Archive for November 21st, 2009

I left Chile. When I walked to the (previously mentioned) trailhead in the rain, the little Chileno actually told me that Chilean national parks are closed to camping until the first of December, because the extended rain sometimes causes trails to get washed out, stranding backpackers. So I knocked on the car window of the only other goofball silly enough to go hiking in the lluvia and asked him for a ride back to Lenca. He turned out to be a nice enough guy, a British expat living in Puerto Montt with his Chilean bride and daughter. He seemed a bit dodgy about discussing his life there in Chile, but when we started talking about hikes in the area, he really opened up and described a dozen or more beautiful nearby hikes (or “walks” as he called them) on volcanoes or to mountain lakes or incredible vistas, but after each one, said something like, “but you won’t be able to do it now, it’ll be covered with snow,” or “too bad right now the rain clouds will make it impossible to view.” So I decided to take a bus as quickly as I could back to Argentina and, hopefully, the sun.

I got to Bariloche (the third time) the next day and checked into the Hostel Inn, a nice place right down the street from Pudu Hostel and Marcopolo. It has a great view and an English-speaking reception, which is nice for those of us who are lazy. And then I went to talk to my hairy malcontent pal at Club Andino. I was all high hopes and expectations as I walked in the office, as the sun was shining a bit (it was only ‘mostly cloudy’!), and I knew that there were many hikes that I’d missed during my two other stints in town. Remember how I wrote that the fellow looked me up and down and told me to go to Refugio Frey the last time I was there? Well, it turns out that he told me that not because I look amateurish or anything (because I don’t, my bright red gaiters make me look like a pro), but because it was the only refugio hikable that early in the year. He told me that they won’t let people go up to the other places without a guide, which cost around AR$2800. So. Guess where I went? Refugio Frey again! I managed to find another campground down on the edge of Lago Gutierrez, which seemed to be connected somehow to the Refugio Frey hike, and so I filled out a little paperwork, asked the grumpy beard about a bus, and went to buy some cookies and pasta.

The plan to get to the trailhead was relatively straightforward. I bought a Via Bariloche ticket for a distance of about 25K to a point on a map near the South end of Lago Gutierrez (which only cost two pesos), put most of my heavy stuff into a locker at the hostel, went back to the bus station, got on the bus, pointed at my 30 peso trail map to the place I needed to go, and responded with a “Si, señor” to el conductor’s rapid and lengthy response. No problem, right? I chatted with an elderly man on the short ride for a while, discussing his life and El Bolson* until we came to the end of Lago Gutierrez. And passed it. My only recourse at this point was to make my way up to the front of the bus and say, “Señor, camping es cerca, no?” to which he replied with a lengthy string of words in a language that I really don’t understand at all sometimes. But a short time later he seemed pleased to tell me that “Si, camping. Aqui.” and I got out.

And was immediately lost. I realized after about an hour of wandering around on cow trails and getting stuck in thorny thickets that he’d left me at the North end of another, nearby lake, not the South end of Lago Gutierrez.

So I walked on the highway for a few kilometros (and crossed the continental divide!) to find the entrance to Los Baqueneros, a huge, posh and completely, desperately empty campground staffed by Ignacio and his very pregnant wife, a couple of mean-looking gauchos, and a whole mess of beef cattle. It was comfortable, and expensive (AR$25! For camping!), and I left the next morning to make my way up to Refugio Frey.

My camp at Los Baqueneros:

Los Baqueneros is situated at the South end of Lago Gutierrez, and next to it, in the Southwest corner of the lake, are a string of private estancias. The lake is evidently public, but the land is private, so these landowners build their barbed wire fences right up to the waterline, which meant that to get to my trailhead, I needed to walk in the lake. This was fine until I came to a stream that worked its way through an estancia and came out under the fence to flow into the lake. The motion of the water carved out a chunk of the lake bed, making the water there about thigh level at its deepest. I crossed it, cursed the selfishness of these rich landowners, and hiked the rest of the way up the mountain with soggy boots.

It was of course fun up at Refugio Frey. I said hi to Alan and played Uno with a crazy Brazilian/Chilean/Italian named G’e who came up to the refugio “to drink wine,” which he did in spades. I decided to camp out for an adventure (and to save some pesos), and was warm enough, but the wind whipping over the mountain range kept me awake for a while, and I woke up covered with a thin layer of snow inside my tent.

My camp at Refugio Frey (II):

Entonces, I came back to the hostel, booked a trip to El Chalten for two days later, and did some laundry.

I decided to try another refugio hike the next day against the counsel of Beardy at Club Andino, and it was very pretty, and pretty steep, but a totally different experience than an overnight hike. I felt about 40 pounds lighter (which I was, without a big pack), and had a lot of fun tramping around in the snow at the top. It wasn’t dangerous at all, and took me as long to go to the top and back as the map said it took to go one way, so I’m glad I didn’t heed the grumpy man’s advice. And a very kind man who was collecting tree trimming debris from the side of the road gave me a ride back to a bus stop outside Bariloche, and when he realized that I couldn’t understand him that well, he compensated by speaking VERY LOUDLY. So that was fun.

Refugio Lopez:

*He moved to El Bolson 35 years ago and stayed for 6 years before heading back to Buenos Aires, which makes me think that he, like many others who moved to El Bolson in the 70’s, was fleeing persecution from the military dictatorship. And he said that he had a son still living there, so he may have moved all those years ago, and given up his lifestyle in Buenos Aires for the sake of his son’s safety. At least that’s what I’m going to think.