Fin del mundo

I've made it to the southernmost city in the world - Ushuaia.

I crossed the Straight of Magellan to get here. That was a strong moment - feeling the history of this passage and province, where so many great explorers faced hardships unimaginable.

Ushuaia is a great city. It's way too expensive, but the waterfront, mountains, and national park are hard to beat.

In Tierra del Fuego national park I found one of the best views of my trip. Standing on that summit was a true highlight of my time in South America.

Torres del Paine

Enter Chile. Heading next to Torres del Paine national park I crossed the border and stayed a night in the park's gateway town Puerto Natales.

I like this town. At first I thought it was slummy and beat - which the buildings are. But the people aren't. This town would be here with or without the park, and because of that it doesn't have a gilded, masquerading feel.

After getting what I needed I took the two hour bus ride to the park, getting dropped at the entrance with an overloaded backpack.

If you search for best hikes in the world, the Torres del Paine Circuit or "W" treks are usually included. The W is a 4 or so day trip on one side of the Torres, going up and down a few valleys in a W fashion. The circuit circles the Torres, finishing by doing the W. I spent 7 days completing the circuit.

If you're deciding between the two, choose the circuit. The non-W portion of the circuit was less crowded, more varying in terrain, and much more satisfying. Ending with the highlights of the W felt like a earned reward, a culmination of long days and good efforts.

Patagonia has notoriously bad, windy, rainy weather. I had some bad weather, but some good weather too, so I lucked out. Some people do the whole circuit without getting a view of the famous, granite towers.

The wind was usually there, rain was never far away, and for four days the clouds mostly blocked the sun - but the pass on the far side of the circuit I hiked up and over was under a full blizzard the day I crossed. Twenty brave souls tried to cross that day, and only six of us made it. The others turned back. The wind howled and the snow came down with a sting. I couldn't make out the crossing, but the trail was marked every thirty yards with an orange marker. It was difficult enough to look up and search for the next pole, and sometimes impossible to see it through the whiteout. Once over and back down to tree line the weather improved, and the great Greys Glacier stretched as far as the eye could see.

Enough writing, here are some pictures.

Perito Moreno

After El Chaltén I bussed to El Calafate. It's a slightly bigger town with more tourists, drawn to the one main attraction - the Perito Moreno glacier. An hour or two from town, this single glacier covers 97 square miles. It's just one of the 48 glaciers in the southern Patagonian ice field, which holds the third largest reserve of fresh water on the planet. It's also one of only three of those 48 glaciers that are still growing.

You take a bus to the park, then get dropped off at a boardwalk in front of the glacier itself. There you have a couple hours to stare at the big ice cube.

It's quite a view. The leading edge stands over 200 feet above the water, making the scale hard to grasp. You just stand around with other people and wait for big chunks of ice to break off and crash into the water below. It was great to see, though honestly, I don't want these quick stop, big crowd, photograph grabbing sights to be the essence of my trip.

They exploit these places as circus attractions and it's a shame we get distracted by the big eye-catchers, glossing over the true heart of a place. The view was great, the experience was mediocre. There is as much beauty in rural Indiana as there is right here, and its that element that gets overlooked at places like this. Well, that's just something that's been on my mind.

Nevertheless, it was stunning and absolutely beautiful to behold.

Southbound

After a month or so on the ranch I went south. First to San Martin de Los Andes, a touristy village in stark contrast to where I had been. I meet some friends from earlier in my travels for a day of rafting. Then, a few days later, I kept going south.

I made it to El Chaltén, 49 degrees S, 73 degrees W. It's an amazing little, chilled town surrounded up close by mountains and glaciers. You can see Mount Fitz Roy from town, and almost touch it. Even though January Is the height of the tourist season it doesn't feel half as crowded as any beach or ski town - partially because of the gauntlet to get here. There are two options, plane or bus.

I took the bus - a 28 hour experience through some of the remotest country I've ever seen. Patagonia is a desolate place. The Andes are on the west, and the ocean is on the east, in the middle is a dry, empty, flat, wind torn, sun scorched swath of land with bare horizons on either side. But it was beautiful in its own right - I saw many llamas and ostriches along the way.

I saw very few cars though. The roads were dirt, sometimes only appearing half constructed, leaving our bus to travel at a crawl for parts. It turned out to be a bone yard, both for literal bones (which litter Patagonia), and for cars. We passed fewer than ten cars outside the few small towns early on, but we did come across two broken down further on which we stopped, got out and offered assistance for. The first car had apparently rolled (the two occupants were fine), and we helped change two tires and push it back on the road. The second was a car with its front axle broken. We moved the car to the side of the road and shuttled the stranded folks further along.

Needless to say, when we finally turned west and the Andes began to appear, it was a blessing. The mountains appeared suddenly, big black rock with clear, crisp white snow on their upper flanks, glaciers filling valleys and bowls. The tops of the peaks were hidden beneath mist and clouds. But then for the next few days, everything shinned magnificently.

I enjoyed the weather, and spent some time hiking and camping.

A final ranch post

The gaucho culture is a dying thing. Just as there aren't anymore cowboys, the modern world spreads, blends, and mars cultures like this. It doesn't happen completely against their will either. No one wants to be a museum piece. I was able to see what must be near to the last remnants of this culture, drinking maté with old timers who spend eight months a year by themselves with no communication to the outside world. Some even avoid gringos like me, and I don't blame them. Yet people like me come. The world is closing in, and they themselves build more and more fences, the single thing which directly makes their work expendable, along with the lifestyle that revolved around their work. Hats off to these guys though, the ones who still carry on the old ways.

Gaucho can

This is world class trout country - the estancia overlooks what has been rated one of the top 5 trout fishing rivers in the world. Luckily there was a fly fishing client who provided many beautiful rainbow trout dinners for us all.
The authentic, gaucho fishing method, however, uses an unsophisticated Gaucho Can instead of a pole and reel. It's simply a metal can with a wooden stick nailed in for a handle, with fishing line wrapped around the can, and just a lure on the end. Your thumb holds the line from unraveling.
On the mountain trip three guys, one being a gaucho, went fishing, all using cans. They caught 28 trout. The gaucho, however, caught 20 of those.

Pictures: the gaucho can; fresh rainbow trout; me in front of the mountain I was climbing when I missed the fishing -although I had a go at it later.

Estancia 2

Where I was staying were only satellites off the main estancia. After that first period I transferred to the main estancia for a short bit, which had less ranch and gaucho culture and a more remote Patagonia vacation getaway vibe - tourists stayed there at ridiculous rates to ride and fish. But it was still a good five hours to the nearest town. In addition to horse related work, I began a carpentry apprenticeship. There were many great volunteers here as well and a good time was had.

I'm posting this entry using an awful app which won't let me order pictures or insert them in the text, so I'll just dump a bunch at the bottom.

In whatever order you'll see the sawmill we used to get lumber for the house we were building; me getting a goat for Christmas dinner which I picked up from a gaucho an hours ride away and brought back on my lap; the Christmas dinner asado; plus a few pictures from a three day mountain trip I got to accompany some clients on, where we caught and ate trout from a lake and I took a horse swimming.

Estancia

After a couple days in Buenos Aires I took an overnight bus south, into the northern fringe of Patagonia. From getting off the first bus, I switched to a bus beefed up enough to handle three hours north on a road that would have destroyed my Civic. I got off in a tiny town at a one room, stone wall tin roof bus station. I was picked up there, and continued on horseback for an evening and morning until I arrived at the estancia. I spent the next couple weeks immersed with gauchos, eating goat and onions, managing horses, herding cattle, and drinking their only drinks, mate and boxed wine. I dug right in.

Making bread from stratch.

Herding horses.

Camping under the southern stars.

Surviving the Andes.