The first part of our trek today was crossing a dry riverbed valley about a mile and a half wide. When I say "dry" I mean mostly dry. A knee deep river of glacial runoff perhaps twenty feet wide tumbles down the center of the valley. This was the crossing we had been told would require the assistance of a mule. But at this late part of the Argentine summer the waters were cross-able on foot. We changed into our sandals and forded the river. Dear Friends, I hope to tell you that water was cold! My feet were numb by the time we were halfway across, and then ached with misery as they came back to life on dry land. We continued on,up a narrow canyon with a tributary of the Rio Vaca flowing through it. We eventually had to wade that river too, but the dread was subverted by the profound beauty around us. All along the trail small tufts of a low green ground cover thrived, casting off a delicate sweet scent from tiny yellow pansy-like flowers. The rock formations varied from huge Flintstones boulders to reaching sheer walls. The clear skies provided a very comfortable 77F.
We chatted at times, stopping to hydrate and pick through our lunch bags. For no reason other than it felt good, we kept a brisk pace, passing several teams that had left Casa de Piedras two hours before us.
Arriving at Plaza de Argentina, we hydrated and built our camp behind a stacked stone wall constructed by those before us. It was in a low impression that would offer some protection from the wind. Comparing notes, as we do after each move, Ty and I both felt quite good, better than we felt pulling into the similar altitude on Denali. This had been our first goal, to arrive healthy at base camp. So far so good!
We have eaten our dessert first. The trek to base camp has been picturesque, leisurely, and quite altogether enjoyable. While the last three days have required some work to bring us to Plaza de Argentina at 13,800 feet, we have done so carrying no burden. We have been the unladen swallow which must now grip that coconut by the husk and continue it´s migration to England.
Tomorrow we will remain here at Plaza de Argentina and rest. The next day we make a carry to camp 1 at 16,728 feet. We can see the trail from here and it looks steep. Ty and I will each carry about 50 pounds of gear. That is when the real climbing starts. But for now we are enjoying the impressive base camp amenities provided by our logistics support group, Grajale Expeditions.
Grajale Exp has set up several qwanzen hut type tents here. They are arranged in two rows forming a muddy narrow main street between them. One must duck and weave to avoid the low hanging wires that connect them all in a low volt, low tech, municipal lighting system that no has figured out how to work. One tent is the cookhouse. Pleasant associations are fostered with this tent owing to its emissions of both fine aromas and classic rock and roll. There is one corner of the cookhouse tent where intermittent internet access can be purchased for $10 per 15 minutes.
A charming young lady who goes by the name of Veronica is camp boss. She assigns groups to the remaining tents for dinning purposes. Veronica also coordinates the cooks, mule cargo, chopper lifts, and regular tidying up of the drop toilets. At no time have I seen her without a smile. She is kind and at once respected by all, including those who for cultural reasons might view this as a man´s world.
Within minutes of arriving at base camp we were shown to our tent and served up a variety of meats and cheeses with a large pitcher of orange drink. Having already accepted the inevitable de-evolution of comfort that comes with a mountain climb, Ty and I were giddy with the prospect of knowing some further kindness. Our dinning tent would provide a place tall enough to stand in and yet be sheltered from the wind. Though we would still need to set up our sleep tent, we would at least have a place to go for the days we would be at base to read and socialize with the AAI group with whom we would be sharing that dinning tent. Ty and I celebrated our good fortune in having booked our arrangements through Grajale, practicing the pronunciation of same in ubber important tones. "So you are telling me I can´t have a private library at 13,000 feet," we would argue to no one in particular. "But I must say this to you; GRAJALE." Poof. The Kennedy library would appear before us.
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