Patagonia: to the end of the world (part 1)

Straddling parts of Chile and Argentina, the Patagonia region is gobsmackingly beautiful. Anna Jenkinson travels to the stunning home of icebergs, penguins and mythical berries.

Taking one final look at the Torres del Paine granite mountains towering above the white-blue glacier and green lagoon, we reluctantly began the steep, rocky descent down the moraine. We were about halfway when Claudio, the national park guide, stopped, tapped my arm and pointed ahead. There, in front of me, was the very plant I’d been so keen to find and yet almost missed in my focused efforts to reach the foot of the mountain in one piece: a calafate bush, full of ripe, dark blue berries.

“If you eat the calafate berry, you will return to Patagonia,” or so the saying goes. I swallowed the small, round berry, similar in appearance to a blueberry, and then another just for good measure.

Patagonia is a geographic region at the tip of South America, straddling parts of Chile and Argentina. While many people venture here to set off on a cruise to Antarctica, I wanted to explore the land itself. Stretching from the Pacific on its west coast to the Atlantic in the east, Patagonia is filled with national parks, Unesco World Heritage sites and hiking  opportunities galore. In Chile’s Torres del Paine national park, the most stunning vistas take in the famous granite peaks known as the towers and horns. Their colours match the striking shapes. The horns each have three layers, as if someone had painted thick horizontal stripes around them in browns and white. The contrasting tones are in fact created by the varying amounts of mica, quartz and feldspar in the granite. Their reflection in the glacial lakes is a sight of unforgettable beauty, be it a shimmering effect below the moonlight and stars, or like a mirror in bright sunlight.

The weather in Patagonia was unusually warm and dry. I had dutifully packed waterproof trousers, thermal underwear and everything else on the list of supposed essentials to face the cold, wind and rain. But for the most part they stayed, unused, in my luggage. “This weather is not Patagonia. Three days with no wind. Unbelievable,” exclaimed our incredulous guide. After another day of perfect lake reflections, he simply said: “It’s too much. It’s incredible.”

Another must-visit in Patagonia is Los Glaciares National Park in Argentina. As the name suggests, the landscape has been shaped over the centuries by glaciers advancing and retreating over the land. A highlight of the park is Perito Moreno, one of the few ‘stable’ glaciers in the world. Observation points give visitors close-up views of its face, about five kilometres wide and rising 60 metres above the lake water. The blocks of blue ice with their jagged edges stretch away into the distance, with the entire glacier covering an area the size of Buenos Aires. A constant grinding is heard and then, every now and again, a crash of thunder roars up as a piece of ice breaks off, hits the lake below and creates a massive whirlpool effect.

The closer you get to the glacier, the more impressive it becomes, and the ultimate experience has to be a hike on the ice itself. Step one: strap on the crampons, which, with their metal plate and thick laces, reminded me of old-fashioned roller skates, except of course there were sharp spikes rather than wheels underneath. Then a quick briefing to explain the basics of how to walk in our new footwear: to go uphill, we were told, place your feet wider apart than normal with your toes facing out, “a bit like a duck”; to go downhill, bend your knees, lean slightly backwards and plant your feet fl at in the ice. “Whatever you do, don’t go down sideways as you may twist your ankle.” My thoughts started to wander to the disclaimer form I had just signed, saying I was aware of the activity’s inherent risks.

Tip of the iceberg

Snaking up the glacier in a single file, we kept close together and listened to the guide’s shouts of “Keep away from the crevasse” and “Don’t go that way, it’s too dangerous if you slip”. As we walked further into the glacier, the sun came out. Ahead of us, the glacier’s uneven surface looked like peaks of rough icing on a mountainshaped Christmas cake, dotted with blue sinkholes full of pure glacial water from which we filled our bottles. The view across Lago Argentina, its shoreline and mountains was simply breathtaking. Take a boat trip up the northern arm of the lake and you’ll feel like you’re in a remake of Titanic. There are icebergs everywhere. Broken off from a glacier, the massive chunks float along the lake, dazzling onlookers with their intense blue colour, unusual shapes and sheer size. Only 15 percent of an iceberg can be seen, with the remainder hidden under the surface of the water – a fact I found slightly worrying given how close we were to them.

Luckily the captain didn’t seem in the slightest bit fazed and we reached our destination, Estancia Cristina, incident-free.The estancia, or ranch, is far from anywhere and that’s part of the allure. Set in a valley just a few hundred metres from the lake’s edge, it offers views ofthe 2,730-metre Cerro Norte, or North Mountain. There is also a lookout point to the Uppsala glacier, named after the Swedish university that sponsored the first glaciology studies in the area. No longer a working ranch, it is open to visitors for day trips or overnight stays.

On a four-hour hike in the surrounding hills, our guide explained why he loved living and working at Estancia Cristina so much. “You get up and the first thing you see is the North Mountain,” he said. “Every day is different. There’s something new every day. A new flower, new colour, new bird. Each month you’re expecting new life.”

From afar the land seems dry and barren and yet, as you get closer, you realise just how much life there is: rosehip bushes, electric-blue dragonflies,bright orange butterflies and calafate bushes, this time without berries.

Standing on top of the hill looking back at the mountains, their reflection in Lago Argentina and the ranch with the smaller Lake Pearson behind, I smiled. It wasn’t just the fact that there was no mobile phone reception or that the nearest town was a three-hour boat crossing followed by a half-hour journey by road, though that certainly helped. The place was simply awe-inspiring. I felt totally at peace with myself.