Karabiner Mountaineering Club

September 1997 Newsletter Patagonia

A WEEK IN PATAGONIA: Chris Thickett: July 1997

I can't disguise the fact that I enjoyed working in Buenos Aires for four months in 1995 - but where were the mountains? I had sought advice where a lone trekker should go for a short holiday at the end of March and the two young assistants at the 'Patagonia' mountaineering shop on Avenida Alvear enthusiastically suggested Bariloche in Rio Negro Province. However, it was the beginning of May when I eventually broke free from the desk on the first floor of the office block at Cordoba 320.

The bus, Via Bariloche 'coche cama', turned out to be really luxurious. Meals, soft drinks, wine, whisky, films, were all inclusive in the price of around £100 return, the journey took 19½ hours and covered 1,000 miles in each direction. During the journey, I noticed some of the passengers had brought their flasks of hot water for the maté - a herbal tea to which everyone is addicted in Argentina, or so it seems.

A cold and wet welcome on a bleak Sunday morning in Bariloche was quite a shock to the system after the summer heat that I had become used to in the capital. Perhaps I should have gone after all to the spectacular Iguassú Falls in the steamy jungle on the borders with Paraguay and Brazil.

San Carlos de Bariloche is located on the southern shores of Lago Nahuel Huapí. This lake, 765 metres above sea level, is one of the larger and more important in the Argentinian Lake District of northern Patagonia. Bariloche, founded in 1902 following the defeat of the local Mapuche Indian chief, Sayhueque, some years earlier, is a compact development of low rise shops and houses with some larger hotels as well as some unusual part-timbered municipal buildings that surround the main square and that were designed in an Alpine style by an architect called Bustillo in the mid nineteen-forties. Chocolate making seemed to be the main occupation. I found a good cheap room at the 'Casita Suisa' guest house that would act as my base and started to try to acclimatise to the 'British' weather.

The rain in the town was snow on the hills, so next morning the scenery above was white disappearing into the grey mist. I decided to take the teleférico to Cerro Otto (1,405 metres), only a few kilometres from the town. From the top, I followed a path along the ridge to the south, and weaving through woodlands, I reached a spectacular viewpoint over Lago Gutiérrez set between two ranges of hills.

I had planned to walk up to one of the mountain refugios on Tuesday, after first obtaining maps from the Club Andino Bariloche at the corner of Calle Urquiza and Calle 20 de Febrero. However, at the CAB, I was asked to return at 6pm when there would be someone there to help me. My frustration was tempered by the strength of the wind that was hurtling clouds low across the mountains and turning the 'white horses' on Lago Nahuel Huapí into a ranging stampede. When I returned to the Club Andino, I was shown into a ground floor room where an elderly gentleman greeted me in English. He was Slovenian in descent although he had spent the last 40 years here in Argentina. Only one hut - Refugio Frey - was open at this time of year. He advised me on the times of local buses and I bought a map for $3 and for a further $4 a guide book of sketch maps showing routes to and between the refugios.

In the early morning gloom of Wednesday, I boarded a 'colectivo' at the ramshackle shelter that was the bus station, and half an hour later, I staggered off the bus at a purpose-built skiing resort with its 'wall-to-wall' chalet architecture. Villa Catedral is the most popular and important ski resort in Argentina, perhaps in South America. As a light rain started to fall, I located the start of the footpath to the Refugio Frey via the Arroyo Van Titter track.

For the first few kilometres, the path contours along the hillside high above Lago Gutiérrez. At first the way was though woodland and dense bushes where the autumn colours were bright even though the day was dull. The trees were mainly the lenga or 'southern beech'. After a stage of more open hillside with views down and passed the lake below, the woodlands were re-entered, this time denser and taller. The path changed direction from south to west as it cut into the mountains by the Arroyo Van Titter.

Soon after this, I experienced very close views of a pair of Magellic woodpeckers, mainly black and 450 millimetres in height. Then I passed by the unique Piedritas hut, that is constructed under a giant overhanging boulder with the two outer wooden walls being elaborately decorated and carved. Continuing to climb up the now steep track, I noticed the lengas gradually thinning, the trees becoming smaller and giving way to low bushes - the ñire.

Refugio Emilio Frey (1,700m) is situated at the downstream end of an Andino lake, Lago Tonchek, stone built and two storeys high. There is room for 40 people sleeping. The situation is magnificent. The view across the lake to the circle of sharp peaks, pinnacles, towers and rock buttresses is stunning. Soon after I had arrived, the rain increased with a vengeance, heavy and horizontal, so I decided to cancel all outdoor activity for the immediate future and settled down with a cup of tea.

Warren, a trekker from South Africa was the only other guest, so with the warden Pedro, we spent the evening round the wood-burning stove in the candlelit kitchen, where we had an enjoyable time swapping jokes and experiences from our different parts of the globe.

Next day I was determined to climb one of the highest peaks in the area, Cerro Catedral Sur, 2,388 metres, with a plan to climb also a peak overlooking Lago Gutiérrez, Pico de Agostini, 2,278 metres.

It was a very cold but splendid morning with clear blue skies. The pinnacles and peaks surrounding Lago Tonchek glowed bright orange and red in the early morning sunshine.

The first objective was a low pass, just 20 minutes and 100 metres easy climb from Frey. Then, I was able to identify and follow a track down through the dust and the stones into the next valley. A small cairn marked the way through the first ñire thicket and I followed the winding and narrow path through the dense bushes. I then crossed under a beautiful clean buttress of light brown granite, perhaps 150 meters high, with evidence of the work of climbers at various locations. Soon I found myself on a grassy shoulder, the way forward apparently blocked by a large rocky buttress that formed the foot of a jagged ridge leading down to the north-east from Catedral Sur.

My way now was directly upwards, climbing along the base of the rockface, the surface of the mountainside changed to a fine powdery scree, light brown in colour that could be best described as coarse talcum powder into which my feet sunk deep at every step. I arrived at a flat area described by Pedro, where I plotted a route to take up the mountainside through boulder fields and small outcrops. I made for the ridge to the left. More talcum powder, boulders and finally rocks led onto this ridge close to the summit. I crossed over onto the southern side of the of the mountain, and climbing over or traversing rocky steps, I worked my way up to the summit cairn. I say 'summit' but this was still some five metres above me. An overhanging crack led up a block that formed the highest point. The crack looked very difficult to climb, so I considered my situation and decided that I had climbed the mountain. At least, I was not going any further and sat down for a lunch at about 12.30pm.

The views in every direction were tremendous. Monte Tronador (3,554 metres) caught the eye in the west, with white ridges and glaciers sweeping down from the twin summits. Nearby the scenery was fantastic with pinnacles and rocky outcrops appearing to grow out of the mountain tops or mountainsides with profusion. Mainly the light orange brown in colour, some were also dark, almost black, as a contrast. The day remained brilliant but cold. The light was sharp, making the features of the landscape clear and well defined.

To my good fortune, I noticed that there was a broad ridge leading from the top of the mountain in an easterly direction towards my next objective for the day, Pico de Agostini. I carefully climbed down from the summit rocks, some twenty metres, then attempted to cross some hard snow. Desperate! No crampons! No ice-axe! So I climbed up back on the rocks to bypass this unexpected obstacle and set my route down easy angle granite slabs. Eventually, I was on the open hillside and at the low point between the two mountains. As I looked up to my next summit, I could see that there were no obstacles barring the way. After a monotonous grind uphill on loose earth and stones, I reached the top of the mountain at around 3.30pm.

From my position overlooking the south-eastern corrie of Catedral Sur, I could not identify any sign of a path nor the position on the rocky ridge where to cross, so before I set off, I planned a likely route to avoid any large snow patches. After descending into the corrie, I climbed an outcrop of rock via a ramp, then more steeply and directly up towards the crest of the ridge.

The ridge was narrow and uneven at the point where I looked over into the next corrie. I was much higher than I expected and had to scramble along the rocky crest, until at last I reached a point that might contain a likely descent route. The first section was down a wall with good holds but exposed, to a long drop below. Then a traverse followed to a chimney. There were some long steps and awkward sections in the chimney, so it was with some relief that I reached the foot of the rocks. However, although difficult, it was not unpleasant. 'Unpleasant' came next! I had to traverse the steep mountainside into the main part of the corrie avoiding, as well as I could, rocky buttresses and gullies full of very loose rocks. This slope was covered in the talcum powder plus loose stone, sometimes overlying slabs of rock. It took plenty of patience and care, as well as a dictionary full of swear words, to overcome this section.

The main slope was just talcum powder, and I set off down allowing gravity and the loose nature of the ground to descend quickly to the grassy shoulder perhaps 200 metres below. Here, I sat down and removed my boots in order to empty them of the few kilograms of accumulated dust.

Earlier that morning, I had no problem in following the path through the ñire thickets. A loss of concentration due to my relaxed and tired state combined with the sun, now low in the sky and shining directly into my eyes, resulted in my losing the path almost immediately I restarted. Crossing the hillside, I dropped into a trap set by the ñires. Up and down the hillside I struggled again and again, until, ending up completely enclosed in a prison of woody bars, I shinned along one of the thicker trunks, balancing along nearly horizontal to located the open space of ground where I needed to be. I then set off gritting my teeth with determination, adrenaline pumping due to my anger and frustration, forcing my way through the thicket, until, after a quarter of an hour, I reached the edge of the ñire. I was exhausted and my clothes and hair were full of ñire debris as I stood panting but unfettered. Traversing round the head of the valley, I was relieved to find the path and a cairn marking the way through the final thicket to the open hillside beyond all the ñire.

I followed the rising path back up to the pass crossed early in the morning and overlooking Lago Tonchek and Refugio Frey. After enjoying the fine aspect of the pass and the last of the afternoon sunshine, I descended into the shade and the refugio, arriving back at around 5pm.

Pedro was completely unconcerned at my reappearance but shared my enthusiasm as I related my day's adventures. He laughed when I described the difficulties and unpleasant sections. There were only the two of us at Frey that night. We discussed mountaineering in Britain, the Alps and South America. He told me that in the summer the climbing in this particular area was very fine and popular, with routes up to 400 metres in length. His favourite was the Campanile, a tall solid looking pinnacle of which I had good views during that day.

Friday dawned at 8.30am and was another beautiful day. After breakfast and completing bodily functions, I left Refugio Frey with all my gear and set off along the western side of Lago Tonchek. At the far end of the lake, the path rose up the steep hillside to my right. The path was well marked with painted targets on the rocks. Up scree and rock I climbed for about 300 metres until I reached the corrie that held Laguna Schmoll. Skirting round the south-east of the lochan, I scrambled over boulders, up loose scree and then a band of rock to a shallow gully leading to a ramp up to the left to reach the crest of the ridge beyond. This ridge separated the Tonchek and Rucaco valleys. A short rocky descent led into a sandy depression - the 'cancha de fútbol' (football pitch). Turning now to the north-west, I climbed out of the depression and found myself on a shelf overlooking the Rucaco valley to the west. There was a stunning view of Tronador further west and the remainder of the Catedral mountains in the foreground. The narrow path ahead took an approximately horizontal line across the mountainside. Beyond an awkward rocky traverse, I climbed steadily up to the skyline where I was able to see over onto the now nearly bare ski-slopes of Villa Catedral. I kept on northwards along the ridge, reaching Punta Nevada (2,080 metres) after an easy climb. The spiders' webs of cables covered the whole of the mountainside to my east, with numerous winding houses, refugios and cafés haphazardly scattered across the landscape. The ridge continued in the same direction to Refugio Lynch and then gradually turned to the east terminating at the Piedre del Condor (1,759 metres) overlooking the resort. I decended to the village via a muddy track with frustratingly long zigzags and a hillside of sticky-bobs hiding in the grass. It had taken about six hours walking from Frey to Villa Catedral where I arrived with black muddy boots and trousers covered with small white velcro blobs.

Saturday was my last full day in the Bariloche area and I had planned to climb Cerro Lopez - the Helvellyn of the Andes. I clambered on board the 8.15am colectivo and the driver revved up the engine. The structure of the old Mercedes bus rattled violently in tune with the unevenness of the engine. After some confusion probably brought on by the shaking bus, I eventually arrived at my destination, the Puente Arroyo Lopez.

The first part of the walk was dominated by the black rocks of the Torre Norte of Cerro Lopez that towered above me to the right and through some beautiful woodland following roughly the true right bank of the arroyo. At one stage the lenga woodland thinned giving rise to splendid views over the lakes and further northwards, along the Andean chain. The weather this day was not as bright as the previous two on Cerro Catedral, the sky being grey and overcast. By great cunning I managed to lose the path on a couple of occasions - painted circles and all - as I followed the path steeply up through the trees until, after 2 hours, I reached the Refugio Cerro Lopez, at 1,600 metres and painted a delicate and tasteful shade of pink. I crossed to the back of the rocky platform on which the hut stood and to where the mountain restarted. The character of the mountain was now all rock and scree. There was quite a lot of ice lying on the rocks at this time and I had to take care in choosing footholds. The ice, plus the threat of snow in the sky, heightened my concern that should the rocks and ice became covered with snow then it would become very awkward to climb back down, so, with a weather-eye, I climbed up to the Laguna Negra under the final slopes of Lopez.

An arrow pointed to the left and I followed along the side of the small lochan over rocky ground and into a corrie of permanent snow - the Hoya - all very Alpine in character. I managed to loose the path completely at this point and ended up climbing a hillside consisting of mainly loose stones overlying slabs of rock until, 300 metres above the lochan, I reached the summit ridge. After a traverse of 200 metres was the mechanical sculpture marking the top which proved a magnificent viewpoint. The west was dominated by the twin peaks and glaciers of Tronador (3,554 metres) standing on the Andes watershed that marked the international boundary with Chile. I could see the perfect volcanic cone of Osorno (2,652 metres), snow covered and perhaps 80 km in the distance and, further to the north, Cerro Punteagudo (2,190 metres), a hideously asymmetric cone with its black summit seemingly overhanging the southern cliffs. After some time, my attention turned to the scenery nearer to Lopez. The construction, colours and formations of the mountains varied considerably. With the contrasts given by the presence of the Nahuel Huapí and the other lakes, the whole vista was spectacular and exciting. The heavy grey sky added bleakness to the scene. The cloud formation building up over Tronador gave an air of foreboding. But I was content to linger and enthusiastically survey the scene until my film started to run out and the cold south-west wind began to chill. Reluctantly I left the summit, making my way down the well-marked path on scree slopes, then along a traverse to the top of the rocky buttress which I scrambled down to the Laguna Negra.

As I walked down the steep trail in the lenga woods below the hut, the wind was catching the tops of the trees in short but strong gusts. The day remained cold and grey and the few birds that could be heard from time to time were often drowned out by the noise of the wind. As I continued with my descent, the chilling atmosphere that prevailed seem to heighten the satisfaction that I had gained during this brief but successful holiday. The next day in Bariloche, it rained and it rained hard. Perhaps, the winter snows had arrived on the mountain tops.

September 1997 Newsletter Index.