A walking tour of Easter Island

My first full day on the island was spent walking...and walking...and walking...and then finally catching a ride because I didn't want to walk anymore. I headed out from Hanga Roa on the northwest coast, passing by several cave systems used by the Rapa Nui in the past, either as homes or hiding spots. My guidebook said that I should bring a light into Ana Kakenga ("ana" means cave), but I forgot mine. I attempted to venture down anyway, and it was a matter of steps before I ended up in an incredibly low, narrow space with just enough room for me to squat down and squeeze through. Add to that the pitch blackness, and I moved very slowly, groping with my hands on all sides so I wouldn't run into anything. The space opend up after about 5 meters, and I saw a faint light down and below me. Relieved, I took a few steps, only to realize that I would have to get back. Looking behind me, I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face, and I hoped that the cave didn't branch anywhere. If it was a straight shot, I could do it. The guidebook didn't indicate any branches, so I continued on. I was basically in a lava tube that had hollowed out. The tube actually split, and then opened in two "windows" right on the side of a cliff, both looking out over the ocean. I made my way back, hoping not to awaken any spiders or bats, and carried on up the coast to other caves. A couple hours into the walk, I turned inland, toward Terevaka, an extinct volcano that is the highest point of the island. The weather grew restless as I came upon Akivi, a collection of moai at the base of the volcano. I spent the next few hours hiking up to the peak and then back in intermittent rain. No great pictures, but great views of the clouds moving over the island, revealing different spots as they floated around me. A tiring day, but useful, since I got to see the whole island from the top and plot my travels for the coming days...

One of the windows of Ana Kakenga

A bed or maybe table in Ana Te Pora

Akivi sits at the base of Terevaka. Enlarge the picture to see the horses.

On the backs of the moai, you can see where the heads were reattached. Every moai on the island was toppled at one point. More on that in future posts...

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.