Ruta 40 and a Travel Plan Fail

El Chalten has one ATM and it's usually empty. We knew this so we'd stocked up on Argentine pesos. Admittedly we chose a conservative sum, knowing that our days in Argentina were drawing to a close.

What we hadn't factored in, is that we would need to pay for the bus fare from El Chalten all the way up to Bariloche – a little over 1300km – in cash. For two tickets we needed over 900 pesos or over $300. Now forget over the phone credit card payments or asking the guy in the both next door to process the transaction then pay him back, cash was it and without it we weren't leaving El Chalten. What's more, buses from town only headed north every few days and we were running out of time.

After desperately trying the cash machine three days in a row, the ticket seller offered to hold our seats until the morning of the scheduled departure. The same day we would be returning from the Laguna Torro walk.

So we returned to town after racing back from our camp, with soaked boots and still wearing our beanies from when it had been snowing on the mountain. Actually, I think our gear scared a large guided group of day walkers we passed who probably wondered what they had gotten themselves into. Incidentally some were already complaining about how difficult the walk was. Pussies!

Our last hope was that the ATM had been refilled in our absence especially since the ticket seller had 'a feeling' it would be. Clearly his intuition was off.

We jumped on a bus that left at 12pm which we could pay for by credit card, but that only travelled half the way we needed to go. 

Glaciar Viedma: I'll be back!

 Ruta 40 is supposed to be the wild road trip to do in Argentina. Chile has an equivalent in the Carretera Austral and we'd spent a fair bit of time debating if we should hire a car to do the road trip thing. Unfortunately returning the car in a different location would have cost us two legs and an arm each so we settled on the bus thing.

Thank goodness. If you've ever driven anywhere outside of the coastal route in Australia you've probably seen about as much as Ruta 40 has to offer. Nothing. In fact, if you've ever driven somewhere that was so boring you wanted to remove your own eyeballs with your camping spoon just for something to do, that would be the equivalent.

After a night in Perito Moreno we arrived in Esquel the following afternoon with the brilliant plan of jumping across the border into Chile, catching a bus to the Chaiten and then a ferry to Isla Grande de Chiloe. Geographically this made a lot more sense than travelling north to Puerto Montt and then south to the island. 

We were obviously getting a little complacent with the photography side of things. This was taken in Esquel at least!

Great idea, but once we spent some time glued to the computer while sitting at a picnic bench next to our tent – with snow capped mountain views I might add, ie internet addict/outdoor enthusiast heaven – we realised there was only one ferry a week. Although the bakery in Esquel - Panificadora Esquel - sold amazing cakes and it was fun doing nothing we didn't have too much time to waste. 

And Esquel also had some very artistic graffitti.

 We'd decided before we left that our “Chile and Easter Island” Lonely Planet guidebook published in May 2003 wouldn't be that outdated as to be useless. Sure accommodation and restaurants might have changed and prices gone up, but the towns and natural places would still be there right?

Correct, unless your town happens to be near a volcano. See the reason there were so few ferries between Chaiten and Chiloe is because in 2008 Chaiten had been evacuated and subsequently partially destroyed by Volcan Chaiten which erupted for the first time in hundreds if not thousands of years. Given that it's still a bit unstable, lingering in the area is not highly recommended.

Needless to say, we chose to go the circuitous route to Chiloe via Bariloche and Puerto Montt. And you know what? As we passed back through El Bolson, even it seemed quite pretty this time round!

Or just outside of El Bolson, by the time we got the camera out.

To Pampa Linda on Horseback

“This is the best thing we've ever done,” I said. The contented smile hadn't left my lips for the whole time and despite only having been riding for two hours or so, I already knew it would be hard to beat the next three days. From atop Caramelo, Jeff nodded in agreement, before trotting off to catch up with our guide.

We'd arrived at Los Baqueanos camp ground on the banks of Lago Gutierrez and while waiting for the horses to be prepared, we'd skimmed stones across the still water and fallen in love with the place.

The plan was to ride from here to Pampa Linda at the base of Tronador Mountain on the Chilean-Argentine border. It would be just 5 horses, 4 people and Negrita the super dog. Our guide and his friend who was joining us on the trip, tried to persuade the 15 year old dog to stay at home this time, but Negrita wouldn't hear of it.

The first few hours were easy riding, along old gravel roads, near picturesque properties. The horses knew the road, so we could more or less relax in the saddle and enjoy the view.

We were one of the first riders on the trail for the season, so as soon as we had booked, the company had sent out two gaucho's to make sure we would be able to get through after the winter. After a bit of bush bashing through the forest we met them as they were coming back, their chainsaws strapped to a pack horse.

After a few more hours riding through the forest, we came out onto the shore of the U shaped Lago Mascardi, the lake of 7 colours. As the horses rested, we ate lunch on the pebbly beach before heading up towards the pass and our camp site on the other side. We'd left late that morning and our guide was worried we might not make it in daylight.

The trail skirted a peaceful mountain lake, before reaching the pass where there was a surprise waiting for us. Below, on the middle of Lago Mascardi was a perfect heart shaped island. In the distance, Tronador – our destination – was shrouded in cloud.

We reached the shore of the lake and set up camp just before sunset. In the twilight, a fire was started and an asado cooked using the stalks of bamboo from the forest as skewers. Jeff was so impressed, he vowed to make his own during our camping trips.

The lake of 7 colours was decidedly grey when we woke up the following morning and while the rain held off, it would stay that way for the most day.

For a while we followed the shore of the lake, admiring the different colours as they changed depending on how high up we were. Occasionally we would ride onto the beach and cool off the horses legs.

We'd already been impressed with Negrita's stamina the previous day, as she yapped impatiently for us to keep moving when we'd hung around somewhere for two long. But when we watched her wade into the fast flowing river, swim across as she was carried by the current and then clamber out the other side we were amazed.

After leaving the flat plain, most of the days riding would be through the bright green forest alongside a raging blue river, that proved useful in cooling down our drinks at lunch time.

 Higher up on the mountain, the trail grew muddy and wet and I discovered that my horse Gringa did not like getting her hooves wet. While the three horses in front clomped and slipped on the wet ground, mine preferred to jump across it if that seemed like the better alternative. After ten or so years out of the saddle, the first jump was hair raising, but apparently she seemed content enough that I would stay on and so we jumped for the rest of the afternoon.

As we neared the top of the mountain, the rush of water grew louder as we approached waterfall after waterfall cascading over the edge of the surrounding cliffs. Eventually as the ground grew steeper we got to a point where the horses couldn't continue, so we started to hike up to a mountain lake on foot.

Across the trail, an avalanche had recently come down and our guide figured our path might be blocked by the enormous amount of water and snow still around. He was right. We reached the cliffs where we needed to cross the river and we were surrounded by waterfalls. Sometimes groups camp up by the lake, but with the overcast skies that were threatening rain, or at that elevation maybe even snow, the better option was to return to the valley.

We camped on the shore of Laguna Injeniero where the horses filled their bellies on the luscious green grass, while we filled ours with salami, cheese, wine, chocolates and a delicious local dish called guiso made from lentils and chorizo.

We could see the top of Tronador on the last day. As if in answer to our prayers for good weather, the sun shone the whole day as we rode across the plains towards Pampa Linda.

Each time we emerged from between the cana colihue the mountains were larger on the horizon, until we could clearly see the walls of snow on Tronador, it's peak still happily out of the clouds.

For Negrita this was a tough day, as we needed to cross the Manso River ten times. For Jeff it was a test in navigation. The water at times was deep and his horse Caramelo seemed quite happy to walk into the deepest section - the point where Jeff's feet were in the water – and stop. However everywhere else, the horses marched on gaining speed as they knew they'd almost arrived at Pampa Linda and that meant a week of rest in the paddocks.

Seemingly without warning, we arrived at the village, as other tourists pointed at our little group and took photo's of us. And then the three wonderful days were over and we had to say goodbye to our excellent guide and his friend, our horses and Negrita. But not before a siesta.

San Carlos de Bariloche

If the 23 hour trip from Buenos Aires hadn't been so comfortable, we could have been fooled into believing we'd arrived in Europe. The temperature – freezing cold – was about right, along with the idyllic looking alpine village set on the edge of a lake surrounded by snow capped mountains.

After our grand tour of the ice cream shops of Buenos Aires and the delicious daily desserts made at home, we could probably stand to lose a few kilo's. But if we had hoped that our stay in Bariloche would do the trick, we were sadly wrong.

Every second shop in Bariloche sells gourmet chocolate and as we organised our tours for the coming days, we couldn't resist them. Del Turista was the first stop, where the chocolates were mouthwatering and hot chocolate the best this side of Provincia in Krakow. And that is saying a lot!

Before we'd arrived it had been raining for several days, but we seemed to have struck lucky with the weather. It was sunny and warm, so the following day we escaped the lure of chocolate and went walking in Llao Llao Regional Park.

The forest there was apparently the inspiration for Bambi, thanks to some unique trees that are found only there and in Japan. As if to complete the Asian theme, a type of bamboo also grows there that hung so low over the path at times that we had to duck.

But as we emerged out of the enchanted forest onto the shore of one of the lakes, I was struck by the similarity of the view to those that I had seen in Canada. It had been almost twenty years and yet I was convinced that this view was just like the one I remembered from a family canoe trip.

And at each view point along the trail, of the different lakes I had the same feeling. Jeff thought this was one of the most beautiful places he'd ever seen.

A highlight was the climb up Llao Llao hill, where at each point we had a different view of the lakes and inlets.

The following day we set our sights on getting to some of the snow we could see on the tops of all those mountains. From the ski resort at Catedral Mountain, 25km out of Bariloche we started the alternative route via Arroyo Van Titter hoping to reach the Refugio Frey. The tourist office had directed us to the wrong bus stop where we'd waited for a long time, before finally finding the right spot, so it was already late when we started.

The trail headed up through low scrub around the mountain and along a lake. Delighted about finding “the wild Patagonia” we had to cross several streams, via a single log that spanned from bank to bank.

After and hour or so, we entered the forest where in the cool shade of the trees, patches of snow still lay on the ground. Jeff jumped up and down on them just to say he'd walked through the snow. To our left a river flowed through the valley, the sound of the rushing water echoing off the stone walls that grew narrows.

Further up in the valley after crossing the river on a rickety bridge we spotted a wood pecker, followed by another and another. At first we weren't sure what they were, but just to confirm our suspicions they pecked at the wood and then flew to the next tree. With camera's in hand we followed in hot pursuit, but they seemed to be enjoying the game of follow the woodpecker and kept on moving.

Soon we reached the tree line and at last saw the colourful peaks of the valley we'd been walking through. The warm afternoon sun made the mountains glow and helped melt the snow that still lay everywhere. At last we reached a decent patch where we threw snow balls at each other and took too many photo's before having to turn around without having reached Refugio Frey. But we'd already decided that we would definitely return to Bariloche.