Dispatches from a far off land with Jeremy Wadzinski
The adventure began as all adventures do; seated on a Lazyboy as it hurtled at a hundred kilometers an hour across the high desert steppes of Argentina. The wind rocked us back and forth like a metronome as we sat on the upper floor of a double-decker bus. We watched as the scrub brush of Patagonia flew by, and wondered with each gust of wind, when the entire bus would go ass-over-teakettle and spill us out onto the highway killing us instantly. Luckily it never did, but there were a couple times where the bus rocked so violently, I was grateful I had brought a spare change of underwear. Because, what is adventure without at least a little bit of pants-shitting terror? But, let me backup a moment and do a bit of explaining. We had just left El Calafate after hiking the Torres Del Paine and were travelling to El Chalten to explore the Parque Nacional los Glaciares. And by “we”, I mean me and my Spanish Lover. (I highly recommend you get a Spanish Lover if you don’t already have one). She was indispensable for two reasons: A) She spoke fluent Spanish and B) She had a very warm body to cuddle into as the nights got cold. And since we were travelling during the shoulder season of March, the nights were cold. Very cold. (It also goes without saying that she is infinitely more qualified at adventure, far more intelligent, and a better planner than me. But, my fragile ego cannot handle that much praise. So, she will remain my side-kick in this story, and I will remain the hero). To get to Los Glaciares National Park, a common route is to fly into Buenos Aires, and then take a puddle hopper plane to El Calafate. Then, from there, you arrange bus transportation to get to El Chalten. That is the hub. Almost all hikes can be done as day hikes, spiraling out from El Chalten as a base camp. For those determined to sleep out in the wild, there are plenty of options for wilderness camping, either on the trail or in serviced campgrounds. But, be prepared for cold weather, even in the midst of the Summer season. Also, you’ll need plenty of rope. And a harness. And crampons. And an ice-axe. Because, well, glaciers. (Over half of the park is covered by ice. After Antarctica, the Southern Andes have the largest area covered by ice in the Southern Hemisphere).
The bus dumped us off at El Chalten well after sunset and we were forced to trudge fully laden to our Hostel. My inability to properly read a Spanish map led us on a mini tiki tour of the place. It is is a lovely little mountain town full of quaint little restaurants, artisanal breweries, souvenir shops and hostels. It sits at the confluence of the Rio Fitz Roy and Rio de las Vueltas and on a quiet night you can hear water tumbling across rocks echoing through the streets. It’s one of those sleepy little mountain towns where time seems to tic just a little bit slower than the rest of the world. With more than a couple stray dogs trotting along the sidewalks off on their own adventures. Where the supermarket carries only one brand of each item. And where stores close down with a handwritten note on the door if the owner feels like taking a walk. So, we were grateful we had geared up in the much larger El Calafate before our journey.
It’s also important to note, that the entire town has one ATM. Just one. Only the one. And the most you can take out is 2,000 pesos. And most restaurants and bars are, “Solo Efectivo”. Translation? “Cash Only”. Now. Imagine how much of a disaster it would be if that one ATM broke? You would be, “Totalmente Jodido”. Translation? “Totally Fucked”. We found that out the hard way. We were carb-loading on spaghetti to prepare for the next day’s tramp, when halfway through our meal we overheard the waiter say that the Italian restaurant we were eating at was, “Solo Efectivo”. A surreptitious peek into my wallet confirmed what I already suspected; we had no cash (because of the broken ATM). So, when
we finally finished our meal, we casually went to pay - with credit card. Things went downhill fast. Angry words were spoken on both sides. I offered to pay by any means possible: Paypal, electronic transfer, Bitcoin -- even washing the dishes. Sadly, all of these overtures were rebuffed. Ultimately, we were only able to settle the dispute when my partner ran two kilometers to the bus station in town and used the (newly fixed) ATM. But the whole experience left a sour taste in our mouth. And we left swearing we would write scathing reviews of the restaurant on TripAdvisor. Which, I now realize, has to be the most useless hipster-millennial-threat ever uttered by a bunch of over-entitled, spoiled, first-worlders. (At the time we felt really tough though).
With the disaster of a meal over, we were able to focus on our upcoming tramps. There are no less than six day walks that spiral off from El Chalten. Some as long as 8-10 hours; others can be smashed out before breakfast. For instance, there are two smaller hikes on opposite ends of town, which we hiked on the same day. One takes you to a pleasant little waterfall. Just a casual stroll along the Rio Blanco until you get to the Chorrillo del Salto. The other hike is an overlook bluff up above the city called, Mirador de los Condors (with a side mission out to Mirador de las Aguilas if you’re keen). Both walks are great places to spot the infamous Andean Condor. But, here’s a sneaky tip for you: look up. Look up before you start the hike. If you don’t see condors floating on the updraft near the mirador from the bottom; you won't’ see them at the top. You’ll still get a nice view of the city. Just no majestic birds with the fabled three meter wingspan. Another thing we learned the hard way.
By far, the most popular tramp in the Parque is up to the Laguna De Los Tres with views of the peaks of Fitz Roy across the lake. When we awoke the day of our hike, a constant stream of trampers past our hostel window foretold of a very busy trail. You can do a there-andback from town if you leave at dawn and are prepared to hike for ten hours; that’s what they were doing. Or if you don’t want to back-track, you can take a shuttle up to el Pilar Hosteria and go from there. Because we’re the type of trampers that prefer seeing constant new scenery on one-way trails versus there-andback style trails; we took the shuttle up from our little hostel to el Pilar for our tramp.
Once the shuttle dropped us off, our route took us along a different river valley. We followed the Rio Blanco through forest scrub and marveled at the brilliant views of Glacier Piedras Blancas. The trail is generally a gentle incline that takes about two or three hours before you get up to Campamento Poincenot (Poincenot is the launch point for serious climbers and dawn hikers). We enjoyed a brisk walk pumping our arms in the frigid mountain air, peeling off layers of clothing as the morning sun came up and warmed the valley. We stopped at the camp for a lunch in the sunshine and listened to the babbling of the Rio Blanco, which had become much smaller near the headwaters. And we watched, mystified, as an opportunistic Carancho (a giant South American falcon) walked along the ground looking for wayward hiker’s food scraps. The majesty of the
giant bird, reduced somewhat by his new occupation as a beggar. The ascent from Poincenot to Laguna de los Tres was roughly a kilometer that went straight up, and offered virtually no solitude: a switchback trail that was scarred into the landscape by countless lugs of hiker’s boots. Gradually more and more snow sprinkled along the trail as we gained elevation. And, I was overjoyed to discover; the snow was the perfect packing consistency to make snowballs! (Note: Spanish women do not like snowballs. And are not overjoyed to get hit in the head by them).
The view you are rewarded with at the top is spectacular. And you immediately see what all the fuss is about. The granite wall of Mount Fitz Roy thrusts up between intermittent clouds and you get a view of De Los Tres Glacier as it spills down the valley and melts into the lake below. A hike down to the water’s edge and then up to a small hill on the far side rewarded us with a spectacular 360 panorama of Laguna los Tres and Laguna Sucia as well as the entire Mount Chalten ranges. We stayed for a while and got into another snowball fight, playing like children in the shadows of giants. The exhilarating joy of Patagonia filled our senses and stripped away the years, returning us to a state innocence. It was a magical rebirth, and the mana of the mountain gave us strength, even in our exhausted state.
The walk back to town was steadily downhill, as you’d expect, and ran along some clearings and wide open areas that gave us views back to the mountains. Then, past Laguna Capri, a beautiful alpine lake that had a couple campsites available sprinkled around it. And then finally, back into town where a cold beer and a fireplace awaited us.
The next day, we did the second most popular hike. A four hour walk to Lago Torre. For that hike, we walked out of town and just meandered along the trail for several hours on what would be a pristine Fall day of blue skies and sunshine. You gain a little bit of elevation as you go, but it’s all so gradual that you hardly even notice it. In fact, we were passed along the way by several trail runners who chose to run the route instead of walk it. But, since we were much more interested in taking pictures and chatting along the way, we felt in no rush to get to our destination. Once there, we settled in for a pleasant picnic lunch along the shores of Lago Torre. We took the obligatory selfies and just generally enjoyed the day. Surprisingly, our entertainment for lunch wasn’t the views of the Torre mastiff, the Adela range, or Mount Solo. No. Our primary focus for lunch was the presence of a wannabe instagram model, who stripped her kit off to reveal a tiny bikini, and then proceeded to wade out into the lake to splash glacier water on her bare bum. All the while her slightly perturbed friend took countless pictures of her. It was hilarious and insane and a reminder of the world we now live in. (I was so inspired by her, that I too wanted to strip off my clothes and frolic in the lake. But, I was so concerned with the inevitable shrinkage caused by cold glacier water, that my fragile ego would not allow me to enter the water and submit my manhood to such abuse). We left the same way we had come, and returned to town to fortify ourselves on meat and beer.
Of course, no visit to the area would be complete without a day-trip to the most fabled glacier of South America. We returned to El Calafate, and grabbed a bus and went to the iconic Perito Moreno Glacier. The crowds were maddening, but the view of the glacier was breathtaking. It thrusts up out of Lake Argentina, seventy meters high, painted a perfect turquoise. It looks like “the wall” straight out of Game of Thrones. We admired the view from afar on one of the many viewing platforms along with countless tourists. The hushed awe only interrupted occasionally by the thunderous crack of massive ice chunks breaking off the face and smashing down twenty stories into the lake below.
Not content to just see the glacier, we were desperate for a more immediate encounter with the behemoth. We arranged a trek across the glacier with one of the touring companies and set out onto the ice. With Crampons firmly attached to our hiking boots, we followed our guide with giddy excitement as she led us over ice capped ridges, bottomless crevices, frozen seracs, and then finally to a secret underwater lake inside an ice cave.
We finished our park trek with whiskey chilled by ice chipped off the glacier. We toasted to adventure, and the wonders of the world, and our gratefulness for having the opportunity to experience these glaciers before they’re gone. And as our toes and fingers slowly regained feeling, warmed by the booze that was flowing through our veins, we couldn’t help but smile, knowing that in two days time we would be soaking up sunshine on the beaches of Rio de Janeiro. But, before that, we would have to take another puddle jumper airplane. Fortified by whisky and adventure, I didn’t even care that I was completely out of spare underwear.
"We left swearing we would write scathing reviews of the restaurant on TripAdvisor. Which, I now realize, has to be the most useless hipster-millennial-threat ever uttered by a bunch of over-entitled, spoiled, first-worlders."