After a full twelve months in Chile, I finally crossed the border in to Argentina. It was a bitter sweet moment, not only because I had really loved the south, but also because every other time that I had wandered out of the country I knew that before long I would be back. This wasn't the case this time around. After a year that I will still be digesting long into the future, I crossed the border out of Chile, possibly to never again return. Time will tell on that one.
With the crossing out of Chile, however, I was entering into one of my favorite countries, Argentina, where I intended to spend the next two to three weeks.
Against popular sentiment, I decided to skip El Calefate, the jumping point to visit the Perito Moreno Glacier but also a town that I was told was "extremely touristy". It was pretty touristy, I admit, but not too bad though I didn't regret the decision to skip it. I arrived in El Chaltén just before dark, pitched the Taj (my tent, which is, in fact, called the Taj but was nicknamed "The Taj (Mahal)" for its size and comfort by the people on the Cabo Froward trek) in the free campground on the edge of town, made a quick dinner and settled in for the night.
The night, cloudless and away from the majority of the lights of the city, was utterly incredible. I wrote in my travel journal something to the effect that even at 11 pm with last bits of light from the day still remaining, the sky was already littered with millions of points of light growing stronger and more distinct with each passing moment, constantly being joined by celestial clouds and other stars that would be out in full force later in the night, and simultaneously contrasting with the visible though waining peaks of the Fitz Roy mountains up the canyon. The panoramic was incredible and I truly don't do it justice here; but at the same time it was a moment I will never forget.
The following day while visiting one of the guide agencies in town (I wanted to do a glacier hike/walk of some sort the following day) I ran into a small group that recognized me from the bus ride and who invited me to join their day hike. The group included Tom the Czech, Miriam the Israeli living in Buenos Aires, and Gabbi, an incredibly beautiful Argentine that was acting, when needed, as translator for Tom and Miriam, who spoke a bit of Spanish but not quite enough to get by. For those commenting to or asking themselves if Gabbi was the reason I decided to join the group: yes, absolutely, 120%. But as I also like to think that I'm not completely shallow should throw out that I was essentially planning on doing the same hike anyway.... Ah who am I kidding, I probably am that shallow and probably would have changed my plans either way...
Setting off, the hike wound its way through the canyon and into the Fitz Roy Mountains. After three weeks of hiking and being in decent shape as it was I didn't think that the hike was terribly difficult on the whole. There were bits that were up hill, the final hike up to the laguna reminded me more than a bit of the hike up to Mirador Torres del Paine in Chile, and we often had to literally battle the wind but nothing torturous. However this wasn't quite so for the whole group and what should have been a short hike of three hours followed by relaxation at our destination, Laguna Tres Lagos, took much longer. The upshot of the slow pace was that we were able to take in every, single, inch of the scenery, which ranged from rocks and cliffs to greenage and small forests, lakes and rivers to stunning, absolutely stunning sharp granite peaks throughout the Fitz Roy range. Moreover, I was able to "practice my Spanish" throughout most of the walk. I knew there was a reason I wanted to learn another language.
After several hours and several breaks we arrived at Laguna Tres Lagos, a glacial lake/laguna formed by the runoff from the snow and ice from the Fitz Roy mountains that reminded me quite a bit of the area at the Mirador Torres del Paine in the park of the same name. The sight was truly incredible – sharp, sometimes snow covered granite peaks rising up over a deep, deep blue lake, the whole area surrounded by other peaks and mountains that beared down on you.
After only a few minutes looking around at the lake, something caught my eye. It appeared that one of the peaks, not one of the actual Fitz Roys but one of the other peaks surrounding the Laguna, appeared to be summitable without equipment through hiking and maybe a bit of bouldering. Not being at all fatigued by the hike itself and really for reasons I still don't know I split up from the group in hopes of reaching the top. I felt that I would be able to reach the top in 45 minutes to an hour, be down in half that time, and because I would move much faster than them catch the group before they left the trail. The hike section was steeper than expected with difficult footing on loose boulders and gravel but I was able to best it without too much trouble. Then following a ridge - sometimes walking, sometimes boulder hopping, sometimes bouldering outright if only to save having to backtrack and/or save time – I continued to make my way to the top. I had to cross over the ridge several times to avoid the steep climbs and winds that threatened to blow me off the rocks, and on more than one occasion the climb required a bit of negotiation of the rocks, but before too long (about 80 minutes) I arrived at my destination to be greeted by even stronger winds and a spectacular view of the laguna and valley below. I wasn't able to arrive at the top top as that would have required a free climb of about 20 meters, a climb that I wasn't comfortable making without gear or at someone to call the cavalry if I were to fall, a definite possibility as strong as the winds were. But I got far enough to take a bit of pride in the climb.
The trip down the mountain was uneventful enough, though like the way up took longer than I thought. I booked it on the trail back to El Chaltén trying to catch up with the group, to no avail. But as we had made "contingency" plans to meet up later that night I wasn't worried. It had been a good day, one that I hoped to top off with dinner, wine and relaxation.
But this was not to be. When I returned to camp, the Taj was down. Not blown away, as I had spent an hour in the morning restaking, retying, and putting weights throughout the tent to hold it in place, but at some point during the day the winds had blown strong enough to break the main pole. The break both weakened the structure of the tent itself, resulting in both of the other tent poles being bent to hell and back, as well as puncturing two good size holes in the rain tarp, which in turn had been further ripped open by the continuing wind. The Taj was down. Not good, as I had heard rumors that most of the hostels in town were full, I was nowhere near packed (all my stuff was scattered or in various other bags so as to weight down the tent), but more to the point I didn't have any Argentine pesos – none of the six ATMs that I visited in Chalten, the only other city I had been to in Argentina, had had any money and so I had bought my bus ticket out and enough food to survive in Chaltén during my time there with my credit card in Calafate. Luckily I was able to find a bed, the last that wasn't ridiculously expensive, in a hostel at which would accept dollars from my emergency stash; not so lucky was that in all the fuss, repacking, searching and getting settled, I missed the meeting time of the group. And still, the Taj was down. And what really chaps my ass about the whole thing is that there were something like 200 other tents in the campground, many with less shelter than me (I at least made the attempt to get behind a tree and some shrubbery) and most of which looked much less burly than the Taj, yet they all seemed to survive the wind. What the hell is with that???
Day 2
Before hiking to Laguna Tres Rios I did make arrangements to trek to, hike on, and climb parts of a glacier the following day, and so I made my way before sunrise to the meeting point. As it turned out Tom, Miriam and Gabbi were in the same group making the trek to the glacier, and so I was able to recount my harrowing tale (the Taj was down!!!). I would also learn that the group was so tired when they got back to town that when they sat on their beds and took off their shoes they never made it back up, falling asleep early in the evening and also missing the meeting. C'est la vie, no? And so, we set off into the hills toward a campsite where we would meet our climbing and ice guide.
The first leg of the hike took two hours and wound up hills, through forests, and along a river for a time, always accompanied by strong, strong winds that did in fact knock one person off their feet. We met our guide, who early on warned us we may not be able to walk, much less climb on, the glacier with so much wind, and made our way to the river. Harnessing up (yes, wearing a harness) we crossed the river hanging upside down from a cable strapped between the banks. River crossings had started to feel like a recurring theme for me; I must say that it is much easier, to say nothing of much warmer (in spite of the bitter cold wind), to cross a river ABOVE the water rather than through.
Continuing on to the glacier, we arrived mid-afternoon. We then had to strap on crampons (ice spikes that strap on to your boots) so that we could navigate the ice of the glacier.
- wind on the glacier
Due to the high winds we were unable to do our ice climbing, but did have a good time on the whole loping around the glacier and fighting the same winds that kept us from “pushing the limits”. But the fun had to end at some point and we soon had to head back to town, some to rest, me for a shower, dinner, and the 32 hour bus ride up Highway 40 to Bariloche that was set to leave that night.
