By Rob McManus of the College of St. Ben’s St. John’s University
Amidst all of the concerning news updates on COVID-19 we received at our basecamp in Cochrane, one of the tasks we were assigned was to plan an environmental education outing for a 4th grade class at the Cayuqueo glacier. Our instructors thought that the planning would be best done at the glacier itself. So we all loaded up the Mitsu van and began the hour and a half long trip to the glacier; only after making sure to stop by Rojita’s for lunch meat, fruits, veggies, and the vital sleeve of cookies. Similar to other Patagonian driving experiences, the scenery we drove through was jaw droppingly gorgeous and our eyes feasted on the bright blue glacial rivers, the stoic towering mountains, and the ruby red Calafate berries calling out for birds – and Round River students – to eat them.
As this was my second month in Patagonia, I was not expecting much from the Cayuqueo glacier. I had seen a decent number of glaciers on previous trips and had not paid much attention to them. However, at the end of our drive, the Mitsu turned a corner and the Cayuqueo glacier rapidly came into full view. For the first time in my life, I was truly speechless. The immensity of the landscape was almost indescribable. We parked the van and Matt, our instructor, told us to take 10 minutes to absorb what we were looking at. The stunning marine blue glacier appeared to flow down from out of the clouds until it met its immense glacial lake. The glacier was bookended by towering spires of rock on the left and right which seemed to frame one of nature’s greatest pictures. I felt small compared to the seemingly timeless river of ice carving itself a home in the rock. The natural silence was deafening, and the air was crisp: a perfect day.
After the initial wave of awe swept over me, I was hit with a sense of sadness. The distinct Lenga tree line which outlined the valley displayed a clear image of how colossal Cayuqueo used to be a mere 100 years ago. It was unbelievable that so much mass could melt in such a geologically short amount of time. I was scared to know that its melting will only accelerate in the future. I then felt thankful for having the opportunity to still be able to experience the glacier before it was gone, and remorse for the future generations who will not be able to have the same sense of awe I had experienced. Matt then brought us together in a group and asked us to share what we were thinking. A majority of the group also expressed negative emotions of fear and sorrow to which Matt replied, “Good”.
I was, at first, taken back by his response. He then explained that our feeling of wonder and sadness is exactly what we need to fuel our drive for conservation. Conservation biology is a crisis discipline, it requires taking action before its too late, even if all the information required is not available. Conservation is hard. Having the image of the melting glacier is exactly what we students need to inspire us to recycle, take shorter showers, reduce our consumerism, attain an environmental education, and take up scientific and political activism. We can stop it, but we must act now. Waiting is no longer a luxury we can afford.
The rest of the day consisted of creating lesson plans that we will now never get to teach and driving back listening to an odd mix of old Kanye and Johnny Cash. This was our final day in Patagonia before we learned our program was being cancelled for the semester as a result of the pandemic. As sad as I am to now be home, I am so appreciative I was able to see Cayuqueo on the last day. I cannot wait to return one day.
