By Clara Friedman (Macalester College)
We started this week of Chacabuco field work with plenty of excitement on the horizon. Following our dramatic discovery last week of the itinerary and food schedule of the mysterious “Riverdale Outdoors” leadership trip, bets were wagered on every aspect of their identity. Opinions varied wildly—they were definitely college students, 60-year-old retirees, 40-somethings in marriage counseling. (And what airport was RCS? Is that in England? Are they British? Will they have accents?) We knew they would be camping at the same campsite we were using on Monday night, and that they would be eating “Saucy Pasta”, so at the end of vizcacha surveys that afternoon we hurried to camp in anticipation. We had some perfectly innocent questions prepared, including “So how long have you guys been in Patagonia? (Since March 12th), What have you been doing? (Hiking the Aviles Trail in the Jeinimeni and Lagunas Altas), and most importantly, How did you find bagels in Southern Chile?!
Appraising some vizcacha cliffs for the afternoon
But when we descended on them that night, the poor group of high school seniors looked taken aback and rather wary of our enthusiasm, endless questions and intimate knowledge of their activities. And alas, no accents to be heard (RCS stood for the name of their school in New York City). And although one of us came up with the perfect prank of sneaking up on them as they slept outside their tents (dressed all in black, of course) and unscrewing their sleeping pads, we ultimately made the selfless decision to let them enjoy their last night in Patagonia in relative peace. We’re saving all our pranks for April 1st, anyway.
Early morning bird survey lookout
After eleven days of bird and vizcacha field work in the Chacabuco and spending a weekend furiously writing our ConBio midterms, the time was ripe for a change of pace, and we finally did so on Tuesday by completing our longest hike yet.
Starting from Los West Winds, the well-manicured campground just beyond Administración in the west side of the valley (It has real bathrooms! With showers! And hot water!), we started hiking up the side of the enormous cliffs to the east, heading for Lagunas Altas, the high elevation lakes near the top of Cerro Tamangito. We took a long 10 mile trail upwards, meandering through shaded lenga forests draped with old man’s beard lichen and carpeted by patches of Chilean sweet cicely. We then stopped for a break to view the network of lakes nestled among the increasingly red-tinted trees, watch the flocks of bright green Austral Parakeets flit across the blushing forest landscapes, and take some pictures with Russell’s handcrafted selfie stick. After several more pleasantly relaxing miles, we reached the highest lake, a shockingly clear, icy blue body of water perched at the edge of the ridgeline overlooking the valley, where we rested for lunch.
After a lovely meal of bread pucks, cheese and salami wildly improved by the addition of cucumber and tomato, many members of the group wanted to make a push for the summit of Tamangito, looming so invitingly just out of reach. Some people stayed at the lake to nap, stretch, and swim while the rest of us charged on ahead to reach the top. After merely 45 minutes of straight uphill hiking off trail, we emerged to breathtaking views. Snow and glacier covered mountains rose up in the distance in every direction, and the cloudless day allowed us to see San Valentin and San Lorenzo, the two tallest mountains of Patagonia, in spectacularly crisp detail. The Chacabuco Valley lay spread out before us, Los West Winds and Administración tiny green blips in the otherwise glorious expanse of cliffs, hills, and steppe. To the east, we could even see the flat plane of Argentina peeking through the gaps. There was time for mountaintop pushups, celebratory cookies, and spying on the lake nappers with our binoculars.
Finally it was time to rejoin the rest of the group before heading down to camp. As we scrambled down the rock bluffs and debris channels, I mentally added surfing down mountainside cliffs on waves of loose, cascading rocks to the list of skills I never thought I’d gain in Patagonia (right up there with ordering chocolate bars in Spanish, crossing thigh-deep mud bogs in record time, and reaching expert level in hacky sack). We noticed the boys were taking rather a long time to descend in proportion to the length of their long, gangly legs, and sure enough within five minutes they appeared, hurling snowballs at us from above with snow they’d gathered into the rainflies of their daypacks. However, accurate aim is not a skill they can add to their lists, so the snowball fight was more of an entertaining diversion with occasional bursts of refreshing spray. We then made the long trek downward, stands of ubiquitous Amor Seco leaving its trace wherever it could, causing me to stop and remove burrs from the inside of my shorts multiple times. Finally we arrived back at camp exhausted from the 14 miles, but with enough energy to make up a new one-touch soccer passing game (no tea parties, one Golden Hand allowed per round, hilarity mandatory). Our shouts and laughter rivaled the distant echoing of guanaco screams in the distance.
After living and working here in Chile for so long, it’s started to hit home that this program might actually end someday. Shocked by the date, Nina and I stayed up late one night talking about how fast time was passing and how the rate was accelerating, both here and at home, and how we needed to live more fully, seize the day, and make the most out of life… before we realized we were lying in a tent in Patagonia, doing real-world conservation work. Basically the definition of making the most out of life. Guess we’re doing something right!
(all photos by Rachel Ross)