Blue heaven

GO LONG HAUL: HOLLY HUNTtreks among the mountains and glaciers in the ice fields of Argentina's southern Patagonia

OF ALL THE COLOURS of the spectrum of light, blue has the most energy. Into the depths of the sea, the expanse of the sky and the density of ice, it penetrates further. Last month I explored the largest icecap outside the polar regions and was overcome by the blues. The Southern Patagonian Ice Field in South America extends for more than 350km, covering an area of 16,800km. The Unesco World Heritage Site of Los Glaciares National Park, in the Argentinian Andes, was created to protect part of this unique ecosystem. It is a spectacular landscape of towering peaks and fast-flowing rivers; a landscape being visibly sculpted by the heaving, cracking glaciers that slide towards its lakes of milky turquoise.

Access to the park is restricted but there are corners where you can disappear with your backpack and go in search of ice, one being the little village of El Chaltén. To reach it you must travel across the Patagonian Steppe, the largest desert in the Americas. In one of the exceptionally comfortable Argentinian buses, my boyfriend and I sped through vast stretches of dusty bush peppered with sun-bleached scrub. Ostriches watched indignantly our passing cloud of dust, their chicks like gigantic chickens fluttering around them. A few Andean Condors, their ugly heads pulled tight against their gigantic wings, teetered on the fence wires. In the far distance, I saw a curve of dust: a trail of cattle and at their head, a white horse carrying the distinctive silhouette of a gaucho’s hat.

This is wild frontier country. Explorers and bandits have passed through these dusty plains. The bus pulled over at a restaurant where Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid had, once again, evaded the Pinkerton detectives.

At the entrance to the park we made an obligatory stop at the visitors’ centre. The rangers enthusiastically described the different walks we could do along the designated paths, briefly mentioning one that was more difficult to follow and not as well marked. I don’t dislike people, I just prefer sometimes if they were somewhere else, so we chose the least travelled route.

Our intrepid adventure began over a bottle of Argentinian white wine and a plate of artisan meats and cheeses. We sat outside a tiny wine bar in El Chaltén watching the fabled mountain, Monte Fitz Roy, turn pink against a fading blue evening sky. The sheer granite faces of this jagged mountain and the adjacent Cerro Torre present some of the most technically challenging mountains to climb in the world. Weathered climbers spend months on end here testing their skill on these coveted routes.

One of the first mountaineers to explore this area, in the early 19th century, was the intrepid Fr Alberto de Agostini. When not attending to his spiritual duties, this Italian priest dedicated his time to exploring the unmapped glacial regions of Patagonia. Armed with a camera, and often dressed in his cassock, de Agostini was perhaps the most prolific explorer of this harsh environment. For him, Monte Fitz Roy was “the lord of all of this vast mountainous region”. We have all seen its iconic silhouette before, on the logo for Patagonia clothing.

The village of El Chaltén was only established in 1985 to solidify Argentina’s claim to the land, which lies along the disputed border with Chile. Precarious houses, like the wooden props of a cheap country and western, seem dangerously close to being blown away in the swirling westerly winds; everyone wears hiking boots and carries the obligatory backpack, adding to the transient feeling of this frontier village.

The next morning, after strong coffees and sweet pastries, we walked into a landscape that took my breath away with every turn. The path wound over gentle hills and through shade dappled forests looking down on Lago Viedma, a swath of misty blue, and up to the snow splashed peaks.

As we walked, my mind slowly stopped its ceaseless chatter and I began to notice the subtleties around me: the coppery sunlight caught on the thread of a spider’s web and the faint scent of a wild herb crushed underfoot. When the cold evening shadows crept into the valley, we pitched our tent and feasted on pasta and chocolate.

We woke in the dark, packed up and walked north. I was dreaming of dozing under fresh linen sheets when the sun crept up. It caught on the bottoms of the clouds in red morning hues, and the mountains emerged around us. We continued to climb upwards over the wind-whipped pass, smiling, as the mountains turned pink, brilliant red, warm yellow and then finally dazzling, sun-bleached white.

In late morning, we reached a lake of cloudy turquoise. The colour comes from the rocks that have been pulverised by the advancing glaciers, turning the icy waters into what is known as glacial milk.

We scrambled along the edge of the lake to reach its source, the Glacier Grande. From above, we looked down at what we had travelled to see: ridges of ice, like the waves of a choppy sea frozen in time. Living up to its name, this immense ice river snakes up through a valley of spectacular jagged peaks to the imposing summit of Cerro Torre. Between the waves of white crystal and light, we stared into chinks of indigo, turquoise and azure. Rocks tumbled down the unstable sides of the valley as the glacier cracked and creaked from within. A sudden sound, like the crack of a gunshot, and a chunk of ice fell and floated like a white island in the murky waters. A spectacular environmental sculptor at work and we seemed to be the only spectators.

The more remote parts of the park are kept that way by hair-raising river crossings: a rope is strung over the torrent of churning, roaring, glacial melt water and wearing a harness you clip yourself to the wire, swing upside down and drag yourself across. To continue, we had to cross one of these rivers. The only problem was we didn’t have a harness.

“It’s just like climbing ropes in school,” my boyfriend tried, unconvincingly, to reassure me. We attached our packs to the rope and he pulled himself across, severely wobbling midway, which did nothing for my nerves. I untied my camera strap, put it around my waist and attached it to the rope with a leopard-print keyring clip. Linking my ankles over the rope, I hung upside down and, hand over hand, slowly dragged myself forward, with the sound of water thundering louder as the rope dipped in the middle.

I finally landed on the other side in a heart-pumping, adrenaline-fired triumphant heap. Would the strap have held my weight? Probably not, but it made me feel better.

Thoroughly pleased with ourselves, we made our way through the hot evening sun to Poincenot. This campsite allows a panoramic view of the granite sentinel of Monte Fitz Roy. We took jugs of water from the stream and washed in icy gasps.

The Lonely Planet'strekking guide to Patagonia insists that watching the sunrise from Laguna de los Tres is obligatory. The local ranger in the campsite disagreed. She said it was more picturesque from just outside our tent. Opting for local knowledge, we left the other campers to their pre-dawn hike and slept in.

With the first signs of light, we rolled out of our tent. Wrapped in sleeping bags and sipping at cups of tea, we watched the dawn gradually perform her morning ritual, setting the enormous stone peak of Monte Fitz Roy alight.

Back in El Chaltén, we celebrated our successful expedition with a very European styled slap-up meal. This area was once a stronghold of the Tehuelches Indians but now Patagonia is a swirling pot of cultures. Even in this remote town, the influence of generations of European settlers can be found in the Neapolitan ice-cream and German artisan beer. Walking back to the hotel, we passed a bar where a crowd stood in rapt silence, listening to a girl sing passionate Argentinian songs to the plucking of a classical guitar.

From El Chaltén we travelled south to the tourist hub of El Calafate. The main street is lined with souvenir shops selling T-shirts and teddies and dozens of agencies offering various takes on glacier tours: All Glaciers, Mini-trek Glacier, Alternative Glacier. Our glacial expedition may not have been to the most famous glacier but it was sensational in its adventure and isolation. Some 75 per cent of the world’s fresh water is held in the frozen banks of glaciers. As the panda became the symbol for endangered species, so the retreating glaciers are synonymous with our troubled climate. The Glaciarium, a glacial interpretation centre and museum outside El Calafate, tells stories of glaciers and then expounds the message in no uncertain terms: “The issue is the future of our planet and the destiny of hundreds of millions of human beings.” Maybe, if more of us have the privilege to be captivated by the iridescent glacial blues, that message will get across.

Patagonia: Where to . . .

STAY

La Aldea Hotel on the main street of El Chaltén offers clean, comfortable accommodation and the best coffee-table view in town ( hotellaaldea.com.ar).

EAT

La Vineria Wine Bar serves delicious local food and wines ( elchalten.com/lavineria). The Ahonikenk Restaurant is a buzzing energetic pizzeria, tel: 0054-2962-493070.

For additional information on what's available in El Chaltén, check out the town's website: elchalten.com.

GO THERE

British Airways flies from Dublin to Buenos Aires, via Heathrow ( britishairways.com). You can then fly from Buenos Aires to El Calafate with Aerolineas Argentinas ( aerolineas.com.ar) and catch one of the regular buses to El Chaltén, which is about four hours north. All buses are generally the same price. We travelled with Cal Tur. Tel: 0054-2902-491842.