Arrival at Easter Island

After three weeks in Patagonia this summer, I had reached an impasse. It was winter, many of the buses were not running, and some of the roads were even shut down. I had managed to see practically everything I had gone to see and still had a week of vacation left. So I picked up the guidebook to Argentina. On the cover was Perito Moreno Glacier, which I had just seen (see post below). I picked up the guidebook to Chile. On the cover was Easter Island. I knew nothing about Easter Island, other than that there were some weird statues with long heads and that it was WAY out in the Pacific Ocean. It seemed nothing like the hiking I had come to do. But as I was reading about it, the possibility of going on a whim started to grow in my head. There was hiking on the island, and loads of culture and history to get acquainted with. And I have to admit that taking my hands out of my gloves for the first time in three weeks was appealing to me. Two days later I was stepping onto the plane heading into the unknown.

From the plane approaching the tiny island (it's about 25 miles wide with one little town), I could already see the moai (statues) dotting the coast near the village. That night, I went out to see the site closest to the town, and my discoveries began.

This is Tahai, a 15-minute walk from the town of Hanga Roa. You can see the broken moai on the left, and a canoe landing on the right. Because the island is volcanic, much of the coast is lined with stone (not sand) and the Rapa Nui had to construct landings to safely approach the island. There are two small beaches, which you'll see in a future post.

Tahai is actually a former village area, with three ahus (platforms). The moai on the right still has its topknot (below) -- most of them have fallen off or been lost. The eyes are not original. There are only a few of those remaining; moai were erected without eyes, and it was only when they eyes were placed in the sockets that the moai gained life. Some historians have asserted that the eyes were only inserted for ceremonies and rituals.

Near the moai are foundations of old houses and one reconstructed one. Because of the island climate, people spent most of their time outside, only going in to sleep or rest occasionally; hence the houses are very low.

This picture, taken the next morning, gives you a sense of scale. Note the man on the horse on the left. Click to enlarge.

This was my campsite, right next to the crashing surf (and a fake moai). The island is fairly expensive, but this idyllic piece of ground was only about 8 bucks a night.

Interlude: The Boundary Waters

In early August, right before school started, we traveled to Minnesota and managed to spend three days in the Boundary Waters, a network of lakes, streams, and portages that stretches for hundreds of miles. From paddling on pristine waters to falling asleep to the sound of the loons, the trip offered a wonderful respite from working life. Even more enjoyable than the natural setting, however, was the chance to spend time with family. From games of balderdash at night (I think Juliana cheated) to games of canoe ultimate frisbee during the day (I'm not sure if Bruce cheated, but no one else could handle a canoe like that), the trip was packed with laughter. Not to mention Max's Olympic-quality leaping and Greg's superpower portaging. Can't wait until next year!

Juliana and Max navigate one of the many beaver dams that made our trip down Hog Creek...well...adventurous. We traveled on it for three miles before reaching Perent Lake.

Our campsite on the lake was perfectly situated for sunsets -- Betsy took this shot.

Betsy and Juliana bask in the glow of our "sunset rock," the little outcropping where we gathered each night to watch the sun drop into the lake.

Betsy and Juliana (not that I need to tell you who it is...) treated us to some morning canoe gymnastics.

Bruce and Greg warm up for canoe ultimate frisbee, which involved teams of one swimmer and one paddler.

Max and Greg found a great jumping rock, which Max took advantage of with spectacular leaps. Juliana's face might be the best part of this shot.

That night, we gathered on the rock once more for some balderdash.

As the sun was setting, the mosquitos would come out, but so would the horse flies. As we finished our game, a swarm of horse flies came out and hovered just above the rock, jabbing and diving at the mosquitos, keeping us relatively safe.

The next day we headed back to the rock, where Max and Bruce refined their technique.

On the way back up Hog Creek we saw these lillies.

This shot was taken after I grabbed the huge backpack that Greg was holding in one hand, and at the end of our journey. We'll surely be back...

Perito Moreno Glacier

On the Argentine side of Torres del Paine National Park is Perito Moreno Glacier, one of the last non-receding glaciers in the world. It flows down from the mountains behind it into two lakes, creating a narrow channel through which water from one lake passes to the next. Every four years or so, the glacier advances far enough into the channel that it dams up and the higher lake begins building. As the pressure mounts on the glacial dam, it eventually bursts, sending chunks of ice flying far and wide, emitting a thunderous sound. Though I wasn't there to see this spectacle, the glacier alone was awe-inspiring. You typically don't think of ice as being 150 feet high, or acting like a living organism. But this glacier certainly seemed like a hulking giant, crackling and groaning, occasionally calving off into the water.

The road to the glacier at sunrise

Our first view of the glacier was from a road-side pulloff.

We then boarded a boat to get a close-up view.

The face of the glacier is 150 feet high.

To the right of this blue chunk is the narrow channel that separates this lake from the next. Over the next few years, the glacier will close this channel, and the lake pictured will begin to grow until it bursts through the dam.

The sheer expanse of the ice field is difficult to grasp unless you're standing right in front of it.

Here, a section of ice calves off into the channel. You can see by the slushy water on the right that this is a fairly common occurrence.

Click on these shots to enlarge.

Flamingoes!

Don't flamingoes strike you as tropical birds? Apparently they do just fine in the frigid waters of Puerto Natales.

Tierra del Fuego National Park

After a day of skiing, Stephan and I headed for Tierra del Fuego National Park. The mountains aren't the highest in the world, but their position in the far south, combined with the time of year, made them feel downright arctic. In fact, the trail we headed up was actually closed; we only went after I showed the locals my crampons and ice axe. The first part of the hike wound along a lakeshore, but quickly cut uphill. After about an hour of climbing, we reached the snow line, and after about another hour, we emerged above the tree line. At this point, the wind became a factor; it had already turned much of the snow drift into hard packed ice. Stephan, who was walking without crampons, decided to turn around at this point. Though it was slick, it wasn't technical climbing, so I was more than amply equipped. I climbed for about another hour along the wind-swept crest of the range, finally reaching the peak to panoramic views. It was just the right sort of climb, requiring enough concentration for route-finding, and enough focus for putting your foot in the right place, and enough resolve to combat the cold and wind that I became completely absorbed in the hike. One of those meditative moments that I so cherish when I travel.

This shot was taken shortly after we crossed into the snow line and entered a small clearing with views to the lake below where we started.

We then entered a dense forest that required careful attention to stay on course.

Above tree line, the drifts became more wind swept, and flattened into icy stretches of trail. Crampons were essential here.

The course to the peak hung just below this ridge. It was a pretty clear shot, especially with long metal spikes sticking out of my feet.

In this shot looking back on the ridge, you can see my footprints just to the right of the high line.

And again from the peak. Double click to enlarge.

After descending, we were able to catch a glorious sunset at the lake.

Southward, Ho!

You'd think that Torres del Paine, in the southern tip of South America, in the south of Patagonia, is as far south as you could go. You'd be wrong. Ushuaia is the southern most city in the world, and it was to there that I headed with Stephan, a friend I criss-crossed in the middle of the trek, and with whom I met up afterward in Puerto Natales. We caught a 17-hour bus, crossed the Strait of Magellan on a ferry, and arrived in the once-bustling port city of Ushuaia. Now that the Panama Canal is open, it's not nearly as popular, but it's still full of good restaurants, tour companies, and port-related business people. The Chilean volcano was still erupting, so tourism was down, which meant that we had the world's best churros all to ourselves. Yum. Try the dulce de leche if you go. Ushuaia is home to Tierra del Fuego National Park (which will be in my next post) and some world-class cross-country skiing. The place we went was owned by three former Olympians, all of whom grew up there. There are races there every year, drawing the best of the continent and beyond. Though I'd still choose Korki in northern Minnesota, the nearby peaks and rambling forest provided a delightful day of touring.

A ferry crosses the Strait of Magellan. The strip of water is so narrow that it takes longer to board the ferry than to cross the strait.

The cross-country ski resort proudly displays the Argentinian flag, as it is home of three former Olympians.

We arrived on the first day of skiing of the entire season, after a light snowfall the night before. They were just finishing grooming the trail when we got there, and the snow was the perfect depth.

The main trail made a 5-kilometer loop around a large field...

...but we headed off into the forest and created our own tracks for much of the day.

When we returned, we saw these folks practicing their dog-sledding. The dogs LOVED to run, and complained wildly when they weren't the ones chosen to go out.