Playing with filtering materials to help combat haze issues!
Unfortunately our view was totally blocked by a mass of clouds, but our spirits remained high as we passed our evening in the company of fellow backpackers: Andre from Russia, Mauruse from Switzerland, Corey from Vermont, and Joal from Portugal. Wearing all of our clothes and burying hot water bottles in our sleeping bags (rather, Will gave me the water bottle, while he was able to actually zip his zero degree bag for the second time in its existence), we zipped ourselves like mummies, and went to sleep, dreaming of the shortbread jam cookies we would devour upon our return to town the next morning, before continuing our trek. The trailheads are disconnected, as the park spans sections of terrain that are not impenetrable, but easier to create trails elsewhere. The entire backside of the mountain range is an ice field called Campo de Hielo (Ice Country). It is passable by guided tours of the 8-day circuit, though spending a fortune for three windy, frigid days on the ice field, jumping over crevasses somehow didn't appeal to me....
Promising a stern, but friendly Ranger that we would practice all leave-no-trace principles, as well as notify him of our return from the more remote Laguna Toro trail, we climbed out of the canyon and up into the high rolling pastures which host grazing cattle and huemul (native undersized deer). The cattle were easily the largest pastured creatures I had ever set my eyes upon--pregnant, I suppose, but still larger than life, and undoubtedly the source of the steak we've been savoring when in town. Though bulls are color blind, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had a KILL sign on my back as both my pack and rain fly are bright red. Despite my childhood fears coming to light (I once accidentally stood between a cow and her calf on my granddad's farm in Virginia), the giant cows and bull were, if anything, bored by our presence. Too pregnant to care?
Fitz Roy... Hmmm, I think it's a 3,000 meter peak, so that's still another 1,500 to 2,000 meters higher than where I am sitting. How's that for scale?!
As we continued, the weather took a downturn, and we donned our down coats and rain gear, following the sketchy, eroded cow path which appeared to be the trail. Knowing that rain was due in the morning and that the weather was worsening by the minute, we decided to ditch our packs, bringing only chocolate and water, and race the clouds to the end of the trail, camping deep in the sheltered woods closer to town. The 9 mile day became a 16 mile day, and we skittered down the scree, sliding and leaping against the wind, our coats expanding like sails. We had started down the mountain at a jog, though I didn't taper off soon enough so when the wind stopped, I found myself hurtling blindly down the hill, suddenly ten feet in front of Will when I was previously thirty feet behind.
Tres Lagunas at the base of Fitz Roy, taken with a wide angle lens and a bar of chocolate in my mouth. Funny how you can remember specific photos....
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