By Rachel Ross (University of Michigan ’14)
“I just don’t want to forget this in 5 years y’know?” Devan’s sentiment reverberated through all of our heads as we stomped on over cobbles silently. It was day 3 of the Jeinimeni hike; our last trek together through the northern reserve of future Patagonia National Park. The Aviles trail, beginning at Stone House in the Chacabuco Valley and ending around Lago Verde in the Hermoso Valley in Jeinemeni National Reserve, promised red lenga forests, turquoise waters, and frosted mountains. Nature delivered.
Postponing our trek of the Aviles for the sake of weather gave us a window of at least 4 days of sunshine. We drove into Casa Piedra, scarfed down leftovers of fire-cooked barracuda, hard-boiled eggs, and our daily portion of bread. Fueled by fish, and itching to explore, we strapped on our packs and headed out on the Aviles, eager to explore the Valley. Each of us got in our hiking modes. We crossed the bridge over Rio Chacabuco, looking West into the valley, mountains surrounding us. I almost feel as if I’m short-changing the topography by simply calling these masterpieces of geologic time “mountains.” Each has its own personality-a certain way it reflects light, shadows the valley, holds the trees on its face, cascades snow along its edges, interrupts the flat. The A-shaped representation seems to no longer apply to the term.
We traversed the hills, always under the watch of the mountains. Plains of golden bunch grass morphed into rolling hills of scraggly orange Nirre trees. We came to the first river crossing. The pale blue waters frothed and leaped over large boulders and meandered softly around cobbles. Some of us immediately sat down and strapped on our sandals for the crossing, while others decidedly kept on their boots, tip-toeing on the semi-submerged rocks.
We continued on to the suspended bridge, which stretches 95 feet from one bank, over 110 feet to the other side. This was our unofficial 5 mile marker. We took turns walking gingerly across the swaying planks, gripping the wires and leaning over the edge to look at the river in the gorge beneath. We stopped for a trail mix snack. “Thump!”….”Thump!” We all turned to see John hauling rocks out of his bulging pack. Ava, Devan, Nina, and I had stuffed rocks in both John and Max’s backpacks right before we left camp, and while Max had found and extracted the rocks from his pack, John was yet to receive the surprise. We all laughed hysterically – including John – who was relieved to find his slow pace was a matter of relatively more weight than level of fitness.
The suspended bridge
We continued following on the West side of the Aviles river. After approximately 11 miles, we reached a tired wooden quincho in a forest clearing, at the foot of a pair of white mountains. We put up our tents in a tired haze. We stayed up that starry night to watch the full moon rise over the cliffs. It was like a midnight sun-we no longer needed headlamps, and we howled and cheered, while Russell was so excited he frolicked among the burrs in the moonlight.
We headed out first thing the next morning, packing up our crunchy tents, which were thick with frost. We again were back in the hills and the forests, heading farther north toward Valley Hermoso. The trees changed from twisted nirres to tall lengas, coated in old man’s beard: that scraggly green lichen that feels as wiry as it looks. We reached the Aviles crossing where creamy blue streams mingled and merged among gray cobbles. We again changed into sandals and splashed across, grateful for the occasional breaks of stones between the chilly streams. We gained some elevation and continued through thick forests, always in the shadow of mountains. The trail spat us out onto a stretch of rocks and again the braided Aviles, that seemed to stretch on for miles…and did indeed. “Welcome to Valley Hermoso!” Eli exclaimed. We all stood there facing the mountains on all sides, which were reflected into the river, all against the fall colors.
Valle Hermoso
We again strapped on our sandals and treaded across countless river crossings over about 2 miles. Our feet cold, backs sweaty, but spirits enthralled, we reached our campsite: another humble quincho in a clearing of a forest just off of the stream. Ava, Emma, Russell, and Max slept outside and watched the sunset and sunrise. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to capture Orion’s belt over the snowy peaks with the river in the foreground. I’ve read that in order to be a better nature photographer, one must stand in front of something prettier…Check.
Stars over Valle Hermoso
The next day was a relaxed trek out to Lago Verde, and some of us sat out on the beach while a group journeyed up to a mountain saddle to get another view of the valley. Shayla and Nina went swimming in the frigid lake, and Brynn, Sarah, Clara and I laid on the beach, discussing our books.
Beach of Lago Verde
The trekkers came back from their alpine adventures and we sat around aweing at pictures of lands beyond. We walked back together in groups. When Devan commented on wanting to remember these experiences, I slowed my pace. My mind raced through the past three months: slogging through bogs in the fjords, warm nights at the field house with post-dinner baking and dancing lessons, and exploring the wind-whipped cliffs in the Chacabuco. Too many views that couldn’t be translated to at least the English language, much less through a camera lens. I’ve had to constantly battle against the limits of photography, and if a picture speaks a thousand words, I better fill up all my memory cards and more. Check.
That night Eli taught Ava and I how to make a roux for mac n’cheese, and we had a wonderfully rich sauce over spinach spaghetti under the mountains…a meal my collapsible chopsticks greatly appreciated.
Our trek back began with a setting moon over the mountains to the south, and freezing toes, as we again stomped through the river. We would emerge from the water without feelings in our appendages. After three or four crossings, our toes warmed up to the idea of walking through the Aviles, and we took a celebratory picture before heading back to the forest.
Group shot of one of our last days hiking in the Jeinemeni
Thru the forests, up the hills, across the rock fields, and back to the tired wooden quincho, where pots of lentils and instant potatoes (don’t forget the butter) were in order. Clouds covered the sun and any stars, and we were nervous for rain. Any crackling or snapping of my tent immediately woke me as I worried over my tent. The next morning surprised us: it was significantly warmer than any other night, and we were even packed and ready by the crack of 0900. The walk back consisted of already reminiscing about our experiences. Our inside jokes, moments of awe, struggles, and accomplishments, which have been shared within our group this whole trip will be more than difficult to suddenly detach from. Nostalgia over even current experiences as we are reminded of the sand running out of the Patagonian hourglass helps us cherish as many views and personal connections as we can.
We drove back across the Chacabuco, passing the cliffs we had scrambled up and lakes we posted at for data collection, which felt more like meditations on nature than chores. I stared up at sandstone ridges and across glistening lakes, remembering how the valley spread out below me from the view 300m above, and the birds most commonly seen in a particular patch of reeds along lake shores. I began to feel connected to the land, which stemmed from an understanding of flora and fauna, revealing to you that each piece of nature has a life of its own, as well as a part in the whole. Robyn Davidson, Australian explorer, wrote in her tales of adventure, “Capacity for survival may be the ability to be changed by the environment.” When walking along the trails in the future park, my ability to recognize and correctly name (don’t forget the spelling!) the plants, was an accomplishment I never thought was in my future. My awe and respect for my surroundings was deepened by my understanding of the wheels and cogs associated, which only came from a comprehensive immersion in one of the most beautiful and complicated places I’ve had the honor of visiting. Check. Feña once said “we are the most wide ranging invasive species,” and I’ve come to realize that “pristine” nature doesn’t have to be seen from behind fences, but my role of being a Homo sapien is to continually respect the land on which I walk.
The USA is the place that seems foreign now. I have an odd attachment to my lopsided tent, the soot I drain out of my day-5 hiking pants, the limited bandwidth in the town square, even the ration of stale, round bread we’ve tastefully named ‘pucks’. But what’s imperative now is our application of the lessons we’ve all learned, whether personal, academic, or backcountry, and the continual appreciation of our surroundings and subsequent actions for its conservation.
In Aldo Leopold’s essay “The Round River,” from which this program was named, he describes conservation as “A state of harmony between man and land…Harmony with land is like harmony with a friend…What conservation education must build is an ethical underpinning for land economics and a universal curiosity to understand the land mechanism. Conservation may then follow.”
Check.
(all photos by Rachel Ross)