By Alex Walt, Eckerd College (Team Guanaco)
Photo by Alex Walt.
I am sitting in the bus terminal in Puerto Montt right now, fresh out of Coyhaique this morning and just hours after a tough goodbye to the friends with whom I had the privilege to live, and from whom to learn over the semester. I am waiting to board a bus to Osorno, where I’ll transfer on the fourth bus today en route to San Carlos de Bariloche in Argentina. My travels with Round River are done, but now as the end has come I start to reach back into my archives, savoring moments that made sweet memories. But before I get too sentimental and start to sniffle and weep in this frenzy of a bus terminal, let’s rewind a bit to cover our journey through the awesome Reserva Cerro Castillo.
The clouds descended upon us and released their waters.
This seemed to be a common trend for us over the course of the Patagonian Spring. However, this rain only lasted half of a day, just enough to coat the lenga leaves with a fresh glaze and remind us that we were only visitors to this natural paradise, witnesses of its beauty and victims of its wrath. This rain didn’t freeze and blow sideways at us like it did for days on end at the infamous Pasa Diablo. It also didn’t give a week long soil soaking to a consistency of a saturated sponge like it did in the Fiordo Bernardo area. No, this rain was not that cold and didn’t last that long. Although too often in backpacking most people dread the thought of precipitation, I had to remind myself many times throughout the semester that Patagonia was going through a powerful drought, not unlike our own Pacific states back home, where the parched landscapes turn to tinderboxes and breathe fire. Patagonia needed water more than we needed comfort, so we put our hoods on, threw up a shelter and bared through it, because what else are you going to do?
One thing you learn in backpacking (and even more so in ultra-remote places like Glacier Chico or Fiordo Bernardo) is that no matter what the struggle is, the likelihood of someone saving you is next to none. This isn’t to say that things got desperate out in Cerro Castillo, it’s to highlight the idea that once you accept this solitude, you embrace a self reliance that shakes away the uncomfortableness that is generated when unfavorable conditions set in. So we didn’t let the rain bother us and we kept our spirits high, and wouldn’t you know it… an hour after setting up camp the rains stopped for the remainder of the day. Fun times were then had on the beach of the Rio Turbio just outside of camp, throwing rocks, recycling the same not-that-funny jokes that had run their course and then some over the past couple months, and drafting haikus describing our surroundings; all while gazing on the massive walls of crumbly mountains that stood tall on the opposing shoreline. It was a great night, we even tried laying out our freshly soaked clothes to dry, although to little success.
The next morning the rains had ceased and the cloud cover was in retreat, leaving wisps of mist that looked like cotton candy on the mountain sides. After a slow and easy morning, we set off towards the end of the Valle Turbio to a narrow pass. This stretch started with an enchanting walk through a relatively kempt lenga forest, complete with old trees and a thick, lime-green groundcover. Many members of the group (including myself) chose to hike alone with large gaps in between the person in front and behind. Throughout the semester we had to hike in more condensed groups, able to communicate transect points and share needed information such as GPS coordinates on the go. This journey was for pure recreation, so we took the opportunity to hike alone, exploring our imaginations while exploring the grand scenery.
The final hike up to the high point contained rather bare rock scenery in front of us, but when we took a glance at where we had come from, a great valley lay at our backs. We had lunch on the other side of the pass, where we watched a glacier perched on the mountain ledge shed many different water falls down the rock walls. It was loud; water crashed through boulders and crevices at several points. After lunch we continued to descend down into another valley, slowly gaining view of another mountain, this one containing a large amount of jagged spires and towers near the summit ridge.
At this point we reached our desired campsite, only to find around 16 people already camped out there, with a campfire already blazing. This was not what we were looking for. You could count the amount of times in the last three months that we shared a campsite with another group on one hand. None of us were pleased, and after a unanimous vote, we decided to continue on to an unmarked campsite roughly two hours down the trail. We charged through another long stretch of lenga forest and at the edge, in a meadow with a powerful creek crashing along, we found a lush view of Cerro Castillo itself and the other mountain we had been watching for hours.
Crashing creek just beneath our campsite. Photo taken by Alex Walt.
Both of these two colossal heaps of rock had glaciers clinging to the steep mountain sides. We headed up the meadow valley for another 300 meters and set up camp with a vista grande of both Giants. Cerro Castillo was unreal. I speak for many when I say I have never to date seen a mountain so jagged, with so many twisted spires and towers and spikes littering the ridgelines. The sunset early over the high adjacent ridgeline, but the golden hour seemed to last an eternity, each minute projecting new lighting ice and rock.
Golden hour on the mountain. Photo taken by Alex Walt.
The last full day commenced with a beautiful walk past the glacial lake beneath Cerro Castillo. After a group picture was taken with the behemoth of a mountain at our backs, we ascended up the opposing ridgeline, quickly gaining elevation. It was a classic scramble, something many of us were familiar with from mountain climbing back in the states. And the reward was rich, we stood with an unbroken view of Cerro Castillo in all of its power and glory. What a mountain. We walked the ridge for a few kilometers, perpetually mesmerized by the prominent peaks that characterized Cerro Castillo. A few times I almost fell over as my hypnosis with the alpine scenery out-competed for my focus on what I was walking on.
Professors Kyla Zaret and Elizabeth Brunner stand in awe under might Cerro Castillo. Photo taken by Alex Walt.
After lunch, we left Cerro Castillo behind, and descended roughly 900 meters in an abrupt jolt down the loose rock slope. Our saving grace for this slightly irritatingly uneasy path were two new towers, with beauty rivaling what we had spent all day gazing at. It’s funny really, when one thinks of Patagonia they match up El Chalten and Torres del Paine with the typical image, and Cerro Castillo flies under the radar. It truly is a unspoken gem.
Our final day consisted of yet another enchanting walk down through lush lenga forest. One couldn’t help but smile in such a fairy tale kind of place. Once out of the lenga forest, we walked along a gravel road flanked by gentle cow and sheep pastures all the way back 6 kilometers to Villa Cerro Castillo. Our journey was over; we took off our boots and like the classic filthy travelers we exemplified, we baked our smelly feet in the sun right in the middle of the town square. Passing folks and locals simply smiled, we must not have been the first group to sprawl out after such an enriching trek.
I crossed the Argentina/Chile border and am now looking out over the beautiful Lago Nahuel Huapi, getting close to Bariloche. When I get there I’ll have to figure out a taxi to get to my hostel. This should be a comical series of interactions, as my Spanish is as smooth as sandpaper and I only have Chilean Pesos, no Argentine currency. Goodbye rigorous and beautiful searches for endangered huemul deer; hello again to stiff language barriers.
The last three months have encompassed some of the most unique experiences in my life. I have never been so far from development; never witnessed so much flowing changes in perspectives, never been so long without having a phone or a watch, never been away from home for so long. I watched the days get longer and longer, making rising and falling with the sun a ritual. I had the privilege to watch this vast and wild landscape undergo a seasonal shift, sprouting a lively and rejuvenated green after a long and tiresome winter. I think the next time (oh yeah, there will for sure be a next time) I come down to Patagonia, I’d like it to be in the Austral Fall, where I can watch the youthful green leaves of the Lenga turn red and gold, and the landscape as a whole prepare itself for hibernation in winter.
I am not sure quite yet what the biggest takeaway from this past three months have been. Perhaps it’s how to beat a joke to death, and then keep going, squeezing every last chuckle out. Perhaps it’s how to stay on good terms with a group of people after being spending almost every minute together for three months. It could be the understanding of the importance of biodiversity or ecosystem services. Maybe it has something to do with where we belong though, how we can make effective impacts on the world around us, and how we might apply our passions into real world problems.
Whatever it may be, our experiences as Round River students will continue to shine in our archives. We’ll eventually return to our homes in the States, our journeys over and treks complete. But fortunately these experiences we shared down here together will persist, and when one of our attentions drifts away from the trivial study cramming we might be doing in college, it might just find solace in recreating some of those feelings that were so bright and powerful at the moments they were felt. I look forward to it, and can’t lie that I am already looking back at some of the classic moments and fighting back a smile.