By Lena Hanschka of Colby College
As you drive along the X-83 road through the Chacabuco Valley in Patagonia National Park, you pass many species characteristic of the Patagonian Steppe. There are Calafate bushes, with their tasty blue berries protected by sharp thorns, along with Neneo and Neneo Macho, both cushion plants which are much less forgiving than their name implies. Swallows and finches swoop down, racing the car before turning and disappearing into the mixed scrub off to the side of the road. Yarrow, Bull Thistle, Mata gris, and Siete Camisas line the road adding color during their flowering season. If you’re lucky, you might catch a glimpse of the larger, ostrich-like, Ñandu running about through the plants before disappearing.
You come up over a hill and look out over a large valley, with a half-dried lake situated in one corner. Clustered around the water is a herd of Guanacos, a large camelid similar to the more well-known Llama. They are large animals, just slightly smaller and slimmer than a horse, with a long neck and legs, covered in brown fur with a white underbelly. When they run, they look especially funny; the males often chasing each other, trying to nip the other and assert their dominance. Because it is late summer the babies, Chulengos, have grown a bit, but still clearly stick out as the young and follow the adults around, mimicking their actions. The herd can be anywhere from five or six Guanacos to eighty or more, and there is always at least one Guanaco acting as look-out; standing on a nearby ridge or hill, watching for predators while the rest of the herd grazes in peace. They are mostly unfazed by human presence. Occasionally, they will glance up to inspect your whereabouts. They usually determine that you are not a threat, and they continue grazing.
Over the last few weeks, we spent several days collecting population data on the Guanacos in the Chacabuco Valley. Our two Round River groups came together to tackle the large task at hand and the valley was divided up into forty transects, the majority of which were off-trail walking transects. Each morning, after breakfast around 8 am, we would all load into the vans and drive out to whichever area we were working in. At each stop four people would get out, with one pair heading due North of the road and the other heading due South. Two kilometers later along the road, the next four would hop out. Each pair was responsible for recording all Guanaco sightings within one kilometer east or west of their transect. The transects varied significantly in length from one or two kilometers to sixteen, and we would walk until we couldn’t go any further, whether we encountered a significant change in habitat like a large forest, a large cliff or river that was too dangerous to cross, or reached the predetermined turn-around time. Along the way, pairs would record any Guanaco sightings, noting the group size, approximate ages and sexes, as well as the direction and distance they were from the observer.
The transects were beautiful, but not always easy. There were several that went directly through marshes, with students wading past their knees in water, moving among tall grasses. Others went through thick patches of scrub, with thorns and branches blocking the way. Some pairs went over tall ridges, with breathtaking grand views of the valley. There were several easier transects that followed trails or roads and sometimes it felt like a leisurely stroll through the park, watching the wildlife and snacking on Calafate berries. During one transect, a pair of students reached a river and, not wanting to get their pants wet, crossed in just their underwear and ate lunch on the other side, warming up in the sun. Driving back to basecamp at the end of the day, students shared their stories, detailing rocky scrambles, wildlife sightings, moments of joy and of frustration. Both the “good” and “bad” transects were valuable for our research, compiling important information on the Guanaco in the valley and comparison data for previous years and how the population is changing.
