The Next Morning Not A Single
Fuegian Was In The Neighbourhood.
When the Beagle was here in the month of February, I
started one morning at four o'clock to ascend Mount Tarn,
which is 2600 feet high, and is the most elevated point in this
immediate district.
We went in a boat to the foot of the
mountain (but unluckily not to the best part), and then
began our ascent. The forest commences at the line of high-
water mark, and during the first two hours I gave over all
hopes of reaching the summit. So thick was the wood, that
it was necessary to have constant recourse to the compass;
for every landmark, though in a mountainous country, was
completely shut out. In the deep ravines, the death-like
scene of desolation exceeded all description; outside it was
blowing a gale, but in these hollows, not even a breath of
wind stirred the leaves of the tallest trees. So gloomy, cold,
and wet was every part, that not even the fungi, mosses, or
ferns could flourish. In the valleys it was scarcely possible
to crawl along, they were so completely barricaded by great
mouldering trunks, which had fallen down in every direction.
When passing over these natural bridges, one's course was
often arrested by sinking knee deep into the rotten wood; at
other times, when attempting to lean against a firm tree, one
was startled by finding a mass of decayed matter ready to
fall at the slightest touch.
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