By Isabelle Lazarus (University of Vermont)
I have arrived. It didn’t quite hit me when I stepped off of the plane in Santiago, nor when we landed in Balmaceda. It didn’t quite click when we wandered through the streets of Coyhaique for a few days, although the unfamiliar signs and faces were a clue. I felt that I was closer when the major highway turned from two paved lanes to one lane; a winding, terrifying dirt road, weaving through places I’ve never been. Finally, it hit me when we stepped out of our truck at the foothills of Cerro San Larenzo, Patagonia’s second highest peak.
A left turn off of the Carretera Austral took us on to a road paralleling the Rio Tranquilo. With my nose pressed up against the window of the truck, my eyes gazed in pure awe at the icy fortresses looming above us. A few hairpin turns and potholes later, we came to a halt and unloaded the trucks. Our host, Gilberto, walked us up the road, and pointed us in the right direction of some “good camping sites.”
The scene in front of us was almost too much too take in. The tongue of the glacier protruded fiercely into the bright blue lake. Its size, a direct message to recognize our inferiority in the landscape, was incomprehensible. It was here and now, breathing in the crisp air, feeling the cold breeze cut through my clothes, feeling the hard rock under my boots and sensing the magnitude of our surroundings, that I knew I had arrived in Patagonia.
Before we even strapped our hip belts on, we sighted two Andean Condors soaring over head. We eagerly pulled out our binoculars (aka “bins”) and watched as these huge raptors swooped and soared through the clear blue skies. For me and others, this was a first. Toto, we are not in Vermont anymore.
Trees covered in lichen
After our condor sighting, we followed (what eventually will be) a road for a mile or so and then found a safe spot to cross the river. A curious cow followed us across the frigid waters, close behind Kristina. The afternoon hours passed quickly as we waddled through the forest covered in Old Man’s Beard lichen and Mistletoe. Around four, we came upon an opening in the trees that would be suitable for all of us to camp for the night. Except for a few more very curious cows, it was just us among the mountains.
We stood huddled like penguins, trying to absorb each other’s body heat, as a rice and bean dinner cooked on our one-burner stoves. It always amazes me how quickly a group of strangers can become comfortable with each other. As we stood shoulder to shoulder, laughing as we tried to stay warm, it occurred to me that over the course of the next three months, we would learn extensively not only about the flora and fauna, the conservation issues in the Chilean Patagonia, and the people of Cochrane, but also about each other. We’ve come from all different walks of life and for all different reasons but these will be the people that shape our journey, which has only just begun.