by Siena Wiedmann, of Bowdoin College
Like true adventurers, we trekked across the worn boardwalk through the small, colorful town of Caleta Tortel, feeling like the wooden panels might collapse beneath the weight of our heavy backpacks. We had spent the last few days in Cochrane carefully counting tortillas, oatmeal packets, stoves, and cookies for our 8-day adventure to the Jorge Montt Glacier, the northern-most and fastest-retreating glacier of the Southern Patagonia Ice Field. The seemingly untouched fjord landscape, only reachable by boat, has had minimal historic human disturbance; however, the municipal government of Tortel hopes to develop the region into a tourist attraction to boost the local economies. As Round River’s first project with the Municipality of Tortel, Team Chucao embarked on this exciting expedition with a primary goal to investigate the biodiversity of the region including assessments of plants, huemul (an endangered deer species endemic to Chile), birds, amphibians, in addition to trail and campsite disturbance assessments. These important analyses will help to inform Tortel on how to move forward with the development of trails, refuge domes, and further tourism in the area.
After a difficult initial walk to the dock, wobbling under the weight of our packs, we were greeted by a luxurious tourist boat containing cushy, white couches, pillows, a cozy wood stove, and kitchen! We sat in bliss for the next 4 hours drinking maté, snuggling into squishy pillows, and looking out at the ice bergs floating across the blue, glacial meltwater until we reached our rocky beach base camp.
Team Chucao looking as fancy as possible on our luxurious tourist boat to the Jorge Montt Glacier. Gabe, Diana, Siena, Katie, Erica, Baillie, Sam, Lindsay, Laura, and Nate (from left to right) with our fearless leader, Shay, in the front with her mate.
We were swiftly dropped off with all of our belongings and with a quick exchange between the captain and Shay, we were left, not to be picked up for 8 days! I felt like I had just been placed into a painting surrounded by bright, blue meltwater and delicate waterfalls pouring down the steep, rocky hillsides. After hiking up the hills surrounding our camp, redistributing and stashing food, and licking the delicious, fresh water off of beached icebergs, we sat beside a warm campfire telling stories about the stars while drinking hot cocoa. We were all beyond excited for our journey ahead into the unknown territory of the Jorge Montt Glacier landscape.
Team Chucao! Photo by Shalynn Pack
We planned to hike out toward the Jorge Montt Glacier for 3 days with the hope of getting as close to the ice as possible and in doing so, recording as much biodiversity and disturbance data as we could for the eastern fjord mountain range.
The first day, we climbed about 650 meters in 3 km up steep, rocky cliffs, through dense, mixed scrub, coming close to the jagged ridge-line of the mountains. Along with the backpacking, we were carefully collecting data on huemul fecal pellets and footprints, bird and amphibian sightings, and plant species abundance, gaining a better understanding of the biodiversity of the landscape. I felt like a detective, carefully searching for hidden clues that would reveal a treasured piece to the complex puzzle of the recently de-glaciated landscape. After a full day of hiking upward, our mouths dropped as we ascended up onto the most beautiful campsite any of us had ever seen. Our camp sat up on a ledge nuzzled into the exposed bedrock, overlooking the glacier and meltwater below. We sat out together on the weathered rocks and watched the sun drop over the silhouetted ridge-line on the opposite side of the fjord, leaving the mountains and snow painted with a purple hue. It was a perfect ending to a fantastic first day. None of us had any idea of the beauty that was still in store for the next few days.
Laura, Lindsay, Siena, Sam, and Baillie at the glacier overlook campsite (our first campsite) with the Jorge Montt Glacier and the Southern Patagonia Ice Field in the background.
Baillie, sitting on the exposed hillside, looking out at the Jorge Montt Glacier from our first campsite.
Each morning began with a big bowl of delicious oatmeal that would fuel us for our ascents and descents through the steep, difficult, unmarked terrain. Luckily, we had our fearless leader, Shay, to read and guide us up through the peri-glacial terrain in addition to 8 pumped students, Diana, and Gabe ready for an adventure.
On our second day, we explored the barren, alpine terrain of the ridge-line. It felt like we were hiking across a rocky moonscape; the freeze-thaw cycle, strong winds and rain, and recent glacial cover left only fragments of granitic rocks which allowed only few, shallow-rooted plants to sprawl out across the windswept ridges. After beautiful aerial views of the glacier and fjord below, we reached an area of the ridge-line that was not passable and so we had to descend down a slippery, rocky gully into a hidden oasis below. The descent was quite challenging, but we dropped into a beautiful little valley with a clear, blue alpine lake fed by small, freshwater streams. We decided to set up camp in what seemed to be a magical, alpine fairyland hidden below the rocky ridge-line. After a night of swimming in the pristine, alpine lake and then filling our cold bodies with warm pasta, we snuggled into our tents for the night.
Team Chucao exploring the alpine ridge-line and hidden alpine lakes.
We woke the next morning to dense, mystical fog flying fast up and over the ridge-line, being swept away by the wind. It was a magical start to a long, eventful day! We descended off the ridge-line through creeks lined with moss and cracks in the massive rock until we finally reached the mixed scrub habitat dominating the valley that reached out to the terminus of the glacier. It looked like a huemul’s paradise and Sam and I, as the huemul research team, had our eyes peeled for any live sightings. We traversed across the mountain side in silence until Sam suddenly held up his hands with the huemul signal! There she was — a healthy, adult female huemul sitting about 100 meters below us. After observing intently for about 20 minutes, we continued hiking toward the glacier knowing that if we had seen one huemul, potentially there would be more!
We continued to trek across the vast, isolated landscape, until we made a final ascent up a cliff-side. Framed by the rocky cliffs on either side of us, we emerged up and out onto a lookout point where we stared in awe at the vast Jorge Montt Glacier and barren, snow-covered ice field above. It was the most beautiful feeling to have finally reached the terminus of the glacier and to be able to see the massive crevasses and turquoise, glacial pools scattered throughout the calving ice. We all collapsed onto the rocks laughing with joy and excitement to have finally made it to the edge of the dynamic glacier that appeared to be alive with cracking ice and snow. After soaking in the views for as long as we could, it was time to leave the glacier’s edge and return to camp.
Sam taking in the view of the Jorge Montt Glacier and the Southern Patagonia Ice Field.
Lindsay, Sam, Siena, Nate, Laura, and Erica (from left to right) at the terminus of the Jorge Montt Glacier clearly conducting important research of plants, huemul, and the habitat around us.
As we were staring out toward camp trying to navigate back across the mixed scrubland, another adult, female huemul popped up and over the hillside, running up toward the ridge-line! We all quickly scattered, running to get a better view of the huemul. As Laura, Lindsay, and I approached camp around 7:30pm, up on the hillside, we saw Nate in between an adult female and a sub-adult male huemul! When we met up with Katie, Baillie, and Diana back at camp, we learned that they had seen many huemules around our campsite including a mother and juvenile breast feeding only meters away. Sam and Shay soon returned hiking back at a higher elevation and coming within meters of the huemul population, observing the healthy, curious animals up close. Once we all had reunited, we hugged and jumped with excitement for finding approximately 7 healthy huemules. After delicious burritos, we all fell into our tents like puddles and slept deeply after the long, exciting day.
An adult female huemul, curiously looking toward the camera.
A juvenile huemul suckling from its mother at our campsite.
The following day, we tried to quietly hike up the trail, although we couldn’t help singing “Build Me Up Buttercup” along the trail — spirits were high. With sweat-drenched shirts and burning calves and thighs, we summited the ridge-line and saw our oasis campsite below. We descended into our magical campsite nice and early, as all of us were tired from the day before. It was a snuggly evening filled with singing songs from the Sound of Music, eating warm pasta, listening to the light rain, and reading backcountry stories beneath our group tarp.
It was an incredible feeling to summit the ridge-line one final time and then descend back into our glacier overlook campsite. Silently, we sat out on the exposed bedrock together and tried to sediment images of the vast landscape into our minds. Leaving this magical place, we recognized that the Jorge Montt Glacier is quickly disappearing and if any of us were to visit again, its beauty would be vastly transformed. Our very own Baillie Stein crafted an incredible poem which beautifully captures this shared fear. He kindly gave me the privilege to post this poem along with my blog:
I have a voice inside, telling me to draw the landscape that unfolds in front of me.
As if sketching these mountain ridges on to the pages of my falling-apart, leather-bound notebook will help to etch the memory of this place into my mind.
The same desire grips my heart, and demands that I take a photograph of the sun setting over the curving fjord.
As though my hand-me-down Lumix camera will be able to capture some meaning from this experience that my spirit alone cannot.
And further still, that intangible force pushed me towards this rocky outcrop, lined paper in hand, ready to describe the ancient ice field before me.
As if it were possible to put words to something so fantastically large.
All of these urges are rooted in fear.
Fear that I have not experienced enough of this holy place to cement it in my mind, heart, and soul.
Fear that the lessons imparted unto me from my time here will blow away like snow in the wind.
A deep fear, that there is nothing I can do to make permanent the sacredness here; that this glacier will recede from me, like it is receding from this world.
That fear may be real. But it is misguided.
For nothing in this universe lasts forever in a single state.
This glacier will one day be gone from this earth, as with every other glacier that ever was, is, or will be.
When its time comes to melt into the fjord, its atoms will be found in another part of this world.
And in that sense, it, and everything else, is permanent.
Siena and Baillie sitting out on the mountainside at the glacier overlook campsite, staring out into the vast fjord below us.
Upon our departure on the tourist boat, we were lucky enough to have the captain take us within meters of the terminus of the glacier. We feasted our eyes on the glacier’s massive, jagged, and unforgiving edges, colored bright blue and white with dustings of dark sediments. Two massive calving events just meters away sent our boat and the ice bergs surrounding us drifting up and over large tidal waves. It is in humbling moments like these where I find great peace in Baillie’s words, as I often worry about not being fully present in every moment and thus forgetting the details of every experience. Our experiences, however, will always shape us in one way or another even if we do not remember all of the details. Similarly, the Jorge Montt Glacier will always exist even if not in the exact same form as we experienced it on this adventure.
Photo of the author (Siena) surfing a beached iceberg on our first night at the rocky beach basecamp.