We left Esquel and hopped on the local bus to move about 30 km down the road to Trevelin, a small town originally settled by the Welsh a mite over a century ago. Found very pleasant accommodations at La Estancia, on the northern edge of town, and settled in for the first day, wandering about the quiet of Sunday, until the late afternoon craft fair began on the main square(actually an octogon…)
On the Monday, after a capital breakfast with homemade goods from Sofi, we walked down to the town gym to catch the early morning bus to the national park. This route is a backroad which passes through bucolic albeit dusty countryside until it meets the road from Esquel, which then follows the familiar route into the park. As we were the sole passengers, the driver was kind enough to leave us right at the entrance to the campground, Los Maitenes, which lies closest to the micro-village of Futalaufquen. Got ourselves set up in the lovely campground, very green, complete with tables and benches, fire pits and a generous amount of space between campers. The grounds seem to be very inviting to several species of birds, one of which looks like the Patagonian equivalent of a kiwi.
As we knew we’d be taking the boat trip on the Tuesday, an all-day affair, but that it leaves from a small port about 5 km up the road and that we could only get there by walking, we took the trail up to see how long we’d need. The trail is very up and down, and choking with trees roots, has a few rough-hewn wooden bridges crossing small creeks, and also access to a few small lakeside beaches. We arrived in the port in a little over an hour, and were glad to find that there is a small shop there. We went in for a look, but were rather immediately seduced by the beautiful home-made fruit pies on display. Shared a piece of mixed berries pie on the small pier, walked further down the road to check out the views, and then returned for a second piece(the last one available…) on our return. Took the road rather than the trail back to compare the trips. The road is faster although very dusty.
For the rest of that hot day, we hung around the campground, later heading to the pebbly beach about a 5 minute walk from the tent. In the evening, went to check the grocery store—a sad selection of vittles—and bought up the remaining edible apples. Forced down some “pizza” at the camp restaurant, reminding us once again why we eat it so seldom, and then bought some home-made bread and sliced cheese for our exciting boat meal at the camp-shop, prepared our sandwiches, and went to sleep.
The tent and sleeping bags we bought for the trip have been simply terrific, and this time, with warmer temps my bag was almost too warm. We were up by 6, and had decided to take everything down, rather than stay a second night(our original plan), packed up the tent etc, and after a bite to eat—the ubiquitous cheese sandwich—began making our way to Puerto Limonao, from which the boat tour leaves, with plenty of time to spare.
This boat tour heads up Lago Futalaufquen, then up the Arrayanes River, which connects it to Lago Verde. There everyone has to walk across the peninsula to the second port, Puerto Chucao, and the boat then heads another couple of hours up Lago Menendez until it reaches the dock near the several thousand year old alerce (larch) tree. Taking the boat trip is the only way to access this very beautiful part of the park.
The trip itself is smooth, despite the relatively small boat. The views of the heavily forested mountainsides, glacier(Torrecillos) on Lake Menendez, the twisted many-trunked flowering arrayan trees in the river of the same name, are all most worthwhile. The downside was the rather pompous and frustrated comedian, Juan Carlos, who served as “tour guide”. I won’t bore you with the details, but he was one aspect of the trip we could have dropped overboard.
The tourists were 99% died-in-the-wool argentinos, lots of them on holiday from Buenos Aires, all mightily equipped with enough food for an army, bags loaded with 2 liter bottles of soft drinks and of course thermoses of hot water for the various mate sessions. Mind you, I do love mate, and enjoy watching the ritual of making and sharing the tea, all over the country. Along with the died-in-the-wool nature there is also a liberal dose of complaining—in this case about the walks—first from port to port, and then the 2 hour circuit around to see the ancient trees. People come poorly prepared to do walking of any sort and so the litany of complaints is constant.
We found our way into a second tour guide’s group for the walk, and he was a refreshing change. Federico was a wealth of knowledge about the flora, and considerate enough to take the time to explain everything in English to a threesome of British ladies who joined us at the second port. Initially the forest consists of bamboo grasses and coihue trees, Later there are varieties of cypress and then this mix loses the bamboo, and the alerces (larches) become more common. Apparently it is the huge amount of rainfall that makes it possible for larches, in particular, to thrive in this area. The pass over to Chile is relatively low(for the Andes) and so the rains easily cross over the mountains and consequently almost three times as much rainfall in this area of the park as in the area where we were camping. The main attraction is the abuelo (grandfather) tree, which is calculated to be about 2600 years old. Astounding that a tree which grows an average of a millimeter per year lasts that long. Reputedly, in the same area, but across the border in Chile, there are several trees that are over 3000 years old. A very worthwhile excursion.
The return trip was more relaxed, and a good deal quieter as well due to en masse napping! Our only serious disappointment was not getting Andres' walking stick back at the first point, where we'd both been asked to leave our sticks behind. Mind you, we've been carting them with us--quite lovingly--since El Chalten, where we picked them up within the first few days. Adding insult to injury, however, was that while my stick had not been touched, Andres' was switched. Juan Carlos wasn't sympathetic in the slightest.
By sheer willpower we managed to hightail the 5 km back to the bus stop from the final port in 35 minutes, while being regularly bathed in a film of grit as car after car drove by us. Not even a single offer of a ride…. Made our bus, though, and via Esquel(no bus directly to Trevelin on this particular day), made our way back to tranquil Trevelin. In sum, a beautiful area, but most easily explored by car.
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