Wednesday, 25
February 2004
Dear
family and friends,
It
was a beautiful day, near cloudless, a soft breeze blowing, pleasantly warm
with the sun high in the sky when I teed off at 2:00PM. There are no birds twittering in the trees,
in fact, there are no trees around the clubhouse. The only sound is the occasional whistle from
the Tren Fin del Mundo (Train to the End of the World) which departs from the
station nearby.
The
number one hole at the Ushuaia Golf Course in Ushuaia, Tierra
del Fuego, is a short 275 yard par 4, slightly down hill, with a
sharp dogleg left into the green. I
chose my driver knowing a nice easy swing combined with my natural fade would
put me in great shape on the right side of the fairway for an easy chip onto
the green. I hit it like I had every
reason to expect, a dreaded scuff hook which ended about 40 yards away. There was no murmur of appreciation, no applause. I thought I heard someone laugh. Frost, Spurrell, and Holmes weren't there and
I didn't wake up. This was no dream, it
was for real. (Expletive deleted.) Mulligan.
I teed up again and... Well, I suppose you don't really want to hear
anymore about my round, but it was great, as was the day.
The
setting for the course is spectacular.
It is set in a valley with the Pipo
River wiggling through it and with the
lofty, snow-clad Martial
Mountains as a
backdrop. Ushuaia Golf course at 54
degrees south latitude is the most southerly in the world and what it lacks in
facilities and grooming is more than offset by the surrounding beauty. (It is really just 9 holes and somewhat like
a links course in that some of the fairways are not easily identified.)
Isla
Grande de Tierra del Fuego is separated from
the mainland by the Estrecho de Magallanes named after Ferdinand Magallanes who
sailed through the straits in 1520 in his search for the Orient. His ship eventually made it back to Spain but without Magallanes who died in the Philippines. Only 18 of an original 250 men made it
home. Francis Drake, never Sir Francis
Drake in these parts, made his way through these waters in 1577 on what is
locally described as a murderous campaign of slaughter. Huh, and I was taught he was a hero. Same person, same deeds, two views. After determining this was not a short route
to Asia, and learning there were no great riches in the form of gold and silver
as in the north, Europeans generally ignored Tierra del Fuego and, in fact, all
of Patagonia for three hundred years. It
was not until the 19th century that interest was reawakened and Europeans
reappeared.
To
facilitate development in South
America, Spain
had created the 'encomienda' (entrustment), a system whereby individuals were
granted rights to Indian labour in a village or area. In return, and in theory, the rights holder
was supposed to provide the Indians with instruction in Spanish and the
Catholic religion. In practice 95% of
the Indians were killed deliberately, through overwork, or diseases like small
pox, cholera, and influenza. The
conversion of indigenous people to the Catholic Church provided the moral
authority for encomiendas, something I might question in itself, but it is
generally believed that had it not been for Priests who regularly protested the
most serious abuses to the Spanish Sovereign, until they themselves were
banished from South America in 1767, the atrocities may well have been worse,
if that was possible.
When
the Europeans did return in the 1800's, they brought their diseases, and
skills in savagery well honed in Central America and northern South America;
the usual brutalities were employed in driving the natives off the land in Patagonia to create more large estancias. But one adventurer distinguished himself
above the others. Julius Popper, a
Romanian mining engineer who had tried his luck in Canada
without success, introduced a bounty for body parts of the local Selk'nan
people, a technique soon adopted throughout Patagonia. (Did he learn that in Canada?) Popper photographed his hunts of these poor
persecuted people proudly declaring himself 'Fugian Dictator'. Ironically and fittingly, the slaughter of
the locals eventually caused many estancias to fail when they were left with no
workers. (Of course, this was only a
minor setback for many estancia owners, in Brazil African slaves were quickly
brought in to provide the required free labour.)
Ushuaia
(pronounced oosh-why-ah) is the capital city of the Argentinean province of Tierra del Fuego
(Land of Fire),
so named because of the bonfires lit by the natives and seen by European
explorers as they sailed by seeking a new short route to the Spice
Islands. At 54 degrees
south, Ushuaia claims to be the most southerly city in the world (although the
Chilean naval base Puerto Williams lies slightly further south just across the
Beagle Channel). Founded in 1869, and
populated by settlers from Croatia,
Italy, Spain, and Argentineans from the
north, its growth was spurred by the presence of a maximum security prison
built in 1884 and not closed until 1950 by President Peron. There are many stories of dangerous criminals
housed in the prison, one which stood out for me was 'Little Big Ears',
apparently a very short guy, and from his pictures, with real flapper
ears. In an attempt to rehabilitate Little
Big Ears, cosmetic surgery was used to make his ears smaller. Alas, it apparently did not work and fellow
prisoners killed him for his continuing bad behavior. I thought to myself 'maybe they should have
tried to make him taller'.
Today
Ushuaia is a bustling city of about 45,000 people mostly involved in separating
tourists from their money and with the servicing of the many supply ships
heading to Antarctica some 2,000km south, and cruise ships heading 'around the
horn' (Cape Horn is on an island 100km south).
There are many old and humble houses, mostly sided with corrugated
metal, and many painted in the most vivid, bright colours. Sitting as it is on the Beagle Channel and
with the Martial Mountains rising immediately behind it,
Ushuaia has a lot of appeal.
While
in Ushuaia I took a day cruise on the Beagle Channel (named by Robert Fitz Roy
who discovered the channel in 1830 and who was later accompanied by Charles
Darwin on a subsequent visit) for a viewing of colonies of Imperial Cormorants,
Southern Fur Seals, South American Sea Lions, and Magallanic Penguins. We had very close up looks at all these
animals particularly the penguins. Our
catamaran boat beached itself right amidst the birds who studiously ignored
us. In the water, sleek and quick as a
fish, on land they huddle about, shoulders slumped forward like little old men
shivering in the cold. There is a
history of many ships being sunk in this area (we saw one such hulk),
particularly at the end of the 19th Century when many sailing ships went to the
bottom, fortuitously, or some might say suspiciously, just in time for
insurance money to be used to facilitate the conversion to steam.
I
also made the mandatory trip to National Park Tierra del Fuego some 15kms south
and west of Ushuaia, and where Highway Number 3 ends at Lapataia Bay. It is quite a lovely park and I spent a few
hours walking around the many trails relishing the fact of being in this remote
spot. Interestingly, another great idea
someone had, possibly after his estancia failed, was to introduce the Canadian
beaver in 1950 to this area in hopes of developing a fur trade. The idea was a flop, but the beaver adapted
very well and today they are wreaking havoc with their dams, particularly in
the park, flooding lowlands and crowding out native species.
But
how did I get here to the End of the World?
I left Buenos Aires on January 29th and
traveled south across the featureless pampas, home for most of the cattle
produced in Argentina, to
the resort city of Mar del Plata. Along with all those Portenos who cannot
afford to go to Punto del Este in Uruguay for their vacation, I was
hoping for some beach time but rain and cool weather ended that idea. From Mar del Plata
I traveled west, again through the pampas, which are really very much like our
prairies, to Bahia Blanca (a port city where I
spent three days, approximately two and one-half days more than I would
recommend) and on to San Martin de los Andes in the Argentinean Lake
district.
As
the name suggests, San Martin nestles in the eastern reaches of the Andean
chain surrounded by a forest of evergreens, and perched at the end of Lago
Lacar, just one of the many lakes in this area, known, not surprisingly, as the
Lake District.
I spent a few very pleasurable days in this pretty little city
originally settled by German immigrants and today characterized by chalet-style
buildings of logs, timber and stone and with beautiful roses in every
garden. San Martin along with the nearby
cities of San Carlos de Bariloche and Villa Angostura, are a major vacation
destination for Argentineans. With its
many beautiful lakes, rivers, and the mountains nearby, it reminds me somewhat
of the Okanagan Valley.
The area is famous for its outdoor activities, particularly fishing, and
when I was there the area was jammed with campers, hikers, boaters, cyclists,
and of course, those outfitted with fishing gear determined to land a big
one. It is also famous for its
chocolaterias; it seems every third storefront displays mouth-watering stacks
of chocolates which they are offering up.
And cheap too! But it is the
smell of sweet chocolate wafting through the air that makes them impossible to
resist.
Although
I prefer to take the bus whenever I can, in this case, because of the distance
involved, some 800 to 1,000 km, I decided to fly from Bariloche to the southern Patagonian City of El Calafate. So many flights can be completely
forgettable, but this was not one of them.
It was a beautiful clear day and I had requested a starboard window (the
right hand side) knowing the flight path followed the Andes
all the way. I had a showing of some of
the most spectacular jagged and snow clad mountains on earth. Shortly before landing in El Calafate we flew
by the world famous Mount Fitz Roy range.
Mountaineers come from all over the world to attempt to climb the 3,441m
Cerro Fitz Roy, or the even more daunting 3,128m Cerro Torre, a spire featuring
a 3,000 foot shear face to scale before arriving at its pinnacle. It was truly an unforgettable view and it is
easy to see why it was only in 1974 that a climb to the top of Cerro Torre was
finally confirmed. Below us on the
pampas of Patagonia, countless lakes of the
most dazzling blues, turquoise, robin's egg, aquamarine, and cobalt dotted about. The river flowing out of Lake Argentina
is the softest, milkiest blue one could imagine, seeming to be a squiggle of
Crest toothpaste drizzled about by accident.
There were also many other small splotches of colour, moss green, salmon
pink, taupe, which I originally thought were lakes but which I later realized
were sloughs, dried up in the summer. In
all, very beautiful.
Calafate,
situated on Lago Argentina,
the country's largest, is named after a wild blueberry that grows widely
throughout the area and is similar to ours at home, I believe. Like chocolate in San Martin, calafate jam
and calafate liquor are flogged relentlessly to tourists. Calafate, a city of about 5,000, is a bit
scruffy looking with lots of unpaved streets but it is not totally without
charm. Some come to Calafate and move on
to nearby El Chalten, the base for those wanting to try their luck climbing
Mounts Fitz Roy and Torre. Having had
such a grand view from the airplane, I decided I need not climb them, and
instead joined all the rest who come here to visit another major tourist draw,
Los Glaciares National Park and, specifically, the Perito Moreno Glacier, a
newly designated World Heritage region.
Lorraine recently sent
me an e-mail telling me she had seen a documentary on the decline of the global
ice fields. Apparently the Patagonian
Ice Field, of which Moreno
is a part, is the fastest melting field in the world. But Moreno
is a unique exception, and today it remains as one of the very few advancing
glaciers in the world.
I
can not imagine coming to this area and not going to visit Moreno, it is spectacular, a mass of ice, 30
km long and 5 km wide, sliding down the mountain at a rate of about one meter
per day on a thin layer of water produced by the heat of friction. If you think of a 'Y', the 'V' at the top is
two arms of Lake Argentina and the stem is Moreno
Glacier. When it reaches the lake, Moreno crosses it and
when it makes contact with the opposite side, it splits into two walls of
brilliant blue ice some 70 meters high and 5 km wide. Periodically (most recently in 1988) Moreno completely closes
off the two arms when it reaches the other side, thereby causing water to back
up in the one arm. At times this
blockage has created a differential in the water level of 22 meters. Pressure finally forces the glacier to
explode in a fury of 'calving' lasting several days, a sight which I can only
image.
As
it is, Moreno
is regularly cleaving off calves of ice and I think it would be very unusual to
come here and not see at least some massive ice slabs fall. If you think about it, Moreno daily sloughs off ice equivalent to
one meter, by 70 meters, by five kilometers, a huge amount. It constantly cracks with a sound like a
rifle shot or the near deafening clap of a thunderbolt that is so close you
hear it simultaneously with seeing the lightning and then smell the ozone. Catwalks are constructed to take you very
close to the face and boats are available to take you up to the face and in
amongst the bobbing, crystalline blue monoliths, some of which are a deep
aquamarine blue having been at the bottom of the glacier under the most
pressure.
The
fact that Moreno continues to advance can
neither be explained by being far south, it is the same distance from the
equator as London, England, nor by the height of the
mountains, they are only slightly over 3,000 meters high. Rather, it is produced by cold winds from Antarctica meeting the heavily moisture laden clouds from
the Pacific over the mountains resulting in snowfall year round. As the snow builds the weight of it forces
out the oxygen contained in snowflakes and thus is ice formed. It takes ice formed in the upper reaches of
the glacier about 200 years to slide down the mountain and into Argentina Lake.
After
my visit to Moreno,
I flew to Ushuaia and the end of my trip south.
Living as I do at the end of the highway at Lund, this seemed like a perfect spot, Fin
del Mundo, to be turning around and heading north.
So
that's it. You may now know why my first
shot on the Ushuaia golf course was so brutal.
I am sure you will agree the distraction of the incredibly beautiful
scenery and the interesting things I have seen are all the excuse anyone would
need for one bad shot in a round of golf.
Well... would you believe two?
Three? I hope you are all
well. Kind regards.
Merv.
No comments:
Post a Comment