Isla Navarino Trek, Tierra del Fuego

Location:  Isla Navarino, south of Tierra del Fuego

Rundown:  Spent a week slogging through everything the end of the world has to offer.

At the end of the world is a city called Ushuaia.  South of Ushuaia is an island called Isla Navarino.

On the expensive zodiac ride there I met a French Canadian, Alexandre who was planning to do a trek in the same area.  At the ranger station they convinced us to team up for a little security in the unpredictable bush.

We were dumped off in Puerto Williams, a tiny Chilean military community.  The last bastion of hope if the Argentine Rubber Ducky Flotilla invades Isla Navarino.  Found the river we'd be shadowing and followed it south out of 'town' up into the endless wet greenery of Valle Windhond.

This is the onset of my beaver hatred.  They look cute enough, slapping their tails on the water, but after they were introduced to Tierra del Fuego in 1946 in hopes of starting a fur trade, the beavers overpopulated the predator-less land and have wreaked havoc on the trees.   

 

We had to inch our way over slick, downed logs with full packs on, circumvent huge ponds and marshes, and leave deep, muddy, sucking tracks due to these furry little bastards.  Not cool.

 

Hiked up through the valley Windhond that cuts through the Dientes de Navarino mountain range from the north side of the island to the south.  Beautiful and stark, the Fugean wilderness was both fabulous and daunting to be immersed in.

Made it soaking wet up to the high pass for the night.  As luck would have it, the wind was low and the temperature relatively high (~14C).  We set up bivys and made food as the southern sky darkened.

Woke in the morning to clear skies.  We packed up with haste trying to take advantage of as much bright and dry kilometers as possible.

Along the way encountered the remains of an old refugio, downed by fire.  Good thing we weren't planning to stay the night.

The final push was through 3 km of Mario style vegetation mounds separated labyrinthine red, stagnant water atop bottomless sludgy ooze.  I could hear the early digital music as I jumped precariously from one mushroom-like growth to the next with my heavy pack. 






Made it to Refugio Charles, a wooden shelter with a couple of funky bunks, a rigged up potbellied stove, and not much else.  It had a good solid roof, although the sideways rain still came in between the log walls.  But the was wood for a fire and protection from the punishing wind.

Spent the next days drying our gear, walking the swampy lands surround Lago Windhond, and trying to fish for Patagonian trout.  They only laughed at us....  On the sign leaving the refugio door, someone had written the following directions.  The next day we went left.

After leaving Refugio Charles and two hours clambering over huge timbers in an immense beaver knockdown trying to find the trail.  Once we did we wished we hadn't.  Spent a few hours climbing through thick, muddy, forested hills, the temp dropped and the wind increased as we gained elevation.

Even before the treeline the rain turned to sleet, but once we climbed in the open over the karst hills it turned to driving snow.  A few cairns marked our path.  We had to play leapfrog, one person keeping the last marker in sight while the other searched in the snow for the next.  Commandeered our socks for mittens as another layer against the wind.

  

 

Through the high pass the wind was impossibly strong.  It ripped off my pack cover, tore at our faces, and tried to shove us off the steep scree field.  The stinging hail was impossible to see through.  The wind through the pass reduced the insulation in my three jackets to nothing.  This was a true harrowing moment.  Alex and I found a tiny refuge, shook it off, and regained our nerves.

Eventually found our way into a valley where the wind abated.  Downside was the snow turned back into rain.  Exhausted, we hastily ate a hot dinner then climbed into cold bivys for the night.

The temperature dropped throughout the night which soaked through our wet bivys.  Woke to snow in the morning.  Spent little time getting up and afoot to warm up.  Nothing like uphill climbing to get the blood back into your hands and feet.

Wandered again through the barren karst region, this time without being immersed in clouds, which gave some epic scale to the emptiness of Tierra del Fuego.

Skirted along side one steep snowfield around one of the high lakes in the Dientes, kicking steps.  With pack on and only poles to self arrest, we weren't very keen on swimming.

 

Nice to spend some time among the snow and rocks and cold.  Reminded me of home.  Northern Michigan was good preparation for this, as was Montreal, according to Alex.

Alex was great to partner with.  He never grumbled, was a strong hiker, and always had a little bit of chocolate when the cold and wind was kicking my ass.  Too bad 'canucks' are jerks and we didn't get along very well, eh?

But every story has an ending, and soon enough we were on our way back down off of the Dientes de Navarino.  As we decended, snow turned to rain, karst to mud.  We followed a stream then a river then a cascade down and out of the mountains.

And soon enough we were back on a trail, then a two-track, then a dirt road (no paved roads anywhere!) hiking back to Puerto Williams were we found an actual bed and an actual meal!  I seem to look dismayed at the huge steak sandwich and liter of beer.  Fatigue does strange things to elation.

Our expensive zodiac ride back across the Beagle Chanel was slated for the next day.  We showed up early in the morning but the wind was whipping the sea into a froth and they told us the port in Ushuaia had been closed.  Sort of like a snow day for seafarers.  So we spent an extra day on Navarino wandering around the little fishing town and checking out the little, but quite nice, local history museum.

The next day the winds had calmed, and my plane almost left without me.  Fernando from Ushuaia Boating saved my tail by driving me from the docks straight to the airport and sweet talking me onto the plane after they had close the check in!  Whew!   It was a mad rush out of Tierra del Fuego, and into Patagonia!