I discovered around 7am on Wednesday, March 14, that my trusty external frame pack did not actually survive the plane ride from Puerto Montt :/ With no time to get sentimental, I quickly transferred the gear over to my day pack -- turns out this was enough! Seriously though, the Camp Trails Adjustable II accompanied me through Glacier National Park (MT), Cloud Peak Wilderness (WY), Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (MN), Canyonlands National Park (UT), Indian Peaks Wilderness and Rocky Mountain National Park (CO), Parque Nacional Sierra de la Culata and Parque Nacional Canaima (Venezuela), so it's pretty tough to stomach the end of this pack -- may be able to fix it if I can find a drill and the right bit.
Anyway, I took the bus ($8.25) to Villa Cerro Castillo, and then asked the bus driver the best way to get to la Reserva Nacional Cerro Castillo. His response was (paraphrasing), 'very far, 3-4 days.' I said thank you, and then walked about 15 minutes to the park entrance. When I arrived, there was a representative at an office taking entrance fees for the 'private trail' which goes directly to the laguna through private land and costs $13. I quickly said no, found the non-private trail, and went on my merry way.
After about 6km, I forded a number of streams, and then realized from looking at the map that I should have found an abrupt turn in the trail by this point. Figuring the trail had become a river, I started walking up one of the unfenced streams. After 1/2 hour of scouting, I found the trail, which had indeed been flooded. I steadily worked my way into a temperate rainforest, verdant glens full of soggy mosses and bearded trees. Approaching tree line, the first cerro came into view, castle-like, with a singular turret guarding the valleys below. I stopped at the first campamento, drank from a stream via LifeStraw, and then made for the laguna, around 2pm. I found myself in alpine tundra that quickly became talus slopes -- I geeked out on some needle ice.
I giddily tromped through snow until I glimpsed a massive blue-white glacier draining in a silver sliver over a massive rock face feeding the blue-green Laguna Castillo below. I was pretty tired by this point, and the thought of camping next to the laguna was pretty tempting, so I headed downhill. At this point, the wind was picking up, so I chose a tent spot protected by a larger boulder -- after setting up my tent, nature quickly told me this wasn't a good place to camp with gusts that nearly snapped my tent poles (later on, I found that my poles were indeed bent). I reluctantly packed up and made my way down the valley another 2km toward el bosque. This was indeed a good choice, as a fortuitous meeting took place in these woods: I came upon a rowdy crew from Santiago and had great conversation and an obligatory taste of pisco, a Chilean wine-distillate like grappa (I'm basically Hemingway). Another gringo gravitated to this crew, a kindred spirit who spent the last 8 months or so working as a garden manager for NOLS outside of Coyhaique. He is heading back to Seattle soon, but great to meet another solo gringo living in remote southern Chile, nonetheless.
If you've ever adventured with me, you know I can't bear to turn around and go back the way I came, so the crew didn't have to work very hard to convince me to head to las horquetas, another 20km over a mountain pass and through more rainforest. The next morning, I packed up in the rain and headed along the river toward the pass. This trail was fairly intimidating, as it opened up into a wide, steep, and cobbly river drainage leading up to the pass, winds wailing and whipping rain into my face. I kept the faith and pushed up and up, left the rainforest behind, and entered a land of rocks, wind, and freezing rain. I've experienced some hefty mountain winds in my time, but woah...I was scared!
After a few kilometers of uphill rock hopping, I entered the pass, and all was still...The steep snowy slopes damped all noise and the wind ceased. I made my way through this magical, majestic, mysterious landscape in solemn wonder and awe, munching on pure Patagonian snow. I descended through more rock lands, into the rainforest, and then walked along the river for many miles. The rain was steady by this point, and I started to get cold. I don't play games with the combination of wet and cold, so when I came upon a small cabin refugio, I took the opportunity to hunker down for the night. I read a few chapters of Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire, which railed against the U.S. National Park Service's policy of industrializing wilderness so that the last bits of nature can be photographed without leaving one's vehicle, suggesting instead that parks be managed for foot and bicycle traffic -- needless to say, I felt very vindicated.
I ran out of food that afternoon, so I had no choice the next morning but to head out in the rain towards las horquetas. This was a lovely hike through damp woods, greeted by occasional cows and challenged by barefoot creek crossings. When I reached the carretera, I hitched a ride back to Coyhaique with some elderly gentlemen. The night before I dreamt of chorizos, so I embraced this indulgence upon my return home.
These trails were so damn hard to follow! Always disappearing and then reappearing...but they almost always followed rivers, so I carried very little water and used the LifeStraw whenever I was thirsty. I subsisted on mussels, wholegrain + flax bread, and butter. This trip cost me about $15.
This ia amazing, scary and awesome all at the same time. Surreal beauty and such courage
ReplyDeleteOnce again another great blog post! Great descriptions to bring the reader along, "I steadily worked my way into a temperate rainforest, verdant glens full of soggy mosses and bearded trees". Grandes fotografías también. Bummer about the backpack. I understand the sentimentality. Sounds like a great hike except for the windy freezing rain.
ReplyDelete