I feel like a little Fitz Roy as I sail down the Beagle, the Hunters’ Channel. “In the Channel the same thing happens as in the air: the weather can be calm one moment and change into a tempest the next.”, the captain tells me. Formerly the territory of the indigenous Yámanas, today it’s divided between Chilean territory to the south and Argentina to the north, with the 68th parallel marking the disputed border. “Patagonia is one region, it does not distinguish between Argentina and Chile!”, our Canalfun guide tells me. Sierra Sorondo shows us its sharp peaks to the north: outlined magnificent mountains with backlit clouds. It’s very common to see rainbows here, sometimes several at the same time. We head to Gable Island, the largest in the Channel, with its characteristic cliffs shaped like a flat roof. The map shows me estuaries, channels, arms, islands, straits and bays… a maritime labyrinth in which the Yámana people have moved around with their canoes. We stop to observe a colony of sea lions resting peacefully on a large rock. A condor perches on the iconic lighthouse of Les Eclaireurs, the ultimate symbol of the end of the world.

SAN PABLO LIGHTHOUSE
“Never judge a day by the weather”, it reads on a sign in the office of the 4×4-tour company Tierra, which will take us along Route 3 linking Ushuaia to Buenos Aires. As we move north the horizon opens up and the forest starts consisting of nothing but ‘ñires’ (Antárctic Notofagus), a small tree that likes cold and hard soils. The terrain has become progressively more arid as the storms usually enter from the south and unload in the mountains of Ushuaia. En route we come across some remarkable objects and sceneries. Road signs warning for crossing guanacos. A crashed truck in the ditch loaded with mattresses. Patches of black ice. A burnt car in the gutter. We continue on Selkmans’ indigenous land, the Selkman people having been mostly guanaco hunters and having sadly been exterminated by violence and disease. We see huge horizons of barren lands, with meandering streams which reflect the dim sunlight in the frigid morning. Lichens and pastures frozen by the morning cold. Isolated groups of cows feed on ochre pastures that contrast with the green forests of ñires. Our guides take a pitstop to drink maté, the local herbal drink, inside the a farmhouse. We see quad bikes parked all over the place, now doing the tasks that were done on horseback in a bygone era.

We cross Chapel River, which marks a transition between the southern forests and the northern steppes. We pass cattle grids in the pampa and beautiful farm houses. “Winter is knocking on our door,” our guide John tells me, “we are still waiting for the first big snowfall, which could happen any time now.”. A large layer of cirrus threatens to change the weather shortly. It’s a very lonely place, “but just like we can’t imagine living in a place like this, the inhabitants of these lands can’t imagine what it would be like to live in a town, let alone in a city!”, our guide adds. A stop at a viewpoint allows us to admire the reflection of the sun in the vastness of the Atlantic, with the coastline lined with trees, bent by the insistent winds of this area. Scavenging Chimango Caracara fly above us. In 1949 a strong earthquake with epicentre in Fagnano destroyed the lighthouse that was being built in Cabo San Pablo. “Don’t point at it,” Anne says, “the Selkman believed that pointing to the mountains brings bad weather.”. A black–chested buzzard–eagle soars high in the sky. A walk along the sand dunes precedes the ascent to the lighthouse, from where the views invite you to do nothing but admire the landscape. A rainbow draws its curve in St. Paul’s Bay, where a stranded freighter has been resting for decades.

The snow has made a radical change to the landscape and today it’s even harsher and more impenetrable. Wind swirls shake the snow from the trees as we drive towards the eye of the storm. We turn off onto a track with more than 15 cm of accumulated snow that crosses a dense Finnish style forest. The 4x4s progress slowly and with difficulty through the snow, ice, huge mud puddles and felled trees, but all goes well thanks to the expertise of our drivers. Finally, we arrive at a small wooden shelter in the forest, in the middle of a powerful blizzard that has accumulated almost half a meter in twenty hours. The trees have been dressed in their best winter gala dresses. Snow blesses everything it touches. Grilled meat and Argentine wine give us back the heat and the desire to continue. It is time to visit the Winter Center Tierra Mayor, founded in 1976 by the polar explorer Gustavo Giro, the first Argentine to reach the South Pole in 1965, and pioneer in the development of winter tourist activities in Ushuaia. “The Ushuaia cold reminded him of his youthful wanderings”, says his daughter, who now runs the center. “He discovered that lots of snow was accumulating in this area and it was perfect to build his little Antarctic corner in Tierra del Fuego.”. Today they provide snowshoeing, cross-country skiing and dog sledding circuits.

The Agency Antartur offers us a snowshoe tour in the middle of the night. Dogs bark in their cabins and howl excitedly when they notice our presence, perhaps at the prospect of a walk on a cold snowy night. The path progresses through a pampa marked by a meandering stream. The sound of unspoiled snow under my snowshoes relaxes me. Torches show us the way to a great teepee in which an evening awaits us in the light of a large bonfire. Paul plays the guitar as the sparks ascend to the starry sky and the snow falls from the trees around. A “hachero coffee” warms us nicely and brings life back into our bones before returning outside, on the way to the Nunatak shelter: it’s time to break the trail in over half a meter of fresh snow in the dark. We see small streams crossed by wooden bridges, but there’s no trace of the scarce fauna of foxes and hares in the area.

USHUAIA’S FIRST BACKCOUNTRY SKIER
Legend has it that Ernesto Krund arrived in Ushuaia as the crewman of a ship from which he jumped when it returned to Germany. In his long and random life he was a gold-digger, a guide and a member of the territorial police. But his most remembered work was as a postman, taking mail from Ushuaia to Rio Grande on horseback, when Route 3 did not yet exist. In winter he made the journey in several days with rudimentary wooden skis made by himself. In each section there were log cabins that served as a shelter, in which he spent the nights accompanied by countless dogs that had once again saved his life. One of those ranches was near Las Paratorras, at the foot of the hill that bear the same name. He used to do long-distance ski tours. Some people tried to follow him to the ranch, but Krund –a.k.a. Colorado- was inexhaustible. His skis looked like they were part of him, and nobody could chase him. We are re-living the pioneer era with a snowshoe hike to a replica of the cabin he used, looking – again – for good food and the heat of a stove.

The next day we travel to the military airport that serves as the base of operations for Heliushuaia, the tourist flight company that opens the doors of its helicopters to enjoy the hypnotic landscapes of the city with a bird’s eye view: the port, the city, the first mountains. And then, suddenly, the view of the Carvajal Valley and the Emerald Lagoon opens up in front of us, which activates our neural receptors as well as the numerous electronic devices with which we try to immortalize the views. The light of the sunset illuminates the Five Brothers, Mount Olivia, all solemn mountains that welcome us. They leave us completely ecstatic at the panoramic landing zone on Cerro Le’Cloche, where a glass of champagne awaits us to celebrate the moment. This was an essential experience.

CLOUDS, SNOW, ROCK AND WATER
“Prepare for an unforgettable flight,” the co-pilot tells me before taking off. Indeed, I have heard wonders of the sights of this flight flying over steppes, mountains and fjords of Tierra del Fuego. I will never forget the flight between Ushuaia and Punta Arenas aboard that small DAP plane, which progressed quietly by a heavenly stamp with the light of dawn was aguino turning on the fjords and snowy mountains of the Darwin Range, also known as the Andes Fueguinos. With the help of the map I locate a glacier called, as well as Mt. Sarmiento, which at 2,500 m is the highest on the island. I think about the amazement and sorrow of the first discoverers of these places that I admire from the air. At Punta Arenas airport they confirm that we have just saved ourselves 14 hours by car. And here, another story begins.