Lago de los Tres ~ True Story

So, there I was after flying for hours from Buenos Aires south to El Calafate, traveling via bus five hours to El Chaten, weary and feeling lost, standing in front of this vast, green, glacial-filled valley with the peak of Fitzroy and the rest of Cordon Adela there in front of me. The ranger said that we had arrived with luck because it isn't often that one can actually see the peak so clearly.  Usually it's shrouded in clouds and fog.  We've got less than three hours to obtain our final supplies and find a decent camp spot before it's too late.  I rush into the center of the tiny aldea, El Chaten.  No more than an outpost for hikers and climbers, the rough town is located on the often disputed boarder between Chile and Argentina in southern Patagonia region. 

I planned to stay a week in this area, between El Chaten and El Calafate to hike and check out the glaciers.  It was an amazing couple of days overall, but one particular day stands out in my memory.  It was the day I decided to day hike to Lago de los Tres.  I was told by a local guide I had met that it wasn't safe to hike it alone.  He was leading a group of English trekkers that morning and encouraged me to join them.  I tried to hang with them for awhile, but the peak was calling out to me and they were too slow. 

I broke free and started trail running through the valley.  It started off fairly mild with undulating dips and peaks through emerald green forests.  It rained the night before so everything was alive and vibrant.  I felt the energy of the entire universe surging through me.  I wasn't even aware at how fast I was going until I reached the base of the trail to the summit before noon. 

I took a brief rest and then began to climb up the steep and winding trail leading to the top, where supposedly I'd fine 3 lakes and a spectacular view of the valley.  The maps and signs all say that the trail is only recommended for experienced climbers.  I didn't worry because I have plenty of miles under my belt from Yosemite and the Sierras.  No way could it be more treacherous than some of the hikes we climbed in the Hoover Wilderness!?

As I climbed higher and higher, the wind began to blow fiercely.  The rocks were slippy and it started to snow.  I only had a small day pack, a light-weight shell and trail running shoes.  I slipped a few times.  At the switch-backs I literally had to hold onto the rocks or I felt as if I'd be blown off the mountain.  At this point I couldn't see above me or below me.  I was caught in this mid-world between what I knew and what was unknown.  Part of me wanted to go back to safety.  But my body pushed me forward.  I was terrified.  I mean, here I was in the middle of Patagonia, alone, and no one really knew where I was.  If I fell, I could be lost for days.

The wind kept pelting me with sleet and rain.  I clung to the side of the rocks with each switch back I reassured myself that I needed to finish this climb.  There was no way I was backing down.  I wasn't going to be afraid.  Finally, after much struggle I reached the top.  For a brief second I could see over into the other valley with the three lakes.  The clouds swirled around and closed off my view.  I was surrounded by fog and clouds.  I couldn't tell where I was at all.  I had no view below me from either side. 

I burst out laughing!  I mean, to come all this way, for what?  A photo of me with ruddy cheeks and clouds?  Of course.  That's exactly why I came here.  The storm grew worse and it was close to sunset.  I had to get down off the mountain quickly.  Going down wasn't any easier.  In fact, it was kind of worse. 

Once I made it down below the worst of the weather I stopped for a second to catch my breath.  I swore I could hear voices.  Was I going crazy?  No, it was another group.  A group of three young travelers from Israel.  "Should they go on?"  they asked?  "Can you see anything?"  they pressed.  "Is it worth it?" they cried.  I laughed.  I laughed so hard until I cried.  I said to them, "it's only worth it if you want it to be".  I smiled as I turned downhill, "you'll see what you want to see" I said and I started down the mountain feeling wise and accomplished.  It was such an amazing feeling to have conquered that peak, survived and come across other travelers who were there asking me if they should go on.  The irony is that only minutes ago I was just as lost and scared as they were.  But now I was exhilarated and confident.  Funny how things can change so quickly.

I got back into town just as it was getting dark.  I sat in a cafe drinking hot chocolate and I wrote myself a post-card.  I told myself to remember this day forever; especially on those days when I am just not quite sure if it's worth it to keep going.  What's ahead? I may ask myself.  And the answer is invariably, whatever I chose to see.