Spring Moon of the Southern Cross

As we have gone further south, the trip has gotten more and more interesting. We spent today in the area around Punta Arenas, watching penguins on Otway Bay and visiting a working sheep farm on

Isla Risco, both north and east of Punta Arenas.

Punta Arenas is windy, isolated and proud. A couple of years ago Chile decided to double the price of natural gas, used to heat homes here among other things. The Magellan region went on strike. No buses, no taxis, no grocery stores. Nothing. After a week, the government backed down.

60% of the people here have some Croatian ancestry, coming here just before and during the fall of Tito and Yugoslavia. There are, too, indios, British, Spanish and other nationalities.

The Magellan region has 150,000 people, 100,000 of whom live in Punta Arenas. The region’s economy has agriculture, mainly sheep and wool, tourism, oil, natural gas, fishing and some industry.

Carolina (Karoleena), our guide, pointed out that there are 2 million sheep in the region and 150,000 people.

Winds here, on a not too unusual day can reach 150 kph, so merchants and the city government have installed ropes along the sidewalks downtown. When the winds blow west to east, it’s ok; but, when they blow south to north, not. If you look on a map of the globe, Antarctica reaches a chilly white finger out as if to touch Tierra Del Fuego When the winds come from there, it gets cold here fast.

Farms, or estancia, get big here because of the land requirements for livestock, e.g. 2 hectares for one sheep and 5 hectares for one cow. A big farm here can easily hit 30,000 hectares or approximately 66,000 acres. This is because the grass the soil and climate supports here is not ideal for either animal.

To get to the nearest town in Chile, it takes three hours and Puerto Natales is not much of a town. To get to the next Chilean city requires a drive of a day plus. Ushuaia, our next stop, is south of Punta Arenas on the big Isla Grande de Tierra Del Fuego, but it’s a long ways south and, is in the Argentinian half of the island. So the folks here live as a big family in which every one knows every one else’s business.

We drove to Mina Peket on Otway Bay, winding along a country road, headed for a beach where Magellenic Penguins come to nest. Along the we saw a rock formation that looked similar in shape to Ayres Rock. A third of the way down it had an exposed vein showing different geological strata and occasionally large white sections. “Those,” Carolina said, “are Condor guano.” It seems the big birds go to the small caves along this section to rest during the day.

We did several Condors flying around this place and I got some faraway shots. Their wingspan reaches 3 meters. One big, and, according to Carolina, ugly bird.

The penguins we saw looked just like they do on National Geographic. Cute, humanoid, and busy diving into the water, waddling from nest to beach, cuddling, looking down and very modernist in their lines.

As near I can estimate, we spent 11.11.11.11.11 walking back along the wooden walkway from Peket beach to our bus, number 21.

After the penguins, we went to Rio Verde district (Wind River district), where, as Carolina told us they live “a very particular kind of life.” By that she means: no electricity save from generators, water from wells, the nearest neighbor is usually at least 3 k away, a school but no teacher, a nurse for first aid, no fridge. The mayor of the Rio Verde district, a woman, has served for 30 years.

The district has 278 people, 96 of whom live on Isla Risco. We headed across a channel between Otway Bay and Skyring Bay by means of an ancient ferry, a ship too old, 46 years, to hold our bus, so we got out and walked on board. The crossing takes 8 minutes.

At the Fitzroy Farm we ate roast lamb, watched a sheep shearing, met a very unhappy pet puma, then boarded the bus to return to the Veendam. When we arrived back here, the wind was stiff enough to force us to lean into it. It was a physical presence.

Tonight the Beagle Channel, the Ushuaia.

Spring Moon of the Southern Cross

52 degrees 48 minutes S 73 minutes 50 minutes W

Since 5:00 pm on the 8^th we have sailed through the Chilean Fjords and, at 8 pm on the 10^th have come into the Straits of Magellan. Sunset at this latitude comes at 9:30 pm, so there’s still plenty of sightseeing time. We have come 852 nautical miles from Puerto Montt and have 178 nautical miles to go before we dock at Punta Arenas, a city of 100,000 and the big city in southern Patagonia.

Add those two mileages together and we will have sailed 1,150 nautical miles through the Chilean Fjords.

In addition to their stark beauty these glacier cut islands and peninsulas are so big. 1,150 nautical miles and their extension out from the mainland must be 30 or 40 miles. Within that swath of water lie hundreds of islands, small and big, glacial inlets, snow topped mountains, innumerable straits and channels, bays and inlets plus the glacial carved fjords.

While the cultures and practices of Colombia, Panama, Ecuador, Peru, rural and urban Chile, do fascinate me, they represent only a graduated departure from the familiar patterns of home. I have never experienced anything like this. Their very strangeness quickens my imagination and stretches my perceptions because now I have to include them in my perceived reality.

This, for me, is the wonder and essential purpose of travel, to learn what the wide world really holds by getting close, touching it, feeling it, smelling the clean air off the glacier and looking at its bright blue color.

Here on this cold slate gray water, moving past rock and ice, seeing snow caps on mountains my heart sings and the song comes from that deep mind, perhaps even the reptilian brain, the part that knows wildness and remoteness, isolation. The song, like the sacred sounds of Hinduism and Buddhism, unites the singer and the strangeness, the stranger and the earth, a ritual of union within alienation.

There is not, for me, any way to learn these new songs without moving the body from place to place.

And the slower the mode of travel the better. Train, yes. Good. Ship, yes. Better. On foot, yes. Best. Right now we sail, slow enough to take in the otherness of this watery and islanded realm, and it’s good enough for me.

Spring Moon of the Southern Cross

Amalia Glacier. At 10:00 am we came to the end of the Amalia fjord and found its creator, the Amalia Glacier lying blue and massive, its leading edge right at the water line, small growlers and the larger icebergs floating, blue, the color of captured sky.

The air temperature came down to around 40 degrees with small spits of snow as we entered the glacier’s realm, far now from the heat of Tambo Colorado or the Elqui Valley.

Still Latin America, this area has its own distinct identity, neither Amazonian rain forest or west coast arid desert. This portion of Latin America has more fellow feeling with Scandinavia, the northern US and Canada, than with the Latin America we’ve visited up to this point.

Patagonia, a region not found on any political map, begins south of the Rio Colorado in Argentina and around Punta Arenas in Chile. It means land of the big feet, a characteristic taken from early contact with natives who had large footwear.

Even today Patagonia and wilderness go together, a land largely, though not completely, uninhabitable, though not inaccessible. Many eco-tourist come to the national parks, the long stretches of mountains and plains and lakes, the glaciers and ocean. They come, many of them, seeking isolation and it can be found here.

These fjords have no towns that I can see on my maps, I’ve seen no boats, no planes, no smoke and they occupy the Chilean coast from the 42 degrees S to 54 degrees. In that large territory I can only find three dots for inhabited places and they are all on inlets that push deep into the mainland, far from the ocean and the archipelago.

As the world presses itself into denser and denser population patterns, urbanization continues to accelerate all round the world, it only makes these wild distant places more wild and more distant.

That is not to say that these wild places experience no impact from the remainder of the world. They do. Acid rain. Global climate change shrinks glaciers. Ocean currents carry mercury and other toxic materials all round the world ocean. Over fishing to feed urban markets depletes the breeding populations of ocean wild life.

Even so places like the Chilean fjords and much of Patagonia will, I imagine, remain wild. Their geographical features like mountains and fjords and lakes will survive even dramatic environmental changes. The flora and fauna may not, but some flora and some fauna will come to fill in the emptied gaps in eco-systems. Patagonia and its lands will always be distant, always be forbidding, just like the high mountains of South Asia, the massive forests of Siberia and the rugged Alaskan wilderness.

We need these wild places for we are animals born of the wild places. In our deep minds we remember the vast, the tractless, the forbidding, the uninhabitable because we once tried to live there.

Sometimes we modified the wilderness, look at the United States, Europe, China, South and South East Asia. Sometimes we passed through it on our way elsewhere. Always though our deep minds were made to cope with its challenges and to see to our survival there. With no wild places an essential part of our specie’s memory would go dark as it gradually had no place to replenish.

Like the fresh water from the Amalia Glacier flows out to the Pacific through these fjords, so the story of human evolution courses through the geographical regions, the terra firma which makes up only 1/3^rd of our blue planet, and washes up against the shore of current life, carrying with it the hard won lessons of our kind.

Spring Moon of the Southern Cross

In the Amalia Fjord, headed for the Amalia Glacier. We’re now sailing roughly east on the 50^th latitude, 50 minutes. We’ve come back into the fjords from our necessary journey out to sea to sail round a large peninsula. On either side of the ship bread loaf shaped mounds of hard rock rise from the fjord, some with small trees and shrubs, others bare. Behind them taller peaks rise, snow dotting them from time to time.

This huge ship feels a bit closed in here, as if it would not do well if frightened with too little room to move.

Clouds brush the tops of both bread loaves and mountains, a scene that could contain a troll or two, perhaps Odin and Thor and not look unusual.

The ship, at 18 knots on the open sea, has slowed down here and we slide past the rocky inlets and their guardians at a stately pace, almost funereal, as if a burning Viking ship might precede us.

The sun and sand crowd will find nothing to like in this part of the world, but two constitutionally introverted northern Europeans (I’m half-German, the Celtic roots only a quarter.) find this vista calming, familiar and conducive to creativity.

I’ve seen glaciers from afar, stuck in the high valleys of the Rockies, but I’ve never seen one as close as I imagine we will get in twenty minutes.

Passengers have a variety of cold weather gear ranging from down coats to shorts and a wind breaker. I bought, as I had planned, an alpaca sweater in Ecuador. It zips and has a register of llamas topped by stylized golden stars with red and yellow wool at the top register and the bottom. As you might expect, it does not stop the wind, but it does make warm with a zip up hoody over it.

This portion of the trip has switched the nature of our journey, putting the emphasis on the natural world and on a particular part of it unfamiliar to both Kate and me.

Spring Moon of the Southern Cross

We reached 45 degrees latitude this morning and later I will post pictures of what the world looks like in western South America at our latitude. I can’t right now because I didn’t bring good photo editing software along.

At the moment we head west, out of the fjords through the Darwin Channel because the section of the fjords below us end in a long, thick peninsula so we have to go back into the Pacific proper, sail further south, then we can reenter the fjords.

When we woke up, around 7:00 mountainous islands rose from either side of the ship, covered in trees and undergrowth. I’ve not seen any sign of inhabitation since early last night. From time to time small inlets create sheltered harbors and as we left the Channel Isla Rivero showed a thick line of water separating it from the western most island at this point, Isla Garrido.

Robinson Crusoe’s island, I forgot to mention, was off to our west by about 3 degrees longitude, roughly around Valparaiso. That was in an area of considerable population relative to these stark and lonely rocks. Darwin called them a green desert.

In Puerto Montt we picked up a Chilean pilot who will be with us well into Tierra Del Fuego. Since the depth of the fjords rose to 170 feet at one point and the fjords become narrow, it seems like a good precaution.

After 3 weeks of encountering new cultures and nations, the fjords have refreshed me, cleansed the mental palate.

Our journey will now take us along the western face of the fjords until we hit Peninsula Arenas.

As we have gotten further out of the Darwin Channel, the swells have increased and the prow of the ship rises and falls, sometimes shuddering as it comes into contact with the water after rising over a swell. At the very beginning of the cruise similar swells sent my stomach into nausea land, now I have my sea ears and my body sees this as understandable motion rather than a violation of the rules of a stable earth.

The fjords have waters of different colors, shifting from sky blue to a light dark green. This reflects glacial melt and discharge into the channels of large amounts of cold fresh water. The melt has increased of late and a time when this phenomenon no longer exists may come.

This trip and who knows how many others was partly influenced by a desire to see the world as it soon shall have been. Journeys before the ecoalypse.

Spring Moon of the Southern Cross

42 degrees 28 minutes S 72 degrees 55 minutes W

We have come 63 nautical miles since Puerto Montt on a heading of 176 degrees, almost due south. We are in the midst of the fjords and dark, mysterious islands loom on both sides of the ship. Above the cold waters the cumulus clouds of the ocean fought a frontal war with the thick galleons of cumulus sailing out from land. As twilight fell and the temperature differentials shifted, the war was over and shadowy cumulus covered the sky over land and ocean.

A tanker appeared on the horizon, stayed visible for about a half an hour, then vanished. Two small fishing boats were out before sunset, but both headed home as the sun went down.

In many ways the scene outside the ship would look familiar to anyone who has spent time on Lake Superior on any of the very large lakes of northern Minnesota. Pine trees, rocky shorelines and old style fishing boats echo either current or recent past images of these northern waters.

The differences though are greater. First, we’re on salt water, the world ocean squeezes itself in to the nooks and crannies created by the surf carving ancient volcanic land extended from the volcanoes along the shore line.

This part of the trip is the trip of a lifetime. The land and the waters here are seen by few and they remain among the most remote and inaccessible areas in the world. (or so our literature on the ship claims).

They do feel archetypal, as if we travel now among various aspects of Gaia’s collective unconscious. Over the next few days we will move among these limestone and lava wonders, stopping here and there to see a glacier and certain special passage ways like the Darwin channel, the Sarmiento canal, the Beagle Passage, the Magellan Straits.

These are names I learned in elementary school, names synonymous with adventure in the Age of Sail. How lucky are we to be here among them.WSA

Spring Moon of the Southern Cross

Today we went to a Chilean version of Ely, Puerto Varas, the City of Roses and a traditional Chilean farm.

We have definitely moved into a different gardening zone. It rained all morning, a chill driving rain at times, but the countryside has green everywhere: spring flowers, trees, grass.

While we were in Puerto Varas it rained the whole time. This small Chilean city on a big lake, Lake Llanquihue, the second largest in Chile and third in South America, has an Orvis Store and a Northface Store, a Benneton’s and other outdoor equipment stores in addition to a large number of handicraft stores, including one promoting the traditional arts of Chile. I bought two stone pieces made by the Mapuche indians, an interesting group since they successfully fended off both the Inka and the Spanish.

After we left Puerto Varas, we went 20 minutes back toward Puerto Montt and stopped for the afternoon at a working Chilean farm. Down a country road decked on either side with spring flowers in yellow, blue and pink we stopped first at a large covered barn.

In the barn we had empenadas and watched some Chilean teenagers dance to a three piece band, a guitar, a box with slats played like a washboard and an amplified harp with a triangular base. Two of the teenagers were the national traditional dance champions.

Chilean traditional dance uses handkerchiefs to communicate rather than language. The girl moves the handkerchief demurely over her face, down her arm and quickly over her chest, all the while smiling and flirting with her eyes. The boy holds his handkerchief high, then twirls it in the air and brings it, at some point, behind the girl’s head for just a moment.

These kids were very good and there was an 11-year old girl who danced who more than matched her older counterparts in flirtatious behavior, especially toward the boy of the national champion duo.

Four huesos (cowboys) rode in their on their Chilean breed horses, a sort of shorter and stockier quarter horse. They wear ponchos in the colors of their farm, a short jacket so they don’t have to sit on it, tight pants so chaps fit over them easily, thin toed boots which slip into the uniquely, foot shaped wooded stirrups and a large rawl.

The horses move quickly and stop suddenly. They can also run sideways, all this in service of traditional huesos duties.

Chile’s second national sport after futbol is Chilean rodeo. This consists of two horsemen and a bull, with the horsemen using the maneuverability of their mounts to trap the bull and stop it. They go three rounds with the same bull, 4 points awarded for each stop at the bull’s head, lesser amounts if the bull and horse intersect further back.

We also had a typical Chilean meal which included a hunk of beef, a potato and cooked vegetables with soapapilla which here means biscuits made of corn meal and wheat flour. The dessert I found odd, consisting of two apricots in syrup over expanded wheat berries.

I have a fundamental problem with these sorts of events since they market a countries traditions and take them out of context. That said, this was an interesting exposure to some things Chilean.

This afternoon we begin a 6 day journey through the Chilean fjords.

Spring Moon of the Southern Cross

41 degrees 28 minutes S 72 degrees 56 minutes W

Puerto Mont, Chile the end of the Chilean lake district and the beginning of the fjords

If you’ve ever taken an overnight train, a cruise is similar. We leave a port in the afternoon and often, like the trip from Valparaiso to here, awake at a new destination.

This time the change is dramatic. Valparaiso hit 80+ while I took the funicular and walked the Plaza Sotomayor. Here the weather has a gray, wet presence and the predicted high is 59.

We have to tender in to Puerto Montt, meaning there is no dock space large enough for us, so we have anchored out in the bay, a very sheltered bay, closed in on three sides by hills and mountains. It’s also very green here, not the case while we traveled though the atacama desert and the semi-arid region around Coquimbo.

I have happily donned my rei breathable undershirt, flannel shirt and Ecuadorian alpaca sweater, blue and white and yellow and red with llamas across the chest. Layering clothing is a Minnesota art from not much appreciated by others, but this we know. If the weather warms up, I can remove clothing down to the rei undershirt. If it gets cooler, I can pull the Marmot rain wear/weather breaker out of the pack.

Today Kate and I go to a Chilean farm to experience a typical day there. The tour guide warns us that the owners dogs roam freely among visitors. Can’t wait.

On that note. We’ve met many dogs along the way. Some, like Tada in Peru, had distinctive personalities, but most, urban strays, seemed to have adapted to a life where people either ignore them or chastise them, so they don’t respond much to attention.

I can see some salmon farming from the ship. This industry crashed here four or five years ago when an illness killed off the salmon, a problem with acqua culture in general. It’s not easy to dispose of the waste, both from the fish and from left over food, creating a perfect environment for disease. I’ll be interested to learn if this leg of the area’s economy has bounced back

Spring Moon of the Southern Cross

37 degrees 16 minutes S 74 degrees 3 minutes W

Near Los Angeles. Los Angeles, Chile.

We have come very far south along the west coast of South America. The ship took on passengers yesterday in Valparaiso who have booked the second half of our cruise, a Valparaiso to Rio segment. From this point until Buenos Aires, a good way north again on the east side of South America (roughly the same latitude as Valparaiso), this becomes a very different sort of cruise.

The segment from NYC to Valparaiso was a more sun and sand sort of experience emphasizing the equator, heat and the desert coastal cities of Ecuador, Peru and Chile. Along with Colombia and Panama, these cities all had a very to somewhat (Chile) typical Latin American feel: bright colors, beetle nut to honey colored peoples, Spanish, poverty, yes, but industrial, fishing, mining and tourism, too.

We head now, though, into a land more similar to the northern parts of North America, or even Scandinavia, a land dominated by archipelagos, fjords, glaciers and mountains, cooler temperatures and, if I’ve read my various books correctly a more indigenous population.

This is the land that lay hidden for centuries to Europeans who could not find a way around Cape Horn. It was Magellan, the discovery of the Pacific Ocean (except of course for those people already living in or around it), who first sailed around Cape Horn and one passage through the very tip of South America bears his name still, the Magellan Straits.

As one writer on a forum for these cruises put it, this is more of an adventure cruise. We no longer head out to ruins or dining with Pizarro shore excursions but now to National Parks, the Beagle Channel and the mountains of Chile, the rocky shores of the Falklands Islands.

This Minnesotan feels his powers returning as we head further south and my cold recedes in time.