Day 8: Patagonia-French Valley

The morning greeted us with the massif bathed in beautiful warm light.  I tried to get some pictures through the window of our room.  

Rainbow

We sat down to breakfast with Molly, Dave, Milt, and Rhonda and found out that Milt was under the weather and was in the process of making up his mind about today’s hike.

Jeri and I decide to order pancakes this morning and she briefly thought about ordering a short stack.  Well the pancakes were about the smallest we’d ever seen. 

After complaining to the food and beverage manager again (last night about the poor quality of the beef that was served very well done, like shoe leather) we just had to get some photos of this.  These were not silver dollar pancakes, but nickel pancakes, and only a pair.  The manager was going to have a talk with the chef.  Oh to be  fly on the wall.

We met up with Pablo, our guide for the day, in the lobby where we collected our lunches (Jeri had a surprise in her lunch- BROWNIES) thanks to Anna.  She felt bad about the “brownie  incident” and was trying to make amends.) and snacks (almonds, cashews, banana chips and dried fruit) and set off on the catamaran for the far side of Lago Pekoe. 

Another couple joined us.  They were from the Philly suburbs, and it turned out that the husband, Les, was a general dentist, and his wife, Ethie, was a pathologist and a Cornell grad, class of ’74. So with Jeri and me, we had “74 through ‘76 covered. Milt was, unfortunately, suffering from a stomach thing, probably a combination of dehydration and the flight down, and by the time we started hiking, it was obvious that he was struggling.  

Usually out in front, he lagged behind  and finally after about 2 miles into the 10 mile hike, he decided he’d better turn back.  Pablo was in a quandary as what to do, and finally decided to have Milt and Rhonda head back toward the ranger station at the boat dock and Pablo would get us to our lunch spot at the French Glacier, then hoof it back to Rhonda and Milt and get them back.  We felt bad about splitting up the group, but Milt and Rhonda insisted.  The plan was for us to join a group that had gone a bit farther and meet them on their way back.

The trail afforded us some nice views of the massif and Lago Skottsberg. We passed through an area that had been badly damaged in the 2011 fire, then through scrubland,  and then finally through forest made up of primarily 
Linca trees (not a fagus).   

As we approached French Glacier, we had to cross a raging torrent via a swinging suspension bridge.  

Some of our group (we won’t mention any names, Molly) do not care for this type of infrastructure and required a bit of coaxing to cross.  The harmonic motion of the bridge was made exponentially worse by the 40mph cross wind that tried desperately to push us over the side. The “Oh my God, oh my God” chant must have really helped. 

Pablo deposited us at a viewpoint about ¼ mi. from the bridge.  Then ran back down the trail to catch Rhonda and Milt.    

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   The viewpoint (or mirador) was situated directly in front of the Tongue of French Glacier.  The view was spectacular but the wind was ferocious.  We hunkered down behind some large rocks to avoid exposure of as much of the unexposed parts as possible and broke out lunch. Because there was no guide there, though, we missed out on soup and dessert.

During lunch we had ring-side seats to an avalanche only a couple of miles from where we sat. Avalanches here, especially on sunny afternoons, occur pretty often. 

The other group, with their guide, Paula (a physiatrist taking off some time from medicine) finally came by and we began our descent.  Negotiating the swing bridge was a bit easier this time, and the “Oh my God, oh my God” chant seemed to work well again for Molly.  

The remainder of the hike down turned into the Bataan Death March (without the beatings).  Paula informed us that the boat from the hotel may not be able to make the crossing due to the high winds and this would require us to take the public boat that came at 5, and if we missed it the next would be at 6:30.  She pushed us pretty hard and at one point, Jeri stumbled, then the wind flattened her on the ground.  Between the wind and her pack weight, she couldn’t get up.  Unlike in Bataan, Paula and I picked her up (totally unhurt) and we continued on, albeit at a slightly slower pace.  You’d be happy to know, the hotel boat did make it, and we were at the boat dock with plenty of time to spare.  Milt and Rhonda were there with Pablo, and though Milt had gotten some rest, he was feeling no better.  The lake crossing with the high winds and waves did nothing to improve that.

Before dinner, our first guide, Anna, gave a talk on the birds of Patagonia that was very interesting.  I was convinced that if Milt missed the talk, we would have to helicopter him out of here, but he made it! Afterwards we dined, drank, and crashed.  Tomorrow, we planned a couple of shorter day hikes.  That meant missing the 3^rd part of the W circuit to the two towers.  Mind willing, body ain”t.