Saturday, December 30, 2006
Next Up -- Torres del Paine, Chile
We're off to celebrate New Year's (and Rosemary's 35th birthday) on a 10-day trek in Torres del Paine National Park, in Chile. This will be the longest backpacking trip either one of us rangers has ever done, and we're really looking forward to the immersion in the unique landscape of Torres. Have a happy new year and we'll post again in 2007!
Perito Moreno Glacier, Calafate, Argentina
The grandest glacier of them all, Perito Moreno stands about 55 meters tall, stretches 5 km at its snout, and extends about 30 km to reach the Hielo Sur (southern continental icefield). We are looking at its terminus in Lago Argentina. We could see about the first 14 km of it.
Images of the glacier.
It is one of the most acitve glaicer around, meaning that it is frequently calving (icebergs breaking of and falling into the water). The glacier itself is static, which means that it is neither growing longer, nor shrinking like many other glaciers are. Below is an image of one of the larger chunks of ice crashing off into the lake below--quite a sight to behold, and especially to hear. It sounds like thunder.
Images of the glacier.It is one of the most acitve glaicer around, meaning that it is frequently calving (icebergs breaking of and falling into the water). The glacier itself is static, which means that it is neither growing longer, nor shrinking like many other glaciers are. Below is an image of one of the larger chunks of ice crashing off into the lake below--quite a sight to behold, and especially to hear. It sounds like thunder.
Flores 3 -- Fitz Roy, Argentina
These are some of the fun flowers from our Fitz Roy hike. Below is what looks like another orchid. Latin name: calceolaria uriflora, if anyone wants to check it out.
Diminutive white heather, growing in the higher heath-like terrain. Smaller than our heather.
A wonderful, tiny white flower (different than the heather) that smelled as sweet as a hundred spring mornings. It perfumed our hikes.
Diminutive white heather, growing in the higher heath-like terrain. Smaller than our heather.
A wonderful, tiny white flower (different than the heather) that smelled as sweet as a hundred spring mornings. It perfumed our hikes.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Hail Mt. Fitz Roy!
After disembarking from the ferry, we bused back over the border into Argentina and headed into Los Glaciares National Park. The northern section of the park is home to two of the more famous peaks in the world of mountaineering: Monte Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre. We planned a three-night / four-day trek in this popular area.
Our spirits were about as low as the clouds, however, as we headed on the bus towards the mountains. After the rough seas and mostly poor weather on the boat ride, we were starting to lose hope of seeing Patagonia´s famous scenery. As our bus pulled into the visitor center at Los Glaciares to hear the obligatory five-minute introductory talk from the Argentinian park ranger, we were depressed to see a sign out front pointing out the names of the mountains we could theoretically see, if only the clouds were about 10,000 feet higher. The ranger sensed the dire mood of the crowd and assured us that we shouldn´t worry too much about the weather, because the forecast is always wrong, the weather can change quickly and, regardless, all those glaciers are only there because it rains and snows a lot, so we are actually seeing the park in its most common state. Everyone laughed at this, including myself, until I realized that her little speech was almost word-for-word what we say in trying to cheer up visitors at the Wilderness Office in Marblemount who are about to head out into the rain for a week. I knew from personal experience what she was really thinking was: "These sad souls, they´re going to head out into the park for days and get soaked, shiver in the cold and not see a thing! I sure am glad I´m not them and I can wait until the weather gets nice!¨
Well, our fears were right and wrong. The weather was awful and then wonderful, wonderful then awful, repeated about 20 times. The weather seems to change in Patagonia every 2 hours, no exaggeration, and we would go from sideways snow and winds so strong we literally could not hike, to warm summer sun and stunning views.
We managed to see the famous peaks, if somewhat fleetingly, but more than anything, we stood in awe of the tremendous forces of nature that exists in so narrow a geographic space: the mighty Pacific, its westerlies continually thrashing the windward side of the Andes, dumping enough snow to create the largest glacial ice field outside of the polar regions. This landscape of ice and rock quickly dissipates from west to east, as lush forests and broad valleys dominate the leeward side of the range. And moving slightly further eastward, towards the endless plains of Patagonia, there is an arid desert-like landscape very similar to Utah or Wyoming, all moisture captured in the glaciers high above. We saw this entire range of conditions visible from one spot, looking just a few miles in either direction, from glaciers to desert. But the land´s wildness is actually felt more than seen: the incessant winds of Patagonia start as air masses super-cooled by the massive ice field which then explode down the valleys. More than the beauty of the terrain or the grandeur of any one peak, I am sure it will be the winds that we will remember most.
The dry east-side of the Andes, stretching away and known as the Patagonia Steppe.
Mt. Fitz Roy, named for the captain of one of the first European exploration ships, which also carried Charles Darwin. The native name is Chalten, which means "peak of smoke¨ (they must have meant the clouds). Rosemary in the foreground, after we had scrambled up about 3,500´from our camp in the valley below.
That´s us with our friends Mike and K.B. These are not friends we just met down here, but friends from back home. Mike and I were in grad school together at Western and shared an office. Incredibly, we ended up in Patagoina at the same time on exactly the same schedule. We ran into them a couple of weeks ago in Bariloche, and then again here in Los Glaciares. We actually think they are stalking us.
Cerro Torre is the tallest pinacle on the left. It is considered one of the hardest climbs in the world. An assessment I heartily agree with after attempting to put in a new route. Unfortunately,we forgot the compressor drill and couldn´t get past the trail.
We´ve grown accustomed to glaciers at North Cascades; but there are glaciers and then there are GLACIERS. This one, below Cerro Torre, knocked us off our feet.
Our spirits were about as low as the clouds, however, as we headed on the bus towards the mountains. After the rough seas and mostly poor weather on the boat ride, we were starting to lose hope of seeing Patagonia´s famous scenery. As our bus pulled into the visitor center at Los Glaciares to hear the obligatory five-minute introductory talk from the Argentinian park ranger, we were depressed to see a sign out front pointing out the names of the mountains we could theoretically see, if only the clouds were about 10,000 feet higher. The ranger sensed the dire mood of the crowd and assured us that we shouldn´t worry too much about the weather, because the forecast is always wrong, the weather can change quickly and, regardless, all those glaciers are only there because it rains and snows a lot, so we are actually seeing the park in its most common state. Everyone laughed at this, including myself, until I realized that her little speech was almost word-for-word what we say in trying to cheer up visitors at the Wilderness Office in Marblemount who are about to head out into the rain for a week. I knew from personal experience what she was really thinking was: "These sad souls, they´re going to head out into the park for days and get soaked, shiver in the cold and not see a thing! I sure am glad I´m not them and I can wait until the weather gets nice!¨
Well, our fears were right and wrong. The weather was awful and then wonderful, wonderful then awful, repeated about 20 times. The weather seems to change in Patagonia every 2 hours, no exaggeration, and we would go from sideways snow and winds so strong we literally could not hike, to warm summer sun and stunning views.
We managed to see the famous peaks, if somewhat fleetingly, but more than anything, we stood in awe of the tremendous forces of nature that exists in so narrow a geographic space: the mighty Pacific, its westerlies continually thrashing the windward side of the Andes, dumping enough snow to create the largest glacial ice field outside of the polar regions. This landscape of ice and rock quickly dissipates from west to east, as lush forests and broad valleys dominate the leeward side of the range. And moving slightly further eastward, towards the endless plains of Patagonia, there is an arid desert-like landscape very similar to Utah or Wyoming, all moisture captured in the glaciers high above. We saw this entire range of conditions visible from one spot, looking just a few miles in either direction, from glaciers to desert. But the land´s wildness is actually felt more than seen: the incessant winds of Patagonia start as air masses super-cooled by the massive ice field which then explode down the valleys. More than the beauty of the terrain or the grandeur of any one peak, I am sure it will be the winds that we will remember most.
The dry east-side of the Andes, stretching away and known as the Patagonia Steppe.Mt. Fitz Roy, named for the captain of one of the first European exploration ships, which also carried Charles Darwin. The native name is Chalten, which means "peak of smoke¨ (they must have meant the clouds). Rosemary in the foreground, after we had scrambled up about 3,500´from our camp in the valley below.
That´s us with our friends Mike and K.B. These are not friends we just met down here, but friends from back home. Mike and I were in grad school together at Western and shared an office. Incredibly, we ended up in Patagoina at the same time on exactly the same schedule. We ran into them a couple of weeks ago in Bariloche, and then again here in Los Glaciares. We actually think they are stalking us.Cerro Torre is the tallest pinacle on the left. It is considered one of the hardest climbs in the world. An assessment I heartily agree with after attempting to put in a new route. Unfortunately,we forgot the compressor drill and couldn´t get past the trail.
We´ve grown accustomed to glaciers at North Cascades; but there are glaciers and then there are GLACIERS. This one, below Cerro Torre, knocked us off our feet.
Har, sailors we´re not, matey
The Navimag experience was an interesting one. There are many ways to get from central to southern Patagonia, but this seemed like it would be the most rewarding. It was that, but also pretty darn challenging at times. The good-size ferry made its way through endless fjords through a remote, completely unpopulated landscape -- for three and a half days! While the trip had it´s travails, as you´ll read below, it was a great way to travel (maybe just once) to the far reaches of the southern hempishphere. We met some very nice people, played lots of cards, and saw some amazing stuff.
Having fun, damn it. What amazed me most during the many times of wind and rain along the ferry route was the propensity of people (not just Michael and I) to continually venture forth from the warm common rooms of the ship onto the wind-swept deck, cameras in hand, and take pictures of more rainy vistas. In case anything had changed.
Glacier Pio XI, sweeping down to the fjords from the Hielo Sur (Southern Icefield). This icefield is the largest of any, outside Antartica. We knew we were getting closer to the glacier because the water changes color, from inky blue to milky blue-white, as more and more glacial flour pours in. That and the little icebergs that started to float past us.
Michael savors the calm as we pass through the English Narrows: at only 80 meters wide this is the narrowest passage of the journey. The waters were placid, dolpins were playing in the currents, and the sun was out. There is even a rainbow. It was as if the fjords were trying to make nice, given that it was our last day on board. It was still not enough to convince me to eat breakfast, or any food, until we were on land.
Survival: we are still standing as Puerto Natales, Chile, comes into view. The question now is--where in the hell are we? Looking out at the strange, wind swept, treeless landscape, we knew we had finally come to one of the far corners of the earth. While in Bariloche we kept remarking how similar it felt to the North Cascades. Now as we stood on the deck watching Natales come closer, we turned to each other and said as one, "We're not in the Cascades anymore!" Is this what Alaska is like? We have never seen anything like it. The ferry journey took us over 800 kilometers and 10 degrees of latitude south, to 52 degrees south. That is something different. We´ll tell you more about it as we explore.
Michael salutes our nemesis, I mean, the honorable S.S. Magellenas Navimag ferry, from the safety and solidity of dry ground as we disembark in Puerto Natales.
The bow of the boat smashes down as the waves surge under it, producing an exciting spray many meters high that washes over the first deck (we are watching from the fifth deck). This was fun for the first hour of the open crossing, until the general wooziness of cresting 6 meter waves began to lose it's charm. After that, we took to our bunks like three-fourths of the rest of the ship, and spent the next 10 hours generally curled in the fetal position, while slowly sliding back and forth as the ship listed from side to side. The ship reached the protection of the fjords again by 2 a.m., and the worst was past. In the morning, while (not) eating breakfast, the ship's crew gave us the run-down on the open passage: the aforementioned 6 meter (that is almost 20 feet) waves, and seas that reached a 7 on the Beaufort scale of 1 - 12 (12 being the worst...is this the point at which the ship breaks in half? We are not sure, but we know a 7 feels ooogy, so a 12 must be pure hell.) I rated our own performance as a 3, on a scale of 1 to 5. Five = the people who needed an IV and tranquilizers to survive, 4= losing your lunch, 3= spending 10 hours in the fetal position (that's us), and 1 and 2 being those annoying people still reading, watching the movies, eating dinner (!!!), and being generally perky the next morning. But, since neither of us had ever done an open water crossing like this, we were both glad to know how our bodies react, so that next time we can take the drugs like everyone else!
Having fun, damn it. What amazed me most during the many times of wind and rain along the ferry route was the propensity of people (not just Michael and I) to continually venture forth from the warm common rooms of the ship onto the wind-swept deck, cameras in hand, and take pictures of more rainy vistas. In case anything had changed.
Glacier Pio XI, sweeping down to the fjords from the Hielo Sur (Southern Icefield). This icefield is the largest of any, outside Antartica. We knew we were getting closer to the glacier because the water changes color, from inky blue to milky blue-white, as more and more glacial flour pours in. That and the little icebergs that started to float past us.
Michael savors the calm as we pass through the English Narrows: at only 80 meters wide this is the narrowest passage of the journey. The waters were placid, dolpins were playing in the currents, and the sun was out. There is even a rainbow. It was as if the fjords were trying to make nice, given that it was our last day on board. It was still not enough to convince me to eat breakfast, or any food, until we were on land.
Survival: we are still standing as Puerto Natales, Chile, comes into view. The question now is--where in the hell are we? Looking out at the strange, wind swept, treeless landscape, we knew we had finally come to one of the far corners of the earth. While in Bariloche we kept remarking how similar it felt to the North Cascades. Now as we stood on the deck watching Natales come closer, we turned to each other and said as one, "We're not in the Cascades anymore!" Is this what Alaska is like? We have never seen anything like it. The ferry journey took us over 800 kilometers and 10 degrees of latitude south, to 52 degrees south. That is something different. We´ll tell you more about it as we explore. Michael salutes our nemesis, I mean, the honorable S.S. Magellenas Navimag ferry, from the safety and solidity of dry ground as we disembark in Puerto Natales.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
