In a nice change from the norm, we manage to leave the field station on time this morning. But that doesn’t mean we leave the harbor straight away. We load our gear back onto the trusty Don José Miguel and essentially move back in and then we do a little last minute grocery shopping. As we enter the Beagle Channel I am surprised by the rough seas. I look to the skies, which don’t look particularly threatening, and decide to blame the turbulence on our running perpendicular to the waves, rather than parallel. But, even when we turn west, into the wind, the choppiness continues. That said, it cannot delay lunch.
This is our last day on the north shore of Isla Navarino. The weather forecast bodes well for an ascent of Pico de la Bandera. As predicted, we get a slow start to the morning. Blanka and Laura are driven out to Puente La Cascada to see if they can find more interesting hepatics where they found the Lethocolea. Ernesto then heads to his 8:30 appointment with the naval commander to see about getting us permission to access the three islands east of Navarino; Pictón, Nueva, and Lennox islands. He then returns to pick up Blanka and Laura who have indeed found several additional interesting liverworts. Next, a stop to retrieve some laundry, then a stop to pick up lunches from a local store, and then finally we reach the trailhead for the ascent of Pico de la Bandera around 11:30 a.m.
The day breaks overcast and drizzly which is a sort of relief; at least now I know that some alien climate has not taken residence in Patagonia! Today is the first day we have to fix our own breakfast, which leads to a late start and only an hour and a half to collect at our first site, which, according to last night’s plan will be on the north shore highway. We now have to hope that tomorrow will prove better for ascending Pico de la Bandera.
It is raining only lightly when we head out, but soon the skies open and we drive through a steady rain all morning. Our first site is Vuelta de Perro, about 18 kilometers east of town. It is a very wet site with lots of downed logs. I had been here about 10 years ago and thought it would be a good place to take the group. Since I have been here before and collected extensively, I focus only on the small things, finding lichenicolous fungi and even a couple of fungi over bryophytes, all the while keeping an eye out for interesting mosses. The site proves a little disappointing when compared to our previous pristine sites. It has been heavily disturbed by tree cutting and grazing cattle. Plus, it’s our first day out in the rain.
I wake up at 5 a.m. and get out of bed. I know sunrise is around this time and that we will be arriving in Puerto Williams shortly thereafter. My early morning is well rewarded; the sunrise is gorgeous, increasing in intensity of pale yellows, pinks, and oranges all on a pale blue palette. The temperature is warm–I am comfortable standing on the upper deck in just my sleeping clothes. The captain and I wave at each other and both go back to our own thoughts. In the distance, on the left (south) shore is a small group of lights that I think must be Puerto Williams and when I point at them the captain confirms my assumption.
Several hours earlier I was up at 1:30 a.m., and to the north the whole coast was ablaze with lights over a large area: Ushuaia. Tiny Puerto Williams provides quite the contrast to Ushuaia. Puerto Williams’ population is around 2,200, which, in actuality, is the population of the entire province with the vast majority of those people living in this, the province’s only town. Puerto Williams is not only the provincial capital of Antártica Chilena, it is also the largest southernmost permanent settlement in the world (there is actually a very small town somewhat further south that is attainable only by ship and that we’ll visit later). It is also a navy town and run by the military for all practical purposes. I first came to Puerto Williams in 2000 and the town has scarcely changed in the intervening years. Indeed, it probably hasn’t changed much in a considerably longer time.
Today is our day to hit the northeast coast of Península Hardy. We moored last night in Bahía Tekenika and left for the peninsula at 5 a.m. We had been told it would take 3-4 hours to reach our first site, but we arrive at 7:30 a.m. Only Blanka and I are up and about. The day promises to be beautiful once again, with partly cloudy skies, almost no wind, and surprisingly warm temperatures. Everyone is complaining about how warm they are inside their rubber rain gear. It would be great if this weather holds up though, but given my previous experience, I cannot be too optimistic.
Our first site is Bahía Allen Gardiner (55°24’S, 68°19’W), named for an early British missionary who, while dying of starvation, maintained his diary and his optimism about establishing a settlement in this region.
It’s been a long day. Initially we planned to leave Seno Ponsonby at 3 a.m, but instead at 10 p.m. we travel for an hour and then tie up to some rocks for the night, leaving again at 5 a.m. and arriving at our current location around 8:30 a.m. The captain and motorman spent most of yesterday working on some mechanical problem I didn’t understand until this morning when I learned that one of the ship’s two batteries would not recharge. This placed a limit on various electrical functions. It appeared as if we might need to go to Puerto Williams early and have someone fly in to fix it. However, miracle Nano (the motorman) managed to fix it today. Apparently this is why we had been traveling in daylight, because the loss of charge was affecting the navigational equipment. I was a bit nervous about all this and chose not to discuss it with the group. Fortunately, everything now seems fine.
All this activity means a slow start this morning. However, about 10:30 we ferry ashore to find one of the most difficult terrains I have ever tried to traverse. There are more downed trees than standing ones, stacked one on top of another at every conceivable angle. In addition, there are numerous large boulders. The whole landscape is coated with a carpet of hornworts, adding a highly precarious nature to our collecting because they are intensely mucilaginous.
The boat starts moving at about 6 a.m. and we arrive at our destination at 7:30. We anchor between Isla Hoste and a smallish island with a big name, Isla Grande, in Ponsonby Sound. As usual, I picked out today’s locality almost by random on the map. The region is immense and we can only sample a very small percentage of it, so we try to find localities of various vegetation types and moisture gradients in order to find as much of the diversity as possible. And then we hope for the best!
This morning I am lured to a small dark-looking forest in a small cove on Isla Grande. The maps and the captain all indicate that there is no stream anywhere on this island. However, as we approach the shore, it is obvious there is indeed a stream–shallow, but by all indications a permanent watercourse. Within moments of walking up the stream–one of the many advantages of rubber boots–it becomes clear this is a nice site. It is a small, rocky stream heavily shaded by the mature southern beech forest. Since most of the rocks are bryophyte-covered, they aren’t slippery and so it is easy to make my way upstream.
We don’t move to today’s locality until this morning. The ship starts up at 6 a.m. for the five hour trip to Bahía Helada. I am told the bay is so named because in winter it completely freezes over with the ice reaching 6 inches thick. Fortunately it’s now summer! Because it is so late when we arrive, I ask if we can have an early lunch before heading into the field. Unfortunately lunch can’t be ready until 1:30 p.m., so we all head into the field for a couple of hours first. Blanka and Laura decide to forgo lunch completely and try to reach some higher elevations.
A large hummock of Sphagnum magellanicum
Most of the group heads to a Sphagnumpeatland while I choose a coastal southern beech forest with a large epiphyte component. The weather is surprisingly nice and mostly sunny, though a few spits of rain fall. The problem with nice weather is that it is hard to dress for because invariably it will get worse and no one wants to be out in the field with inadequate clothing.
On the edge of the forest I find mostly epiphytes, almost all of which are mosses. However, as soon as I enter the forest, it becomes strongly hepatics-dominated and so I switch gears and start primarily picking up hepatics, lichens, and fungi that grow on the two. Somehow in the scant two hours I find 50 things to collect.
Not too surprisingly after yesterday’s physical exertion, we are all slow to get up this morning. Much to my delight, I am not nearly as stiff as I had expected I might be, but several others are. After a leisurely breakfast, I offer two options to the group, go into the field in the morning and the afternoon, or spend the morning processing the previous day’s collections–since no one did that last night. I am the only one to stay on the ship. I want to insure that the Serka Glacier collections are dry, or at least on the dryer, before gathering more. Being the only scientist to stay on the ship, I am able to process all 90 of yesterday’s collections; get them on the dryer; empty the dryer of earlier, now dry collections and move them to the engine room for storage; and catch up on the blog.
We arrange for the horses to be ready at 9 a.m. Initially the crew tell us it will cost about $30 to rent a horse for a day, but the ranchers counter with $50. This is more than I am prepared to spend, but with some negotiation we settle on $40 for each of the seven horses plus a guide for the day. I decide $280 is well worth the opportunity to access an area in our flora region that otherwise would be unreachable.
In a nice change from the norm, we manage to leave the field station on time this morning. But that doesn’t mean we leave the harbor straight away. We load our gear back onto the trusty Don José Miguel and essentially move back in and then we do a little last minute grocery shopping. As we enter the Beagle Channel I am surprised by the rough seas. I look to the skies, which don’t look particularly threatening, and decide to blame the turbulence on our running perpendicular to the waves, rather than parallel. But, even when we turn west, into the wind, the choppiness continues. That said, it cannot delay lunch.
