Backcountry Bliss

Go that way!

Day 1: The day after Christmas we packed up our tent, put on our backpacks, and walked into the hills in Mary's backyard.  Mary and Cristian were kind enough to give us a ride to the trailhead 40 km up the hill and point us in the right direction - "just keep following the road, you'll be fine".  And so we did, clambering over a locked gate, wading through at least six river crossings (thank goodness for gaiters), and into the Reserva Nacional Cerro Castillo.  There was no one there at the entrance to collect our entrance fee of 5,000 pesos (about $10) so we continued on to our campsite on the banks of the Rio Turbio, setting up our tent in a grove of bonsai-esque lenga trees.  We were in bed by 8:00 and sound asleep soon after.

Rio Turbio

 Day 2: With such an early bedtime, Carl was up, bright eyed and bushy tailed, by 6:00 that morning, and made sure that I was up as well to enjoy it.  We weren't the only ones - a Colorado fox stopped to give us a long glance before continuing purposefully down the trail.  Our itinerary followed the valley towards its head, then up and over the pass.  It's still the beginning of summer here so there was a sizeable snowfield covering the rocks and scree.  It made for easier hiking on the way up, and some exciting glissading and self-arrests on the way down.

At the pass, looking back the way we came

 The trail wound back into the forest and then turned uphill to follow a glacial stream.  As unnerving as it is to drink directly from the rivers here without treating the water, this is probably one of the last places on earth where you can do that.  After conquering the pass our legs and lungs were not excited about the stairs that greeted us, but the hanging glaciers and soaring peaks at the end were well worth the effort.  That night we were in bed by 7:30, about 3 hours before dark.

Our campsite for nights 2 and 3, underneath Cerro Castillo

 Day 3: Today was a well-justified rest day, with a leisurely morning followed by some local explorations.  A quick scramble up a scree field brought us to a hanging valley probably formed some hundreds of years ago by the glacier looming overhead.  We could hear the glacier creaking and grumbling, and kept looking over our shoulders for pieces to come tumbling down.  When they do break off, it sounds like thunder and echoes around the valley.  We spent a good two or three hours up there exploring the small lake that fed a massive waterfall, stone formations shaped like waves, and chunks of glacial ice in the debris field.

Up in the hanging valley

Day 4: The last day of the trip dawned just as mild and blue as the others; the weather itself was nothing short of miraculous, all the better to enjoy the scenery.  From our campsite it was a short hike up to the lake below Cerro Castillo, and then a longer climb over a tumbling boulder field to the ridge opposite.  We stopped every couple of steps to rest our weary legs and take in the incredible views of at least 4 separate hanging glaciers and twisting spires of rock.  It was breathtaking, in every sense of the word.

Cerro Castillo reflected in the lake below

 We crested the ridge only to have our minds blown once again.  The entire valley of the Rio Ibanez was splayed out beneath us, with glimpses of Lago General Carrera and Argentina to the east and a solid band of snow-capped peaks sweeping around to the valley's head to the west.  Down below, the village of Cerro Castillo lay nestled in a curve of the river, and we could even make out Mary's house, and track the course of the Carretera Austral on its way south.  The trail down was brutally steep, making the scenic breaks even more crucial.  At one point a condor floated silently by at eye level, looping back and forth on the rising thermals.

The town of Cerro Castillo and the Rio Ibanez, with Lago General Carrera and Argentina in the distance

 The last leg of the hike took us towards town via the horse trail we had traversed with Cristian.  We made sure to stop at the sandwich bus before arriving back on Mary's doorstep, foot sore and bearing victorious face-sized sandwiches.  Mary kept asking us how the hike compared to Alaska or Montana, and there's really no comparison.  It's in a class of its own.