CHILE:With 7,000 tremors and an earthquake since January, it is feared that a small town in Chile may be about to disappear, writes Patrick J McDonnel
The shaking has slowed for now, the sense of panic eased, the search for the missing ebbed. But six months of tremors, including one major earthquake, have left many in this remote corner of Patagonia unhinged.
The picture-postcard scenery of heavily forested hillsides and placid inlets has become pregnant with menace.
"The scariest prospect is a giant tsunami inundating the town while the mountains come tumbling down on top of us," said Paula Salazar Campos, among the bolstered ranks of psychologists attempting to heal traumatized psyches here. "Some people just can't get over that thought." Boris Pualuan, whose family has run a general store across from the central plaza since 1928, is among the rattled. "Some people are sleeping all day," he said. "And some people don't sleep at all."
Sister Augusta Pedrielli is an Italian-born Catholic nun who has lived here for more than four decades. "People are afraid Puerto Aisen is going to disappear," she said.
The daily tremors began in late January and numbered more than 7,000 as of last week. The shakes culminated in a 6.2 magnitude earthquake on April 21st beneath nearby Aisen Fjord that sent chunks of hillside plunging into the inland waterway, generating waves that swept away fishermen, salmon farm workers and others, killing at least three and perhaps as many as 10. The killer waves dissipated short of the town, but the ground here trembled mightily, cracks opened in the earth, debris tumbled from mountains, and the town's signature suspension bridge swayed like a Slinky. Puerto Aisen's geologic vulnerability was exposed, alarming residents accustomed to tranquillity.
As much as 15 per cent of the population of 30,000 here and in the nearby port of Puerto Chacabuco had left by late last week, officials said.
"This emergency is not over: We don't even know if the worst is over," said Carlos Aranda, chief of seismology at the University of Chile.
Many of the people who live along the seismic-volcanic "ring of fire" that encircles the Pacific Ocean learn to live with the near-certainty that a significant earthquake will strike in their lifetime. Few expect six months of nerve-jangling jolts.
The mystery about what exactly is going on has drawn experts from across the globe to this nook of the Chilean coast, about 1,300km south of Santiago, the capital. Scientists debate whether magma rumbling below ground may be at play in a zone where active volcanoes are found to the north and south.
Three tectonic plates clash near the Chilean coast, making the region one of the most tectonically active in the world. The largest measured earthquake, a 9.5 magnitude temblor, struck in 1960 near Valdivia, about 650km north of here, according to the US Geological Survey.
The April 21st earthquake occurred on a long-identified fault system, Liquine Ofqui, which stretches for about 1,200km along the Chilean Andes. But some parts of the moon are better mapped than this stretch of the Pacific coast. And the quake destroyed much of the measuring equipment placed in the fjord.
"We're starting from way far behind," lamented Andres Pavez, a Chilean geophysicist who is part of the multinational team hoping to save lives by determining what's next.
Meanwhile, people here have gotten used to sleeping in their clothes, drawing the curtains and keeping their kids home from school. They report broken marriages, increased alcoholism and depression, and a sense of impending doom.
"We noticed the children are more aggressive, fighting all the time," said Maria Teresa Aedo, principal at Holy Family primary school, where attendance has plunged. "They're not getting enough sleep. The tremors have caused a lot of stress at home. Some mothers have just taken their children away and left their husbands behind." The fate of another sleepy South American town, Armero, Colombia, haunts Puerto Aisen's mayor, Oscar Catalan. Armero was buried in 1985 when the Nevado del Ruiz volcano erupted, sending walls of mud and debris down its flanks. More than 23,000 people died.
"We don't want to be the next Armero," said Catalan, his face wrinkled with worry. "We're very isolated here. Landslides could take out the main road and people would be trapped." Catalan has become a folk hero for his blunt condemnation of state and federal officials who initially minimised the peril.
A government flier distributed before April 21st assured residents of two comforting scenarios: The shuddering would "gradually" wane, or an underwater volcano would erupt "without consequence for people". From the mayor's standpoint, the fjord should have been declared off limits before April 21st. Scientists had identified the waterway as the epicentre of the earlier tremors.
"The earthquake was inevitable," Catalan said, "but the loss of life was not." People travelling in the fjord before the quake had reported strange phenomena: erratic tides, lightning emanating from the nearby Maca volcano, and sulphurous gases belching from the waters. As the tremors mounted, tales swirled of crabs and other shellfish emerging cooked from the cool Pacific.
The quake struck as almost 200 workers were on duty at salmon farming pens in the fjord.
"No one should have been in the water that day," said a disconsolate Irma Ruiz, grandmother of Miguel Angel Silva (22), one of two salmon farm watchmen buried in the rubble and presumed dead.
"Miguel Angel told us it was shaking so much they could hardly sit down to eat a meal in peace. But he kept working to bring something home for his family." Witnesses reported loud blasts, possibly land ripping from the mountains, and reported seeing hillsides tumbling across a six-kilometre strip of shoreline. A column of water rose like a giant geyser. Swells approached the coast.
Since the tragedy, the government's attitude has changed dramatically: No official is minimizing the danger now. Indeed, talk of Armageddon is everywhere here. More than a dozen emergency centres stocked with flashlights, blankets, boots and other supplies have been set up.
The government has unveiled a massive aid package. But Puerto Aisen's economy, dependent on salmon farming and tourism, may not recover quickly. The salmon industry is making plans to pull out.
The big challenge for residents is learning to live with a perpetual threat that has altered this drowsy town forever.