Through the Heart of Patagonia

by H. Hesketh-Prichard

The sun striking obliquely on the river dazzled our eyes and turned all our forward course into a golden splendour. We knew that somewhere lower down the river there was a bad place where its bed was thick-set with rocks, but we had no idea how soon we might come upon the spot. Presently, as we drew rapidly nearer and nearer to the cliff face, it became evident that the channel bent very sharply to starboard, and that we should have uncommonly little room to turn in. We were now running in shadow, the high banks having blotted out the sun. We rushed on towards the cliff, and almost at the last moment saw that the channel bent away to the right; Cattle put the helm hard over, and our craft whirled round the point with small space to spare, and we found ourselves snaking through the eddies of another reach.

We shouted to each other that the worst of it lay behind us, and such for a time seemed to be the case, the river widening out to about eighty yards across. Here the main channel was clearly marked. It might be supposed that we should have taken this opportunity to turn the launch into her original position, but we had twice during the morning been in difficulties with the pump, which, as the injector would not work, was our sole means of filling the boiler. I was afraid that the strain of steaming against the current might prove too much for the launch. The decision to go on without turning her was, I think, under the circumstances, the right one, the more so as directly after the descent of the river the pump became further strained, with the result that it was impossible to refill the boiler save by hand.

Presently the hilly shores once more gave place to low banks, and islands began to appear in the stream. The lower river has many of these groups of flat islands covered with stones and coarse grass. When we got in among them the river broke up into a dozen channels which all looked alike. We, of course, chose the largest. Again it branched. Again we chose the largest, and again.

At length the channel we were following, instead of opening off into the main river, subdivided into a couple of very small streams. The current was as strong as ever, and the depth of water appeared to be about three feet. A small crested grebe was uttering its peculiar, melancholy cry. Ahead the banks seemed to draw together to a jutting corner, beyond which we could not see. Cattle was at the helm, I was standing up on the fore-hatch trying to catch sight of what we were coming to.

All this time we could not slacken speed, for the current tore along and we outdid the current. The water had the same strange appearance of running downhill; it seemed to drop away from us at an extraordinary angle. The force of the current forced us to keep steam up to a high degree of pressure, up to 45 lb., which was 15 lb. beyond safety.

At this point the stream was not above eighteen feet wide, and we could almost touch the banks on either side. We were now about half-way downhill, so to speak. The rush of the water, the zipp of the wind as it swept past our ears mingled with the cry of the astonished waterfowl. Nearer and nearer, clear water showed under the left bank, and in a moment more we had swept round the corner of rock and out into the main channel of the river once more. We flew along in the strong rip, the launch shook and quivered, and we discovered with joy that we had gained the wide lower reaches.

Our troubles were at an end for the day. A dozen miles still lay before us, but in fair and open water. In due time we recognised a big stone which marked the site of our old camp where we had rested on the way up. We secured the launch a little way below it, where the Leona enters Lake Argentino.

After landing we pitched the tent and sat down to talk it all over. In the meantime we cooked and ate an armadillo, which Burbury had caught on the previous day. It tasted very like sucking-pig.

Then a curious thing happened. The launch, which was bumping slightly at her anchorage, had to be moved, and going on board we found that the pump had again struck work, as it did on many subsequent occasions. One could not help thinking what the result might have been if it had broken down a little earlier in the day. What a wonderful word that little "if" is! Two letters long, but it may mark the distance from pole to pole, the difference between life and death.

That night a series of heavy squalls blew out of the west. We lay in the tent and listened to the wind with the luxurious feeling that comes of good shelter.