Trails & Techno_text_december 11

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miercoles 11 de diciembre

Destino: Mount Fitz Roy

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Modo : Omnibus y pies Distancia : 398 kilómetros

El Calafate a Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, Argentina

We woke at 5:15, showered and dragged ourselves on board the CalTur bus that was running and waiting downstairs. After a quick stop at the bus station to take on more passengers, we were off to the North. I started reading Cerruti’s book, El Jefe, about former Argentine President Carlos Menem. Andy dove into an Agatha Chrisite novel that he picked up at the free book exchange in the lobby as we were checking out. Just before 9:30, we pulled into a cheerful roadside restaurant/hotel, called Cafe La Leona, where we ate a very early lunch. The young lunch counter attendant, Irma, couldn’t help noticing my camcorder. She introduced herself and Argentine Stuckey’s explained that La Leona was a family business. As I filmed her, she smiled and pointed herself out in the gallery of blackand-white family photographs proudly displayed on the restaurant’s main wall. Before leaving, we thanked her for the jamón y queso sandwiches and te caliente Irma’s smile which were fantastic. Around 11:00, we arrived at El Chaltén, the main entrance to the Parque Nacional Los Glaciares where we were deposited at the Fitz Roy Inn. The bus parked and the groups quickly dispersed. Gary and Shauna headed west to Cerro Rafael, a California climber and his photographer went to scale Mt. Fitz Roy, and

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Andy and I were left...basically stranded. We wanted to catch a ride another twenty kilometers north, so that we could reach the campsite on private property at Piedra del Fraile. The best rate that we were offered was twenty pesos. In defeat, we decided to start walking and hacer autostop up the ten-mile stretch to Río Eléctrico. Unfortunately, only two cars passed us in the first two hours and neither slowed enough to even consider giving us a lift. This was a real downer. The packs were weighing their heaviest of the trip, and we were both tired after trudging up this camino sinuoso for two hours in over eighty degree heat. Finally, around 14:00, a metallic miracle came lumbering up the path in the form of a shiny, new motorcoach fresh from the Saab factory in neighboring Brazil. The young Argentine in the passenger seat opened the window and yelled down to us, “A dónde van?” “Río Electrico!” we shouted. “Suban!”came the reply. This proved to be a lifesaver. The ten-minute ride to Río Electrico made us realize that we would have hiked another two hours before reaching the river. We hit it off with the Argentines on board who were driving their luxury coach to a nearby gas station. Apparently, Andy and I were their first two passengers The parque nacional: national park piedra del fraile: friar’s rock driver, Javiér, and his trusty copilot, hacer autostop: to hitchhike Max, explained that the bus would río eléctrico: the electric river. camino sinuoso: twisty road be making its maiden voyage to El A dónde van?: Where are you going? Calafate later that night. Suban!: Get on! Come aboard! 59

When we told them about our planned trek, they told us how to tactfully deal with a gentleman named Ricardo, the owner of the campsite at our destination, Los Troncos. The campsite is on his private property, so he is somewhat selective about who gets to pitch a tent in his front yard. Andy and I were a little intimidated by the stories which made Ricardo out to be Patagonia’s version of the Soup Nazi. In summary, they told us to do three things: 1) Be polite, 2) Speak Spanish and 3) Keep our campsite clean. Considering our combined eight years of schooling at General Lee’s institution of higher learning, the first two items came quite naturally. The cleanliness matter was another issue entirely. Unfortunately, four years in the ΣAE house at Washington & Lee had not impressed upon us the importance

“Robert E. Lee’s experience in the Mexican War and in Texas had convinced him of the need for Americans to understand the Spanish language and the Latin American civilization.” -Charles Bracelen Flood

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of order and cleanliness...or the merits of sobriety for that matter. Still, we had received Gabriela’s Good Tentkeeping Seal of Approval back in Chile, and hopes were high that our neat tendencies would carry over to Argentine soil. After a quick five-kilometer ride, we thanked Max and Javiér, wished them well on their maiden voyage and disembarked. At 14:15, we were standing before the bridge crossing Río Electrico. We consulted our map and headed due west. The trek started out pretty smoothly along the river’s southern bank. However, only minutes later, we erred from the beaten path by mistakenly following cattle trails which led us into the middle of a dense forest. We got split up and spent the next twenty minutes knocking into trees and breaking branches with our towering backpacks. Eventually, we both ended up back on the river bank where Andy broke out his compass and steered us back on course. Miraculously, 60

we found the path again and continued our quest for Los Troncos and the notorious Trail Nazi. In the back of our minds, we wondered if Max and Javiér had even met Ricardo. Hopefully, they were just perpetuating some childhood rumor or rural legend. The route from here on up was beautiful: a well-shaded trail with a slight incline and the sound of the rushing Río Eléctrico to our immediate right. The only negative was that the valley had been thrashed recently by a serious flood. The carnage was evident with huge tree trunks lying on both sides of the trail. The fallen arboles made for good resting spots during the final hour of the trek. Along the final stretch, the combined weight of the packs and the upward slope of the trail began wearing on us. The fatigue was compounded by the apprehension that we were both feeling. If by chance we were not up to Ricardo’s standards, he could potentially screw up our camping plans big time. Finally, around 17:00, five and one-half hours after getting off of the omnibus from El Calafate, we arrived at Piedras del Fraile and the Los Troncos campsite. Both of us were a bit nervous as we stood before a wooden fence and surveyed the landscape. The fence itself was only knee-high and, as such, did not present a real obstacle to potential intruders. Still, we wanted to make a good impression on Ricardo and barging uninvited onto his property did not seem like the best approach. Our need for approval at that moment was fueled by fatigue, hunger and our unwillingness to make a five-hour trek back to the Fitz Roy Inn. Dinner was needed and sunset was approaching. While awaiting our host’s arrival, we took a quick inventory of his rural oasis. The centerpiece of the site was a windowless log cabin which was obviously the owner’s home. A narrow stream of smoke rose from the cabin’s chimney and drifted gently to the north. Five or six individual campsites, three of which were occupied, comprised the northern perimeter of the grounds. Directly behind the cabin were two wooden teepees, presumably for use by guests during periods of extreme cold. The southern perimeter of the site included a small outhouse and an outdoor sink for 61

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plate and human washing. The thought of scrubbing greasy plates was actually appealing to me since the task would be preceded by major consumption of warm grub. At last, the cabin door opened and Ricardo emerged. Strangely, the scene reminded me of Willie Wonka’s initial approach to greet the five golden ticket winners waiting outside his factory gates. Although we had no Wonka bars or golden tickets, we did have a few pesos in hand with which to barter and secure campsite entry. After what seemed like an eternity, Ricardo met us face-to-face at the wooden fence. Andy and I were a little nervous, but we had been well-coached up to this point. Max and Javiér’s advice was racing through our minds like a broken disco: Be polite, Speak Spanish...Be polite, Speak Spanish. Upon reaching the fence, Ricardo sized up his trail-weary gringo callers and began the conversation with a simple “Buenas Tardes.” We replied in unison with an equally simple yet effective, “Buenas Tardes.” Then came the gringo grovelling: Con permiso, nos gustaríamos pasar un par de noches aqui en su camping.” Pleased with our politeness or perhaps sensing our desperation, Ricardo smiled, leaned down, opened the knee-high front gate and showed us around the campsite. Andy and I followed Ricardo pesos: Argentine currency. The value of the peso is pegged to the U.S. dollar, so the single-file through the exchange rate is simply 1 peso = $1. grounds of Los Troncos and disco: an lp or record. Songs are temas and cd’s are commonly called compactos. the Wonka analogy seemed buenas tardes: good afternoon (typically noon even more appropriate. - 8pm). Say Buenos dias or buen dia in the morning and buenas noches at night. Here was a single man living con permiso: with your permission alone in the wilderness with nos gustaríamos: we would like...you can never lay the pleasantries on too thick with only the occasional visitor to strangers in Latin America. Me gustaría or Yo his top-secret compound. quisiera = I would like to or I want to. Not only had Ricardo par de noches: couple of nights. A useful phrase: Par de cervezas...par de amigas. fenced himself in from llamada de larga distancia: long-distance possible intruders, he had phone call. Unheard of in the Patagonia, unliess you pack your Globalstar phone. even created his own solo para acampantes: for campers only 62

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outdoor brand of Oompa Loompa. Surrounding Ricardo’s cabin were dozens of whimsical freestanding wood characters and signs. The carvings indicated at least two things: one, our host did indeed have a sense of humor and two, it must get pretty lonely out here in the fall and winter months (March through August in the Southern Hemisphere). Aside from several bark-encrusted petting zoo figures, one of the carvings was an oversized wooden telephone complete with large buttons and a removable handset. The inscription “Para Llamadas de Larga Distancia” mocked potential phone seekers and reminded Patagonia Cell Phone us of just how disconnected we were from the outside world. Andy had not spoken to his folks since Chile, and my last contact with the States was prior to departure from Buenos Aires. Despite the isolation from friends Para Llamadas De Larga Distancia and family, there is an undeniable sense of security out here in the central Patagonia. No Room At The Inn... The camaraderie evidenced at Los Troncos was a prime example. Before choosing a spot for setting up camp, Andy and I walked around and met some of the other trekkers and climbers. The Los Troncos Manger Most everyone was friendly and either exhausted from hiking all day or anxious about a planned ascent of Mount Fitz Roy early the next morning. A young, Welcome to Los Troncos ! married German couple fell into the first category, while a small French team of hard-core mountain climbers fell into the second group. Andy and I seem to fit somewhere comfortably in the Solo Para Acampantes ! middle of the Los Troncos posse: a bit more daring than the newlyweds from Stuttgart, yet not quite as radical 63

as the stone-faced Frenchies. After making the rounds, we decided to set up the Trango, relax and get started on dinner. Once the tent was standing, we kicked back in our Crazy Creek camp chairs and read in the fading sunlight until 21:30. When it was finally too dark to read, Andy fired up the stove and I pulled together the ingredients for a simple dinner. A mushy mix of corkscrew pasta, sauce and queso rollado was prepared and devoured in less than twenty minutes. Our urgency was prompted by a combination of hunger and rapidly falling temperatures. As the Los Troncos site sits in a narrow canyon at the base of two mountain chains, it is exposed and battered by strong mountain winds. By 22:00, the Patagonia®pullovers and thermals were donned and we turned in to Chez Trango for the night. While Andy read, I filmed the sunset and marveled at the sunlight that remained at 22:13 on a cold December night in Los Troncos, Chaltén, Provincia Santa Cruz, Republica Argentina.

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Parque Nacional Los Glaciares Río Eléctrico Los Troncos Mt. Fitz Roy

The Fitz Roy Inn

Lago de los Tres

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E x c u r s i o n e s 65