From Chile to Argentina Part III: New Terrain and Rain

DAY 4: Flor de Valle to Huachalepun

The senora at Flor de Valle greeted me before the girls woke up with a round metal tub full of 30 fresh, steaming rolls. Aldo and I drank a cup of coffee while he told me about his long friendship with “the husband of the woman who makes the bread” and how it was because of that acquaintance that Mathias uses this campsite. I laid out a breakfast of bread, jelly, cheese, ham, and butter which the girls ate ravenously then quickly packed up their things (by Day Four they have a routine) and helped Aldo saddle horses. By 10:30 we were off, retracing twenty minutes of the trail to the lake before veering left and following a six-feet wide 4x4 road for most of the day.

It seemed we’d been riding deeper and deeper into the mountains for three days, further and further from any kind of town, but sprawling, cow-riddled farms appeared intermittently at every point of our trek. Slanting woods houses with one yapping dog out front; fences made of untreated wood verticals strung together with barbed wire; a few lonely horses; and the odd piece of farm equipment were the views of our ride. The ride wasn’t steep or boggy; we merely followed the path which in turn followed the curves of a shallow, rocky-bedded river. It was an overcast day and fog hung low in the trees giving everything a chilled, ominous feeling. The trees at this altitude are all covered in a mint green, delicate, sponge-like moss that hangs from the branches and trunks alike. It thrives in high altitude areas and is not picky about the species of its host tree. The locals call it barba de pino, or beard of the pine, and it was so gentle and beautiful and softened the feel of the forest.

The day afforded us magnificent views of Sollipulli and I snapped pictures of Aldo pointing at the crests with his goofy smiling, reminiscing about being on top. Shortly before lunch we passed under a black cloud and quickly put on ponchos. Luckily the shower lasted only minutes and we soon arrived to our lunch spot near a lonely hut next to the river. Unexpectedly, the owner was home but welcomed us to lunch in his field. No sooner had I laid out bread, salami and cheese, but a police truck and three mounted police officers came tumbling out of the mountains. There were five all together and had been up on a rural section of the Argentine border. They were all supremely friendly and cracked jokes while asking if they could take some pictures and film for official reports. The girls were equally impressed with them and we passed a long lunch talking with them and posing for pictures- the blond cowgirls and the official, upstanding officers. The man in charge assured me that whatever I needed, even if it was just a ride through town to grab a beer, he was eager to serve me and could be found in the nearest town where he’s Chief of Police. Aldo said it was a historic day: he’d never before met officers in the mountains.

Before arriving to our campsite, we stopped off at another farm where Aldo knew a horse was for sale. Mathias had charged him with buying it if it was good, so Aldo talked with the farmer, took a look at the horse and a half hour later handed over roughly six hundred dollars in exchange for the horse. I led Monona, a small creamed-coffee colored mare, the rest of the way to our campsite. We slept high in the mountains in a field next to a rarely-used hut and listened to the sounds of gentle rain on our tents which promised a wet ride to Icalma.

DAY 5: Huachalepun to Icalma

            It rained all day. The clouds sunk low in the trees and we rode through the wet gray fog and saw hardly anything. It rained gently through the morning, and we stopped for lunch next to a warm volcanic lake that the girls had had high hopes of swimming their horses in. Instead, Aldo built a roaring fire and we drank tea and thawed our hands while wind shook showers of water from the trees. The fire helped raise their spirits, but the warmth soon drained out of us once we got back in the saddle and continued trudging through the rain. I led the pack horse, Pepe, who walks slowly and I had to tug him along all day. It was a miserable day and the rain turned to a full downpour by 4:30 when we emerged from the mountains onto the dirt road leading to Icalma. We spent three more hours shuffling down the road, our bodies stiff, my hands swollen, cracked and aching, my shoulder burning from pulling Pepe, and my butt and inner thighs fatigued and saddle sore. Once you’re wet and riding there’s little hope of warming up, and we grew colder and colder.

            By the time we limped into camp at 7:30, we’d spent nine hours in the rain and everyone seemed about to cry. Mathias met us in Icalma with an asado feast and fortunately he’d put a huge tent over one of the picnic tables. It was small help. Our campsite was flooded, the wind howled and the rain continued to bucket down. We sat outside through all of it, the girls shivered together while I hurried to prepare dinner. We all ate quickly and went to bed as soon as possible to put an end to the ugliest of days and praying for a sunny morning.

DAY 6: Argentina!

When I rose at 5:00 a.m. to prepare breakfast it was pitch black and still raining. I woke the girls at 6:00, lied to them that it wasn’t so bad outside, and we ate, saddled and were off by 8:00. By the time we got on the horses the skies began to clear, and though it was still bitingly cold as we headed off toward the border, we saw the sun for the first time.  Icalma is a tiny border town and we passed through customs easily. From there we rode for two hours, first up through more green typical Chilean forest, eventually emerging onto the scrubby flats of the Argentine pampas. The sun grew stronger as we rode, banishing a bit of the ice morning chill and we were so thrilled to be clear of the rain that we charged into the day with high spirits.

I’ve run out of time and have to leave for an 11-day trek… unfortunately the last stories from the border will have to wait. For now I’ll say it was a dream to be up there with nothing obscuring the views, to gallop across the flats, and to the straddle the border!