Dear Readers – in order to get the most from this story, please be sure you’ve read the first 10 installments of it on this website.

Saturday, January 19, 1991

Well, here I was, at the end of a truly amazing week in Ushuaia. I had only seen a bit of the area, but what I’d seen had captured my mind and my soul. I was sorry to be leaving, I didn’t want to leave, and wondered if I’d ever be back. After waking up early, I said goodbye to the Craboleda family in whose home I’d spent these fine days and walked into town. Pastry and yogurt sufficed for breakfast, then I made the long walk with my huge backpack all the way out to the airport. Here was my final view of the Martial Mountains from the terminal. This was without doubt the clearest day of my entire week here.

I was all checked in by 9:35 AM, and at 10:00, right on time, we took off. That sure was a noisy Fokker, its twin props threatening to rattle us to pieces as we climbed quickly and flew through the mountains north of town. This part of Tierra del Fuego is spectacular and rugged, and much too quickly (the flight only took 30 minutes) we landed at the city of Río Grande. There, I spent 2 hours hanging out in the airport restaurant with half of the smokers in Argentina. For some reason, they checked our passports both entering and leaving the terminal. Once airborne, the jet made a quick 45-minute flight and deposited us at Río Gallegos. I shared a cab into town with some fellow passengers.

A week earlier, on the flight south from Buenos Aires, I had sat with a lady attorney named Susy Knoll who recommended a travel agency here in Río Gallegos which could advise me on buses and the like. I made my way over to their office and they were a big help indeed. They even let me leave a bag of stuff I wouldn’t need for a while with them. Everyone is so friendly in Argentina, and I always feel like I can trust them, complete strangers, with my valued belongings.

It was a long walk over to the bus station through dull streets, and when I finally reached it, it took a while to see if I could even buy a ticket. Finally, success – a one-way ticket to El Calafate cost me $24 (I’ll give all prices in US dollars for the rest of this story). My diary entry for this town describes it as “cold, windy, flat, boring and featureless” (with emphasis on windy) – I was happy to leave. As unattractive as the town was, the bus made up for it – very classy and comfortable. The ride took 5 hours, through flat, featureless country – certainly not the most attractive part of Patagonia. En route, they showed a couple of American movies dubbed in Spanish. At 8:30 that evening, we rolled into El Calafate – it was time to start a new adventure.

The agent in Río Gallegos had recommended a youth hostel here, and, lo and behold, there was a mini-van at the bus terminal which whisked me off directly to it the moment we arrived. The place was crowded with young people, and I guess they considered me enough of a youth to take my 8 bucks for a night’s repose. Ushuaia already seemed very far away.

Sunday, January 20, 1991

After a good night’s sleep, I knew right away what needed to be done. Stuffing my jacket pockets with everything I’d need for the day, I walked into the town and all the way through it to the highway on its west side. With my prepared cardboard sign in hand (it read “Canadiense a Perito Moreno), I waited an hour before my hitchhiking paid off and I snagged a ride. A young couple from Río Grande, with the cutest 2-year-old girl you’ve ever seen, picked me up in a nice new Renault sedan (he sells them). During our leisurely drive, we began to see icebergs floating in Lago Argentino. Then, still some miles distant, our first glimpse of the Perito Moreno Glacier, farther west up the Brazo Rico of the lake.

Finally, we arrived at a viewing area near the snout of the glacier – a series of wooden sidewalks had been built by the Parque Nacional Los Glaciares to show off the glacier to best advantage. Signs posted everywhere, in several languages, warned people to stay away from the shore of the lake. In the past, tourists had been at the water’s edge when huge chunks of ice had fallen into the lake and sent a tidal wave roaring across the narrow channel and up the hillside, sweeping them away to their deaths. The glacier is 24 miles long, 3 miles wide and 200 feet high at its snout. Here is the eye-popping view that greets you. As we watched, large chunks of ice broke off and fell into the water with a huge splash – what a spectacle, better than any movie!

When you look across the entire width of the glacier, it’s almost too much to comprehend – here’s a look along the north side.

And here’s a look across the other (south) side of the glacial snout.

As large as this glacier is, it is tiny compared to the giant Upsala Glacier 40 miles to the north. We made our way to the lake shore where we had this view to the north up the aptly-named Canal de los Tempanos. It fascinated me that this lake sits at an elevation of only 500 feet above sea level.

My new-found friends posed for this photo on the shore. Notice the warm coats (and this is the middle of summer!!) and also the chunks of ice near them on the shore. I’ll write more on the fascinating climate of this region later.

It started to rain, so we headed to the nearby restaurant. The young family ordered a meal while I sat and ate the cheese sandwich I’d brought with me (I was traveling on a shoestring). Once done, we left and drove back to El Calafate in steadily-improving weather, and they even dropped me at the door of the hostel.

I needed to make some decisions about my itinerary for the next several days. There were some places I wanted to visit, among them some spots in Chile, but getting there was turning out to be a bit trickier than I’d bargained for. Out here in the vast stretches of Patagonia, transportation had to be carefully planned. I ended up putting my name on a waiting list for a bus ticket to Puerto Natales, Chile – either the demand was high or the buses were few and far between. Tomorrow I wanted to go to the Fitzroy area, a spot world-famous for its mountains. I was able to buy a ticket for the day-trip right at the hostel for $45.00, so at least that was a sure thing.

Walking back into town, I bought a few groceries, then continued on foot out to what the locals call Lago de los Cisnes, a small lake brimming with bird life. The whitish specks you see on the far left shore are a big group of Chilean flamingos.

El Calafate is in the eastern foothills of the Andes, so the mountains here are shrinking in their march to the plains of Patagonia.

It was windy here, very windy, possibly the windiest town I’d ever visited. As I walked back into town, I pondered the fact that this whole area is under snow in the winter, so much so that even the roads to major tourist destinations are closed for many months. Once back at the hostel, I stayed up late talking to a German couple sharing the room I was in for the night. It was hard to fall asleep, thinking about what tomorrow would bring.

Please stay tuned for the continuation of this story, which will be Part 12.

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