Another day, another walk. The rarity of this possibility within the confines of the usually completely topsy-turvy weather of alpine Patagonia, now for well over one week, is not lost on us. Our motto is to take advantage of every moment of good weather, because the horror stories we hear from the hosts at our B&B keep us on that path. The spell of superb weather that has been in the area of late is completely abnormal, as is the relatively quiet wind, and the often elevated temperatures—which are an average of 15-20 degrees Celsius—(about 58-70 degrees Fahrenheit). We have to slather on sunscreen and zinc-oxide block for noses, ears and the like. On a typical day the wind and relentless sun and glare sear the skin —like in most alpine areas, although not as severely as in high altitude spots.
I digress. To reach this walk we had our first experience taking the “bus” up the only road (dirt) in the valley. These are all private enterprises, and tend to be a tad pricey, but ultimately, we didn’t want to have to walk the 20 km to get to the head of the trail! The valley was gorgeous, but more entertaining were the various passengers on board—well, at least to us. We’ve been slightly fixated on how singularly unfriendly, or let’s say standoffish many of the travellers we've encountered are. Normally one expects that in these small hotel/hostel/B&B places, there is an upbeat exchange of information, accounts of where to eat, walk, drink, and so forth, but there has been an absolute dearth of this. Beyond this, we’ve been struck by the fact that even in these tiny places many tourists staying in the same place don’t appear to have the civility to greet others –for instance, at breakfast. So we’d been noticing that with the exception of the guy sitting behind us—my guess, a youngish American with excellent French and a French girlfriend—most people continued in this vein. He(Mr. behind us) loudly and purposefully greeted everyone as they were picked up and found their seats. Most passengers stared ahead blithely ignoring all attempts at basic manners, and sat in stony silence. The driver kept things alive with some upbeat music, and there were occasional informational/tour comments piped into the mini-bus. Two Catalan girls were sitting in the front seats, made up as if ready for a serious night out, and wearing their sexy “sports” clothes. We picked up another woman whom they had met on the bus up to Chalten from Calafate, and this last one was in a serious hurry as she only had the day and intended to get in TWO hikes. Guess she hadn’t checked the length/distance of each, and was miffed when we attempted to help her out, by explaining the virtual impossibility of such an endeavor. At one point, there was a photo stop—since it was an exceptionally clear day. Comments steered clear of the incredible beauty, and focused on the need to get to the trailhead NOW! As people clambered back on the bus after the 5 minute photo interlude, one of the ubiquitous monster flies that is the bane of every trekker’s existence here boarded with us. One of the Catalan girls immediately said to the driver that a “wasp” was on board and he needed to get rid of it, which caused instantaneous and rollicking laughter from a handful of us. Anyone who has spent ANY time on the trails here has developed some stamina for dealing with these annoying pests for hours on end. The driver was very laid back, simply answering that it wasn’t a wasp. The girl came back with, “But does it bite?” He confirmed that it might, but that usually they were so stupid one could simply flick them away. She seemed doubtful. He then rolled down the front window, at which the huge fly simply flew out. None of us had ever seen such a miraculous deliverance from the pests! About an hour of such merriment entertained us until we were dropped off at the side of a raging river, the Rio Electrico, at which point we began our walk. Pickup would be in the same spot sometime between 4:45 and 5:30. “No se preocupe, les viene buscar mi companero.” Don’t worry, my colleague will be here to pick you up, encouraged the driver. With that, a cloud of dust enveloped us, as he drove off and we headed down to the bank of a small rivulet to begin the walk. (Ok, I digressed some more....)
The trail initially crosses various stray bits of side rivers, the path itself very sandy and heavy walking. A short while later it winds into a forest and is often close to the tremendously powerful and fast flowing, rapids-filled Rio Electrico.
A short 2 hours later we arrived at the campground Piedra del Fraile, which means Friar’s Stone. Friar Agostini originally built a hut which served as a base for his exploration of the area at this spot. The stone is a large rocky hilltop, and from the top one can see the Marconi Glacier down the valley. On the right the river thunders by, while on the left is a steep mountainside that leads to the Cuadrado Pass(1830 m.), one of the steepest walks in the area.
As always, the flies were our constant companions, so when we arrived at the campground we asked the caretaker if we could sit inside the hut to have our lunch if we had something to drink there. Not a problem, at all. We subsequently discovered why! A soft drink ended up costing an exhorbitant US$8 EACH. We got the whole dramatic play by play of why it is so expensive, private land, owner putting pressure on the camp management to make more money, the horrendous multi-hour trip to bring in supplies on an all-terrain vehicle. Blah blah blah. Anyway, decided, ultimately that it meant being out of the fly zone, so ….
Later, she and her husband—having also foisted a $7 cup of coffee(instant, I assure you) on some unsuspecting Germans, who it must be said, didn’t bat an eye…”let” us take a bit of a walk deeper into the valley –without charging us, but please don’t tell anyone—(her plea). The trail up to the campground is free. Wandering beyond there on the trails costs 75 pesos per person( almost $20), although the price goes to 100 pesos in January—despite the signage everywhere which maintains that the price is a mere(!)50.
Did our free wandering, and then headed back down the trail. We knew that we didn’t have enough time to make it to the glacier viewpoint, and make it back for the bus, so headed back, stopping to sit along the river, despite the whipping wind. Around here the choice is wind or flies! Wind was welcome!
Sat along the road waiting for the bus back for about 50 minutes, and it finally came at 5:25. Better late than never, as once again, the handful of cars returning to town neither slowed down nor stopped to find out whether we might need help. All worth it in the end, as the only other passengers on the van were couple from Buenos Aires who had clearly travelled extensively in the country, and gave us all sorts of gems about things to see in the Esquel/Parque de los Alerces area where we head in mid January, as well as some nuggets about the volcanic areas in Rio Negro province north of the city of Neuquen. Charming people who balanced the scale for friendly travel exchanges, at long last.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Uphill to Lomo del Pliegue Tumbado
One of the more difficult of the “regular” walks in the Chalten area is the one we took the day after Christmas. Recommended for a really clear day—as it affords views into Chile, we thought we’d give it a go. The rangers estimated the full walk as being about 4 hours one way, and a constant uphill, although dramatically so for the last couple of hundred meters. The total ascent is about 1000 meters.
Without any doubt the most incredible of the walks we have done so far, in that the end offers the most awe-inspiring and wide-ranging view of the area that we’ve yet had the privilege to see. Add to that the unusually fine weather, and the formula couldn’t be more perfect.
Leaving from the national park headquarters, the ascent is immediate, banking a small canyon with a loudly rushing river, although the light at that time of day afforded us no views of the waterfalls. We only actually saw them on our return. The trail is scrubby and open, but there are spots of southern beech and all manner of daisy-like flowers along with the usual thorny flowering mounds crawling alongside the trail.
Eventually there is a spot of forest, which is then seamlessly transformed into an emerald-green grassy open pastureland, where we heard lowing and eventually spotted a herd of cows huddled together in the shade of a small grove of trees. By this time we could see the distant endpoint looming ahead—way up high. Crossing the fields we reached a winding path leading through a much denser beech forest, which took about one hour to traverse.
Upon exiting the forest, the terrain changes dramatically again. The grasses very rapidly thin out and soon one is walking through an extremely rocky landscape, one with a small spectrum of color, very occasionally accented with small alpine-like flowers, tiny moss and lichen-like growths that give the barren landscape some small highlights of beauty. This is a fragile environment, and there is signage asking trekkers to remain on the path so as not to destroy the precarious plant life. The path reaches a plateau that looks lunar, and which give the first full view of the most famous peaks—Torre, Poincenot and Fitzroy.
We parked ourselves on one of the only large rocks, had our lunch while admiring the view and enjoying a brief respite from the annoying flies due to the increased wind barreling up from distant glaciers.
Hemmed and hawed about the dire-looking final ascent, but decided that the view must be something spectacular, as confirmed by a young Argentine guide who was leading a couple of Americans up the pass. “Imperdible y inolvidable,” (unmissable and unforgettable), so on that note, we felt there were no options left…
Packed up, and headed up what was basically a very rudimentary track up a monumental mound of slivers and slabs of slate. Essentially this is a moraine, that hasn’t yet been entirely pulverized by weather and time. Speaking strictly for myself, by the time we were half way up, despite the ever more jaw-dropping views, I found myself worrying about how I’d make it down in one piece… but luckily Andres is an excellent mountain cheerleader, and kept me going.
The view at the top of this final hill (loma) is indeed mindboggling on a gorgeous day. There is a 360 degree panorama, including the snow laden mountains in Chile, the more familiar Torre(complete with glacial lake and glacier extension), Fitzroy and all the neighboring crags, along with every other point that has now become familiar. Every lake/lagoon we’ve walked to or near, the thundering river that runs through town, the valley that leads up to Lago del Desierto(almost 40 km north), and then coming fully around, the spine of rock that skirts the eastern side of Chalten, the open plains of rusty scrub we crossed to come here from the south, and then the enormous Lake Viedma, and a few other landmarks for serious climbers and trekkers, in the valley south, all of which require multiple nights of camping, due to the distance.
Took the requisite photos, chatting briefly with a lone walker from Buenos Aires who’d left his pregnant wife in town to make the trek alone, and then briefly panicked when we had a difficult time finding the track back down the steep and slippery hillside.
On the way stopped to take lots of pictures of the beautiful flowers and plants that have taken my fancy of late….and then enjoyed the return trip’s downhill nature….
Hope the photos do the walk justice, and apologies that my options don’t allow me to put them in sequential order.
Without any doubt the most incredible of the walks we have done so far, in that the end offers the most awe-inspiring and wide-ranging view of the area that we’ve yet had the privilege to see. Add to that the unusually fine weather, and the formula couldn’t be more perfect.
Leaving from the national park headquarters, the ascent is immediate, banking a small canyon with a loudly rushing river, although the light at that time of day afforded us no views of the waterfalls. We only actually saw them on our return. The trail is scrubby and open, but there are spots of southern beech and all manner of daisy-like flowers along with the usual thorny flowering mounds crawling alongside the trail.
Eventually there is a spot of forest, which is then seamlessly transformed into an emerald-green grassy open pastureland, where we heard lowing and eventually spotted a herd of cows huddled together in the shade of a small grove of trees. By this time we could see the distant endpoint looming ahead—way up high. Crossing the fields we reached a winding path leading through a much denser beech forest, which took about one hour to traverse.
Upon exiting the forest, the terrain changes dramatically again. The grasses very rapidly thin out and soon one is walking through an extremely rocky landscape, one with a small spectrum of color, very occasionally accented with small alpine-like flowers, tiny moss and lichen-like growths that give the barren landscape some small highlights of beauty. This is a fragile environment, and there is signage asking trekkers to remain on the path so as not to destroy the precarious plant life. The path reaches a plateau that looks lunar, and which give the first full view of the most famous peaks—Torre, Poincenot and Fitzroy.
We parked ourselves on one of the only large rocks, had our lunch while admiring the view and enjoying a brief respite from the annoying flies due to the increased wind barreling up from distant glaciers.
Hemmed and hawed about the dire-looking final ascent, but decided that the view must be something spectacular, as confirmed by a young Argentine guide who was leading a couple of Americans up the pass. “Imperdible y inolvidable,” (unmissable and unforgettable), so on that note, we felt there were no options left…
Packed up, and headed up what was basically a very rudimentary track up a monumental mound of slivers and slabs of slate. Essentially this is a moraine, that hasn’t yet been entirely pulverized by weather and time. Speaking strictly for myself, by the time we were half way up, despite the ever more jaw-dropping views, I found myself worrying about how I’d make it down in one piece… but luckily Andres is an excellent mountain cheerleader, and kept me going.
The view at the top of this final hill (loma) is indeed mindboggling on a gorgeous day. There is a 360 degree panorama, including the snow laden mountains in Chile, the more familiar Torre(complete with glacial lake and glacier extension), Fitzroy and all the neighboring crags, along with every other point that has now become familiar. Every lake/lagoon we’ve walked to or near, the thundering river that runs through town, the valley that leads up to Lago del Desierto(almost 40 km north), and then coming fully around, the spine of rock that skirts the eastern side of Chalten, the open plains of rusty scrub we crossed to come here from the south, and then the enormous Lake Viedma, and a few other landmarks for serious climbers and trekkers, in the valley south, all of which require multiple nights of camping, due to the distance.
Took the requisite photos, chatting briefly with a lone walker from Buenos Aires who’d left his pregnant wife in town to make the trek alone, and then briefly panicked when we had a difficult time finding the track back down the steep and slippery hillside.
On the way stopped to take lots of pictures of the beautiful flowers and plants that have taken my fancy of late….and then enjoyed the return trip’s downhill nature….
Hope the photos do the walk justice, and apologies that my options don’t allow me to put them in sequential order.
A little down time
After several days of walking some of the main trails in the area, we decided to give ourselves a break. In the morning we chose to cross the puzzlingly spanking new bridge that crosses the Rio de las Vueltas and essentially immediately dead-ends. The host at our B&B said that turning left and following the path would bring us to the original homestead of Andreas Madsen, who was the original colonizer of the area and his home still stands. We set off at a leisurely pace along a track which skirts the vertiginous rock faces covered with high desert plants, and after a turn in the path came close to face to face with a band of wildly barking dogs. We were rather taken aback and weren’t sure if it was safe to go on, but we picked up handfuls of stones and kept walking—feeling better prepared for the encounter…. I suppose. As we walked we discovered that along the river there was a pack of about 30 dogs, all shapes, sizes, colors, madly barking at us, but as we approached they fled further up the river bed. We left them behind, looking at us from behind a wire fence that extended as far as the eye could see. Kept walking, even after we saw that the house in the distance was off-limits, and that we could instead trespass elsewhere…. The trail kept going down the valley, along the riverside, and we walked for a while, but eventually turned back and returned to having our standard lunch of cheese, crackers, apples and water—this time in the luxurious situation of a table back at the hotel. (Usually, it’s a standing fest, fighting off flies….)
In the afternoon we walked the dirt road out of town that heads north to a lake called Lago del Desierto. That is about 37km, but we only walked the first 4-5, which lead to a nice waterfall, called Chorillo del Salto. Besides eating the dust of the handful of vehicles that came by—it was Christmas day, so lots of locals were out and about—, we looked down the same valley as in the morning, but were closer to the very rapidly flowing Rio de las Vueltas (River of the Turns) and on the opposite side of the water. We picked up a friendly canine companion about 5 minutes into our walk. He seemed to be having a grand excursion all his own, would regularly bound down some steep path to the riverbank and then rejoin us, always in a good mood. He stopped to play with some of the children who were playing in the mud at the side of the river, then rejoined us, until we hit the short trail off the road that leads to the waterfall. We literally told him to go home, and after making sad doggy eyes, he eventually trotted back in the direction of town. We walked the final kilometer and arrived at a bustling scene of all sorts of locals as well as a handful of tourists, enjoying the sun on the rocks below the falls. Some had picnics, and sadly there were the group of young men acting simply nuts, splashing, falling, and later breaking a large beer bottle. After collecting the pieces they eventually wandered off, and the place became a sort of family haven, with little kids playing in the ice cold water. The usual stray dogs partook in the fun and games, catching flies, and simply watching the world go by. One small dog took a particular liking to Andres!
In the afternoon we walked the dirt road out of town that heads north to a lake called Lago del Desierto. That is about 37km, but we only walked the first 4-5, which lead to a nice waterfall, called Chorillo del Salto. Besides eating the dust of the handful of vehicles that came by—it was Christmas day, so lots of locals were out and about—, we looked down the same valley as in the morning, but were closer to the very rapidly flowing Rio de las Vueltas (River of the Turns) and on the opposite side of the water. We picked up a friendly canine companion about 5 minutes into our walk. He seemed to be having a grand excursion all his own, would regularly bound down some steep path to the riverbank and then rejoin us, always in a good mood. He stopped to play with some of the children who were playing in the mud at the side of the river, then rejoined us, until we hit the short trail off the road that leads to the waterfall. We literally told him to go home, and after making sad doggy eyes, he eventually trotted back in the direction of town. We walked the final kilometer and arrived at a bustling scene of all sorts of locals as well as a handful of tourists, enjoying the sun on the rocks below the falls. Some had picnics, and sadly there were the group of young men acting simply nuts, splashing, falling, and later breaking a large beer bottle. After collecting the pieces they eventually wandered off, and the place became a sort of family haven, with little kids playing in the ice cold water. The usual stray dogs partook in the fun and games, catching flies, and simply watching the world go by. One small dog took a particular liking to Andres!
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Overnight at Camp Poincenot
Just returned from our first camping experience in the area. In short, amazing.
Before leaving we stopped to rent some pads to put our sleeping bags on, and a pair of walking/trekking poles. We are amazed by the amount of stuff you can rent here if you choose to go camping. Retraced our steps from a few days ago when we went up to Laguna Capri, this time avoiding the loop the trail makes and continuing on for a couple of hours til we reached the Poincenot Campground, which lies below Cerro Fitzroy. We had our usual picnic lunch, set up camp—and as we were a bit cold, decided to start the trek –and it’s quite a hike—up to the glacial lake that lies at the foot of Cerro Fitzroy, named Laguna de los Tres (Lagoon of the Three, for the 3 peaks that rise immediately behind it). Weren’t sure whether we were going to go all the way up, but once we got going, it seemed silly not to keep going. This is a steady and steeply rising trail which eventually zig-zags its way to the glacial lake. Despite its vertiginous ascent in places, the park people have done an exceptional job of making it as serviceable as possible, helping out walkers with strategically placed rocks to make the climbing up—as well as down—more accessible, although frankly, no less arduous.
The views of the area are stunning, and really give you a good visual on how the map of trails looks in actuality. You can see various distant lagoons—notably Madre and Hija(mother and daughter), which we have yet to visit.
Once one finally reaches the end of the trail, the proximity of Fitzroy is astounding. The lake is various shades of blue and absolutely crystalline. Andres went down to the lake—as one’s arrival spot is above the lake, as if perched on the rim of a volcano. He passed the sunbathers—yes, it was HOT up there--, and then made his way behind a mound to the glacial lake next door, which is fed by yet another glacier.
After a successful descent, knees intact, we arrived at the campground by about 6:30, having spent virtually the entire day walking. Tired, but recognizing it was too early to eat our meagre food when it’s light until almost 11pm, we crept into the tent for a while, coming out at about 7:30, for a short walk to warm us up before we stood and ate. After dinner we again took a walk, up one of the dry river beds in the area. Lots of southern beeches in all stages of growth, lichens and other mossy plants covering huge boulders sitting in the sandy bed, along with beautiful notro bushes that were abloom with blazing firework-like red flowers. Many of the stones also had interesting plant impressions on them. Unsure whether or not these are some sort of fossil impressions.
Although one of the reasons we’d decided to camp was to make the trek up to the lake at sunrise, we set that madness aside, reasoning that we could see the sunrise over the peaks sufficiently well from the camping area.
We were fortunate to have a not-too-cold night, although neither of us slept terribly well. Puzzling, after all that walking, but nothing to be done about that.
We were up at five, by which time it was already light, although the sun had not quite made it over the horizon. Made our way back down one of the riverbeds to observe the quality of light on the peaks as the sun rises.
After 90 minutes of marvelling at the constantly changing light and clouds swirling around the mountain peaks, we headed back, grabbed our breakfast fare and parked ourselves in a sunny spot at the river. Since we had time on our hands, decided to take part of the walk from the campground north towards a point called Pilar, from which we were able to see incredible views of Piedras Blancas, another large glacier and glacial lake that protrude into the larger valley. From that viewpoint, returned, and tired but exhilirated, headed back to decamp and walk back. This one is on the agenda for an encore.
Views in the area of Piedras Blancas
Before leaving we stopped to rent some pads to put our sleeping bags on, and a pair of walking/trekking poles. We are amazed by the amount of stuff you can rent here if you choose to go camping. Retraced our steps from a few days ago when we went up to Laguna Capri, this time avoiding the loop the trail makes and continuing on for a couple of hours til we reached the Poincenot Campground, which lies below Cerro Fitzroy. We had our usual picnic lunch, set up camp—and as we were a bit cold, decided to start the trek –and it’s quite a hike—up to the glacial lake that lies at the foot of Cerro Fitzroy, named Laguna de los Tres (Lagoon of the Three, for the 3 peaks that rise immediately behind it). Weren’t sure whether we were going to go all the way up, but once we got going, it seemed silly not to keep going. This is a steady and steeply rising trail which eventually zig-zags its way to the glacial lake. Despite its vertiginous ascent in places, the park people have done an exceptional job of making it as serviceable as possible, helping out walkers with strategically placed rocks to make the climbing up—as well as down—more accessible, although frankly, no less arduous.
The views of the area are stunning, and really give you a good visual on how the map of trails looks in actuality. You can see various distant lagoons—notably Madre and Hija(mother and daughter), which we have yet to visit.
Once one finally reaches the end of the trail, the proximity of Fitzroy is astounding. The lake is various shades of blue and absolutely crystalline. Andres went down to the lake—as one’s arrival spot is above the lake, as if perched on the rim of a volcano. He passed the sunbathers—yes, it was HOT up there--, and then made his way behind a mound to the glacial lake next door, which is fed by yet another glacier.
After a successful descent, knees intact, we arrived at the campground by about 6:30, having spent virtually the entire day walking. Tired, but recognizing it was too early to eat our meagre food when it’s light until almost 11pm, we crept into the tent for a while, coming out at about 7:30, for a short walk to warm us up before we stood and ate. After dinner we again took a walk, up one of the dry river beds in the area. Lots of southern beeches in all stages of growth, lichens and other mossy plants covering huge boulders sitting in the sandy bed, along with beautiful notro bushes that were abloom with blazing firework-like red flowers. Many of the stones also had interesting plant impressions on them. Unsure whether or not these are some sort of fossil impressions.
Although one of the reasons we’d decided to camp was to make the trek up to the lake at sunrise, we set that madness aside, reasoning that we could see the sunrise over the peaks sufficiently well from the camping area.
We were fortunate to have a not-too-cold night, although neither of us slept terribly well. Puzzling, after all that walking, but nothing to be done about that.
We were up at five, by which time it was already light, although the sun had not quite made it over the horizon. Made our way back down one of the riverbeds to observe the quality of light on the peaks as the sun rises.
After 90 minutes of marvelling at the constantly changing light and clouds swirling around the mountain peaks, we headed back, grabbed our breakfast fare and parked ourselves in a sunny spot at the river. Since we had time on our hands, decided to take part of the walk from the campground north towards a point called Pilar, from which we were able to see incredible views of Piedras Blancas, another large glacier and glacial lake that protrude into the larger valley. From that viewpoint, returned, and tired but exhilirated, headed back to decamp and walk back. This one is on the agenda for an encore.
Views in the area of Piedras Blancas
Walk to Laguna Torre
Cerro Torre is another of those shark-tooth mountains in the area, and we decided to make the walk to the glacial lagoon that offers the best view of this peak and its surroundings. The walk begins with a fair ascent, eventually leveling off as one reaches the first ample view of Torre and cronies. As one reaches this viewpoint, after about one and a half hours, the Fitzroy River lies deep in the valley, still thundering across boulders and stones, but the panorama opens to the mountains beyond.
For the remainder of the walk—about 2 and a half to 3 hours, the terrain is changeable and mercifully flat. There are vast areas of dead woods—notably the southern beech(here called nothofagus or nire(should have a tilde on the n!) , which is the only plant that is a tree. It grows contorted and wind shorn, often losing branches, and ranges in size from minute to sizeable. Presumably the spring melts have decimated acres of these Patagonian wind survivors, and we pass a virtual cemetery of them, before entering a shady forest, with a tremendous variety of alpine-like flowers.
We reached the end of the trail at the Agostini campground, which is maintained by the national park. All the campgrounds are free, but offer no commodities beyond water—in the river—and one pit toilet. They are, however, free. We eat our picnic lunch sitting on a log near the river, watching a huge bird of prey strutting through the grounds. A campground predator.
We headed away from the campground, the final leg to the lagoon. Coming around the final bend a fierce wind assaulted us, and we joined a couple who were sitting behind a stone wall to take cover from the wind. From there the view was indeed spectacular. Some photos of the walk:
Just for your information, Cerro (Mt.) Torre is the really pointy and largest of the spires in the photos. The massive snowcapped mount which appears to have a “c” in the shape of the snowfield is Cerro Solo.
For the remainder of the walk—about 2 and a half to 3 hours, the terrain is changeable and mercifully flat. There are vast areas of dead woods—notably the southern beech(here called nothofagus or nire(should have a tilde on the n!) , which is the only plant that is a tree. It grows contorted and wind shorn, often losing branches, and ranges in size from minute to sizeable. Presumably the spring melts have decimated acres of these Patagonian wind survivors, and we pass a virtual cemetery of them, before entering a shady forest, with a tremendous variety of alpine-like flowers.
We reached the end of the trail at the Agostini campground, which is maintained by the national park. All the campgrounds are free, but offer no commodities beyond water—in the river—and one pit toilet. They are, however, free. We eat our picnic lunch sitting on a log near the river, watching a huge bird of prey strutting through the grounds. A campground predator.
We headed away from the campground, the final leg to the lagoon. Coming around the final bend a fierce wind assaulted us, and we joined a couple who were sitting behind a stone wall to take cover from the wind. From there the view was indeed spectacular. Some photos of the walk:
Just for your information, Cerro (Mt.) Torre is the really pointy and largest of the spires in the photos. The massive snowcapped mount which appears to have a “c” in the shape of the snowfield is Cerro Solo.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Walk to Laguna Capri
After doing our daily weather check—all permutations of cloud levels, wind speeds and temperatures—decided to head up to Laguna Capri, in hopes of seeing Fitzroy without all the cloud cover that hasn’t given us more than a glimpse since we arrived. Winds were lowest that we’ve experienced so far, but still had hats, gloves, and lots of layers on.
This is a walk that is graded as easy, although the first 45 minutes are a pretty constant uphill. Quite a lot of people heading up the trail today—it’s one of the most popular in the area—even people carting toddlers on their shoulders.
The trail passes through a lot of scrubby Patagonian forest, with occasional openings that offer breathtaking views of the river valley below, as well as the distant snow-splattered mountains. Eventually the path splits, offering a choice of walking to the viewpoint for Fitzroy, or directly to the small Capri lake. The path makes a loop so we opted for the viewpoint first. As the forest thinned out the imposing mountains appeared, and as luck would have it, we had some stunning views of the three jagged peaks and the adjacent glaciers. Check out the pictures which hopefully give you a taste of what we saw.
This is a walk that is graded as easy, although the first 45 minutes are a pretty constant uphill. Quite a lot of people heading up the trail today—it’s one of the most popular in the area—even people carting toddlers on their shoulders.
The trail passes through a lot of scrubby Patagonian forest, with occasional openings that offer breathtaking views of the river valley below, as well as the distant snow-splattered mountains. Eventually the path splits, offering a choice of walking to the viewpoint for Fitzroy, or directly to the small Capri lake. The path makes a loop so we opted for the viewpoint first. As the forest thinned out the imposing mountains appeared, and as luck would have it, we had some stunning views of the three jagged peaks and the adjacent glaciers. Check out the pictures which hopefully give you a taste of what we saw.
Welcome to El Chalten
Left the bustle of bus tours behind us in El Calafate, and moved 230km north along the infamous Ruta 40 (the endless north-south national highway) to El Chalten, Argentina’s self-declared capital of trekking. The town has recently hit the 1000 inhabitants mark, and lies within the northern section of the National Glaciers Park. It is a study in contrasts: wi-fi is prevalent, but the only ATM is town is more of a tourist attraction than a useful entity. The roads are mostly gravel, but there are recycling bins for all manner of material all over town. Dogs of all sizes and non-breeds wander the streets and are friendly. A few tiny markets, a host of places to stay—most of them simple hostels—, restaurants and a few outfits that sell sundry items round out the landscape. The locals and the visitors walk in the middle of the road, and everyone and everything is subject to the undiscriminating wind, which blows with wild abandon down the mountainsides and through the valley.
The mountains surrounding the town are some of the toughest to climb in the Andes—the crown jewel here being the Cerro (Mt) Fitzroy, a gargantuan pointed rock that actually gave the town its name. In the local indigenous language, the mountain is called El Chalten, which means “smoking mountain”. The name refers to the fact that there are often wisps of cloud whirling around the very top of the mountain.
We checked in with the local park rangers—who are extremely helpful, and have set up a program to give a small orientation about “being green” within the park to every visitor. Every bus that enters town is required to stop for this short session, with explanations in English or Spanish. Despite the small size of the station, they appear to be a dedicated and informed crew. They gave us excellent tips on how to check the very changeable weather in the area—windguru.com –which goes into all sorts of detail which really helps plan daily treks.
Our first short jaunt was to check the viewpoints (miradores) at Los Condores and Las Aguilas—a fairly short walk up the mountains closest to the ranger station. From one side, one sees El Chalten in the valley, from the other, Lake Viedma and the vast emptiness of Patagonian scrub.
The mountains surrounding the town are some of the toughest to climb in the Andes—the crown jewel here being the Cerro (Mt) Fitzroy, a gargantuan pointed rock that actually gave the town its name. In the local indigenous language, the mountain is called El Chalten, which means “smoking mountain”. The name refers to the fact that there are often wisps of cloud whirling around the very top of the mountain.
We checked in with the local park rangers—who are extremely helpful, and have set up a program to give a small orientation about “being green” within the park to every visitor. Every bus that enters town is required to stop for this short session, with explanations in English or Spanish. Despite the small size of the station, they appear to be a dedicated and informed crew. They gave us excellent tips on how to check the very changeable weather in the area—windguru.com –which goes into all sorts of detail which really helps plan daily treks.
Our first short jaunt was to check the viewpoints (miradores) at Los Condores and Las Aguilas—a fairly short walk up the mountains closest to the ranger station. From one side, one sees El Chalten in the valley, from the other, Lake Viedma and the vast emptiness of Patagonian scrub.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Route to Lago Roca
Rented a car for the day so as to make access to the more remote Lago Roca easier. There are only 3 roads that lead out of town, and the “high” road which skirts the massive craggy mountains behind El Calafate leads to Lago(lake) Roca. Within minutes one is completely removed from most traces of civilization, and engulfed in the dust that wafts and swirls around the car on this dirt road.
Extended fields covered with scrub stretch as far as the eye can see, to the shores of the almost turquoise lake. Snow-capped mountains rise on the various horizons.. Out of nowhere a cloud of dust appears in front of us, and when the wind clears the thickest dust, we see that we are at the rear of a huge flock of sheep, being herded down the road by seven gauchos on horseback—one with a sheep thrown across his saddle. The sheep dogs bound back and forth barking madly, and we slowly make our way through the wooly mass. A few kilometers further on there are still sheep running mindlessly after each other down the side of the road. Later still we pass a large estancia (farm) with huge pens and a shearing shed—presumably the destination of the flock.
We reenter the national park after about an hour on the road, and eventually find ourselves at the campground on the banks of Lago Roca. It is a retreat for locals in El Calafate, who come to spend weekends here, fish, put on family barbeques, and even have large birthday parties. The grounds are lovely, well-kept and yet still give the impression of being in the wilderness. We are fortunate to find a young woman who makes us a wonderful salad for lunch.
We come to the end of the road at yet another estancia—one that has a tiny restaurant at the side of a garden of blue and lavender lupines. Stunning. We take a walk down to the lake through the farm, catching sight of some huge birds of prey. Upon our return, the gauchos are just bringing in some horses from the fields, and are kind enough to stop and chat with us.
Extended fields covered with scrub stretch as far as the eye can see, to the shores of the almost turquoise lake. Snow-capped mountains rise on the various horizons.. Out of nowhere a cloud of dust appears in front of us, and when the wind clears the thickest dust, we see that we are at the rear of a huge flock of sheep, being herded down the road by seven gauchos on horseback—one with a sheep thrown across his saddle. The sheep dogs bound back and forth barking madly, and we slowly make our way through the wooly mass. A few kilometers further on there are still sheep running mindlessly after each other down the side of the road. Later still we pass a large estancia (farm) with huge pens and a shearing shed—presumably the destination of the flock.
We reenter the national park after about an hour on the road, and eventually find ourselves at the campground on the banks of Lago Roca. It is a retreat for locals in El Calafate, who come to spend weekends here, fish, put on family barbeques, and even have large birthday parties. The grounds are lovely, well-kept and yet still give the impression of being in the wilderness. We are fortunate to find a young woman who makes us a wonderful salad for lunch.
We come to the end of the road at yet another estancia—one that has a tiny restaurant at the side of a garden of blue and lavender lupines. Stunning. We take a walk down to the lake through the farm, catching sight of some huge birds of prey. Upon our return, the gauchos are just bringing in some horses from the fields, and are kind enough to stop and chat with us.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Estancia Cristina
A second excursion in the Calafate area took us across the Lago Argentino in a quite different direction, to the site of a farm founded in the early 1900s called Estancia Cristina. The trip entails a several hour boat crossing along a different arm of the Lago Argentino, first through the narrowest strait, called Garganta del Diablo(Devil’s Throat), and then eventually to an inlet which is generally heavily populated with icebergs of all sizes—all originally part of the gigantic Uppsala Glacier, one of the three largest in the Andean ice fields. If you’ve seen the photos of Perito Moreno, this one is exponentially larger, and less accessible.
An Englishman and his wife working their way south on various farms, eventually found their way to this land, which is still called Estancia Cristina—after their daughter, who died as a young woman of pneumonia—. At the time working and living on such a parcel of land for at least 30 years made it officially your property. The homestead lies on a fertile plain surrounded by snow topped and solid rock mountains, and served as a sheep station—wool was “white gold”. Today it is a pricey hotel with horse-riding and fishing excursions. Our day included a small historical/museum tour of what the old sheep station was like and how it was slowly and arduously built up. The striking, wind-bent elm trees that were planted to break the tireless winds of Patagonia still stand, as do some of the fruit trees, and the sheep shearing shed(now the museum). Present day accommodations are new but built to blend in with the few old buildings that remain. The farm remains accessible only via the water, and the whole tract now is part of the National Park systems, as no heirs lived sufficiently long to ever claim the land as their own.
After our picnic lunch, we piled into a 4 wheel drive and bumped our way over a track for about an hour to find our way up to a viewpoint of the immense and breathtaking Uppsala Glacier. Along the way, stunning views of glacial lakes, mountainsides of felled trees as the original homesteaders knocked down trees in (misguided) hopes of creating more pastureland for their thousands of sheep, as well as panoramas reminiscent of times when dinosaurs roamed the area.
Enjoy the photos of another exhilarating day.
An Englishman and his wife working their way south on various farms, eventually found their way to this land, which is still called Estancia Cristina—after their daughter, who died as a young woman of pneumonia—. At the time working and living on such a parcel of land for at least 30 years made it officially your property. The homestead lies on a fertile plain surrounded by snow topped and solid rock mountains, and served as a sheep station—wool was “white gold”. Today it is a pricey hotel with horse-riding and fishing excursions. Our day included a small historical/museum tour of what the old sheep station was like and how it was slowly and arduously built up. The striking, wind-bent elm trees that were planted to break the tireless winds of Patagonia still stand, as do some of the fruit trees, and the sheep shearing shed(now the museum). Present day accommodations are new but built to blend in with the few old buildings that remain. The farm remains accessible only via the water, and the whole tract now is part of the National Park systems, as no heirs lived sufficiently long to ever claim the land as their own.
After our picnic lunch, we piled into a 4 wheel drive and bumped our way over a track for about an hour to find our way up to a viewpoint of the immense and breathtaking Uppsala Glacier. Along the way, stunning views of glacial lakes, mountainsides of felled trees as the original homesteaders knocked down trees in (misguided) hopes of creating more pastureland for their thousands of sheep, as well as panoramas reminiscent of times when dinosaurs roamed the area.
Enjoy the photos of another exhilarating day.
Perito Moreno Glacier
Headed off to the glacier having decided to do what is termed “mini-trekking”, which is a small venture featuring walking on the actual glacier—near the southern edge—. It is about 80 km to the glacier from El Calafate, crossing the windswept, arid plains that meet the Andes. From there, it’s another 40 minutes to cross the arm of the lake to the edge of the glacier by boat. There a guide explains the history of the glacier, which at the moment is damming the lake. This happens periodically and will ultimately result in a major break cum ice explosion, once the pressure of the ice builds up sufficiently to crack a really enormous piece off the front of the glacier, and will result in open water in front of the ice once again. This is a natural cycle.
Under beautiful skies, we headed through the forest that lines the side of the glacier, had our crampons put on, and headed onto the ice. Later, once safely off the ice, we had a break for a picnic lunch, gazing all the while at the glacier, listening to its creaks and watching huge walls of ice occasionally explode off the sides and into the water.
Later in the afternoon, back on the mainland, we toured the extensive and very nicely designed walkways that afford views of both sides of the land-butting glacier. Words are insufficient to describe the raw beauty and grandeur of the place. Enjoy the pictures.
Under beautiful skies, we headed through the forest that lines the side of the glacier, had our crampons put on, and headed onto the ice. Later, once safely off the ice, we had a break for a picnic lunch, gazing all the while at the glacier, listening to its creaks and watching huge walls of ice occasionally explode off the sides and into the water.
Later in the afternoon, back on the mainland, we toured the extensive and very nicely designed walkways that afford views of both sides of the land-butting glacier. Words are insufficient to describe the raw beauty and grandeur of the place. Enjoy the pictures.
Patagonia at last
We flew from Buenos Aires down to El Calafate on another tremendously clear day. The views were stunning from the air, and we were even able to identify the entire Peninsula Valdes, famed sanctuary on the South Atlantic, home to penguins, sea lions, scores of different birds and during the right season, migrating whales. The land is barren and windswept, empty for hundreds of miles in any direction, until the sunlight begins to reflect the mirrors that are the numerous southern lakes—some small, others gargantuan, like the Lago(lake) Argentino, on which the small town of El Calafate lies. This town is the gateway to the southern section of the Parque Nacional de los Glaciares(National Glaciers Park).
Buenos Aires bits and pieces
Coming to the end of our stay in Buenos Aires—continuing to enjoy fabulous weather, several outings with friends, an encounter with a long-lost teaching colleague, and of course, our obligatory visit to Belgrano R.—neighborhood of Andres’ youth, as well as a beloved walk down proverbial memory lane every time we come to B.A. We stop by the front of his house, his various schools, and the homes of relatives, most of whom lived close by. He regales us with childhood memories of sidewalk sticker games, after-school fights, riding along with the milk-man, who even in the 50’s made his rounds on a horse-drawn wagon. We seem to never tire of this slice of personal history, and interestingly learn new titbits every visit.
We rounded out our week with a visit to the Eva Peron museum, which elucidates her tremendous popularity and the continued quasi-saint status she continues to enjoy with some segments of the locals. This is propagated at Evita’s tomb in the Recoleta cemetery, resting place of the rich and often famous. Another photo stop…..
Our other stop is the small house—now a somewhat confusing museum—where tango crooning legend Carlos Gardel lived with his mother until his early and tragic death in an airplane accident.
Carlos Gardel
A final stop took us to the impressive and clearly very undervisited Parque de la Memoria (Park dedicated to the memory of the disappeared), which lies within the confines of the university of Buenos Aires. Consisting of an array of long stone walls in a zig-zag formation, with the thousands of names of the disappeared etched into small granite pieces, all organized according to the year of disappearance. The remainder of the grounds has a selection of sculptures all related in some form to this particular stain on Argentina’s past.
….pensar es un hecho revolucionario…. meaning, thinking is a revolutionary act.
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| Andres' old house |
We rounded out our week with a visit to the Eva Peron museum, which elucidates her tremendous popularity and the continued quasi-saint status she continues to enjoy with some segments of the locals. This is propagated at Evita’s tomb in the Recoleta cemetery, resting place of the rich and often famous. Another photo stop…..
Our other stop is the small house—now a somewhat confusing museum—where tango crooning legend Carlos Gardel lived with his mother until his early and tragic death in an airplane accident.
Carlos Gardel
A final stop took us to the impressive and clearly very undervisited Parque de la Memoria (Park dedicated to the memory of the disappeared), which lies within the confines of the university of Buenos Aires. Consisting of an array of long stone walls in a zig-zag formation, with the thousands of names of the disappeared etched into small granite pieces, all organized according to the year of disappearance. The remainder of the grounds has a selection of sculptures all related in some form to this particular stain on Argentina’s past.
….pensar es un hecho revolucionario…. meaning, thinking is a revolutionary act.
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