Southern Patagonian Ice Field
When you ask for adventure in Patagonia, you shouldn’t be surprised if you get it. Torrential rain and snowfall as I’ve never experienced before. Throughout the night I had to leave the comfort of my warm sleeping bag to dig out our tent to avoid it collapsing on itself from the weight of snow.
Getting ready
For this epic adventure we teamed up with two German climbers, Christian and Christina, who were equally excited about undertaking this challenging adventure. Even under the best of circumstances this would be an experience for life. And this turned out not to be the best of circumstances…
We met Christian and Christina at the El Relincho campsite in El Chaltén. They, just like us, are on a months-long trip to climb in some of the most spectacular places around the world. We shared a table in the common room one particularly busy evening and the click was instantaneous. Talking about our plans, we quickly realised that we had an interesting overlap. A traverse of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field.
Britt and I mostly climb just the two of us. It gives independence and freedom to make plans and decisions as we see fit, but for an adventure like this, we were happy to team up with other adventurous spirits. Besides being cozy it also adds additional safety being four instead of two. It’s more counterweight on the rope, if one falls into a crevasse. It’s an additional tent, if one breaks in a storm. It’s more hands, if one needs help.
Because our planned route would take us over the border from Argentina and into Chile, we needed to clear two legal hurdles before we could set off for the mountains. Just as when we climbed in Torres del Paine, we needed permission from DIFROL. This time the DIFROL-permit was even more important. Now, it would not only be a climbing permit but also our authorization to enter Chile without entering via a standard border crossing. The needed DIFROL-permit is relatively easily obtained online. Crossing over Paso Marconi puts you on the Southern Patagonian Ice Field which for DIFROL classifies as a complex expedition. The application process is therefore also somewhat more complicated than for the frequent summits but it’s still manageable.
To get exit authorisation from the Argentinians you need to report to the Argentine National Gendarmerie and get their approval. It’s a straightforward process which requires you to show up in person at their office in El Chaltén and supply them with information about you and your plans. Apart from getting the exit-permit and a stamp in our passports, we also got a lot of valuable information about the route from the border officer. He himself was clearly an experienced mountaineer and very familiar with the area. The official process took a few minutes, but we spent more than an hour talking and listening to his advice. Following his advice, we went straight to the supermarket to get some additional supplies.
Now that we had secured an entry permit to Chile and an exit permit from Argentina, it was time to get moving. Once again, the Patagonian weather had been bad for days. Luckily, the weather forecast was showing signs of relief. The forecast was not perfect, but it should be good enough. Our plan was to complete the traverse in seven days. Because of the unpredictable nature of the Patagonian weather, we decided to carry food for nine days in total. A heavy backpack but it should give us some extra flexibility. The plan was as follows:
Day 1: Hike to Laguna 14
Day 2: Climb to Refugio Eduardo García Soto
Day 3: Climb Cerro Gorra Blanca
Day 4: Rest at Refugio Eduardo García Soto
Day 5: Traverse to Circo De Los Altares
Day 6: Travere to Paso del Viento
Day 7: Hike to El Chaltén
From the forecast we knew that the weather on our fourth day would be rather lousy which is why we planned this as a rest day. Climbing Gorre Blanca is also not an easy, short day so a day’s rest after that would probably be appreciated.
Heading off
The four of us set off from El Chaltén in a tightly packed taxi with destination Rio Eléctrico. The car was packed as by professional Tetris players. When we stepped out of the taxi, the rain started pouring down. Time for rain clothes.
The first part of the route follows the same well-marked path as for Cerro Eléctrico. At the point where you turn off for Cerro Eléctrico, you continue straight. After another hour or so, you pass through the Piedra del Fraile camp site and continue onto an old riverbed. Once over the riverbed, you cross through some easy rock formations. Once through this rock you get to the shore of Lago Eléctrico. At this point we had been on the move for at least a handful of hours, and it had been pouring down the entire time. Even with good rain clothes, we were getting drenched.
The route continues along the southern shore of the lake. Here you have to cross a few smaller streams. The crossing isn’t mentioned in any of the guides so it shouldn’t be too much trouble. Or so we thought. Because of the heavy rain, the streams had turned into rushing rivers. We managed to cross the first few but got stuck dead in our tracks about halfway through the riverbed. We spent more than an hour trying to find a way to get across but there was simply no way of doing it safely. Crossing a river forces you to consider two possible scenarios. The first is falling and getting soaked. Not great but also not the end of the world. The other is falling and injuring yourself. Something as simple as a sprained knee or a broken ankle is a serious problem in a place like El Chaltén. Here, all mountain rescue is carried out by a small volunteer force with limited resources. There are no helicopters available, everything happens on foot. A very real scenario is that help is at least 24 hours away.
Not ready to give up on our adventure yet, we decided to pitch our tent close to the river and try again in the morning. We knew from the forecast that the rain should stop in the afternoon and that it should keep dry during the night. With this, we hoped that the water level would drop far enough for us to be able to cross safely.
Soaked from top to toe, we pitched our tent and started to dry our clothes. Easier said than done when it’s still pouring down outside. Luckily, just as the forecast had predicted, the rain subsided in the late afternoon, and we could lay out our clothes for drying in the sparse afternoon sun. Within a few hours most of our clothes were dry again. As always, our heavy mountain boots are the trickiest to get dry.
The next morning, we packed our tent and headed for the river, hoping it had turned back into a tranquil little stream. To our disappointment, the water level was still high. Not as high as the night before but nowhere as low as we had hoped. Early in the morning we had seen two adventurous Brits wading through the river. The first one seemed to have crossed without much difficulty, but the second one took a dive just before reaching the far side of the river. Getting soaked in icy river water early in the morning must be a refreshing experience.
We started by looking at the place where the Brits had crossed but to our eyes this didn’t look like a great idea. Even at the widest point, the river was looking fierce and from seeing the Brits cross, we knew that the river was at least thigh-deep in the middle. We decided to spread out and search for other options. Our preference would be to find a way to cross by jumping from stone to stone but wading would also be an option if we could find a suitable spot. Christian and Britt went upstream, Christina and I went downstream. It was quickly clear that downstream wasn’t an option. Cristina and I returned to the starting point. Partially fuelled by frustration we started building a stone bridge. Or at least we tried. The first few meters went surprisingly smooth but after that the power of the river was too strong. Stones the size of a football were effortlessly swept away by the rushing water. After a thorough search upstream, Christian and Britt returned without having found a route through the water. Once again, what now? In an attempt to get to the other side Christian decided to try wading through the river. The Brits had used their approach shoes to walk through the water, but we were only carrying our mountain boots so we would all have to make the crossing barefoot. Without shoes the rocks are even more slippery. After a few steps into the water, Christian turned around. No way we were attempting this crossing for now. After multiple hours of trying to find a way through, we gave up and started our retreat. Disappointed, we discussed back and forth what we should do with our time. After all, we were in the mountains and ready to go! But nothing could really get us as excited as our first plan. We decided that lunch was probably a good idea. Great decisions are rarely made when hungry and tired. We took shelter from the wind behind a rock the size of a van. Impressive that this colossal rock was pushed here by a glacier. Sitting here, we agreed that there was only one thing to do. We would wait yet another night. Hoping that the water levels would have dropped enough for us to cross in the morning.
Early the next morning, we once again made our way to the river. Honestly, our hopes were not high. At best, I was giving us a 50/50 chance of crossing successfully. At first sight it looked good. During our previous attempts we crossed multiple small streams before getting to the crux at the river. This time around, these streams had more or less dried up, immediately giving us hope that the water was low enough to cross. Christian and Christina went upstream to look for an option of crossing by jumping between some of the bigger rocks. Britt and I looked at the river and tried to assess what would be the best place to cross, if we were to wade it. After discussing our options there was only one thing to do. It was time to get into the water and test if a crossing was feasible. I put down my backpack and took off my boots and trousers. Better not make all my gear wet again.
As in any good fairytale, third time’s the charm. I stepped into the water and immediately felt the freezing water rushing around my feet. The pain is almost instant. Glacial water is incredibly cold and within seconds the nerve endings in your feet begin screaming that this is a bad idea. Moving through the water is a slow process. The water moves so fast that you can’t see the bottom and the riverbed is a mix of fine sand and incredibly slippery stones. Every step has to be placed with the utmost care. One step at the time, feeling your way through the cold river. Feeling with your toes, trying to find stable ground. As you progress, your toes begin to go numb from the cold making this progress even slower. About halfway through the river, the water level has reached well above my knees and my legs are begging for this to end. I managed to make it across. Standing on the other side, the blood rushes back through my legs, trying to reheat the skin. The result is an intense numb, prickling sensation. After a few minutes the pain from the cold water subsides. What is left is the pain from slamming your toes into stones that you hadn’t seen.
Now standing on the other side of the river, having proved that crossing is a viable option, I needed to return in order to get my clothes and equipment, and to convince the others that this was the way forward. Moving back through the river once more, the pain was excruciating. I needed to stay completely focused to avoid panic taking over. Back at the starting point, we discussed the options. I had managed to get safely across the river twice but there was one more serious thing to consider. Moving through water without our heavy backpacks is one thing, but attempting this with the backpacks is another. After deliberating for a few minutes, we agreed that this was our best and only option if we were to continue our adventure. We agreed that Christian would go first, followed by Christina and that Britt and I would finish up the crossing.
With all four safely on the other side, we could finally continue our adventure, now almost 36 hours behind schedule. Making up for all this lost time wasn't an option. The terrain is simply too harsh for that. We needed a new plan and to accept that we wouldn’t be able to achieve all the objectives we had set for ourselves. The first and easiest thing we could scrap from our planning was the attempt at climbing Cerro Gorra Blanca. For me, a significant disappointment. I knew it was the right decision, but I’d been looking forward to climbing this particular mountain since the moment we started planning our trip to South America months ago. Removing Gorra Blanca from the planning meant that we had won 24 hours in our schedule. Almost back to square one. If we would manage to make it to the mountain hut at Paso Marconi in one go, we would more or less be back on track.
Getting to the ice
Getting to the hut in one go would be an undertaking. Between us and the hut stood 1200 meters of elevation gain spread over about 12 kilometres of horizontal distance. Doesn’t sound too bad but taking terrain and weather into consideration, it was to be a long, hard day. From the river the path continues along the south shore of Laguna Eléctrico. At the far end of the lake, the route makes its way through slappy rock formations. Over generations the rock has been polished by the movements of the glacier which once covered this entire area. With time, the surface of the rock has become beautifully smooth, and you clearly see the striations left behind in the rock. It always strikes me how unbelievably powerful ice is when it moves along as a glacier. Not only polishing the rock beneath it but also pushing along gigantic stones. An immense amount of power is hidden in a calmly looking glacier.
After another hour we made it to the first zip-line. The zip-line crosses a 20-meter-wide gorge which has been cut into the mountain by the water rushing through it. The water passes by with such an immense force that the noise makes it difficult to communicate with each other. After a short deliberation on how we should cross, we put on our climbing harnesses and prepared our backpacks for the crossing. Christina went first and once she had secured herself on the far side, I went over. With the help of a rope, we pulled our four backpacks to the other side. Once we had the backpacks secured, Britt and Christian followed suit.
From the zip-line we moved into the gully passing by Laguna 14. Nowadays this is the preferred route towards Paso Marconi. Heading up via the Marconi Glacier is considered too dangerous because of the high risk of serac fall. The first section up through the gully towards Laguna 14 is quite straightforward. And yes, I totally agree, Laguna 14 (or Lake 14) isn’t the most original name ever. I guess naming lakes gets boring at some point. As you pass Laguna 14, a majestic glacier comes into view, hanging some 150-200 meters above the bottom of the gully. As you stand there looking up at the vertical, wet rock surrounding you, it looks like an almost insurmountable task getting up to the glacier. As so many times before, it’s about remaining calm and getting closer. As you approach the near vertical wall, a route begins to form on the left side of the gully. A narrow path cuts through the slappy rock up the mountain. In the most exposed and technically difficult place, a rope has been fixed to offer some additional protection.
Moving through the gully, it's beginning to feel like a proper alpine adventure. After working our way up the slopes of the gully, we finally made it to the edge of the hanging glacier. Here we had to make yet another important decision. Where were we to step onto the ice. Gazing at the glacier in front of us, a sea of ice filled with meter wide crevasses. There was no way around this amazing maze of ice and deep crevasses. It was all about finding the best way through it. We found a suitable spot to start our journey over the ice. Our expectation was that it would cost us an hour or two to cross the ice and get to Paso Marconi. Our aim was to reach the small hut just above Paso Marconi. The hut functions as part border post, part research station and if neither Chilean Carabineros or scientists are using it, it’s open to people crazy enough to make the journey. We were unable to get any reliable information about whether anyone was using the hut ahead of time, so we went with the hope that we could use it but also fully prepared to pitch our tent next to it.
While walking on the tongue of the glacier we were relatively well protected against strong winds, but as we made our way towards the upper parts of the glacier and headed towards Paso Marconi, the exposure to the elements dramatically increased. As we headed over the upper parts of the glacier, the winds picked up and it started snowing. Not the beautiful, calming cartoon-like snow, but the wet and soul drenching kind. Just cold enough to fall as snow, just warm enough that it turns to water instantaneously as it hits you. Together with the howling western wind straight in our faces, this made it a real challenge. Not only was it physically exhausting but navigating was also getting harder. Even with good weather and full visibility navigation on a large glacier can be challenging. Estimating distances can be tricky and with few visual reference points you need to stay focused. With poor visibility, you're in a completely different world of trouble. In a complete white-out you can’t navigate using your eyes. You have to rely on your GPS or a good old compass. Navigating with the help of a GPS makes life a lot easier. Luckily, we had multiple with us.
As we walked over the glacier the weather alternated between good and bad. In brief moments of good visibility, we enjoyed the spectacular scenery and got a glimpse of our route ahead, but for the most part, we were moving along slowly with our heads facing down, trying to protect ourselves from the high-speed slush ice bombarding us. After about an hour in these conditions even our expensive rainproof clothing and boots started to give up and let water seep through. It’s difficult to relay how bad the weather really was but to give a point of reference, it was so bad that my camera stayed in my backpack. I’m normally not too worried about my camera gear being exposed to the elements, it’s built for it, but this was too much. As a result, there’s also only very few images from this part of the adventure.
Refugio Eduardo García Soto
As we continued to push over the glacier, we made our way to the first part of Paso Marconi. From here we had a brief glimpse of the hut in the far distance. From this distance, all you see is the vague outline of what looks like a small structure on the rocky ridgeline. The next half an hour you keep questioning yourself whether you actually saw the hut. As we slowly approached the hut, we could begin to see the outline of a hut with two small windows facing our way. The distance to the hut was still at least 2 kilometres over the ice. Because of the lack of snow, we would have to make a big soft turn in our approach instead of approaching the hut straight on. Making the soft turn over the ice felt like a true eternity. Even though we were closer than ever, it still felt like an almost impossible task to get there. At this point it was around 19.00 and we had already been underway for almost 12 hours. Clear signs of exhaustion were setting in. Approaching the hut, we were deeply hoping to find an empty hut so that we could just roll out our sleeping bags and get some rest. Not all the hassle of putting up the tent and making the beds. But little did we know, we found something much better. We found a hut full of caring Carabineros.
As we got close to the hut, I saw that the outer door to the hut was open. Initially disappointed, we approached the hut, and I walked the few steps up the metal staircase. The crampons under my boots against the metal steps made noise enough that a knock on the inner door was obsolete. Before I reached the door, the door flung open, and a head peered out. He took a quick glance and turned his head back into the hut and yelled “Four! They’re four”. Before I knew it, I had been pulled into the hut and the Carabineros started stripping us of all our climbing gear. They clearly knew that someone arriving at this time of day after a full day exposed to the elements, could use a helping hand.
In the time it took us to get our climbing gear and soaking wet outerwear off, the carabineros had placed four chairs on a row for us. Within seconds of sitting down, freshly brewed coffee and cookies were placed in front of us. Never in my life has a cup of French press been this delicious. After the first few sips of coffee, it was time for a bit of official business. It is after all a border post. We presented our passports together with the DIFROL-permit and after a few minutes of administration, we had officially entered Chile. After another cup of coffee, it was time to leave the comfort of the hut and head outside again. With the carabineros staying in the hut, we had to pitch our tent outside.
We put on all of our warm clothes and headed for a spot not far from the hut. The carabineros had advised us to pitch our tent there. Nicely flat and relatively well protected against the relentless western wind. Pitching the tent between the rocks went surprisingly smooth. As soon as the tent was standing, Britt started organising the inside and I started working on extending the small stonewall already built around the camp spot. We knew we were fighting against the clock. A weather front carrying at least 40 cm of snow was heading our way fast.
After having pitched the tent and prepared it as well as we could, we headed back into the hut. Even though we weren’t allowed to sleep in the hut, we were more than welcome to stay in the hut during the day and use the kitchen to cook our food. Unfortunately for Britt and I, Spanish is not really our strongest suit. A slight disadvantage when travelling in this part of the world. Lucky for us, Christina’s Spanish is rather good. A big plus when trying to make new friends. With the help of our limited Spanish, a few English words here and there, and the excellent high mountain translation services offered by Christina, the conversation was flowing. We were telling tales of our many adventures and the carabineros were telling about life as a carabinero in what must be one of the most remote and inaccessible border posts in the world. As a team of five carabineros, they man the border post during the summer months. Outside the summer months the weather is simply too bad for most climbers to even contemplate going up here. The Carabineros stay in the hut for 15 days after which they rotate out and another team takes over for the following 15 days. After 15 days off, they rotate back to the hut. The cycle continues like this all summer. 15 days on, 15 days off.
After a cozy and very interesting evening in the comfort of the hut, we ventured into the cold night. There was no way around it; to get to the warmth of our sleeping bags, we had to make our way through what was turning into a snowstorm. It had only been snowing for an hour or two by the time we left the hut, but both of our tents were already covered in a thick blanket of snow. To get into our tents we first had to dig them out of 20 cm dense, heavy snow. The kind of snow perfectly suited for an epic snowball fight.
During the night, the snow kept hammering down and the tent started showing signs of bending under the weight. Next to that, the condensation inside the tent was getting out of control. Because of the snow, all the ventilation channels were covered. With no fresh air flowing in, and no moist air escaping, the condensation was starting to create its own rainforest-like microclimate inside the tent. As a result, I had to leave the comfort of my warm sleeping bag every few hours to dig out the tent.
The next morning, we woke up in a true winter wonderland. Everything around us was covered in at least 40 centimetres of fresh snow. It was still snowing but much less intense than during the night. In our planning we had set the day aside as a rest day. The night's intense snowfall had been forecasted and based on that we knew that it would be almost impossible to continue that day. This much fresh snow covers all the crevasses so that they are impossible to see, but without time for the snow to consolidate, it has almost zero stability. It’s not substantially different from walking on a cloud. This means that you’re destined to fall through the snow and into the crevasse every time you come across one. Our hope was that with one day of relatively high temperatures and one good cold night the snow should have consolidated enough for us to move across the glacier without falling into every single crevasse on our way.
We spent the day hanging out with the carabineros in the hut. With the snow still falling outside there wasn’t much more to do outside than take a few photos and then quickly return to the comfort of the hut. The hut isn’t actively heated but the fact that you’re protected against the elements makes a big difference. There was no thermometer, but my guess would be that the temperature in the hut was just around zero degrees Celsius. The inside of the outer walls was covered with a thin layer of ice, while water left on the table didn’t freeze over. Most of the day was spent waiting. Passing time by playing games, watching movies, telling stories, making food and melting snow. Outside the hut there is an intricate system of pipes that allows for the collection of melted water from higher up the mountain. This of course only works when the temperature is above zero. When the temperature drops below freezing, the only option left is to collect and melt snow in order to get water. It should not be underestimated how much time it takes to melt snow enough for the needs of 9 people. It’s an almost continuous task.
The second night was substantially colder than the first. There had been no new snowfall, but the wind had turned a bit causing the air to flow around the stonewall and in under the side of the tent. This meant that we had a steady stream of sub-zero degrees air flowing through our tent and over our sleeping bags. Luckily, we have quality sleeping bags made exactly for these conditions. As an added bonus, the airflow meant that we didn’t have any issues with condensation inside the tent. A very pleasant change from the night before. Walking up and dressing was a more chilling experience. My boots, which had still not dried since getting soaked while crossing the glacier to the hut, had frozen solid. Knocking on the side of them returned a hollow sound. It sounded like you had taken them straight out of the freezer. An important lesson not to leave semi wet shoes in the outer tent. Luckily, I had loosened the lazes the evening before making it possible for me to squeeze my feet into them. The only way to defrost them was to wear them. Not the most pleasant way to start the morning.
Back to safety
After breakfast and an extra cup of coffee it was once again time to make a decision. With the help of the carabineros’ Starlink, we had been able to follow the weather forecast closely over the past 24 hours. The disappointing reality was that the forecast kept getting worse every time it updated. Our weather window was shortening, and our options were getting fewer. After having evaluated our options carefully we agreed that there was only one right decision for us. Looking at the forecast, we would have a window of about 12 hours with what looked like reasonably stable weather starting now. This would allow us to pack up our tents and get off the glacier before more bad weather was coming our way.
With all of our equipment packed up, we said goodbye to the carabineros and started on our way down the mountain. Setting off from the hut, I walked in front. As soon as we touched the snow it was clear that the snow covering the crevasses was as fluffy and unstable as we had feared. There was no way this snow would hold the weight of any of us. Walking in front in these conditions is a mentally draining task. At every moment there is a risk that you fall through the snow and end up in a crevasse. Best case you’re just dangling from the rope, worst case you injure yourself. Walking over the glacier I tried probing the snow with my hiking pole. Wherever there was no resistance, there was probably nothing more than a few centimetres of fluffy snow standing between me and a crevasse. Even though you don’t fall very far when you’re in a rope team of 4, there is still a real risk of injuring yourself. A twisted knee or a crampon stamped into your own leg is a less-than-optimal situation. As we walked, I fell through more than a handful of smaller crevasses. Nothing more than a leg or two swinging in free air. We knew of the risk of falling so we kept the rope tight to minimise the length of a potential fall. Tripping as I fell into a small crevasse, my razor-sharp crampon cut through my gaiters, my rain trousers and my alpine pants, just to let the tip of my crampon gently scratch the side of my leg. Close call, very close call. After having fallen through half a dozen times more, Christian and I changed places. He took the lead, and I could take a breather further back in the group.
The progress was slow because of the many crevasses which meant that we often had to backtrack our steps to find a way around a particularly tricky place. As we slowly worked our way over the glacier, the weather turned for the worse. The wind picked up and it started snowing again. It varied between lite snow with relatively good visibility to almost complete whiteout. In moments of good visibility, I thought I saw a tiny line of black specks moving our way in the far distance. At first, I rode it off as a visual trick or optical illusion. There was no way that people were moving into the mountains with this weather. Or so I thought. As time passed the tiny specks turned bigger and bigger until they turned into four people on a rope. As is good form when you come across someone in a place like this, we linked up with them to make sure that everything was okay. I’m not sure what weather forecast they had been reading to convince themselves that this was the right decision, but they were determined to continue. We shared what we knew about the route and wished them good luck.
As we approached the final stretch of the glacier, the viability was borderline horrendous. We didn’t have more than a few meters of visibility. Just as choosing where to step on to the glacier, choosing where to step off can be of great importance. Not only can the edge of the glacier be fragile and prone to collapse but choosing the wrong place can put you at a dead end. Especially with the wet, slappy rock at the edge of the glacier. With all the new snow, the glacier wasn’t at all looking like it did just two days ago. The visual cues that we had used to navigate on the way up were buried under the snow or changed so much that we couldn’t recognise them. With the help of our GPS watches we were able to backtrack our route to the area where we had stepped onto the glacier. Even with the GPS it was still a challenge to find our way down. We knew from the way up that the edge of the glacier was filled with enormous crevasses. Crevasses large enough to swallow a car. On our way up we had on multiple occasions passed between two large crevasses on a narrow piece of ice. In good conditions not really something to think deeply about but with the challenging conditions we had, it was tricky to find places stable enough to carry us over. Even though the GPS can give us a pretty accurate picture of our ascent route, it’s often not accurate enough to get us safely across a crevasse. The difference between crossing safely and falling through is sometimes less than a few centimetres.
After what felt like an eternity, we finally made contact with the rock. The rocky landscape had also transformed completely. It was almost unrecognisable. What was once a small puddle had turned into a lake the size of a basketball court. Going up our route took us between the then puddle and the rock face. Passing that was out of the question now unless you fancied an afternoon swim. We needed to find another way. Finding our way down through the rock took its time but we made steady progress. In a few places we whipped out the rope to abseil particularly tricky parts. Having made our way down to around Lagua 14, we decided it was time to call it a day. After a bit of searching, we found a spot between some rocks that was just large enough to hold both of our tents. It was a bit of a tight squeeze and moving around the tents felt more like an obstacle course than a campsite.
Early the next morning we started our final descent back to the trailhead. With the most difficult parts behind us, we were making good progress. On the way down we still had two small challenges to overcome. The first one was the zip-line. This time around we crossed it in no time. With a few good lessons from the first crossing, this crossing was like a choreographed dance. The second one was the river crossing which had cost us so much valuable time on the way up. We approached the river with quite some anxiety, fearing that the last few days of bad weather would have turned the river back into a roaring monster. To our delight, and honestly our surprise, the river was lower than at any other point. This time we could skip between a handful of rocks with our shoes on and made the crossing in less than a minute. We made it back to the trailhead in the late afternoon. Christina flexed her Spanish skills one more time and secured us a ride back to El Chaltén in the back of a Pickup Truck. It felt like the perfect way to end this incredible adventure.
Back in El Chaltén it was with some vindication that we caught up with all the other climbers over the next few days. Everyone had been ambushed by how bad the weather had turned out to be. There were stories of broken tents and wind gusts strong enough to pull climbers off the walls. Everyone had been forced to abandon their plans and return to safety, not just us. One of the most important lessons that I take away from this adventure is how bad the weather in Patagonia can really get and how fast it can change. Intellectually I knew that the weather could be bad and that the change can be extremely rapid, but feeling the effects on your own body is an important lesson.
A shout-out to Christian and Christina for finishing the full traverse about a week later. The weather had stabilised greatly, and they had what looked like the most beautiful experience imaginable.
As a final remark, a heartfelt thank you to Alonso, Raul, Pedro, Sebastian and Braulio for welcoming us and taking such good care of us. You embody your motto Aunque Inmensa sea la soledad, mas grande es el amor a la Patria (Although loneliness is immense, love for the homeland is greater). You opened your small mountain home to us and offered us help when we needed it the most. Without your help, it would have been a very difficult experience. You should be proud of how you represented yourself, the Carabineros and the immense country of Chile. Thank you!