Still Standing

by Ana Rosberg (Argentina)

I didn't expect to find Argentina

Whales and boats have pierced the waters of the Beagle Channel for centuries, but even before feminism, the Yámana women also made their splash as they jumped in naked from their fire lit canoes to the cold waters and swam. They could also fish, and separate freely from their mates. Ex's and new beaus would all travel together in a non-hierarchical structure, building small huts along the Tierra del Fuego coastline as they moved from one spot to the next weathering winters in the buff. I had traveled alone before but never had I gone on a long trek or pitched a tent alone before, so although I was excited to fly to Ushuaia, where I would explore the region where the Yámanas had so freely gotten on with life, I was also nervous. In fact, I wasn't even sure if what I had set out to do was possible. I had only intuitively planned my trip on a whim, willing to take a deep dive into whatever would happen. The first person I met in Ushuaia was Paula, the owner of the hostel I would be staying in for the first night. I had clearly arrived at the right place. Here was a woman who had canoed her way around the island, who had trekked its shores and mountains, and who encouraged me on every one of my unresearched fancies. Half an hour after leaving my backpack on my bunk bed, she had already helped me trace the perfect itinerary. My initial idea was to trek over the course of 3 days from Ushuaia to Estancia Harberton, the first estancia of the region, which played a big part in European-Yámana interactions. At Paula's instruction, I would not follow the road that went up behind the mountains but go by the uninhabited rocky 75 km (46 mi) shoreline where the Yamana's had made their temporary homes back in the day. I set off early in the morning with my heavy backpack and hitchhiked to the trailhead where I started my long trek. Because Tierra del Fuego is so far south, in the summer, the sun rises at 5 am and sets at 11 pm, so I would have plenty of daylight. I am an avid hiker so I was physically fit for the challenge, but as an amateur backpacker, I did not correctly consider the toll that the weight would have on me and was distressed to find that my pace was much slower than anticipated. Then I fell. For two stressful hours, I struggled to get back up from the ravine I had slipped down. No phone signal, no people. Fortunately, I wasn't hurt, but I decided to change my initial plan. I retraced my steps to a beautiful bay that I had passed on the way and set up camp. By the irregularities of the terrain, an indicator of old Yámana housing areas, I knew that I had picked the right spot, and although I was disappointed that I would not be able to reach Harberton, I was happy to rest from my fall and enjoy the view. The following morning, a ray of light woke me. When I zipped open my tent, I saw the sun was just starting to rise. I ran out to enjoy its splendor and sat on a clifftop with a choir of birds overflying me. It was the first of what felt like many miracles that day. After breakfast, I went to explore the shoreline and did some scrambling on the piercing shale before reaching a small beach full of odd-shaped shells. It was midday by then, and although it was chilly, I decided it was time for a swim. In I went (I fantasized as a Yámana woman) into the freezing water, and just as fast I ran out, only to turn around and catch sight of a splendid rainbow stretching over the Beagle Channel. In the evening, after a long nap, I went to explore the woods behind me. What happened next brought tears of joy to my eyes. There, sheltered by the trees, was a small Yámana hut, still standing, away from civilization.