El Chaltén – Day 1: The Trekking Capital
EL CHALTÉN
Day 1: The Trekking Capital
March 20, 2023
I’d be flying to Buenos Aires (again), an airport I’d by now gotten all too intimate with after passing through it about three times already. I still have no idea how crossing an entire country via two flights is cheaper than flying a few miles away. As exhausted as I was, wandering around the airport in the middle of the night, I was only happy this would be the last of nine flights I’d have in Argentina.
When that was over, I was too dead to even care about arriving in a new city, having been up for more than 24 hours. A new city that wasn’t even my destination. For now, I had to wait for a bus that would take me to my actual destination. Being awake for so long felt like a throwback to my on-call shifts back home. That ghost-walk feeling, with your upper eyelids forcing themselves shut, your mind seemingly detached from your body. By the time my bus arrived, I was practically snoozing all over the place.
A Wild Ride
In spite of all that, the second we started moving, I was anything but asleep. The vast expanse of grey-brown steppe, interspersed with small, equally dull-coloured shrubs, and the mountains in the background made such a stark contrast with the perfectly blue, cloudless sky that I had my eyes wide open from the very first minute.
When the Río La Leona came into view, with its surreal cerulean colour, I was practically glued to the window – the view now almost too beautiful to exist, especially once we started nearing Lago Viedma. And the guanacos. So, so many wild guanacos – some solitary right next to the road, others in herds as they ran in unison over the hills. How the hell could anyone sleep with all that unfolding right in front of their very eyes?
No Rest for the Wicked
After about four hours, we finally got to El Chaltén. I felt more awake than ever, with the brisk cold and strong winds reinvigorating me even more. I was finally there, in the town of trekking and crappy internet.
It kinda looked like a scene from the Wild West, with the dry mountainous surroundings and the wooden, saloon-like buildings, the roads wide and practically empty. I half-expected to see tumbleweed flying about. Instead, it was southern lapwings everywhere you look. With Mount Fitz Roy towering in the backdrop, I could already feel the exhilaration of adventure brewing. I practically ran to my hostel, dropped my stuff, and once again I was on my way out looking for my next adventure, despite the still-accumulating sleep deprivation.
Mirador del Paredón
I took my host’s recommendation and headed towards Mirador del Paredón, a short hike that leads to a nice viewpoint. I found myself walking along El Chaltén’s main road, everyone seemingly gearing up for, or returning from, an adventure of their own.
A few blocks away from my hostel was a bridge crossing the Río de las Vueltas, leading towards a hillside covered in shrubs and short trees, their green standing out against the bare grey rocks above them, the azure waters of the river, and the brown soil on the edge of town. I walked on and on along the riverbank, accompanied by a scenic view of the town in front of me with the mountains behind it, the trail easy and forgiving.
Until I got to the foot of the hill and the incline was as steep as the inflation rates in Argentina. Though short, I had to stop and catch my breath about five times, incredulously mad at myself for jumping straight into this after 36 hours without sleep and on an empty stomach. Slowly but surely, I made it to the top.
The magnificent vista in front of me had my exhaustion vanish into thin air – the entire town at my feet, cradled by the river on one side and the mountains on the other, with icy peaks glistening as the sun started its descent for the day. Whilst I would’ve loved to just chill and watch the sun go down, I was too drained to wait for that, and the hunger pangs were now almost unbearable.
Serendipitous Encounters
After a few minutes, I started my run down the hill. As I sprinted down, motivated by the promise of food and a full night’s sleep, I heard the rustling of leaves and the creaking of a branch behind me.
Curious, I turned my head, and there, in all its glory, was a horned owl – the very first wild owl I’d ever seen in my entire life. It stood there, perfectly camouflaged against the brown-grey bark of the tree it was perched on. I stared at it with all the fascination in the world, still in disbelief that I’d spotted such a well-hidden bird while running. Then, just as I was coming to terms with it all, I saw a second head turn. Two owls.
I approached the beautiful beings slowly, keeping a safe distance. Unmoving, I assumed they were probably protecting eggs or perhaps a hatchling. I decided to give them some privacy and continued on my way down, feeling blessed – and pretty proud of myself for the spot.
Then it was finally time for my daily steak. Having run out of cash, it quickly dawned on me just how expensive Patagonia is. Not very backpacker-friendly, with most low-end travellers resorting to cooking their own food or stuffing themselves with dried foodstuffs. If I wanted to keep my steak streak up, that’s what I would’ve ended up doing – though it was more of a warning than a deterrent.
Needless to say, after dinner I headed to my hostel and fell on my bed like a stone, remembering nothing else that might have happened. Forty hours of being up and about does that to you.