Dave Anderson
"Milwaukee!!! We are going to land in Milwaukee," Andrew shouts at me. "Dude, we are supposed to be on our way to Buenos Aires right now, not landing in $#%&$ Milwaukee."
The best-laid plans can often go terribly awry. Andrew had just finished working a NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School) backcountry ski course. I had been on the East Coast presenting slide shows on the Forbidden Towers Expedition. We met up in Salt Lake City at the Outdoor Retailer Show and tried to procure some last minute items for our Patagonia trip.
A hectic pace had been close at our heels for three days as we headed for the airport. We checked in and the counter person didn't charge us for our extra 70lb bag of gear. Everything was going like clockwork. Andrew and I high-fived as he headed to the gate and I went to drop of my truck.
I drove to my home, which is actually a self-storage unit, and typed in the access code to the front gate, waited... and nothing happened. So, I tried again... nothing. I went into the office and the nice woman behind the desk said that she would do a computer override... still nothing.
The cab that I had called to take me back to the airport arrived and I began to feel anxiety creeping up my neck. The woman made several phone calls, then—with an 18-month-old boy in tow— headed towards the gate with a fistful of keys, none of which seemed to fit the lock.
With 40 minutes to spare before our flight was to leave, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I grabbed my toolbox from my truck and charged at the gate with a hammer and screwdriver. I proceeded to pound out the pins and the hinges while my Somali cab driver Mohammed shouted, "Go man, go!"
With my truck safely stored I jumped in the cab and told Mohammed there was an extra $10 if he could get me to the airport in 20 minutes.
"This is just like the movies, sir, " yelled Mohammed as he gunned the cab into the street.
Back at the airport I found Andrew calmly waiting at the departure gate. "The flight's been delayed for an hour because of bad weather in Chicago," Andrew stated sullenly. Eventually we took off. With luck we could still make our connecting flight to Buenos Aires.
"Can I have your attention please," the captain announced over the airplane's PA, "due to the poor weather in Chicago, there is a back up of planes trying to land. Unfortunately, we do not have enough fuel to remain in this holding pattern and we are being re-routed to Milwaukee for re-fueling.
So much for luck in catching our Buenos Aires flight. As we began our descent to Milwaukee, I noticed the flight attendants were not scurrying around the plane reminding passengers to buckle their seatbelts, but instead were securely locked in the their own seats.
The captain gave a quick, "Prepare for landing," as we headed down.
"Did you hear the tone in the captain's voice," Andrew said. "I think he sounded a little shaky." Andrew then grabbed his headlamp and stuck it on his head in preparation for the worst and I looked out the window into the driving rain and tightened my seat belt.
The landing was a rough, bouncy event, but we were safely on the ground. "Man that was a close one," said the man sitting next to us. Apparently he worked for the airlines. "The wind shear out there was bad. The front of the plane was going one direction and the rear was going the other way," he said gesturing with his hands.
As we taxied to the gate to re-fuel, the pilot informed us that the windshield wipers had stopped working and needed to be inspected by the ground crew.
"Jesus, I can't wait to start climbing, it will feel a hell of lot safer than this," I think to myself.
The windshield wipers cannot be fixed and there are no other flights to Chicago, so we end up staying at the Radisson on United's bill. We had already missed our connecting flight by several hours, so we decided to get some much needed rest.
The next morning, the weather was still delaying and canceling flights, so we opted to take a bus to Chicago an hour and a half away. Only God knew if our luggage would ever catch up with us.
The rest of our air travel went smoothly. The 12-hour flight to Buenos Aires departed on schedule and Andrew and I absorbed the time by tossing and turning in our seats in a vain attempt to get some shut-eye.
In Buenos Aires, we learned that the baggage handlers were on strike and that there would be a short delay in receiving our bags. Miraculously all of our bags arrived after waiting for an hour. We then took a bus to the domestic airport on the other side of the city, just in time to catch our final flight to Rio Gallegos.
Instead of a gate at the connecting the terminal with the plane, we board a bus which transports us to the waiting plane. Andrew and I push and shove to get on the packed bus, as the doors close. The bus then drives 10 feet, stops and the door on the opposite side of the bus opens at the Rio Gallegos plane. Everyone on the bus uses the universal language of laughter to communicate the absurdity of having to get on the bus in the first place.
As we touched down in Rio Gallegos four hours later, I gazed across the relatively flat, undisturbed plains of the southern tip of South America. If I squinted my eyes just right, the surroundings look very similar to the place I call home in the States: Wyoming. Strong gusts of wind pulled at our clothes and try and slap our travel weary faces awake.
Another quick transition had us traveling five hours by bus to the resort town of Calafaté. A little after midnight, we stumbled out of the bus and crashed at a hostel for a few hours. Morning brought sunshine and only a few puffy cumulous clouds clinging to the southern edge of Laguna Argentino.
As we bounced along the gravel road to our final road destination of Chaltén, I began to worry about the weather. It is too nice!! Last year I rode this bus with Kurt Albert in similar weather. Kurt is a world-famous climber from Germany and has been on many climbing expeditions to Patagonia. "My God, I have never seen the weather so clear," Kurt said with somewhat disdain.
The problem with having fair weather on the bus ride into town, is that it takes at least a couple of days to get you and all your gear into a position where you might be able to climb something and by then the weather window has usually slammed shut.
This year there are no other climbers on the bus besides Andrew and myself. The tourists on board are overjoyed by the spectacular views. I think to myself, "The race is on!"
Having spent two months of last year in the Fitz Roy area does have its advantages, when it comes to expediting tasks. In a couple of hours after our arrival to Chalt&233;n, we hired horses to transport our gear, bought food for a week and headed up the trail to the Rio Blanco Base Camp.
We staked a claim to a patch of flat ground that we will call home for most of the next month. And now we begin the process of setting up tents, cook and storage tarps, organizing food, gear and packing our packs to head up to the Fitz Roy massif tomorrow if the weather holds. At 2am I set my watch for 4am.
What's that expression? "You can sleep when you're dead."
—
Dave Anderson, MountainZone.com Correspondent
