Está cerrado. It’s closed. This is a phrase that we’ve heard a lot so far in Argentina. It seems to be the standard approach by the appropriate authorities to dissuade trekkers from treks that might cause said appropriate authorities to mobilize a rescue of said trekkers. The trick, we’ve learned, is to ignore the doomsday warnings and forge ahead with your request. Insist that you have ample experience, proper gear and a strong desire to proceed with the trek. After some time, the authority in front of you will generally begin to smile and then, with no small hint of excitement, tell you all about your intended route. This is how our first trek in the Bariloche area started.
Well, almost. Our trek actually began with us running, fully laden with packs and trekking poles, through the streets of Bariloche on the first day of the new year. We barely made the bus that would deliver us to the start of the trek, the car park at the ski resort of Cerro Catedral. But as soon as you climb from the pavement and onto the the trail, you enter an alpine wonderland. Contouring across fire scoured slopes and climbing higher you find yourself surrounded by golden granite spires. Huge scree fields descend from the ridges, highlighting the distinct treeline. Twinkling, whitecap carpeted lakes shine below you. And all of this transforms Gina and I into little excited kids, running wild in the hills yet again.
“Está cerrado.” The refugiero at Frey was stern. “There is too much snow.”
Pressing for more information, we eventually learned that two Americans had left on our intended route only that morning. Yeah right, closed. Perhaps he had slipped, perhaps he was beginning to trust in our ability but he finally began pointing out the important landmarks on our map, becoming more and more helpful with each passing minute. As we headed out the door, he wished us good luck.
We started early the next morning, figuring that if there was lots of snow on our intended route, it would be better to cross it as early as possible to ensure it would be firm and stable. We walked quickly towards the first snow covered ridge line ahead of us. The constant resistance we had come up against had made us paranoid, would the route be too snowy?
Four and a half hours later, we lounged in the sun, eating lunch at Refugio Jakob. The route was snowy, but not nearly the arctic endeavor we had been led to believe it was. It had been incredibly varied, wildly beautiful and had renewed our confidence in our own abilities. It had also redoubled our resolve to continue with the next “closed” section of the route: From Jakob to Laguna Negra. After a similar struggle that diminished into friendly helpfulness the refugiero at Jakob wished us luck and implored us to let the refugiero at Laguna Negra know we had arrived as soon as we got there (All the refugieros communicate with VHF radios each evening).
Our next leg, as promised, was very snowy. Our day resembled more of an alpine route than a trek: Steep snow slopes, long traverses across scree littered ridges and never-ending descents down bowling alley gullies filled with snow and fallen rock. It was a long, tiring and thoroughly exhilarating day. The refugiero at Laguna Negra greeted us warmly and asked about the route. We confirmed what he already knew from the two that had arrived the day before. There was lots of snow.
We curled together in the tent and fell asleep, before the darkness had even arrived. The next day we’d hike out to the road and get our bus back to town; back to gluttonous meals of pasta, meat, wine and glorious dulce de leche (the golden caramel of Argentina); back to hiding from the weather that was slowly closing in from the west.
Tags: Argentina, beaurocracy, hiking, refugio frey, refugio jakob, refugio laguna negra, snow, traverse, trekking
