CHILOÉ AND THE GULF OF CORCOVADO
In the year 1540 a Spanish navigator for the first time sighted the
coast of Chiloé, but did not get very near the island. But though
the discovery was not forgotten, it was thirteen years before the
famous conqueror of Chile, Pedro de Valdivia, got an opportunity of
sending another expedition. He sent Ulloa, who surveyed the coast
with a couple of small craft, and discovered islands, harbours, and
channels. The formal conquest dates from 1558, and, among many other
events, is celebrated in Ercilla’s famous epic, “La Araucana.” The
peaceful inhabitants met an evil fate. Without suspecting anything,
they received the intruders kindly. But the Spaniards acted as they
always did: the land was divided among the more prominent leaders,
and the inhabitants made slaves. The island, which was before quite
flourishing, and had a very ancient culture, and the population of
which differed to its advantage from the martial Araucanians of the
mainland in being very peaceful, soon ran to waste under the Spanish
sway. The native race got commingled with the Spanish, and consequently
grew poorer and more lazy; the intruders set bad examples and led
vicious lives. Only one thing made rapid progress--the Catholic Church.
According to a Chilean author, there were already thirty-six churches
on Chiloé in 1612. But the population diminished, the inhabitants fled
out of the country. Chiloé became truly Spanish. During the wars of
independence it remained faithful for a long time; it was the bulwark
of the Spaniards, and only in January 1826, when the republic was
already several years old, did the last royal troops surrender. Long
afterwards the inhabitants, more than half of them pure Spaniards or
_mestizos_, remained royalists, and Darwin relates that they complained
of not having a king, but a president who did not take any notice
of them. They may have been right then, and still Chiloé has the
reputation of being a remote corner; I heard more than one Chileno
speak with disdain of the Chilotes. Remarkably enough the education of
the people, if we dare judge from the capacity to read and write, is
better than in the rest of Chile, where the chances are the same. I
think this speaks in favour of the poor Chilotes. Trade and industry
are not maintained as they deserve to be, and the attempt to colonize
with foreign peoples, Germans, Scandinavians, and others, has not
yielded any results worth mentioning.
I believe the pure _huilliches_ are easily counted now, but their
language will always live in the sonorous names of many places. In some
places it is still spoken. Their blood is in the veins of all Chilotes,
and the type has much of the Indian in its appearance and is easily
recognized. Nowhere in Chile does one find conditions so primitive or
habits so simple as on Chiloé and the adjacent islands.
* * * * *
A very beautiful landscape meets us as the steamer stands in for the
glittering bay of Ancud. It is a day of bright sunshine. To our right
we have the peninsula Lacuy, with its virgin forests, to our left the
low beach of Carelmapu, and right ahead the Chacao Channel opens its
winding passage. Straight south the forest has been cleared away, a
patch of light green shows up, and we discern the white houses of Ancud.
As soon as we had anchored boats swarmed round us and dark-skinned
Chilotes tried to drown each other’s voices, offering us their
treasures of delicious oysters and silvery fishes. All of them also
were ready to make away with our luggage and with us too; several crews
live by fleecing visitors who want to go on shore. We left in the
steam-launch belonging to the captain of the port, who had sent it to
fetch us, as well as our equipment. A considerable distance separated
the steamer from the jetty, the bay being very shallow.
Ancud, the capital of the province, is a peculiar little town. It was
founded in 1768 under the name of San Carlos de Ancud, and now numbers
about 4000 inhabitants. I have seldom seen a place so absolutely
lacking in any architectural beauty; most of the houses are low,
wooden huts without a trace of style. The streets are rough and dirty,
but fortunately not of the ordinary South American town plan--the
chessboard--and crooked streets and small hills make a picturesque
view. Round the harbour life is rather lively when the steamer is in;
there are the business blocks, the small, ill-kept market-hall, the
custom house, the port-master’s quarters, &c. The place is crowded
with bare-legged Chilotes on horseback or on foot, not without the
inevitable _poncho_, sometimes bright and new, of a striped pattern,
sometimes like a worn-out rag on which generations have rubbed their
feet. Further up in the town the streets are often empty, and on the
outskirts swarm pigs, fowl, cats, and dogs, which seem to flourish in
the luxuriant grass.
[Illustration: CHILOTE HOUSE.]
[Illustration: THE PLAZA IN ANCUD, CHILOÉ.]
Above I said something of the general education of the Chilotes.
Ancud has several schools, some of them private ones, and can boast
of a lyceum. Its rector and professors showed us great kindness
and hospitality. They try to be as up-to-date in their teaching as
possible, but high above all their endeavours the cathedral rises with
mighty proportions commanding the whole community. It is not quite
finished yet; the tower is wanting, and will cost much money. I dare
say it is absurd to erect a church here (and not the only one!) big
enough to hold the faithful in several towns of the size of Ancud. But
the Catholic church, led by an energetic bishop, is rich and powerful;
there is a Jesuit college and seminary, monastery and nunnery, and all
the east coast is so crowded with chapels that sometimes one is able to
count half a dozen at a time. Some of them are useful as beacons. The
male inhabitants in general are not very pleased with the over-abundant
influence of the priests, but here as everywhere the weaker sex
encourages it. The only newspaper, _La cruz del sur_, is conducted by
the priests; it appears once a week, and is free from all news. The
only number I read contained a biography of the Pope and a statistical
account of Catholicism’s conquest of the world; amongst others Sweden
was rapidly returning to the only saving faith, according to this
authority! The cathedral is situated at the _plaza_, where are found
other more noteworthy edifices--the house of the _intendente_ (governor
of the province), the bishop’s house, the fire-brigade, and the Jesuit
college. With its broken and to some extent very original sculptures,
its plantations full of weeds and its paths overgrown, the _plaza_
gives the impression of decay.
Ancud has seen its best days. Those were when the devastation of the
forests started, many years ago. Beautiful timber--alerce and cypress
(_Fitzroya patagonia_ and _Libocedrus tetragona_, two conifers), laurel
(_Laurelia aromatica_), and luma (_Myrtus luma_)--was plentiful all
round in the forest, the transport cost scarcely anything, ships came
and went, the town prospered, there were wealthy men. This state of
things did not last long; the coastal regions easy of access became
exhausted, and it cost too much to draw profit from the interior, as
means of communication were difficult. There is only one road worthy
of the name, leading from Ancud to Castro, but it does not touch the
central parts covered by impenetrable forests down to the west coast,
where harbours are completely lacking and where the surf seldom permits
a landing. Culture keeps to the north and east coasts, where the
outlying islands act as a shelter and good harbours are frequent.
Before giving an account of our travels in these parts I wish to
say some words by way of a brief description of the Chilote and
his life. We made his acquaintance long before that of his country,
because several of the sailors on board the Government steamers in
Punta Arenas were Chilotes. We had learnt to know the small plump men
as enterprising, intelligent, and light-hearted. It is not uncommon
to hear Chileans from the mainland speak with disrespect of the
Chilotes, whom they accuse of stupidity and indolence, lethargy, and
love of dirtiness; many hardly consider them as fellow creatures; in
any case, they consider them inferior to themselves. And the Chilotes
answer by not wanting to be styled _Chilenos_--they are Chilotes,
and nothing more. I dare say it is quite as good. You must not judge
them till you know the conditions under which they live. Chiloé is
covered by impenetrable primeval forests and soaked by deluges of
rains; the annual rainfall amounts to from 78 to 100 inches or even
more. Cultivation has not been able to clear more than a narrow strip
along the coast; the forest almost refuses to burn, and how cut it
down and get it away when there are no roads? To make a road is much
too laborious an enterprise for the private individual, and once made
it demands continual expenditure or at once it is changed into a
bottomless ditch of tough clay. And I believe the Chilote has one big
fault: he has little ambition. If he has his bit of shore, where some
wheat and his principal food, potatoes, grow, some small horses, cows,
and sheep, then he is contented--more than that, he is a rich man.
What is barely enough to maintain life upon he is able to gain with
a minimum of work. The sea gives him plenty; at low tide he gathers
shellfish and sea-urchins, cochayuyo (_Durvillea_, a gigantic brown
kelp), and luche (_Ulva_, a green alga), the oyster-banks provide a
delicious dish, and there is any amount of fish. It is not at all
surprising that he has little interest for agriculture. Modern methods
are unknown to him; his plough is of pre-Columbian type. He boils
his potatoes or roasts them, makes his soup of mutton or fowl, brews
_chicha_ from his small apples, and lives happy in the house of his
ancestors. The roof is thatched and without a vent-hole for smoke,
there is an earthen floor, and the windows often have no panes. Besides
the members of the family, pigs are found within, and furniture is very
scarce. Sometimes there is a separate cook-house of almost the shape
of a round tent. Should the Chilote become ambitious or eager to save
money, he seldom clears more ground to enlarge his estate, but leaves
one element, the forest, and takes to the next, the sea. He is a born
sailor; from childhood he has gone with his father in an open boat,
made long journeys to look for fur-seals or valuable timber, especially
alerce. He loves the sea, he travels all over the world, but is usually
driven back to the old place, for his heart clings to the forest, the
potatoes, and oysters of the big island of Chiloé.
It may be true that his character shows more than one defect, that
he is too little ambitious, and often lives for the day without any
higher aspirations; nevertheless a stranger who comes to his house
is attracted by his kindly hospitality and childish mind, and, if he
learns to know him in his proper element, cannot help admiring him.
Who can match him in living in the dismal forest for weeks or months,
working hard, and getting up as soaked with rain as he goes to sleep,
walking mile after mile over the most terrible ground, finding a
foothold on slippery logs with a heavy load, cutting his way through
the bamboo-thickets, or navigating the rapid, dangerous rivers? And all
without other provisions than some _charqui_ (dried meat) and _harina
tostada_ (coarse, roasted oatmeal).
* * * * *
The first days of our stay we made short excursions round Ancud and
to the Lacuy Peninsula, in order to get acquainted with the natural
features, which were in many respects new to us. I shall not trouble
the reader with a detailed account of them, merely giving a brief
description of a ride to the west coast, the only time we saw the open
ocean here. One can hardly speak of a road; one simply follows the
shore from the town, if possible at low tide. At high tide one has to
grope one’s way in the water for some stretches, where glass-smooth
rocks and hidden stones give horse and rider enough to think of. In
one place progress is impossible; we strike on and follow a real
road, winding across a steep hill down to the water again. From the
top we had a splendid view over the bay, and forgot for one moment
the miserable state of the road. It looks like a system of parallel
ditches, where the mud reaches to the horse’s knees; the furrows are so
narrow that now and then he has to plant a hoof on the slippery wall to
keep his balance, and if he tries to walk on the ridge between them he
slides down every second minute, bespattering you all over with dirt.
We were glad to leave the hill behind, and galloped along the beach,
where the rattling gravel flew whirling about the horses’ hoofs. A dull
rush sang in our ears--the Pacific Ocean thundered towards us, rolling
in over sandbanks and rocks. Snow-white guttered the sand-beach; one
wave after the other rolled in, was broken into foam, and died at our
feet.
It was Sunday and fine weather, many people were out for a walk,
and various figures looked into the little inn where we sat waiting
for our dinner. The landlord, a young and very good-looking fellow,
spoke Spanish with a French accent; his French wife promised to do
her best--she could always offer us oysters, bread and butter, and a
glass of Chilean wine. By mere chance we heard that their name was
Dreyfus, and soon got to know that the husband’s father, who lives
in Ancud, was a cousin of the famous ex-prisoner of Devil’s Island.
Another of our fresh acquaintances, who sat at dinner with us, told us
that his business was to hunt whale in the old-fashioned manner, only
using rowing-boats and hand-harpoons. One does not very often find
that method in use in this age of whaling-steamers and shell-cannons.
But if there was traffic on the roads, the bay, generally crowded
with oyster-fishers, was the more empty. The oysters are small, but
very delicious, and for ten pesos you get a good bagful. Every month
millions of them are exported to Valparaiso; on arrival there they are
not so good, but certainly much more expensive. When I told a Chilote
how much we pay for oysters in Sweden he shook his head, laughed, and
put on a very doubtful air.
We returned by moonlight; it was low tide, and without any obstacle we
could gallop along over the wet, glistening beach, and were soon back
in our modest quarters.
It is a laborious matter to penetrate into the virgin interior of
Chiloé. As we were anxious to see the primeval forest we were glad to
accept an invitation to visit a settlement on Rio Pudeto; the owner was
to take us there on his steam-launch. The day fixed for the excursion
came with fine weather. Opposite Chiloé, on the other side of the Gulf
of Corcovado, the coast lay absolutely clear, presenting one of the
most beautiful pictures I ever beheld. High above the dark belt of
forest the long row of giant volcanoes, Osorno, Calbuco, Huequi, Yate,
Minchinmahuida, raise their snow-clad crowns. The landscape round the
mouth of Pudeto is also worthy of attention. The entrance is about half
a mile wide; the shores are muddy, and large herds of flamingoes walk
solemnly round poking with their beaks after food; when we approach
they take to flight all together, sail away like a pink cloud, and
alight again with flapping wings, which flash black and crimson.
The tides reach far up the river several miles inland, and at the
entrance there is a current of some knots. It was with a favouring
tide and at the speed of a racer that we approached the low wooden
bridge across the broad water. The space between the pillars is small,
and without a warning our noble craft was thrown against one of them;
the gunwale got stove in, and there we lay as though nailed to the
pier. There was no choice but to wait with patience till the current
should turn. However, it is not so easy to be patient when one is half
starved, and we had slipped away without any breakfast and carried
no provisions. Not until the afternoon did we manage to get off, and
steamed peacefully up the river, now a narrow channel of open water,
winding between wide-stretching banks of reeds. In the twilight all
details were soon obliterated, the sky glowed with the most beautiful
colours, and a white fog settled down over the yellow swamps. It was
pitch-dark when at last we groped our way to the half-built house,
where a party of friendly grinning Chilotes took us in. Finally, at
nine o’clock dinner was ready, but it consisted almost exclusively of
potatoes. Never before in my life did I eat so much of this wholesome
root. Chiloé and potatoes--these two ideas are indissolubly linked
together in my mind. It is one of the native countries of _Solanum
tuberosum_, and perhaps it is still possible to find wild specimens in
the coast region. Large quantities are exported, and I daresay more
than a hundred different varieties are cultivated on the island, each
with a different name.
In a dark closet Halle and I got a bed each, but in spite of being
tired we did not sleep much, for our bedfellows were far too numerous
and too lively.
The next day we went into the forest. It was of the agreeable variety
that one finds on sandy and comparatively dry soil. It was the middle
of winter, but everything was fresh and green; nothing reminded us
of death or rest; even flowers were to be seen. High above us the
heads of the trees closed over, and a dull, half-mysterious light
filtered through the dense foliage. What a difference between this
forest and the one in the Patagonian Channels! Variety instead of
monotony, trees of very large dimensions and of many kinds hitherto
unknown to me filling the air with strong aromatic scent. Ferns of all
sizes and shapes clothe the trunks, a large _Rhodostachys bicolor_
(_Bromeliacea_) sits high up on the branches, and thick-stemmed
creepers climb towards the sky, where bright-coloured bunches of
flowers peep out of green clusters. In the brushwood below several old
friends reappear, but also new ones, _Berberis Darwinii_ and other
armed enemies of the explorer, large miniature forests of bamboo
(_Chusquea colihue_), with yellowish-green, polished stems. Out in the
open we find the _quila_ (_Chusquea quila_), tough, rough, and prickly,
but for all its disagreeable characteristics an important winter food
for cattle. All was silent but for the song of some smaller birds. In
vain we hoped that the pretty little _pudú_, the deer of Chiloé, would
turn up. In old times guanaco and huemul are said to have lived here,
but they must have disappeared long ago.
We returned overland to Ancud, following the highway from Castro. The
ill-famed weather was still nice, and round the dirty huts children and
a motley company of animals swarmed. Never a border, a flower in the
window or a curtain, nowhere an effort at making the home comfortable.
The Chilote does not seem to have any appreciation of things of that
sort. The nearer we came to the town the more people we met on the
road: bullock-carts of the characteristic type, with wheels of one
solid wooden block and a wooden shaft, toil their way slowly through
the stiff clay; loaded with all sorts of parcels, an old woman comes
riding on a small, shaggy horse; a white-bearded old fellow hobbles
barefoot in the mud, tenderly embracing a bottle recently acquired in
the town.
On our arrival we got important news: the Government steamer _Valdivia_
was in! And smeared with clay high up on my thighs, and equipped in
all the elegance characteristic of the tramp, I had to receive a visit
from the commander, who presented himself to put the steamer at our
disposal. In order to survey a larger stretch round the Corcovado
Gulf we had asked the Government to help us; with the answer from
Valparaiso in my hand I turned to Commodore K. Maldonado, well known
for geographical explorations of the Chilean coasts. He was stationed
in Puerto Montt, and had two steamers there for nautical surveying
purposes. He answered immediately by sending us the _Valdivia_. The
next morning, July 18, we steered out of the bay--by the way, a rather
bad harbour--passed the whirlpools of Canal Chacao, and thence followed
the west coast, where civilization has set its stamp everywhere. On the
evening of the following day we arrived at Castro, and there we found
the _Toro_ before us. That was good luck, our first task being to find
that steamer and go aboard her, because the _Valdivia_ was not fit for
the rather dangerous waters we were to visit. Our new steamer wanted a
day to coal and provision, which gave us a good opportunity to have a
look at the town, a title with which the place is honoured. Castro
is, however, a historic place. Founded in 1567, it remained the capital
of Chiloé until 1768, and has a big church and a convent to remind it
of past, glorious days. Otherwise it makes a miserable impression,
with its ruinous houses and wretched streets, where the wayfarer finds
many dangerous pitfalls. I must recommend one of the night _cafés_.
We entered on an earthen floor, sat down on a filthy bench by the
traditional fire-pan, and a roughly used Chilote woman with a baby at
the breast served us with some very doubtful, poisonous mixtures. Soon
a rotund old woman came in, took a glass with us, and put life into the
conversation. They knew, of course, who we were; gossip is not at all
lacking in Castro.
[Illustration: THE FAMOUS CORCOVADO.]
Under the command of Captain J. E. Merino, the _Toro_ left Castro on
July 21, and after a short visit to Quellon we arrived at San Pedro
Island, at the south-eastern corner of Chiloé. This place is not
inhabited, but we found some Chilotes there busy cutting down big
trees. Two of them came on board in the evening. The weather had been
tolerably good, but showed signs of getting bad, and probably we should
have stopped where we were, waiting till it had settled again, if the
two Chilotes had not prophesied a fine day for our visit to the Isle of
Huafo, far away out in the open sea.
It blew hard north when we left the cove and the rain poured down.
Enormous waves rose high above the little steamer, which is smaller
even than the _Huemul_; the wind increased, a fog came on, and after
a short consultation we resolved to seek shelter in the only place
available, the Huapiquilan Islands. Not one of the officers had ever
visited these remote islands, and I daresay the occasion to make their
acquaintance was not very well chosen--had there been any choice!
Without adventure we managed to get in between them, and found the
necessary shelter from the storm, that now raged with full force. The
next morning we still had a gale of wind, but not so bad as the day
before, and we resolved to try to reach Huafo. Instantly a heavy sea
met us, and as soon as we lost the shelter of land we got as much as
we could stand. It was a grand sight. We were half drowned in floods
of water, and the port lifeboat was very nearly carried away by a
tremendous wave. We had hard work to stand upright on deck, clinging to
the irons of the bridge. The gunwales were under water all the time;
a lot of things on deck broke loose and danced round with the eddying
waters. When we reached Samuel Cove, the only--and hardly useful--berth
on the island, the wind had increased still more; later we were told
that the anemometer on the lighthouse had indicated 114 feet per sec.
It was high time for us to get shelter; but do not think that for this
reason we got a calm night! The small, open bay is full of shoals, and
there is no room to swing; but with two anchors down and a thick hawser
round some big trees on the shore we slept tolerably well in spite of
the considerable motion. Next day the storm continued, and we landed in
the surf at the mouth of a stream, along which we wanted to penetrate
into the virgin forest. Not very often have I seen such luxuriance
in a temperate climate. Mosses appeared in incredible quantities,
the ferns had stems of a man’s height, bamboo surrounded us in all
directions. The foliage glittered with moisture, the moss-carpet was
like a swamp, and we soon became drenched to the skin. Showers of rain
or hail completed the situation.
On board the crew had been collecting sea-urchins, and at dinner
we made a feast off these delicacies, which are highly appreciated
in Chile. In the alimentary canal of the sea-urchin a rather large
parasitic crustacean often takes up its quarters, thus leading a most
comfortable life. This animal is considered extremely delicious, and
is eaten alive and kicking. I ate one once, but never again! It had a
horrible taste, and besides was really unpleasant to have to do with,
being about an inch and a half broad.
The following day the weather had settled somewhat; we resolved to try
the lighthouse, which is situated high up on a precipitous cliff. We
brought provisions and the mail, which were landed in a nasty surf.
Outside the sea was still very heavy, and we anchored in a shallow bay,
where the motion would allow us to have our luncheon. From the ship we
got sight of some white spots moving along the beach; they were wild
dogs of a kind that has lived on this island for centuries. They are
about the size of a setter, have long hair, and are dirty white in
colour. They are very shy. Probably they live on birds and their eggs,
but are said also to eat shellfish.
It was already three o’clock before we could weigh again in order to
go back to Huapiquilan. The sky in the south-west looked threatening,
but we hoped to get out, in spite of the big sea reducing our speed
considerably. But before we had time to think the gale came rushing
on, a raging wind with squalls of hail, wrapping us in an impenetrable
haze. It was getting dark, the sky was black as soot, and with forced
speed, as much as the boiler could stand, we made for the harbour.
Then came a squall heavier than the rest, the _Toro_ trembled under
the frightful blow, giant hailstones whipped our face and made it
hardly possible to keep our eyes open, darkness hid everything. Some
thrilling seconds ensued. We were amidst the reefs--but the fog lifted
for a moment, giving us time enough to rush through the narrow gap, the
entrance to the berth. We were not five minutes too soon; night had
overtaken us!
Between sunken rocks, over which the sea broke into pillars of foam, we
headed for San Pedro again on July 27. I intended to make an excursion
in the forest, and I made the captain and a young lieutenant come
with me, promising them an experience that might prove new to them.
I myself was prepared for whatever should come--for Darwin in his
journals has erected an epitaph over San Pedro forest which is not
likely to be misunderstood. We had to climb a very steep slope. The
fallen trees do not decay very rapidly, but form immense barricades,
especially round the numerous streams; as usual they are enveloped in
a soaked moss-carpet, and mosses also hang down in long festoons from
the branches and wash your face. We seldom put our feet on the ground,
but climbed like monkeys from one trunk to the next, balancing over
the abyss. Deep down, as deep as 20 feet below, we caught sight of a
muddy, reddish clay, with which we now and then had to make closer
acquaintance as a log suddenly broke and we were sent down headlong,
only to gain the lofty path once more by creeping and crawling on
hands and knees. A hatchet was kept going cutting the innumerable
creepers which caught arms and legs, and our perseverance was put to a
protracted test. Frequent squalls enlivened our adventures. The poor
lieutenant had to be left behind quite exhausted; we rested a few
minutes and found new strength in some cold meat and a piece of bread,
and then took up the battle again. After a strenuous climb on our hands
and knees we gained a ridge, whence I had hoped to get a good view of
the island, but alas! there was another valley in front of us, and
behind it the next ridge. My comrades were not very anxious to go any
further, but as I insisted on it they followed. The valley swallowed us
up, and we reached the other side, and came out of the high forest and
into a new kind of vegetation, that is called by the natives _tepual_,
a tremendous hedge. Every time we came to a clear space we had to
stop to breathe. On the top of this ridge were extensive swamps with
scattered cypresses (_Libocedrus tetragona_) with the _tepú_ (_Tepualia
stipularis_). We had gained a height of 1600 feet, more or less, snow
was falling thickly, and it was late enough to make us turn back. Half
unrecognizable under the mud, with scratched faces and hands and our
clothes torn to rags, we reached the beach once more. The captain had
hardly any trousers left--but certainly a naval officer’s uniform was
not made for the forest of San Pedro.
In order to cross the gulf we first had to visit Quellon to coal.
There is a sawmill there, and the company’s steamer was in. We found
the captain to be a Swede, Mr. T. Landgren, who had also camped with
Captain Merino on one of the Chilean men-of-war; he was one of the
Swedes sent out at the request of the Chilean Government to serve as
_pilotos_ in the navy, which he had left to enter into private service.
He was not a little astonished to meet countrymen here, and we rightly
celebrated the occasion with a big dinner on board his vessel.
As Halle wanted to visit Queilen for geological investigations we also
spent one day at that place. The small idyllic village, once called
“the end of Christianity,” has a large wooden church and a square
_plaza_, where fat pigs had made themselves comfortable in the green
grass.
The last day of July came bright and frosty, the air was clear, and we
crossed the gulf, steaming for Mount Corcovado, “el famoso,” as this
old volcano is sometimes styled. Few summits are more imposing than
this one, with its precipitous peak shining like snow-white enamel
against the blue background. We wanted to land at the foot, but found
this easier said than done. The beach falls off at a rather sharp angle
and the surf is strong enough to play with the coarse shingle; in our
little yawl we could not venture to approach. Fortunately a small
river flows out close by, and as the sea did not break on the barrier
at its mouth we went in with a rush on a wave and stepped on shore.
The _Toro_ looked for an anchorage here, but did not find any, and we
had to steam up to the entrance of the large Yelcho river, where there
is good shelter behind an island. The place was inhabited, a company
for a combined sawmill industry and colonization enterprise having its
headquarters there.
At the river some years ago a Chilean surveying party had its station,
and a road was said to follow the shore inland. Of course we wanted
to make use of this, and started early the next day in the settled
belief of being able to walk on a road. After a while we found it,
broad enough for a bullock-cart--but the joy did not last long. A few
hundred yards and the noble highway dwindled suddenly into a narrow
path, from which only the worst obstacles had been removed! The forest
is so swampy that one cannot walk there during the rainy season, and
therefore the road is plastered with logs sometimes right across, when
you jump from one to the next, sometimes longitudinally, and then you
have to balance--generally there is only _one_ log. Some places were
quite dreadful; the logs were gone, and we sank down knee-deep at once;
others were transformed into bottomless lagoons where we had to stop
to pick our way. But as the day passed we grew more skilful in keeping
our balance than we had ever been in our lives before. At last the path
disappeared in a bamboo thicket; probably nobody had been here for many
years. We crawled through, found the path again, and went down to the
river, which is one of the largest in West Patagonia. We returned in
the twilight with a good lot of botanical collections, took the last
barricade, and came down to the colony.
From Yelcho we went to the beautiful Reñihue Fiord, and thence returned
to Castro, where my comrades stopped in order to ride to Ancud; forced
by circumstances, I returned there without delay, and despatched the
_Toro_. Few of our excursions have left such agreeable memories as
this one with the naval officers, who were always ready to render
every service possible. We took farewell of them as of old friends,
soon found but never forgotten. On August 10 we went on board the
_Vestfold_, passing Ancud on the way to Valparaiso.