Dean Potter
Steph and I finally have our Base Camp completely stocked, with our light and fast "assault packs" loaded and ready for the weather to change.
As usual, everybody is talking about how bad the weather is, but that doesn't seem to mean anything about what it will do. We awoke for another morning of continuous high winds in Base Camp, along with soaking rain, the earth's heavy fragrance filling the air and everything covered with a layer of dampness.
We want to go up onto the glacier and set up high camp, but with the wind and rain as heavy as it is, it would be an all-day slog fighting the elements just to make what is normally a two- or three-hour hike. We subdue our anxiousness and realize there is no reason not to go down to El Chaltén and enjoy what could be a calm and relaxing day.
We wait for a lull in the wind and make a dash across the open terrain before the trees. Soon we are beside the Rio Blanco and I look for fish, hoping to supplement our diet with a little fresh meat. I have been feeling closer to the land this year, and more in tune with all my senses and instincts. We explore our new territory, wandering through the woods off the trail, hoping to find something new: wildlife, powerful place, new boulders, or another stunning view.
The rain slowly turns into drizzle and we arrive at our deluxe camp in town. Needing supplies, I use the remaining daylight to go into town. The wind pushes me quickly to the far end of town, where I say the few Spanish words I know, and point for the ones I don't know, to the friendly and patient storekeepers.
The locals here are strong, and straight, beautiful people. They live close to the land and the harsh environment keeps them busy and fit. I struggle up the main street, tacking my way into the wind; it consumes me. By the time I get back I'm exhausted from what is just an ordinary rest day in Patagonia.
We awake the next morning and realize that our free camping spot is actually a horseman's pasture, but no one seems to care. There are fewer rules here than in the States and people seem to be kinder and more open with their land than I'm used to.
We eat our breakfast on the soft, lush grass among vibrant wild flowers and swaying langa trees. Totally satisfied with our decision to come to town and be lazy, we stroll about a hundred feet over to the start of one of the best boulderfields I've ever seen. The sun shines and it lightly sprinkles rain, creating a magical feel to the moment.
Even though my body feels awkward and uncoordinated, it is pleasant to finally be moving on rock with the sun on my back. We climb and explore most of the day, and end up finding more boulder problems than we know what to do with. I throw myself at every one and accumulate a long list of projects. It's funny thinking that if the weather doesn't break for us these next two months, I'll probably be in the best bouldering shape of my life. As the day comes to an end we sit and watch the light fade, as thoughts of the mountains flood into my head.
The mountains call to me all night and Steph and I awake eager to return to them. We walk back to Rio Blanco, hoping to get to the Paso Superior tomorrow to dig a snow cave.
—
Dean Potter, MountainZone.com Correspondent
