Wednesday, 2 January 2013
Penmaen Dewi
Yesterday took dog to St davids head. We used to do a new year's day there every year I count it as one of the most awesome places I know on this planet. Some such epithet. Now my life partner gone and the girls distracted So yesterday alone with dog avoided Whitesands and approached over the lower Gabbro Carns from Treleddyd farms (now all holiday homes!)to the sea by Gesail Bay ( site of my one climbing excursion with Bonnington). Met only two souls on a stunning day. Alone with dog entering Penmaen Dewi through the gate and there the 8 stone circle huts my head blew off and I could smell the three thousand year old cooking and the voices of the iron age speaking what language? Ancient prote Cymraig? From the head that scramble down the gabbro (why is there gabbro here(as opposed to a granite that is), Silurian mafic intrusion punching through Ordivician sediment? Carry the dog on shoulders down to what I think resembles the prow of a ship. Great seas surging and the tide rushing passed, heart near bursting. Night rolling in rushing passed the 5000 year old Coetan Arthur what must of the iron age guys have thought as they looked up at it on their way to their fields belkow Garn llidi? Up that magic valley and round the garn that in the dusk rears up like a matterhorn
Thursday, 30 June 2011
Monte Shipton 2002
MONTE SHIPTON/MONTE DARWIN A reconnaissance in the Cordillera Darwin of Tierra del Fuego Jan/Feb 2002
In February 1962 my father, Eric Shipton, climbed all three parts of the highest peak of the Cordillera Darwin in Tierra del Fuego with three Chilean companions Cedomir Marangunic, Eduardo Garcia, and Francisco Vivanco. A full account of the expedition is given in the Alpine Journal November 1962 publication as well as in the last chapter of his book “Land of Tempest.” Not only was this the first ascent but also probably the first attempt to get near this peak guarded on all sides from the Beagle Channel to the fjords to the north by ice cap. To his day the Darwin Range, a chain of mountains nearly as long as the Alps, covered in ice and rearing up straight from the sea, remains remarkably untrammelled by climbers. The chief reason for this is its inaccessibility, mostly natural, but in part political. Access can only be made by sea in a region suffering atrocious weather conditions. The greater part of the range is on a peninsula in the Chilean half of Tierra del Fuego, and mutual suspicion with Argentina has prevented land crossing from the now populated Argentine half of the island.
At the time the highest peak of this formidable range, placed at 54 24 S 69 51 W, had no official name. The Instituto Geographico Militar of Chile 1:250,000 map printed in 1954, the only cartographical resource used by the team at the time, merely marks the elevation point at 2469m. More recently the peak has been marked with elevation 2470m on the ridge map published by the French Laboratoire de Glacologie in Grenoble , and 2662m on the Japanese map of the range which has contours delineating the three parts all climbed by my father and his team in 1962 and referred to by them as I, (2662m) II & III.
In honour of the fact that their peak, is the highest point of the range they decided to call it Monte Darwin. However by doing so he left cartographers with a problem. My father acknowledged in his report that another peak (IGM marked altitude 2438m) further south (54 46S 69 29W) was already called Monte Darwin. The Italian mountaineer Alberto de Agostini himself marks it as such on his maps, and the IGM map names this peak Co Darwin. The reason seems to be that for a long time it was assumed to be the highest peak in the range, and was far more prominent from the Beagle Channel the most frequently navigated water around the Cordillera. My father and his team were happy nevertheless to transfer the name to their peak, the higher by around 40m. Although this satisfied the team at the time it left the problem of what to name the original Monte Darwin, and the situation does not appear to have been officially resolved. The problem was particularly important to the New Zealand Tierra del Fuego expedition of 1970, which made the first ascent of that (Agostini’s) Monte Darwin. They neatly resolved the situation by continuing to call their peak as Monte Darwin whilst referring to my father’s Monte Darwin as Monte Shipton.
The situation at present remains confused. Maps which are of a large enough scale to show the various peaks of Cordillera Darwin, of which there are few, are divided. Some retain Agostini’s Co Darwin and leave Monte Shipton/Darwin un-named while others have made my father’s transfer and left the old Monte Darwin un-named (the Japanese), and others have adopted the 1970 New Zealanders naming, for example the Chilean 123 Entel series map “ Cabo Froward”. To me the New Zealand solution seems the best as it both distinguishes the two peaks clearly and honours my father’s first ascent and his many achievements in Patagonia
In January this year I set out to have a good look at the two mountains with three New Zealanders, Paddy Freaney, and Rochelle Rafferty who had both come with me on our Mt Burney venture last year, and Bill King a veteran of Himalayan mountaineering like Paddy. I was motivated of course to retread some of my father’s illustrious footsteps, but the Kiwis were keen to have a look at the ground of the 1970 expedition which has become something of a legend amongst their climbing compatriots. We planned to traverse the Cordillera Darwin from Admiralty Sound to the Beagle, whilst making attempts to climb either Monte Shipton or, if not, to have a go at Monte Darwin. We would hire a boat from Punta Arenas to take us across the Magellan Straits and land us in Bahia Parry off Admiralty Sound at the site of the 1970 New Zealander Base Camp and make our attempt via the Cuevas Glacier to get onto the ice cap. Having achieved what we could on the ice cap we would make our escape by traversing the Cordillera to Yendegaia, an estancia on the Beagle Channel that I had passed through two years ago, from where we could get boat transport back to Punta Arenas. This is the ferry that makes the long passage from Punta Arenas, winding through the Tierra del Fuegan Archipelago to the Chilean outpost of Puerto Williams on Isla Navarino.
Our plan was naively over ambitious in view of the time and resources at our disposal, and the country we intended to tackle. But the plan looked fine to us on paper, and we liked its shape, being entirely left to our own resources to get back to civilisation. My father had the luxury of the Chilean navy for free transport to the Cordillera across the Magellan straits and to get collected from there. My late and rather limited attempts to gain financial support had borne no fruit, so we could only afford our boat to take us there but not back. The other flaws in the plan, the need for both more time and an inflatable boat and outboard to explore different access points onto the ice cap would become apparent.
I managed to persuade Jorge Gonzales in Punta Arenas to take us across the Magellan Straits to the Admiralty Sound with his converted fishing boat. Jorge is the first of the Punta Arenas fishing fleet to convert from fishing to opening up the tourist potential of the last great wilderness of Southern Patagonia, more in Puerto Natales have already done so. When I called at his house in Punta Arenas I could see that he had reservations about abandoning us to our fate at the head of Bahia Parry, a place surrounded by ice and forest. However I convinced him of our skills and assured him we would survive, make it to the Beagle Channel and that I would call on him on our return. Paddy and Roche who had arrived via Easter Island were already ensconced in Punta Arenas when I arrived, and with the arrival of Bill from New Zealand, Jorge took us 50 km down the coast of Peninsula Brunswick to Puerto Bulnes, where he keeps his boat Cabo Tamar, run by his two sons, Jorge junior and Alisandro. We set out southwards down the uninhabited coast of Peninsula Brunswick, but soon got a taste of weather as we were met by strong South Westerly winds roaring up the Strait. Jorge took us into the perfect shelter of a beautiful forested bay with the unlikely Gallic name of Bougainville, all the names of islands, bays and straits around the Magellan Straits having the names of often forgotten English, Irish, Dutch , Spanish and French sailors. The next day we ventured out again but the winds were still strong so we crept back to our haven. We were anxious to get started, but Gonzales brothers plied us with fine food and wine, and Roche, who was suffering an aeroplane flu, was glad of a respite. We made a foray ashore finding the little used track that leads down to Cabo Froward, the most southerly point on the South American mainland.
In the small hours of the next day the wind abated enough to venture out, and by dawn we made it across the Straits and entered Canal Gabrielle. This is a long narrow strip of water no bigger than a river that separates Isla Dawson from the Gran Isla of Tierra del Fuego, with wild untouched country on either shore. High above us on Tierra del Fuego the ice cap began. By lunchtime we emerged from the narrow Canal and started down Seno del Almirantzago, Admiralty Sound, a huge bay that runs away to the south eastwards from the Straits. We passed the various fjords that cut into the peninsula of the Darwin range to our South. Looking up Broken Bay where my father had been landed forty years ago, Monte Shipton briefly emerged from cloud. In the afternoon we turned into Bahia Parry the last fjord. The hour steaming up the fjord were crucial as we got vital glimpses of the glaciers and mountains around us we hoped to explore. Slowing right down Jorge slipped Cabo Tamar over a sand bar and we entered the Cuevas arm of Bahia Parry. We were soon met by floating ice from the Cuevas glacier that prevented Cabo Tamar going any further, and Jorge dropped anchor by the eastern shore, which we soon identified as the 1970 New Zealand base camp. Immediately we could see how hamstrung we were going to be without an inflatable. A great impassable bluff divided the beach from the head of the Sound, a four hour struggle through forest by land, yet two minutes with a boat. We persuaded the Gonzales brothers to ferry us round the bluff though the floating ice. Here there was a beach with a large river fed by huge unnamed glaciers to the east. Alisandro landed us and all our gear and supplies for six weeks on the side nearest our goal, the ice cap. Jorge was eager to leave fearful of being trapped by weather, which could blow up at any moment, so with a few farewells Cabo Tamar steamed away.
We had engineered an exciting situation. We stood on a spectacular uninhabited shore, separated by sixty miles of the wildest country in the world, some of which has still not yet been fully explored, from the nearest habitation at Estancia Yendegaia, which we had now to reach by our own efforts. Southern Beech forest surrounded our side of the fjord. The water was covered with shifting patterns of ice blocks on which sea lions occasionally basked, joined by flocks of geese and duck. Every few minutes great chunks of ice crash into the water, resounding like canon fire, ejected from the snout of the Cuevas Glacier which tumbles down from the ice cap above. The upper reaches of the ice were shrouded in mist, and our path onto it guarded by thick forest. To the east we could see hints of the glaciers feeding the river, which rushed into the sea where we had landed. Somewhere in that direction was our escape route.
As this was to be our base camp we had brought plenty of supplies. Some had to be carried on the ice cap and some for our trek out to the Beagle. But we could afford to have plenty of luxuries here which wouldn’t have to be carried, such as tins of corned beef and lots of chocolate. Roche, who had been far more diligent at gaining some form of backing, had been given packs of fish lunches by the New Zealand company Back Country. We even had the odd litre of vino tinto to celebrate our arrival. At any rate we were determined not to be like last year on Mount Burney when we had gone a little bit hungry with lunches of three biscuits and a cubic inch of cheese.
Our first problem was to find a route through the forest surrounding our camp to the side of the Cuevas glacier. Finding a way through the primordial forest near the sea is always a feature of travel in these parts. Leaving Roche to carry on recuperating from her jet fever we set off along the shoreline littered with ice. At the end of the beach we started struggling through the Southern Beech forest. There are two dominant species of tree here, lower down the evergreen Nothofagus betuloides and higher up, the deciduous N. pumilio. The under storey is often packed with “Calafate”, the prickly Berberis buxifolia, which made the struggle often painful as well as hard work. The shoreline proved impossibly steep and we were forced to try climbing our way out. This soon became demoralising especially with the rain that had set in. As we struggled over an impossible tangle of branches and thorns covering treacherous little gullies, we had brief glimpses of the ground ahead which seemed to be more of the same in every direction. This depressing scene was mitigated by the spectacular of the ice-strewn fjord opening out beneath us as we climbed. I was just about to advocate plunging down and starting again with a different approach, when we came upon the lead we needed, a guanaco trail. Guanaco, the small ancestor of the llama, are ubiquitous in Southern Patagonia and live in the wildest corners of uninhabited country. Here they had forged a very obvious route from the coast to the open country above the tree line. Our depression turned to elation and we had soon cleared the forest and found ourselves in open moorland. The rain stopped and condors appeared, the huge birds wheeling overhead and gliding close enough or us to look into their eyes and study the intricacies of their wings.
It was strange little Alpine meadow we found ourselves in. Bordered by glaciers on two sides and on another by the massive slabs of rock and ice of a nameless 2135m peak which rose dizzyingly above us. About 5 km of rocky bog the alp is dominated by the heath Empetrum rubrum and great areas of cushion plants, such as Astelia pumila and the bizarre globes of Bolax caespitose. We climbed to a little tarn and got our first views of the country we had landed in. To the South our route onto the ice cap looked hopeful. A few hours of open ground would take us to the moraine of the Cuevas Glacier, which curved out of sight behind the 2135m peak To the east we could clearly survey our escape route. This was a col next to the peak the New Zealand 1970 team had climbed and named Nuevo Ano. The route up a glacier and a snow ramp to the col didn’t seem to present any major problems, which was comforting, although we had no idea of course what it would be like on the other side. The Kiwis had gone over it in 1970 but there was no way of knowing how the ice, which is receding fast here, had changed in 30 years. The glacier from the col fed into a much larger glacier, an impossible looking monster all crevasses, and no easy lateral moraine to travel on. This led the other way round our peak 2135m to country which, as far as I know remains unexplored, a muddle of unnamed mountains and ice feeding the great Stoppani and Vedova glaciers. I had thought it a great option have a look at this “blank on the map”, but finding a way up this great nameless glacier looked all but impossible. To the North we had the breathtaking view of down Bahia Parry, bright blue waters dotted with the ice from the Cuevas glacier below us. On the other side of the water were walls of rock capped with ice that led up to the mist which covered the higher reaches of the ice cap and the great peaks beyond.
The guanaco trail down to the shore was not always distinct and our job the next day was to make a trade route up through the forest to our plateau. We had brought a small hand saw with us to help clear a path, and the next day, while we carried our first loads Paddy, stripped for action, cut a path and marked it with strips of blue plastic bag. There were several points where we got lost, once cutting a route in a false direction, Paddy inadvertently started trampling a little stand of the orchid Codonorchis lessonii. Over the next few days we carried loads up through the forest. It took us a few days to get established at an advanced base camp perched by the lateral moraine of the Cuevas Glacier. Once or twice, as we ferried our supplies across the meadow, along the trail across we had marked with cairns, we spotted our benefactors, a little flock of guanaco making their strange whinnying alarm cries. The weather remained reasonable but the top of the ice cap was always obscured by cloud.
On 30th January we set off up the moraine to find a route onto the ice cap. Setting foot on the glacier we found ourselves in a maze of crevasses both hidden and exposed. A rampart of ice to the south looked dangerous so we attempted to work our way towards the head of the glacier. The crevasses became more and more convoluted as we climbed into mist. Finally the mist cleared just as we had crossed some rather perilous snow bridges and revealed an impossible maze above. We had to admit that our only chance lay in forging a route up the snow ramparts we had passed earlier. It did look full of objective danger but we reckoned we could work a route. We decided to make our attempt the next day. The weather was settled so Paddy and Roche set off at dawn to make the first steps. Bill and I set off an hour later. Emerging onto the glacier we expected to see the other two on the ramp, but were surprised to find them where we had left the cache of skis and sledges we had left the day before. Paddy had started up the ramp, paused for a few seconds, when a great block of ice the size of a car engine smashed passed missing him by a few feet. Paddy, who had had a thousand such near misses before in his career in the SAS and on numerous climbs, was as jovial as ever, unperturbed by this close shave with death. However it was immediately clear that our attempt to get onto the ice cap by the ramp was out of the question. If it was the route onto a peak, which need only be climbed once, that would be one thing, but this had to be a trade route where we had to carry at least three loads.
It was hard to admit defeat so early on in the expedition. However from what we had seen some of the country above us, crevassed and steep, and prone to long periods of white out, we realised that we needed much more time to get to grips with it. We also saw that some sort of water equipment is vital here. From our position it was impossible to the reach the other side the Cuevas glacier, and our only option on this side had proved impassable. Without a boat we couldn’t try other routes onto the ice cap from the other side of the fjord.
However we still had to make the traverse to the Beagle, and had to be there in three weeks for our appointment with the ferry. We felt it was probably just as well that we had plenty of time to make our traverse. Finding routes through forest and across ice takes time and effort and it was good not to have to do everything in a rush. To make a serious attempt at Monte Shipton, we would need to be collected from our base camp and left with an inflatable, in fact just as my father had been.
We spent another day at our advance base camp before carrying gear back to the fjord. We climbed a little way up the nameless mountain behind us. The mist cleared from the ice cap and we got our first views of the two great peaks to the east, our Monte Shipton and Monte Darwin.
Our next goal was finding a way over our escape pass. First Bill and I forded the glacial river next to our base camp. This was fairly manageable in the morning with the flow a little lower, but excruciating nonetheless. We explored a way over the bluff to the New Zealand 1970 base camp beach. According to them it was covered in orchids, poetic license on their part, I think, for the profusion of Primula magellenica or the white Pernyetta pumila we found. Wading naked across freezing torrents is best not done too many times so we opted for a longer route inland from our base camp, up to the nameless glacier. In the next few days working from our base camp we explored various routes through forest and up gullies up to the glacier leading to our col, carrying loads each time. As well as the ice, forest and scrub, beaver dams have become a major feature here, and all over this part of the Tierra del Fuegan archipelago. Beavers were introduced from Canada to be farmed in the Argentine and, having escaped, have become feral. They are an ecological disaster. Their dams flood great areas of valley floor killing the trees. They manage to gnaw through huge sections of timber and decimate the trees in this way as well. Their vast construction works, nearly on a scale with human devastation, make travel even more work. We then carried one load onto the col itself. From our views of the pass a snow ramp led to the top, and it was a simple enough climb apart from threatening blocks of ice tottering above, and a white out which didn’t help matters. Dumping our load on the col, we went back for a well-earned rest day with the floating seals and crashing ice at our base camp. On our last journey up to the col the sky cleared over the ice cap as we climbed up a steep gully. We got one final superb view of the great rising dome of Monte Shipton to the west.
The second ascent to the col was more difficult as the ramp had become hard ice, and then, just as we topped the steep section, one of the tottering blocks fell onto the track we had just made. Leaving a load with most of our food to be collected later, we moved on down the other side of the col, getting our first views of Bahia Blanca and the country beyond. We hoped the receding ice would not present too many problems for our descent. We found a gently sloping ice field which was pleasing, but near the end of the glacier the crevasses increased to become a maze, and we realised we were perched above an ice fall. Getting down looked near impossible, but after attempting rather hideous ice gullies Paddy and Bill found an extremely fortuitous scrambling route round the side of the ice. It was gratifying to have crossed our first hurdle. Looking around for a camp in the glacial rubble was problematic and it was only when I climbed a huge bank of moraine that I found an ideal eyrie. The moraine channelled a stream above us creating a tiny meadow. Here we spent two nights waiting for the weather to clear so that we could retrace our steps to the col to collect our food.
Leaving our eyrie we carried only single loads. There was plenty of moraine to struggle over before we eventually left the glacier for the forest and bog below which we suspected would be hard going. From above we had seen the maze of little beaver dam lakes. In fact travel wasn’t too bad. Faint guanaco trails led through the forest and keeping close to the bank of the river proved a good technique for avoiding tussocky bog and the red cushiony moss or turba, as well as most of the beaver dams. In a day we were well onto the plain of Bahia Blanca at a point where our river joins the large fast flowing glacial outflow of the great Vedova glacier.
Roche and I walked across to inspect this. We saw immediately that getting to the snout of the glacier on this side would mean hours of forest bashing with unknown difficulties beyond. Across the river was a clear flat plain. The river had to be crossed, and it was a daunting prospect as it was wide and fast flowing. We all inspected the river and decided the crossing point we would attempt in the morning when glacial rivers are always lower after the cold of a night. Just after dawn we packed hurriedly, naked except for boots. Linking arms we waded across. The water proved to be waist deep and manageable in a group, though agonizingly cold. We carried on tramping for an hour or so to shake the ice from our loins before making camp on the other side of the rocky plain. Having crossed the pass and the river, we rewarded ourselves with a day relaxing on the plain, while guanaco and Fuegian foxes that wandered past our camp. We explored the snout of the Vedova glacier which ends in a huge glacial lake with great walls either side. It would have been impossible to climb over it. Walking towards the sea I climbed a small hill and looked over the blue waters of Bahia Blanca fringed by a long beach.
Our way next led up a small valley to the South East behind Monte Vedova, a 2000m peak above the glacier. It was slow work moving through dense Nothofagus bush, negotiating an endless tangle of branches and rocky outcrops, and we spent a night in this forest. Here again the steep valley is infested with beavers, whose construction works made progress even more difficult, the dams flooding any flat spaces. The trees felled by the beavers were everywhere and made the tangle even worse. We cursed the idiots who introduced these creatures to Tierra del Fuego, and devised a host of schemes for eradicating them. At last, as we approached the head of the valley, the country opened out, and after plenty more bush and beaver dams we climbed out onto the watershed. Glaciers flowed down on both sides from the peaks above. To the South East of this pass the Lapataia River flows to Lago Roca, a freshwater lake half of which lies in Argentina, on the edge of the Beagle Channel. The weather was clear and the mountains on either side enticing, so we planned a day exploring. But during the night the temperature dropped suddenly and a blanket of heavy snow fell. By morning we were covered with two or three feet of the white stuff. A day later the snow had gone and we moved on down the valley. Thick tangles of Nothofagus antarctica had to be fought through, but crossing the Lapataia river, we started finding guanaco trails which made progress through the forest and low tree scrub much quicker. On the second day we started finding signs of feral cattle, the first indications therefore of human presence. The Estancia Yendegaia we were heading for was a cattle station set up more than a hundred years ago. Over the years cattle have escaped into the bush. Now the estancia has been taken over by an ecological foundation who are attempting to clear the cattle from the bush. That evening we arrived and camped at an outpost of the Estancia, Puesto Lata, a tin hut I had passed two years before on a walk across the Cordillera that had led east. That evening horsemen from the estancia turned up on their way to Lago Roca looking for cattle. One of the vaqueros was Jose who I had met on my last trip here and witnessed my riding skills when I managed to roll down a bank onto a Calafate bush with my horse on top of me.
The next day was actually sunny and hot and we spendt it by the tin hut. I climbed the ridge 1000m above us collecting some Primula magellenica seed on the way. The views were stunning up the Lapataia Valley we had just come down and the other way across Lago Roca and into Argentina. Most spectacular though was the view to the western ramparts of the Cordillera Darwin, Monte Bove first climbed by my father in 1963 and Roncagli climbed by Hillebrandt in 1990.
Our travails were not over. The boys from the estancia had mentioned that the river draining the Stoppani Glacier was high. The river with horses had been difficult enough, but crossing on foot with loads was going to be a problem. They passed us as we walked the Valle Traversal that connects Valle Lapataia with Valle Stoppani on their way back to the estancia, and Jose promised they would come and help us across the next day. We arrived on the shores of the river, which was wide and fast, twice as big as the Vedova river. Linking arms we made an attempt and were nearly swept away. We decided to wait for the horses and set up camp. Immediately we were attacked by swarms of mosquitoes, which must have arrived here with the introduction of horses and cattle, as there are none in the uninhabited country. In the morning the river was if anything a little higher, and it was hard to see how we could cross even with horses. In any case our friend Jose didn’t appear on the other shore. It was frustrating, as I recognised the little mound above the end of Yendegaia Bay on the BeagleChannel, the end of our journey, no more than two hours walk and wade away. Being impatient and not keen on spending another day in a tent hiding from mosquitoes, I decided to swim across and summon horses or perhaps a small boat from the estancia. Paddy furnished me with a dry bag for a few clothes, and selecting a crossing point further down stream, I set off across the icy torrent. I started flagging near the end and was beginning to feel I would swept away when I touched bottom on the other side.
Waving to the others I tramped the final miles, wading a second glacial river flowing from the glaciers around Monte Roncagli, and across the marshy plain of Yendegaia flats into the estancia. I was greeted by Ivette Martinez, who is managing the estancia, and her new partner Kiko, who were wondering whether we had survived. Jose’s failure to arrive was explained as the estancia was just then undergoing an official visit from the mayor of Puerto Williams.
With the river so high even crossing with horses was impossible but Kiko had a tiny inflatable raft, a dry suit and a pair of flippers. We rode back on horses and roused the others from the tents where they were hiding from the clouds of mosquitoes. With his gear Kiko swam across and ferried the others and our packs across. We had arrived at the Beagle and our march was over. Three days later the ferry called and we made the fabulous cruise west through the Beagle and round the western end of Tierra del Fuego back to Punta Arenas.
It had been a great trip even though we had signally failed to get near my father’s mountain. Once again I was powerfully struck by another of his achievements. At least we had a measure of what was needed to do further exploration in this wild and beautiful part of the world much of which still remains unexplored. Passing through Santiago on my way home, on an off chance I called the number I had for one my father’s great climbing partners Cedomir Marangunic. Cedomir and his friend Eduardo Garcia, who died recently in an accident on an Antarctic glacier, were with my father not only on Shipton/Darwin but also on the great traverse of the Southern Patagonia ice cap. Calling from a street phone box I was amazed to get through and went to meet him It was wonderful to hear from the horses mouth some of the background to these expeditions which I had failed to glean from my father when he was alive, how he inspired others, and how he allowed others to inspire him to achieve great things. Cedomir said about the naming of Shipton/Darwin merely that they were just happy call the great nameless mountain they had conquered Darwin, since it was the highest peak in the range. As to my concern that this left a problem of what to call the original Darwin he just smiled. His son in law Mario suggested that perhaps it should be Mrs Darwin. An interesting precedent I suppose, but I have put in my proposition to call their mountain Shipton, and whether anything comes of it I may find out one day. Cedomir also said that he frequently tried to persuade my father to climb in the Cordillera Darwin in the Southern winter. Although the days are short, the weather is usually stable and clear, without so much of the horrendous winds and mists of the summer, whilst the snow and ice conditions would be much better. This is food for thought for future attempts to explore and climb in this wonderful country.
John Shipton
July 2002
In February 1962 my father, Eric Shipton, climbed all three parts of the highest peak of the Cordillera Darwin in Tierra del Fuego with three Chilean companions Cedomir Marangunic, Eduardo Garcia, and Francisco Vivanco. A full account of the expedition is given in the Alpine Journal November 1962 publication as well as in the last chapter of his book “Land of Tempest.” Not only was this the first ascent but also probably the first attempt to get near this peak guarded on all sides from the Beagle Channel to the fjords to the north by ice cap. To his day the Darwin Range, a chain of mountains nearly as long as the Alps, covered in ice and rearing up straight from the sea, remains remarkably untrammelled by climbers. The chief reason for this is its inaccessibility, mostly natural, but in part political. Access can only be made by sea in a region suffering atrocious weather conditions. The greater part of the range is on a peninsula in the Chilean half of Tierra del Fuego, and mutual suspicion with Argentina has prevented land crossing from the now populated Argentine half of the island.
At the time the highest peak of this formidable range, placed at 54 24 S 69 51 W, had no official name. The Instituto Geographico Militar of Chile 1:250,000 map printed in 1954, the only cartographical resource used by the team at the time, merely marks the elevation point at 2469m. More recently the peak has been marked with elevation 2470m on the ridge map published by the French Laboratoire de Glacologie in Grenoble , and 2662m on the Japanese map of the range which has contours delineating the three parts all climbed by my father and his team in 1962 and referred to by them as I, (2662m) II & III.
In honour of the fact that their peak, is the highest point of the range they decided to call it Monte Darwin. However by doing so he left cartographers with a problem. My father acknowledged in his report that another peak (IGM marked altitude 2438m) further south (54 46S 69 29W) was already called Monte Darwin. The Italian mountaineer Alberto de Agostini himself marks it as such on his maps, and the IGM map names this peak Co Darwin. The reason seems to be that for a long time it was assumed to be the highest peak in the range, and was far more prominent from the Beagle Channel the most frequently navigated water around the Cordillera. My father and his team were happy nevertheless to transfer the name to their peak, the higher by around 40m. Although this satisfied the team at the time it left the problem of what to name the original Monte Darwin, and the situation does not appear to have been officially resolved. The problem was particularly important to the New Zealand Tierra del Fuego expedition of 1970, which made the first ascent of that (Agostini’s) Monte Darwin. They neatly resolved the situation by continuing to call their peak as Monte Darwin whilst referring to my father’s Monte Darwin as Monte Shipton.
The situation at present remains confused. Maps which are of a large enough scale to show the various peaks of Cordillera Darwin, of which there are few, are divided. Some retain Agostini’s Co Darwin and leave Monte Shipton/Darwin un-named while others have made my father’s transfer and left the old Monte Darwin un-named (the Japanese), and others have adopted the 1970 New Zealanders naming, for example the Chilean 123 Entel series map “ Cabo Froward”. To me the New Zealand solution seems the best as it both distinguishes the two peaks clearly and honours my father’s first ascent and his many achievements in Patagonia
In January this year I set out to have a good look at the two mountains with three New Zealanders, Paddy Freaney, and Rochelle Rafferty who had both come with me on our Mt Burney venture last year, and Bill King a veteran of Himalayan mountaineering like Paddy. I was motivated of course to retread some of my father’s illustrious footsteps, but the Kiwis were keen to have a look at the ground of the 1970 expedition which has become something of a legend amongst their climbing compatriots. We planned to traverse the Cordillera Darwin from Admiralty Sound to the Beagle, whilst making attempts to climb either Monte Shipton or, if not, to have a go at Monte Darwin. We would hire a boat from Punta Arenas to take us across the Magellan Straits and land us in Bahia Parry off Admiralty Sound at the site of the 1970 New Zealander Base Camp and make our attempt via the Cuevas Glacier to get onto the ice cap. Having achieved what we could on the ice cap we would make our escape by traversing the Cordillera to Yendegaia, an estancia on the Beagle Channel that I had passed through two years ago, from where we could get boat transport back to Punta Arenas. This is the ferry that makes the long passage from Punta Arenas, winding through the Tierra del Fuegan Archipelago to the Chilean outpost of Puerto Williams on Isla Navarino.
Our plan was naively over ambitious in view of the time and resources at our disposal, and the country we intended to tackle. But the plan looked fine to us on paper, and we liked its shape, being entirely left to our own resources to get back to civilisation. My father had the luxury of the Chilean navy for free transport to the Cordillera across the Magellan straits and to get collected from there. My late and rather limited attempts to gain financial support had borne no fruit, so we could only afford our boat to take us there but not back. The other flaws in the plan, the need for both more time and an inflatable boat and outboard to explore different access points onto the ice cap would become apparent.
I managed to persuade Jorge Gonzales in Punta Arenas to take us across the Magellan Straits to the Admiralty Sound with his converted fishing boat. Jorge is the first of the Punta Arenas fishing fleet to convert from fishing to opening up the tourist potential of the last great wilderness of Southern Patagonia, more in Puerto Natales have already done so. When I called at his house in Punta Arenas I could see that he had reservations about abandoning us to our fate at the head of Bahia Parry, a place surrounded by ice and forest. However I convinced him of our skills and assured him we would survive, make it to the Beagle Channel and that I would call on him on our return. Paddy and Roche who had arrived via Easter Island were already ensconced in Punta Arenas when I arrived, and with the arrival of Bill from New Zealand, Jorge took us 50 km down the coast of Peninsula Brunswick to Puerto Bulnes, where he keeps his boat Cabo Tamar, run by his two sons, Jorge junior and Alisandro. We set out southwards down the uninhabited coast of Peninsula Brunswick, but soon got a taste of weather as we were met by strong South Westerly winds roaring up the Strait. Jorge took us into the perfect shelter of a beautiful forested bay with the unlikely Gallic name of Bougainville, all the names of islands, bays and straits around the Magellan Straits having the names of often forgotten English, Irish, Dutch , Spanish and French sailors. The next day we ventured out again but the winds were still strong so we crept back to our haven. We were anxious to get started, but Gonzales brothers plied us with fine food and wine, and Roche, who was suffering an aeroplane flu, was glad of a respite. We made a foray ashore finding the little used track that leads down to Cabo Froward, the most southerly point on the South American mainland.
In the small hours of the next day the wind abated enough to venture out, and by dawn we made it across the Straits and entered Canal Gabrielle. This is a long narrow strip of water no bigger than a river that separates Isla Dawson from the Gran Isla of Tierra del Fuego, with wild untouched country on either shore. High above us on Tierra del Fuego the ice cap began. By lunchtime we emerged from the narrow Canal and started down Seno del Almirantzago, Admiralty Sound, a huge bay that runs away to the south eastwards from the Straits. We passed the various fjords that cut into the peninsula of the Darwin range to our South. Looking up Broken Bay where my father had been landed forty years ago, Monte Shipton briefly emerged from cloud. In the afternoon we turned into Bahia Parry the last fjord. The hour steaming up the fjord were crucial as we got vital glimpses of the glaciers and mountains around us we hoped to explore. Slowing right down Jorge slipped Cabo Tamar over a sand bar and we entered the Cuevas arm of Bahia Parry. We were soon met by floating ice from the Cuevas glacier that prevented Cabo Tamar going any further, and Jorge dropped anchor by the eastern shore, which we soon identified as the 1970 New Zealand base camp. Immediately we could see how hamstrung we were going to be without an inflatable. A great impassable bluff divided the beach from the head of the Sound, a four hour struggle through forest by land, yet two minutes with a boat. We persuaded the Gonzales brothers to ferry us round the bluff though the floating ice. Here there was a beach with a large river fed by huge unnamed glaciers to the east. Alisandro landed us and all our gear and supplies for six weeks on the side nearest our goal, the ice cap. Jorge was eager to leave fearful of being trapped by weather, which could blow up at any moment, so with a few farewells Cabo Tamar steamed away.
We had engineered an exciting situation. We stood on a spectacular uninhabited shore, separated by sixty miles of the wildest country in the world, some of which has still not yet been fully explored, from the nearest habitation at Estancia Yendegaia, which we had now to reach by our own efforts. Southern Beech forest surrounded our side of the fjord. The water was covered with shifting patterns of ice blocks on which sea lions occasionally basked, joined by flocks of geese and duck. Every few minutes great chunks of ice crash into the water, resounding like canon fire, ejected from the snout of the Cuevas Glacier which tumbles down from the ice cap above. The upper reaches of the ice were shrouded in mist, and our path onto it guarded by thick forest. To the east we could see hints of the glaciers feeding the river, which rushed into the sea where we had landed. Somewhere in that direction was our escape route.
As this was to be our base camp we had brought plenty of supplies. Some had to be carried on the ice cap and some for our trek out to the Beagle. But we could afford to have plenty of luxuries here which wouldn’t have to be carried, such as tins of corned beef and lots of chocolate. Roche, who had been far more diligent at gaining some form of backing, had been given packs of fish lunches by the New Zealand company Back Country. We even had the odd litre of vino tinto to celebrate our arrival. At any rate we were determined not to be like last year on Mount Burney when we had gone a little bit hungry with lunches of three biscuits and a cubic inch of cheese.
Our first problem was to find a route through the forest surrounding our camp to the side of the Cuevas glacier. Finding a way through the primordial forest near the sea is always a feature of travel in these parts. Leaving Roche to carry on recuperating from her jet fever we set off along the shoreline littered with ice. At the end of the beach we started struggling through the Southern Beech forest. There are two dominant species of tree here, lower down the evergreen Nothofagus betuloides and higher up, the deciduous N. pumilio. The under storey is often packed with “Calafate”, the prickly Berberis buxifolia, which made the struggle often painful as well as hard work. The shoreline proved impossibly steep and we were forced to try climbing our way out. This soon became demoralising especially with the rain that had set in. As we struggled over an impossible tangle of branches and thorns covering treacherous little gullies, we had brief glimpses of the ground ahead which seemed to be more of the same in every direction. This depressing scene was mitigated by the spectacular of the ice-strewn fjord opening out beneath us as we climbed. I was just about to advocate plunging down and starting again with a different approach, when we came upon the lead we needed, a guanaco trail. Guanaco, the small ancestor of the llama, are ubiquitous in Southern Patagonia and live in the wildest corners of uninhabited country. Here they had forged a very obvious route from the coast to the open country above the tree line. Our depression turned to elation and we had soon cleared the forest and found ourselves in open moorland. The rain stopped and condors appeared, the huge birds wheeling overhead and gliding close enough or us to look into their eyes and study the intricacies of their wings.
It was strange little Alpine meadow we found ourselves in. Bordered by glaciers on two sides and on another by the massive slabs of rock and ice of a nameless 2135m peak which rose dizzyingly above us. About 5 km of rocky bog the alp is dominated by the heath Empetrum rubrum and great areas of cushion plants, such as Astelia pumila and the bizarre globes of Bolax caespitose. We climbed to a little tarn and got our first views of the country we had landed in. To the South our route onto the ice cap looked hopeful. A few hours of open ground would take us to the moraine of the Cuevas Glacier, which curved out of sight behind the 2135m peak To the east we could clearly survey our escape route. This was a col next to the peak the New Zealand 1970 team had climbed and named Nuevo Ano. The route up a glacier and a snow ramp to the col didn’t seem to present any major problems, which was comforting, although we had no idea of course what it would be like on the other side. The Kiwis had gone over it in 1970 but there was no way of knowing how the ice, which is receding fast here, had changed in 30 years. The glacier from the col fed into a much larger glacier, an impossible looking monster all crevasses, and no easy lateral moraine to travel on. This led the other way round our peak 2135m to country which, as far as I know remains unexplored, a muddle of unnamed mountains and ice feeding the great Stoppani and Vedova glaciers. I had thought it a great option have a look at this “blank on the map”, but finding a way up this great nameless glacier looked all but impossible. To the North we had the breathtaking view of down Bahia Parry, bright blue waters dotted with the ice from the Cuevas glacier below us. On the other side of the water were walls of rock capped with ice that led up to the mist which covered the higher reaches of the ice cap and the great peaks beyond.
The guanaco trail down to the shore was not always distinct and our job the next day was to make a trade route up through the forest to our plateau. We had brought a small hand saw with us to help clear a path, and the next day, while we carried our first loads Paddy, stripped for action, cut a path and marked it with strips of blue plastic bag. There were several points where we got lost, once cutting a route in a false direction, Paddy inadvertently started trampling a little stand of the orchid Codonorchis lessonii. Over the next few days we carried loads up through the forest. It took us a few days to get established at an advanced base camp perched by the lateral moraine of the Cuevas Glacier. Once or twice, as we ferried our supplies across the meadow, along the trail across we had marked with cairns, we spotted our benefactors, a little flock of guanaco making their strange whinnying alarm cries. The weather remained reasonable but the top of the ice cap was always obscured by cloud.
On 30th January we set off up the moraine to find a route onto the ice cap. Setting foot on the glacier we found ourselves in a maze of crevasses both hidden and exposed. A rampart of ice to the south looked dangerous so we attempted to work our way towards the head of the glacier. The crevasses became more and more convoluted as we climbed into mist. Finally the mist cleared just as we had crossed some rather perilous snow bridges and revealed an impossible maze above. We had to admit that our only chance lay in forging a route up the snow ramparts we had passed earlier. It did look full of objective danger but we reckoned we could work a route. We decided to make our attempt the next day. The weather was settled so Paddy and Roche set off at dawn to make the first steps. Bill and I set off an hour later. Emerging onto the glacier we expected to see the other two on the ramp, but were surprised to find them where we had left the cache of skis and sledges we had left the day before. Paddy had started up the ramp, paused for a few seconds, when a great block of ice the size of a car engine smashed passed missing him by a few feet. Paddy, who had had a thousand such near misses before in his career in the SAS and on numerous climbs, was as jovial as ever, unperturbed by this close shave with death. However it was immediately clear that our attempt to get onto the ice cap by the ramp was out of the question. If it was the route onto a peak, which need only be climbed once, that would be one thing, but this had to be a trade route where we had to carry at least three loads.
It was hard to admit defeat so early on in the expedition. However from what we had seen some of the country above us, crevassed and steep, and prone to long periods of white out, we realised that we needed much more time to get to grips with it. We also saw that some sort of water equipment is vital here. From our position it was impossible to the reach the other side the Cuevas glacier, and our only option on this side had proved impassable. Without a boat we couldn’t try other routes onto the ice cap from the other side of the fjord.
However we still had to make the traverse to the Beagle, and had to be there in three weeks for our appointment with the ferry. We felt it was probably just as well that we had plenty of time to make our traverse. Finding routes through forest and across ice takes time and effort and it was good not to have to do everything in a rush. To make a serious attempt at Monte Shipton, we would need to be collected from our base camp and left with an inflatable, in fact just as my father had been.
We spent another day at our advance base camp before carrying gear back to the fjord. We climbed a little way up the nameless mountain behind us. The mist cleared from the ice cap and we got our first views of the two great peaks to the east, our Monte Shipton and Monte Darwin.
Our next goal was finding a way over our escape pass. First Bill and I forded the glacial river next to our base camp. This was fairly manageable in the morning with the flow a little lower, but excruciating nonetheless. We explored a way over the bluff to the New Zealand 1970 base camp beach. According to them it was covered in orchids, poetic license on their part, I think, for the profusion of Primula magellenica or the white Pernyetta pumila we found. Wading naked across freezing torrents is best not done too many times so we opted for a longer route inland from our base camp, up to the nameless glacier. In the next few days working from our base camp we explored various routes through forest and up gullies up to the glacier leading to our col, carrying loads each time. As well as the ice, forest and scrub, beaver dams have become a major feature here, and all over this part of the Tierra del Fuegan archipelago. Beavers were introduced from Canada to be farmed in the Argentine and, having escaped, have become feral. They are an ecological disaster. Their dams flood great areas of valley floor killing the trees. They manage to gnaw through huge sections of timber and decimate the trees in this way as well. Their vast construction works, nearly on a scale with human devastation, make travel even more work. We then carried one load onto the col itself. From our views of the pass a snow ramp led to the top, and it was a simple enough climb apart from threatening blocks of ice tottering above, and a white out which didn’t help matters. Dumping our load on the col, we went back for a well-earned rest day with the floating seals and crashing ice at our base camp. On our last journey up to the col the sky cleared over the ice cap as we climbed up a steep gully. We got one final superb view of the great rising dome of Monte Shipton to the west.
The second ascent to the col was more difficult as the ramp had become hard ice, and then, just as we topped the steep section, one of the tottering blocks fell onto the track we had just made. Leaving a load with most of our food to be collected later, we moved on down the other side of the col, getting our first views of Bahia Blanca and the country beyond. We hoped the receding ice would not present too many problems for our descent. We found a gently sloping ice field which was pleasing, but near the end of the glacier the crevasses increased to become a maze, and we realised we were perched above an ice fall. Getting down looked near impossible, but after attempting rather hideous ice gullies Paddy and Bill found an extremely fortuitous scrambling route round the side of the ice. It was gratifying to have crossed our first hurdle. Looking around for a camp in the glacial rubble was problematic and it was only when I climbed a huge bank of moraine that I found an ideal eyrie. The moraine channelled a stream above us creating a tiny meadow. Here we spent two nights waiting for the weather to clear so that we could retrace our steps to the col to collect our food.
Leaving our eyrie we carried only single loads. There was plenty of moraine to struggle over before we eventually left the glacier for the forest and bog below which we suspected would be hard going. From above we had seen the maze of little beaver dam lakes. In fact travel wasn’t too bad. Faint guanaco trails led through the forest and keeping close to the bank of the river proved a good technique for avoiding tussocky bog and the red cushiony moss or turba, as well as most of the beaver dams. In a day we were well onto the plain of Bahia Blanca at a point where our river joins the large fast flowing glacial outflow of the great Vedova glacier.
Roche and I walked across to inspect this. We saw immediately that getting to the snout of the glacier on this side would mean hours of forest bashing with unknown difficulties beyond. Across the river was a clear flat plain. The river had to be crossed, and it was a daunting prospect as it was wide and fast flowing. We all inspected the river and decided the crossing point we would attempt in the morning when glacial rivers are always lower after the cold of a night. Just after dawn we packed hurriedly, naked except for boots. Linking arms we waded across. The water proved to be waist deep and manageable in a group, though agonizingly cold. We carried on tramping for an hour or so to shake the ice from our loins before making camp on the other side of the rocky plain. Having crossed the pass and the river, we rewarded ourselves with a day relaxing on the plain, while guanaco and Fuegian foxes that wandered past our camp. We explored the snout of the Vedova glacier which ends in a huge glacial lake with great walls either side. It would have been impossible to climb over it. Walking towards the sea I climbed a small hill and looked over the blue waters of Bahia Blanca fringed by a long beach.
Our way next led up a small valley to the South East behind Monte Vedova, a 2000m peak above the glacier. It was slow work moving through dense Nothofagus bush, negotiating an endless tangle of branches and rocky outcrops, and we spent a night in this forest. Here again the steep valley is infested with beavers, whose construction works made progress even more difficult, the dams flooding any flat spaces. The trees felled by the beavers were everywhere and made the tangle even worse. We cursed the idiots who introduced these creatures to Tierra del Fuego, and devised a host of schemes for eradicating them. At last, as we approached the head of the valley, the country opened out, and after plenty more bush and beaver dams we climbed out onto the watershed. Glaciers flowed down on both sides from the peaks above. To the South East of this pass the Lapataia River flows to Lago Roca, a freshwater lake half of which lies in Argentina, on the edge of the Beagle Channel. The weather was clear and the mountains on either side enticing, so we planned a day exploring. But during the night the temperature dropped suddenly and a blanket of heavy snow fell. By morning we were covered with two or three feet of the white stuff. A day later the snow had gone and we moved on down the valley. Thick tangles of Nothofagus antarctica had to be fought through, but crossing the Lapataia river, we started finding guanaco trails which made progress through the forest and low tree scrub much quicker. On the second day we started finding signs of feral cattle, the first indications therefore of human presence. The Estancia Yendegaia we were heading for was a cattle station set up more than a hundred years ago. Over the years cattle have escaped into the bush. Now the estancia has been taken over by an ecological foundation who are attempting to clear the cattle from the bush. That evening we arrived and camped at an outpost of the Estancia, Puesto Lata, a tin hut I had passed two years before on a walk across the Cordillera that had led east. That evening horsemen from the estancia turned up on their way to Lago Roca looking for cattle. One of the vaqueros was Jose who I had met on my last trip here and witnessed my riding skills when I managed to roll down a bank onto a Calafate bush with my horse on top of me.
The next day was actually sunny and hot and we spendt it by the tin hut. I climbed the ridge 1000m above us collecting some Primula magellenica seed on the way. The views were stunning up the Lapataia Valley we had just come down and the other way across Lago Roca and into Argentina. Most spectacular though was the view to the western ramparts of the Cordillera Darwin, Monte Bove first climbed by my father in 1963 and Roncagli climbed by Hillebrandt in 1990.
Our travails were not over. The boys from the estancia had mentioned that the river draining the Stoppani Glacier was high. The river with horses had been difficult enough, but crossing on foot with loads was going to be a problem. They passed us as we walked the Valle Traversal that connects Valle Lapataia with Valle Stoppani on their way back to the estancia, and Jose promised they would come and help us across the next day. We arrived on the shores of the river, which was wide and fast, twice as big as the Vedova river. Linking arms we made an attempt and were nearly swept away. We decided to wait for the horses and set up camp. Immediately we were attacked by swarms of mosquitoes, which must have arrived here with the introduction of horses and cattle, as there are none in the uninhabited country. In the morning the river was if anything a little higher, and it was hard to see how we could cross even with horses. In any case our friend Jose didn’t appear on the other shore. It was frustrating, as I recognised the little mound above the end of Yendegaia Bay on the BeagleChannel, the end of our journey, no more than two hours walk and wade away. Being impatient and not keen on spending another day in a tent hiding from mosquitoes, I decided to swim across and summon horses or perhaps a small boat from the estancia. Paddy furnished me with a dry bag for a few clothes, and selecting a crossing point further down stream, I set off across the icy torrent. I started flagging near the end and was beginning to feel I would swept away when I touched bottom on the other side.
Waving to the others I tramped the final miles, wading a second glacial river flowing from the glaciers around Monte Roncagli, and across the marshy plain of Yendegaia flats into the estancia. I was greeted by Ivette Martinez, who is managing the estancia, and her new partner Kiko, who were wondering whether we had survived. Jose’s failure to arrive was explained as the estancia was just then undergoing an official visit from the mayor of Puerto Williams.
With the river so high even crossing with horses was impossible but Kiko had a tiny inflatable raft, a dry suit and a pair of flippers. We rode back on horses and roused the others from the tents where they were hiding from the clouds of mosquitoes. With his gear Kiko swam across and ferried the others and our packs across. We had arrived at the Beagle and our march was over. Three days later the ferry called and we made the fabulous cruise west through the Beagle and round the western end of Tierra del Fuego back to Punta Arenas.
It had been a great trip even though we had signally failed to get near my father’s mountain. Once again I was powerfully struck by another of his achievements. At least we had a measure of what was needed to do further exploration in this wild and beautiful part of the world much of which still remains unexplored. Passing through Santiago on my way home, on an off chance I called the number I had for one my father’s great climbing partners Cedomir Marangunic. Cedomir and his friend Eduardo Garcia, who died recently in an accident on an Antarctic glacier, were with my father not only on Shipton/Darwin but also on the great traverse of the Southern Patagonia ice cap. Calling from a street phone box I was amazed to get through and went to meet him It was wonderful to hear from the horses mouth some of the background to these expeditions which I had failed to glean from my father when he was alive, how he inspired others, and how he allowed others to inspire him to achieve great things. Cedomir said about the naming of Shipton/Darwin merely that they were just happy call the great nameless mountain they had conquered Darwin, since it was the highest peak in the range. As to my concern that this left a problem of what to call the original Darwin he just smiled. His son in law Mario suggested that perhaps it should be Mrs Darwin. An interesting precedent I suppose, but I have put in my proposition to call their mountain Shipton, and whether anything comes of it I may find out one day. Cedomir also said that he frequently tried to persuade my father to climb in the Cordillera Darwin in the Southern winter. Although the days are short, the weather is usually stable and clear, without so much of the horrendous winds and mists of the summer, whilst the snow and ice conditions would be much better. This is food for thought for future attempts to explore and climb in this wonderful country.
John Shipton
July 2002
Southern Patagonian Ice Cap
SOUTHERN PATAGONIAN ICE CAP 2009
Between 7th December and 28th December last year (2009) Cory Jones, Martin Akhurst and myself made a crossing of the Southern Patagonian ice cap between Ventisquero Jorge Montt and Paso Marconi by Monte Fitzroy.
My father reckoned that his crossing of the Southern Ice Cap was one of the toughest of all his many journeys. The icecap takes on the worst weather in the world outside the polar regions with a constant battering of massive wind and precipitation. On rereading sections of Land of Tempest I can report that weather conditions haven’t improved!
Having been following up a few of my father’s trips in the last few years I hadn’t really considered the ice cap, since mustering the necessary technical skills seemed out of my reach. However early in 2009 I got an email from Cory Jones who was inspired to redo my father’s route, that is from the Northern edge by the great Jorge Montt glacier to Estancia Christina by Lago Argentina in the south. Since Eric’s crossing with Marangunic, Garcia and Ewer in 1960/1 the North South crossing has been done six times but not following his route.
I tentatively asked Cory if he’d like to drag me along and he very kindly said I could join him and his group. Originally Jesse Marsden was hoping to by the first woman to do the traverse. She did a lot of research and ground work but unfortunately other commitments got in the way so we were three, the other member being Martin Akhurst . Both Martin and Cory had experience in Patagonia, Martin’s many climbing exploits including an ascent of Fitzroy. It was a great luxury to leave thinking and planning to Cory and Martin, and through last year they managed to acquire clothing, crampons and other bits of equipment from various kind sponsors and the three sledges we used. Vitally Martin got us sorted with the necessary permission for our trip from the Chilean authorities. The three of us met up in the summer for some rock climbing and, for me, much needed practice with rope work, as well as a couple of pints and, as we were near Leeds, a trip to Headingly for the first day England thrashing in the first day of the test. We met again in Shrewsbury in November to have a look at the plastic sledges we were going to use. Martin and Cory had decided against using either skis or snowshoes. All in all our preparations were very much in the “back of the envelope” Shipton/Tilman spirit.
The wonders of modern transport meant that five days after leaving our homes we were camped on a remote un-named lake west of the snout of Jorge Montt glacier that flows north from the ice cap.
The three of us had set off from the UK on various flights on December 2nd and met up the next day via Buenos Aires in Comodoro Rivadavia on the Patagonian Atlantic coast. In Buenos Aires Martin and I were met by Peter Bruchhausen an Argentinean who had been to the ice cap with Eric in 1960 and made the first ascent with him of Montes Bove and Francis in Tierra del Fuego with John Earle, an expedition beautifully illustrated on John’s film Mountains of Glass. Peter took me out to lunch in town regaling me with stories of my father. He was most concerned with our not taking snow shoes, an unwarranted concern in the light of our subsequent experience.
In the oil town of Comodoro Rivadavia we shopped for the bulk of our food supplies as there would be limited resources in our Chilean part of the journey. We were careful not to buy meat or fruit products which the Chilean customs would confiscate at the border. The next day we were on an early bus across the Patagonian desert, passed forests of nodding donkeys pumping oil, and by lunch we reached Los Antiguos on the border with the Andes ahead. The border crossing took some time so it was late afternoon by the time we were dumped with all our mountains of gear and food in Chile Chico in Chile. From here we had to make a several hundred kilometre journey south via Cochrane to Tortel on the Canal Baker, However the next bus to Cochrane left in four days time and transport to Tortel non-existent. Help was soon at hand as we found Luis Ventura who housed us in his hotel and we booked him and his 4 x 4 to take us all the way to Tortel for a reasonable sum. The drive south along Lago General Carrera was spectacular with the completely clear skies revealing the snow covered peaks to the north. The rain shadow maquis plants soon gave way to the, for me, familiar high rainfall vegetation of Chilean Patagonia dominated by Nothofagus forest. We reached reached Tortel by evening, an extraordinary place on its fjord off Canal Baker with the streets composed of walking platforms. The settlement was until recently only approached by sea, and based on the wholesale exploitation of fish and virgin forest particularly the once great stands of the valuable “ Cipres de la Guaitecas”, Pilgerodendron uviferum. Both are now heavily depleted and the town is now just beginning to turn its mind to tourism to exploit the fabulous country around. That evening we found Daniel and Emilia who agreed to take us across Canal Baker the following day.
In the morning we made our required visit to the Gendermaria armed with our document from the Chilean navy. The policeman duly noted our departure but I’m not sure he had a real understanding of our intentions and there was no mention of getting stamped out of Chile. Still we had done our dues to the authorities.
The weather was still spectacularly clear and calm for our crossing and by lunch we had landed on the southern shore to the east of Jorge Montt glacier at the Estancia Zoela of the Landeros family. Signor Landeros junior and his mates took us in another small boat to cut through the icebergs flowing out of the glacier. Landing at a tiny bay on the western side of the glacier we made a portage of a dinghy, outboard and all our gear to the unnamed lake. The boys then ferried us 5 km to its Northern shore, and left us to our task. It was with great satisfaction that we settled down in our first camp, indulging in our final boxes of Vino Tinto under a completely clear sky with a fabulous display of the Southern heavens. We were now entirely committed to the ice cap, out of communication with the rest of the world and the only way back to civilisation being a crossing of the huge ice sheet to the south.
The first task was to forge a route through the surrounding trackless bush onto the ice. Loaded with about 30 kg, half our gear and food, we headed off into the bush. Lower down some of this must be secondary growth since any “Cipres” had been probably been stripped years ago. Whatever the case we were soon tangling with the usual mixture of Chilean Patagonian shrubs dominated by the prickly ericaceous Gaulteria mucronata, Pernyetta species and Empetrum rubrum. Dotted all the way through the bush Embothrium coccineum the Chilean Firebush was in flower with scarlet Proteaceous blooms any British gardener would die for. As we got higher Nothofagus pumilio forest provided some relief until we gained a rocky, boggy ridge that led us onto glacial moraine and finally a camp site within striking distance of the glacier. It was exhausting work but the weather held good and we were even in danger of sunburn. Despite my heavy load I couldn’t help recording the bright red flowers Ourisia poeppigii growing in glacial steams, a beautiful plant not yet in cultivation in European gardens. Having gained the ridge we could see a much more plausible route back by a 2km long tarn flowing into our base camp lake. Dumping our loads we just had time to look over the great Jorge Montt glacier and see the huge ramp of snow and ice far to the south that marked the edge of the ice cap proper. Wading round the tarn we plunged back through the forest to our base.
The marvellous weather held for our second and final load to our first mountain camp. Avoiding a spectacular waterfall we had passed on the way down, we got heavily embroiled with our loads and sledges in more prickly ericaceous bush losing some of our fuel in the process. Finally regaining the tarn stream we lumped our loads up to and round the tarn and up to our moraine camp. My assessment of the rocks to get a picture of the bedrock that underlies the icecap was fairly perfunctory with all the work we had to do, and I could only glean that it is a massive jumble of metamorphics, all a product of the ongoing Andean uplift.
The next day we scrambled our loads onto the glacier and loaded them. The sledges, plastic moulds designed for tobogganing, and which Martin and Cory had found in a mail order catalogue on the internet, worked perfectly. They were big enough for our loads and had side handles for attaching bags which were ideal. Despite rough handling and encounters with rocks on the lower part of the glacier only one developed a few cracks at the end of the trip. Roping up, we started hauling them up Ventisquero Jorge Montt. The country was spectacular in the clear weather we experienced for the next few days. The glacier is heavily crevassed all the way from snout to the great ice fall 15 miles away, the rampart that marked the edge of the ice cap proper. A string of peaks line both sides, and four tributary glaciers tumble into it from both east and west. We were committed to the western side since any crossing below the ice fall looked extremely hazardous if not impossible. However this side was by far the better one to be on. By keeping to the edge we could avoid the worst of the crevassed region but there was a lot of zigzagging to do, and slow work. It took four days to reach the base of the great ice fall.
With the weather holding good we got in to a good rhythm setting up camp in Martin’s Norwegian design tent. He slept in the porch and so commanded the stove. During the day on the glacier we roped up and with my limited rope experience Cory and Martin took turns at leading with me in the middle. Our first night’s camping on ice were reasonably warm and we could melt snow in the plastic moulding of the sledges for our water supply. Approaching the ice fall the weather started to give. At first it produced a murky atmosphere and it started to get difficult finding a way through particularly crevassed areas. On the fourth day we reached the base of the ice fall and used the only feasible route up. This involved parking the sledges and carrying double loads up a steep ramp. Pitching a camp at just under 1000m we had a stunning view all the way down to Canal Baker and to roughly where we had started a week before.
The next day we had a taste of things to come as we woke up to a complete white out. Martin and Cory reckoned this to be a good excuse for a rest day. The cloud dissipated however in the afternoon and I made a foray 200m above us to get a view of our track onto the ice cap. The next day the windless white out had settled on us again, and it wasn’t until early afternoon that a little visibility started returning. Following my footprints from the previous day gave us a start, thereafter we walked with the compass either the leader concentrating on the needle or helped by the occasional glimpse the cloud allowed us. With the whole ice cap ahead of us we took a due south bearing. This led us passed the crevasses above the ice wall and, crossing another higher glacier coming in from the SSW, we went to the east of a dividing massif. A steady climb took us onto the shoulder of this massif and by evening having climbed to 1200m the ground levelled. The cloud cleared a little and looking back down the whole length of Jorge Montt we reckoned we had finally made it onto the ice cap.
In the morning a dense windless mist had settled again, but we set out pulling our loads due south in total white out. Having attained the ice cap the danger of crevasses was largely gone so we travelled without rope and could all take turns leading. The leader not only had to work new snow but also endure the barked commands of Left – Right from the guys behind adjusting our course. Although the leader had to work much harder making tracks in the snow, once they were made, the walking was quite comfortable and for the whole trip I think the absence of snow shoes was not an issue. The nature of the snow constantly changes, depending on the most recent snow dump and air temperature. Sometimes we walked on solid ice where huge winds had blown away all the snow. Skis would have been the other option although how well they would work whilst dragging our loads we have to discover on another trip, but carrying them up the glacier along with the sledges would have cost considerable effort.
It is always a strange feeling travelling without visibility especially in snow. Although the rational mind knows the compass is always correct one still has the eerie feeling of walking in huge circles. The world of constant whiteness has a mirage making effect. Phantom horizons appear and disappear and the imagination creates an imaginary world beyond the little circle available to the eyes.
At this point our GPS began to prove its worth as an invaluable navigation aid. Without any visual aids we would otherwise have no idea how far we had come and indeed whether we hadn’t just been travelling in circles! In fact that first white out day we had achieved a mere 3minutes of latitude southwards or about 6 km but much of it had been a slog uphill and we were now at nearly 1400m. Our compass work had been remarkably accurate which was gratifying. One always wonders how previous explorers such as my father managed without new technology such as GPS!
That night our first Patagonian storm blew up. I had visions throughout the night of our gear outside being swept way to oblivion but Martin’s tent held firm, pegged down with ice axes, poles and a variety of other hardware. This first onslaught of wind had the effect of blowing away the cloud and we emerged from an igloo like refuge at dawn to be greeted by awesome vistas of the ice cap. We could see clear to the ranges east and west that bounded the ice. Straight ahead was our first nunatak and we could see that we had stopped for the night just in time to avoid bumping into it. After two days of zero visibility it was a wonderful experience to wake up and see where we were, and what a wonderful place! In the morning a hard 200m pull up took us onto a ridge marking the northern rim of the ice cap and the ice shed of Jorge Montt. To the south was an enormous ice lake and we could just make out the great peak of Lautaro 40 miles away, the volcano at the heart of Hielo Sur which my father and companions witnessed erupting 50 years ago. Thoroughly elated we headed across this glorious landscape towards some nunataks, one of which I liked to name Emilia after the pretty girl we were with across Canal Baker, although Martin disapproved of naming anything on this pristine landscape so rarely troubled by the presence of human beings. In this huge country perspective and distance is very hard to gauge, and although we travelled towards Emilia for hours we never seemed to get closer. Late in the afternoon dark swirling murk rolled across the snow from the north and we quickly made a camp in the middle of this sea of snow.
That was the last we saw of the world for two days. Great winds brought in a complete white out again together with copious snow which half buried us. Navigating in a white out is one thing, but contending with blinding winds as well is another, so we had to turn in on ourselves. We had four books to share and a pack of cards as a diversion. I had also brought a little cribbage board so for two days we read, played cards and melted snow for our cordon bleu porridge, polenta and Smash diet. On the second day I awoke and caught a fleeting glimpse of Emilia and annoyed Martin and Cory by trying to rouse them from whatever dream world they were inhabiting. But the cloud and snow rolled in and we stayed put. Occasionally I felt a strong feeling of claustrophobia, and a presentiment that perhaps this was the default weather system of the ice cap here, and it was almost a relief to occasionally brave the wind and snow to perform bodily functions and clear some of the snow pressing in on the tent.
To our joy and relief the third day dawned with a cessation of the wind and glorious visibility. Struggling out of the tent we again had fantastic views across the ice field in sunshine, and we set to exhuming tent and gear from the snow with our priceless aluminium shovel. The freezing temperatures meant our feet didn’t sink into snow and made pulling sledges an effortless pleasure. Emilia glided by and on the other side of her we even got to toboggan down slopes. We contoured around a crevassed region and carried on due south. Early afternoon saw mist swallowing our horizons and we were back on the compass. We soon found ourselves pulling steeply up hill and changed course to the East a little. The visibility cleared at this point to reveal that we had been heading towards a huge nunatak really a small peak. The dark rock stood out in the mist and was a stunning sight with all its ledges draped in snow. Our more easterly bearing allowed us to toboggan down the slope of this peak. After a hasty lunch, the usual biscuit and salami flavoured with salted peanuts, the cloud rolled back and we were back to hauling on the compass. We soon seemed to be back on an inexorable upward pull and by early evening felt ready for tent and tea.
It had been a fabulous day and our GPS told us we had advanced a good 13 minutes of latitude south, nearly 20km. However that night the old wind and driving snow returned. Again we were trapped in the tent for the day with no visual concept of what the world looked like outside. Dawn broke and at least the wind had eased, so we dug ourselves out again and started pulling on the compass again. This time we hauled with a bearing of 130o magnetic (14o E deviation in this region) to try and get away from that upward slope which we suspected led towards the Lautaro massif. A nasty sticky powdery snow, with an inexorable upward slope, despite our new bearing, made things hard going The wind returned as well and by mid afternoon we were all getting exhausted . Cory had started getting deep cold, so we hurriedly pitched camp in the driving wind which was quite a struggle. The white out and wind continued the next day so we were trapped again for the day.
On the 23rd December we were determined to move whatever the conditions. Thankfully the wind had eased. After digging ourselves out, a process that took a good hour and half, we carried on hauling by the compass and then to our relief the cloud lifted a little and we finally got a view of our position. Our navigation had been perfect and we could see what looked like a pass dead on our bearing. The trick of perspective eventually showed the pass to be an illusion. Slowly the cloud lifted a little more revealing the great Lautaro above us to the south, and the “pass” to be an enormous gap between the mountain and the chain of smaller peaks to the east. By early afternoon Lautaro was almost entirely unveiled, an enormous several peaked mountain draped with ice and snow. From its general appearance one could perhaps see its volcanic nature, but with the weather so temperamental any attempt to approach it to get a rock sample would have been be a major effort and distraction from just making an ice cap crossing. I felt as elated as I have ever been in my life to be in this place. The thought of my father having walked passed here nearly fifty years ago and that so few people had ever been here since was a wonderful feeling. I was so enthused that pulling the sledge lost all its effort, and Martin wondered whether I had taken some sort of artificial stimulant as I got rather far ahead in the lead. We took a few moments to take pictures before continuing up a steady upward slope to the “pass”. In a few hours the weather rapidly closed in and we were forced to camp. How Lautaro was ever climbed is a wonder since one would have to be exceptionally lucky to be here in rare stable weather or wait perhaps fruitlessly for ages, as my father and his team had done.
Our camp that night was at 1500m and, as the weather showed that night, exposed to winds from all directions. They screamed at us from unexpected points of the compass and funnelled piles of snow into our porch where Martin was sleeping. On Christmas Eve morning Martin abandoned the porch and struggled into our inner tent with me and Cory. With our porch buried in snow conditions in the tent were distinctly uncomfortable, so despite the continuing winds we decided we simply had to move on. The packing up operation was the most difficult yet and it felt good just to start hauling again, by the compass as usual.
It was particularly strange weather. We actually had blue skies above us but the wind kicked up so much snow that it kept us down to the familiar zero vis. At least it was directly behind us and we started navigating almost entirely by wind direction as it coincided with our course. It was a relentless wind, even pausing for water and a bit of salami was hard work. By early evening it was my turn to start the feeling of cold creeping into my bones. By evening I was starting to get hypothermic. The wind showed no sign of abating so, reluctant to attempt a camp, we pushed on into late evening. By this time the lack of vision and cold started giving me mild hallucinations, and I imagined this Christmas Eve I was walking in a snow buried English landscape with the odd church knocking around. Eventually we all had to stop but in the screaming wind tent erection was frantic. A rip developed in the outer sheet, and since I could do little else I was commissioned to hold the rip together while the boys struggled to get the tent sorted. This seemed to take an eternity, after which we had to consider the rip I was holding. Getting out a needle and thread in these conditions was nonstarter, and duck tape wouldn’t stick with all the clinging snow. Martin rescued the situation with a piece of lateral thinking phenomenal in any conditions let alone 90mph winds on an ice cap. He used spent plastic fuel bottles and screwed the ripped fabric between bottle and cap. The outer porch was still uninhabitable so Martin squeezed in between me and Cory and we got warm and cosy with the wind outside.
With the tent ripped we realised that we had no choice now but to make our escape off the ice cap, and in one move, since we couldn’t risk another camp. In fact on some of our trapped days we had considered before the possibility of getting off by Fitzroy. After our progress passed Lautaro this notion had evaporated but with a ripped tent the decision was made for us. I calculated a 22km haul to a point on the map on the Marconi glacier, entirely feasible given half reasonable conditions.
Christmas day dawned. At least the wind had eased but there was still no visibility. We considered making our move late in the morning but were all rather unenthusiastic. I was just beginning to feel internal warmth returning and suffering finger frost nip so made the casting vote for waiting a day. Besides I had some tiny Christmas gifts to unwrap from my daughters, and Cory produced a card and little cakes from his girlfriend, so we spent the day engrossed in cribbage and dreams.
Boxing Day was thankfully superbly kind to us. The wind had eased and we could see where we were. Gone were the churches, and snow bound holly. We were in a vast snow field bound to the south by a low mountain range which was what my father had dubbed Cordon Pio XI for some reason, but now marked as Cordon Gaea on one map. To the ESE was what turned out to be Cerro Marconi Norte, the end of Cordon Marconi that shields the Western side of the Fitzroy massif. Martin was convinced that this was a continuation of Cordon Pio XI and we had agreed to head on a more southerly 130o to avoid any impediments before turning East. I concurred, although I had noted what appeared to me to be the Marconi pass. I was almost convinced by Martin’s idea until the whole chain of mountains of the Marconi range opened out. We just had time to make the decision to head East before the cloud rolled in and we were back to the compass. After heading east for several hours the cloud cleared and we could see our pass off the ice cap and we knew we were on our way home.
We still had a lot of work to do, first a long haul up the giant snow slope that is the Paso Marconi and the Argentine border. At the top we had our last look back at the ice cap we had crossed, a sight which gave us wonderful feeling of achievement. It was great to start emerging into the outside world again and to be touching rock instead of ice and snow. Again there was scant time to ponder the geology and I only had time to note what seemed to be sedimentary but heavily metamorphosed strata, the rock lower including some granite.
The Marconi glacier soon appeared below us and we started tobogganing towards it. On the final slope the boys hurtled down on their sledges and disappeared from view. I was a bit more circumspect and gently landed on a granite platform. There was no sign of Cory or Martin and I was convinced they had disappeared into an abyss. Edging across the steep snow slope above the glacier I found them struggling back up waist high snow, Cory having landed a few feet from a drop. By the time we had all struggled back to my ledge evening was coming on so after a couple of hours vainly searching for an easy way down we elected to try the tent once more. The ice cap was not finished with us yet, and more blasts of wind roared down at us. I had to perform my role again of holding the rip while our battered tent was erected. The next day was calm again and we reconnoitred the area for a good way down to the glacier. Our explorations were a great pleasure, with spectacular views of Fitzroy and its accompanying spires with Lago Electrico below. The country beyond, free of ice and snow was a relief to our snow dazzled eyes. In the end we opted for negotiating the ramp the other two had nearly fallen down, and just as we were breaking camp a Japanese couple appeared, our first contact with people. Evidently we were now on a regular trekking route! The descent to the glacier caused no problems, and half way down we let our sledges and loads hurtle down to the bottom on their own. Across the glacier Martin disappeared down a crevasse but came to no harm. It was amazing we had crossed the ice cap with only one crevasse fall.
Reaching the terminal moraines of the glacier we had to start carrying all our gear. Although most of the food had gone the loads were fairly gigantic, rope, climbing gear, and tent, the loads can’t have been less than 35 kg. Martin was extra keen to make the Nothofagus forest below Lago Electrico to dry out and it was hard work keeping up with him. Despite the gruelling loads it was a fine walk beneath Fitzroy and around Lago Marconi and Lago Electrico. Overjoyed to come across living things again I had to record the flora we started coming across. The first spectacular plant was a stand of Naussavia magellenica on Lago Marconi , a spiky composite with great garden potential. On the way over to Lago Electricso Gaultheria and Escalonia shrubs were in flower, and lots of the scarlet Ourisia poeppigii we had seen in Chile. Beyond Lago Electrico the open ground was covered with the blue purple Lathyrus magellenicus. We caught up with Martin setting up camp in the first trees of the Nothofagus pumilio forest and we enjoyed our first night off the ice.
The next day we made the final march to the road head. Despite the heavy loads I was enchanted by the marvellous summer woodland flowers. Sheets of yellow Calceolaria biflora, and Viola magellenica greeted my plant starved eyes along with great stands of the white orchid Codonorchis lessonii and Anemone multifida. We carried our great loads to the new road that now connects Lago Desierto with the Chalten. Just down the road was the charming estancia La Pila and we clumped in to the elegant hosteria with our climbing boots and were furnished with a vehicle to Chalten.
Chalten has gone through a massive transformation since Cory was here five years ago. Tourism has created a sudden boom town and we were in a state of culture shock for several hours by the mass of people rushing around bent on the pleasures Monte Fitzory offers. That evening we were able to conclude our trip by a visit to the Gendarmeria to register our entry to Argentina. The policeman in charge was somewhat confused and started giving us exit stamps instead but our official entry was passed without demur which was a great relief. After a few days in Chalten taking in the marvellous country, still a pleasure despite the hordes swelled considerably by half the population of Israel, we went on our separate travels in Argentina.
We did have some regrets in having to cut short our traverse. Martin in particular had voiced his willingness to continue after tent repairs and restocking. I felt the same way after indulging in the fleshpots of Chalten, copious wine and massive Argentinean steaks. However we agreed that we had done the hard part, having crossed 120km of ice, a piece of the earth’s surface travelled only a handful of times since my father’s journey fifty years before. In any case the last part to Lago Argentino is done on a regular basis and there are even refuges on the ice cap further south. Nevertheless on returning home the urge to do more on the ice cap has re kindled and if I can find the people I may well return. Finally I am extremely indebted to Martin and Cory whose skills and dreams allowed me to experience the great Southern Patagonian Ice cap.
John Shipton
Y Felin, February 2010
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