El Chaltén – Day 3: Friggin’ Icebergs
EL CHALTÉN
Day 3: Friggin' Icebergs
March 22, 2023
I was up by the break of dawn, ready for another day of trekking – this time to Laguna Torre. Here, yet another iconic mountain, Cerro Torre, towers over a lagoon fed by a glacier. You’d think I’d have seen enough of these by now, but honestly, I could have views like this every day for the rest of my life without ever getting jaded.
This trek promised to be an easier one than the previous day’s – a ten-kilometre trail with around 250 metres of elevation gain overall. And with the gale-force gusts of wind literally pushing me onwards, I figured it’d be a walk in the park. Once again, just a few metres from my hostel stood the trailhead, which starts off well signposted. Nevertheless, once at the foot of the hill where the real hike begins, a group of hikers and I alike found ourselves completely unsure of where to go next. Luckily enough, a local woman who seemed to go through this rite every single day came over to point us towards the entrance.
The Blind Cat
And with that, I was once again on my way to another fabled lagoon, trying to outrun anyone who stood in my way. The moderate uphill gave me no trouble whatsoever – now resolute not to let my psyche hold me back.
The first three kilometres were mostly undulating, offering spectacular views of the town and the river below, with Cerro Torre looming above everything else. The bare, rocky area then gave way to a forested valley that was pretty much flat. At this point I was practically jogging, trying to reach the lagoon in half the time suggested. I also inadvertently snuck up on this one squirrely lady who let out a shriek the second she noticed me running towards her. Oops.
After about an hour, I reached the five-kilometre mark, shortly followed by a fork – one path leading to Laguna Torre, the other to Laguna de los Tres. It was here that my enthusiasm was curbed as I royally screwed up. In my haste and haze of overconfidence, I once again headed towards Laguna de los Tres, as if the previous day’s hike hadn’t been enough. It did seem a bit suspicious that there was no one else on the trail and that Cerro Torre was now on the opposite side, but I figured the others were still far behind and that the trail would eventually wind around.
I walked and walked, the path becoming ever steeper, until I came across a sign stating I was one kilometre away from Laguna Madre e Hija. At this point I realised I was on the wrong route, but given my proximity to yet another “thing to see”, I decided to keep going. Until, that is, the next sign claimed I was now two kilometres away. At that moment I had absolutely no idea where I was heading, and so, battered and exhausted from the unnecessary uphill I’d just conquered, I turned back with my tail between my legs and my head hung low in shame.
In Maltese, we have a (stolen Italian) saying that roughly translates to “The hasty cat gives birth to blind kittens”, a warning to slow down and not rush things. Guess I should heed my ancestors’ words a little more carefully.
The Mountain that Blew Me Away
Back at the five-kilometre signpost, I was relieved to find the correct trail (ironically, the left one). I was tired and drained, having wasted a full hour on a wild lagoon chase, but I ploughed on nonetheless.
The winds were now stronger and the view ahead somewhat engulfed in cloud. As I passed people making their way back, I wondered whether I’d be lucky enough to catch the same views they’d enjoyed, having lost so much time wandering around aimlessly. Maybe I really would end up a blind kitten after all. Determined to make up for lost time, I found myself running again, scrambling over rocks along the riverbank. Its muddy grey-brown water was clouded with sediment from the glacial lagoon – a colour completely different from the blues I’d come to expect in Patagonia.
As I neared my destination, now at the foot of Cerro Torre, the grey, barren landscape was fully exposed to the elements. Here, the winds were unlike anything I’d experienced before, each gust threatening to knock me clean off my feet. Seriously. It felt like walking into something semi-solid, as if I were throwing my entire body at a door that refused to budge. And let’s not forget the sand, gravel, and full-on rocks being hurled at me. It was madness!
Friggin' Icebergs
As I crested the final slope, the conditions suddenly stopped mattering. The second I laid eyes on the view ahead, I couldn’t help but giggle like a blithering idiot and jump on the spot with excitement.
There were friggin’ icebergs in the friggin’ lagoon. Wait, did you get that? Friggin’ icebergs in the friggin’ lagoon! And I just couldn’t friggin’ believe my eyes. For some reason, after Antarctica, I’d assumed I wouldn’t be seeing icebergs again on this trip – at least not here. And now, right in front of my very eyes… icebergs. I don’t know what it is about these glorified ancient blocks of ice, but few things captivate me quite like they do. Blue, floating jewels in countless shades of blue, simply mesmerising.
Unlike the views I’d grown used to in Antarctica, though, this scene felt entirely different. Sheltered between grey, jagged mountains, the lagoon itself was a murky, muddy brown, sharply contrasting with the arctic-blue icebergs and the azure sky above, all veiled by thin white-grey cloud. It was utterly surreal, once again leaving me pondering how such natural wonders even come to exist.
I found a rock to sit on and stared at one particularly spaceship-shaped iceberg. I gotta admit, my usual apple-and-cigarette routine wasn’t quite as pleasant here. I was being pelted with gravel and hail, and the hand-numbing cold rendered my fingers practically useless. Turns out it wasn’t that different from Antarctica after all.
Having taken three hours to complete what’s usually a four-hour ascent, I swore I’d make it back down in record time. I practically zipped downhill while blasting Miley’s newly released Endless Summer Vacation, startling the same poor lady on her descent once again. She’s a jumpy one, that one! Anyway, enough of the brag-fest. It took me an hour and ten minutes to get back to town. Not a world record, but impressive enough for me.