Argentina's dramatic nature

At El Chaltén, hikers follow gentle trails through a striking terrain of steep mountains, valleys and lakes.

By Nicholas Riccardi, Times Staff Writer
12:00 AM PST, March 13, 2005

One of nature's greatest strip teases takes place in this wind-beaten hamlet near the bottom of the world.

Fierce westerlies from the Pacific slice over the massive southern continental ice cap, hurling clouds across the needle-like southern Andes that seal the ice sheet off from the town and the steppes that run east to the Atlantic. As the winds howl, the clouds slowly rise higher and higher, their downy curtain inching up to reveal 10,000 vertical feet of rock jutting into the sky above town.

FOR THE RECORD:

Mt. Fitz Roy —An article in Sunday's Travel section about El Chalten, Argentina, said Mt. Fitz Roy was first successfully climbed only 30 years ago. The first successful expedition to the mountain's summit was in 1952.

Hikers crane their necks and grab their cameras. For this is the massive, almost grotesquely vertical mountain known as Mt. Fitz Roy, a legendary peak that has been the death of dozens of mountaineers and was successfully climbed only 30 years ago.

Now it draws far more casual adventurers, who flock to El Chaltén to hike the relatively gentle trails that loop around the massif, skirting iceberg-dotted lakes, taking in panoramas of spiky peaks and hoping for one clear glance at Fitz Roy's elusive form. But, inevitably, as one cloud bank parts to give the earthbound a glimpse at Fitz Roy, another wave comes in, and slowly drops down over the peak, shrouding it in gray.

During five days last December, that was usually the cue for my wife, Joyzelle, and me to head back into town and huddle in one of El Chaltén's affordable restaurants before retreating to bed in an airy, well-heated room at the small Hospedaje La Base at the western edge of town. The next day would begin as the last had — poking our heads outside our room to gauge how much of Fitz Roy was visible before setting down another mind-bogglingly beautiful trail.

All those clouds and wind gusts may sound intimidating, but we found El Chaltén to be a near-perfect spot for a relaxed hiking vacation. It's impossible to imagine more dramatic scenery — emerald valleys, lakes and rivers of milky blue glacial run-off, lush forests of southern beech and, of course, mountains that can make the Sierra Nevada look like mere bumps.

"Why do people even bother coming to my country?" wondered one hiker from New Zealand whom we met on the trail.

There are reportedly a few pumas about, but little else to worry about — no bears, poisonous snakes or spiders. Precious few mosquitoes linger in the gusts. Although the clouds constantly roll overhead, rain is relatively scarce and brief.

Better yet, the infrastructure is terrific. The lightly populated trails are nicely constructed, well-marked and generally no tougher than the longer hikes in the Santa Monicas or San Gabriels (although the concept of switchbacks has yet to arrive in the Southern Hemisphere). The hikes almost all start from town, letting you roll out of bed and onto the trail. Finally, the 2001 devaluation of Argentina's peso makes this one of the few places left where an American dollar goes a long way. Our sun-filled room at La Base cost $35 a night. We almost never spent more than $20 for a meal, despite routinely ordering multiple courses and drinks.

The downside is that it takes a lot of effort to get here. This is, after all, just about the bottom of the world.

Long journey

First, we flew to Buenos Aires, a 12-hour trip and a journey from the Northern Hemisphere's winter to the onset of summer in the south. After a couple of days recovering in the capital of Buenos Aires, we boarded an Aerolineas Argentinas plane for the 3 1/2-hour flight to El Calafate, a booming tourist town on the flat, tundra-like Patagonian steppes that sprawl eastward from the base of the Andes.

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