Intermission

Michelle’s travel journal.
El Chalten, Argentina

Hanging on to the swinging rope on the glacier’s icy face over a bottomless pit, I was starting to think that this was not my best idea.  Okay, the pit wasn’t bottomless.  I could hear water rushing somewhere below, but I thought it best not to look down to see how far it might be.  I needed to concentrate on the task at hand—getting the hell out of there.

It started innocently enough.  There was a brochure in the lodge for a day hike.  We had been down in Buenos Aires to attend a wedding and thought that ten days in Patagonia would round out the trip nicely.  It made no sense to fly to Argentina from Toronto for a few days, so here we were in El Chalten.  The hike the previous day, on our own, had been magical.  Close ups of giant red headed woodpeckers, clear mountain air, and breath-taking views were our rewards. 

I thought my husband would enjoy the hike to the glacier to try the ice climbing that the brochure promised. We had had a taste of walking on a glacier with crampons a few days before on a day cruise to the Petito Moreno glacier.  It was great fun.  And so we signed up.

It sounded straight forward enough.  An eight-hour excursion:  Hike.  Cross a river.  Get to the glacier. Put on crampons.  Go ice climbing.  No previous experience necessary.

The guide met us at 7:30 A.M. on a perfect day—clear and crisp.  It was early in the season, he explained, and so it was just the two of us joining him.   A couple of hours later, we had succeeded in hiking the fairly flat terrain to the river, where we found that there was a single rope strung over it.  That was the bridge.  No problem—you didn’t have to swim across.  The guide made it look effortless.  Climb the boulders.  Reach up.  Grab the rope between your hands.  Lean back.  Hook your feet over the rope and shimmy. Hand over hand (mind over matter). No problem.  

We cleared this first hurdle and congratulated ourselves on our spirit of adventure.  In my mind I am thinking—BUT WE HAVE TO GO OVER IT LATER TO GET BACK!!  And so we continue to the glacier.   I am by nature an optimist. I am not one to see stones on my path, but my sunny nature notwithstanding, there was a mountain of boulders ahead.  It seems that to get to the glacier you have to first cross the glacier’s moraine.  (Moraine:  A large body of rocky materials deposited at the edge of a glacier.  Not to be confused with Moron—the person who tries to climb the Moraine.)  We laboriously picked our way up the heap, hoping for cloven hooves to make the passage less treacherous. By 1 P.M we were on the glacier proper.   After a quick lunch, we put on our crampons and ice harnesses.  We were ready to try ice climbing.

In my mind’s eye, ice climbing is the act of going UP some ice.  My simple logic is what goes up, will later come down the same distance.  If you pick a slope and climb up ten feet then, in my worst-case scenario, if you miss your footing, you will slip down ten feet.  That was how I figured we would learn ice climbing.  Practice going up a short distance to get the hang of ice axe and crampons, then practice going back down.  Increase the distance and pitch as competence permits. 

It must be that in countries below the equator, things are upside down.  Our guide sets his ice anchors firmly at the top of a precipice.  He tests them.  He goes DOWN, testing the rope and then up.  Satisfied with his handiwork, he then hands the rope over to Tom, my husband. His turn.  I perform the essential task of taking pictures.  I lie on my belly, close (but not too close) to the edge, camera pointed down the ice face.  I hear water roaring somewhere below and have decided that if Tom wants to risk his life, that is fine, I am satisfied simply walking on the glacier. 

Tom makes his way down and then up, emerging with a blinding adrenalin powered smile.   I have great pictures to show the folks back home.  We have had a successful adventure.

The guide and Tom then look my way.  I demure.  I decline.  Next thing I know I am descending.  I am thinking that I should have prepared better for this excursion.  Perhaps learning the proper Spanish for “let’s go back now” would have been an appropriate exercise.

I have put on the helmet, looped the cord and taken hold of the ice axe and started my cautious descent.  Not so bad.  I kick my left foot and get my toe picks into the ice.  Then my right.  Ice axe next.  Unweight left.  Step down, kick.  Unweight right.  Step down, kick.  This is very cool.  It is almost effortless.  I am glued to the ice. 

Until I am not.  Next thing I know I am dangling from the line, swinging on the ice face. 

Like a clock pendulum, I tick back and forth in decreasing arcs.

Be calm.  Deep breath in. 

Ice axe in. 

Next come the feet.  Take another breath. 

I am about ten feet further down, surprised but otherwise unflustered.  I check all extremities and seem to be fine.  I tell the guide I am going to come up now.   He looks down, shaking his head and tells me it is too steep where I have landed.  I am to go down another fifteen feet first, work my way across the face to a less steep slope and then up.  I am in no position to argue.  I make my way.

I emerge without further incident ready to kiss the blessed horizontal plane.  The guide asks if I would like to try this one more time, but I think that he is simply toying with me.

We head for home.