Cultural Refugee

Hey everyone, I just wanted to let you know that I have a new blog at http://myculturalrebellion.blogspot.com/. I don't have any stories about travels at the moment so instead I am making a collection of epic, inspirational content that you might be interested in! I would love the follow over at the other blog! Thanks for your support!

The Journey Home

In Calama, Mike traveled North towards Peru while I started my journey South to catch my flight out of Santiago. Hitch hiking at this point was very enjoyable. The first day I was picked up quickly by three different truckers and I traveled almost 800km to Chanral, a dusty beach town clogged with truckers. 

It was a perfect opportunity for me to practice my conversational Spanish and it turns out I had learned a lot more than I had thought. One of the most difficult things for me was thinking of a new way to say something when I didn't know the words. I had to learn to be creative in how I spoke, using the words I knew to communicate my meaning. I thoroughly enjoyed conversing and I was told by each of the three men that they could understand me well. I know much of it was encouragement, but it was welcome nonetheless.

I slept on the beach that night in Chanral. The deep, fine sand felt good to sleep on and I spent the morning walking around barefoot, enjoying the feeling of no boots. Today would be different from yesterday. My first ride was a private vehicle: a brand spanking new MG sedan with the plastic still on the armrests. The driver was named Andres and we immediately hit it off. The drive to Copiapo was down the West coast of Chile, a beautiful coast with the desert terminating at the rocky coast. The Pacific Ocean stretched to the horizon and we made terrific time down Ruta 5. Andres was on his was to the bank to sign some papers for his new car and we had the best conversation that my limited Spanish would allow. In Copiapo he treated me to lunch and we traded Facebook info.

My next ride took me all the way to La Serena, another few hundred kilometers South and home to a bustling colonial city situated on several miles of broad beach. Again, another private vehicle, we made amazing time and I got to La Serena that day with enough light to find a hostel and explore the city. La Serena is one of the oldest cities in Chile and the architecture was beautiful. The shower was most welcome though, it had been almost a week! After a fitful night's sleep, I walked down to the beaches and walked several miles until I was out of town. The weather was overcast but warm and the surf was relaxing to listen to.

Getting out of La Serena proved to be the most difficult task yet. It was a large, busy city and there were not many places to catch a ride. My first ride took me to the outskirts of the city, but I stood there for 3 hours as I tried to find a ride further. Finally, after walking a few miles, a baker picked me up on his way to deliver bread to a small suburb of La Serena. He told me I would have much better luck in that area then in the city and I agreed. He left me on the freeway and I was thankful for Chile's relaxed road rules. I stood there, on the shoulder of a two lane freeway thumbing down a ride. After about an hour, a pickup truck with two men in it stopped and told me they were driving the rest of the way to Santiago! It was an 8 hour drive and I was stoked.

The two men were once again beyond nice, buying me dinner at a roadside restaurant that made their own cheese. The queso empanadas were delicious and we set out again. The drive was beautiful! We drove through the semi-desert, North of Santiago and we passed near the ocean through a twisty, turny road which we took at great speed. At times we hit 170kmh (100mph) on the straights. The 8 hour drive turned into 6 and they dropped me off at the nearest metro. In 20 minutes I was back at the hostel, with plenty of time for Free Wine and Pasta Night.

At the hostel I struck a bargain with management. I fixed the computers for two nights of lodging and breakfast. One evening I went out with the staff and we didn't return until early morning - I was not in bed until 6 am! The next day I took the taxi to the airport with some new friends who were from Canada. I spent that night in the airport and the next day I was off!

I laugh to myself when I think about my route home. I was flying into Greensboro, 2+ hours from my home, Boone. I would stay a couple nights with Janna and some new friends there, then take a train to Charlotte to meet Paige. From there we drove an hour and a half south-west to Greenville, SC to see my long lost friend Alyssa and finally I met my mom two more hours north in Johnson City, TN for the final hour and a half home. Not many people could take a 2 hour drive and turn it into 7 more hours of traveling over the course of 4 days. Now, however, I am home. 

For the time being, anyway.

Bolivia: Part 2

This type of traveling is addicting. The route is not known, the means are unsure, and a miscalculation can be everything from mildly inconvenient to severely dangerous. Walking out of Uyuni and into the desert late that evening was exciting. There is always a little bit of apprehension that follows, but I can easily push this feeling to the back of my mind. The circumstances that we were in were a bit more tricky than I had previously alluded. Mike and I were in the country illegally. It is a $135 fee for the Bolivian visa and Mike and I were supposed to pay in Uyuni. We were now leaving Uyuni with no intention of going back to pay the fee. I was against paying on principal. I would only be in this country for 4 days, and I knew not when I would return. I was also against paying based on my financial situation. Obviously we would have to address this situation at the border but we also needed to be careful while in the country. A run in with authorities would quickly become messy.

Heading South, Mike and I walked several kilometers outside the city. We would stop periodically and ask, "En cual direccion es la frontera de Chile?". We got funny looks and were directed down a few different trash strewn roads before we ended up at a decent spot. Our first ride came quickly and we made almost 200km to the town of San Cristobal in a truck with two women and a dog who was, unfortunately, not happy about having his spacious back-seat-domain intruded on. We had just enough time that night to hike several km outside the city and set up camp on the outskirts. The traffic had died down to just tour vehicles returning to their homes and vehicles bound to the many local mines. One truck stops but is not offering a ride. He tells us no one will pick us up and to return the way we came. We brush it off and don't think much of it. Until the next day.

Culpina K was a small town in the middle of the desert that we stayed in during our 4x4 tour. Now it was the last mark of civilization on the way back. Mike and I found a ride there early in the morning and then sat by the road for the next 4 hours as no traffic passed. Sure, there was the occasional mine truck and tour vehicle, but they were not going to pick us up. We looked at some maps of the area and saw that there was a road to the North which went through several towns and was significantly closer to the border. Unfortunately we had ridden almost 100km out of the way but we cut our losses and set off on our new route. The rides were fairly plentiful and we made up the 100km quickly. It was still early in the day and our final ride was a red pickup. There were 3 people in a single cab and the back was full with barrels and gas cans. Mike and I piled in and rode the next 50km to Rio Grande. When we arrived, we asked the driver which way to the next city and the border. He furrowed his brow and said very confidently that the way to the border is down South, where we had just been. We told him no and showed him the map with the road. The next city was Julaca and they pointed us in the direction of the city which we estimated to be about 30km away. Mike and I walked down the road in disbelief that people didn't even know where the borders were.

Not even 5 minutes later the same red truck pulled up behind us. They said they were headed to Julaca and offered to give us another ride. As they got out the moved around some things in the back of the truck they said "you guys went the wrong way". Mike and I thought nothing of it and happily hopped in. Soon we were driving off into the middle of nowhere. It was not until the road started leaving the power lines that something felt wrong. I started thinking about why these guys had suddenly decided to drive to Julaca. "Are you worried at all?" I asked Mike. He looked at me confused for a second, blinked, and replied: "yeah". I looked around, trying to find some sign of civilization, some sign of help. There was none. I started looking around for anything that could be used as a weapon, and I chastised myself for jumping in the truck so quickly with out asking questions. Mike shifted uncomfortably, trying to see into the cabin of the truck for signs of a weapon. We had rounded a corner and started to slow down when I saw one of the men shift inside. "Mike, they have a gun." "Shit, shit." Mike's eyes darted around wildly. He was sitting on the passenger side, the same side as the man with the gun. They were obviously trying to keep everything hidden and we didn't want to react too soon. I made my backpack available to Mike and we each grabbed a hold of one of my trekking poles. Right now they were collapsed into the storage configuration and they were a fairly heavy, 2 foot length of metal. My other hand went to the knife at my side.

The truck started rolling to a stop in the middle of the road with cliffs to the left and salt flats to the right. There was no one else around. I looked a Mike with an intense expression. "We have to be quick," I said. There were three of them, but in true South American fashion, none were taller that 5'5". The truck came to a stop in a cloud of dust and I took a deep breath. Both doors opened at the same time. Mike was faster than I thought. The trekking pole made a sharp crack as it struck the gunman across the eye socket. One hand went to his eye and the other swung a small revolver into sight. Mike dropped the trekking pole and brought his full weight down on top of the man, bringing him to the ground and seizing the revolver, which was still in the Chilean's grasp. At the same I had brought my pole down on the drivers head with full force, causing him to stagger back into the open door. He had a knife in his hand and the next blow was directed there, connecting across his knuckles. The man screamed, dropped his knife and held his hand to his chest, clearly shocked at the brutal attack. On the other side of the truck I heard Mike shout some curses in Spanish and tell the man to get back. Mike had the revolver pointed at his head and was clearly shaken. The third man in the middle of the vehicle also had a knife but had been so shocked that he had not moved. Now all three looked at each other uncertainly. I had the trekking pole raised over my head and my pocket knife deployed in my left hand.

Alright, relax. None of that happened. Well the red truck did pick us up, and the man did say "you guys went the wrong way", and I did ask Mike if he was worried, and the truck did stop in the middle of no where. Mike and I were ready to pounce in the event of a weapon but there was none and the men were just driving further off road into the salt flats and were merely just dropping us off. Later we realized we should have been more careful but we walked the rest of the 10km to Julaca before sun down.

Julaca looked like a railroad town out of a Western. A large square water tower in the center of the city was the only source of water and was filled by train. Ninety percent of the buildings in the small town were abandoned and crumbling. From one end to the other, you could walk in 5 minutes. Five abandoned railroad cars sat near the tracks and proved to be a perfect shelter for the night. In the morning, we explored the abandoned factory and walked around the town. It was one of our favorite places so far, a ghost town situated in the middle of the desert. It was not until I tried to find our route that I realized a problem. There was no road to the border, just a train track, straight as an arrow, off to the horizon. Mike and I consulted our map. It looked like it was around 60km to the border, with one town halfway through. It was a walk-able distance for sure, but the sun was hot and we only had two and a half liters of water each. About this time a cargo train came through the station. We immediately tried to hop on but the cars were moving too fast. It is an intimidating thing, attempting to jump on to a hundred-ton chunk of metal, clanking along at 20 km/hr. We watching the train fade into the distance and set off walking after it. We had a long way ahead of us.

An hour later another train came up behind us. It was hot and the salt was crunchy under our shoes. The train let out a few horn blasts and we waved as we continued to walk on. That is when we heard the shriek of metal brakes slowing the mass of cargo. The conductor gesticulated wildly and Mike and I were elated. Seconds later we were riding in the back of the main engine, sitting in plush chairs, and ecstatic about our luck. It was actually 69km to the border and we made the trip in a little under two hours. The train let us out before the border checkpoint and we walked up from around the bend. Our next hurdle was ahead. Mike was confident that he could get through with his card from Chile so he walked into the immigration control building. An hour later, we were 20 dollars poorer and walking into Chile. Luckily, the border control agents understand the concept of bribes and we continued on with out a hitch.


The small border town of Ollague was over 200km from Calama via a salt paved road and it was not heavily traveled. It was getting late for hitch hiking but Mike and I didn't want to stay in the town that night. An easy solution was the train we were on previously. We asked the new Chilean conductors if they could give us a ride and they said the couldn't. The new engines had a GPS and the company could tell when they made an unscheduled stop. Instead, Mike and I hopped on the back when the train was leaving the station. We high-fived and enjoyed the most spectacular scenery so far. We were on the train for an hour before if got dark. It was a full moon and the volcanoes were brightly illuminated. The purple and pink hues of the waning sunset created a jaw dropping scene. From here we climbed to 4000m through the second highest railroad on the continent and third highest in the world. We sat on a 1 foot by 5 foot section of steel, with our feet resting on the car couplings. The temperature dropped and the clothes went on. It made little difference. Five hours into our journey we realized we might have made a mistake. We were riding on a train which was climbing a pass with the temperature well below freezing and the windchill was brutal. The train was moving to fast to egress and even if we could get off, we were in the middle of no where. There were one or two lights many kilometers away and nothing else but desert and mountains. The moon was bright enough to cast a shadow of the train on the rocky ground below us. By this time Mike had taken out his sleeping bag and was trying to stay warm. I had a few more warm clothes so I was just biding my time, waiting for the journey to end. At one point the train stopped on adjacent tracks to let another engine by. At this time Mike and I hopped off and looked for a campsite. It was not until I was off the train that I realized how cold I was. I started shaking uncontrollably and I did not stop until I was warm in my sleeping bag.

The next day we woke up in the middle of a sea of sand and rock. Rolling hills followed the valley up to the volcanoes we had ridden past the night before. We consulted the map and roughly determined our location. We set off towards where we thought the road might be and after an hour or so of walking reached the road. After a few more hours of walking we caught one of the sparse rides back to Calama. It was nice to be in civilization again and I continued on to Santiago with out Mike, who headed North to Arica.

Bolivia: Part 1

It is amazing how quickly plans can change. On the evening of the 28th of April, Mike and I hopped on a night-time bus headed towards Copiapo. It is so much easier to book an overnight bus than stay at a hostel. First of all, your bed is included in the price, and second when you wake up you are in a new and exotic place. Copiapo was not exactly exotic, but it was certainly new. Desert surrounded us, sucking the moisture from our skin. High mountains were visible far off through the dry blue sky and every step stirred up a small cloud of dust. We had planned to go hiking with some locals in the mountains east of Santiago but one thing led to another and we caught the last bus to this little desert town in the middle of nowhere. Our real destination was San Pedro de Atacama, a glorious little tourist trap nestled in the heart of the Atacama Desert, the driest desert in the world. Walking to the end of town we stuck out our thumbs and quickly found a ride.




Hitch hiking in the North is much easier than what we experienced in the South. There are a great deal more people, and most are happy to stop and give you a ride. Some drive by with apathetic faces looking forward, but most who are only going up the road or have a full car make some sort of sad face and gesture wildly. In only two days we make it almost 1000km to San Pedro de Atacama. The drive to this dusty little town builds excitment in itself. 6000m snow-capped volcanoes scrape the sky to the North and West, following us as we drive the last stretch of desert road. Closer to San Pedro we drive through some amazing desert terrain: massive sand dunes and colorful, convoluted canyons.

The town itself is a bit of a tourist trap. Tour operators pull you off the streets with promises of 4x4 adventure in the desert, bike rentals are in every internet cafe and hotel and local shops are filled with traditional clothes and postcards. Mike and I pick the tour operator´s brains for information and then head to the outskirts of town to set up the tent and get some weight off our backs. This is one of the reasons I like the smaller towns. You can walk until there are no more people, and then it is just you and the wilderness. Our wilderness this time was only a deserted road, but it did just fine.

Back in town Mike and I ran into two English friends that we shared a room with in Santiago. Ellie and Nikki were in San Pedro for a day before thier 4x4 trip to Bolivia. The 4x4 trip was something that Mike and I wanted to do so we signed on and made plans to rent bikes and go sandboarding on our day off. Sandboarding is kind of like snowboarding but slower, more difficult, and when you fall (and you will fall), you get sand everywhere (the most unpleasant places). Still, it was worth the experience and the scenery was stunning: hazy, snowy volcanoes made the perfect backdrop to the smooth dunes and red dirt.

The next day started early at the tour office. We all loaded up on a bus headed towards the Bolivian border which was nearly 5000m on the Altiplano. The Altiplano is a plateau in the Andes between 4000m and 5000m. It has wetlands, lakes and geo-thermal features as well as 6000m volcanoes that belch steam into the atmosphere. At the Bolivian border we changed into Toyota Land Crusiers and set off through the high desert. The distances we covered in the next few days were immense. Off road driving was combined with short, fast stretches on dusty gravel roads. Lakes and mountains were everywhere. The fauna was commanded by flamingos in the hundreds at certain lakes but we also saw a healthy amount of llamas once we descended a little bit into Bolivia. The entire area is a geo-thermal hotspot and the majority of the mountains are symetrical volcanoes. There are also gysers and steam vents with boiling mud and hot springs that smell of sulfur.

Even though the scenery was spectacular, it was not my favorite part of the trip. I had not realized how much I had missed meeting and talking to new people since we had been so isolated for so long. Many of my new friends were from England: Ellie and Nikki who we had met earlier, Sophie and Rosie who went to the same university as Ellie and Nikki in Bristol but who were traveling seperate, Dave and Bethan, Gareth and Tony who had been living in England for over a decade but was actually from Sweeden. Finally we had Errin, from Canada, and Kristian, from Norway. We were a jovial bunch, split up between two jeeps but often stops allowed a great deal of time to hang out. The first night almost everyone was feeling ill from having spent the day at altitude. We were sleeping at almost 4500m that night and even a short walk left you out of breath. Luckily, Mike and I were well acclimated from our time on Marmolejo so we did not feel ill. After that first night everyone felt much better and we really started to enjoy each others company. It was the great conversations and late night card games while consuming multiple bottles of Bolivian wine that made this trip so awesome.

After three days of amazing volcanoes, lakes and animals we were in Uyuni preparing to head out to the salt flats of Salar de Uyuni. We spent the morning at an incredible train graveyard but the real attraction of Uyuni is the salt. The salar is the largest salt flat in the world occupying over 12,000 sq km. When we arrived I immediately regretted not bringing my sunglasses. The never ending sea of salt was blinding, reflecting white light out to the far horizons. On some coasts, mountains were visible, but on others, the white expanse terminated at the bright blue horizon. The scale created a dizzying feeling of vertigo which soon passed once everyone had started taking perspective pictures. After a delicious lunch (all of the meals on the tour were amazing) we loaded back into the Land Crusiers to head back to Uyuni. In the city we all said our goodbyes, exchanged contact information, and just like that, Mike and I were alone again. It was Thursday and we soon learned that no buses to Chile left until Sunday and no passenger trains until Monday. This was too long for us to stay in Bolivia so we set out hitch hiking in the Bolivian desert.

The events that followed turned out to be some of the most exciting and epic times I have had in South America. They will be chronicled in Bolivia: Part 2

Trekking in the High Andes

Santiago is nice. It has the eye catching architecture, street side vendors, and all modern ameneties you would expect to find in a city in the states. Prices are cheap compared to the rest of Patagonia and public transportation is plentiful. Santiago is also big: over 7 million people in the metropolitan area. The haze from traffic clogs the air and turns the towering mountains surrounding the city into ghosts, faintly visible overhead. People are everywhere and most seem to be engaged in the national Chilean pass time of sucking face. Seriously, in every plaza, on every corner and at every bus stop you can find a couple lost in each other's eyes and in the middle of a 20 minute make out session, tounge and all. Often there are more than one. The people here have no qualms with public displays of affection.

So it is refreshing to drive into the mountains, hours away from the smog and bustle of Santiago. Here, the Andes rise up to magnificent snow capped peaks and the stars shine brightly once more. We have traveled deep into Cajon del Maipo, a canyon carved deep into the high Andes. Our starting point is the small pueblo of Lo Valdes. There is a German mountaineering refugio there with more info about our ascent. Getting there proves to be no easy matter, however.

Mike and I take a long bus ride to San Gabriel, the furthest city down the valley with bus service. We are still left with almost 40km to Lo Valdes and the day is ending, reducing our chance of hitching a ride. After waiting for nearly 2 hours Mike set off to find a campsite without me. I thought that it was a poor idea but he seemed grumpy so I left him alone. About an hour later I decided to join him so I set off walking down the road. After an hour or so, I had not passed him and I assumed he walked further (and I hoped I had not already passed him). It was very dark by now, but I assumed he would hear me passing on the road. Even if he did not, no matter, we would meet in Lo Valdes later. Luckily I got picked up by a Chilean farmer and his family, unfortunatly, I never saw Mike on the road so I checked into the German refugio.
At the refugio I met three travelers from the United States who worked for Dannon Yogurt and we spent the evening trading stories. Later, the receptionist, a polish born immigrant named Nicodem, offered me some whiskey and we spent the night looking over maps and practicing Spanish and English. Nicodem had lived in Chile for the past 10 years and had not spoken any English in that time. Our conversation was a broken mix of my Spanish and his English, but we both enjoyed ourselves. The whiskey was good for settling down for the night and I hoped that the morning would bring Mike.

The next day brought bright blue skies and snow capped peaks. I had made the trip up to the refugio in the dark so I had not seen any of the mountains on the way up. They were magnificent! The canyon had turned vertical with thousand foot cliffs which you had to strain your neck to see the tops of. In the back of my mind I thought about how we were trying to climb higher than all of this, but I did not worry much and sat down to a nice breakfast with my new friends. Mike arrived from his ride around 11 in the morning and we set out towards the mine on our long climb.

The dusty mine road was steep and our packs were heavy. We had packed for 10 days and we each had between 15 and 20 lbs of food. Luckily we got a lift for 4km by one of the trucks working with the mine but it was just enough to get us on the real trail for the actual climb. For the next 7 hours we climbed 1000m into the Marmolejo valley. Our target was Cerro Marmolejo, a 6100m (20,000ft) peak on the Chilean-Argentine border. It holds the distinction of being the Southern-most 6000m peak in the world. Marmolejo is known for its grueling approach, starting below 2000m and climbing to over 6000m, more than 14 thousand feet of vertical relief. The climb is considered non-technical but ice axe and crampons are needed, adding weight to our packs. The weather is pleasant and we make camp on the top of a rock at around 3000m (almost 10k ft). It is considerably warmer in the tent and we have a good nights sleep. Breaking camp in the morning is much colder and we loiter in our sleeping bags until the sun warms us up a bit. This day we had a good amount of hiking in the snow, at times up to a foot deep. A foot of snow on a boulder field can prove to be problematic. You are unsure if you are setting your foot on solid stone or into a hole that will attempt to mangle your ankle. An injury here would be very unfortunate, although at this point we had the resources for an emergency on the mountain. The climbing seemed to go on and on. Finally we broke into a large flat plateau underneath glaciated massifs and vertical cliffs. The sunlight was blinding! I retrieved my goggles and Mike fashioned some sort of shade with his boof.

At this point we climbed 600 meters up a 45 degree mountain of talus, giving us incredible views of the surrounding mountains. Even though it was early in the day, we had already climbed about 1000 meters and we made camp on the ridge overlooking the valley.
Mike was out of water and I started to melt some using my esbit stove. This was our first sign of trouble. One fuel tablet melted snow into one half liter of slushy water. It was late in the day but still well below freezing (I would estimate in the low 20s F, a weak breeze made it very cold). I had brought 16 fuel tablets and at a 500 mL each it meant that
Mike and I had 4 more liters of water each. Mike was thirsty and drank most of his first liter right then. At 4000m (13,000ft) we needed large quantities of water to ward off altitude sickness, which can prove fatal. Mike and I discussed our options. We had a minimum of another 2 days to reach the summit and that was without the recommended acclimatization days. That would leave us with 2 liters a day during the most difficult climbing. It also meant we would have no room for mistakes and we would have to descend from 6100 meters to 3500 meters (highest liquid water) immediately. This is also dependent on my stove melting the same amount of water at near 0 degrees F (unlikely).  That night we decided to abort the attempt and head down in the morning.
The next morning arrived with a layer of ice on the tent and a beautiful view of the mountains from the campsite. We slept well that night despite the low temps (single digits F). I snapped a picture and we broke camp. Today was a long day, descending 7000 ft to the villiage of Lo Valdes.

We set off making good time down the valley even though the snow in some of the chutes was waist deep. Our decision was quickly rewarded with the onset of bad weather. The weather would have made route finding almost impossible and without the sun it was bitterly cold, even in the bottom of the valley. After 6 hours of knee-jarring descent we were back on the mine road. The bottoms of my feet were sore and blistered but we lucked out when we flagged down a small vehicle returning to Santiago after a day at the local hot springs. Mike and I filled up the car and the five of us drove the 2 hours back to the city. Our friends were two Chileans and a Mexican and it gave me another perfect situation to practice my Spanish.
We made it back to our hostel in time for a free dinner of delicious pasta and red wine. We went to bed early and we are spending the day in Santiago before we head further north for a brief moment before the trip is over. I have a flight out of Santiago May 12th which will by my 78th day on the continent. It is funny that 2 weeks seems like such a short time, but I know I still have a lot to see!

Cerro Tronador and Hospitality in Bariloche

The time has come to leave San Carlos de Bariloche. Granted, we spent much more time here than originally planned, but that is what happens when you fly by the seat of your pants. Looking back at our time here, I credit the past few incredible days to God. I just don't believe in coincidences like this. It all started when we first arrived at Refugio Frey and met our friends I spoke about in my last blog. Dylan and Brooks were both from the states and are amazing guys. Dylan moved to Argentina with his family just a few months prior and Brooks was visiting. After an awesome couple days of climbing, I mentioned that Mike and I were planning to seek out a way to climb Cerro Tronador, a 3500m glaciated peak on the border of Chile and Argentina. "Brooks and I are going there this weekend!" Dylan told us, "I have three seats open in my car."

The evening before we left for Tronador we went over to Dylan's house for dinner. We barbecued chorizo for choripan and enjoyed the hospitality of an actual family. Dylan and Cheri (Dylan's wife) have three adorable children, which is good because they are a handful. Although there was not a quite moment that night (at least before the kids went to bed), I was more than happy to play with the kids and throw them around. They live in a beautiful little house a stones throw from the lake and they have a stunning view of the sunrise each morning. Despite all the noise and chaos, there is a comforting feeling about having a home to stay in while you travel. Cheri and Dylan were beyond hospitable and I felt very peaceful sleeping that night.

That morning Regev was feeling ill so we postponed our expedition hoping he might feel better in the morning. Because it was a nice day, we made the short drive to Piedras Blancas and spent the afternoon top roping some beautiful routes above Lago Nahuel Huapi. After climbing, I made some spaghetti which was very good (if I don't say so myself) and gave Cheri a break from making dinner. The following morning Regev was feeling much better and we set off on the two hour drive to the base of the mountain.


The first 3 hours of the hike wind through a beautiful forest which was in the peak of fall color. The higher we climbed, the more brilliant the colors became. It was partly cloudy and the drizzle was on and off, creating incredible rainbows that added to the color. Almost all of Tronador was hidden in the clouds and we did not see the Refugio until we were right near it. Refugio Otto is a ramshackle little building placed between two enormous glaciers. A couple of solar panels and a wind generator supply the batteries with a trickle charge of electricity. Inside, we find a cozy main room with a stove and tables.

After a short nap, we gear up to go down to the glacier. There is still a wintry mix falling from the sky, and the wind stings any exposed skin. We go now because we are not sure if the weather will be even worse tomorrow. Once outside and on the glacier we strap on our crampons and set off with our ice axes in hand. We don't travel far before we find ourselves in a labyrinth of icy crevasses. Paths no more than a foot wide were common, with 30+ foot drops into a blue abyss on either side. The ice axe was very useful for balance and climbing. We would use the spike to probe the snow in front of us, testing for solid ice. The trip was fun and fairly uneventful, even though Brooks went swimming in some surface runoff. After about an hour of exploring, we found our way back to the solid ground and made our way back to the Refugio. That evening we warmed up near the stove and ate our meals, wondering what tomorrow would bring.

The bright blue sky and wispy clouds the next morning were a pleasant surprise. The summit of Tronador was easily visible through the large front window of the refugio. We hiked 20 minutes up an icy spur of volcanic rock to the beginning of the glacier under the summit. This section of glacier was much less dangerous and we made good time towards the summit of the mountain. Although the summit was not the goal (that is a 14 hour day with vertical ice climbing) we walked on, trying to find a good vantage point of the surrounding area. The clouds moved in and out as we climbed, revealing parts of the mountain bit by bit. Every new view that we had was incredible in its own right and the lack of wind and relative warmth made the excursion quite enjoyable. We found some crevasses to jump and some ice walls to climb. Brooks took some epic pictures and we headed down to pack and for the 3 hour hike back.

Back in Bariloche, Cheri had made some delicious, hot soup with fresh baked bread. We ate hungrily and enjoyed the rest of the time with the family. The next morning we were surprised with pancakes, homemade whipped cream and homemade blackberry jam. We said our goodbyes and Cheri dropped Mike and I off in town. Thinking back on everything now, the time we shared was perfect. Mike and I finally got to do some awesome climbing and get some more use out of those heavy ice axes and crampons, and I got too meet an amazing family and some amazing guys who I got to talk about our faith with. It was truly a blessing and I am once again reassured that leaving the planning up to God is the best way to have an amazing time.

Tomorrow, Mike and I will try to hitch across the border, back into Chile and make our way north to Santiago. I have a flight that leaves on the 12th of May and my time here is drawing to an end. We are planning on some high altitude adventures in the near future, but as always, who knows what will happen?!

San Carlos de Bariloche and Parque Nacional Nahuel Huapi

After being in Southern Patagonia for so long, Bariloche was a bit overwhelming, especially for Mike. The large city and many people were more than he had seen in over a year. Easter weekend was joined by the Fiesta del Chocolate and the streets were packed. Bariloche is known as the chocolate capital of at least South America, maybe even the world, and the city is filled with chocolate shops on every block, often more than one. We found a hostel in the center of downtown and offloaded our backpacks, tired from traveling.

Easter Sunday was much different from any other I've had. I woke up late: about 9:30, and spent some time reading some scripture. It was a quiet and reflective time, and I found myself extremely thankful for my life, my family and friends, and my faith. Around 10:30, word spread in the hostel that the chocolate egg ceremony was happening now. Mike and I found ourselves in a mass of people in the town square watching as men in a cherry picker (one you would see fixing power lines in the States) tore apart a 40ft chocolate egg with mountaineering ice axes! The whole ceremony was completely ridiculous and awesome and was accompanied by a pompous military band and loud pop music. The long wait paid off with copious amounts of free chocolate. Mike and I combined brought back around 5lbs of the stuff and it was good! We ate entirely too much chocolate that night but we ended up sharing a lot when we brought it up to the national park.

Parque Nacional Nahuel Huapi was Argentina's first national park and we had planned a 4 day traverse across the mountains. As we were planning we ran into Regev, an Israeli that we had met in El Chalten, and we invited him along. The first day was a short 4 hours, but a bit of a climb from 1000m to Refugio Frey at 1700m. Refugio Frey was a glorious little refuge, situated at the saddle of Laguna Toncek in the shadow of Torre Principal, a 2500m spire towering over the valley. Little known to Mike, Regev and I, Refugio Frey was a climbers paradise. The valley was filled with thousands of routes, from thousand-meter multi-pitch climbs to top rope and sport routes, Frey had it all! Mike and I immediately wished we had our climbing equipment and all of the climbers scurrying about with full trad racks and bandaged hands made us jealous. About that time, we were joined by a couple of Americans. They were at Frey for the next few days climbing and I eagerly asked them questions. One of them used to be a climbing instructor in Yosemite National Park and he was teaching his friend about placing and cleaning pro (short for protection, referring to the cams and nuts climbers place in the rock to catch a fall). He invited all of us to watch and learn and after a bit asked us if we wanted to go climbing in the morning. We eagerly accepted.

The next two days were filled with climbing the exposed faces and spires. The approach was an adventure in itself since they required some adrenaline pumping class 4 climbing with out the protection of ropes. Once in location, Mike or I would belay as our friends set the trad route. The climbing was beginner to moderate and I had not climbed routes for well over a year. This just made the rush that much better. One particular climb was a full 100ft route that began over 500ft off the valley floor. The exposure was extreme. This particular route was a 5.8 crack that required thumbs up finger jams most of the route. With your feet smeared against the vertical rock and hundreds of feet of air below you, the feeling is euphoric. The weather was perfect! Warm and no wind without a cloud in the sky. At night we drank craft beer and talked about God and other deep topics.

After a couple days of climbing our friends headed home and Mike and I headed across the pass towards Refugio Jakob. Regev had not been warm sleeping the past few nights and was running low on food so he headed back to town. It did not take long for Mike and I to stray off the main trail. We descended into a valley in the peak of Autumn color and found a small stream to follow to the trail below. Our improvised trail was beautiful. The stream was easily navigated by jumping from rock to rock and wadding where it was necessary. The smooth sloping rock created beautiful cascading waterfalls which sparkled in the bright sun. The scenery reminded me a lot of North Carolina, until I looked higher to see towering, craggy peaks. We made good time and ate lunch at the top of a waterfall overlooking the valley. Scrambling down the face, we continued until we reached a second and more severe waterfall. The stream we were following plunged more than 100 ft off a cliff and into a gorge below. High walls on either side made it impossible to down climb. What followed might possibly be the most miserable 2 hours I have ever spent in a forest. The underbrush was dominated by thickets of bamboo which seriously impeded our movement. We pulled and pushed our way up the mountain and around the cliff side, only to be turned back time and time again by vertical, impassable terrain. The bamboo went all directions. Much of it was laid down and would catch the vertical plants, bruising shins and turning the process of walking into a severely strenuous endeavor. At times I would throw the entire weight of my body forward, only to be held in an upright position and unable to move. The only salvation that the bamboo offered was a secure plant to hold on to when we traversed steep terrain. After two hours in the bamboo hell, mike and I were covered in dirt, blood and bruises but we made it back to the stream and the next few hours before dark were beautiful and scenic again. We reached the bud stop after an hour of walking a back road in the dark. Once back in Bariloche, we rewarded ourselves with some salmon ravioli and a beer.

We have decided we quite like it in Bariloche. This weekend we are doing some glacier work on Tronador, a 3500m glaciated peak a few miles from town. After that depends on the weather, but we are certainly not opposed to spending more time in this fantastic area in Northern Patagonia!

The Mighty Rio Futaleufu

In the sparsely populated pueblos of Patagonia, public transportation is
scarce, and any other traffic can be almost nonexistent. This became
painfully clear when it was time to leave Puyuhuapi. The bus to Futaleufu
would not leave for another 6 days and shorter bus excursions would be more
pricey. Still, a quick bus left town later that evening, so we decided to
try to hitch a ride while we waited.

Well, waiting on the side of a gravel road for hours while one or two cars
passed became the story of the next few days. Over the next 3 days, we
pieced together less than 250 km of short rides and buses. The hardest day
was making it less than 70 km to La Junta, much of which was spent waiting
and even walking with our heavy loads (upwards of 50 lbs each). The day was
rainy and we reached La Junta hoping to make it the last 77 km to
Futaleufu. After 3 hours of standing in the rain, we decided to call it
quits.

We found an abandoned and well sheltered car port along our route and
settled there. About that time we were joined by Max, a cyclists from
Massachusetts who we had already passed 3 times that day. He was a machine
who was surpassing 100 km a day on gravel roads and was actually keeping up
with us for the past 500 km from Coyhaique. He was on a grand tour of South
America and had already traveled from Santiago to Puerto Montt, took a
ferry to Natales and was now north bound to Colombia. He had already ridden
well over 1000 miles and was still going strong. We spent an enjoyable
night trading stories, sheltered from the rain. In the morning he shared
his oatmeal and set off as we vainly continued to look for a ride.

Finally at 2pm we boarded a bus and made a terrific chance encounter. I
happened to sit next to Troy, an English student taking a break between his
under and post grad degrees. He was traveling with two other friends, Cami
and Jeremy, who were from France. They were headed to Futaleufu for rafting
and had been given the name of an American there who ran a reputable
company. We decided to join up and raft together since it was the very end
of the season and it would be easier with a larger group. We ended up
staying two nights at a lovely hostel in Futaleufu and spent a dreary day
hiking up to the snow line and path finding. We had a terrific time with
our new friends and we couldn't have rafted without them, we soon
discovered.

The contact they had been given was Chris Spelius, an Olympic kayaker who had spent the last 20 years on the Futa (short for Futaleufu).
He was tall, well over 6 feet and he had an intense demeanor about him.
Later in the day we heard a story about a first run on the Niagara River he
did when it was running at well over 100k cubic feet per second. He was
worried about his spray skirt imploding, so he super glued it to his kayak,
having full confidence he could perform a "combat roll" if needed.

The Futa is a world class river, considered to be some of the best white
water in the world. Class 5 rapids are about as frequent as the class 3 and
4 rapids combined. It is on par with giants like the White Nile, though the
Futa is considered even more technical and less forgiving. The section we
chose to raft was 4 hours of non stop white water, ending with one of the
most difficult, commercially run class 5s on the entire Futa: Casa de la
Piedra, or House of the Rock. Even though there were only 5 of us on the
river that day, there were three guides in the water. The senior guide on
our raft, one in a cata-raft and another in a kayak. The cat and kayak were
always in front of us, acting as a safety net in case someone fell out or
the boat flipped. Rapids on this section of the Futa are very close
together and swimming them are a very bad idea.

Our raft was an 18 foot boat with a set of oars for the guide on the back
section on the raft. The cata-raft had the same oars, but in the center of
the boat. The kayak had carry loops which were used to tow swimmers back to
one of the rafts. The precautions taken quickened my pulse as we set off
for our first rapid, practicing emergency commands like "get down" and
"jump left/right". We also had to practice pulling each other in the raft.
The water was cold, but not terrible. The Futa winds through some of the
most amazing scenery in Patagonia. Colorful granite walls are clogged with
dense rain forest, hiding creeks until the very end when they plunge of the
mountains into the Futa below. A low, thin fog created an other-world like
feeling. "When the weather is like this, I always feel like I'm in Jurassic
Park", one of our guides says as we float over a section of flat water,
staring up towards the high cliffs, more than 500 feet above us.

Flat water was hard to find on the Futa. Class 3 rapids felt like ripples
after crashing through class 4s that carried on for half a kilometer. Wave
trains carried us 15 feet over the crest, only to drop us unto the trough
below, over and over. Our guide strung together commands, one after the
other. "Hard forward now! Get down! Positions! Hard forward, hard! Let's
go! JUMP RIGHT, JUMP RIGHT! Positions! Mike and I were at the front of the
boat since we had the most white water experience in the group. Water was
continually knocking us back and at times it was hard to breathe. Our guide
explained each serious rapid from an eddy upstream. Occasionally he would
ask us what we wanted to try. We always asked for the more intense line.
"we could try and go center-center and hit the hole" he said, not looking
entirely sure himself. "Let's do it".

I was the first to go when we dropped into the hole. The front left of the
boat buried itself in the water, tearing me out of my seat and surrounding
me in an angry bath of cold whitewater. After several seconds I came to the
surface and saw everyone in the water and the boat flipped. I was picked up
by the kayak and pulled onto the cata-raft. Luckily, everyone made it to an
eddy and no one was hurt. Honestly, it was exhilarating and even our guide
had a huge smile on his face. "We almost had it!" He gleefully shouted at
the other guides. After lunch we set out for the last section of the river
and La Casa de la Piedra.

Stopped in an eddy, all three of the guides went to scout the rapid. After
5 minutes of conversing they came back and described our line. "This is a
long rapid, you can't fall out in the beginning. See that rock right there?
That is the Casa. We have to go in between that and a hole but we can't hit
the rock. If we hit the rock we are all fucked". The guides were more
serious than they had been all day. The tension was intense. When the cat
and kayak went ahead of us they dropped below the horizon, out of sight,
then it was our turn. "Forward, hard!" Rocks and waves seemed to be
everywhere, the raft bounced and tossed in the churning white water as we
navigated the technical rapid. We crossed the width of the river twice,
maneuvering around sunken trees and holes that would swallow our entire
boat. And as quickly as it started, it was over. Our guide gave a whoop and
the boat broke out into cheers.

Back at the office we reviewed the gopro footage and praised our guides. It
was their last trip of the season and everyone was stoked to had had such
an awesome last day. Mike and I caught a ride with some of them to the
border and just like that, our time in Futaleufu was over. That night we
found ourselves in Esquel, a good sized Argentine city that we spent the
night in along side the road. This morning we were picked up in under 5
minutes and got a ride straight to Bariloche. We will spend a few days here, and perhaps take a multi-day trek in Parque Nacional Nauhel Huapi, Argentina's first national park! Stay tuned!

Civil Unrest

Graffiti like this is everywhere in Aysen. On every hard surface the spraypaint reads "Patagonia sin represas" and "Aysen, tu problema es mi problema", translating to Patagonia without dams and Aysen, your problem is my problem.

Merely a few days before we arrived in Coyhaique, there were major riots: shutting down the caretera and vandalizing buildings. Buildings were still boarded up and broken windows seemed to be everywhere there was not a sign or black flag showing solidarity with the protests. When we were unpacking our car and preparing to sell it, we unpleasantly discovered remnants of pepper spray only after we rubbed our nose and eyes.

The problem centers around two major issues, as far as I can tell. First, a company HidroAysen, wants to put hydroelectric dams on some of the major rivers here. This would damage the enviroment and tourism that these people depend on for their livelyhood. Compounding this issue is the lack of representation in Santiago, the nation's capital. Officials are appointed to represent the provinces that they have never lived in, and thus, do not understand the people they represent. This centralized government is having a hard time helping the people of Aysen.

You can't help rooting for the people here and it will be interesting to see how the mood changes as we head further North.

Puerto Puyuhuapi

An awesome, oceanside town we are spending some time in! Wooden boats everywhere. Enjoy!

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Patagonia

Flexibility is a good thing. Especially when you realize you don't want to drive another kilometer on gravel. After our trip North, our little KIA was rather despised for its lack of shocks and persistant carb and gas tank problems. However, surprising everyone, the little car made it almost 3000 km over some of the most rugged terrain in the world and never broke down once. Now, in Coyhaique, we decided to say goodbye to our not-so-dear little car and continue by foot, which really means via hitch hiking and bus.

Because we had a surplus of gear that is not so light, we decided to try and sell some of it. When we were unsuccessful finding a used gear shop, I suggested we lay out our wares in the plaza. The response was better than we ever expected. The gear sold at the cost of new gear in the states and we were able to slim down to a manageable load.

We also decided to change up the travel arrangements a bit. When Mike and I expressed doubts about reaching Peru, Steph decided to break off and bus strait up to Lima. Mike and I will continue North at a slower pace, with some white water rafting and mountaineering in the near future.

To catch a bus, Steph and I left Mike in Coyhaique to finish his laundry and hitch hiked 5 hours north to the cross roads community of La Junta. We had great success finding a ride and we had a great view of the senery on the way to our destination.

The climate has changed drastically since leaving Argentina. The dry pampas has turned into a lush, dense rainforest, hanging off sheer granite cliffs and clogging claustrophobic canyons. Winding, muddy roads replaced the rocky, straight roads of La Cuarenta and riding in a truck with proper shocks was glorious.

The second ride we had was truly an experience. The Chilean was an off duty Carabinero (Chilean police), who was driving to his residence in La Junta. Half way through the trip we stopped on the side of the road and pulled an assortment of small trees from the ground. He explained he needed them for his garden and we stopped once more to ensure we had enough. He also offered us homemade bread with cheese and peach juice. The juice here is delicious! So many varieties and they are all at least 50% fruit juice. We arrived in La Junta late last night and our driver took us strait to a campsite he knew.

Steph left early in the morning and I was stuck hitch hiking back south to meet Mike in Puyuhuapi. I walked 10km before I was picked up, but the rest of the drive only took 30 minutes. Now I'm waiting for Mike at the tourist center. I'm not sure if we will stay long, but from what I hear there is a kayak trip to a hot spring that may be fun...

Capillas de Marmol and the Worst Drive Ever

Late in the afternoon on Monday, a Swiss couple drove into Bajo Caracoles in a blue van with a Vans Warped Tour sticker adorning the side. The had driven from Switzerland to India and now were traveling north to Canada. After a bit of small talk I brought up our problem and they said they had extra gas. They sold it to us as a great rate and we were off...well Steph and I were anyways, Mike was still hitchhiking in no man's land somewhere. Luckily, we saw him in his ride an hour down the road and we stopped and made the switch.

Back on the road again, we made good time to Perito Moreno since the majority was paved. After lunch and a fill up, we passed through Los Antigous and across the border, once again in Chile. That night we slept on a breakwater for Lago Buenos Aires, the second largest lake in South America. It is also the prettiest lake I have ever seen, saphire blue water contained by towering mountains.

The next day we woke up early and set off for Puerto Rio Tranquillo along a washboard road from hell. The majority of the time we maintained just above 20 km/hr up and down steep inclines that were cut through the sandstone, gravel, and marble mountains. It was a gorgeous and dangerous route with crumbling cliffs and narrow tunnels that followed the lake hundreds of kilometers around the perimeter.

We reached our destination 7 hours later, only traveling 200 km. The small town of Puerto Rio Tranqillo is a small community along the lakeside thats main attraction are the Capillas de Marmol, a conspicuous formation of marble caves and islands. We found a tour operator that afternoon and went out for 10 dollars per person. The trip was fantastic! The 20 ft skiff explored cavern passages that were hardly wide enough for navigation. The white marble made a beautiful contrast with the impossibly blue water. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.

After we rotated our tires and camped for the night, we set of on our last 200km before pavement. The trip was worse than the previous day and we crossed our fingers since our back two tires were showing wires. Driving in this manner was physically exhausting and near the end of the day we felt like we were coming back from a multi day trek. We were so excited to see pavement that we celebrated with jet landing noises and faux radio calls requesting permission to land. Coyhaique was still 94 km away, but on pavement we didn't mind.

Climbing through the mountain pass we had an unexpected treat. Right in front of us, not even 15 feet away, was an huemul, the rare andean deer. Mike knew a park ranger in Chalten that had been there for 8 years and had not seen one and many think they no longer exist. Official estimates put the number at less than a few thousand in the entire region of Patagonia and here was one in front of us! Mike immediately jumped out of the car exclaiming "holy shit, it's an huemul!" and quickly pursued it up the steep mountain. The huemul evaded him, but not after he snapped a mediocre picture of the fabled beast. After we were on our way again, he announced his time in Patagonia is complete.

Arriving in Coyhaique we decided to sell the car and continue by hitchhiking and bus. The car could not handle much more of the Caraterra Austral and we found a dealer that would buy the vehicle, shocks and leaking gas tank included. We decided to off load some of our bulkier items in the plaza which was much more successful than we imagined. Most of the items we sold for what they would cost new in the states. We will do our laundry, then head north to Puyuhapi and beyond. With some luck we will be in Santiago (and the start of our real mountaineering) within a few days.

I am excited to put some mileage behind us and I feel like I have seen some of the best of Patagonia in the last month. The high Andes lie ahead of us, with peaks reaching 22 thousand feet. This next chapter will be an adventurous one.

Northbound: Road Food and Less Scrumptious Issues

On the 23rd of March, with a full tank of gas, we departed the little town of Chalten, and ended a 2 week long chapter of our journey. We drive north bound over Route 40 or "La Cuarenta", Argentina's famous road connecting Patagonia to the rest of the country. The anxiety is high since the car is still not in great working condition. A severe worry is also the state of the road. Route 40 has nice paved secrions, but also sections that look like someone burried a thousand softballs halfway in the ground. Needless to say, this condition nearly rattles our poor little car to death. There are hundreds of kilometers of road inbetween us and the next living person and the going is slow, sometimes dropping under 20 km per hour. We have the time though, and our next destination will be worth it (more on that later).

Nevertheless, it feels good to be on the road again. The pampas here, though desolate, have a wild beauty to them. Wild animals are plentyful here and we drive past herds of sheep, and guanacos as well as rheas, ostrich like birds that are maybe three feet tall. The pampas are a land of plateus and grass and there is not much shelter to be found. Last night we spent the night in a concrete drainage tunnel that cut under the road. We blocked the other end with Mike's old 15 dollar tent and we had quite the cozy shelter, although, no view of the stars.

For anyone we has not seen stars beyond the lights of human civilization, you cannot imagine what you are missing. Anyone who has, would describe a peppering of colors which reaches its peak in the Milky Way. Blues and reds join other white stars that twinkle intensely in the cold desert atmosphere. If it were not for the strength of the wind, the sky would be a much better backdrop, but since we want sleep, the concrete tunnel will do.

One of the pleasures of being on the road is cooking meals. In Punta Arenas we purchased a gas stove and wok and have used them to create some delicious meals. Last night we stirfried red and green peppers with onions, mushrooms and chorizo to put on French bread. Past meals include herring fillets and rice in curry and a dill cream sauce over bowtie pasta and fish. Breakfasts often consist of oatmeal or leftovers from last night along with peach marmalade and dulce de leche. Hot water makes coffee or hot chocolate and we have a well rounded meal.

500 km from El Chalten is the dusty settlement of Bajo Caracoles. The "town" consists of a hotel and a hostel. Since it is the only gas for 500 km it was a vital stop on our journey. Unfortunately they were out of gas and so this is where I am writing you from. Somehow, no one knows when the next shipment of gas will come in so Mike hitched a ride 120 km North to Perito Moreno. As of now we are waiting for him to return. La Cuarenta is notoriously slow this time of the season and only a handful of cars will pass in a day.

Another traveler had some luck southbound earlier. Last night a young woman approached me and introduced herself as Julia (pronounced you-lee-ah). She was a from Sweeden and had spent the last year and a half in Buenos Aires and traveling all over the continent. Carrying a small backpack and a grocery bag, she looked ill prepared to be traveling alone. She asked if we were heading south and when I told her north, and we were out of fuel anyways, she asked to stay with us for the night (the hostel was full and the hotel cost too much). I donated my sleeping pad and we got a great night sleep under the stars on a relatively windless night in Patagonia. This morning she found a quick ride south to El Calafate and we said our goodbyes.

The trip has been full of short friendships that seem to involve more than run of the mill encounters that happen in the states. Travelers here seem to be united under a common goal and are naturally outgoing. We spent an afternoon with Jordy, a Dutch traveler we picked up before arriving in Chalten. He contributed some produce to our lunch and we ate in the middle of a brown desert, by a crystal blue river and abandoned mud houses. Nora was a traveler from Denmark and we talked for a few hours about traveling, politics and culture while I was making dinner at a hostel in Chalten. I've also met people from Isreal, Germany, South Africa, Australia and France while traveling and on the trail.

We have a long way to go! Stay tuned!

The Southern Continental Icefield and a Lot of Wind

Thinking back on a trek is an odd thing. It seems far in the past but at the same time the experiences are fresh. This is how I feel now, sitting at a bar in Chalten, writing this post.

Saturday we set of on a four day trek along the Camping del Helio Sur, or the Southern Continental Ice Field. The "Vuelta de Huemul" is a multi day trek that leads over glaciers and mountain passes. Sometimes there is a well established trail, often there is not.

The first day was one over rolling hills towards glaciated peaks. All three of us left at different times so the first day's hike was in solitude. It was a bright sunny day and the sunlight reflected off the golden grass waving in the wind. The trail meandered through field and forest. The hike was pleasant, even with the windy nip in the air. Wind blowing off a glacier can chill you to the bone. At times the trail would vanish, only to be resumed a few hundred meters down the mountain. All in all the day was incredible, wild cows grazed under the shadows of the mountains that seemed to follow you along as you walked. The day ended at Laguna Torro, at a nice campsite under the shadow of a glacier, sheltered from the wind.

The next day started late. It would be a relatively short day, albeit difficult. We set out following a group of French trekkers to the tyrolean traverse spanning a gorge and a glacial river. They seemed confused and we went ahead and started the crossing. The tyrolean spanned a fifty foot gorge which funneled a gurgling, churning mass of water through a pinch point in the rocks. All harnessed up, I went first. The metal cable and pulley made the traverse very fun. Reaching the other side, I tied off and disconnected myself from the pulley which Mike pulled back via a length of paracord. Next came Steph, and after her, a few from the French party requested the use of our harnesses. We obliged, and Mike set them up while I helped them off. In all the traverse took about an hour but it was worth it, we had made aome new friends and helped some fellow trekkers. The day was just starting, however and we spent the next hour or two picking our way through the glacier. We had no crampons but the surface was covered with small rocks and dirt and it made walking easier. We explored an ice cave and then started the ascent to Paso del Viento, a 1400 meter pass that we would spend the next two hours climbing.
The view that greeted us at the top of Paso del Viento was well worth it. The vast expanse of the Southern Continental Ice Field stretched out before us. A mere fraction on the sixteen-thousand square kilometer ice field was visible, dotted by ten thousand foot mountains that looked like small islands. The sea of ice was gathered into Glacier Viedma, which we now walked towards. The day ended at a quaint refugio near a tranquil lake tucked in a cleft of the mountains. The local calafate berries grew everwhere and they reminded me of a more tart blueberry. The rest of the ground was covered by red berries which when ripe, tasted like grapes. I slept well that night, after a dinner of empanadas and dulce de leche and reading a few chapters in Acts.

The third day was by far the most windy. We tramped over the side of the mountain and the wind would often push us to a knee or throw us off balance. Many times it was at our backs and would push us up the mountain. Walking against the gale was near impossible. After summiting our final pass we decended 700 meters in less than a half kilometer. It was the steepest trail I had ever walked and we spent most our our time sliding down it. At the bottom and exhausted we settled down on the gravely beach alongside Lago Viedma. Iceburgs floated by that were a saphire blue with white stripes and the turquoise lake reflected the pinks and oranges of the sunset. That night we slept out under the stars and the wind could not dampen the awe and blessing I felt as I stared into the heavens from a rocky beach far from civilization in Patagonia.

This morning I awoke to the wind, which is by far a better alarm clock then my watch and I ate my apple and dulce de leche (yeah I'm addicted) while enjoying the scenery. The 100 foot wall of ice that is Glacier Viedma made the perfect back drop to my breakfast. I finished early so I set of by myself for the last day. As I was walking up the mountain the wind would kick up a spray across the lake and the sun created a flash of refracted light that was unlike any rainbow I had ever seen. These occured all morning and I was speechless. I walked with out a trail for the majority of the day, following the coast along the rolling hills. I followed wild cow trails and had to climb out of a gorge more than once. Climbing while you are alone is much more of a humbling experience, for a slip here and it would be unlikely Mike and Steph would even walk within ear shot. Careful consideration paid off, however, and I walked down to the river. On the way down I passed several full cow carcasses and many bones, victims of falls, I thought. An old suspension bridge lay in ruins over the river and I walked towards the estuary to find a place to cross. The water was cold and fast and I almost lost my vibram shoes more than once. After the crossing was lunch and a quick jaunt out to the road. I was picked up quickly by a kind couple from Buenos Aires and our conversation was a jovial mix of broken Spanish and English all the way to Chalten.

Now I am sitting here, waiting on Mike and Steph and reflecting on the past few days with a liter of Quilmes, the local Argentinan beer. Life is good. Salud, amigos!

The Elusive Cerro Solo

Over the past week we have spent 5 nights on the mountain. The weather has been very good (until today) and we had two great windows of opportunity to climb Cerro Solo, a glaciated peak overlooking Fitzroy, Cerro Torre and the rest of Chalten.

The route has been elusive. The first attempt we traversed the right side of the mountain. A tight length of rope spanned a blue, glacial river and we crossed upside down, clipped into our harnesses, and pulling ourselves along. Luckily it separated us from the crowd, which is just as well. We set off on a terrible trek over scree and crumbling rocks trying to find the way. Time and time again we tried to find a route over the cliffs and to the glacier but we were unable. We climbed high into the a pass which overlooked the Southern Patagonian ice fields, one of the largest in the world, but still did not find a way. Instead we found ourselves on glacial ice which was sturdy under our crampons but unerving when we traveled close to crevases which opened many meters into the blue abyss. The journey back that day was exhausting and we found ourselves in several sketchy situations. One particular time I found myself scampering on my hands and feet across a scree field of small stones and sand when, without warning the thin layer of stones gave away to solid ice and I realized I was on the side of a glacier without crampons. Luckily I had momentum to make it to the other side and I breathlessly warned Mike and Steph to go around. We made it back to camp that night right as it was getting dark, it had rained for the past hour but luckily we had found the trail by then and had gotten off the glacier.

The days inbetween our next attempt were spent making a quick trip into town to resupply and resting our tired bodies. My whole body was sufficiently sore so we rested an entire day up on the mountain. The beautiful weather made it perfect for a couple short hikes that further showcased the fantastic scenery.

I had brought a New Testament bible on the trail that my dad had given me before I left and I decided to read it through. In the past four days I have completly read through the gospels. If I am to be honest, I had not read much scripture for a very long time. It was refreshing to discover it anew, although sometimes it was a bit repetitive. Several parts leaped out at me, one being that Jesus went into the wilderness when he prayed: (Mark 6:46, Luke 6:12, Luke 9:26) "So He (Jesus) Himself often withdrew into the wilderness and prayed." Luke 5:16. There is something about the wild, far from man made comforts and creations that makes you feel close with God. Jesus knew this, and I must agree. I feel alive here, less suffocated by the every day worries of civilization. "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." Matt 7:34. These things I have thought about during our rest which included many hours of sleep and homemade empanadas we had made a couple days before.

Our second attempt fared much better and we made it up a spur and high into the jagged cliffs which defended the mountain's glacier. The climbing here was slow and steep. Electing to stay off the unstable scree that never gave sure footing, we climbed high into the cliffs. Luckily the climbing was mostly easy and aside from our high exposure, relativly safe. Still, no matter how many spires we traversed, we could still not find a path to the glacier. Our final push brought us to the top of this towering wall of rock and scree, only to look over the saddle and stare across an empty expanse of air, the glacier crumbling and falling a thousand vertical feet to a turquoise, glaciated lake below. Dejected, we sat down and decided to call of the attempt. We took advantage of the extra time by snapping some pictures and enjoying the sun and shelter from the wind high on our perch. At that moment, not reaching the top was alright. We were alone, with vistas of glaciers and some of the most unique mountains on the face of the earth. I was content.

The trip back down passed quickly and we even got to ski down a deep scree field, descending hundreds of feet in minutes. Back at camp that night the weather degraded and we ended up walking to our next campsite in an odd mix of sun and rain. The next day was worse however and we walked back to town soaked.

Earlier today we walked to a water fall with some volunteers that work for the park. We had the traditional Argentine Matte which is a type of tea sipped through a straw/sieve. We sat at the base of the water fall for 2 hours, passing around the Matte, playing guitar and eating bread. It was one of my favorite experiences so far. Dinner tonight for Steph's birthday (she's 24!) was incredible, and the local craft beer was very delicious and unique. After a quick brunch (we are making desayuno americano or American breakfast for our Argentine friends) we are off again Saturday morning for a multi day trek that will take us over glaciers and through raging glacial rivers...it should be a blast!

As always, thanks for reading and hasta luego!

Windsurfing into Argentina!

Yesterday we hit a milestone! Finally, the 5th mechanic we visited knew a thing or two about carburators. During his test drive the car stalled out in the middle of the Costenara, a major, multi-laned highway in the heart of Punta Arenas. Immediately he jumped out of the car in the middle of traffic and started beating the carburator for all he was worth. After that it started up and ran fine. He told us we had a dirty. Carburator and it needed to be cleaned, but hitting it would help in the mean time (you can't make stuff like this up).

So off we set to our first stop along the way, Parque Nacional Pakistan Aike, a small, volcanic national park on the border of Argentina.

A few hours later when we arrived, we were met at the entrance by a portly park ranger who warned us about "el puma". Laughing we drove to the first trail head. The trail took us by two extinct volcanic craters that were nestled amid a twisted landscape of volcanic rock and lava tubes snaking through the ground like giant mole tunnels. The craters themselves had a green, Spanish moss like lichen draping from the jagged walls.

It was a desolate and windy wasteland with no trees but a few wild animals. The local guanaco was there in force as were some jackrabbits. We were charged by an angry skunk (quite terrifying) and there were plenty of chattering birds.

After a night of rain and a beautiful warm morning we set off for Argentina. The border crossing was smooth and we were making decent time towards Rio Gallegos. At least until we ran out of gas. At our last fill up we never filled up our reserve tank and that combined with a small turn around meant we were about 20 km short of a gas station. Rides were scarce, and 20 km was a long way to push a car.

About that time I wondered about the wind. It was sustained and very blustery. So blustery that it made it difficult to walk against it. I proposed we set a rainfly out the window and see if we could get the car to move. What started off as a joke soon became our best option and we started experimentation with different types of sail configuration. On the gravel, the car didn't move, but after a push and being back on the pavement, we were off! Mike sat in the window while Steph held the sail from her side and I drove. I also opened my door which would substantially boost our top speed. Along the flats we managed to hit 25km per hour, a respectable speed for a wind driven car. Or top speed was 45km per hour down a small hill and we made it about 9km to a police station in under 45 minutes. Along the way we got many thumbs up, smiles and looks of disbelief as we sailed our little car into Rio Gallegos.

In Gallegos we found a mehanic to clean our carb and do a bit of maintainance on our shock (it included cutting them amart with a grinder and welding them back together...) and we camped along the road with no tent, under a full moon and clear sky. In the morning after a few friendly greetings from passing trucks we set off for El Chalten, a long stop on our journey and the highlight of Patagonia.

Along the way we picked up a Dutch hitchhiker named Jordy who we drove 160 km to Chalten. Along we way we stopped by a glacially fed river that sliced through the brown dusty landscape like a bright blue ribbon and cooked lunch and shared beer along its banks.

As we approached Chalten, Fitzroy towered in the distance. I wish I could describe exactly how it looked, but words would be an injustice. Chalten is beautiful and today we are setting off for a few days to summit Cerro Solo, a glaciated peak with a fanastic view of the surrounding mountains. Wish us luck!

Bubble Gum, Hospitals and the Finer Things in Life

Right now I am laying in my hammock, watching the clouds roll by and listening to small waves churn up the gravel beach. The towering mountains of Tierra del Fuego lay across the Straits of Magellanes and Steph has set out on a quick hike to the southern-most lighthouse on the continent mainland.

The quiet is soothing now, and it's a nice break from the bustle of Punta Arenas and the problems of the past week. We started off great! Steph and I spent an amazing 4 days in Torres del Paine. The weather was perfect! Sun and no wind every day. We saw the Torres, Cuernos, and Glaciares Grey during our time on the "W" circuit. We met Mike, as planned, in Puerto Natales and even found a vehicle before we were expecting to. The purchase went off without a hitch and we headed to pick up our bags in Punta Arenas. The 1993 KIA Pride had low km, great reviews and ran great, at least until about 2 hours into our trip.
A stutter interrupted our journey and we have spent the past week trying to figure out what it is. We have replaced the fuel pump, fuel filter, spark plugs and cables and we still don't have an answer. We have narrowed it down to a vacuum leak or a carburetor problem but unfortunately very few mechanics in Punta Arenas know how to work on a carb. To add to the craziness, our gas tank sprang a couple of leaks the other day. We had suspected a slow leak for a few days now and when we cleaned up the dirt on the tank the trickle turned into a steady stream. I couldn't help but laugh to myself as I sat under the car, which was pulled up on an abandoned tractor trailer ramp while gas streamed down my arm and Mike desperately implored Steph to "chew faster". Bubble gum and epoxy soon patched our tank. But even though I love working on our little Pride and I find the whole situation very amusing I am still anxious to get on the road and start our journey.

We have not been alone during our time in Punta Arenas, however. Some of Mike's friends from his days working with the Patagonian Expedition race are still in town and that is where we found ourselves last night. We met many new friends as well and even had a cookout. We should have been suspect though. It seems that when ever things are rather normal, a curve ball is about to be thrown our way. It's about 11 o'clock pm when one of the new guys we just met runs inside from being out on a walk. There is blood everywhere. Apparently he was assaulted by a few drunk locals and he took a few punches to the face. A gaping laceration about 3cm long poured blood into the bathroom sink. I rushed out to retrieve my first aid kit and Mike recommended the wound have stitches (Mike and I are both EMTs). Luckily our ailing car is more than capable of short trips to the hospital. It is almost one in the morning before we are back and everyone it planning on going out for drinks and dancing. Our injured friend went to bed with a stitched eye and three fractures in his cheek while everyone else went out (in Chile its common to go out so late). The rest of the night was a great deal of fun with new friends, loud music and fun dancing. We got in around 4 that morning and passed out on the floor.

This morning we set out again for what would be our third attempt to leave the city. We were turned back with the same problem once again and instead decided to head south to where we are now.
The disappointment of continued car trouble aside, I am very content sitting here this Sunday evening. In the morning we will limp the car back to our mechanic for a final try but right now, everything is well. I expected the adversity and I know there will be more but that is the beauty of it. There are no rules but head North, and that is what we will do, sooner or later. In fact, looking back over the past few days and where I am now. I would say that things are going quite nicely.