November 3, 2014
By Natalie Stoneburner (CSBSJU)
After successfully completing our first backpacking adventure in the Fjords, our group spent a few days recuperating in CONAF’s refugio in Fiordo Bernardo. In the refugio (a small remote house built for the guardaparques while they are in the field) we spent our days catching up on academics, practicing our Spanish speaking, and learning to bake sopapillas and pan from Orlando and Felidor, the two guardaparques who were with us the entire trip. While our days of warmth and comfort in the refugio were well-earned, we were all eager to get back outside.
Students and guardaparques at Refugio Bernardo. Photo by Sylvia Kinosian.
For our second expedition, Orlando and Felidor had their sights set on a valley a few miles southeast of the refugio. It was an area they believed to possibly contain a population of huemul deer, but had never been able to explore because of a large river blocking entrance into the valley. Burdened, yet excited, by the weight of inflatable pack rafts in our backpacks, we began our trip with hopes of crossing the river and exploring the new valley.
We headed out early in the morning on the CONAF boat towards where the Bernardo glacier spills into Fiordo Bernardo. Like all our previous boat rides, this one was punctuated by shrieks and gasps as we slowly maneuvered around glowing blue glacial ice floats, stared at huge cascades in the distance, and even spotted a dolphin. The boat dropped us off directly under the glacier. After taking a moment to admire the massive Southern Patagonian Ice Field, we were on our way.
To get into the valley, we had to climb up a large waterfall parallel to the outshoot of the glacier. We scampered up small rockslides and launched ourselves between boulders as if the entire cascade were a playground built just for us. We were also treated by a few hours of rare sunshine, adding to our fun. Once at the top of the ridge, we hiked along the lip of the valley for a few miles before descending down towards the river.
Up until this point, we had been crossing over land that the guardaparques had scouted before. But blocked by the deep and fast-moving river, they had never been able to access the adjacent valley. Now, with our pack rafts, we moved to the mouth of the glacial lake where the river was about 150ft wide and not moving too fast. After inflating the two rafts, Felidor got in and paddled to the other side where he attached a rope. He then brought the other end back to our side to attach. From there, he tied the two rafts together and would taxi one person at a time to the other side, moving hand over hand along the rope.
Felidor and Eric Van Dam cross the glacial waters. Photo by Izzy Lazarus.
An hour and a half later we had all safely made it to the other side. By then it was getting late in the day, so we quickly climbed up out of the riverbed to find a suitable spot to camp. And boy, did we ever. Within the past decade, the area where we camped was all under water in a glacial lake. And within the past half century, it had been underneath the now-receding glacier. The land was like nothing any of us had seen before. In fact, no humans had ever set foot nor eye there before us. Finding ourselves short for words to describe our surroundings, we called this new land “Mars”.
Immediately after dropping our packs, the group took off our wet shoes and socks and instinctively began running over the smooth silt, feeling the pull of the extraordinary glacier. We set up our tents on perfectly smooth beds of recently uncovered glacial till with the massive, calving glacier dominating the horizon. That night we made a delicious dinner, drank mate with the guardaparques, and spoke a broken mix of Spanish and English around the fire. Often throughout the night, we’d catch each other’s attention fixated on the glacier or the new indescribable habitat in which we found ourselves.
Camp on Mars overlooking the Southern Patagonian Ice Field. Photo by Sylvia Kinosian.
The next day started with an early morning bird survey and hot oatmeal. Felidor and Orlando’s plan for the day was to hike around into the valley, where they suspected a population of huemul deer lived. As a place they had always hoped to explore, they dubbed it “La Valle Esperanza”- Hope Valley.
Yearling huemul deer. Photo by Sylvia Kinosian.
We hiked about four miles into the valley, constantly scouting for signs of huemul. As usual, we were all amazed by the comfort with which the guardaparques maneuvered through the landscape, as well as their ability to track huemul. We found only a few huemul tracks and scat, but from them Orlando and Felidor were able to infer a great deal about the population’s movements and use of the area. Feeling fulfilled after finally reaching Esperanza, we hiked back to camp for one last night on “Mars.”
The next day we returned to the river and our pack rafts, then climbed down the waterfall to meet the boat. As we hiked back, we all shared feelings of gratitude over being the only people to ever see this particular amazing landscape. As we talked, I was reminded of a quote from The Garden of Eden by Ernest Hemingway: “I’ve never wanted to be a painter nor a writer until I came to this country.”
After three days surrounded by dramatic and awesome landscape, I think we all feel a certain responsibility to remember it forever.
Top photo: Students hiking in Valle Esperanza, the Southern Patagonian Ice Field in the background. By Sylvia Kinosian.