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D L M M J V S Destino: Mount Fitz Roy

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21 11 de diciembre Modo : Omnibus y pies
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El Calafate a Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, Argentina

We woke at 5:15, showered and dragged ourselves on board the Cal-

Tur bus that was running and waiting downstairs. After a quick stop at
the bus station to take on more passengers, we were off to the North. I
started reading Cerruti’s book, El Jefe, about former Argentine President
Carlos Menem. Andy dove into an Agatha Chrisite novel that he picked
up at the free book exchange in the lobby as we were checking out.
Just before 9:30, we pulled into a
cheerful roadside restaurant/hotel, called
Cafe La Leona, where we ate a very early
lunch. The young lunch counter
attendant, Irma, couldn’t help noticing my
camcorder. She introduced herself and
explained that La Leona was a family Argentine Stuckey’s
business. As I filmed her, she smiled and
pointed herself out in the gallery of black-
and-white family photographs proudly
displayed on the restaurant’s main wall.
Before leaving, we thanked her for the
jamón y queso sandwiches and te caliente Irma’s smile
which were fantastic.
Around 11:00, we arrived at El Chaltén, the main entrance to the
Parque Nacional Los Glaciares where we were deposited at the Fitz Roy
Inn. The bus parked and the groups quickly dispersed.
Gary and Shauna headed west to Cerro Rafael, a
California climber and his photographer
went to scale Mt. Fitz Roy, and

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 Andy and I were left...basically
stranded. We wanted to catch a
ride another twenty kilometers
north, so that we could reach the
campsite on private property at
Piedra del Fraile. The best rate
that we were offered was twenty
pesos. In defeat, we decided to
start walking and hacer autostop
up the ten-mile stretch to Río
Eléctrico.
Unfortunately, only two cars
passed us in the first two hours
and neither slowed enough to even
consider giving us a lift. This was
a real downer. The packs were
weighing their heaviest of the trip,
and we were both tired after
trudging up this camino sinuoso for
two hours in over eighty degree
heat.
Finally, around 14:00, a
metallic miracle came lumbering up the path in the form of a shiny, new
motorcoach fresh from the Saab factory in neighboring Brazil. The young
Argentine in the passenger seat opened the window and yelled down to
us, “A dónde van?”
“Río Electrico!” we shouted.
“Suban!”came the reply.
This proved to be a lifesaver. The ten-minute ride to Río Electrico
made us realize that we would have hiked another two hours before
reaching the river. We hit it off with the Argentines on board who were
driving their luxury coach to a nearby gas station. Apparently, Andy and I
parque nacional: national park were their first two passengers The
piedra del fraile: friar’s rock driver, Javiér, and his trusty copilot,
hacer autostop: to hitchhike
río eléctrico: the electric river. Max, explained that the bus would
camino sinuoso: twisty road be making its maiden voyage to El
A dónde van?: Where are you going?
Suban!: Get on! Come aboard! Calafate later that night.

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 When we told them about our planned trek, they told us how to tactfully
deal with a gentleman named Ricardo, the owner of the campsite at our
destination, Los Troncos.
The campsite is on his private property, so he is somewhat selective
about who gets to pitch a tent in his front yard. Andy and I were a little
intimidated by the stories which made Ricardo out to be Patagonia’s
version of the Soup Nazi. In summary, they told us to do three things:
1) Be polite, 2) Speak Spanish and 3) Keep our campsite clean. Considering
our combined eight years of schooling at General Lee’s institution of
higher learning, the first two items came quite naturally. The cleanliness
matter was another issue entirely. Unfortunately, four years in the ΣAE
house at Washington & Lee had not impressed upon us the importance

“Robert E. Lee’s experience in the

Mexican War and in Texas had
convinced him of the need for
Americans to understand the
Spanish language and the
Latin American civilization.”
-Charles Bracelen Flood

of order and cleanliness...or the merits of sobriety for that matter. Still,
we had received Gabriela’s Good Tentkeeping Seal of Approval back in
Chile, and hopes were high that our neat tendencies would carry over to
Argentine soil. After a quick five-kilometer ride, we thanked Max and

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Javiér, wished them well on their maiden voyage and disembarked.
At 14:15, we were standing before the bridge crossing Río Electrico.
We consulted our map and headed due west. The trek started out pretty
smoothly along the river’s southern bank. However, only minutes later,
we erred from the beaten path by mistakenly following cattle trails which
led us into the middle of a dense forest. We got split up and
spent the next twenty minutes knocking into trees and
breaking branches with our towering backpacks. Eventually,
we both ended up back on the river bank where Andy broke
out his compass and steered us back on course. Miraculously,

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we found the path again and continued our quest for Los Troncos and the
notorious Trail Nazi. In the back of our minds, we wondered if Max
and Javiér had even met Ricardo. Hopefully, they were just perpetuating
some childhood rumor or rural legend.
The route from here on up was beautiful: a well-shaded trail with a
slight incline and the sound of the rushing Río Eléctrico to our immediate
right. The only negative was that the valley had been thrashed recently
by a serious flood. The carnage was evident with huge tree trunks lying
on both sides of the trail. The fallen arboles made for good resting spots
during the final hour of the trek. Along the final stretch, the combined
weight of the packs and the upward slope of the trail began wearing on
us. The fatigue was compounded by the apprehension that we were
both feeling. If by chance we were not up to Ricardo’s standards, he
could potentially screw up our camping plans big time.
Finally, around 17:00, five and one-half hours after getting off of the
omnibus from El Calafate, we arrived at Piedras del Fraile and the Los
Troncos campsite. Both of us were a bit nervous as we stood before a
wooden fence and surveyed the landscape. The fence itself was only
knee-high and, as such, did not present a real obstacle to potential intruders.
Still, we wanted to make a good impression on Ricardo and barging
uninvited onto his property
did not seem like the best
approach. Our need for
approval at that moment was
fueled by fatigue, hunger and
our unwillingness to make a
five-hour trek back to the Fitz
Roy Inn. Dinner was needed
and sunset was approaching.
While awaiting our host’s arrival, we took a quick inventory of his
rural oasis. The centerpiece of the site was a windowless log cabin which
was obviously the owner’s home. A narrow stream of smoke rose from
the cabin’s chimney and drifted gently to the north. Five or six individual
campsites, three of which were occupied, comprised the northern perimeter
of the grounds. Directly behind the cabin were two wooden teepees,
presumably for use by guests during periods of extreme cold. The southern
perimeter of the site included a small outhouse and an outdoor sink for

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 plate and human washing. The thought of scrubbing greasy plates was
actually appealing to me since the task would be preceded by major

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consumption of warm grub.
At last, the cabin door opened and
Ricardo emerged. Strangely, the scene
reminded me of Willie Wonka’s initial
approach to greet the five golden ticket
winners waiting outside his factory gates.
Although we had no Wonka bars or golden
tickets, we did have a few pesos in hand with
which to barter and secure campsite entry.
After what seemed like an eternity, Ricardo
met us face-to-face at the wooden fence. Andy
and I were a little nervous, but we had been
well-coached up to this point. Max and
Javiér’s advice was racing through our minds
like a broken disco: Be polite, Speak Spanish...Be polite, Speak Spanish.
Upon reaching the fence, Ricardo sized up his trail-weary gringo
! callers and began the conversation with a simple “Buenas Tardes.” We
replied in unison with an equally simple yet effective, “Buenas Tardes.”
Then came the gringo grovelling: Con permiso, nos gustaríamos pasar
un par de noches aqui en su camping.” Pleased with our politeness or
perhaps sensing our desperation, Ricardo smiled, leaned down, opened
the knee-high front gate and showed us around the campsite. Andy
and I followed Ricardo pesos: Argentine currency. The value of the
single-file through the peso is pegged to the U.S. dollar, so the
exchange rate is simply 1 peso = $1.
grounds of Los Troncos and disco: an lp or record. Songs are temas and
the Wonka analogy seemed cd’s are commonly called compactos.
buenas tardes: good afternoon (typically noon
even more appropriate. - 8pm). Say Buenos dias or buen dia in the
Here was a single man living morning and buenas noches at night.
con permiso: with your permission
alone in the wilderness with nos gustaríamos: we would like...you can
only the occasional visitor to never lay the pleasantries on too thick with
strangers in Latin America. Me gustaría or Yo
his top-secret compound. quisiera = I would like to or I want to.
Not only had Ricardo par de noches: couple of nights. A useful
phrase: Par de cervezas...par de amigas.
fenced himself in from llamada de larga distancia: long-distance
possible intruders, he had phone call. Unheard of in the Patagonia,
even created his own unliess you pack your Globalstar phone.
solo para acampantes: for campers only

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 Ricardo outdoor brand of Oompa Loompa.
Surrounding Ricardo’s cabin were dozens of
whimsical freestanding wood characters and
signs. The carvings indicated at least two
things: one, our host did indeed have a sense
of humor and two, it must get pretty lonely
out here in the fall and winter months (March
through August in the Southern
Hemisphere).
Aside from several bark-encrusted petting
zoo figures, one of the carvings was an
oversized wooden telephone complete with large buttons and a removable
handset. The inscription “Para Llamadas de Larga Distancia” mocked
potential phone seekers and reminded Patagonia Cell Phone
us of just how disconnected we were
from the outside world. Andy had
not spoken to his folks since Chile,
and my last contact with the States
was prior to departure from Buenos
Aires. Despite the isolation from friends Para Llamadas De Larga Distancia
and family, there is an undeniable sense of security out here in the central
No Room At The Inn... Patagonia.
The camaraderie evidenced at Los
Troncos was a prime example. Before
choosing a spot for setting up camp,
Andy and I walked around and met
some of the other trekkers and climbers.
The Los Troncos Manger Most everyone was friendly and either
exhausted from hiking all day or anxious about a planned ascent of Mount
Fitz Roy early the next morning. A young,
Welcome to Los Troncos !
married German couple fell into the first
category, while a small French team of
hard-core mountain climbers fell into
the second group. Andy and I seem to
fit somewhere comfortably in the
middle of the Los Troncos posse: a bit Solo Para Acampantes !
more daring than the newlyweds from Stuttgart, yet not quite as radical

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as the stone-faced Frenchies.
After making the rounds, we decided to set up the Trango, relax and
get started on dinner. Once the tent was standing, we kicked back in our
Crazy Creek camp chairs and read in the fading sunlight until 21:30.
When it was finally too dark to read, Andy fired up the stove and I
pulled together the ingredients for a simple dinner. A mushy mix of
corkscrew pasta, sauce and queso rollado was prepared and devoured in
less than twenty minutes. Our urgency was prompted by a combination
of hunger and rapidly falling temperatures. As the Los Troncos site sits in
a narrow canyon at the base of two mountain chains, it is exposed and
battered by strong mountain winds.
By 22:00, the Patagonia®pullovers and
thermals were donned and we turned in
to Chez Trango for the night. While
Andy read, I filmed the sunset and
marveled at the sunlight that remained at
22:13 on a cold December night in Los
Troncos, Chaltén, Provincia Santa Cruz,
Republica Argentina.

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Parque Nacional Los Glaciares
Río Eléctrico

Los Troncos

Mt. Fitz Roy

The Fitz Roy Inn

Lago de los Tres

Administración

E x c u r s i o n e s
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