In today’s closely connected, heavily touristed world, there are still a few places whose beauty and secrets are guarded by many barriers to entry—strata of difficulty, like the layers of a pearl. One such place is the mountains of western Tierra del Fuego.

The Tierra del Fuego archipelago constitutes the southern tip of the Americas, pointing like an arrow toward Antarctica, forged by the westerlies and the bash of waves. The Isla Grande (“big island”) of Tierra del Fuego is larger than Denmark, and the myriad surrounding islands and islets add an area the size of Belgium. In the southwestern corner of the Isla Grande, extending far to the west of the town of Ushuaia, a labyrinthine peninsula of fjords, channels, glaciers, and twisted fingers of land holds the 140-kilometer-long Cordillera Darwin, the southernmost fortress of the Andes.

Many aspects of the Cordillera Darwin make it unusual among the world’s mountains. The most obvious, when comparing it to the rest of the Andes, is that its main axis runs east to west. Most of the South American continent belongs to a single tectonic plate, but the southern part of Tierra del Fuego is riding a completely different one: the Scotia Plate. (This plate moves eastward an average of 6.4mm per year relative to the South American Plate.) The Cordillera Darwin experiences, to a lesser extent, the same climatic gradient that characterizes Patagonia: rainy, green, and heavily glaciated in the west (where Monte Sarmiento is the dominant peak) and progressively drier and colder toward the eastern end (dominated by the mountains Frances, Bove, and Roncagli).

Uninhabited and pristine, this range looks much as it did to the first European visitors, who arrived exactly 500 years ago, or even to the people who lived here for thousands of years before. The Cordillera Darwin’s rugged terrain, ferocious climate, and inherent uncertainty make it a dream world for all lovers of true adventure. Many of its valleys have not yet been explored, and many summits remain virgin, including several of the highest.

I will not say who “discovered” the Cordillera Darwin, because discovery has long been misunderstood as an event when it is, in fact, a process. In the case of Tierra del Fuego, the process began with plants and animals, which until recently included giant sloths, saber-toothed cats, and one-ton short-faced bears. As recently as 14,000 years ago, human intruders arrived, bringing extinction to these animals and others. They also brought a new age of discovery, filling the land with myths and names that were constantly mutating, rising, and dying, in languages that could not be written—all that is left of them is a subtle echo of their sounds. These early names of Tierra del Fuego—words like Karukinka, Ayukenk, Tkoyuská, Huisiaccui, Kojoreren, or Onasín—were written down by the second wave of intruders, the Europeans who came with vessels, guns, and germs, bringing the earlier human intruders to the brink of extinction, but also carrying pen and paper, thus leaving more than echoes between the mountains. In the following lines, we will recapitulate this modern era of discovery, and we will dream about the next.

THE FIRST MAPMAKERS

Ferdinand Magellan’s expedition in 1520 was the first to leave written accounts of Tierra del Fuego. However, passing through the stormy straits to the north of the islands, Magellan’s crew did not see the mountains that concern us. They just saw a coast dotted with indigenous camps and a multitude of smoke columns rising from them, eventually leading to the name Tierra del Fuego. It wasn’t until 1580 that the mountains were noted on paper by Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa, who crossed the Strait of Magellan from west to east and observed in the distance an imposing “snowy volcano;” this supposedly smoking summit would adorn the maps of Tierra del Fuego for centuries to come.

The mountain range that would come to be called the Cordillera Darwin formed a natural border between different indigenous groups: the seafaring Kaweskar in the north and west and Yámana (Yaghan) in the south, and the land-based Selk’nam in the east. Remains of indigenous shelters demonstrate these groups likely traveled over passes through the cordillera as trade routes.

As the wrecks of European ships piled up on these remote coasts, and the inter-oceanic passages of Tierra del Fuego gained strategic value, the British Admiralty sent a series of hydrographic expeditions to chart the coastline of South America’s southern tip. The expedition vessels were under the command of Phillip Parker King, Pringle Stokes, and Robert Fitz Roy, who, between 1826 and 1836, mapped in detail the complex network of fjords and islands making up Tierra del Fuego. The highest portions were baptized the Darwin Mountains in commemoration of the 25th birthday of the young naturalist Charles Darwin, who was part of Captain Fitz Roy’s expedition, and whose name started appearing on maps for the full cordillera about half a century later.

THE CALL OF THE MOUNTAINS

The range’s pole of attraction during the 19th and early 20th centuries was Monte Sarmiento (2,207 meters), the “snowy volcano” spotted by Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa and renamed by Fitz Roy after the Spanish sailor. This mountain is undoubtedly the most prominent feature of Tierra del Fuego, and its notoriety was enhanced by the grow- ing maritime traffic passing through the Magellan Strait between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans during the age of steamships, an era that would last until the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914. Monte Sarmiento became at the time the allegory of the unreachable mountain and was portrayed in numerous works, including the novel Twenty Thou- sand Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne.

The first attempt to reach Sarmiento’s summit was by Italian geologist Domenico Lovisato (an early champion of the theory of continental drift) in 1882. While he did not get very far, he nevertheless wrote the opening chapter for the era of mountaineering in Tierra del Fuego. Sixteen years later, British mountaineer Sir Martin Conway set his sights on Sarmiento. Conway was heading south after the first ascent of Illimani in Bolivia and getting within 50 meters of the second ascent of Aconcagua. In the Cordillera Darwin he made an honest attempt to climb Sarmiento. Still, once again, he didn’t even reach the start of the main climbing problems.

Early in the 20th century, the most decisive figure in the exploration of Tierra del Fuego and the dissemination of its beauties around the world was the missionary, ethnographer, and author Alberto Maria de Agostini. After two exploratory trips to Tierra del Fuego in 1910, De Agostini completed four notable expeditions between 1913 and 1915, during which he made two bold but fruitless attempts on Monte Sarmiento. He also placed the Contraalmirante Martinez and Pigafetta fjords on maps for the first time. (Chilean authorities eventually renamed the latter as De Agostini Fjord.) His name is also given to the Chilean national park that today encompasses much of the Cordillera Darwin.

Less known but no less daring were the adventures of the celebrated U.S. painter Rockwell Kent, who aspired to connect with the wildest and most remote expressions of nature. After a brief examination of the world map, he decided to go to Tierra del Fuego. He arrived in Punta Arenas, Chile, in 1922, and for $20 he bought the lifeboat of a shipwrecked steamer. Exchanging paintings for favors, he managed to obtain a pilothouse and a mast for his precarious vessel, and off he went to cross the Magellan Strait. He almost wrecked several times, and at one point during this trip, at the downwind end of Admiralty Sound, incessant winds pinned Kent in place for weeks. Eventually, he took the bold decision to continue by land, traveling south from Bahía Blanca with a few companions for some 40 kilometers through an unknown mountain range. Surprisingly, they managed to succeed, carrying cameras, canvases, brushes, and paintings on tumplines on the difficult journey to Yendegaia Bay. Many of these paintings are now at the Plattsburgh Art Museum in New York state.

In 1937 there was a remarkable expedition to the Cordillera Darwin of which little has been written. German mountaineers Hans Teufel and Stefan Zuck became the first to reach some of the main summits, including the first ascent of Monte General Ponce (1,417 meters, later claimed as a first ascent by John Earle, who called it Cerro Caledonia) and the remarkable first ascent of Cerro Italia (2,062 meters) at the southeastern end of the range. To date, many still believe the first ascent of Cerro Italia was made in 1956 by an expedition led by De Agostini, as he indeed claimed such distinction. Such a boast would add to the many known mischiefs by De Agostini, all attributable to his need to get sponsors for his exploration. It seems that some mountaineering intricacies are older than one might think.

Despite this exaggeration, the 1956 expedition led by De Agostini was one of the most memorable ever done in the area. De Agostini was 73 years old at the time and still obsessed with Monte Sarmiento. Organizing a large expedition to besiege the Esfinge de Hielo (the “ice sphinx,” as he called it), De Agostini recruited the best Italian climbers of the time. After 57 fruitless days at the foot of the mountain, they had almost lost hope, but at the last minute, Clemente Maffei and Carlo Mauri launched a bold ascent via the south ridge in alpine style. Despite bad weather, they managed to overcome the difficulties and leave their mark in history, achieving the first ascent of the “king of Tierra del Fuego.”

MODERN MOUNTAINEERING

The 1960s brought two extraordinary expeditions led by the legendary British mountaineer and explorer Eric Shipton. In 1962, Shipton, along with Chileans Eduardo Garcia, Cedomir Marangunic, and Francisco Vivanco, made the first crossing of Cordillera Darwin, from Parry Fjord to Torcido Fjord. (Rockwell Kent followed valley routes across the east end of the range; Shipton’s team was the first to cross over the mountains.) During this traverse, they ascended the highest summit of the Cordillera Darwin (2,568 m), which they designated Monte Darwin, intending to honor the intention of Captain Fitz Roy. However, in Fitz Roy’s time the highest peak was believed to be located farther east, over the eastern arm of Pia Fjord. This led to long-lasting confusion over the identity of the “real” Monte Darwin.

In 1970, a remarkable seven-person New Zealand expedition attempted to settle this issue. They climbed six peaks in the range, including a 2,261-meter summit in roughly the position where the British Admiralty’s maps had placed Monte Darwin. They proposed this particu- lar peak should be given the controversial name, and that the 2,568-meter summit climbed by Shipton’s team should be named Monte Shipton. Later, John Shipton, son of the British explorer, formally applied to Chilean authorities to accept this name, and it has been adopted on the latest maps.

However, the confusion didn’t end there. The New Zealanders also identified a summit higher than “their” Monte Darwin, which they named Cerro York Minster (2,270 meters). And this mountain corresponds to what De Agostini called Monte Darwin and also to the mountain Fitz Roy most likely would have identified from his ship as the tallest peak. (The official Monte Darwin is farther back and is difficult to see from the Beagle Channel or Pia Fjord.) Thus, Cerro York Minster could be said to correspond to the “historic Monte Darwin.” The first ascent of this mountain was in 1987. At the time the climbers thought they were doing the second ascent of Monte Darwin—which was right or wrong, depending on how we look at it!

Returning to Eric Shipton, he came back to Tierra del Fuego two years after his remarkable 1962 expedition, this time to climb Bove (2,279 meters) and Francés (2,261 meters) with Peter Bruchhausen, Claudio Cortéz, and John Earle. These two peaks are some of the most striking of the Cordillera Darwin, visible from the city of Ushuaia to the east.

The year 1966 was one of intense activity. A strong Italian team led by Carlo Mauri reached the summit of Monte Buckland (1,746 meters), an impressive mountain that resembles a gigan- tic ice tusk to the east of Monte Sarmiento. Two members of this Ragni di Lecco team eventually reached the summit via the southwest face: Cesare Giudici and a young Casimiro Ferrari. Almost simultaneously, a North American expedition led by Jack Miller conducted extensive exploration of the sector of Cordillera Darwin between Monte Sarmiento and Monte Shipton, including an ascent of one of the highest massifs in the area, Cerro Ona (2,279 meters).

Monte Sarmiento still cast its spell, and between 1969 and 1972, the Italian Giuseppe Agnolotti led three failed attempts to reach its west summit. (At 2,145 meters, the western summit is about 60 meters lower than the main peak.) The west peak finally was climbed by the Ragni di Lecco in 1986, with the participation of Clemente Maffei, the 62-year-old veteran of the first ascent of the main summit three decades earlier.

In 1990, another of the great explorers of south- ern South America, the English physician David Hillebrandt, along with his team, reached the north summit of the difficult Monte Roncagli (2,226 meters). In limited visibility, they could not be certain if this was the highest of Roncagli’s three tops; today it seems likely the central summit is higher, but I would never question Hillebrandt’s claim to the first ascent.

Perhaps the last Tierra del Fuego adventure moti- vated solely by exploration was a very low-profile expedition by North Americans Douglas Krause andDavid Scheer during the summer of 1990 and 1991. Approaching from the south, via Torcido Fjord, they achieved formidable climbs to several of the highest peaks in the range that were still unclimbed. Three elderly Yámana women living near Puerto Williams, east of Ushuaia, were given honor of choosing these peaks’ names: Eepuj (2,273 meters), Kaiyush (2,162 meters), Shakatuj (2,028 meters), and Seepain (2,004 meters).

As usual, much of the action of the last few decades has concentrated on Monte Sarmiento, of which the western summit has proved to be the most accessible. In 1996, Stephen Venables (U.K.), John Roskelley (USA), and Tim McCartney-Snape (Australia) made the second ascent by a new route on the south face. Initially, they aspired to climb both peaks, but the plan was hindered by two accidents and the usual bad weather. The western summit would receive a third ascent, by the Germans Robert Jasper, Jörn Heller, and Ralf Gantzhorn, in 2010; they attempted the climb of the north ridge, still virgin despite the attempts of the bulky 1972 expedition of Agnolotti. But they had to abandon the climb very close to the summit, then converge toward the Ragni route of 1986, which finally led them to the top.

More recently, in the winter of 2013, Natalia Martínez (Argentina) and Camilo Rada (Chile) made the long-awaited second ascent of the main summit, by a new route on the north face—no less than 57 years after the ascent of Mauri and Maffei. Several of the many attempts on Sarmiento in the last decades have set off with the extremely challenging aim of traversing the mountain, climbing both summits along the way. When this is eventually done, it will raise the bar of Tierra del Fuego mountaineering to a new level.

Aside from Monte Sarmiento, the challenge that has motivated many attempts and successive failures in the range is the longitudinal crossing of the Cordillera Darwin. This feat was finally achieved in 2011, in just 30 days, by a French team of the GMHM (Groupe Militaire de Haute Montagne), with an extraordinary display of strength, perseverance, and technical ability. They completed their 250-kilometer route without intermediate caches, a truly remarkable achievement.

The first two decades of the 21st century have seen increasing activity, seeking to repeat some of the main summits but mostly looking to make the first ascents of the many summits that were still unclimbed. These include:

• Britons Andy Parkin and Simon Yates climbed the beautiful virgin summit of Cerro Ada (2,113m) in 2001. In 2008, the same team made the ascent of two virgin peaks at the head of the Pía Fjord: Cerro Iorana (2,020m) and Cerro Lady Jane (2,257m).

• In 2012, eyes turned back again to the magnificent Monte Buckland, which had had just a couple attempts since its first ascent in 1966. A seven-person German team (Daniel Gross, Markus Kautz and Robert Koschitzki) accessed the area from the northeast, opening a new route and putting three of their members on the summit, thus achieving the second ascent of this beautiful mountain. From the same base camp, they also made the first ascent of Cerro Niebla (1,431m).

• The same year, Germans Robert Jasper, Jörn Heller, and Ralf Gantzhorn returned to the cordillera and climbed the aesthetic Monte Giordano (1,519m).

• In 2013, the Austrian "Project Fireland" explored untrodden terrain on the Buckland peninsula, making the first ascents of cerros Outland (1,073m) and Cristal (1,176m).
 
• In the summer of 2017–2018, Cristian Donoso (Chile) made his second attempt to reach the unclimbed giants of the west: cerros Stoppani (2,260m) and Dalla Vedova (2,266m). This time he succeeded together with Chileans Harry Brito and Camilo Hornahuer.
 
• The next spring a French team from ENAM (Equipes Nationales d'Alpinisme Féminine) made the first ascents of cerros Akira (1,564m) and Fernando (1,044m), two of the many impressive summits that rise over Finlandia Fjord.

• In the fall of 2019, a large French group used a sailboat as base camp and made the first ascent of Cerro Garcia (1,244m) and other ascents.

• In early 2020, a small international team climbed a 979m peak above Cuevas Fjord that they called Cerro Maa Kipa. 

HIDDEN GEMS

Let us dream over the map and point to a few blank pages, yet to be filled, in the chronicle of mountain exploration in the Cordillera Darwin.

Starting at the west end of the range, the already mentioned west-to-east traverse of Monte Sarmiento and its two summits is a compelling objective for the most ambitious. A repetition of Sarmiento’s original route, the south ridge, would also be a wonderful objective. In the Buckland peninsula, the impressive spires of Cerro Taurus (1,097 meters) rise right from the sea and have seen no climbing attempts.

Continuing to the east, the Cordón Navarro offers numerous objectives, and over a dozen ascents have been carried out in the area. Yet, surprisingly, no one has managed to reach its high- est point, Cerro Navarro (1,864 meters), despite attempts by Jack Miller and his team in 1966 and a Chilean expedition in 2001. At the southeastern end of this group, Cerro Serrano (1,493 meters) remains untouched as well.

Besieged by massive glaciers on all flanks, five virgin summits of 1,800 meters-plus dominate the main glacier plateau of Cordillera Darwin. They are not tricky climbs, but they are deep into the icefield. One of them is Cerro Mayo (ca 1,900 meters), which is portrayed on some of the oldest maps of the range, yet it is still unclear to which of these summits this name corresponds.

Just north of the Beagle Channel, at the head of Oblicuo Glacier, a beautiful 1,722-meter peak attempted by James (Skip) Novak and Doug Scott in 1994 remains unclimbed, and the dreamy ski line on its south face hasn’t been scratched.

The southwest faces of Cerro Kaiyush, Monte Cresta Blanca, and Monte Darwin are magnificent outcrops of Beagle Granite, but they might need to wait for a new era of cold-tolerant rock climbers. However, nearby Ovejero, El Paso, and Louhi, near the head of Finlandia Fjord, offer some of the highest and most aesthetic unclimbed summits of the range. Farther east, Monte Yagán (2,158 meters) and the rocky monolith of Cerro Selk’nam are waiting for repeats and offer numerous new lines.

At the head of Parry Fjord, the clean and direct line offered by the north ridge of Cerro Jemmy Button resisted an attempt by a strong Polish team in 2004 (they called it Monte Vavel) and is still waiting for new contestants.

Approaching the eastern end of the range, the granitic north face of Cerro Italia (2,062 meters) seems perfect for crack-seekers. Mounts Frances and Bove have appealing untrodden faces. And, as mentioned before, the main summit of the beautiful Monte Roncagli is most likely yet to be touched. To finish, we have to mention Peak 2,244m, most likely the highest unclimbed peak of the Cordillera Darwin. This mountain is just one of the many still to be climbed around the head of Stoppani Glacier.

Many of problems facing early explorers have persisted in this region, including a lack of detailed maps, ambiguous or absent geographical names, poorly documented ascents, and difficult access. But the eastern side of the range is becoming some- what more accessible. It’s already possible to drive to Lago Fagnano and Almirantazgo (Admiralty) Sound, where tours, transport, and accom- modation are slowly becoming more available.

Sometime during the next decade, a road will reach Yendegaia Bay on the Beagle Channel. This easy access will open new opportunities for adventurers, in particular around the prominent and beautiful peaks of the eastern end of the range, such as Frances, Roncagli, and Bove. Already, tourist outfits offer “adventure trips” departing from Ushuaia or Puerto Williams, combining mountaineering with the navigation of the mythical Beagle Channel. In recent years, there also has been an increase in European and North American expeditions setting off in winter for ski descents on the snowy slopes above the channel.

Access to the central and western parts of the Cordillera Darwin still requires lengthy navigation, usually two or three days on a sailboat or one day in a fast boat. Mountains near the coast can be reached in a day from the sea, often using a sailboat as a base camp. Others will require longer approaches through swampy terrain, peat bog, dense vegetation, crevassed glaciers, and unstable moraine. Together, these goodies can often turn out to be more challenging than the climbs themselves.

LESSONS FROM THE PAST

The many expeditions to the Cordillera Darwin have shown that to succeed it is essential to have a motivated and committed team. This is a place where perseverance and flexibility are more important than strength. Perhaps the essential attributes are patience, resilience, and a drive that cannot be dissolved by the rain or blown away by the wind.

The wind, in fact, is a defining characteristic of Tierra del Fuego—this is the corner of the Andes most exposed to the elements. Along the corridor between Patagonia and the Antarctic Peninsula, surface winds go round the world, free and impetuous as in no other corner of the planet, picking up speed and moisture in their endless march over the southern oceans. The Cordillera Darwin, at latitude 54° south, is the only mountain range that pokes into this windy realm, long known by sailors as the Furious Fifties. Here, clouds cling to the peaks with unmatched insistence and the westerlies dump gargantuan loads of rain and snow. This perpetual cycle sculpts rime mushrooms up to baroque exuberance.

Yet, if extreme pressure is what turns coal into diamonds, pressure cannot be a bad thing. In the same vein, I would like to emphasize the point that the severe weather of Tierra del Fuego is not bad weather. In fact, it is this unforgiving climate that has turned these rather small moun- tains into magnificent sculptures of rock and ice. It is also this climate that has kept the region magical and mysterious. Here, the mountain and the weather are so intertwined that they need to be considered as parts of one entity—the weather is a mountaineering challenge, no less than the ice and the rock. It would be pointless to sit and wait for the glaciers to melt in order to climb a mountain. Equally pointless is to sit in Tierra del Fuego to wait for “bad” weather to pass. With patience, one might finally get a sunny summer day to attempt a climb. Yet, on such a day, the whole mountain will be falling apart, rivers will rage, and avalanches will abound. Is that “good weather” then?

Given the conditions, there are a couple of skills and attributes that make a significant difference in this region. One is GPS navigation, required to move in low-visibility conditions. Another is a nose for extracting the little truth from available weather forecasts (while being prepared for the opposite). And finally, tolerance for failure is required, because even with all of the above, a fair share of luck is also needed.

The ever-present question is: When is the best time to climb in the Cordillera Darwin? And my answer is that all months are good (or bad, if you like to see glasses as half empty). While, statistically, some months could have better climbing weather than others, the inter-annual variability is large enough as to render those trends useless for planning an expedition. For example, on average, December is less windy than November. However, the chances for that trend to hold on any particular year are less than 50 percent.

Nevertheless, the southern winter consistently offers a slightly more stable climate. Colder conditions also are an advantage because rain is confined to lower elevations. The main disadvantage is the short amount of daylight, which makes low temperatures and stormy weather a little harder to tolerate. While the winds are on average milder in winter, the fierce storms that have made Patagonia famous can happen at any time of the year and can last for weeks. (Occasionally, it must be admitted, there are perfect days, and experience has shown that one of these will repay months of sacrifice.) Altogether, winter’s advantages outweigh the disadvantages if a climb on ice or alpine terrain is planned. Conversely, summer seems to be the best for rock climbs, and perhaps also for south-facing ice climbs.

Expeditions headed into much of the Cordillera Darwin will need a permit from Chile’s Parque Nacional Alberto de Agostini, and foreign visitors may also need a permit from the Chilean Dirección de Fronteras y Límites (DIFROL). Beyond the legal requirements, climbers should produce as little impact as they can during their visit and leave nothing behind. In particular, the practice of building base camp huts is frowned upon.

The very nature of climbing in the Cordillera Darwin is isolation, uncertainty, extreme weather, and complex terrain, all spiced with the potential—very rare today—to be the first humans to set foot in a beautiful and pristine corner of the world. The area demands respect and care from those lucky enough to visit. Adventurous spirits will be rewarded with the opportunity to transform dreams into life experiences.

About the Author: Camilo Rada lives in Punta Arenas, Chile, his base camp for glaciological research and mountaineering. Since 2000 he has visited the Cordillera Darwin five times, along with dozens of expeditions to Patagonia and Antarctica, making 25 first ascents. Much of the information presented here is drawn from research conducted for the UNCHARTED project, a nonprofit initiative developed by Rada and Natalia Martínez, dedicated to documenting the geography and history of Patagonia and other remote, mountainous regions. Learn more at unchart.org.

For additional information about the naming, geography, and climbing history of peaks in the Cordillera Darwin, the reader is referred to this article by Camilo Rada from AAJ 2014.