This is the sorest post I’ve ever written, not in the sense that I’m going to complain about former lady friends, but in the sense that the sensation in my legs is tremendous, terrific, terrifying… I leave the ol’ cabin round noon Sunday, May 6, and head west-ish to the Rio Claro watershed, a place I visited with Fulbright friends a couple weeks back, but never got a chance to delve deep, hike high. I hitch a ride 2km down my road toward the fork with the airport road with some real patagons, and then start walking up toward the trailhead – very few cars, maybe 3 pass by me, and before I know it, I had walked 10.5km. Difficult to hacer dedo into remote areas, very easy to ‘do thumb’ into town, but the other way is tricky…Anyway, 5-6 miles of approach is par for the course in my opinion, and I had no qualms with riding out a few sunny miles en el campo. I quickly notice some ‘hotspots’ (the precursor to blisters) on my feet – I’m wearing a pair of thin liner socks with thicker wool socks – I must have never worn this particular combination. I add another wool-elastic layer between the two and solve the problem early on, disaster averted… I find the trail my adviser recommended, on the other side of the Rio Claro from where we’d hiked previously, cross an excellent bridge (excellent being well-constructed, consistent, elegant), and start climbing. The trail rides the ridge in the same way as the trail on the other side, except I am in old growth lenga forest. This is some real deep, dark, quiet forest – thick trunks spaced far apart, moss and lichen dominating the understory. I pass the intersection with the trail we’d hiked a couple weeks back, and continue until I find my summit trail – my adviser suggested there was a trail to the cerro, and I know it immediately when I see it. The mountains loom snow white behind the lenga trunks, and the trail is surprisingly well-established! I follow it for a while, it disappears, and I improvise my way up to tree line. My intuition is confirmed by a set of footprints left some 1-3 days previous: a human with large feet and a large stride, and his/her companion. They put on snowshoes at one point – good for them! After making my way up a snowy slope, I find myself in alpine tundra, my favorite ecosystem, and make my way up to the base of the cerro. I drink from the nearly frozen stream, and spend a good hour sitting on a rock, looking in many directions, drinking more water, thinking. The sun is setting and there is no wind – I agonize for a while whether I should spend the night here, or head back down below treeline. I finally make the super adult decision to descend below treeline in anticipation of wind and set up my tent below giant old-growth lengas. My decision is instantly validated by the sound of strong gusts high above that don’t make their way into the forest. I read a few pages of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self Reliance (very reinforcing), and then try to sleep. Sometime earlier in the day, the word puma entered my mind – we’d been chatting casually in the field the other day about lions in the Patagonia (there are many), and I couldn’t quite shake it. I’ve been haunted by lion thoughts for a good couple years now. In some ways, these fears are the most daunting – big wild cats are a much more real threat than the logistical, financial worries we often impose on ourselves, and that’s what makes them the most terrifying. I finally resolve that death by lion would be quick, but I would go down fighting, and then I sleep.
I wake up to sunshine shining laterally through the deep woods, and start ascending again. I climb up yesterday’s snowy slope, scope out my route, and quickly make my way up to the summit. During this time, I slowly realize that the peak just to the south is the real ‘summit’, just a few hundred meters higher. So I ‘summit’ the first peak around 11am, and then saddle my way over to the second. I must have been hiking close to a hidden condor nest, as these incredible birds were dipping and diving some 5 meters from me: they were close enough to show off the white ring around their neck, but not quite close enough that I could make eye contact. Gorgeous giant birds – maybe if I get my act together, my next reincarnation will be condor… I summit the second peak, scramble down a scree slope, bid farewell to this alpine wilderness wonderful, and head down toward tree line. Now I am tired and decide to go home. In summiting these two peaks, I discovered a large cirque – one could, in theory, continue on past the second peak, and summit another three or four peaks in a large circle over a period of days. Unfortunately, the route down from this cirque is not established and would inevitably bring one through private property – sometimes gente de buena onda don’t mind when you move through their land, but they are the exception, not the rule. Another problem is finding a place to camp – after the second peak, there is a deep snowfield that would make for good quinsy building, perhaps, but difficult to find sub-treeline sites.
On the way down, I rest for a good while at the stream crossing where the two trails meet, wet my hair (it was hot by this point, high 60s), and then walk back down the route we’d taken a few weeks back. Outside the park, I hitch a ride from a friendly landowner who is heading into town – we have a great chat about groundwater. He suggests that I get into the business of finding shallow groundwater in this region – this is a regulated resource on paper, but since the fine for not complying with the law is cheaper than the formalities of purchasing a permit, it is essentially unregulated. He drops me off at my road, and I walk another 2km home.
The ‘are-pizza’ is a food that has been on my mind for weeks now – I’m sure it’s been done, a very logical combination of arepa with pizza. I am loathe to use the oven (gas=$$$), so this first round is performed via frying pan – tomato sauce, cheese, red onion, tomato, and chorizo. Delicious.
