South America's treasures are the Andes. Every time you see them, you can't fail to be impressed and inspired. After a 20 hour bus ride out of BA, towards the 'lake district' just north of Patagonia, we got off the bus in Bariloche to be welcomed by a stunning vista of Lago Nahuel Haupi overshadowed by the ridge of snow-capped mountains that divide Argentina and Chile. After checking into our aptly named Hostel Bariloche we made our way to the Club Andino office, the source of all knowledge of the mountains. With some helpful advice, a map and assurance of good weather for the next few days, we registered (for safety) and were leaving for our first solo Patagonia expedition the next morning. Hostelward we went to pack our camping gear and get food supplies ready for 3 days in the mountains.
Next morning, we took a local bus to the ski resort of Cerro Cathdral and set off winding our way up the mountain pass through beautiful cloud-forest with the sun shining and a snowy mountain back drop. An easy four hour trek up gave us plenty of time to set up camp at Refugio Frey, a mountain lodge, for the night (long days mean it only falls at about 9pm). By the glacial lake and shadowed by spectacular snowy mountains, we cooked up pumpkin pasta on the camp stove and drank hot chocolate to keep warm. We got chatting to another group of friends who we passed on our way up; Aaron, Lindy and Kal from the States. They weren't sure whether to take the planned route the next day, they had been warned by the girl at the refugio that the deep snow and ice melts made for a near on impossible trek. We decided we would go for it anyway, and the next morning they were doing it too - teamed up with hulk of a man and expert hiker Hans. Hans had all the orientation gadgets & altitude reading gizmos (contained in a mere 25kg pack) a man could need!
Behind our camp site, a steep ascent through the snow up towards the first mountain pass was marked by well trodden foot prints. Foot prints were to prove invaluable on finding our way, the red spray markers being buried by snow when you needed them most. Following these prints up the first ascent, the snow made for slippery and wet walking without gaitors but the views made up for it. The only colours being pure white snow and clouds and vivid blues of the lakes and sky.
Nearing the top of the ascent, we met giant bolders in the snow, mixed with smaller rocks and scree, we had to rock-climb up the final 200 meters of the pass. In between some of these gigantic boulders, we met the other guys who had set off a good couple of hours earlier. With laiden packs on their backs, the climbing was prooving precarious. Still, we all made it to the top safely, and carried on our way. Both groups felt it was good to know that the other was not too far away!
Descending the mountain proved trickier, the loose scree and rocks led more to sliding down, knees bent, in a semi-controlled fashion. Though you wouldn't want to slide to far, it's a long way down. Nearing the bottom, the snow returned. Thick drifts covered thorny tree tops and lay over rocks and streams. We had been warned to be careful of the rocks beneath the snow line, potentially risky if your leg goes through and meets the sharp rock beneath. So it was slow going. Four hours later we hit the valley floor and followed the forest path, building bridges across the tumbling rivers and picking our way through boggy grass land. The snow melts created rushes of water from every mountain crevice.
Later, beyond the valley, we could make out the Brecha Negra pass. We started to climb through the snow once again. Loosing the markers, we followed old footsteps in the snow that zig-zagged left up the mountain. The glare was strong with the sun high in the sky. We were wary to look out for avalanches. At the 'top' of the pass, all we could see was another mountain peak. We figured we weren't high enough and had to bear right along the mountain ridge, along the boulders, treading lightly through the snow to the next highest peak. Here we had success, right at the bottom, beyond the lake and the other side of the river we could see our next Refugio!
After seven hours on the go, now on tired legs we picked our way down the shere drop, through the scree and then the snow to the valley bottom, where we hit the river. The Refugio lay the other side, in the forest. Walking up and down the river - battling our way over, under and through the snow covered trees - we searched for the bridge in vain. With camp so close, we decided on wading through the glacially cold river to the other side. After eight and a half hours we arrived at Refugio San Martin to be greated by a log fire, warm stove and dry shoes. When enquiring as to where the bridge was, the reply was No Hay una Puente (There is no bridge). Ah, mystery solved).
The refugios seem to be run by impossibly gorgeous mountain loving Latino girls and guys who live there for months on end and are always happy to see new people. It was a memorable day, the place is just so awesome and wild and we made it! The other guys turned up an hour later, relieved to have made it too and we hung out in the warmth of the refugio kitchen nursing hot drinks, or beers and chatting about the days adventures.
Next morning, we packed up camp for the final six hour hike along the valley floor, following the river flowing down through the cloud forest. Swinging our way Indiana Jones style over the river crossings and picking our way along the paths that had turned into gushing streams where the river had burst its banks. We met some local army guys - all penknives and pistols - when they offered us to sample some mushrooms they were picking off the branches I was a little aprehensive. Pete of course was not but when in Patagonia... the little round orange balls tasted like a mushroom-grape, watery and sweet. We lived to tell the tale!
Just four hours later, we made it to the main road where we were told we could wait for one of the three daily busses. Pleased to have made it in such good time, we were deciding to wait or walk when a car came by. Pete stuck out his thumb, and the car drove past... only to reverse guiltily a minute later. The couple turned out to be Sergio and Marinetta from BA, on a road trip down south to celebrate their 25th wedding anniversery. Giggling like naughty teenagers, they chatted away to us as we headed towards Bariloche, though stopping every five minutes when we passed a river. Marinetta would hop enthusiastically out of the car, two seconds later we'd be back off again. Sergio explained My wife she just loves to take pictures of rivers, we don't them at home. We later found out when the Americans hitched, they had to visit every antique shop in the region with a couple of wealthy Colombians, before being dropped 18kms from their hostel, further out than where they started. Rivers were definately better.
Especially as our lift insisted on taking us to our hostel door, upon which we were hugged (despite the dire need for a shower), kissed and photographed for the holiday photo album. Suerte!
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