Bariloche – Day 3: The Way to Refugio Frey
BARILOCHE
Day 3: The Way to Refugio Frey
March 17, 2023
The following morning I’d wake up at a reasonable hour, have a sensible breakfast, head to the bus station, and do things as I should have the previous day.
Instead, I was woken up abruptly at 7AM by the loud slamming of a door, followed by a guy telling his friends not to worry, as the only one still asleep was the very same one who had woken him up the previous day with loud music while occupying his bathroom, making an underhanded comment about my sexual orientation cause I was listening to Tay-Tay, before scoffing and running off. What a jackass. I would’ve said something had I not been in my mid-sleep-grogginess phase.
The rest of the morning went pretty much as planned, except for the bus, which still failed to show up. Luckily, George and Chantelle, a couple of newlyweds from Liverpool celebrating their honeymoon here in Argentina, shared my problem and, after teaming up, we all reached the conclusion that the bus would probably never show up. We made our way to a different bus terminal and, luckily enough, the infamous 55th was there. Once seated, I could hardly believe it, given the previous two days of long waits. But finally, I was on my way to the Refugio Frey trailhead.
After the treks in Ushuaia, I felt as if solo trekking was way more to my liking than going with company, but when George and Chantelle asked if I wanted to tag along, I found myself agreeing without so much as a second thought. With the post-Antarctic apathy and flu-like symptoms I found myself dealing with, I figured that having someone to rub off the patina, push me on, and keep the momentum going would be a good thing after all.
Tag-Along Trekking
As soon as we got to Cerro Catedral, a centre for mountain activities ranging from trekking and rock climbing to skiing during winter, we started on our way to the Frey Refuge, a stone-built lodge in the middle of the Andes mountain range, the walk there promising all kinds of stunning vistas along the way.
The first part of the trail was unimpressive enough, a brown, soil-covered path surrounded by shrubs on either side. After a kilometre or so, this gave way to an open area on the side of the mountain, lending itself to a spectacular view of Lago Gutiérrez, a moraine-dammed lake of glacial origin with sapphire-blue waters.
Whilst I usually would’ve stopped to take it all in, the Brits kept going full speed ahead with little regard for the nature surrounding them. Again, wanting to shake off the rust that had accumulated over the previous weeks, I kept up with them, much to my internal objections and spiritual need to connect. “I’d have plenty of treks to do that,” I kept telling myself as we walked on, parallel to the magnificent lake, with mountains surrounding it, climbing over rocky slopes and crossing wooden bridges.
A couple of kilometres further on, we found ourselves on the side of a forest-covered gorge, the trees providing refuge from the strong winds and the by-then scorching sun. Here, we encountered a series of streams and tiny waterfalls, moving on without so much as a photo break, all the while making pleasant conversation. A few more kilometres through the dense forest and we reached the unmanned Refugio Petericek, a small lodge with a huge boulder for a roof and an overwhelming smell of smoke in its empty insides. Here, finally, we sat down on one of the wooden benches next to it and took a short break. I could finally enjoy my routine trekking treats – an apple and a cigarette.
Little did we know that this was where the tough part of the trek started. The steep ascent through the forest, as it cleared out to a bare, open rocky climb, was not quite what I’d been hoping for, my body still not as cooperative as I’d expected. We all needed a couple of breathers here and there, but all in all, we did a pretty good job and made good time – the views of the mountain peaks pushing us on.
As soon as we could see the Refugio, we came upon another stream, marking the end of this section of the trail. Here, we were met by a young lady who happened to be waiting for us eagerly – or anyone else making it up there, for whatever that’s worth. She handed us a questionnaire for her PhD in environmental science – something she’d been working on for a full three months – meaning she had to climb all the way up there every single day.
Refugio Frey
A few more steps and there we finally were – the Refugio Frey. The picturesque stone lodge with its wooden annex, surrounded by mountains on all sides, is named after Emilio Frey, a Swiss-Argentine geographer who joined Francisco Pascasio Moreno (Perito Moreno) in settling border disputes with Chile and later became superintendent of Nahuel Huapi National Park.
I can’t say the sight of the building wasn’t a welcome one, nor was the central heating inside as we waited for empanadas from the kitchen. And waited, waited, and waited, my third-wheeling now growing stronger as I felt the need to excuse myself for some wandering around the lodge. It took an hour and a half, with the lady at the counter telling us “Just fifteen more minutes!” every fifteen minutes. But I have to admit, they were definitely worth the wait. They were probably the best meat empanadas I’ve ever had in my entire life.
As we waited, I looked at the animal chart showing the wildlife around the area with much envy, having missed most of it as we’d practically run up the mountain with little interest in anything around us. I did not like this kind of trekking, and I swore to myself I’d never do that again – regardless of how good the company is. At least the empanadas brought a couple of Patagonian finches to our table as we sat outside in the freezing cold with warm cups of coffee, so I guess we did see something after all.
Laguna Tonchek
Having earned our rest and empanadas, we spent a couple of hours at the refuge just chilling and enjoying ourselves.
As I chatted with George and Chantelle, our curiosity shifted from a bunch of Argentinian army guys as they trained and did their manly alpha stuff, to a couple of mountain climbers attempting the seemingly impossible peak right in front of us. We all agreed that adventurous though we might be, mountain climbing wasn’t something any of us were interested in doing – with trekking being a comfortable and way less risky way to appreciate everything the area had to offer. Somehow, the conversation then segued into a discussion about abortion and then charity work. Fun, right?
Our adventures didn’t quite end there though, as right behind the lodge lies Laguna Tonchek, a stunning body of forest-green, completely still water, perfectly reflecting the peaks towering over it on all sides. Despite having seen Laguna de los Témpanos, Laguna Encantada, and Laguna Esmeralda in Ushuaia, whose concept and general configuration were basically the same, I can’t say I was let down, underwhelmed, or in any way jaded. I guess I have a thing for lagoons surrounded by mountains.
The Swiftie Showdown
After finally taking the time to appreciate the natural wonder’s beauty, we started on our way down – a feat that somehow seemed unending and definitely longer than the climb up.
Given my natural hatred of uphills, I figured the day I’d ever write this would never come. Depleted and spent, we finally reached Cerro Catedral, the bus pulling a no-show yet again. An hour late, an overly enthusiastic driver with a penchant for tone-deaf singing arrived, my dreams of a restorative nap on the way back to town dashed to pieces.
After wishing George and Chantelle a happy, third-wheeler-less honeymoon, we bid each other farewell. Back at the hostel, Mr Jackass was hanging out with his friends in front of the bar. Thinking about that morning’s events, I realised I wouldn’t have lived with myself if I went on without saying anything. Following a death stare Miranda Bailey herself would have been proud of, I went ahead and confronted him.
In the politest manner possible, I told him that I had already apologised for the previous day’s music session and then explained that there were, in fact, no other bathrooms to use. As he looked taken aback by my approach, I congratulated him on being a Swifty – because surely only one of her fans would recognise her voice from an unpopular song that had just been released, much to his friends’ amusement.
Petty though that might have been, it was also equally cathartic. Plus, I could now sleep soundly after a long day’s worth of trekking, with a peaceful, unperturbed mind.