay to take fresh supplies
of coal on board. In Smyth Channel we met two steamers, one of them
evoking great excitement--the Norwegian ship _Alm_, chartered by a
Punta Arenas firm to run between this place and Valparaiso. Halle was
on board on his way to Chiloé, and we waved a farewell to each other.
Fresh wind and a heavy sea, Cape pigeons and stormy petrels met us
when we came out into the Straits. Behind us lay the labyrinth, the
wonderland where we should never return.
We had some places left to visit before we could consider the excursion
finished. The lighthouse on Felix Island we visited on our way out, but
stopped once more to bring the mail to Punta Arenas. From there we went
to Woodsworth Bay to find a harbour. This place has been famous for
its waterfall ever since the time of the _Beagle_. There is no lack of
waterfalls in the Channels, as the rivers have no other resource but
to flow vertically, but this was beyond all we had seen. Dancing from
one narrow shelf to the next, from a height of nearly a thousand feet,
the water hurls itself into the sea, and the whole length of the jet is
visible at one time.
In Port Gallant we said good-bye to Emilia. I daresay she left us under
the impression that not all “cristianos” are “malos.” On a midwinter
night the _Meteoro_ anchored in the roads of Punta Arenas. We had no
time to spare there; on the 29th we went on board a Kosmos steamer that
took us to Corral, and there we immediately found another vessel bound
for Ancud, the capital of Chiloé.
[Illustration: PEEL INLET, WITH GREAT GLACIERS.]