Living in Neverland: Bloody, Bruised, and Blissful

***tons of pictures throughout the post, even more at the very bottom, labeled by day***

Day 1: El Chalten to Camp Poincenot and Mt. Fitz Roy

As I stood observing these natural wonders, I heard people around me comparing these mountains to those seen in Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter. However, those fictional places cannot hold a candle to the real thing; the only aspect that these comparisons accurately convey is the mysticism, mystery, and magical qualities that envelop these mountains; for there is definitely something surreal about being in a place so beautiful. Part of what makes these mountains so awe-inspiring is the fact that there are no busloads of people being dropped off 50 yards away to crowd the lookout point, snap a picture, then get back on their bus; there are no helicopter tours circling overhead for those who want to see the mountains without putting forth the effort of hiking. There are only the people who spent the day hiking in, and who are just as amazed as you are by what they are seeing, and that although there may be 50 people milling around, there is complete silence. The only sounds are those of the wind and water that rush through these rugged peaks.

While in El Chalten, I decided to make use of the tent and sleeping bag that I had been hauling around for nearly a month. There was a three day circuit that I could do, which would allow me to practice my camping skills, while also seeing some of the most beautiful landscapes in the world, including Mount Fitz Roy and the iconic Cerro Torre.

On the day that I began my hike the weather was idyllic: sunny, warm, with a gentle, cooling breeze that I very much appreciated as I labored up the mountain with my heavy pack – note to self: pack lighter for the 8 day trek! There was not a cloud in the sky, and as I plodded along, I had unobstructed views of every valley, lake, and mountain that I came across. Thankfully, the hike to my first camp was uneventful (I would have enough ‘excitement’ over the next two days), and by about 2pm I had arrived, claimed my camping spot, set up my tent, and eaten lunch. Feeling the urge to explore and take advantage of the gorgeous weather, I was soon back on the trail, heading up an impossibly steep trail to the Mt. Fitz Roy viewpoint. “Trail” is applied loosely here: more accurate is a worn in path straight up the side of a mountain covered with boulders requiring you to scramble over them. Moreover, we shared this path with a trickle of water: glacial melt and overflow from the lake added an extra challenge to getting up this steep incline. After about 45 minutes of hiking straight up, it all paid off: my breath caught in my throat as I found myself on a precipice, overlooking a glacial lake with the Fitz Roy mountains as a backdrop. Totally incredible.

I picked my way down to the water’s edge, perched on a boulder and lost track of time as I stared out across the lake and up at the magnificent mountains behind it. After some time there, I circled around the lake, only to discover another glacial lake! A bellowing waterfall dropped from the edge of the first lake into a river far below where it joined up with the overflow from the other lake. Everywhere you looked you saw either cerulean blue lakes, jagged peaks, or vast vistas! I’m not sure what exactly I was doing, but I somehow spent about 4 hours up at this viewpoint! By the time I came out of my reverie, there were only two other people remaining at the viewpoint! With those images fixed in my mind, I reluctantly headed back to camp where I proceeded to eat a simple dinner – cheese and crackers followed by an alfajore - then pass out in my cozy sleeping bag. The last thing I remember was thinking about whether my tent would withstand the extreme winds and what the weather would be like the following day…

Day 2: Camp Poincenot to Camp Agostini

this picture is what almost sent me into the river

On this day, I got to experience the infamous Patagonian winds. It began in the wee hours of the morning and did not let up until the early afternoon. As I was taking down my tent, it nearly turned into a parasail, lifting me off the ground momentarily. When I ventured from the protection of camp, I was at the full mercy of the wind. I was attempting to cross a wide, flat, open area by a rushing river when a massive gust of wind tore through the valley. It seized me in its grip and seemed determined to drop me in the river. On my feet, it was useless; the wind wrapped itself around me and, using the extra weight of my pack, dragged me towards the river’s edge. In a desperate attempt to keep from being blown in, I dropped to my hands and knees, trying to become as small and aerodynamic as possible. I was genuinely fearful of being tossed in and washed down river, maybe even drowned if I failed to get my pack off. Luckily, it did not come to that. Accepting defeat, the vengeful wind ripped the rain cover off my pack and sent it down the river, but it let me go mostly unscathed. A couple bruises and some bloody knuckles seem a fair trade for not being drowned in a glacial river.

For the next couple hours the wind seemed intent on demonstrating its power. Not even the clouds were immune to its brute force. The clouds, although and white and peaceful, were forced to relinquish droplets of rain when confronted with the brutality of the notorious Patagonia winds. The spray hit my face like needles and the wind blew me backwards when coming from the front. When the wind was at my back, I was forced to nearly run along the path, stumbling over rocks, jumping puddles, and hoping that my feet could keep up with the wind’s ferocious pace. Then there were other times when I needed to cross an area with a drop on one side and I would be forced to take cover while I waited for the wind to subside so that I could cross without fear of being blown over the side. This hike was unlike any other that I have experienced, but it was completely worth it! The views afforded along the way offered distraction from the uncomfortable weather and the bulky pack on my back. The relief of reaching the campsite was so immense that I swear it gave me some kind of high, which in itself made the trip worth it. There is nothing like getting to camp, setting up your tent, and crawling into it after a long day. Especially as you listen to the wind howl outside and watch the rain pelt the sides, thankful to be warm and dry inside.

After a short nap and a well-deserved snack, I ventured out from the coziness of my tent to explore the area. I walked up to a point that overlooked Lake Torre and the surrounding mountains, but on this day, you could not even tell that there were peaks back there. The mist created a complete white out that forced one to appreciate the lake and the icebergs floating in it. I spent about an hour meandering along the shores before retreating to my tent, hopeful that the next day would supply better weather.

Day 3: Cerro/Lago Torre to El Chalten

I woke up to wind whipping the sides of my tent, shaking my temporary home and making me want to remain in my sleeping bag, But, there were also rays of sunshine penetrating the layers of my shelter, which was enough to motivate me to get dressed and venture outside. It was only about 7am, but you could tell it was going to be a beautiful, if windy, day. I was determined to make the most of the solitude at this hour, and began the trek to the lake and the viewpoint from which I could see the Cerro Torres and the glacier at its base. As I fought my way uphill, the vengeful winds tore tears from eyes and dragged snot from my nose – attractive, right? I felt like a dog with its head out the window: happy to be outside and loving every moment, but slobbering everywhere and occasionally having to duck back inside the car so as to be able to take a breath without the wind stealing it from your lips. Even the icebergs where at the mercy of the whims of the winds. They had been blown clear across the lake and were now beached in the shallower areas!

For the next hour or so, I battled my way along the rocky path, my eyes glued to the Torres and willing the wisps of cloud that decorated their peaks to dissipate so that I could see them fully. And what do you know, within minutes of reaching the top, the wind shifted, blowing the clouds clear of the peaks and allowing me to appreciate their full glory! As magnificent as the mountains were, the glacier, dazzling in the morning light, was equally as enthralling. While I cursed the wind on my way up, it turns out to have been a blessing. Most people were discouraged by the rampaging winds and were just starting their hike, allowing me nearly an hour of solitude to try and take in all that I was seeing. I scrambled up a scree field to get a bit higher, found a spot in the sunlight, and enjoyed my breakfast while gazing at the view before me. Eventually, I had to return to camp where I broke down my tent, packed up my things, and headed back to the little town of El Chalten. Along the way I could not help glancing over my shoulder for last glimpses of the peaks. At times I became so happy that I almost started crying; how cheesy is that?! Cheesy, but so true. I cannot adequately describe the beauty of the places that I have been. The only way to experience it, is to come see for yourself.

I seem to have a connection with the Patagonian foxes

On to El Calafate – Perito Moreno Glacier

The following day, I was on a bus to another Patagonia town: El Calafate. Not nearly as charming as El Chalten, I was a bit disappointed at first; I had been totally spoiled throughout the previous four days. However, the following day, El Calafate revealed her charms to me as I took a bus to go see the Perito Moreno Glacier; one of the largest glaciers here in Patagonia. The drive itself was scenic and enjoyable, but catching the first sight of this immense glacier took my breath away! It went on forever! Once we were let off the bus, I had about six hours to explore the boardwalks around the glacier and take it all in. As I walked around, I heard numerous languages begin spoken – Spanish, English, German, French, Chinese, Italian – and it amazed me how this massive chunk of ice could draw people from all over the world and unite us all in our appreciation of this natural wonder.

One might not realize how impressive a glacier actually is; I didn’t until I was right there witnessing it for myself. Instead of being a solid white block, the glacier is rippled with various hues of blue and sediment layers. In places, the tops of the ice caps resemble soft serve ice cream, swirled and rounded. In other parts they are jagged and sharp, like hundreds of knives displaying their edges towards the sky. At the base of the glacier, you could spy tiny spouts of water being forced out by the unrelenting pressure of the ice on top.

The most impressive part of the glacier was the sound; yes, glaciers make sounds! Groans and sighs were constantly being emitted from the depths of the glacier, as if it was weary of supporting its own immense weight. Occasionally you would hear a sound like thunder; this was the ice shifting and breaking. And for those of us who lingered long enough, we were treated to the most amazing sight of all: massive chunks of ice breaking off from the body of the glacier, sliding down its surface, and crashing into the water below. The sound was incredible and the wave that followed the iceberg’s plunge into the glacial lake would be the envy of many surfers.

As I sat on the boardwalk with my legs dangling over the side, I munched on my snack of cheese and crackers, listened to the sounds of the glacier, shivered during the gusts of wind, and smiled the biggest smile. I was in Patagonia, staring at a massive glacier, with the sun shining on my back, and the wind playing with my hair. How many people in the world can say that?

Chorillo del Salta (waterfall)