The Uncharted Erasmo Glacier
Glaciar Erasmo inexplorado
Patagonia still has many places left to explore and discover, places where you can lay down new routes through the wilderness and up mountains. The Erasmo Glacier in Chile’s Aysen region is one such place.
Images of that winter in 2006 are still engraved in my mind. We were flying at low altitude toward Laguna San Rafael to embark on what would be the first north-to-south winter voyage across the Northern Patagonian Ice Field when through the window of the small plane we saw a huge mass of ice surrounded by impenetrable forests. It was the Erasmo Ice Field, which covers some 165 kilometers (103 miles) and is just 7 kilometers (4.3 miles) from the sea.
Inhabited by few people, this spot has long been overlooked, virtually forgotten, by even the most intrepid explorers. But in in a warming world, what in 2006 was a firm glacier surrounded by walls of rock is today a lake dotted with icebergs surrounded by a granite cirque. The approach would be logistically complex in terms of the mountain equipment involved, but also in terms of crossing the lake with packrafts – or light- weight, easily transportable and water-resistant boats – that would be a unique advantage to us in this kind of environment.
Accompanied by Tomás Torres and Juan Francisco Bustos, we went by speedboat from Bahía Exploradores to the end of Cupquelán Fjord. There, we began our incursion toward the uncharted and the unknown.
With occasionally warm temperatures, we went up the valley of the Río Sorpresa and then the small and narrow El Pájaro Estuary. Clad in our dry suits, we alternated between one shore and the other: the forest was impassable. It took a little over 20 crossings to make it up the rushing stream, which at times forced us to walk through the middle of the coursing water or through pools where the water came up to our necks. We went on like that for almost three days.
But every effort has its reward. After crossing three small lagoons with the packrafts, we came upon Erasmo Glacier's frontal lake, which suddenly falls into waters-tinged gray by sediment and finds itself surrounded by an amphitheater of enormous granite walls and a glimmering forest. It seemed like we could take it all in with one look from where we were, and we felt privileged as we put up our tents.
A short morning row between icebergs left us on the other side of the lake, after which we got onto the glacier. We ended the day in a beautiful lagoon next to the ice field, unable to imagine the ungrateful company that would arrive from the Pacific Ocean. The temperature changed drastically, and it rained for four consecutive days.
We were immobilized. Routine set in and took over our days. Our “mini quarantine” was split between playing cards, sleeping, reading, eating and going to the bathroom. Going out to conquer a mountain seemed pointless: when we looked up, we saw nothing. The clock kept ticking, and we began to grow impatient. But our greatest concern was El Pájaro stream. The large amount of rain had us fearing the worst for our descent.
We took a chance and decided to go out with our equipment and twodays-worth of food. We reached the ice field plateau via a small adjacent glacier and we set up camp at 1,150 meters. That same afternoon we ascended an unnamed mountain nearby, which we called Mirador del Erasmo.
That same night, the weather improved and by dawn we left for the principle peak some three kilometers south of the camp. As we crossed snow-covered slopes and crevasses, the clouds caught up to us once more and the ascent turned into a stumbling search for the peak. Being in a large blank spot labeled “without stereoscopic vision,” neither the GPS nor the map were any use. Climbing different mountains, on the third attempt we found the highest one. As of now, this is Mount Teresa (6,388 feet), named for the homonymous river that runs to the east.
But the most difficult part was yet to come. Just before getting to El Pájaro estuary the rain returned, feeding our biggest fears. In addition to the pronounced decline, there was a violent current making the descent in packraft unviable. The stream had become a river, the crossings had become extremely difficult, and several of them required the use of ropes. During one of the many crossings, Tomás left his backpack on the bank, and while he was turning back, we watched in slow-motion as it fell into the water. Our shouts were imperceptible and drowned out by the roar of the current. The backpack and other items disappeared in seconds, along with the tent and the camp stove. Fatigue
“After crossing with the packrafts, we came upon Erasmo Glacier’s frontal lake, which suddenly falls into waters-tinged gray by sediment and finds itself surrounded by an amphitheater of enormous granite walls and a glimmering forest.”
had played its trick on him, and Tomás, still white as a sheet, was already losing hope. The night felt dark and above all very cold.
But I pushed him to continue on. The backpack could be there, and so it was: three or four bends later it lay caught between some rocks. A miracle. Farther below the river looked navigable, although I was the only one who thought so. Until the other two also took heart. We began inflating the boats, but Bustos remained frozen. “I lost it,” he said as we stared at him in astonishment. And it would be impossible to find it. We had already needed to rescue Bustos himself using an improvised zipline.
They would walk to the camp, and I said goodbye as I rowed downriver. Upon arriving at the Río Sorpresa, I noticed the landscape had changed: its flow rate had increased by a factor of three. My oars became useless and the current played with me while the wind threw me to the other side. The capsize was imminent. But I managed to endure and dodge some trees that looked like sharks in the water. After five days fighting with the river, and having received my fill of suspense, we arrived at the sea. There had been 90 kilometers of new territory explored, two first peaks, and 19 days of adventure.
A second chapter
Although mountaineering in Patagonia is associated with difficult mountains, technical climbing and adverse weather conditions, there is still room for classic exploration mountaineering. Here, resolving the simple problem of reaching the mountain without the help of reports or prior experience turns out to be more important than the climb itself. And after our 2017 trip we felt that the Erasmo still had a lot to offer. Accompanied by Tomás Torres and Alonso Fuentes, this time we decided to explore the southeast approach.
We entered the Río Exploradores valley until it joined with the Río Teresa and waited four days in a shed with Don Ali Bopp, who lives there, until it stopped raining and the flow rate decreased. We finally left on horseback, going farther along the protracted valley that extends a little more than 20 kilometers (12.4 miles). It was two days full of river-crossings, rebellious horses and urban horsemen little accustomed to riding.
Now without the animals, carrying enormous backpacks through the upper part of the valley, which ends in a wide area of glaciers and rock walls of very low quality, we looked for the access. Nobody had entered the ice from that point, but an abrupt and steep moraine with an interminable transport seemed to be the entry point. Two arduous days hauling the gear left us on the Erasmo glacier plateau, an impressive plain measuring some 5 kilometers (3 miles) wide and leading to the Río Murta valley to the east and facing the Pacific from its heights to the west.
The following day we set out for the main peak, but some low clouds and a strong wind kept us from making it very far. That same afternoon there was some clearing and we set off for a small nearby peak, rising 1,726 meters (5,663 feet), which we dubbed Don Bigote in honor of one of Ali's horses. During the night, bad weather came to accompany us for two days which we dedicated to rest and playing cards.
We set out once again. In four hours, we crossed the plateau heading north and began to follow a series of small hills of snow and ice. Surrounded by clouds, we oriented ourselves using GPS and occasional clues from the geography. A long descent of ice took us to a small terrace with a very curious rock formation, and after passing through an ice ridge, we reached the 1,803-meter (5,915 feet) summit of Don Antonio (named for the deceased Senator Horvath). A beautiful, small, and very aerial summit.
Although our initial plan was to make our descent via the Río Murta, the panoramic view from the heights left us feeling daunted: the glacier plummeted and was enclosed by volatile walls of rock. It looked like an alley with no exit, and since time was precious, we decided to retrace our route, following the course of the Río Teresa first by foot, and then using our packrafts. We relished each rapid and turn, as well as the warm and comfortable temperatures coming after days marked by rain, cold, and ice.
It was a fitting end: two classic mountaineering expeditions to a lost and forgotten, yet not far-off, place in Patagonia. A place that lets it be known that in this region there are still sites that one can access while also feeling like a pioneer.
“Erasmo, a lost and forgotten, yet not far-off, place in Patagonia.”