The Malvinas

Argentina pines for its islands and the signs are everywhere, a political message that serves no purpose and to me acts as a reminder that without drama politicians lose the limelight, a state of affairs they cannot stand.

Department of Corrections vehicle claiming jurisdiction in the Falklands where there is hardly any crime:

Before 1982 no one cared about the Falkland Islands and Britain was working out a plan with Argentina to shift the colony onto their balance sheet and good riddance. Back then the islands were operated by the Falkland Islands Company which raised sheep and paid islanders in pounds they could spend at the company store. The Argentine dictatorship was running out of credibility with its people and  decided a quick invasion which Britain would obviously not oppose would restore morale among the restive Argentinian population. A nice quick war drama with a happy ending always raises the ratings as President Putin is discovering. Puerto Argentino (below) is Stanley, much closer to Argentina than Britain as if that mattered in a world dominated by language and culture and human expectations connected by electrons.  

They invaded of course and changed the capital Stanley, a dingy little village into Puerto Argentino the capital of Argentina’s south Atlantic islands newly acquired. They drove on the right, took over the media and dug in before winter shut the southern hemisphere down. Except Britain surprised everyone by taking the colony back by force. The three month long occupation ended with 649 Argentines dead, 255 British and three islanders also perished. 800 British and 1700 Argentines were injured.  11,300 ill equipped Argentinian soldiers surrendered and the dictatorship collapsed into democracy. Hurrah! Good came of bad. Except it didn’t really. A mural remembering the “disappeared” thousands murdered by the Galtieri dictatorship:

The Falklands today are a self sufficient community with immigrants from Chile and Saint Helena mixing it up and they have no communication with Argentina, which is absurd but drama is the fuel of politics and the Argentine democracy has pursued the policy of ostracism and contemptuous  opposition to the sheep herding islanders. To fly to Stanley you have to take a weekly jet from Punta Arenas in Chile and there are plans to start flights from Brazil one day, but not from Argentina. Or you can fly from Britain with a stop on Ascension Island because Britain is so far away geographically. 

Even today Argentina’s economy is a shambles and the trust the country places in their new dramatic president has yet to bear fruit. Inflation is far down but the value of money now is such that ordinary people have no purchasing power. I see people in the supermarkets picking up food they’d like to buy, checking the price and putting it back sadly. We cope with our US retirement dollars but we are just passing through so it’s not a real problem for us well funded overlanders. We don’t eat out as much as we might, we spend less money generally and thus contribute less to the local economy; It’s an awful conundrum.

General Manuel Belgrano, below was a leader in Argentina’s war of independence but the name is better known as the cruiser which was torpedoed and sunk in 1982 with the distinction of being the only ship ever sunk by a nuclear submarine, in this case HMS Conqueror. The ARA Belgrano started life as the USS Phoenix, survived Pearl Harbor and was sold to Argentina. What a tangled web.  

If it were up to me I’d switch off Argentina’s bellicose nonsense and cozy up to the islands. There is no petroleum out there, just tons of squid. The calamari you eat probably came from factory ships licensed by the Falklands government which is economically self sustaining. Britain pays for the defense required only because Argentina won’t sign a peace treaty. If Argentina were smart they’d trade massively with the Falklands, woo them, swamp them with kindness and make them want to end their enforced isolation voluntarily but politics requires drama and a successful seduction isn’t dramatic so even here at the far ends of the earth we can’t escape political posturing. 

Check out this Argentine camper van built like a fortress to fend off robbers. Would you like to be integrated into a country with a feeble currency, massive corruption and the threat of this sort of violence? Me neither but some face saving agreement really needs to be worked out to salve their pride. 

I suppose I could ask why Brazil doesn’t tell France to hand over its colony of French Guyana, or why Canada resists becoming the 51st state or why Mexico won’t get California back or Colombia it’s former province of Panama or Russia Alaska which they sold for a song. To base a claim on a heretofore uninhabited island inhabited only since 1833 by British colonists seems silly to me but it’s a claim that still distracts locals from Argentina’s piteous economic disarray. 

Russia claims Ukraine, Morocco claims Ceuta, Spain claims Gibraltar, Ireland claims Northern Ireland and Trump claims Greenland. And we, those of us just driving through want an easy border crossing, and a pass from the fallout of the events that seem to be screwing up the world. Every day these signs remind me how easy it is to distract voters. 

All politics is local is a phrase that comes to mind, and when I see these signs I am reminded that some issues are distractions, some are critical for development and what goes on when we aren’t looking beggars belief. Worry about the Malvinas so politicians can do what they do best. I hope Argentina is on the path to economic recovery and maybe when they get there all this posturing and dramatics can be replaced with friendship. It sure doesn’t feel like that’s the way the world is going. “For the dreams that were left over there…” is the caption below: 

Happy New Year everyone. May we all see less amateur dramatics and more purpose among our leaders. A vain hope I dare say but the alternative is not something I want to think about today. 

Wild Camping Tierra Del Fuego

We had two days and nights of dry weather here and we took advantage wild camping last Estancia Harberton. Happy New Year everyone and thanks for the comments. 

You’ve got this far in the picture stack do as a reward you can salivate over my favorite bread in the world. Literally in my d tire life. 

It’s called Cremona bread for unknown reasons, possibly because the original baker came from the Italian city of Cremona. 

It’s what the English call a “tear and share” loaf. It’s not sweet but it has a flaky texture and a delicious flavor , just bread but I really like it. 

And I’ve only ever seen it in Argentina. Sorry about that. 

And then on Monday the rain began so we felt we had to move owing to a stretch of highway that reportedly turns into a muddy ice rink in the rain.

This is the clay section that retains water which was between us and Ushuaia. 

Estancia Harberton across the water.   

The gravel road doesn’t retain water where there isn’t clay. 

We drive a couple of miles past the ranch and came to another camping area. I had time to walk Rusty a bit, set up Starlink as there’s no cell signal down here and the drizzle started. 

It’s a bit far inland and the views aren’t great but it’s well drained and flat and we will be snug here until tomorrow when we have to return to Ushuaia to meet friends flying into town. 

There are no cows grazing nearby to freak Rusty out. That’s a plus. 

That’s the road to Harberton with a tour bus climbing the hill. 

Before they got modern and built bridges the rivers were crossed at fords. At first I thought these were launch ramps, my Florida brain, but the waters won’t float a kayak. 

Netflix and chill in a quiet spot where there should be no fireworks to bother Rusty and we get overlanding friends with their dog stop by for a glass of wine. 

Left you her trio jealous this is summer in Tierra Del Fuego. 

I hope the new year is more peaceful for all of us than it’s prospecting to be, but we may get lucky. We’re lucky to be here and I hope you feel the sage wherever you are even if you aren’t lucky enough to live in 70 square feet. 

Estancia Harberton

There were three things I liked about working night shift 911 in Key West; better pay than day shift, more serious thus more interesting calls and time between calls to take what I called my vacations. I traveled by Google maps at my desk at the Key West Police Department. 

Day shift requires handling endless irritating administrative calls and minor crime issues. Not many people call 911 at three in the morning to report a bicycle theft nor would most people call expecting administrative offices in the police department to be open (there are always the exceptions) consequently I had time to wander satellite earth and street view and fantasize about the places I’d go. The shore of the Beagle Channel was a goal, too far to believe possible. 

That’s what it looked like on my work computer screen, below is what it looks like now. This, more than Ushuaia was where I wanted to reach one day in retirement. 

We anchored our home just 75 miles north of Cape Horn and more than ever as GANNET2 rocked to the east wind, I was wondering how Webb Chiles made his way around that point, the first American to do it alone, bailing his broken boat to stay alive.

After we finished with the apartment we did some food shopping on Saturday morning and headed north from Ushuaia. We have friends arriving by plane on New Year’s Day so we will be back but the idea was to take a few days wild camping on the Beagle Channel.

We were offered free water at the gas station so we loaded a few gallons, and the supermarket I met a couple of Canadians from Albert traveling in a truck camper, a Ford F150 I’d last seen parked in Punta Arenas.

Jeff and Sherry travel four months of the year to evade the Canadian winter then go home and work leaving their truck in secure storage. Quite brilliant as they aren’t old enough to retire. They showed up at the YPF gas station to fill up their water tank after us. 

Rusty was not happy leaving the apartment and he hung out on the Astro turf right up to the last minute but I was ready to achieve my goal, camping near Estancia Harberton. 

The only road north took us back towards these, the southernmost Andes with their permanent snows and strange needle-like summits. 

Estancia Moat is the very end of the graveled road labeled “J” that runs for 55 miles along the channel. However the farm has closed and all that’s there is a gate at a naval installation so we weren’t planning necessarily to go all the way, just to find a good spot to camp along the road. 

The turn off from Highway Three is clearly marked onto Highway J a well graveled road. It’s not nearly as isolated as you might imagine as there are hunting and fishing camps along the road as well as a handful of restaurants and cabins for rent. This area is a recreation destination for Ushuaia residents looking to get away. 

My first job was to stop and air down the tires to 45 psi at the back and about 35 psi at the front. I have a special tool to do this which allows me to undo the valve core without any danger of losing that tiny little valve core which is wound into the valve on a spring and once released it will leap to freedom invisible in the dirt; the tool contains it until I need to screw the core back in. I can also monitor the pressure as I let the air out. It takes me less than ten minutes to air down four tires. It takes about 45 minutes at sea level to air back up and twice that at high altitude in the mountains. I discovered that little feature in Peru. 

Airing down makes the drive much more comfortable in our heavy van and the flatter tires will improve grip if we run into sand or loose gravel. The restriction is that you can’t drive fast or the tires will overheat and destroy themselves but at 20 mph the ride on a rough dirt road is immeasurably smoother. 

Locals in their lightly made cars and trucks travel at full speed on these roads. I just ignore them zipping by my door unless I can pull over to help them get by and leave us in peace. 

There are no power lines down here but almost every cabin has two large propane tanks to supply heat and indoor cooking needs. 

Highway J isn’t a terrible road as gravel goes. There are some potholes and some washboard stretches but we could keep up 15 to 20 miles per hour with an occasional burst to 25. 

About 15 miles in there is a junction with the road going straight ahead back towards Ushuaia. It doesn’t reach town as it is stopped by a headland but there are some restaurant and cabins along the way for city folk to enjoy. We turned left. 

Across the Beagle Channel you can see the Chilean village of Puerto Williams the naval base and town of 3,000 people serving Cape Horn and the Chilean Antarctic base. They also serve to fly the flag for Chile and claim sovereignty on the south side of the channel. I wish we could have shipped GANNET2 there from

Punta Arenas. 

This is Highway J pointing due east with 40 miles to the end of the road. 

Much to my surprise this section of road was as broad as a freeway if not quite as smooth.

And the trees on the hills show the force of the prevailing winds. 

Families out fishing on a Saturday morning: 

“EA” stands for estancia which means Ranch in Spanish. In these southern regions ranches are everywhere and they are identifiers instead of towns. 

Thomas Bridges the English missionary brought his family to the ranch forty miles down the channel from Ushuaia which he founded. His descendants still own the ranch which is now open to the public. 

The ranch has a terrible website which fails to explain how the restaurant works so we showed up and hoped for the best. It turns out lunch is served from noon to three while tea and cakes are served from

noon to seven and no reservations are required but they are closed on Tuesdays. Simple enough and why they can’t say that on the website  I don’t know. 

The restaurant is on a hill overlooking the ranch houses which also have cabins for rent. 

The tea room is anything but cozy and reinforces the idea you may be at the end of the world (Fin del Mundo) but you are not far from civilization. 

The view of the Beagle Channel. 

Layne had a cheese scone while I had rhubarb crumble. The bakery here really is superb and they also make honeys and jams. It isn’t cheap - $8 for my tart and $3:50 for extra- big I’d like to stop by for lunch on the way out. I find the history of this strange isolated Fueguan ranch to be very appealing. 

I can’t imagine living here with six children 150 years ago and carving a life out of this wilderness. Bridges and his family were tough. By the way they have also re-published his long lost dictionary of the Yamaná language. He learned it on the Falklands but his book faded from view until recently. The last native speakers died fifty years ago but he recorded their language. I had no use obviously for the book and we have not enough room for such a luxury in our van but I wanted to note it in passing.  

I have been enjoying their dandelion honey which has a delicious citrus scent and a slight tang of lemon. 

We rejoined Highway J and set our sights east toward Moat forty miles away. 

And then we crossed paths with a truck and camper distinctively painted to look like a cow. They were friends of friends and we knew they were in the area so we flagged them down. We chatted for a while and look forward to meeting Mark and Liesbet again but they were on a mission of mercy. 

It turns out Sherry and Jeff whom we’d last seen at the gas station in Ushuaia had broken down at the intersection of this road at the paved Highway 3 where their alternator had stopped working and lack of sparks led their engine to die. I’m telling you none of us is immune to breakdowns. We had been looking forward to hanging out a bit with English speakers but there we are. 

As it was we found an open space at Rio Varela in an oxbow on the river. There was another camper nearby but they kept to themselves and Layne wanted to stop close by the sounds of the river. We actually drove on a little further to check out the possibilities but this was her favorite stop. Fair enough.  

Rusty didn’t mind it either. 

I awoke Sunday morning to a bull right light illuminating the rear window blinds. 

It was another astonishing morning in Tierra Del Fuego. Sunshine and no wind. Amazing. 

This place has lived up to the hopes I had all those years ago in Key West at my desk imagining myself wild camping along the Beagle Channel. Here we are at last. All good.