Happy Christmas to all you fine people, wherever you are, and a big, festive thank you for taking the time to read my blog!
Now I know how a fairy feels atop a Christmas tree, sort of! The key differences, other than gender, being that I’m dressed from head to toe in sodden, black waterproofs and the tree on which I’m perched has neither branches nor leaves (although it did once). I’m on the lower slope of a high mountain, surrounded by a young forest of bright-leaved, Southern Beech trees emerging through the fallen, weather-bleached, wooden skeletons of their parents. The weather has changed completely from yesterday’s endless blue skies to an all-enveloping, sombre spectrum of muted greys, heavy clouds roofing the misty fjord down to the slatey sea at the mouth of the U-shaped Vodudahue Valley. It’s raining – lordy is it raining! This coastal part of Chilean Patagonia receives seven metres of rain per year and it all appears to be arriving at once – today. My waterproofs lived up to their name for less than ten minutes – and that was three hours ago! The torrential rain greases the inclined log on which I’m teetering, but the view along the valley in this small part of
Pumalin Park is stunning nevertheless.
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| Vodudahue river in the pouring rain |
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| Carlos and the farm from the top of my perch |
I am accompanied by Carlos, the Head Guard at Pumalin Park, who is generously giving me a two-day tour of landscape restoration work around the park. First stop is
Vodudahue Farm, one of several around the park. Geography makes even short distances here an adventure; the few kilometres from my Caleta Gonzalo cabaña involved two boat rides and a short stretch of
ripio, followed by a two-kilometre drive on a tractor trailer! During an early engagement in our respective languages, with rain dripping off the ends of our noses, we agree a bilingual approach; Carlos talks in English to practice my native tongue, I speak in Spanish to enhance his. During the damp walk through the farm and the tricky scramble up to our current vantage point, Carlos and I discussed the purpose and the work of the tree nursery which raises native trees to restore the surrounding rainforest, and the fruit farm where a range of berries are grown, including the delicious, native
murta. From our hill-side viewpoint Carlos points out the neat rows of the tree nursery, the restored and well-maintained farm tracks and the red-roofed, timber farm buildings reflecting the predominant reds and browns of the rainforest in the architectural mind’s eye of their designer.
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| Soaked! |
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| Rainforest colour in the gloom |
Pumalin extends over 1,200 square miles of Chilean fiords and mountains, blanketed in seemingly endless
Valdivian temperate rainforest and home to spectacular animals, large and small, such as the puma and the humming bird. The names of the park and its top predator imply an etymological link, reinforced by their combination in the park logo, but Carlos explained that Pumalin, in the indigenous language, is a dry piece of land between wet areas, whereas puma is, er, a big cat! The park is nationally protected, but privately-owned by the
Conservation Land Trust (CLT) – a charity set-up by
Doug Tompkins to acquire and preserve important wilderness areas. He also lives locally, in fact, a few kilometres around the corner by boat! The fascinating story of the man, his wife (
Kris Tompkins) and their work is described a million times on the internet, so I won’t go into too much detail here. Suffice it to say that I am now immersed in it, and will be for the next two weeks, and the results are exemplary and world class.
Before the park the land was not protected and, as over vast areas of Patagonia, the flatter valley floors and less steep valley sides were converted to cattle and sheep farms by pioneers during the 20th century, which involved clear-cutting and setting fires to clear the densely forested land. Millions and millions of hectares of land were cleared in this way – sometimes the fires burning unchecked for months. The fragile forest in areas not blessed with land good enough for agriculture was logged extensively for valuable timber trees such as the
Alerce pine – the Patagonian equivalent of California’s spectacular redwoods in both size and age. They were extracted, damaging the surrounding forest and depleting much of the Valdivian temperate rainforest of these impressive arboreal giants.
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| Carlos with Alerce saplings |
When Vodudahue was originally acquired it was a depressing economic and environmental disaster area, over-grazed by sheep and cows, crumbling riverbanks, broken fences, pot-holed and eroding roads, dilapidated buildings and degraded forests with no chance of regeneration given the intense grazing regime and frequent fires. Today, the farm is organic and produces berries, native trees and the most delicious honey I have ever tasted. It also farms horses and the aim is for these to become working horses. Farm products are sold throughout the CLT-owned properties in Chile and in various shops in the towns scattered widely through southern Chile. A new programme is being developed for visitors to Pumalin Park to sponsor an Alerce pine sapling to raise funds to restore these already impressive forests to their former magnificence.
On the return from Vodudahue, at the end of the day, it is still raining and still grey. Carlos invites me into his cozy house at the restored
Pillán Farm, in the next valley along (which involves rides on a tractor, boat and truck), where I am introduced to his wife and we share coffee and chocolate (two dietary staples of mine). Pillán also serves as one of the main office areas for the Pumalin Park. The isolation and rugged terrain impedes communications – both physical and electronic – so each sector of the park has its own office and workshop infrastructure. The Pillán workshop originally provided the finely crafted furniture of my cabaña and all made from local wood.
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| Boat taxi |
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| Tractor taxi |
Already, from my experiences of Pumalin’s buildings in Puerto Varas, Caleta Gonzalo, Vodudahue and Pillán, I can see that great effort is expended on creating a homely architectural and interior design style that speaks a common language through and around the scattered settlements and restored buildings of the park. It’s a language of local, natural materials, attention to detail and quality, and a rusticity adapted from the American wilds, with a hint of a Shaker accent. Geographically, I feel lost in the middle of nowhere; geography and design meet awkwardly here at first experience, particularly in my already overwhelmed head, but with increasing exposure they combine creating a unique sense of place – simultaneously welcoming and wild!
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| Carlos' house |
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| A restored building at Vodudahue farm |
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| My cabana |
Back in my cabaña after a long, damp day, I hang my dripping clothes around the small, electric radiator powered by a micro-hydropower turbine in a nearby mountain stream. The turbine’s oscillations cause a cyclical flickering in my low wattage, bed side light bulb. The rustic interior walls of un-planed timber, some with residual bark, create a relaxing texture with the mellow light as I settle for the night. It just feels right.
Tomorrow, Carlos and I will be heading deeper into the park. I hope by then my clothes will be dry. Read about it in the next blog.
As we ascend,
puffing and perspiring, through southern beech forests to the tree-line, the
landscape slowly reveals its narrative. The forest is a mixture of small
patches of mature woodland, large areas of young trees re-growing through the
silver, horizontal corpses of their progenitors, and bare grassland with
thousands and thousands of timber skeletons scattered like a giant’s matches.
Looking back, the congregation of new and old buildings from where we have just
walked appears miniscule in the broad, grassy valley of the Rio Chacabuco,
guarded by impressive snow-capped mountains and contorted volcanic terrain. The
valley relates in microcosm man’s misuse of the fragile lands of Patagonia.
Just a few years ago the valley was once home to 30,000 sheep and 4,000 cattle,
which out-competed the resident guanacos – the main food for the puma. So, the
puma turned to eating sheep, and shepherds turned to hunting pumas. The
diminishing grass cover laid bare fragile soil to erosion. The forest was cut
and burned to provide more grazing – some of the fires burning unchecked or
weeks – and 500 kilometres of fencing dissected the land and stymied the
movement of wild animals.
