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!
I feel as though I were there. Awesome!!
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