Note: For the benefit of travelers and armchair adventurers who have been stuck at home for months on end, I am posting a series of diaries about my travels to the island of Tierra del Fuego, exactly 25 years ago. This was my one and only forestry assignment outside the United States. Knowing that it would be a memorable experience, I kept a journal and took dozens of pictures. These diaries are based on my writings. A few details have been obscured to avoid revealing confidential information about the companies who paid my way.
Perhaps these stories will encourage some of you to post diaries about your own travels. Cabin fever levels are high these days. Readers will appreciate firsthand accounts of travel to remote lands.
Given that this is inauguration week, it is fitting to post the inaugural diary of the series today.
PROLOGUE
Twenty-five years ago, I was working full-time for a forestry consulting company. Although I had traveled widely in the United States, and had ventured into western Canada, the rest of the world was unknown territory. Only recently had I been transferred from Oregon to Georgia, and even much of my new home turf remained unexplored.
Then came the phone call from my boss. Was I interested in going to Tierra del Fuego to work on a big forestry job? Wow, Tierra del Fuego, all the way to the tip of the South American continent and beyond, to the last major land mass before Antarctica. I’d read about Magellan and Darwin and the indigenous people who made the area famous, and now you’re willing to pay me to go there? Count me in.
Truth be told, I didn’t immediately leap at the opportunity. There were many unanswered questions. First and foremost, I didn’t even have a passport, and the project would begin in three weeks. I’d have to apply right away, and request expedited processing. My command of Spanish was limited to one course in high school and another in college. I knew that communication might be difficult if no bilingual people were working with me. There were all sorts of logistical questions about how to get there, where we’d stay, who we’d work with. One by one these were answered, and I made plans to travel.
Packing for the trip was more involved than an ordinary vacation would be. Not only would I be away from home for two months, I would stay in remote places with unpredictable weather. And I needed all of my forestry equipment. Ordinary suitcases would not suffice. I bought a large green plastic trunk with a hinged top. It held boots, sturdy clothes, rain gear, a forester’s vest, and an array of measuring tools and electronic devices.
One advantage of traveling to the Southern Hemisphere in January was that I would trade winter for summer, at least in terms of daylight. The days would be long, but an island surrounded by cold water would in no way resemble a tropical vacation spot. I packed plenty of warm clothes.
January 26, 1996
Today was supposed to be the big day. Bags were packed, flight tickets were ready. But my passport, in spite of the request for expedited service, still had not arrived. Around noon, the mail truck rolled up the street. Was I lucky enough to get the passport in the mail? Indeed I was. I called my boss with the good news, and confirmed my shuttle reservation. Even though I lived more than 100 miles from the Atlanta airport, I happened to live a short distance from a man who owned a limo service. A driver came to my house with an honest-to-goodness limousine, and whisked me away to Atlanta.
Inside the airport, my first taste of what to expect for the next 8 weeks came as I waited to check my luggage. Constricted by ropes into a tight S-formation, 30 or so fellow passengers clustered into groups of family members and business associates. It was a typical airport queue, except that nearly everyone was speaking Spanish.
In front of me stood three men, thirtyish, casually dressed. Behind me were two older men in business attire. I eavesdropped on their conversations, tactfully cocking an ear in the speaker’s direction, to see how much I could decipher. I could pick out a bien here and an esta there, but the majority of their words eluded me. Oh well, I thought, at least when I reach Miami, I will be traveling with people who have been to Chile before. My boss and a project leader, flying from the west coast, were scheduled be on the Miami-to-Santiago flight with me. They had made the trip to Chile before, and I would rely on their experience in dealing with customs in Santiago, and finding the connecting flight to Punta Arenas.
That was the plan anyway. Mother Nature had other ideas. Outside the terminal, the sky had darkened. The usual din from passengers, flight announcements, and service carts was joined by rounds of thunder. The airliner that was supposed to be at the gate was instead somewhere up in the sky, prevented by the thunderstorm from landing. Eventually the plane arrived. As the passengers disembarked and the minutes ticked away, I knew that my original itinerary was in peril. By the time we finally reached Miami, it was too late to catch the once-per-night flight to Santiago.
To be continued...