Tierra del Fuego means Land of Fire. I think it is most inappropriate, because the only fires are inside. My suggestion for a new name is Tierra del Viento Frio, Land of Cold Wind.
Today has been an excellent example. It´s perishing out there, even though the wind is not strong. Not by local standards, anyway.
In the morning I shivered my way along to the Yamana and Municipal Museums, which educated me in the ways of the local indigenous people. In Tierra del Fuego as a whole there were four groups. They were all hunter-gatherers, but had different languages and not all other aspects of their cultures were the same. One group, the Selknam, lived mainly on the grassland of the main island, hunted guanaco and wore skins. One small, and now totally extinct, group, the Haush, occupied the far eastern end of the main island, hunted guanaco and lived off the sea. The other two groups, the Alcaluf and Yahgan (or Yamana), lived solely on what they could harvest from the sea. They never allowed their fires to go out, even in their bark canoes, which is pretty amazing.
The fires, along with a coating of sea lion fat, were what kept them warm in the absence of clothes. These ubiquitous fires were what prompted the first visiting European to christen the locality Tierra del Fuego.
There were no chiefs and food was shared amongst all irrespective of who brought it in. Labour was shared. The children would occupy the centre of the canoe, keep the fire going and bale out the excess water. The mother paddled from the back and Dad stood in the bows with his harpoon at the ready. Men made the canoes but the women maintained them. It was also the women who moored the vessels to kelp and swam ashore at the end of the expedition. Only women could swim.
Although violence between europeans and amerindians seems to have been very infrequent, it did occur in both directions. However, it was european hunting of their main food sources and european diseases that caused the steep decline in numbers of the indigenous folk.
Is that enough anthropology for today?
Having explored the Beagle Channel on Thursday, yesterday I turned my sights inland and went on a tour by 4x4. I noted with interest that the Argentine tour operator used Land Rovers. Animosity toward the English does not extend to prejudice against a British vehicle.
We were a party of four, accommodated in relative comfort in a new vehicle, which compared very favourably with the seating provisions made in Bolivian 4x4s two months ago. My companions were a young man from Michigan who had been living in Buenos Aires for six months and a pair of newlyweds. Aah, wasn´t that nice? Chris is English and Mercedes is a Buenos Aires native. Clearly not all Argentinians bear a grudge. They live and work in London. They had recently had their second marriage in a Buenos Aires church. The first was a civil ceremony in London - so all the relatives got to one celebration or the other.
All the other passengers spoke better Spanish than I do. This was crucial because our driver/guide, Juan, spoke no English.
I was sold the tour with a promise that there would be an English-speaking guide. Oh well. It was just bad luck that I found Juan difficult to understand. Sometimes I can follow Spanish-speaking guides quite well.
A second Land Rover with 6 tourists (I think) had a lively young driver who spoke quite a bit of English and even knew the proper English names for the larger birds we saw.
We were headed to see mountains, forests and lakes. At our first photo stop to admire a view there was graffiti on the stonework, "Ingleses = Pirates". Grinning hugely Chris ran to be photgrphed standing beside it. Mercedes liked the joke so much she could hardly hold the camera steady.
Next we paused at a winter activity centre, looking rather forlorn without any snow. Huskies and Alaskan dogs are bred there to pull sleds. We passed what I guess was a sawmill, with me straining to follow why the logs were left in the lake to absorb water when the wood was later dried in an oven (if I understood correctly).
Then we left the main road, four-wheel drive was engaged and the serious business of the day commenced. The forest track got worse and worse the further we went. I guess the drivers are recruited primarily for their ability to handle the vehicles and both of them relished the ruts, deep mud and crazy angles on steep slopes that we encountered. I noticed that when they chose to tilt the camionettas to the side it was always with the driver´s side uphill. I was in the front passenger seat so I would have borne the brunt of any miscalculation.
Along the way we were told of the miseries caused by the release of 50 pairs of Canadian beavers. There is no accurate beaver census, but the numbers are certainly in the tens or hundreds of thousands. With no predators the beavers are gnawing their way through the native nothofagus (southern beech) trees at a great rate. We drove along a valley that was a succsssion of beaver dams and stopped at one point to inspect the chewed stumps. It seemed like the whole valley was a mess of trees felled so that the beavers could chomp the bark.
Eventually we arrived at Lago Fagnano and drove straight into it! Why have a high wheel base vehicle and not play with it was the drivers´ attitude. Smiling broadly at our surprise, Juan backed out of the water and released us to our own devices for half an hour or so. While I scoured the lake shore and the forest for birds (several species but no ticks) the drivers built a fire and prepared an asado (Argentinian BBQ).
We were fed steak, chorizo sausages and wine. There was actually fruit for dessert (vegetable matter other than bread, potatoes or unimaginative salads are scarce in Argentine restaurants) and a choice of hot drinks. Juan promoted the mate. It must be very bitter because I had to add sugar.
Our afternoon route went along, or in, the lake before following a rather tame track back to the road. But we were not done yet. There was Lago Escondido to admire and, if we wished, paddle a canoe on. I don´t like canoes much anyway, and by now it was cold and drizzly so I declined. In fact only three hardy souls, all from the other vehicle, chose to brave the chilly waters. While they got wet the rest of us went into the lakeside hotel and clustered by the fire.
Eventually the canoeists squelched in to join us and were given immediate access to the huge fireplace, where they steamed and waited for the blood to return to their fingers.
I thought this was the end of the tour but no, we took the scenic route back to the main road. Initially this was simply a rough track, where we saw a fox, the Michiganer´s first, but the trail quickly deteriorated. It was steep, strewn with rubble from barely cleared slips and offered plenty of other hazards that only a 4x4 could attempt. There was even a patch of snow left over from winter.
Finally we did rejoin the main road adjacent to Ingleses = Pirates and this time it truly was the end of the tour. We followed the tarmac back to Ushuaia.
Tomorrow, Sunday, is election day in Argentina and the start of my journey back to NZ. Well, it feels like it. I shall be going North and using the first sector of my Lan Chile air tickets that will eventually return me to Auckland. However, there are three weeks still for adventures and I´m sure they will not be dull. I have spent part of today investigating cruises in the Chilean fjords. One, the most expensive, is already fully booked. I have two enquiries still waiting for answers.
Because of tomorrow´s election I am told that bars will not open tonight and restaurants will not serve alcohol. However, I am sure they will still serve meat.
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