Initially, the trip went more or less as planned, but nature’s respite does not last for long in Patagonia. 

 

Mariela, David and I had begun from Cochrane around 7:00AM, where we registered at Chilean national park service (CONAF) office at the Tamango Reserve, the start of our 75 km hike through Tamango, Patagonia Park and Jeinimeni Reserve, an area of altogether more than 263,000 hectares, which the non-profit Conservacion Patagonica would some day like to unite into one big national park. 

 

Patagonian and Antarctic beech forest began to intertwine, as we moved into the hills and left Lake Cochrane behind us.  We moved into higher zones and skirted the shores of lonely lakes, with an aim to reach Chacabuco Valley, until brought to a quick halt by David’s stomach ache.  It was an afternoon of strong winds and rain.  We anticipated light snow that evening, so camped close to the tree line. 

 

The following morning, while observed from above by a group of silent guanacos, we headed for the pass between the peaks of Tamango and Tamanguito, which demarcate a border between the reserve and Patagonia Park. The panorama before us left us astounded.. Semi-arid and broad, the Chacabuco Valley took center stage, which together with its namesake river snakes through the Patagonia steppe before dissolving into the eastern horizon.  The immense natural valley was a corridor between our current location and the northern mountains, a range dominated by Las Horquetas peak.  To the west lay the eternal white blanket of the Southern Ice Field.  Though Mount San Lorenzo remained hidden beneath low clouds, the Esmeralda range could be seen to the south.

 

As our trek continued along the Lagunas Altas path, we were patrolled, from time to time, by a condor with outstretched wings.  As the clouds faded away, the sunlight was intensified by a dozen alpine lakes below… simply beautiful.  The vantage, from these cliffs, was spectacular.  We could see the outlying regions of Patagonia Park, our campsite for the coming evening, as well as gauge the weather and organize our approach to Casa Piedra, the beginning of the Avilés Path, right now some 25 kilometers away. 

 

The experts are correct:  weather in Patagonia is notoriously unpredictable.  The forecast was for more sun than rain, during out trek.  But by the time we reached Puesto Límite, we had endured two days of intense rain.  Prior to the storm, we followed a path along the Aviles River, which flows through a narrow, but majestic, valley, corralled right and left by reddish mountains like Cerro Pintura. Accompanied by plateaus, canyons, glaciers, forests and Magellan barberry bushes, we crossed three riverswhose waters reached no further than my knees. 

 

But the storm had begun, and so much rain had fallen that it would have been risky to turn back; the rivers were simply too swollen.  On our fourth day, then, we continued toward the Jeinimeni Reserve.  For the first 40 minutes we descended through the forest, before bottoming into Valle Hermoso, and peeking between clouds and sunshine were enormous snow-covered slopes of mountains to the west.  These snow fields feed innumerable streams and brooks of this rocky valley, all of which flow directly into Lago Verde. It was a perfect symphony of nature.  It was also problematic, given that water from shallow streams now reached my waist during crossings, and had become deep and dangerous.

 

Once we reached the river mouth, there were two more streams to cross. The first one was manageable. The second, Estero Ventisqueros, was bloated with rain and, in contrast to the turquoise lake, murky.  It was also likely quite deep:  the trail marker on the opposite side was almost covered by water.  It was impossible to see where the path continued.  None of us had ever dealt with water of such uncertainty and proportion.  Regardless, there was no other option.  We had to cross.   

 

We unlatched the waist belts of our backpacks, held walking sticks firmly in hand, and linked arms.  Our courage turned to uncertainty and desperation after just a few steps, when the powerful current sucked us underwater.  I couldn’t find any firm footing.  As the water seeped into my backpack, it became heavier and heavier.  My arm came loose from Mariela’s. I swallowed water.  I saw my friends in similar trouble, as I sank lower and lower, without finding bottom:  “I’m done for.”  I grabbed Mariela, before the current again separated us.  I closed my eyes.  The water went over my head.  I didn’t know where it was taking me, taking us.  Maybe to the lake?  I was carried beside some bushes on the other side of the river, and grabbed them tightly.  The same happened to Mariela and David.  We were saved. 

 

“That was close!” gasped Vidal, as we remained motionless in the freezing water.

 

This episode – which lasted only a few seconds – had been nearly tragic. Once on dry land, David found a path to Cordón La Gloria (Glory Hill). A good name, given the moment, I thought to myself. Skirting the northeast shore of Lago Verde, we climbed up a challenging ravine, then descend toward Valle la Gloria, across several shallower streams. It was starting to get dark.  So, we camped close to the river, but I had a long night.  While only a day’s walk to finish the hike, I was worried about the next day’s river crossing.  On the map, it looked even riskier than our prior near disaster. 

Our fears were confirmed:  the rains had transformed the channel linking Lago Verde and Lago Jeinimeni into a river with fast and dangerous currents.  It is 20 meters between trail markers, on what were now opposite shores. The water was mostly an intense blue, with the depth of the water difficult to gauge.  We looked at other possible crossings, to no avail.  After what happened the day before none of us wanted to risk our lives on another dangerous crossing, particularly with three more crossings shown on the map.  The only option was to wait until the water went down. 

 

We made a little cairn of stones with a stick lodged in the middle to measure changes in water level.  We kept watch throughout the day, but the water lowered very little.  The wait went on and on.  As it neared dark, we put up tents to stay the night. It was the sixth day, our rations packed for the hike had contained maybe seven days of food.  All we ate that evening was milk, with toasted flour. 

 

The next two days passed uneventfully. We did take some emergency measures, such as making a big S.O.S signal out of stones on the bank.  We also put up another tent close to the crossing, to provide shelter from the elements while monitoring the water level.  It helped, especially on the eighth day, when more incessant rain diminished our hopes.

 

This trek usually takes no longer than five days. By our ninth day, from lack of food, we had become weak.  But on this day, the sky cleared and the first rays of sunlight began to illuminate the landscape.  We went to the crossing point, the water level had surprisingly dropped.  There was a rough stone path leading to the other side! Unsure of the footing, David and I tried the crossing without our backpacks. Happily, we made it to the other side.  The return crossing was also successful, so we collected our belongings and we all three then crossed with the gear.

 

The date was the last day of the austral summer:  March 20, 2015.  For us, it will more importantly be remembered as the day we escaped a near tragedy.  Our journey had taken us to a place of incredible biodiversity.  Particularly if the area becomes a future Patagonia National Park, emergency connectivity for trekkers might be an improvement, within the otherwise beautiful and inhospitable area of Jeinimeni..