Not every glacier is shrinking

Argentina | Anno 2017

 

Saturday, November 4 | El Calafate

Sunday, November 5 | Los Glaciares NP

Monday, November 6 | Los Glaciares NP

Tuesday, November 7 | El Calafate – Río Don Guillermo

 

 

Saturday, November 4 | El Calafate

It must be a desert-like landscape down there, intersected by dry riverbeds. That's at least the impression we get whenever the clouds reveal a glimpse of the land. Then, in the distance, Lake Argentino appears, with an area of 1,600 km² the largest body of water in Argentina. An uninterrupted chain of white Andean peaks fills the western horizon.

 

Snow-capped peaks of the Andes, Lago Argentino

It will be a less comfortable descent, it feels like we're rushing down over cobblestones. A little later, we safely touch down at Aeropuerto Internacional Comandante Armando Tola. A radiant blue sky unfolds above our heads. The thermometer reads 14 °C (57 °F), and the clouds excel in their absence.

An enthusiastic Pablo awaits us there. He promptly apologizes for the good weather because this is not Patagonia; it's way too beautiful. Actually, the Andes shouldn't even be visible.

Patagonians always carry stones in their pockets to avoid being blown away

Normally, the wind here could knock you off your socks. Patagonians are always prepared for that – they carry stones in their pockets to avoid being blown away. By the way, they will never speak the word wind. Because if you say its name, the wind immediately feels addressed and will make itself heard. The fact that Pablo has already uttered the word wind several times makes us fear that a strong storm is looming.

With driver Danilo at the wheel of the Mercedes-Benz Marco Polo, we embark on the journey to El Calafate, about twenty kilometres away. There, we settle into Kosten Aike, the House of the Wind, our cosy spot for the next three nights. With a lot of interior woodwork, they manage to create an atmosphere of warm homeliness in the hotel.

There's not much to experience in El Calafate itself, Pablo acknowledges frankly. But the Laguna Nimez Nature Reserve is within walking distance, and that is definitely worth a visit.

We don't need much persuasion. We put away our snow caps, bring out our sunglasses and sunscreen, and head to the lagoon. There, we discover a delightful piece of protected Patagonian steppe, a bit squeezed between the town and the lake. Jubilant chirping and croaking greet us from the treeless lagoon. Sunbeams sparkle on the water ripples between the reeds. In the distance, the white snow-capped peaks of the Andes shine.

 

Laguna Nimez Nature Reserve

El humedal sostiene diversidad de vida, reads the sign on the gate – Wetlands contribute to biodiversity. That's correct, but in this lagoon, it's exclusively birds that are responsible for that. Around eighty species are said to be counted here.

In a wide loop, the path takes us around the water body. A little austral negrito tiptoes in front of us, as if it wants to welcome us. Open areas near lakes are its thing; there, it likes to scour the ground for tasty morsels. On its back, it sports a little red hood.

 

Austral negrito

Upland geese (m and f)

More conspicuous is the Chilean lapwing that lingers among the tussock grass. With a hint of dignity, it observes its surroundings. If it has a nest, it won't hesitate to defend it aggressively. The slanting sunlight makes its bronze shoulders glitter like a beautiful rainbow in the sun.

 

Chilean lapwing

Upland geese are also present. On a small hill, they are feasting on the plants. It's a pair, committed to each other for life. While she can leisurely sniff around the grass, he regularly extends his neck to detect potential dangers.

 

Patagonian mockingbird

From a calafate bush, a Patagonian mockingbird scans the surroundings. It is a virtuoso singer, effortlessly mimicking the songs of other birds. However, he refuses to showcase his talent for us, stubbornly remaining silent.

 

Rufous-collared sparrow

Coscoroba swan

The same cannot be said for the small white swans on the island in the middle of the lagoon. They are constantly quacking. They may even owe their name, these coscoroba swans, to their call, which sounds like cos-co-ro-oa.

 

When it comes to making noise, black-faced ibises certainly don't want to be left behind

Black-faced ibis with chicks

When it comes to making noise, black-faced ibises certainly don't want to be left behind. But they are not easy to spot as they hide along the water's edge among the reeds. With their long, curved beaks, they go after insects and spiders, but reptiles and small mammals are also not safe in their vicinity.

 

Cinereous harrier (f)

For cinereous harriers, that reed bed is a dream breeding ground. Several couples have their nests there. November is the month when they lay their eggs. This process is accompanied by quite a bit of activity. They regularly rise above the reeds and glide loudly chattering above their nests.

 

Cinereous harrier (m)

Chimango

The males are easily recognizable – blue-grey plumage, rusty belly. It's a bit more challenging to identify the females. Initially, with their brown feathers, we mistook them for chimangos.

 

Chimango

Among the many ducks in the lagoon, the ruddy duck appeals to us the most. In winter, they are dull, grey-brown birds, but in spring, the males flaunt a splendid chestnut-brown body, and especially a blue bill. They glide gracefully through the water, with their long tail feathers standing stiffly upward like a rear mast.

 

Flying steamer ducks

Ruddy duck (m)

With its lower legs comically folded forward, a red-gartered coot forages through the shallow water. This is one of the largest coots, distinguished by a conspicuous red shield on its yellow bill. Water plants are on its menu, but it also doesn't disdain small animals, fish, or eggs.

Having two legs and using only one – strange fellows, those flamingos.

Chilean flamingo

Of the many Chilean flamingos that the lagoon boasts, there is none to be seen today. Except for that one specimen standing on one leg in the lagoon, dozing off. The rest of the colony hangs out a few kilometres away, in the shallow waters of Bahía Redonda.

Having two legs and using only one – strange fellows, those flamingos. But that bizarre behaviour could be related to pure self-preservation. Usually, the bottom of shallow lagoons is very muddy. In that case, a leg can sink deep. Too deep, sometimes. With both legs in the mud, things can go awry. However, if you keep one leg in reserve, you can always pull yourself up with it. Smart fellows, those flamingos.

 

Red-gartered coot

Spectacled tyrant

From a calafate bush, a small black bird scans the surroundings. It's a peculiar sight, with pale-yellow rings around its pale-yellow eyes. It owes its name spectacled tyrant to these rings. Although it sits very quietly now, it can be quite aggressive and noisy. This is a typical family trait of tyrants, a family of loud songbirds.

Almost invisible in the tall grass, the South American snipe is perched. Its plumage blends well with the surroundings. What stands out is its long, straight beak. This beak comes in handy when it wants to pick insects and earthworms from the soft mud by touch.

The long-tailed meadowlark has never heard of camouflage

South American snipe

Long-tailed meadowlark (m)

The long-tailed meadowlark has never heard of camouflage. It perches conspicuously on a pole, displaying its fiery red belly and chest. It's a male. The female, diligently searching for food, tiptoes through the grass. Together they probably have a nest nearby.

 

Long-tailed meadowlark (f) with prey

She already has a fat maggot in her beak, but she wants more of that delicacy. Then something catches her attention. She gently places the maggot on the ground and stares at it intently for a few seconds. Is the maggot still moving? No, she can rest assured; the maggot is completely lifeless and won't escape. She then probes between the grass with her beak. In vain, she gets nothing. She takes the maggot back in her beak and hops around, continuing her search for treats.

The lagoon managed to captivate us for more than two hours before we return to Kosten Aike. For dinner, Pablo picks us up around eight o'clock. We walk to Restaurante Patagónica for fresh ceviche and hearty salmon. It takes Pablo some effort to keep us on the straight and narrow afterward. The limoncello probably has something to do with that.

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Sunday, November 5 | Los Glaciares NP

Taste the berry of the calafate bush, and you will return to Patagonia one day. We already knew that from Ines. But Pablo also tells us why.

Long before the Spaniards arrived, this was the land of the Tehuelche – the giants to whom Patagonia owes its name. True to their nomadic nature, they migrated every year with the changing seasons. As winter approached, they moved to warmer areas in the north.

Even the birds refused to keep her company, no matter how strongly she insisted

Until the day came when Koonex, the old sorceress, could no longer handle the distant journey. Despite her pleas, the little woman was forced to stay behind with only a tent and some food. Even the birds refused to keep her company, no matter how strongly she insisted. In the harsh winter, the birds would find no food.

Koonex didn't stop there; she transformed herself into a calafate bush full of berries – an easy feat for an experienced sorceress. The berries would serve as food for the birds, and the sharp thorns would protect them from their predators. And the birds stayed.

In spring, when the Tehuelche returned, they saw with astonishment beautiful bushes with golden flowers. From these flowers grew delicious berries. So delicious that the Tehuelche returned every year to the place where those berries grew.

We take Pablo's lesson to heart and generously spread calafateberry jam on our breakfast rolls. Meanwhile, above El Calafate, an unparalleled blue sky has settled in. Not a single cloud spoils the view. And that's just as well because today we have Los Glaciares on the agenda. Since 1981, this national park with the fabulous Perito Moreno Glacier has been part of the world heritage.

Spring is well underway; high in the mountains, the snow is beginning to melt

In a wide arc, driver Danilo takes us around Bahía Redonda, a shallow, marshy inlet of Lake Argentino. Spring is well underway; high in the mountains, the snow is beginning to melt. The water level of the lake will rise significantly as a result. A completely natural process, Pablo emphasizes – it has nothing to do with climate change.

At the beginning of summer – late December – the lake's water will flow into Bahía Redonda. Where we now look down on muddy terrain a few meters lower, the water will almost reach our feet.

 

Bahía Redonda – Chilean flamingos

By that time, the Chilean flamingos, which are currently peacefully feeding in the mud, will also have to move on. There are only a few dozen of them, but in total, this colony consists of about a hundred individuals, Pablo informs us.

With their legs, they churn up the murky bottom, sucking water into their beaks and filtering out the food – mainly small shellfish and algae. This diet provides them with a considerable amount of carotenoids, giving them their pink colour.

 

Andes, Santa Cruz River

Driving through steppe-like terrain, we head west along the lake. In the distance, the white peaks of the Andes beckon. This area is a semi-desert, expecting no more than 30 mm of rain per year. This holds true for seventy percent of Patagonia. In addition, a quarter is dominated by mountains, and five percent is coastal.

Despite the seemingly inhospitable nature of this steppe, farmers have developed their activities. Grazing animals dot the landscape, primarily cows now, whereas just a few years ago, it was predominantly sheep. Pablo has witnessed this transition in recent years. The recent months' rainfall is good news for these ruminants. Occasionally, we spot one of the very large estancias.

The calafate is the most common plant in the region. However, the low shrubs with yellow flowers that we observe here and there are not calafates. Most often, they are paramela, a plant with medicinal properties. It is believed to have anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving effects – although much of this knowledge has been lost, according to Pablo. Here and there, the senecio patagonicus with its yellow flowers also stands out. It is a kind of ragwort, from which a steppe vodka is said to be distilled nowadays. Apparently, this is knowledge that is not easily lost.

You can only see them from here – 70 to 80 km away – for about sixty days a year but today is one of those days

Torres del Paine

You can only see them from here for about sixty days a year but today is one of those days. Through the green hills, we see them crystal clear in the distance – the peaks of Torres del Paine, the place where we will settle in three days. Those sharp peaks should be about seventy to eighty kilometres away from here. It's like seeing the Shard in London from Cambridge. The weather couldn't be better.

 

Andes Mountains

Tourism is almost the entire economy in El Calafate, Pablo specifies. About four out of five residents owe their jobs to it. This has been especially true since the opening of the international airport in 2001. Since then, the population has increased from 6,000 to 21,000.

However, if you look at the province of Santa Cruz, tourism only comes in third. Mines and quarries are the first, followed by oil and gas.

Although Lake Argentino is the largest lake in Argentina, in South America, it ranks fourth. Pablo wants to know if we know the other three lakes. Yes, we promptly mention Lake Titicaca. But that turns out to be only the second. With an area of 13,500 km², the Venezuelan Lago de Maracaibo stands lonely at the top. In third place comes Lago Buenos Aires, on the border with Chile – although Chileans prefer to call it Lake General Carrera.

Still, the hundred-kilometre-long Lake Argentino commands our respect. Only the Santa Cruz River drains the lake and flows through Patagonia to the Atlantic Ocean. The water temperature stays between 2°C and 12°C (36 °F and 54 °F). It won't freeze, as it contains too much salt.

Suddenly, the steppe is gone. The desolate landscape with its low shrubs gives way to the rugged vegetation we met in Tierra del Fuego – lenga, ñire, misodendrum, ... A lush green landscape surrounds us now. Rain is no stranger here, as it falls for two months a year.

Along the Brazo Rico, a distant extension of Lake Argentino, we enter the Los Glaciares National Park. It becomes apparent immediately. In the distance, we begin to discern a glacier.

A brilliant colour scheme gradually unfolds before our eyes – the steel-blue sky, the chalk-white snow peaks, the blue-black mountain masses, the light blue glacier ice, the lush green around the bay.

 

National Park Los Glaciares – Brazo Rico, Perito Moreno Glacier, Chilean firebush

And as the icing on the cake, the scarlet, tubular flowers of the Chilean firebush. This is the best time of the year to see this evergreen shrub in bloom, says Pablo. Artisanal objects are carved from the soft but durable wood.

But we are particularly interested in the glaciers. There are no less than 48 of them here. They all originate from the Patagonian ice field. That is a gigantic ice mass between the peaks of the Andes. With its area of 17,000 km², the ice field is about half the size of Taiwan.

Not without pride, Pablo calls this the third-largest ice field in the world – only the ice caps of Antarctica and Greenland do better. The time when the Patagonian ice cap covered almost half a million square kilometres is more than 17,000 years behind us. Argentina and Chile agree that this unique area must be protected. Together they manage several conservation programs.

So, plenty of glaciers. And once again, Pablo knows why. The wind constantly brings moist air from the sea. Not from the Atlantic Ocean, as you might expect, but all the way across the Andes from the Pacific Ocean.

No obstacle stops the circumpolar wind. Until it hits the Andes

Between 60° and 45° south latitude, a clockwise circumpolar wind blows undisturbed around Antarctica. No obstacle stops it. Until it hits the Andes. There, the moist air flows over the mountains and drops part of its load on the eastern slopes of the Andes. As if the mountains scrape moisture from the wind, Pablo poetically sums up the situation.

Ten to twenty meters of snow falls on the mountain slopes annually. Given the low temperature, that snow will not melt. New layers press the snow closer and closer together until firn is formed, a mix of coarse grains of snow and ice. And eventually, that mixture becomes so compact that ice is formed.

Over time, the pressure will become so great that all air bubbles are squeezed out of the ice. So the ice becomes clearer, and light rays can pass through more easily. But that doesn't work equally well for all colours. Red and yellow light rays are absorbed along the way, only the blue ones reappear. Hence glacier ice is often light blue.

Hence glacier ice is often light blue

In the accumulation zone, right at the top of the glacier, snow accumulates continuously. Of course, that zone is almost always under the clouds because it usually snows there.

But it doesn't stop there. Due to its weight, the glacier ice will slowly slide down the slope and abrade. Over time, it reaches the melting zone, where more ice melts than is added. At the very bottom, the glacier ends in a glacial lake. Incidentally, glaciers on the Chilean side of the Andes usually end in the Pacific Ocean, notes Pablo.

Enough theory, it's time for some practice. More and more ice floes drift on our left side in the water of Brazo Rico, and in the distance, a glacier looms larger – Perito Moreno is waiting for us. It is by far the most famous glacier in Argentina and perhaps in South America, an absolute top attraction.

 

Brazo Rico – Ice floes

Perito Moreno owes its popularity to three factors, knows Pablo. Firstly, it is a stunning natural wonder, with an area of 250 km² and a length of 32 km. The ice crystals begin their leisurely descent from an altitude of almost three thousand meters. This journey takes three to five hundred years. Nevertheless, with such a speed, Perito Moreno is among the fastest racers among the glaciers.

Secondly, this glacier is extremely accessible. Whether you want to overlook it entirely, approach it very closely, on land or on water – it's all possible. And all of this without getting your feet wet. Only the weather needs to cooperate, but that's in good shape today.

Perito Moreno does not participate in the trend of shrinking glaciers. On the contrary, it even dares to grow

But above all, there is its unique stability. Perito Moreno does not participate in the trend of shrinking glaciers. On the contrary, it even dares to grow. Climate change seems to have no effect on it.

In short, Perito Moreno is in excellent health. At least the glacier, not the man after whom it is named. Because he died in 1919 without ever having seen his glacier.

However, it was close. During one of his exploratory journeys, he followed exactly the same route as us – albeit not on the same comfortable asphalt road. But he prematurely abandoned his quest, assuming that there was nothing interesting beyond the bend. He narrowly missed an appointment with history there. Because just around the bend was Perito Moreno, the glacier – even we know that by now.

He narrowly missed an appointment with history there

Danilo drops us at Puerto Bajo las Sombras, the starting point of the Safari Náutico, as they call it here. The boat trip will take us close to the southern ice front of the glacier.

 

Brazo Rico – Perito Moreno Glacier

A bustling affair, indeed. We climb aboard the Victoria Argentina, a catamaran that can accommodate 260 passengers. It's a closed boat, but quite soon after departure, everyone is outside at the railing to enjoy the spectacle.

And it's definitely worth it. Layers of rock, folded over each other like cosy blankets, bear witness on the shores to the immense forces that have shaped this landscape. Icebergs, large and small, float on the water.

 

Glacier front with seracs

Closer and closer, we approach the vertical white wall, with the pockmarked glacier surface and the snowy Andes massif in the distance. And above, a steel-blue sky, as the generous sun continues to shine.

An immense feeling of beauty prevails as we look up against the white wall. Even though the glacier carries some debris, creating grey streaks across the ice front. Sunlight generously plays with subtle contrasts of white and blue in the crevices between the seracs, the towering ice columns at the top of the ice front. These seracs rise up to seventy meters above our heads.

 

 

We can't get enough of it. And yet, we occasionally miss something. You hear a splash, you look up, but what you see is at most some ripples and white debris on the water. The sound of breaking ice takes one to two seconds to reach our ears due to the distance. So, we keep watching to not miss anything.

Calving of the glacier is, by the way, the most normal thing in the world. It has nothing to do with global warming. It has everything to do with the kinematics of the ice. Perito Moreno is one of those glaciers that rests entirely on the rock bottom. Even where it reaches into the lake, it maintains contact with the ground. Although a thin layer of water between the glacier and its bed acts as a sort of lubricant. Therefore, in the summer, the glacier descends slightly faster than in the winter.

 

Calving of the glacier is the most normal thing in the world. It has nothing to do with global warming

But that sliding and grinding don't happen uniformly. For instance, it's a bit more challenging and, therefore, slower at the edges. This leads to cracks in the glacier, the crevasses. Melting also weakens the ice, particularly at the waterline. Chunks will continually break off and plunge into the water.

 

An immense feeling of beauty prevails as we look up against the white wall

 

That can be quite dangerous. There are glaciers known for calving, creating waves up to seven meters high. But there's more. Sometimes, the submerged part doesn't break free during calving. It then falls prey to the destructive action of the water. If it suddenly breaks off, it shoots up like a projectile from beneath the water to the surface.

Plenty of reasons for the captain to maintain a safe distance from the ice wall. That’s no problem. Even from three to five hundred meters away, it remains a magnificent phenomenon.

 

Plenty of reasons for the captain to maintain a safe distance from the ice wall

Glaciers whose ends float on the water will never calve. Icebergs on the sea won't either. For glaciers resting on land, it's second nature. In Greenland alone, glaciers produce twelve to fifteen thousand icebergs annually through calving.

This reasoning led the Russian scientist Lomonosov in 1760 to predict that there must be land near the South Pole, in contrast to the North Pole. Otherwise, there would be no explanation for the many icebergs drifting into the Atlantic Ocean from the south.

A little after eleven, we're back on the bus. Velo de Novia, Bridal Veil, is the name of the viewpoint where we cast a final glance at Perito Moreno. The name might be a bit far-fetched, but the view of Brazo Rico, the glacier, and the snow-white Andes is breathtaking – especially with those beautiful scarlet firebushes in the foreground.

It's a temporary farewell to Perito Moreno because we still have the glacier's northern ice front ahead of us. Danilo heads towards Península Magellanes, the peninsula just opposite the glacier tongue.

The glacier is within arm's reach. Or so it seems

Península Magellanes – Perito Moreno Glacier

Comfortable pedestrian bridges have been built against the mountainside. Sturdy and safe structures, they stretch over four kilometres in total. The glacier is within arm's reach. At least, that's how it appears – although the ice front is still more than two hundred meters away from us.

 

Perito Moreno Glacier

It becomes a fascinating journey along the ice front. Sometimes we have a panoramic view of the entire glacier, and at other times, we are almost pressed against the glacier wall. This white wall is five kilometres wide, with a height ranging from 40 to 70 meters. You need to add an average depth of 160 meters underwater. So, in total, it's more than two hundred meters. Ice chunks regularly break off, and sometimes the cracking and rumbling last for tens of seconds.

 

Calving glacier

Further up against the mountain, the ice layer is an impressive seven hundred meters thick. The rock bottom is pushed down to two hundred meters below sea level, while the city of El Calafate is two hundred meters above sea level.

The pressure exerted by glaciers on their beds is enormous. It is known that Norwegian fjords are still recovering from the pressure exerted by glaciers during the last ice age, about twelve thousand years ago. Every year, the ground there rebounds a few centimetres.

 

in this overwhelming scenery, the boat appears no larger than a nutshell

In front of the glacier, a boat sails with several dozen passengers on board. It's not small by any means, but in this overwhelming scenery, it appears no larger than a nutshell.

 

Dead trees

Seracs

Remarkably, many dead trees stand on the peninsula, mercilessly broken by the Patagonian wind. The layer of fertile soil on the hard rock bottom is very thin here. Tree roots cannot penetrate the ground very deeply, so they tend to grow laterally, seeking their way. There is not much support to be found. When the wind blows strongly, they quickly fall.

 

 

The fact that Perito Moreno grows by about seven hundred meters each year – averaging two meters per day – has its consequences. Because the glacier is not stopped by the water of Brazo Rico, it steadily advances towards the opposite side and settles on the rocky shore of Península Magellanes. This creates an ice dam that completely blocks the passage – Brazo Rico is cut off from Lago Argentino.

Behind that dam, a massive amount of water accumulates, up to thirty meters higher than normal. Erosion and water pressure relentlessly eat away at the ice dam. Gradually, water seeps through the ice, creating a cavity that grows larger over time. This forms an ice bridge that can reach up to fifty meters in height – a true natural wonder, as Pablo calls it.

An ice bridge is formed that can reach up to fifty meters in height – a true natural wonder

This ice bridge is what gives Perito Moreno its greatest spectacle value. Because after a few days, it collapses with a great roar.

This has been happening regularly since 1917. Sometimes with an interval of one or two years, sometimes with an interval of more than ten years. The most recent collapse of the ice bridge occurred on March 10, 2016, attracting immense attention, of course.

 

Chilean firebush

A new ice bridge seems to be in the making, Pablo guesses, because in September, the glacier has come into contact again with the rocky shore of Península Magellanes. It turns out to be true. During the weekend of March 11, 2018, a hype will even arise because everyone wants to see the new bridge collapse. However, it will happen at night, in secret, while no one is watching.

 

 

We return via a path along the edge of the Canal de las Témpanos, the Icebergs Channel. A cool wind descends from the glacier over our shoulders. The cracking of the glacier and the splashing of the breaking ice become fainter in the background.

 

Canal de las Témpanos

We have lunch at the Perito Moreno Glacier Snackbar. Crested caracaras are perched in a tree and on the roof, keeping watch. As we now know, they are not at all afraid of the proximity of people. And as they now know, there is always something to scavenge near picnickers.

 

Crested caracara

After three o'clock, we return to El Calafate. Soon, at six o'clock, life in Argentina will come to a standstill for two hours. Even Pablo will succumb for a while because nobody here wants to miss el superclassico del mundo Argentino. The Boca Juniors and the River Plate will face each other – the two absolute top teams in Argentina.

We're not particularly interested in that. Instead, we opt for a second visit to Laguna Nimez. However, it's very quiet now, too quiet. Birds are hardly visible. Perhaps the Sunday bustle on the adjacent road is to blame. Or maybe our feathered friends are watching the football.

Soon, at six o'clock, life in Argentina will come to a standstill for two hours

On the little island in the lagoon, an upland goose watches over her brood. She has six chicks under her care.

 

Cinereous harrier (f)

Above the reed bed, the cinereous harriers make their presence known regularly. Occasionally, a female leaves her nest to forage or defend it against potential threats.

It takes some effort, but eventually, we spot a black-faced ibis with her offspring – two fluffy chicks nestled in the reeds at the water's edge.

In the evening, we're served our first empanadas – baked or fried pastries filled with meat or cheese. Then, large pieces of lamb, likely spit-roasted, are brought to the table. A cheesecake with orange concludes the meal.

We almost forgot to mention: the Boca Juniors defeated River Plate 1-2.

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Monday, November 6 | Los Glaciares NP

When Perito Moreno reached the shore of Lago Argentino on February 15, 1877, he promptly planted the Argentine flag. It was a time when Argentina and Chile were keen on asserting their claims over the pristine Patagonia. The small peninsula where this occurred is now called Punta Bandera, the point with the flag. That is our destination today.

After this feat, Moreno crossed the lake and continued his journey northward. There, one of the highest mountains in the area caught his attention. The Tehuelche people called that mountain El Chaltén, the smoking mountain – implying a volcano.

It turned out to be nothing more than a granite peak, often surrounded by a wreath of clouds near the top

However, it turned out to be nothing more than a granite peak, often surrounded by a wreath of clouds near the top. Nonetheless, it is an impressive peak. Though only 3,405 meters high, its nearly vertical flanks still make it one of the most challenging mountains to climb in the world.

Moreno named this imposing chunk of granite Fitz Roy, after the captain of HMS Beagle, the ship that carried Darwin to the Galápagos. The settlement at the foot of the mountain was modestly named El Chaltén, so as not to offend the local population too much.

 

To Punta Bandera

Our journey will not take us as far north. Today, the glaciers and icebergs of Brazo Norte are on our menu. That is the northern branch of Lago Argentino.

High cirrus clouds currently temper the sun. It is not expected that the weather will cooperate as well today as it did yesterday.

An Argentine glacier named Upsala might catch your attention. It was indeed Swedish researchers from Uppsala University who first extensively studied this glacier between 1905 and 1908. Upsala turned out to be more than three times the size of Perito Moreno – a whopping 870 km². In South America, it ranks third among the big players.

Between 2001 and 2013, the ice front retreated by a staggering three kilometres

However, the glacier is losing ground. While Perito Moreno is holding up well – barely seventy kilometres away – Upsala is faring poorly. Between 2001 and 2013, the ice front retreated by a staggering three kilometres. Pablo shows us photos confirming this. Scientists point accusatory fingers at global climate change.

This development is not without dangers, even for the immediate surroundings. Where the glacier retreats, the ground becomes unstable. Three years ago, a severe landslide occurred in the valley, causing a veritable tsunami to sweep over the lake. Miraculously, no one was killed.

 

Brazo Norte

It's half past eight when we reach Puerto Bandera, an inconspicuous port near the peninsula of the same name. A two-deck catamaran, the Upsala Connection, is ready for us. It can accommodate precisely 217 passengers, and it seems that all of them are present today. It's a bustling scene.

At exactly nine o'clock, Captain Ricardo Morales sets the course. Real-time information about our position is continuously displayed on screens on board through the tracking system.

 

Brazo Norte – Upsala Glacier

Westward, we pass through the Boca del Diablo, the Devil's Mouth. It's a narrow passage between two mini-versions of Gibraltar. This leads us into Brazo Norte.

The weather is sunny, but scattered clouds occasionally cast their shadows. An icy wind greets us on the bow. In the distance, the snow-capped Andes rise above the silvery swells on the water surface. Blue-white silhouettes stand out against the brown slopes. Icebergs, we realize.

 

Iceberg

As Brazo Norte merges into Brazo Upsala, some icebergs are waiting for us. They are colossal giants, the size of an urban residential block. Even if Upsala is on its retreat, you cannot ignore the icebergs it produces – not even on satellite images.

 

The captain certainly doesn't want to do anything Titanic-like

Just the portion above the waterline is significantly taller and more extensive than our catamaran. And to think that nine times that size is submerged underwater.

 

 

Once again, it's the enchanting appearance that fascinates us – the rugged texture, the irregular holes and clefts, the vibrant colour palette from white to light blue, those deep blue walls in the tunnel.

 

 

A well-coordinated operation is now underway. Because a boat trip like this is only deemed successful if you can be photographed with an iceberg. If you attempt to take photos yourself, you're guaranteed either overexposed icebergs or underexposed faces. Or both. Laura emphasized this when we departed. As a professional photographer, she is more than willing to capture the perfect snapshot for each passenger, for a modest fee, of course. She has brought a whole team for this – Juan, Carlos, and Ezekiel cheerfully greet us.

A long line spontaneously forms to be immortalized on the bow with one of these fabulous icebergs in the background. As if on cue, the sun breaks through the clouds, as if Laura personally summoned it. For three-quarters of an hour, she directs passengers forward to capture the quirkiest poses. Just as the photo session concludes, the clouds take control again.

 

Brazo Upsala – Upsala Glacier

We’re slowing down now as we navigate through all these icebergs. Captain Ricardo Morales certainly doesn't want to do anything Titanic-like. Carefully, he continues westward until we can faintly discern the glacier in the distance, approximately fifteen kilometres away. We see the tip of its tongue and the first two glaciers that join it from the side.

Getting closer is definitely not an option due to Upsala's instability. Even if we did, the ice front would be barely visible, as numerous icebergs block the passage.

But Ricardo Morales has a few other glaciers up his sleeve. He heads south now, towards Brazo Spegazzini. This is calmer water, with the typical blue-green colour of glacier meltwater. They call it glacier milk, this water in which fine rock powder is suspended. Rocks have been pulverized by the weight of the glacier, as if they were peppercorns in a mortar.

 

Seco Glacier

On the right, the Seco Glacier makes its appearance, a modest valley glacier that doesn't even reach the water. Then, we make a sharp turn to the right. In the distance, the Spegazzini Glacier now stands proudly in all its glory.

 

Spegazinni Glacier

In response, it has become much colder – as if someone has been tampering with the thermostat. The westerly wind is to blame, bringing cold air from over the glacier.

As for the glacier, it's doing great, thank you. Spegazzini belongs to the exclusive group of glaciers that hardly shrink. Over a period of forty years, it has lost only about one hundred and fifty meters in length.

 

Spegazinni Glacier, Heim Sur Glacier (on the right)

We are allowed to approach the ice front to within a few hundred meters because this glacier poses no threat. Although it looks frighteningly rugged, with its chaotic arrangement of ice blocks and ice towers seeming to tumble over each other. It is also a very steep glacier, especially as we observe it from a frog's-eye view. Possibly even steeper is Heim Sur, the glacier that joins Spegazzini just around the corner on the right.

 

Spegazinni Glacier

On the left, the white ice wall rises seventy meters above the water, on the right, forty meters. And to think that the glacier rests on the lake bed, about 150 meters deep. Occasionally, pieces of ice break off. It's hard to call them icebergs, at most, they are ice floes.

 

Spegazinni Glacier

Meanwhile, Laura has taken charge again and transformed the bow into a photo studio. Now, it's all about snapshots with the glacier wall, with ice floes in the foreground. Not our cup of tea. We make the most of it and enjoy the white wilderness for three-quarters of an hour.

 

Wild horses

Then, we begin the return journey. We are still surprised when, against the steep mountain slopes, we unexpectedly spot signs of life – a small dozen wild horses.

 

Boca del Diablo

Just after two o'clock, we set foot again in Puerto Bandera. We're not done yet. Danilo drops us off at the Glaciarium, a brand-new museum showcasing the Patagonian ice field and its glaciers.

It's a peculiar location, six kilometres from the city, on a lonely hill in the midst of the steppe, with Lago Argentino in the distance. The architecture is also unique, with heavy, protruding structures creating an intricate vertical wall in white and blue. It's certainly not by chance. The architect aims to evoke the image of a glacier perfectly embedded in the surroundings.

Inside, we get answers to all our questions – even those we hadn't yet asked. About the budget of a glacier, for example. Or the difference between warm ice and cold ice. Or glaciers that suddenly start moving faster or slower.

Nothing is spared to immerse the viewer in the scientific narrative – light effects, audio-visual marvels, multimedia programs, 3D cinema. They even have a video of the collapse of Perito Moreno's ice bridge in 2016.

The dramatic fate of the Upsala Glacier is also not left unmentioned. These glaciers are barometers of the environment. Hence, it's a small step to the global climate change and its consequences.

More than anything else, this omission illustrates the vastness of Patagonia and the proud isolation of its inhabitants

For dinner, we settle in La Cocina, a restaurant on Avenida del Libertador, El Calafate's main street. We are served steak and unexpectedly encounter the local cuisson. In Argentina, they cook meat browner than we are accustomed to.

La Cocina has a nice business card, but they only mention the street name and house number of the restaurant, not El Calafate, the name of the city. Why would they? There's no inhabited place within a hundred and fifty kilometres – except for a handful of estancias.

More than anything else, this omission illustrates the vastness of Patagonia and the proud isolation of its inhabitants.

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Tuesday, November 7 | El Calafate – Río Don Guillermo

Última Esperanza, the Last Hope, is the name of one of the southernmost provinces of Chile. Not exactly a name that exudes cheerfulness and optimism. We owe that to Juan Ladrillero, the man who, in 1557, accepted the task of finding a passage from the Pacific Ocean to the Strait of Magellan. Of course, with the intention of significantly shortening the route to the Atlantic Ocean.

Frustrated, he named the fjord where his last attempt stranded, Seno Última Esperanza

It was by no means an easy task. The area is teeming with fjords and large and small inlets. When Ladrillero finally thought he had found the passage, it turned out to be a vain hope. Frustrated, he named the fjord where his last attempt stranded, Seno Última Esperanza. Nowadays, we know that he is not to blame. The passage he had to find simply does not exist.

But the name Última Esperanza stuck. The province also came to be known by that name. On an area of 55,444 km², barely twenty thousand Chileans live together. And 80 % of them reside in the capital, Puerto Natales.

In short, it seems like a distant, unattractive corner. At least for those who want to live there permanently. Not for those who are into wild, unparalleled nature, as Última Esperanza has an abundance of that.

So today, we set course for Puerto Natales. A light veil of clouds under a blue sky bodes well for the weather. Pablo predicts with un-Patagonian certainty that there will be no wind for the next three to four days.

Overland, Chileans can't even reach that distant corner unless they drive hundreds of kilometres through Argentina

It's not easy to travel there, Pablo continues his story while driver Christian hits the road. At least not for Chileans. Because overland, they can't even reach that distant corner unless they drive hundreds of kilometres through Argentina. Trucks undertaking this distant journey must have their cargo sealed at the border.

From El Calafate, on the other hand, it's a breeze. In a wide arc, Christian will take us around the mountains to Puerto Natales, a journey of over three hundred kilometres, almost entirely on paved roads.

Just last week, however, this ride suddenly took on the appearance of an intercontinental flight – to Pablo's dumbfounded amazement. From now on, every piece of luggage must be equipped with a blue identification label, as is done at the check-in counter at an airport. Dimes of those labels are supposed to be pasted on an A4 sheet, neatly next to our names. Cursing his own government, Pablo, along with Christian, sets to work.

 

Patagonian steppe

We now have a tedious journey of almost three hundred and fifty kilometres through a barren piece of the Patagonian steppe ahead of us. Pablo calls it the emptiness. Not coincidentally, it prompts him to engage in philosophical reflections on the relaxed life on the estancias on the one hand and the hectic bustle of the metropolis on the other. Because a few years ago, he consciously chose Patagonia for himself.

Born and raised in Buenos Aires, he lived there until he was 22. Then he came here, quickly found his way, and started working in the tourism sector.

Everything revolves around Buenos Aires in Buenos Aires, he says. The smallest triviality makes headlines there, while major disasters in the interior are not even considered worth mentioning. They are outright navel-gazers, those porteños, and he only became aware of it here.

Meanwhile, the road meanders lazily over gently rolling terrain through the barren steppe. Along the Cuesta de Miguez, we gradually climb above the valley. This brings us to Mirador Julio Heredia, where we take a last look at the wide glacier valley of Lago Argentino.

 

Like a sharp chisel of granite, the Fitz Roy rises above the rest, over 150 km from here

The sun generously throws its rays around. But it's the icy wind that sets the tone here. Below, some guanacos are grazing. Through the hazy air, the white peaks of the Andes are still visible on the horizon. Like a sharp chisel of granite, the Fitz Roy rises above the rest, over 150 km from here.

Now we head straight south, over a plateau about eight hundred meters above sea level. To the right, the white peaks of the Andes keep us company on the horizon. There is no trace of trees or bushes, people or animals anywhere. Grass, nothing but grass surrounds us.

 

Guanacos

Boredom ahead, it seems. But Pablo knows how to deal with that. He doesn't want to deliver us to the Chileans without first acquainting us with the quintessence of the Argentine psyche – mate and tango.

Mate, the national drink of the Argentinians, is simply an infusion of dried leaves of yerba mate

Mate, the national drink of the Argentinians, is simply an infusion of dried leaves of yerba mate. Those leaves can be bought at the supermarket for about four euros per kilogram. Usually, the leaves are immediately placed in a tin can for convenient transportation. A true Argentine always has his supply of yerba mate at hand, no matter where he is.

If you were to compare a ronda de mate with a Japanese tea ceremony, an Argentine wouldn't find it exaggerated. First, you fill your cup halfway with the dried leaves. Then, you shake the cup to let the dust settle at the bottom.

Next, you bring out the thermos – another item an Argentine always has with him. It contains hot water, not boiling, emphasizes Pablo, but hot water – between 92 and 95 °C (198 and 203 °F) to be precise. Water that's too hot will extract too many compounds from the yerba mate, making it taste too bitter. Only nit-pickers would argue that mate always tastes bitter.

Now, you wait a bit before inserting a bombilla into the mixture. It's a straw, originally made of silver but nowadays usually stainless steel.

The presence of a straw does not mean you can start sucking

The presence of a straw does not mean you can start sucking. First, you need to add some hot water. Pour it carefully in the same place so that some of the leaves remain relatively dry. Because drinking mate is, first and foremost, a social event. You need to be able to chat. That takes time. So, your leaves must last a while.

The person who prepares the mate is called the cebador. They determine the taste and replace the herbs when the taste is gone. They are also the ones handling the bombilla. If someone else moves the bombilla or – worse yet – stirs the mixture, it is considered very impolite.

The cebador is always the first one to take a sip – another rule of etiquette. Then, the cup circulates within the group, always in the same order. The ronda de mate has begun.

If you take the cup and say, “Thank you”, it's a blunder

If you take the cup and say, Thank you, it's a blunder. You're implying that you want to stop and suggesting that something is wrong with the mate. Just keep quiet and pass it on; that's the polite way to let the cebador know that the mate tastes good and that you want to participate in the next round.

Very hot and very bitter. That's all we have to say after our first sip. Pablo looks disappointed, but he probably expected nothing less. Still, he takes the opportunity to extol the qualities of the drink – a source of vitamins and antioxidants, with less caffeine than coffee or tea.

Just before ten, La Esperanza appears, the only settlement we will encounter today on the way to the border. It doesn't amount to much more than a gas station with two dozen houses around it. We take a break there.

Now onto the tango, while Christian gears up for the last ride. According to Pablo, it is the most representative music and dance of all Argentina – even though the tango originated in Buenos Aires, even though tangos are rarely danced outside Buenos Aires, even though in the rest of Argentina, folk dances set the tone.

An exciting, sensual, and harmonic interaction between two people

The tango had a complex history of origin there in the poor neighbourhoods of La Boca, on the banks of the Río de la Plata. Nowadays, the tango is sometimes called an exciting, sensual, and harmonic interaction between two people. But that's not what it was originally. It was a dance for men, for poor workers who had nothing to do in their sad loneliness, so they danced with each other. Women would only enter much later.

Initially, it was purely instrumental. It was only much later that vocalists with melancholic lyrics about loneliness made their entrance.

Over time, all these influences from immigrants of different nations would mix. Descendants of slaves brought their black music, Eastern Europeans brought their polkas and mazurkas, Italians brought their piano, Germans brought their bandoneon.

The tango had its first peak with the lamented Carlos Gardel. Without hesitation, Pablo calls him the most famous singer of tango music. Unfortunately, he died in a plane crash in Colombia in 1935, at the age of only 45. After that, it was up to Julio Sosa to take the tango to new heights.

Physical contact between two individuals, notably of different genders and, moreover, in public

Physical contact between two individuals, notably of different genders and, moreover, in public, was something the military junta in the 1970s didn't appreciate. The tango ended up in disgrace. Only in the 1980s and 1990s did a new momentum begin. Figures like Astor Piazzolla and his bandoneon played a role in that.

 

Torres del Paine

Unnoticed, the white peaks of the Andes on the horizon have grown larger. A good sign, we are approaching our destination. There is still not much to experience in this barren steppe. Occasionally, a handful of rheas or a group of guanacos make themselves known. In the open plain, they feel safe because pumas cannot approach unnoticed.

No matter how desolate the surroundings may be, traces of civilization are always present. Even if it's just in the form of kilometres-long fencing on both sides of the road. What we call meagre patches of land, local farmers refer to as their grasslands.

It's half past eleven when Christian turns right. Apparently, an unpaved road will be our last memory of Argentina for now. Not even fifteen minutes later, we stop at the border post of Río Don Guillermo.

The border control is not much. Signing a form on the bus, queueing up for a stamp in our passports. Barely half an hour later, we continue. On a paved road, no less. Chile immediately makes a good impression.

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Jaak Palmans
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Towers of granite, skies of azure