By Anna Bosco of Oberlin College
On a dreary and windy weekday morning, (I’d long lost track of which day it was) I found myself bushwhacking through thorny scrub on a steep hill face, scanning my surroundings for signs of guanaco. It had been an hour since the last sighting, and my transect buddy and I were starting to wonder whether the steep hike and spiky burrs clinging to our socks were worth it. Little did we know that roughly 200 meters ahead, hiding behind a small hill crest, we would encounter a group of forty guanacos and their young peacefully grazing on the dry grasses of the Patagonian steppe.
Guanaco are the wild cousins of the llama, which were bred by the Incas from guanacos around 6,000 years ago. A huge portion of today’s South American guanaco population is found in Chacabuco Valley, a 200,000-acre protected area just north of Cochrane. Going into this two-week long expedition, I knew nothing about guanacos or the valley that they call home. As we began the drive to our base camp at the east end of the valley, all I could think about was the prospect of going two full weeks without cell reception or Wi-Fi.
Within thirty minutes of our drive, we were flanked by tall mountains and rolling hills. Just off the side of the road were a pair of guanaco munching on grass. By the time we got to our campsite, I was mesmerized; this was a crazy, beautiful, rugged landscape like nothing I’d ever seen before. Wi-Fi could absolutely wait. The next day, we took time to settle into base camp and learn about the nature of our research and how we were to conduct it. Leisure time after dinner led way to a group yoga session as the surrounding mountains began to glow red with the setting sun.
In the following days, we settled into a routine: breakfast at 7, in the cars by 8, and start transects at 9:15. Walk your transect, then wait by the side of the road to be picked up once everyone is finished. Class at 4:30, cook and eat dinner, then evening yoga, studying, or field journal writing. The end of the week held a plant and bird identification quiz, so we went on daily nature walks and studied guidebooks together in preparation. Life at base camp did get a little hectic, given the amount of work needed to be accomplished each day and the close proximity in which we all lived. Yet within that busyness were a scheduled 3-5 hours of hiking in vast wild areas each day – the entire purpose of our stay in Chacabuco Valley.
In those hours of hiking, we were collecting data to estimate the size of the valley’s guanaco population. Following a linear transect path in a pre-assigned direction, we took notes on every guanaco encountered, including the number of individuals, GPS coordinates, and their behavior. It was crucial to follow a straight path in the correct direction so as to avoid double counts, so this generally involved hiking through steep and difficult terrain, pushing past thorny bushes or crossing rivers that stood in the way. Even so, these transect hikes became some of my favorite experiences in Patagonia so far.
The steep hill face on that windy and dreary morning, while challenging, held countless moments of beauty. I was paired with someone from the other student group who I had only briefly met a few times prior, and within the first half hour of the transect we knew about each other’s happiest childhood memories, our strange family dynamics, and where we hoped life after Round River would take us. I had never spent an entire day alone with a relative stranger before, and having no choice but to immediately get into those deep conversations proved itself to be both a raw and liberating experience. Throughout the day, we snacked on calafate berries which turned our lips and teeth bright purple, and spotted flamingoes, vultures, and skunks. We crested steep hills which gave way to views of hidden lakes and snow-capped mountains and spent a healthy amount of time complaining about not seeing any guanacos.
Just as we were starting to lose some patience, over the small hillcrest, was the group of forty guanacos and their young (called chulengos). They stood grazing so close to us, it felt like we could be part of the herd. Some stared at us with an amusingly fierce intensity, while others continued to munch on grass, oblivious to our presence. Further away a small group of chulengos chased each other and jumped around. And just like that, all of our complaints and grumpiness vanished; we were once again reminded of how extraordinary and beautiful it was to be able to get a glimpse into this world.