A Gluttony of Views: The Fitz Roy Hike

• Orientation: Not Borientation.
• The Superior Race
• The Quest for Views
• Sangre!

Orientation: Not Borientation.

A few kilometers short of El Chalten, the bus stopped at the Visitors Center of Parque Nacional Los Glaciares where we met, perhaps, the nicest ranger in the world. Slim, toned, approaching late-middle-age but at the same time refusing to give into time in a way only park rangers and spirited mountain men can do, Octavio entered our bus and asked our permission to step out so he could tell us a bit more about the park and what we’ll find there. The locals remained inside while we tourists gladly obliged.

We huddled around a paper maché model of the park as he passed out maps. Behind him was a large window with a view of gloomy clouds progressing through a threatening sky, covering up the spectacular view that (we were assured) normally existed. This actually turned out to be a good spot to stand because as the ranger pointed out trail hazards and conditions, we listened intently. By now, all other park employees had huddled around us so we got the sense that there hadn’t been a lot of action around here since the summer season ended. We figured to be the only ones out there, and if we were going to tackle these already-challenging and unfamiliar trails with the added benefit of lousy weather, well, then nodding off just wasn’t an option.

Not that we would anyway, because Octavio spoke in a way that didn’t make you feel like you were being preached to by a superior being. Normally, when you’re seeking information in a foreign country, especially from an official source, you get a dumbed-down reply. “…sí, sí, and then you make a how-do-you-say LEFT turn (finger motion for emphasis) at the big blue building…” It’s a combination of the language barrier, the strange accents, the cultural gaps. There’s no harm intended, but it just doesn’t help in making you feel more of an outsider than you already do.

Octavio spoke in accented but perfect English, his voice retaining the authenticity that so often gets lost in translation. Hence, his passion translated into excitement for us. He reported — and as we had already witnessed — there was snow on the ground (the first of the winter season), so the trails would be all but covered and difficult to trace. He recommended the Lago de los Tres trail, which appropriately connected three lakes in succession, the final one taking you to the foot of the Fitz Roy mountain. But under current conditions, we were advised to turn back after the first lake (which “also” had a nice view). We kept our disappointment secret and nodded in understanding.

Like the entire region of Patagonia, El Chalten had an overpopulation of stray dogs. (This was more than a nuisance and a serious problem for the country.) Apparently, these dogs like to latch onto tourists and follow them around town and even into the trails. This was strictly forbidden because the dogs hunted a particular breed of Patagonian deer that was in danger of extinction.

“If you happen to find one of these deer while you are enjoying the trails, please,” the ranger placed his palms together, “Take a photo for us. We’re trying very hard to monitor their activity and bring their population back up.”

I admired the dedication in his voice. He wasn’t just going through the motions. He cared.

Octavio told us we could drink the water in the park. “I’ve been drinking from these streams for over 20 years. Look at me,” he said, suddenly lifting up his arms and flexing his biceps. “Do I look healthy to you?”

But perhaps his most memorable advice was about going to the toilet in the woods. We were to count 30 steps away from any water source and then bury the waste. “You know, make like a cat,” he said.

The rest of our hiking adventures would comprise of the group yelling, “Make like a cat! Make like a cat!” anytime anyone would indicate the urge to pee.

In typical ranger fashion, he wrapped up our orientation by reminding us about pollution. One of the most amazing things we noticed about all the national parks we visited in Argentina was how clean and well maintained they were. They weren’t something that was just there. They mattered. You’d never dream of spotting an empty soda bottle or candy wrapper in the trails. I suppose it’s a lot easier to accomplish this in a country with such low population and an area, which until the last few years, has been somewhat inaccessible and hence, off the tourism radar.

“As you may have noticed, there are no fees to visit the park,” Octavio said. “It is my life’s goal for it to stay that way. Every year we fight with the government about charging fees, and so far we’ve managed to hold them off. But as soon as people start polluting this beautiful park we will have lost. And when that time comes,” he said in a small sigh. “You will not find me here.” He turned his head towards the mountains. The clouds looked like they were about to break. We could just barely make out the granite-chipped tip of Fitz Roy.

“You will find me at another park, in another country. Or perhaps I’ll be doing something completely different.”

• Next: The Superior Race