El Calafate: Sometimes you just have to look away

Argentina has a stray dog problem. Apparently that's because the Argentinians don't believe in de sexing as this would make the males less...well...masculine. You see, the macho culture goes right down to the dogs!

Yet unlike the mangy dogs of Bulgaria the Argentine ones appeared well looked after. It was not uncommon to see little piles of dog food laid out for them on city sidewalks and parks. Obviously they left their own little piles around the place too. Of course they were very friendly, happily chilling out with any human wandering or hanging out in their city. And surprisingly they displayed pretty good road sense which is more than I can say for most of the human inhabitants.

Unfortunately we'd been given strict orders by our travel doctor to not touch any warm blooded creature because of the risk of rabies. While we ignored that directive when it came to horses, the house cat sleeping in the bunk next to us in Salta and when picking fights with coatis trying to steal our lunch, the fluffy coats of the stray dogs mostly went without a pat. Yes, I felt very bad.

But dog poop on the footpath or rabies for that matter seemed hardly an issue compared to what we witnessed the day we were leaving El Calafate.

With a couple of hours before our bus to El Chalten we'd wandered down to Laguna Nimes - a prime bird habitat alongside the shore of Lago Argentino.

Inevitably a few of the local stray dogs had followed us from the hostel all the way down to the tiny administration building. While we went inside to pay the entrance fee, the dogs continued into the supposed nature reserve.

Picking up the loan binoculars and surveying the lagoon we could already see the flamingoes, ducks with their chicks and birds of prey. But the peaceful scene was quickly disturbed by the stray dogs who had made it through the boggy grass and jumped into the water.

Chased down by the dogs the flock of flamingoes took flight in a pink cloud while other birds swam frantically out of the way. Shocked we pointed out to the administration officer what was happening to which he shrugged, acknowledging that they had a bit of a stray dog problem. The solution was to fence the area, but that project was only partially complete.

Most of the birds had moved away, but those with chicks were struggling to find a safe place. The dogs were chasing them down separating the family. But that wasn't all. Slowly the chicks were also disappearing until there were none left. Tears filled my eyes and I couldn't look any more as the guys seethed at what appeared to be a lack of interest in preserving the wildlife unless there was a financial gain.

That scene reminded me of another place in the north of Argentina where we'd spent the day, but were so disappointed we didn't mention it. We'd left with just this photo of Corrientes which shows nothing of the sadness we'd felt that day.

There in tiny public zoo, we'd seen depressed monkeys in enclosures so small that they would have more appropriately housed a large bird. In the same repetitive pattern the monkeys would frantically climb along bars from one side of the cage to the other and then back again. For as long as we'd stood there horrified watching them they just kept going.

So we were delighted when at the parks administration in El Chalten the passionate rangers enthusiastically told us everything we needed to know about walking in the northern section of Parque Nacional Los Glaciares. Not only did they care enough to emphasise our role in preserving this pristine environment but they were very encouraging of getting off the tourist trail and to the more remote parts of the park. Admittedly I thought that was as a result of Hannes' travel beard which made him look like a well seasoned hiker.

And on top of the rangers enthusiasm, the glimpses of Fitz Roy from the bus had certainly got us excited in anticipation of the next 4 day hike.

I'm sorry, I tried to write a blog post, but the view was just too distracting!

 

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.