Visiting Estancia Harberton, Part 2

Exploring the family farm (now tourist destination) at the heart of the Bridges' story

[Click here for Part 1 of this series, which explains the importance of Estancia Harberton to my novel and describes my adventure getting there amidst rain and clouds.]

I’d arranged to stay at Estancia Harberton two nights; Saturday was my one full day there and my chance to explore, take the official tour, and absorb as much of the place as I could. It was also my chance to talk to the family members in residence to glean their perspective on the history of their family.

The impressionistic view from my window in the morning, looking through the condensation at the sunrise. (This photo was taken at 8:37am, to give an idea of the late sunrise.)

I awoke to a cold room and hints of a clear sky. In the (shared) cabin where I was staying, the heat came from the wood-burning stove (called “salamandra” in Spanish), which was out in the hallway. The fact that I’d closed my door overnight meant I’d blocked out the heat. The common spaces were wonderfully warm, and the water in the shared bathroom was also very hot, so it didn’t take long to warm myself up.

Seeing as I was there in mid-April, a month into the Southern Hemisphere’s fall, the sun was late in making its appearance. By around 8 am, the sky was lightening to a pale blue. The clouds to the south, over the Beagle Channel, tinged with pink as the horizon over the mountains brightened. The snow-covered mountains to the north turned pink; the mountains to the south, across the channel, were purple as always. Harberton was still in pre-dawn light, shadowed by “No-Top Mountain” (a ridge without a point) on the eastern side of the bay.

The mat outside the cabin doorway crunched with frost. The water in the bay was placid as a mirror, and a flock of geese eyed my red coat suspiciously. The flapping of bird wings echoed across the water. Low-tide had exposed the shell banks at the shore as well as the legs of the docks. Roosters crowed and hens clucked in the yard; dogs barked; wild horses neighed in the distance.

By around 8:30, the sky behind No Top Mountain was glowing orange, a fiery contrast to the dreariness of the previous day. By the time the sun finally showed itself, around 8:47, it turned the very fenceposts golden.

Sunrise at Harberton