CHAPTER 42
From one natural wonder to the next, our itinerary read like a punch list from one of those “a million things to see before you die” books. Leaving El Chaltén, and the resolute Mt. Fitzroy behind, we made the quick drive south to (another) one of the most incredible sights you will ever see- the absolutely epic Perito Moreno Glacier.
This slowly advancing freight train of ice has been rolling down its self made track, a 3 mile wide gorge cleaved from the unyielding granite bedrock, for over 30,000 years. The huge glacier comes to a decisive end at the western extreme of Lago Argentino, where enormous, house sized chunks of dark blue ice calve off of the glacier’s 240ft high terminal face, and plunge into the milky waters of the lake. Witnessing one of these catastrophic events is quite exhilarating, and it leaves you marveling at the magnitude and sheer power of the glacier. Advancing at a staggering 7ft per day, the calving icebergs keep the growth of the 19 mile long glacier in check- Perito Mereno happens to be one of only a few glaciers throughout the world that is not receding. A lot of naysayers point to this fact as a contradiction to global warming, but in reality, it is just one outlier among thousands of well documented, overwhelmingly convincing cases of the ugly effects of an artificially warming planet. On our trip we had already seen plenty of examples of the sinister outcome of man’s negligence towards the environment, from desertification, to deforestation, to the perpetual clouds of thick brown smog that blanket every capital from Mexico City to Buenos Aires. Considering all of this, it was hard to believe that Perito Moreno would buck the global trend for much longer. With every echoing crash of calving ice, I could imagine it being the first domino in the inevitable unbalancing of the current equilibrium, leading towards recession, and eventual disappearance of the entire glacier.
Regardless of what underlying significance this mighty giant portends, it was one hell of a sight as far as natural wonders go. A maze of wooden and metal catwalks traverse the Magallanes Peninsula, a spur of rocky land standing defiantly in the way of the glacier’s advance. Periodically the catwalks are interrupted by viewing decks, perfectly positioned to ensure $100 photos of Perito Moreno’s azure ice cliffs. From these vantage points, your sense of scale is easily lost. But then you see one of the many double-decker tourist boats cautiously approach the towering wall of the glacier, like a toy boat in an almost empty bathtub. And amazingly, though obvious (think of a floating ice cube), most of the glacier is actually out of view- another 340ft underwater.
As picturesque as the scene was, comparing this natural wonder to a giant ice cube got me thinking of another type of wonder, except this one was man-made: the clean crisp bite of a cold gin and tonic with lime. It had been a long day already. It was certainly past beer o’clock, and was quickly approaching cocktail hour. We decided to go, and leave Perito Moreno to its perpetual struggle against obstinate bedrock and a warming climate. I gave one last satisfied glance towards the glacier, and then we jumped in the truck and sped off down the road in search of a bag of ice for the drinks and a comfortable camp site to enjoy them at.
The next morning we woke refreshed and eager to get on the road. We only had one sight left to see in Patagonia: the legendary Torres del Paine- a jagged protrusion of gray and black granite, cutting into the sky like the menacing teeth of a continent sized wolf. The peaks of these formidable mountains were actually only about 30 miles to the south of us as the crow flies (or as the condor flies as they say down here), but because of the impassable intermediate terrain, we would end up driving almost 200 miles in a circuitous semi-circle that would take us from the lakes and glaciers of El Calefaté, through the flat Argentine pampas, and back into Chile for the final time.
We held grand ambitions of a multi day hike around the base of the mountains on the famous W-trail, which gets its name from the shape it takes as it moves in and out of the long, dead-end canyons. But luck was not with us. The weather was disgusting, leaving us with little motivation to get out of our tent, let alone go hiking through the freezing windblown rain for hours on end. Normally we are pretty get-up-and-go kind of people, and it takes a lot to deter us from any outdoor activity. But the thought of trudging up and down a muddy trail all day, setting up our ground tent in a crowded, designated camp site, peeling off cold, rain soaked layers of gear knowing full well that they would not be dry the next morning, and doing all this without even being able to see what we had come to see, thanks to the heavy blanket of storm clouds obscuring the landscape- all added up, the whole idea sounded profoundly miserable. Instead, we popped open the truck topper, crawled into our warm sleeping bags, and spent a few cozy days reading and playing cards, waiting for the weather to clear. It never did, so I guess we’ll just have to go back.
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