Malvinas: On How the AAF Operated the Pucará

 

This is how we had to operate with the Pucará

Account taken from the book “With God in the Soul and a Falcon in the Heart”
Narrated by: Captain Grunert — Pucará pilot
Date: 1 May 1982
Place: Darwin
Flight: Captain Grunert, No. 1; Lieutenant Calderón, No. 2; Lieutenant Russo, No. 3; and Lieutenant Cimbaro, No. 4
Weather: calm wind, 3/8 Ac. As. — altocumulus and altostratus. Almost half the sky covered.

Take-off: night-time.

At approximately 05:00 hours we were woken by the Squadron Commander, Major “Toto” Navarro, who informed us that Puerto Argentino had been attacked at 04:40 hours and that we should prepare to take off at first light.

After the pre-flight briefing, we went to a small hut beside the runway to wait while the runway markers were put in place: two at the threshold, one on top of a half 200-litre drum, and another at the opposite threshold.

The flight that was to take off was designated, but since No. 1 and No. 2 were not ready, No. 3 and No. 4 were ordered to take off, in that order.

At the threshold we placed the two aircraft parallel to one another, in order to make use of as much ground as possible, since the field was very short and take-off was not safe. It was a semi-prepared strip laid out on a paddock, very soft and uneven.

While we were at the threshold, No. 1 and No. 2 were taxiing towards it.

During the take-off run, No. 3 put one of its undercarriage wheels into a hole, causing the pilot to lose control of the aircraft. It became completely airborne for approximately 15 seconds and then came down again on three points. By the time it reached the end of the runway, the aircraft was still 5 kilometres per hour below the speed needed for take-off. The departure was extremely rough, with the aircraft buffeting and its wheel striking the marker at the end of the strip.

At the end of the threshold, about 30 metres away, there was a wire fence covered with a kind of creeper roughly 1.5 metres high, which made the take-off even more critical.

Once airborne, No. 4 set course to the south, where we were to remain awaiting orders, while No. 1 and No. 2 were to carry out an offensive reconnaissance before rejoining in the southern sector of Cóndor Base, at Darwin.

No. 1 and No. 2 were unable to take off because No. 1 had an accident at the runway threshold. As a result, the only element available to carry out the mission was the section made up of No. 3 and No. 4.

After five minutes of waiting, the section headed towards the target: a British helicopter-borne landing — an attack with men transported by helicopters — near Puerto Argentino. The radar later informed us that the helicopters had disappeared. For that reason, and after overflying the area, we returned to our base of origin.

With fuel already down to the minimum, I contacted the tower and requested permission to enter the circuit. Permission was denied, and I was ordered to proceed to the alternative airfield, Calderón Naval Air Base, located on Isla Borbón.

Since my fuel gauge was almost at zero, I informed the tower and requested authorisation to land, but they repeated the previous instructions. On my third communication, I was ordered to reach the alternative by any means necessary, because Darwin had been under attack by enemy aircraft for the previous two hours.

The section reached Calderón with practically no fuel left, and No. 3 had to land with the nose wheel unlocked, since it had been twisted during take-off when it hit the hole. To make matters worse, this runway was even worse than the one at Cóndor Base: its surface was very soft and prone to flooding, something that would cause us serious problems in the future.

We were all eager to refuel and rearm, because the escape of our prey had left us full of frustration and with a strong desire to make them pay for the surprise attack of that early morning. But the days to come would more than give us the chance for a revenge we would never forget.

Malvinas: Call Sign "Jaguar"

Call Sign "Jaguar"

Three A-4C Skyhawks, call sign “Jaguar,” took off from San Julián at 10:00 AM. Crew: First Lieutenant José Vázquez (C-324), Ensign Guillermo Martínez (C-318), and Lieutenant Jorge Bono.
They reached the target area at approximately 11:30 AM without being intercepted. They headed towards San Carlos Bay on a heading of 190/220 and dropped six bombs on the frigate Arrow. A wingman spotted a call sign on the structure. They estimated eight to ten ships in the strait. One was identified as the Canberra. They received heavy anti-aircraft fire from the ships and land. Upon exiting, they realized that all three aircraft were losing fuel significantly. They jettisoned their tanks and flew on a heading of 210° for three minutes. The squadron leader ordered the ejection of Number 3, but he reported that he still had 3,000 lbs of fuel remaining. They set a heading of 260°, climbing over the San Carlos Strait. They spotted a ship and descended again. After crossing the strait (5 NM north of Fox Bay), they climbed and checked their fuel: No. 1: 1,500 lb, No. 2: 2,280 lb, and No. 3: 2,500 lb.



They crossed Gran Malvina, climbing, but upon entering the sea north of South Georgia Island, they observed No. 3 (Lieutenant Bono) begin a gentle descending turn and impact in the sea.
There are doubts about his ejection, but in any case, he fell into the icy water. They requested guidance from the KC-130 Hercules "Madrid 2"; they found it at flight level 100 and docked (No. 1 had 200 lb and No. 2 had 1,200 lb). Thus attached to the Hercules, they reached the mainland, flying 30 nautical miles from San Julián, where they undocked and landed at 1:00 PM. The KC-130 Hercules transferred 39,000 pounds of air to Squadron No. 1 and, to assist the Jaguars, had to approach to within 60 nautical miles west of Gran Malvinas.



This sortie will be inscribed in the history of world aviation for the boundless courage of its pilots. Lieutenant Jorge Bono, who could have ejected and descended softly with his parachute, gave his life. A few days later, on May 30, First Lieutenant José Vázquez would follow him in the attack on the aircraft carrier Invincible, but that is another story.


 

Argentine Marines: Colemil and his Men en Monte Longdon

Lance Corporal Colemil and his men on Monte Longdon

The Marines of the 12.7 mm machine-gun company attached to RI-7 on Monte Longdon prepared the defence of their position as they were accustomed to: deep works, with shelters, communication trenches, ammunition stores, etc., always working to improve them. It was the best way to pass the time before going into combat, as they were convinced they would have to fight, and constant work was the best way to overcome the انتظار, in line with Marine Corps tradition. When the British assault came, they saw how right that attitude had been. Those who had not done so suffered unnecessary casualties and were unable to fight effectively.

Two days before the attack, Lance Corporal Colemil went to the Marine Corps Combat Support Service. There, Lieutenant Scotto told him: “Vizcacha (another of Colemil’s nicknames), here are the newly arrived night sights—take these for the rifles and machine guns.” The lance corporal took three for rifles: he gave one to his commanding officer, Lieutenant Dachary, another to Chief Corporal Lamas, and kept the third. He also carried six Litton sights for the machine guns and five or six head-mounted night vision devices that proved of no use. The following day, the Marines spent time training with the night sights.

The night of 11 June 1982

Carlos Rafael Colemil, in charge of a 12.7 mm machine gun (the one positioned furthest to the west on Monte Longdon), had taken conscript Leiva, who felt unwell, to the aid post. After being examined and treated, he was authorised to return to his position. On their way back, they passed by Chief Corporal Lamas’s machine gun, who said to Colemil: “Stay very alert. Don’t let your guard down—there could be an attack tonight.” They continued on. When they reached the shelter they used for rest, Colemil woke the relief and, together with two conscripts who had already completed their watch on the 12.7, began the nightly patrol. They stopped briefly near the Army’s Racit (S) radar (an infantry radar used to detect the enemy) and exchanged a few words with the operator sergeant. “Get into your dugout—they’re about to start firing,” he warned Colemil.

The radar, capable of detecting enemy infantry movements, was switched off at 8 p.m., as British ships had detected it and subjected it to naval fire from the south, which facilitated the infiltration of British paratroopers for the attack. These paratroopers, roughly a company in strength, made their way through the minefields without triggering them. Silently, they infiltrated sectors held by the Bravo Company of RI-7, under Second Lieutenant Juan D. Baldini, whose front faced west on Monte Longdon.

Colemil and the two conscripts continued moving among the rocks until he stopped and looked west through his rifle’s night sight. To his surprise, he saw a diffuse shape moving not far away. Uncertain, he aimed his FAL rifle and fired a shot. In response, he heard the unmistakable rattle of a Sterling machine gun. There was no doubt—it was the enemy, and close. At the same time, a paratrooper stepped on a mine; the man’s cry and the explosion alerted the whole of Monte Longdon.

Once the enemy was detected, Colemil ran to the shelter and used the field telephone to call Lieutenant Dachary’s command post: “Cobra, this is Araucano. Cobra, this is Araucano.” —“Go ahead, Araucano.” —“Man the weapons—we are under attack, we are under attack.” —“Received.” (The machine guns were connected to Dachary’s command post and to each other.)

While Colemil alerted his superior, the fighting spread. Thanks to the element of surprise, the British managed to position themselves at the western end of the hill, advancing with machine guns, rifles, and 66 and 84 mm rockets. The atmosphere was hellish. Colemil marked targets with tracer rounds from his rifle, aided by the night sight. Then came artillery fire. The Argentine Marines dived into their foxholes; as soon as it stopped, they emerged to keep firing, only to be hit again. The paratroopers took advantage of these moments to advance, overrunning Colemil’s position, leaving him isolated and unable to rejoin Dachary’s men.

Undeterred, Colemil continued firing the 12.7, but not for long—the weapon jammed and went out of action. From that point, a long night began for “Araucano” Colemil, a brilliant NCO whose determination and bravery caused the British many problems and numerous casualties.

“Well, we’ve got rifles and plenty of ammunition,” he told conscripts Ferrandiz and Leiva, who had remained with him. “Let’s shoot them to pieces.”
“Corporal, they’re coming in their hundreds,” said Ferrandiz.
“That’s fine—we’ll let them pass and then hit them from behind.”

At one point, Colemil saw British troops trying to set up a mortar. “These won’t get away,” he said, opening fire, wounding one and forcing the others to withdraw.
“Watch your back, Corporal!” warned Leiva as three paratroopers approached at speed. Colemil turned and fired a burst of about fifteen rounds. One fell; the other two retreated wounded, shouting.

Lying prone, he searched for targets through his sight. Whenever one came into range, he put them out of action. Alone, he caused heavy losses among those attempting to take the Argentine positions in that sector of Longdon. His conscripts supported him with their rifles.

At one point, he saw the enemy trying to recover a recoilless rifle near his position. He opened fire, saw one fall, and then his position came under intense fire. At that moment he thought: if I don’t fight, I’m dead. He began crawling from position to position, firing whenever he saw an enemy. He spotted one standing on a parapet with a bipod-mounted rifle—he fired, and the man dropped instantly. He continued firing at others trying to reach him.

While exposing himself to find targets, Colemil was hit—the round struck the front of his helmet, pierced it, and lodged in his scalp, stopping at the back of his head. A paratrooper, from just over twenty metres away, had thrown a grenade which exploded nearby, but a rock stopped the fragments. As Colemil rose to locate him, the same man fired his rifle. The bullet grazed his head. Because of this wound, running from forehead to nape, Colemil earned the nickname “Moneybox”. He felt warm blood running down his face. Dazed, he steadied himself, took up his rifle, and waited. As soon as his attacker appeared from behind a rock, he aimed at his chest and fired. The man cried out and fell backwards.

“Corporal, let’s bandage your head,” said Ferrandiz.
“Yes, but quickly—we can’t stop firing.”

“We’re cut off—we won’t hold much longer.”

At around 3 a.m., they began receiving fire from their own artillery, which was striking the area assuming it had already fallen.
“Corporal, why don’t we surrender?”
“No—no way. I won’t be taken prisoner.”
“Then let’s fall back.”
“All right—let’s go. We’ll link up with Corporal Lamas.”

They tried to withdraw but were immediately engaged and forced back. Colemil had offered fierce resistance and was clearly pinpointed.

At approximately 03:00, he decided to withdraw towards Bravo Company’s command post. Taking advantage of a lull, they tried again. The two conscripts managed to escape, but Colemil was hit in the leg. He tried to crawl but lost consciousness after a few metres. When the British advanced, they left him where he lay, believing him dead. He was later taken prisoner and regained consciousness aboard the British hospital ship Uganda, where a platinum plate was inserted in his skull.

That night, he expended five FAL magazines and reloaded twice. British accounts speak of a “sniper” who caused heavy casualties—this was likely Lance Corporal Carlos Rafael Colemil.

In 1982, he was awarded the decoration “Honour for Valour in Combat”.

The GADA 601 Becomes Support Artillery

ANTI-AIRCRAFT ARTILLERY ENDED UP CONDUCTING SURFACE FIRE
Account taken from the Gaceta Malvinense

What follows is a transcription based on the account of then Second Lieutenant Claudio Oscar Braghini, Commander of the Third Section of Battery “B” of the 601st Air Defence Artillery Group (GADA 601) of the Argentine Army…

During the fighting on 1 May, the RAF had identified the positions of the Argentine anti-aircraft artillery pieces, making a change of position necessary. A reconnaissance of the area was first carried out, as the route to be taken was littered with Beluga bombs that had failed to detonate due to the low altitude at which they had been released. The guns had to be moved over 1.5 km and be operational by the early hours of 2 May. Although the distance was short, only one tractor was available to tow two Oerlikon Contraves 35 mm guns (each weighing 6,000 kg), a Skyguard radar (around 5,900 kg), two field generator units (900 kg each), and 280 ammunition crates. This required an extraordinary effort from personnel, whose numbers had been halved, as the remainder were in Puerto Argentino and could not be redeployed because helicopters from Cóndor Air Base were engaged in airlifting Infantry Regiment 12 from Puerto Argentino to Darwin.

Despite everything, the section was operational at first light on 2 May.

To avoid a repeat of the surprise attack of 1 May, it was decided to maintain a permanent “red alert” posture, as the section was located about 80 km from Puerto Argentino and the terrain allowed Sea Harriers to attack at very low altitude without early warning from the surveillance radars in Puerto Argentino.

For the personnel, this operating regime meant extreme physical exhaustion, alleviated only by night-time rest—rest that was constantly interrupted by alerts from Puerto Argentino, British naval harassing fire, or reconnaissance flights detected by the Air Force’s ELTA radar near the position.

There was no alternative, despite insufficient personnel to rotate combat posts, since under these conditions aerial surveillance could not be neglected “for even a minute”—a statement based not on rhetoric but on mathematical calculation.

A combat aircraft such as the Sea Harrier has an attack speed of between 250 and 300 metres per second. Given that the maximum range of the Skyguard fire-control radar is 16 km, and assuming no terrain variations causing blind spots, and that the Harrier flies above 50 metres altitude, it could only be detected at 16 km. At 300 m/s, it would take 53.3 seconds (less than a minute) to cover that distance; by then, however, it would already be over the position, making engagement too late.

The maximum range at which fire can be opened is 4 km from the fire-control director, provided that radar “acquisition” and tracking of the target begins two or three seconds before the aircraft reaches that distance. Thus, timing is reduced as follows: from 16 km to 4 km—40 seconds—minus 3 seconds for acquisition and tracking leaves 37 seconds, and that under ideal conditions, which were certainly not those in the Falklands.

All this caused considerable strain. Personnel had to watch the radar screen with intense concentration from morning until nightfall; similarly, gun commanders and ammunition handlers had to remain at their posts in the open all day under harsh weather conditions. However, this demanding regime proved worthwhile on 4 May at 13:45, when three echoes appeared on the radar screen. All relevant communications were made. Second Lieutenant Braghini, together with his radar operator, Corporal First Class Ferreyra, allowed the three Harriers to approach to within 5 km without “acquiring” them, thereby preventing early warning and avoiding the risk of anti-radiation missile launch. The image of a Harrier approaching at high speed in low-level flight appeared on the TV monitor. Braghini fired the first burst, which struck the ground in front of the aircraft. The shells exploded ahead of the nose, and the aircraft immediately broke away in zigzag evasive manoeuvres. The Second Lieutenant waited for it to stabilise and pressed the firing switch again. This burst struck it directly, likely causing its fuel tanks to explode and completely tearing off its port wing. Engulfed in flames, the Harrier lost level flight, pitched up sharply, rolled along its longitudinal axis, and crashed to the ground. On impact, the pilot was thrown clear along with the ejection seat. His parachute deployed but became entangled in a fence. The wreckage, now a fireball, rose again, passed over infantry positions—burning two soldiers—and finally scattered across the end of the runway (Darwin airfield). Later, the body of the pilot, Lieutenant Nick Taylor of the Royal Navy, was found still strapped to his seat. The Sea Harrier bore the serial XZ450 and belonged to 800 Squadron.

As this aircraft was crashing, a second one was acquired by the fire-control system; it jettisoned its bombs to lighten its load and escape. Fire was opened, causing some damage, as it withdrew trailing a long plume of smoke. The third Harrier departed without causing damage.

This second attack confirmed the value of the section’s change of position, as the attack came from the opposite direction to the previous one—likely aiming to strike the former position and then operate freely. Continuous “red alert” also proved correct, as early warning from Puerto Argentino was not feasible due to the distance. After this, enemy aircraft limited themselves to reconnaissance at a distance. In the days prior to the ground advance, they again attempted to soften infantry positions, this time using chaff (metallic strips) to deceive radar, without success, as they were consistently met with heavy fire from GADA 601 and 20 mm Air Force guns near the runway. Harriers often withdrew damaged, and on one occasion one exploded in mid-air about 5,000 m from the position, falling into the sea.

From 27 May onwards, heavy artillery fire began to hit the runway and infantry positions. On the 28th, following bombardment, small-arms fire was received, with tracer rounds visible at night. From the position, it was unclear what was happening at the front. Argentine field artillery, under First Lieutenant Chanampa with three 105 mm Oto Melara howitzers, fired continuously through the night and into the next day until ammunition was exhausted. On the morning of the 28th, there was still uncertainty about events at Darwin, until the Air Force command post reported that friendly aircraft would attack British troops.

Minutes later, two Pucará aircraft arrived from Puerto Argentino and fired their weapons 4 km from the GADA 601 section’s position. Initially it seemed they had missed, but in fact British forces had advanced past the first lines during the night and were very close. Field artillery fire resumed immediately, reinforced by improvised rocket launchers mounted by Air Force personnel. Soon flares were seen and troops advancing in line formation north of Goose Green. It was unclear whether they were friendly forces withdrawing or British advancing. The sector—about 2,000 metres long and 700 wide—was open ground. The doubt ended when Air Force anti-aircraft crews reported incoming small-arms fire. Immediately, one of the GADA 601’s 35 mm guns opened fire—manned by Second Lieutenant Braghini with Corporals Rubina and Gallo feeding ammunition while soldiers continuously supplied rounds. The twin guns, firing at about 550 rounds per minute each, proved devastating in ground fire; British troops nearest the runway were left scattered across the terrain. Over the radio, Vice Commodore Pedrozo was heard urging: “Very good, GADA—keep it up, hit them hard!”

Fire continued for some time, always targeting concentrations of troops attempting to reach cover behind terrain features. At one point, the gun jammed due to a casing stuck in the chamber, fouled by dirt and grass from the intensity of combat. Corporal Gallo cleared it, but the brief delay allowed British troops to reach a small schoolhouse about 800 m away. Shortly after, mortar rounds began falling closer. Reports indicated small-arms fire coming from the schoolhouse windows. Braghini targeted the base of the structure; successive hits destroyed large sections and set it ablaze. It was later struck directly by 105 mm artillery, leaving only metal framework and piping.

Meanwhile, mortar fire closed in. One round struck the generator panel, cutting power to the gun. Manual operation was possible but ineffective against air attack, so Braghini ordered his men to move the 900 kg generator from another gun about 100 m uphill by hand. Although the northern advance had been halted, mortar fire intensified.

While attempting to move the generator, a shell landed just 5 metres from the previously used gun, damaging it and its generator. With the weapon unusable, Braghini ordered his men to take cover. At that moment, a Harrier dropped a Beluga bomb on the already disabled gun, but its aim was poor: half fell into the sea, the rest about 80 m away.

A British account later noted that radar-directed guns had been harassing 2 PARA, prompting an air strike by Harriers dropping cluster bombs, after which the intensity of the battle decreased significantly—suggesting the effectiveness of the Argentine fire.

Anti-Aircraft Artillery: Mission Accomplished!

Malvinas: Our First Air Hero

Our First Hero

At 4:40 AM on May 1st, the British began a bombing raid on the runway at Puerto Argentino. The days of preparation were over, and we were at the beginning of a battle. The crews were taking off in search of their baptism of fire, and at the same time, that of the Argentine Air Force.

Narrated by: The Author (A-4B Skyhawk Pilot)

The moment had arrived. May 1st, in the morning. Following the attack on the South Georgia Islands days earlier, the British fleet had launched its attack on Puerto Argentino. We had to counterattack. The first to take off was Captain Hugo Ángel del Valle Palaver, with his A-4B Skyhawk squadron, "Sky Hawk." The squadron also included Lieutenant Gálvez, Section Leader, First Lieutenant Luciano Guadagnini, and Ensign Gómez, who were about to engage the enemy for the first time. Their call sign for that mission was "Mole" (during the war, they change it daily so that if the enemy shoots one down, they won't know who it was, since in peacetime a permanent call sign is used). A section of Mirage IIIs, composed of Captain Gustavo Argentino García Cuerva and the First Lieutenant Perona, call sign "Dardo" for that mission. They began the first crossing of that immense, wild, and solitary sea, propelled by their single engine.

Near the islands, the Squadron Leader made contact with the radar at Puerto Argentino, and it began guiding them toward a target, giving them the heading to set toward it. The inexperience of both our ground crew and aircrew was considerable, due both to the Theater of Operations in which we had to fight and to the fact that it was the first time our Air Force had entered combat. This was quickly overcome by the enormous professionalism of its men and some painful experiences.

1- Contact: Speaking by radio.

2- Target: A material objective or part of it, against which offensive action is carried out.

"Your target is 30 miles away at level 200!" said the radar operator.

Suddenly, Captain Hugo del Valle Palaver realized that a terrible mistake was being made; that he They were being sent to intercept a squadron of British Harrier jets, when their mission and armament were intended to attack ships that were bombarding the eastern islands at that moment.
The Mirage section covering them had already informed the control tower that they were beginning their return to the mainland due to low fuel.



The A-4B commander decided to act quickly to prevent his men from being shot down by enemy missiles; but they also had to protect their auxiliary fuel tanks, pumps, and bombs, because, being a “David versus Goliath” situation, they had to prepare themselves, in their humility, to maintain a long confrontation with the maximum of their operational capacity, so he did not jettison his external stores.
He began a rapid descent, seeking speed and low-level flight to avoid being detected by the radar of any British frigate, which would give their position to those pursuing them. Meanwhile, the Mirage section commander carried out the first heroic action of the Argentine Air Force in this war and On the first mission of the same, he demonstrated the immensity of his heart. Despite having minimal fuel, and knowing that he might not have enough to return to the mainland, upon hearing what was happening over the radio, he returned to the Islands, risking the lives of both himself and his wingman. By placing himself between the A-4Bs and the Harriers, his aggressive stance managed to rout the enemy, whom he encountered in the air.



Then they returned—the section and the squadron—to their home base on the mainland, landing the Mirage IIIs, as we say in aviation jargon, "without juice," that is, almost out of fuel.

The first page of our Air Force's history in this war had just been written, and we could already say with pride: those are some of our own! We were waiting for them on the ground to give them a hug.

I remember that "Paco" told us that if he had any problems with his Mirage, he would attempt to land on the Puerto runway. Argentinian, since it was a shame to lose a plane that had cost the country so much, especially with a runway suitable for emergencies. This would later cost him his life on another mission that same day.

Río Negro Squadron: The third attempt to reach Lake Nahuel Huapi

It took the Navy three expeditions to reach Lake Nahuel Huapi

El Cordillerano

It took the Navy three expeditions to reach Lake Nahuel Huapi

Before the original "Modesta Victoria" expedition, there were other attempts by sailors that failed due to the limited knowledge of the region's rivers.

It took the Argentine Navy three expeditions to reach Nahuel Huapi by river, requiring considerable effort and significant resources. The objective was finally achieved on December 13, 1883, after several failed attempts. The honor fell to then-Lieutenant Eduardo O'Connor, commanding a vessel that would later become emblematic: the "Modesta Victoria."

History also witnessed some setbacks. First, “by decree of December 27, 1880, it was ordered that Commander Erasmo Obligado should lead an expedition to explore the Limay River and Lake Nahuel Huapi, in conjunction with the campaign that General Villegas would conduct as far as the aforementioned lake,” as reported by Alfredo Serres Güiraldes in his book “The Strategy of General Roca” (1979).

The author explained that “the embarked commission was named ‘Exploradora’ (Explorer) and consisted of Commander Erasmo Obligado, Lieutenant Eduardo O’Connor, who commanded the ‘Río Neuquén,’ Second Lieutenant Santiago Albarracín, and pilot Eduardo Moyzes. In total, the personnel numbered 18 men, with the addition of Infantry Lieutenant Jorge Rhode, who had requested to accompany the explorers.”

As can be seen, some of the protagonists lend their surnames to streets in Bariloche, though most people are unaware of why. “On February 25, 1881, they set sail, beginning their journey up the Río Negro. The voyage was arduous due to the difficulties they encountered along the way. They finally arrived at Fort Roca on May 17. From there, they departed on the 26th of the same month for the confluence of the Neuquén and Limay rivers.”

The account indicates that “initially, the expedition members attempted to navigate the Neuquén River, but the shallow waters prevented them from doing so. Therefore, they headed towards the Limay, but after a short distance, they found it difficult to continue navigating, also due to the low water levels.” At that time, the dams had not yet altered the river flows.

According to Serres Güiraldes, “in view of these setbacks, Obligado ordered Lieutenant O’Connor to continue navigating upstream with a boat and its crew. After covering 18 miles, he returned on April 1st. The ‘Río Neuquén’ remained at the Neuquén Pass awaiting the return of Villegas’s expedition. On May 25th, Villegas agreed with Commander Obligado to conclude the exploration of the Limay River, and the ship returned to Carmen de Patagones.”

Persistence

There was no room for discouragement. “Commander Obligado quickly prepared and launched a new expedition to the Limay River. This time, he chose the ship ‘Río Negro,’ which, due to its greater speed, would be better suited to overcome the force of the current. At the time the voyage began, the river was high, which facilitated the ship’s movement.” Things had started better. “Thus, on October 14, 1881, they met in Choele Choel. Colonel Vintter, temporarily in charge of the division, ordered, as a safety measure, that 50 men under the command of Captain Juan Gómez escort the steamship overland. Luck continued to favor the crew, as the Limay River was also carrying more water, reaching its confluence at the Collón Curá.”

But their good fortune only lasted up to that point. “From that point on, they were unable to continue their voyage, as the current kept throwing the ship against a rocky outcrop they named Río Negro (Black River). Faced with this impossibility, Obligado decided to continue the journey in a rowboat with sails, but for most of the voyage they had to tow the boat, and on some occasions, they had to haul the vessel out of the water and carry it by hand.”

Serres Güiraldes' account, based on that of González Lonzieme, published in the Naval Center Bulletin (1964), states that “thus, through a superhuman effort, they reached, on November 18, the place where Villarino had begun his return journey in 1783. But, from that point, a new obstacle was added to the many they had faced. On November 23, the Sayhueque Indians blocked their passage, forcing them to turn back.”

The reconstruction indicates that “faced with this insurmountable setback, with the few men they had, they had to return to where the ‘Río Negro’ was moored and, once aboard, continue their journey to Carmen de Patagones.

This second voyage demonstrated that navigation by ship to Nahuel Huapi was impossible. But it allowed them to carry out a series of
of geographical surveys of the banks of the Negro and Limay rivers.”

The “third” expedition is underway.

Obviously, “Obligado did not cease in his efforts to reach Nahuel Huapi by river. On October 31, 1882, the preparations were complete, and they set sail again on the ‘Río Negro.’ The voyage was faster thanks to the lessons learned on previous trips. This increased speed allowed them to reach the confluence of the Neuquén and Limay rivers on December 19, turning the bow of the ‘Río Negro’ once more upstream to the Río Negro rock, where they moored the boat.”

This time, it seemed that everything was in their favor. “As before, Obligado continued the journey in a launch, but with better luck since the indigenous people did not bother them. They only had to contend with the current, the rapids, the whirlpools, and the large logs carried by the current.” All these obstacles contributed to once again thwarting the aspiration to reach the lake.

Ironically, fate did not grant Obligado the joy of reaching Lake Nahuel Huapi, as he was appointed by the government to a mission in Europe. Lieutenant O’Connor was left in charge of the expedition. The Río Negro was under the command of Lieutenant Wilson, with O’Connor as the expedition leader. After a difficult voyage, including an eight-day grounding near Villa Roca, the Río Negro reached the confluence of the Collon Curá and Limay rivers. After several attempts to overcome the current and continue the journey, they had to moor the ship to the rocky outcrop.

The mission was on the verge of success. From there, O’Connor continued the journey in a specially built launch. As on previous occasions, much of the journey was made while towing. On the 30th, after immense effort, they reached the Traful River, and on December 13th, they entered Lake Nahuel Huapi. The logbook reads: “At 2:40 p.m., the boat, then called Modesta Victoria, triumphantly entered Lake Nahuel Huapi with its long rig and the National Flag flying high.” The epic journey had concluded.

Argentine Navy: Polar Support Vessel Project

Polar Support Vessel Project

Sebastian Perez

@Seba_IndArg

Argentina seeks to recover a capability lost since 1989: a new Argentine polar logistics vessel.
The Tandanor project, designed in conjunction with the Finnish company Aker Arctic, aims to be the ideal partner for the icebreaker ARA Irízar, strengthening our presence in Antarctica.




The project is based on the Aker ARC 133 design but adapted to Antarctic conditions. With a length of 131.5m and a deadweight of 5,000 tons, diesel-electric propulsion, and three generators, it will be able to operate in first-year ice (PC4/PC5 class).





The hull is designed according to the international Polar Classification 4 (PC4) standard. This allows it to operate year-round in thick, old-year ice and to move continuously at 2 knots over ice up to 1 meter thick.


Its unique geometry, unlike that of conventional cargo ships, features a specific curvature in the bow and sides designed to break through ice by weight and displace the ice blocks to the sides, preventing damage to the propellers.

The original plan at Tandanor involved manufacturing the hull using pre-assembled blocks at the Almirante Storni Shipyard, which would then be assembled and welded on the slipway.

The construction of the new vessel requires the use of special naval steels that possess not only high mechanical strength but also exceptional toughness at extremely low temperatures.


The standard for vessels operating in polar waters, due to their ability to resist brittleness in extreme cold, is EH36/EH40. These are the most likely grades for the ice belt.




The technical development involves a key technology transfer. The goal is to decentralize the workload of the ARA Almirante Irízar, allowing it to focus on its role as a heavy icebreaker and scientific laboratory.

This unit seeks to recover the capabilities lost after the sinking of the ARA Bahía Paraíso in 1989. That vessel, built at the Príncipe, Menghi, and Penco shipyards (Buenos Aires), was a landmark of the national naval industry, measuring 132 meters in length and possessing a significant helicopter landing capability.





Today, the project faces budgetary challenges (estimated at over USD 195 million), but its completion is vital for the logistics of Petrel Base and the Antarctic bridge. Recovering a vessel of this class will restore the Argentine Navy's polar transport autonomy.