February 10, 2016
Written by Adeline Clayton (University of Vermont)
There have been few moments in my life that I have felt complete happiness and fulfillment. It is difficult in our current lives to be completely in the moment and content with where you are and what you are doing; the constant connection with others keeps some incapable of interacting on a deeper level. This is something I tried to remind myself of each day when coming to Patagonia – to savor the beauty and untouched perfection every day. The lands we have traveled through while in the fjords have filled me up to the brim with Mother Nature’s inherent beauty. On our trip to Fiordo Bernardo, in Bernardo O’Higgins National Park, I experienced not one but two of these moments of pure joy. The longer I am in this beautiful landscape the more its pure, natural beauty sinks in, and how few are so fortunate to be able to experience this.
Our first trip was not without challenge, but nothing that I felt I could not handle – simply momentary instances of discomfort. We hiked for five days from Fiordo Orfhidro to Fiordo Bernardo over an un-explored stretch of wilderness. Our objectives were to gain a better understanding for the plant composition and Huemul deer presence. In an area never before traveled, it was important to collect information to gain a better understanding for the biodiversity in the national park.
Sunset over the fjords and Glacier Bernardo. Photo by Shalynn Pack.
We spent a few days back at our base camp for the trip, the CONAF refugio (Corporacion Nacional Forestal park guard station) drying out and catching up on assignments. After a long day of writing papers, my fellow students and I needed to get outside and stretch our legs. Two of our instructors grabbed the soccer ball (semi-deflated from countless games of futbol) and five of us headed out onto an uncovered beach to play a game at low tide. Our game with the guadaparques devolved into a game unlike any I have ever played before. With a lack of hand-eye coordination, soccer is not my specialty but something about running through 6 inches of sandy pebbles put everyone on the same playing field. As the game continued, we all fell over countless times, laughing more and more as we went over, running back and forth across the “field,” releasing our pent-up energy and our maniacal, joyous laughter. I could not help but smile when I looked up and realized how incredible this place was, and thinking that this moment would be one that would stick with me even when I was long gone from this place of wonder. As our score evened out, and dinner was ready, we called the game finished, and headed back inside. Something about that moment made me realize how special this place is and how simple life here is. It only takes a soccer game, running around on the bank of a fjord to feel content and happy. No access to the outside world, but just fully involved with everyone around me.
After a few more days at base camp, drying out and catching up on academics, we headed out for our next trip. The objective of the trip was to set up a photo-monitoring point of a glacial outburst lake to record how it changes over time. In addition we were observing plant composition as well as collecting data of Huemul deer presence. We walked through various ecosystems, seeing how the composition of plants changed as we increased in elevation, and moved further from the glacier.
A view of Glacier Bernardo from its birth on the Southern Patagonia Ice Field (left) to its melt into the Fiordo Bernardo (right). Photo by Adam Spencer.
The outcomes of the trip were so much more than the original goals. Being in the field is fun! Hiking each day is hard, usually forging our own trail, (we redefined what being a trailblazer means, especially based on my standards of Northeast “wilderness”). Typically we arrive into camp and pitch tents, eat dinner, and all retreat to our sleeping bags for a deep night’s sleep. The first day of hiking I was breaking the path for much of the afternoon, which was hard, but also so satisfying. As we entered into camp, a view of Glacier Bernardo came into sight. This was one of the most incredible things I have seen. I felt so small standing in front of this massive piece of ice that has been there for thousands of years, tiny bubbles of air trapped inside it, water that has been stuck in the form of ice for time much longer than I can ever understand. I wonder what the glacier would say if it could share the stories of what it has seen. As I went to sleep that night, the stars started to come out in the clearest sky I have ever seen. I thought briefly about how lucky I was to be where I was, in a place where nobody had ever been before, to see this view that no one had ever seen before, was breathtaking, and so special. Special to share that with this group of students that I had only known for a few weeks, but already started to feel as though they were family.
A young male huemul deer (Hippocamelus bisilcus) rests in the grasses on the edge of Glacier Bernardo near to where the group camped on the way to the GLOF. Photo by Adam Spencer.
The next morning, we woke up, packed up lunch for our hike to the glacial lake and embarked. A few minutes into the hike we crested a hill to see a bog with grasses lining a small pond glistening in the sunlight. A dragonfly flew by and it felt as if I was in a movie. Minutes later we came upon a mature male Huemul grazing in a field of tall grasses. This was our fourth sighting of the trip, to see an animal endangered in such a regal setting was amazing, and easy to forget that this animal, so large in size, was threatened. Throughout the trip we collected data on the number of Huemul sightings to give evidence of their range to CONAF.
This lake formed about 15 years ago, when the water underneath the Glacier Bernardo burst through its leading wall, flooding the valley below. The lake has since drained and refilled several times. We hiked here to set up a photo-monitoring point to observe the effects and patterns of the hydrology on the landscape. Photo by Adam Spencer.
Our hike ended with a view of the glacial lake. Filled with icebergs, and water a turquoise color because of the sediment from the glacier, this was probably the most beautiful lake I have ever seen. It formed fifteen years ago when the water collected underneath Glacier Bernardo, floating and forcing its stubborn progress and determined march, burst through its ice walls to flood the valley below. The Glacial Lake Outburst Flood – or GLOF – is important for CONAF to monitor, as another build-up of water could force another GLOF and flood even more of the valley, including where the refugio rests, as well as to observe how the ecosystem changes over time and adapts to a changing climate.
Standing there looking out at the vast ice sheet and glacial lake, I felt another moment of pure contentedness. We set up a photo-monitoring point at this lake and hiked back to camp. Soon afterwards, we were welcomed by the rain and wet of the fjords that lingered on our hike out the following day. Despite this less-than-ideal weather, I was still full of joy at the incredible place that I had just been. I was reminded of a quotation I read in one of my environmental studies classes: “Those who walk among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life.” I had always enjoyed that sentiment, but after walking among some of the most pure beauties and mysteries of the earth I now understand it much more.
CONAF piloted us through the iceberg field breaking off Glacier Bernardo on our way to hike to the Glacial Lake Outburst Flood (GLOF). Photo by Adam Spencer.