We Lost Marcelo at the End of the World

So we have been in the city of Ushuaia, on Tierra del Fuego, for about two weeks. This place is South – really South. I mean, practically falling into Antarctica (well, only a thousand kilometers away). As mentioned earlier, when we arrived here from Rio Gallegos, we found out that the reservation we created earlier was cancelled, so we had to try to find a hostel. As soon as we were off the bus, Marcelo found a mini-bus driver who was offering beds in a hostel for 45 pesos a night ($15, about the average of the prices we had paid in the past, so not bad at all). Within a minute, we were whisked away through the mountainous Ushuaia streets to the quaint hostel, “Posada Del Duende”, in which we were greeted by friendly staff and a pleasant private room for three. We stayed in the hostel for the first two nights, spending the days wandering through the city and trying to figure out what we wanted to do.

Ushuaia is situated right on the Beagle Channel, a narrow channel shared by Chile and Argentina, connecting the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. Close to here is Cape Horn. This is the area that famous explorers like Magellan and Darwin came against stormy seas and immense winds centuries ago, earning it a reputation as treacherous and immensely rugged. Now Ushuaia is quite busy, with a small port for shipping, and acting as the main gateway for ships bound to Antarctica (primarily cruises). Because so many cruise ships stop here, and because the town is well situated as a port for cargo ships passing between the Pacific and Atlantic, it is abundant with shops selling everything from quaint hand-made souvenirs and T-shirts, to big-name consumer electronics and clothing. Of course, this isn’t why we came here. We came to Ushuaia because we wanted to hike some of the most southerly trails on earth. We also wanted to be able to say that we have been to the most Southerly city on earth. Yes, now we can say we have done both.

After two days at the hostel, we decided to camp since it is cheaper (a third of the price of a hostel) and would get Marcelo more accustomed to the chillier nights and sleeping in his tent. We found a beautiful camp site called “La Pista Del Andino” (http://www.lapistadelandino.com.ar); our site was directly beneath a button tow (it becomes a ski resort in the winter) and looked down on the west side of Ushuaia and the Beagle Channel. The sites are divided by fuchsia and white flowers that look very similar to northern Fireweed. The first day we decided to hike up the ski hill (approximately 100 to 250m) to see what view we could get. We were not disappointed; we could see across the Beagle Channel towards the Dientes Mountain Range in Chile and the majority of Ushuaia. There were trails that continued from the top of the hill, which we soon discovered to be cross country ski trails. We followed the trails through twisty forests filled with old man’s beard and mushrooms; we continued a gradual ascent until eventually the trail we were following intersected a road. Continuing on we came out at some huts and the bottom of the main chairlift, which takes tourists and locals alike up to Martial Glacier. After a short discussion we decided to take the chairlift up to the glacier and the trails above. The glacier is small but beautiful and we spent quite a few hours walking, taking pictures, and exploring. Unfortunately, we took a little too long and the chairlift closed, so we hiked down the mountain. Lucky for us there was multiple taxi cabs waiting at the bottom of the hill and we were able to hail one to take us back to the campsite, since our feet were tired from our first actual hike.

Day two at the campsite allowed us to decide on our first trek, Pasa de la Oveja. The trek would be a little over 31kms without side-trips, but we planned to start the trek with a 13km side trip to Laguna Encantada (The Enchanted Lagoon), so that Marcelo could get used to his equipment and the terrain. This would add another day or two to the overall length of the trip (for a total of about 4-5 days), but would allow us to head back to town if we had problems. With this decided we went to the local grocery store, bought groceries and prepared to leave.

Pasa de la Oveja
So we were off for our first trek in South America – Marcelo’s first trek ever! We took a taxi from town up a winding dirt road to a gate which felt like the middle of nowhere. The taxi driver assured us this was the place and to continue through the gate. So off we went wandering through the back of what looked like a farmer’s tractor trail through his back 40. Early on, we came to a somewhat sign telling us that Laguna Encantada would be a gradual right bend, which looked to be ahead on the same road as the trail to the pass. We all agreed that we had to go straight (instead of making a hard right towards a farm house). After an hour or two, we knew we must have missed the turn for the Laguna, and the sign was probably just poorly made. Thus, we were on the main trail heading towards the pass on a 3-day hike. We decided to push on, as Marcelo was feeling pretty good and we had lots of daylight left. Along the trail we were greeted by two horses, it turned out that there were both wild and tame horses roaming the same territory the trail led us through. The first bit of the hike was slow going as we made adjustments to our bags and took in our surroundings. We came to a clearing at the “Parque de National Tierra del Fuego” border where we stopped to eat lunch. It was a beautiful grassy area with little streams running through it and mountains surrounding. We continued on our journey and found our campsite. A patch of clearings amongst trees directly beside a river and situated in a valley surrounded by magnificent mountain peaks. Happily we dropped our bags and settled into our little chunk of paradise for our first night out of civilization.

Second day of the Trek proved to be even more amazing as we hiked through densely vegetated forest, crossed log bridges, muddy bogs, followed what felt like a mountain goat path over a serene valley, and descended down a steep muddy slope to our second campground – this one even more beautiful than the past. We set up camp in a patch of trees next to a turquoise lake, which was being filled by a waterfall just behind our campsite, all of which was nestled between majestic peaks and glaciers. For the first few hours our only company we had was two beavers, busily working on their lodge, and six Ashy-headed geese, who called the lake home. Very quickly we decided we wanted to stay two nights here, so we had a day to explore and see what else this wonderful place had to offer. Marcelo decided to head to bed shortly after dinner; having never trekked before he was tired and not too happy to be in the cold. As Gerad and I prepared to get ready to go to bed a little while later, we were surprised to hear a sharp whistle; we turned and saw a light at the top of the hill that we had descended just a few hours before. We thought maybe it was a ranger and was warning us about our fire…we thoroughly doused it and got into our tent. We then heard shouts back and forth between what sounded like teenagers. We couldn’t understand what they were saying, but we concluded it was a small group of hikers that were getting into the camp late. (very late as it was dark and had been getting dark for about an hour and a half). The hollering continued for a little bit, as the group (of as we found out were three boys from Israel) tried to find and navigate their way down the steep muddy trail. That night we had more rain than we’d had previously, and poor Marcelo discovered that the tent he was sleeping in had a leaky fly. He got wet…this wasn’t turning out to be the best first trek for him.

In the morning we discussed our options and decided to stick with our original plan of staying two days, but wrap Marcelo’s sleeping bag in a garbage bag that Gerad had kept in his pack for emergencies. It may not have been perfect but at least Marcelo wouldn’t get completely soaked if it rained again. After some food Marcelo was cold so he went back to his tent to try to rest and warm up. Gerad and I were excited about what we could see so we headed off for an afternoon of exploring.

From camp, we tried to find an alternate way up from the lake (easier for Marcelo), rather than the steep, muddy slope we had walked down the day before. It turned out that the alternative was no better, but actually worse. We took some shots from above the waterfall then continued following the river. Along the way we passed under an ice bridge which had formed over the river. It was very neat, but too thin for us to cross over top of (we really wanted to get to the other side of the river). Eventually we came to a place where we had to cross the river or turn around…we saw where another hiker had attempted to build a rock bridge but the current was too deep and strong for us to succeed in finishing it (although Gerad made a valiant attempt, making it half of the way across). We turned around and walked back, watching the river the entire way, trying to find a place to get across. Eventually we were able to navigate our way across the river by hopping on some large rocks. After crossing, we made our way up to a wonderful view of the river, flowing from a pond beside a pasture, which had a wild horse grazing beneath the shadow of a setting sun. It was definitely worth the ascent. After the sun had sunk beneath the ridge of the mountain, we decided it was time to head back to camp. Not wanting to cross the river again, we figured that we could get down to our campsite from this side. However, it turned out that most of the accesses down were sheer cliffs. (OOPS) We eventually found a slightly more gradual slope to walk down and came out at the beaver lodge. Being dusk, the two beavers were busy bringing logs to their lodge – one swam away quickly while the other slapped his tail at us. This beaver was determined to deter us and protect its mansion. We watched for a few minutes but then the exceeding darkness made us push on. From here, we had to navigate across another steep hill littered with tree roots and rotten branches. It was very dark by the time we entered our campsite. We quickly found our headlamps and made some food before settling in for the night.

The next morning we woke up to the sun high in the sky. It must have been close to noon. We weren’t sure why we slept in so late, but we knew we would be in for a long day of hiking, summiting the Paso de la Oveja later that day on our way out of the park. As I emerged from the tent, Marcelo was standing by the water’s edge; I asked him how his night was. He said he slept well, and wasn’t cold this time, but that he had decided to go back to Buenos Aires – he just wasn’t “cut out for this”. This wasn’t the first time he alluded to this, but it was the first time I thought he was seriously planning to leave.

The Way Out
We decided to try to figure out how much hiking we had left to do. Marcelo’s preference was to get out of the back-country as soon as possible. My preference was to try to hike most of the way today, and finish the hike back to Ushuaia on the following day. The map showed that we would have to hike at least 18kms from where we were staying, including the pass. From the pass on, everything would be down hill, but that would still be a lot of high-altitude kilometers to hike in one day, especially starting out after noon. Laura preferred to get out of the back-country today, as well, but agreed that we would likely not be able to make the entire distance in a single afternoon, so we decided to try to get to the last campground on the trail, and finish the hike the next day.

After eating a good breakfast of salami and veggie-flavored rice, we set out on the trail, back up the muddy, steep hill next to the lake, which Marcelo was dreading. From there, we rounded a mountain, and started into the pass. In front of us, the trail went pretty much straight up hill, towards the saddle between two mountains, through which we would find the Pasa de la Oveja. Behind us was Valle Andorra, the huge valley in which we had hiked on prior days, with the glaciated Cordon Vinciguerra mountain range behind it – a sight well worth the effort of the hike. Marcelo was already feeling the stress of what was about to come, combined with his fear of heights, which was making it difficult to walk along the talus slopes – I think it is safe to say that he wasn’t very happy here. His unhappiness cast a negative tone on the entire scene. Although Laura and I both felt the urge to get out our cameras, we were well aware of what would lie ahead, and didn’t feel like agitating Marcelo any further. Thus, without pause, we started hiking up the trail.

The thing about a mountain pass is that, usually, it always looks like you only have a little further left to go. I think it has something to do with the way that most mountain saddles are rounded over (half-circular instead of triangular, so you never see the top until you are there). Anyhow, this was a new lesson for Marcelo, and it was something he now felt quite bitter about. The trail continued on and on, zig-zagging back and forth as it followed a small stream. We quickly left tree line, eventually leaving the “grass line” (I’m calling it that because there was an area of altitude in which primarily lush green grass was growing).

Eventually we finally came to the pass, probably 2-1/2 hours after we set out. Even though we had only been hiking for a few hours, we were hungry again. We dropped our packs and took in the beauty that was surrounding us as we prepared and ate sandwiches. Behind us, we had the Valle Andorra, described previously, and stretching out in front of us, we had the Canadon de la Oveja, a massive canyon that appeared to be scraped out by several glaciers, some of which were still (barely) present. In front of us, on the opposing side of the canyon, was a very steep wall covered in grasses and waterfalls. Down below us several hundred meters was a stream, and eventually trees filled the lower parts of the canyon. This was such an exhilarating view that both of us grabbed our cameras and ran to opposing walls of the pass, leaving Marcelo to hunker down and try to keep warm against some rocks.

After taking several photos, we regrouped and started the long trek down the canyon. The book we are using, Trekking in the Patagonian Andes, is sometimes vague in its descriptions. We knew that at some point there would be an alternate trail, and somewhere else a junction, but we had no clear idea as to when that would come. We just hiked and hiked, then we hiked some more. We stayed several hundred meters up, along a narrow trail in talus slope (loose rock that fell from the mountains and piled up alongside them), we expected to descend gradually, and maybe we did, but for at least four hours, it felt like we never came closer to the valley bottom. We should have passed a campground a long time ago, but we never did. Eventually we figured out that the campground was probably a clear area up near the pass. That meant we were closing in on the campground we hoped to stay in for the night. However, after rounding a bend in the canyon, a clear view of the Beagle Channel opened up in front of us, and of Ruta 3, the highway to Ushuaia. It seemed so close, yet so far. We decided that if the campground was anywhere close to there, we would try to hike all the way out to Ushuaia today.

The Trees
This was around the time we came to the trees. I hate trees. Well not really, but when they are on a steep talus slope covered in mud and in the shade, they start to get on my nerves, especially when there isn’t any clearly marked trails and the only way to go is straight down. To complicate things, we were with a novice hiker with a poorly packed bag and extremely tired legs. This part was murder for Marcelo. We slowly worked our way down the hill (Marcelo and Gerad), while Laura elegantly strode down the hill like it was a paved sidewalk at mid day. We hadn’t made it half way down by the time Laura had made it to the bottom, dropped her bag, and ran back up the hill to where we were, offering to take Marcelo’s bag the rest of the way down, making it much easier for him to navigate the difficult terrain.

As we came down to the bottom of the valley, the trail started to ease up. We were optimistic that we could hike out of here today, so we pushed on at a fast pace through the woods, eventually coming to muddy trail again. Both Marcelo and Gerad ended up with a boot stuck in the mud, almost knee deep, but managed to make it out without wet feet (thank god for Gore-Tex boots and Gaiters). Laura did her best to avoid any mud and water, as her boots weren’t waterproof.

After probably a couple hours in the woods, we came to a gate, opening up to farmland and horses, and clear blue skies. It was a wonderful moment; Marcelo exclaimed “we finished it!” Then we walked some more, as the view of Ruta 3 came back, and we could see it was a long way away still. “It never ends”, Marcelo grumbled. We kept on walking through the farmland, passing horses and old dead trees, until we came to another gate, and civilization. Well, the gate turned out to be a fence, under which we had to crawl, but at that point I don’t think we cared all that much. We rounded a gravel road and came to a street corner. After calling a cab, Marcelo groaned “I am definitely going home!”

Home Again
Back in our friendly Posada del Duende hostel, we took full advantage of the showers, sinks, heater, and beds. We got dressed in the cleanest clothes we had, and went out for dinner at our favorite eating establishment, the Azul Resto-Bar, which has the best hamburgers in town (maybe all of Argentina). After further serenading by Celine Dion and other cheesy music, we went home with full stomachs, and went to bed.

The next day, Marcelo could barely move. He opted to stay back at the hostel while we went out. This was February 18, a momentous occasion, because it was Laura’s birthday. The first thing we did was a four-hour boat tour of the Beagle Channel, including views of the Lobos (Sea Lions), Pajaros (birds, primarily King Cormorants, Petrel, Albatross, Geese, etc), the Lighthouse, and the Bridge Island.

The boat tour was really interesting, as our guide was well informed and spoke bilingually. While we were on the boat out to the lighthouse, Laura was delighted to see a few penguins swimming in the water near us. The boat was quite small, holding up to maybe 30 people, but there were only 15 people aboard, including the captain, sailor, and guide. Both of us took some great photos here, Laura was in her element shooting the sea lions, while Gerad took some nice landscapes of rainfall over Ushuaia from the Channel, etc. One interesting part of the tour was when we stopped on the Bridge Island, which is one of the places where the local Yamana natives had lived up until a couple hundred years ago. We were taken to an archeological site, which had been the pit hole on which the Yamana built a home. At the side of the pit was a depression in which hundreds of broken shells were spilling out – this had been the refuse from the Yamana eating. An interesting thing we learned about the Yamana was that they never wore clothing. Keep in mind that this is Tierra del Fuego, close to Antarctica! The Yamana were primarily fisherman, spending all their time in hand-built canoes. To keep warm, they only smeared sea lion or seal fat on themselves. There were pictures taken of them by early explorers, showing them sleeping in the snow, naked! Wow.

Another interesting thing we learned about was yareta, a plant that is quite common here, and we had walked on dozens of times in the mountains in the past couple weeks. It turns out that this plant grows very slowly, similar to coral, at a rate of about 1cm per year. Some of the plants we stepped on in the mountains were several meters big, and perhaps half a meter thick, so they were very old. We kindof felt bad for walking on them, but they were such a comfort to walk on compared to the rocks. Anyhow, I don’t think we did much to damage them, as they were so dense that they easily supported our weight.

On the way back from the Bridge Islands, our guide broke out a big bottle of coffee liquor, which was home-made by the sailor. Before she even had time to say saluth!, I already had mine (Gerad) finished. After jokingly calling me a drunk and refilling my glass, we cheers’d away and sipped our liquor. What a great time.

Goodbyes
After the tour, we walked back to the hostel. Half way there, we spotted Marcelo on the opposite side of the street. I called him over. The first thing he said was that he had bought a plane ticket back to Buenos Aires, and that he was leaving the following morning. This came as a surprise, as we expected him to stick around for at least a few days. With that news, we went back to the hostel and cleaned up, while waiting for Marcelo to run some errands, so that we could head back over to the Azul with a newfound friend, Manuel, a roommate from Austria, who had also accompanied us on the boat tour.

Marcelo eventually returned, after being pulled into a police station for about 20 minutes to act as a witness for them (long story). We went out for dinner and ate well.

The night quickly came to an end, and we returned to our hostel to sleep.

The following morning was hectic, as we had to pack our bags to prepare for leaving the hostel (we were going to go camp again at La Pista del Andino), and for Marcelo leaving. We had to transfer the items that we needed to keep from his bag, and we gave him several things we didn’t want to continue carrying, as well as some souvenirs and the like, to bring back to Buenos Aires for us. We parted ways and went to the bank.

The Bank
Going to the bank is not normally noteworthy, except that on this morning, the machine decided to go through the entire transaction, but without giving Gerad his money. This was unusual. We noted down the number on the machine to call for assistance, and went back to the hostel, where Gabby, our friendly host, told us to go downtown to the headquarters for the bank. We went downtown, a long walk, to the Banco Nacional del Tierra del Fuego headquarters. The entire way I was thinking about how to explain in my broken Spanish what had happened. After a short lineup at the Bank, the friendly information lady told us (in English), that the transaction should be cancelled, and that we would see it in our account balance. Okay, that was comforting, but not much assurance, as this was the largest withdrawal Gerad had attempted. Later on we verified that sure enough, the withdrawal occurred, but was refunded several minutes later.

We spent the rest of the remaining days at the campground, relaxing and walking around the city, shopping and spending time in our favorite bar. Now we are heading out on a bus to Punta Arenas, and I have to say goodbye.

Hasta Luego!

PICTURES TO COME!!!!