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.