Iceland Improvised
I’ll be away in Iceland for vacation and a personal photo project. Be sure to check out the photos and my blog at http://iceland.nomadik.nu
Valle de Frances
A flash of yellow – someone´s tent was flying above the low-growing Patagonian beech forest, as we watched from the comfort of the wood-stove-warmed mountain hut. A few seconds later, flashes of green and red followed. The tent´s brightly-attired owners weaved through the trees to chase down their 8b lb 4 oz abode. ¨Ultralight gear¨ is great on the back, but flies like a kite in the Patagonian wind if you don´t stake it down properly.
¨That´s unfortunate,¨ commented the Dutch couple next to me as they warmed their hands around a mug of hot tea. They were of course concerned, but couldn´t find the words in English to express it… better. We were waiting for the refugio staff to serve dinner.
The hut was especially full tonight, and some late arrivals were forced to camp outside the refugio tonight for lack of beds. The refugio was full of french, dutch, scotts, kiwis… and Americans. Americans, especially a group of six American college girls, can get somewhat rowdy. I haven´t seen another American in five days . But two of the girls were from Colorado; we intended to facebook eachother. The Americans that I have met were usually from the active-lifestyle states – Colorado, Alaska, Washington, Montana. Not another soul from New Jersey.
While I was heading east to Las Torres, this group was heading west to the Grey Glacier. Inexperienced hikers seemed alarmed that I was hiking alone.
¨Are there other hikers heading in your direction?¨ asked one of the couples, who was here for their honeymoon.
¨Yes, I know there´s an Israeli and German heading in my direction. And I´ll usually see another hiker pass every hour or so,¨ I answered.
¨So if you break a leg, you just have to wait an hour to get help?¨
¨Yep.¨ I didn´t think long about the comment. It was a calculated risk, and I did bring duct tape 
Torres del Paine is quite crowded, and I wasn´t veering off the trails except to commune with nature no more than twenty feet away from the trail. (Read: ¨commune with nature¨ = ¨potty break¨)
My thoughts ran back to the yellow tent in flight. Just hours ago I was hiking on an exposed ridge in Valle de Frances in my own battle against the wind.
(6 hours earlier)
¨F*$K!!!¨ My head peeked above treeline as I approached the exposed ridge in the center of the valley. A sudden and unexpected gust kicked grains of sand into my eye. I turned around to blink the offending particles from my eye, but another gust ¨kicked¨the back of my knee. I fell ass-first onto the granite.
They don´t kid about the Patagonian wind. I was trying to reach the end of this 12km hike, but nature wasn´t playing nicely. I learned to listen for what sounded like a train in the distance rolling down the mountain side. As the sound got louder, I ducked behind and below the low-growing beech trees that also were clinging for their lives rooted firmly into the fissures in the granite. I imagined a mass of air colliding with the massif on its windward side. The pressure building as the air accumulates and crawls up the windward face. As the air reaches the tipping point, the mass barrels down the leeward side of the mountain unleashing a force that can known a hiker down.
The guidebook exclaimed that the hike into the Valle de Frances was not-to-miss. However, having hiked in Colorado and having just hiked on the Argentinian side I admit I was a little underwhelmed. Then it started snowing.
I looked to the west at the Gran Paine massif. Against the dark rock capped by hanging glaciers, I could see that the snow blew sideways. I continued on. Along the way, I drank water directly from several moss-lined streams and waterfalls that carved troughs in granite. I haven´t been in wildernes this clean since New Zealand.
I was going to finish this hike expecting to see nothing. An assortment of precipitation – snow, sleet, rain, fog – had clouded much of the panorama that was promised. At times the faint silhouettes of the mountains and Los Cuernos would reveal themselves through the veil of snow. Then for no more than five minutes, a gap in the clouds lended a glimpse of the mountains that encircled the valley.
Perito Moreno Glacier
The foot of Perito Moreno Glacier in Los Glaciares National Park
I joined a group from the hostel on a small guided and unconventional tour of the ever-so-touristy Perito Moreno glacier in Argentina`s Los Glaciares national park. The glacier occupies the southern part of the park – the same park as Cerro Fitzroy, which stands in the northern sector.
We took a small ¨combi¨(their word for ¨shuttle¨) on an alternative unpaved road to the national park. Along the road we saw lots of animals you would normally miss on one of those mass tourist buses : condors, flamingos, rheas, eagles, falcons, native ducks, sheep, sheep and more sheep. We continued on to the southern face of the glacier, where we took a short one hour hike along the shores of the lake. We caught up with the combi and spent two hours of free time looking at the calving glacier from catwalks on the opposing mountainside. After lunch we went to a boat launch near the northface of the glacier to get perspective of the glacier face from the water.
Snow & Hike to Cerro Torre
Cerro Torre stands in the distance behind a veil of wind-swept snow.
He looked through the window pane at such an angle that the restaurant on the other side of the street reflected off his thick glasses. The sky was white. His focus shifted between the fast-moving clouds and some loose sheets of paper inked with his thoughts.
[SinglePic not found] I kept my glance down at my plate as I spread the ration of butter and jelly on a roll. After slicing the bread in half, the stale crumbs fell and scattered across the table. They managed to tumble either onto my dirty hiking pants or to the foot of the towering carton of “jugo de naranja” – orange juice.
It was snowing – whiteout conditions with visibility no more than a few hundred meters. The wind howled fiercely, and banged a few unfastened shutters against aluminum siding. There wasn’t much else to look at or do. I decided to strike first conversation with the guy, “Se habla espanol?”
“No. English,” he said in the accent of the empire. “I’m from India, but I’ve been living in New Mexico for the last few months. I’ve been working with the radio telescopes out in Socorro. I’m an astronomer.”
Interesting already. We exchanged advice about hikes we’ve done in the park. He glanced again through the panoramic window. This time, his glasses reflected gaps of blue in the sky and snow-capped mountains in the not-so-distant glacial valley.
“Ahhh. This was the forecast for this afternoon for 12:00.” He examined his watch. “11:20… early! We might have chances to hike after all.” He ran outside. I looked through the window pane. He stood there out in the cold, gazing in the distance, calculating the risks… the likelihood that it was safe to embark on an 8-hour hike at this time of day. He looked back in, nodded and smiled. The hike is on.
I had decided to post some photos online before heading out for the hike to El Lago de Torre – a glacial lake with views of Cerro Torre – another towering piece of granite in Los Glaciares National Park. This cost me a few hours of daylight, as I didn’t start until 2:30 pm. Non-stop it should take 3 hours to get to the lake and 2 hours back on a sprint. If I timed everything right, I should be back by 7:30 with enough sunlight to spare. The sun usually sets around 8:00 pm.
Yesterday’s 10 hour hike to Lago de Los Tres left me in a more conditioned shape. I was practically sprinting up the steep portions of this hike. I had passed a young man and his father along the way. Two hours later, I arrived at the “mirador” – the viewpoint of the distant glacier and Cerro Torre. The gusts of frigid air that barreled down the valleys roared and almost pushed me over. The sun was still another 2 hours from setting. I looked at my watch. “F**k”. I weighed the risks and the rewards.
I decided I could managed the calculated risks. If a freak blizzard decided to present itself, I had enough insulation, fat reserves and an emergency foil blanket (Thanks, Karin!) to avoid hypothermia and outlast the storm. There were enough dead branches to build a small shelter and even start a fire. There was also a small camp at the end of the lake, where I might be able to pay someone for food and a share of their tent. “F**k it. If anything, I’ll die with a nice view.”
I had removed one of my under layers earlier in the hike. I poked my head just enough so the collar wrapped around my head just above my nose. It warmed my breaths, and shielded my exposed throat from the chill.
[SinglePic not found]I sprinted on, but the reflection of the mountains in a small pond captured my camera’s attention. Suddenly, the bright red jacket of the young man from earlier had managed to catch up.
“Hello. I decided to leave my father behind, so I reach el Lago de Torre before sunset”,” he said with a German accent yet pronouncing each Spanish word like a native.
[SinglePic not found]I was relieved to have a hiking buddy in such sketchy circumstances. This was an amazing kid and made for great conversation. I could tell he loved telling me about his adventures and practicing his English. Jan (pronounced “yahn”) was a 21-year old Frankfurter who decided to travel for five months in South America by himself. It suited his budget and he was also fluent in Spanish. He spoke to me in English without pausing to find a word. His father was an art teacher, his mother a photographer, and himself – he wanted to go back and study theater. His father came for a week-long visit, and he grinned as he told me how he went from eating and sleeping for cheap on less than 10 pesos per day to private room hotels and restaurants while his father is here. What an inspiring young character. A kindred spirit – he too preferred the outdoors over the drunken night-life style travelling in the cities.
We reached the lake just as the sun was setting behind Cerro Torre, but evening winds began to bring with it another round of snow. The top of Cerro Torre was veiled in cloud of suspended snow particles.
[SinglePic not found]“F**k man.” Jan looked at Cerro Torre in both disappointment and hope that the clouds would part to reveal the sun and the pinnacle of Cerro Torre. We waited 20 minutes before giving up around 6:00 pm.
We headed back and discussed more about life, philosophy, the NBA, and the juicing controversy of the Tour de France. 8:10 pm we approached the end of the trail. Only faint traces of day lit our way as the snow began to fall again. We shook hands and bid each other luck in our travels.
Kenai Peninsula
Outdoor adventures in Anchorage and Alaska’s Kenai Peninsula – camping, hiking, road-tripping, rafting, and good friends.
