Ruta 40

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Having checked out Carretera Austral on the Chileno side of the Andes, we felt we were ready for Ruta 40 in Argentina.  Although the only bank in Cochrane didn't work with our cash card... we filled up with gas and food, pressure washed the radiator and headed for Valle Chacabuco, home of the future Patagonia National Park.   A friend in Pucón who spends lots of time near this area said that even as recently 5 years ago the river was murky, and the vegetation completely barren thanks to the work of 1000s of sheep.  The valley is an impressive example of how quickly a landscape can repair itself with the help of thoughtful and persistent people.  The livestock have been removed, and the local shepherds are offered retraining and employment in tourism, ecology, and English. We saw more guanaco than we could count (the kids lost track at 648), many rhea (known locally as ñandus) and jackrabbits, nine Andean condors, several armadillos, and even one fox.

"Up and Over" to Argentina: The main road through Valle Chacabuco

9, that's right, 9 Andean Condors together

demonstration of the proper way to greet a guanaco

For Kaia, lunch break is also rock collection time.

A quick fan belt and liquid check-up while
 there's still time to turn back to Cochrane

 


The border crossing at Paso Roballos was a step back in time. On the Argentine side the young officer wrote down our passport numbers in a big dusty dog-eared log book, and then proceeded to rip pieces of paper into rectangular strips which he then inserted into our passports before disappearing in the back.  Luckily he reappeared with the passports but we never did figure out what was the deal with the papers.

Estancia Elvi

Several hours into Argentina without passing a single other car, the road turned suspiciously north and then climbed higher, and higher...and higher.  Theoretically, we should be descending, albeit slowly, towards the Atlantic.  An hour and a half later, after finally consulting a topo map and a taking a few compass headings (who thought it would actually come to this?), we determined that we were, in fact, somehow, on the wrong road.  The afternoon was getting late, but we turned back and took the only other option, a smaller, rougher road heading, more or less, east.  Several hours later, the sun now hanging quite low over the dry cliffs and ridges, the dusty narrow road unexpectedly separated into three equally unimpressive cow paths.  With ample water and fuel, and no other options, we took our best guess and proceeded.  Another hour later, the path simply ended: no rhyme or reason.  Even with the nearly 100 liter tank of diesel that Monty carries, we started to wonder if we shouldn't head back to the Argentine customs shack. We again returned to the fork and tried cowpath #2, and this time reached another dead end at the immense and completely uninhabited Lago Ghio. The sun was now setting.  Once more we turned around and with the little remaining light retraced our path back to the "main" road where we had seen some tire tracks.  Luckily these led to a stately red stone estancia manor surrounded by an oasis of lush poplar trees.  

  

The ranch looked abandoned except for the faint smell of food cooking on a fire somewhere within.  After knocking on all sorts of windows and doors, and calling around, we passed a glass veranda filled with light, and, of all things, half a dozen kids, sprawled around a TV.  Without shifting their gaze, the youngest motioned through the window toward the next door.  There, a man ushered us in without so much as a word.  Gathered around a kitchen TV in silence, there sat two middle aged men, a woman and a grandfather. They listened with indifference to our explanation, and our request to overnight in their yard was met with a cool wave of the hand from Grandpa. We were interrupting his TV hour.  As we prepared our sleeping arrangements for the night, several ranch hands who slept in the barn, brought us a bag of hot fry bread.  

The view of Monte San Lorenzo above Elvi's estancia




         

Despite his reserve the night before, the following morning, the Grandpa, well into his 70's, warmed up and shared the story of his father arriving in early 1900s from Bosnia and building the estancia with a fellow Bosnian stone mason.  He then left with the ranch hands to begin repair on 72 kms of over 300 kms of fencing.  His daughter, a beautiful, shy woman in her 40s, stayed on and explained the difficulties of maintaining estancias this size, and how family circumstances led to her return from a nearby city to care for her father.  Realizing the national park treasure trove growing on the other side of the border in Valle Chacabuco, her goal is to move the estancia away from horses and sheep and into the tourism industry.  Clearly she hasn't much competition. We told her a sign might help tourists actually find their way at that confusing fork in the road.  She just laughed and wondered how on earth we could have missed such an obvious road.  

Turns out we should have picked cowpath #3.

Ruta 40:  The search continues...

Cowpath #3 led us for about 3 hours along a completely isolated road, full of rocks the size of soccer balls, and incredible scenery.  We stopped to make lunch and the kids ran and played in the middle of the "street," very excited to see dust from another car far off in the distance.  As it approached, they jumped up and down and waved at a pickup full of somewhat surprised looking huasos.


 

Ever present Monte San Lorenzo--just never got tired of it.

Lunch break

The buffet is open

playing football in the street

Elvi had told us that there was gas at the intersection of Ruta 40 and Bajo Caracoles.  Reaching the intersection, we knew something was amiss due to the sheer number of cars waiting in this one-building town.  Sure enough, no gas, and none expected until the next day.  Or maybe 3 days. Possibly.  With a now 3/4 empty tank and after some deliberation, we decided a bird in the hand was better, and reversed course north to the city of Perito Moreno for sure-gas and Argentine pesos.  Good call.  Replenished, we once again headed back south on Ruta 40.

A day later, San Lorenzo is still in view

Shirt sailing in 70km/h head winds

Is this really the road?  Yes, but not for long.  Within 2 years all of Ruta 40 will be paved.

Estancia La Siberia

Not much traffic on Ruta 40, but a 12 volt tire pump salvaged and schlepped down to us by Yvonne's Dad came in handy on several occasions as we stopped to help fellow travelers. The owner of one of the flat tires we inflated turned out to be the park director for Los Glaciares National Park. In gratitude, he gave us free park passes-which turned out to be no small gift.

The 70 km/h winds whipping the deep blue Lago Cardiel were fun at first, but scrubbed any plans of tenting.  We pulled into Estancia La Siberia and were treated to another anachronistic experience.  The owner - Chileno actually, oldest of 18 kids from Puerto Montt - bought the old estancia in the hopes of benefiting from the soon-to-be-paved Ruta 40.  Niko and Kaia loved herding the owner's dogs into abandoned sheep corrals.

Estancia La Siberia


 

 

El Chaltén

Thirsty, dusty, and a little butt sore after bouncing along the highway for 3 days, we watched Mt. Fitzroy and other peaks of the Southern Ice Fields emerge out of the desert like something out of a Tolkien novel.  None of us could wait to set up camp for at least a few days.  The weather cooperated and we enjoyed some of the best hikes so far in S. America.  

Yvonne enjoying the pavement

Glacier Perito Moreno

After a week in El Chalten, we drove to the southern section of Los Glaciares NP near El Calafate.  Where else can you see icebergs floating in the middle of a semi arid desert?  Or keep an 8 and 10 year old waiting in silent awe for an hour as a mountain of ice creaked, groaned, and finally crashed into the lake from the Perito Moreno glacier?  We'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Yes, that is an iceberg

Niko's patience and quick photography paid off as he captured the first calving we saw that day.

       

It's hard to understand from the pictures how large the wall of ice really is.  The "small" pieces of ice you see in the foreground in the pictures below are actually the size of  5-6 meter boats. The thunder was deafening and made visitors far away from the viewing area jump in surprise.

Leaving Los Glaciares for the End of the Earth

After many glacier-watching hours and several fun days in the area, it was time to hit the road again.  This time we began the last leg of our trip south.  Final destination: Tierra del Fuego and Ushuaia.

One tiny section of the vast (but rapidly
disappearing) Southern Ice Fields