igo THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA 



Upon the high pampa, across which, bearing north-west, we 

 passed, we found guanaco to be extraordinarily plentiful, and 

 fatter than any we had hitherto met with in our wanderings 

 through the country. Upon this pampa was no firewood at all, 

 nothing save rolling grass which pricked you with minute thorns, 

 so that a walk through it left your putties spined like a porcupine. 

 To stalk in this grass, where the guanacos were unusually wild, and 

 long periods of crawling were necessary to attain success, one had 

 to carry a piece of guanaco-skin in the left hand, which took up 

 the grass spines that must otherwise have entered the palm of the 

 hunter. 



Our first glimpse of Lake Argentine was a strongly-marked 

 and vivid picture as seen from the rim of the high pampa when 

 we surmounted it. A great eye of blue water — for the sun was 

 bright — set beneath white pent-house brows of the mountain range. 

 A tremendous wind was blowing out of the north-west, and we 

 could see the great southern lake was in a turmoil of short and 

 angry seas. Deep channels cut away into the depths of the Cor- 

 dillera at the western end, and at the eastern side the waters flowed 

 out into the swift current of the River Santa Cruz. Farther along 

 the northern shore the canadon of the River Leona was also visible. 

 We could not then guess how glad we should one day be to reach 

 the haven of that river mouth. Beyond the lake, and partly sur- 

 rounding it, the Cordillera raised their jagged line of peaks against 

 the sky. From the bases upwards towards the higher altitudes 

 the mountains were black with forests. Three large icebergs 

 floated on the water at the farther side, one of which had drifted 

 into shallows near the shore. No sign of life was to be observed 

 anywhere in the great hollow stretching beneath us. 



To my mind Argentine is a far more beautiful lake than Buenos 

 Aires. After a long look we began to descend into the lower land 

 by a sharp cleft that led down into a deep canadon. It was, owing 

 to a recent landslip, a nasty piece of travelling, and the horses, 

 disliking it, broke back more than once, the Zaino overo taking the 

 lead as usual. 



Emerging from this cleft we came on one of Nature's tragedies. 

 Upon the side of the slope was a guanaco, fallen (when I first 



