As I promised in the last post I would write about our trek through Cerro Castillo. The account follows:
After a night in Coyaihque we boarded a bus headed south. Only, we were getting off early. I was awakened by the driver yelling "Las Horquetas Grandes!!!!" as the bus pulled over on the side of the road, hills on both sides, a river to our right, a small gravel tournout and a sign with a man hiking on it.
This was it. From there we began a 40+ km through hike that would take us south past the big and beautiful (and beastly) cerro castillo glacier.
The first day was mild. It was far, 13km but had hardly any impasses except some small river crossings. We hiked through forest (Langa or Nothofagus pumilio, for those who might care) and through valley, wondering where our special hike would take us in the coming days.
We made camp and said goodnight to cloudy skies that had yet to release their full bladders on us (that was the delight of the next two days). That was the first night in "Agua Bella" our almost waterproof tent.
The second day was "the most extreme day of my life".... after a short hike from camp we were standing looking at the convergence many streams into a great river, coursing through the valley in front of us. Tall spiers and glacier covered faces towered over us, causing us to wonder where the path went. one word: UP.
In addition, it had been a leisurely morning and leisurely afternoon, so we didnt really start on the trail til, oh, yawn, oh tea, another yawn, yes 1:45pm. So we pushed on, with some sense of urgency as the day light hours (though long in the southern summer) were limited.
We scaled the mountain face after coming out of a steep ascent through the forest. Crawling over rocks we slowly realized that we were going up and over what we presumed was a pass in front of us. The going was trying: on all fours at times, boots soaking wet from the river (although we were all all wet from rain) we crossed back and forth, we slowly progressed upwards (packs on our backs, Mikes probably about 50 pounds, mine a bit less... aka TOO Heavy!!!)
Upon summitting we discovered that we were going to cross an ice and snow field! Oh joy. It was 5pm by now and windy and raining. The pass was most breathtaking. We crunched by on the hardened snow and ice, and viewed a looming glacier overhanging the rock face to our right, one of several we would see on the trek.
The descent was difficult, scuttling down a steep hillside on scree (loose rocks and debris) required complete focus and attention because any misstep could lead to a slide and a broken ankle or God knows what. On our way down Mike spied a glistening object far from its natural home, its natural home being a drawer in your kitchen or mine. It was a spoon. Not just a spoon as Mike immediately recognized, it was his ´Magic glacier spoon!´which he vows to use on backpacking trips until "I lose it or it breaks."
An artifact of human life signifying that whoever had left their spoon had surely not passed there too far in front of us was a reassuring sign.
Reaching the treeline was like taking the first sip of water from a far off oasis in a 1000 mile desert. I hugged the first tree I saw. We trugged along the soft trail through the woods next to the river, which was now gushing, swelling with the water from all preceeding waterfalls, ultimately from the glacier, darkness accompanying.
We forded a waist deep ice cold portion of the river to get to the camp, following karins (directive piles of rocks) left by other voyagers. Mike took off his shoes in an attempt to spare his feet from total wetness. I plunged through, feet already soaked and not really having the energy to labor in taking on and off the boots and socks.
Another crossing, after we passed a trail sign for the camp ended up doing him in anyway. Water up and over the boots.
We made camp in the rain, it was dark and the forest thick around us. A simple meal of pasta, packaged sauce and dried mushrooms never tasted so good. All was wet except for the interior of our tent, refuge for the night and a welcomed end to what we thought was the conclusion to the most challenging day of the hike.
In the morning it still rained. Sheets of rain blew across the valley, from our forested lookout we could see the river coursing to the west, rapids formed at this point, I prayed we wouldn´t have to ford it.
We mobilized around 12pm. Filled with oatmeal and armed with layers and waterproof exteriors we charged on. We did not realize, from our photo of a map on my camera, that the topo lines once again scrunched together and read nearly 2000m, or that we would be passing next to the granddaddy itself, the gaping glacial face of Cerro Castillo (cerro meaning mountain, or spier) at 2675m high.
The going was fine at first, wet but fine. We crossed through more forest and stoppped for lunch in a protected site with young trees providing curled limbs for seats. We were headed up another pass, but it didn´t look nearly as steep the day before.
We could see after trudging upstream next to a relatively slow and shallow river (perhaps even just a stream) that we would be looking into the face of a glacier, perhaps passing close by it. Upon approach we were delighted to set eyes on the bluest of blue lakes fed by the glacial waters of the glacier high above. The glacier (blue and white and brown all over as I described it) was awesome. It hung, impossibly, like a tongue, too big for its mouth, edging out over the lip and off a steep 500 foot high face subject to the forces of gravity and possibly ice melt (meaning basal lubrication, meaning a faster rate of melting meaning a sooner end to its unfathomably long life). We peered at this lake from close up. Had it been a beautiful Patagonian day we would have been hot from the hike and would have perhpas dipped into this mystifying lake that seemed to possess magical qualities and was perhaps inhabited by a cold-loving swimming dinosaur or some other fabled beast.
We climbed a ramp of rocks that led us to a vista high above this lake. I though this was where we would begin our descent. I was quite simply, wrong. From atop our perch we saw the tiny town of Villa Cerro Castillo we would eventually end up at, a valley in the distance and the big and powerful Ibañez river. We saw a larger water body, possibly the ocean farther off yet. The far away clouds took shape and color and texture, giving us hope that the blank cloud of rain we were now enveloped in would break, giving us a break and possibly lifting some of the somberness that accompanied us on this wild trek.
We saw karins running up the spine of the mountain... and to our left, the edge which was presumably a cliff, likely meeting the ground thousands of feet below. I decided not to check.
We soldiered on up this ridge, the bluest of blue lakes radiating below us. As we climbed we realized we were becoming eye height with the glacier, Cerro Castillo. The folds of ice were visible, the brown rock and debris that dirtied the glacier's blue and white face became more clear, the mass of ice and snow that comprised the glacier, finally visible in its entirety. The wind was loud and blew in unpredictable gusts. The cold air chilled my face and hands. We summitted this terrific mountain that would not end only to discover our downward path funneled down the mountain via piles of rocks, giant rocks, small rocks, it was all loose scree. Shit.
The wind gusts blew off our pack covers and added to my uncertainty about this route. We were naive to come without hiking poles and especially without a map, totally unaware of the terrain, the ice fields, the intense altitude gains and losses and the scampering. I found out how much I loved flat ground, hot food, and my mom, so please, God, help us get down safely, I do not want to deploy my GPS device up here on the mountain, helicopters wouldn´t be able to land here anyway!
The hillside wore us out. It was hours of carefully placed footfalls, battling strong winds and occasionally butt sliding a ways on the loose footing. We had seen no one since the morning. As we descended further and further we searched for a trail that would redirect us from our rocky substrate to the soft soils, and a path perhaps, in the steep hillside of Langa forests around us. No such luck.
At some point, late in the afternoon. Weather was constant and our walk down the mountain had taken serious psychological toll. Mike began to lose enthusiasm and hope, I was already desperate. Where the hell was the campsite, our photo of map told us it was only 6ish km, not that far! It was getting close to dark by the time we finally exited the dry river bed and turned onto a trail. Mike said: I see camp!
I said: don´t joke with me like that
And then he was moving quickly, excitedly up over a *man made* (humans had been there before us!) log foot bridge and down a small hill into camp. We hugged, high fived, other Chileans in camp noted our elation and welcomed us.
The rain had miraculously stopped and we made delicious falaco toffles (falaffel tacos) with fish and cheese. Most interesting cuisine, but the tastiest ever. I was silly after two meager sips of whiskey and whisked myself into the tent around 9. I was intact, had seen the most epic glacier of my life up close and quite personally, was dry and sure that NOW I had had the most extreme two days of my life.
The rest of the route was purely peppery. We woke in the morning, leisurely had oats and checked and rechecked the route for the next day on our Chilean campsite neighbors proper map. We would be walking all the way into town on a nicely cut path, through slowly descending forest into ranchland and out on a dirt road.
It was delightful. Our packs were lighter (removal of food and drenched item weight) and our spirits lighter still.
The biggest treat on the way home, on the dirt road was the rippened Calafate berries which I was familiar with from past encounters. These were the best calafate berries yet. The resemble blueberries but are smaller and darker, their seeds are slightly tangy and they grow on a thorny bush (Berberis buxifolia) that can be a really prick.
They turned my tongue blue as I feasted regularly. I introduced Mike and he too delighted in their deliciousness and accessibility, aside from the ocassional dammit, of a thorn encounter.
We had made it. We set foot on the Carreterra Austral and nearly laid down to kiss the pavement (at least I did, Mike was more stoic about the rigor of the whole thing..optomistic, accomodating and ensuring safety as much as he possibly could, a good leader indeed).
Laced with glee we charged for the nearest hospedaje (hostel) which was Hebrew friendly. My body drank in the hot water as I showered, my soul the hot green cranberry tea we brewed in the afternoon, my mind totally awash with emotions, mostly stoked-ness at this point, but still swimming so hard from the mental rigor of the past few days´ tide that I wouldn´t regain control of it until sometime the next day.
Bliss set in and triumph and stories and recounting of pictures. On 7.50 US dollars per day we got the glacial experience, ice field trekking, steep hillsides, rocky river bottoms, chilled river crossings, Patagoinan weather, and all that jazz. A chart topper in many regards, I loved Cerro Castillo, I hate it, it scared me like nothing else. Obviously I will never forget it.
So, that´s the story.
Guanacos in fine form
