Day 2- Hiking to Refuge and Glacier Cagliero in Huemules Reserve 

Today, we’ll hike up to Glacier Cagliero and visit the Mountain Refuge facing the glacier. It is a very different hike from the first one I’ve done, the Condors’ Lookout. 

First, because it is longer (we should do the 8.7 miles round trip in 6 hours), and second, because we’ll reach 3185 feet high.

While the transfer that took us from our hotels advances by the gravel road, the tour guide says we should be back in the afternoon. It depends on how much time we stay in the mountain refuge. 

I don’t see myself lingering there. The word “refuge” doesn’t seem very appealing. 

The weather is good. At least, it doesn’t rain, and that’s a lot to say. We’re traveling to the Huemules Reserve, a private venue, just one hour away from town. 

Upon arrival at the visitor center, guides make a check of our clothes. They want to make sure we are all sufficiently warmed. But also if we are dressed in layers, as everyone advises us to. 

It is important not to get wet by transpiration while walking, something we should avoid if we don’t want our body to get really cold in five seconds. 

Who would say that the best way not to fall ill is to take off instead of keeping your clothes on? Apparently, I was wrong, and that is exactly what one should do. 

Now I get all that about the importance of thermal shirts and all that kind of plastic-made clothes; those are the clothes that dry faster. And the faster they dry, the less chance your wet body freezes.  

Before starting, they show the trail on a map. I heard what they are saying, but nothing takes on a real dimension in my head. 

It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, here we are, and we are going to make it either way. 

The first 20 minutes of the walk are soft and agreeable. It’s a good way of warming up and preparing for the first ascent. 

There are some houses nearby that seem unoccupied. The guides tell us they are weekend houses and belong to people who bought a piece of land inside the reserve. 

I can even imagine how much it costs to buy land in a place like this.

How I wish to live in this wood all year round, see huemules (a local deer) in my backyard.

They told us that huemules can be seen more and more often in the reserve. 

However, stories contradict themselves. 

Since we got to El Chaltén, some have said that, in spite of the years as a permanent resident, they have never seen one. 

Others, that a group of hikers steps on a huemul in the former season. They stayed still, and the deer, instead of fleeing, zigzagged around them as if it were rambling around trees.

Luckily, we stumbled upon informative signs and guides tend to make a stop. In the meantime, we catch our breath. 

More important than what the sign says is what they ask us: If we are good, if we are too warm, and want to take a layer of clothing. 

It sounds crazy with this cold weather, but they explain it is worse to transpire, never gets dry, and gets freezing in seconds when you finally stop. 

We start walking again, and I feel better, fresher, and I feel no cold. 

The terrain starts to change. We have left behind the houses, and now we are climbing by the mountainside, a straight path full of trees and vegetation. We go skirting the river fed by the glacier’s water. 

We don’t find big rocks along the way, and the consolidated terrain is not hard to walk on. Rain prowls, undecided to fall. Until then, we won’t face the mood. 

The surrounding wood creates a dense shield, protecting us from the wind and possibly, also water if rain starts.

I realize that I’m getting more and more tired, more and more quickly. I haven’t taken out my beanie. I do it, and I feel better. 

Another recommendation, if you don’t want to take out any layer, is to take out the buff. 

I go behind the line with a girl who is struggling like me. She smokes, and that was one of her fears about engaging in this trip. That her lungs don’t cooperate. 

The group is divided now. One of the guides goes to the front, and another goes behind with us. 

I realize that this is one important part of their job: To keep everyone together while respecting each one’s rhythm. 

In an unknown path, when you don’t know what is ahead, this kind of help seems invaluable. 

Although I try to enjoy the landscape, if I don’t concentrate on where I put my feet, I get more tired. I should concentrate on the goal, which for the moment is just to go on. 

The same happens when I want to take a picture. I decide the best will be to leave that for the way back, once I get the grip of the road. In the meantime, I can choose the best spots and take mental notes.  

Finally, we reach a lookout where we have a nice view of the river descending from the Devil’s Lagoon, the mirror of water at the foot of Cagliero Glacier. 

I can not believe the view, the striking color of the wood in autumnal colors, and the roaring of the water. 

We take water. It is important to stay hydrated. 

We take a picture. For me, everything is a good chance to rest. 

We have a good while yet to the refuge. I tried not to overthink it and stay with the group. 

We should be halfway yet. In any case, we shall stop ascending any time soon.

Tour guides offer walking sticks at this point. How muchI’ve underestimated these noble gears! 

I’ve never presumed it could be of much help, but now that I’m getting tired by the hour, everything I can use to support the weight of my body is worth more than gold. 

I walk right behind the smoking girl. If she climbs, I climb. If she stops, I stop, and right behind me, the guide stops closing the line.

I see her getting more and more tired, trying to catch her breath quicker, unsuccessfully. I see her doubting. Maybe she is scared for her lungs.

I can’t, she says. I tell her that she is wrong, that we will speed down, that I need it too. The other part of the group notices we are far and stops. 

The guide pulls out some dried fruits. I eat, not because I’m hungry but because I need something else to distract my thoughts from tiredness. 

Bringing dried fruits, nuts, or chocolate, they tell us, is important when you are in the mountain. 

Basically, you don’t have to take only healthy snacks when hiking, but also something to eat that makes you happy, too. It will boost both your physical and mental energy. I find that candies are really useful too. 

The end of the ascending path is close. Next stop is a crossroad where we take a moment to rest in an improvised bank made by human hands. 

Some of the girls eat their chicken and avocado sandwiches. They look yummy. I prefer to stay with the candies and the nuts. 

Suddenly, three people appear on the road, going in the same direction. They are the first we see since we started the hike. 

We engage in a relaxing chat. I believe the worst is over, but I can not be sure. Maybe it is just a manifestation of my desire that what is left of the road would be easier.

Someone points out that it’s getting late. We make sure not to leave any trash behind and take our walking sticks. 

I feel my thighs no longer burning. I imagine we stop with the climbing portion of the trail. 

We seem to be walking across a valley now, a much more open view with fewer trees and, consequently, less shelter.

Guides tell us it’s the moment to put on all our clothes again and take our raincoats. Rain finally decided to pour down on us like an icy seamist, the wind sprinkling it around.

A fairy-tale wooden bridge suddenly appears in front of us in all its glory, nestled in this paradise valley, connecting our side of the river to the last part of our journey.

Rain doesn’t bother us anymore. We step on the bridge to take pictures. We laugh and smile at the striking beauty of what our eyes can see: The crystalline unceasing water, surrounded by colorful trees, and in the backdrop, the imposing peaks. 

We can not believe a place like this can exist.

We all know the refuge must be close. 

I feel a renewed strength, and I now walk side by side with the guide taking the lead. Something about her walking rhythm is contagious. The smoking girl also walks near us. 

Finally, both groups seem to synchronise.

I don’t know if it is a change of air, the fact that our goal can not be far, or having been able to endure the ascent, but now I feel I could keep walking for hours. 

I feel entirely focused on the road. In a way, I don’t feel like myself, but that feeling doesn’t scare me; rather, it electrifies me. If I could make it up to this point, I will cope with anything to come. 

That’s what is special about the mountain: That there is always something else to come. And no, it’s not necessarily easy. 

From that enchanting image of the wooden bridge and the forest, nothing was left but an open and rocky plateau where rain and wind became stronger. 

I struggle to go forward, the wind taking me out of the hood of my raincoat. 

I try not to think and focus again on the goal. I just focus on following the rhythm of my body, bewitched as I feel it. 

I try to cover from the sleet with the buff I put on again. I brought a pair of gloves, and I feel the need, for the first time today, to put them on if I’m to grab the walking stick that has just saved me from a furious wind that almost threw me over. 

I know we are closer to the glacier because of the radical change in the weather. 

It is colder up here, and it is normal: Cagliero Glacier is part of the Patagonian Ice Field, one of the biggest ice fields in the world after Antarctica and Greenland. 

I can imagine all of us feeling the same: with the same urge to arrive, and sure, there is nothing that can stop us as far as we have come. 

We try to keep up the chatting, something that helps to stay in the present moment and not get anxious to complete the goal.

The rocky plateau grows into a slope, and I can not believe I have to go up again, even this gentle hill.

With the last of our forces, we put one foot behind another and climb, climb, climb, and suddenly, the ascent stops. 

In front of our eyes, in a lull of the wind, there it was: The beach, the refuge, the Devil’s Lagoon, and hanging over, the Cagliero Glacier.

What a spectacle of nature, I can notice, despite tiredness and wind and rain starting to blow again. 

I would like to sit here on this beach and contemplate the glacier that takes us so many hours to reach. But the weather doesn’t care about the time and effort of humans. 

If we want it, we’ll have to take it as it is. After a brief moment of fatigued smiles, we try to take a picture. 

I pull up my stick and raise it above my head, the others gather, and the guide takes the picture. But I’m so cold that I can’t stay much longer outside to enjoy the dance of victory. 

Wind and rain finally shoved us towards the refuge. 

We should have felt frustrated. But nothing matters. 

We were happy beyond our darkest thoughts. I have never seen something more magnificent. 

We are told to take out the boots, the wet jackets, and the backpacks. 

As I told you before, I didn’t exactly have higher expectations about the refuge. But just putting a bare foot inside, I gladly realize I’m wrong.

I thought I would have cold feet, but amazingly, I haven’t. 

We enter a big saloon with different spaces to chill: on one side, big tables invite to share a meal or a board game with others, while near the wood stove, a couple of tea tables and kind of rustic sofas invite to sit and look through what seems wall-to-wall windows looking at the glacier and the lagoon. 

We all pick to sit down here. There is only a young couple, a girl alone, and a man next to a bookshelf. 

I can’t believe a palace like this exists in the middle of the mountain.

I’ve always liked wooden decorations. I guess I have this fantasy of spending a winter in a place with snow, a cabin with a chimney, where I can spend the days reading, gazing through  the window, enjoying the tantalizing smell of burning wood and fresh coffee. 

A young man working in the refuge takes us in warmly. How was the ascent? asks, and we all agree that it was fine. Then he asks who wants a hot cake with dulce de leche and coffee or tea. 

Coffee, please, I say, and I stay here to live, I thought, but don’t say.

After finishing our meals and waiting for hot cakes and coffee, we talk. A guide says that they sometimes come with a couple of friends and kids and stay overnight here. 

The refuge has a first floor and a few bedrooms with bunk beds and a private bathroom. 

She invites us to visit the place. Woodily decorated and small, the bedrooms seem cozy. There is even a little window gazing at the glazier. 

We have never had cold, says the guide, about the nights spent here. 

What is that noise? I ask after realizing there is a buzz I can’t distinguish since we entered the room. It is the wind, answers the guide, sometimes it doesn’t stop. 

When we come down, there are our coffees, teas, and hot cakes. We’re about to sit down, but something gets our attention. 

Everyone in the saloon is pressed against the window, looking over the surrounding forest beyond the beach. 

There is a young huemul! Says the boy of the young couple. 

Where? There! It came so close, I saw it, and pointed out a sign not far away from the refuge. Now it hides among the bushes.

I try to distinguish something. I grab my phone, but anything I can get with my phone camera would be pretty poor. 

There it is! I shout. I saw the bunny-type years and the dark nose peeking out from the brown and reddish leaves, looking in our direction. 

If someone were looking at the big picture from outside, all of us glued to the window staring at the huemul and the huemul staring at us, would be a pretty funny scene. 

After a while trying to get closer views of the magnificent animal, we return to our table and our hot cakes. No one will believe we’ve seen a Huemul in our first long hike. 

Someone asks the guy in the refuge about the huemul, and he shares that the animal has been around for the last few days. 

They guess it is a female that maybe heads to where female huemules give birth, somewhere up the mountain, higher than where the refuge is located.

We are all so happy that we don’t stop eating and chatting. The tiredness and cold we had a few hours ago seem to be part of a past life. 

Someone asks about a strange black stain on the glass door of the wood stove. It seems like something melted on it. 

Many burn out their pants, says the guy from the refuge, they get near the stove to get warm and, as they turn back on, they even realize their clothes are melting. Until they return home, change clothes, and find a big, unexplained hole in their pants. 

We laugh and check on the sly that all our pants are fine. 

The guides say we have to get going. I don’t know how long we stayed in the refuge, but I know it was good and warm to the soul, and longer than expected.

Maybe it was the almost-encounter with the huemul that delayed our stay. But I also think that if we had been given the chance to stay, all would have wanted to stay in that mountain paradise.  

Back into the hall, we put on our boots and coats again, and get prepared for the wind and the cold again. Outside, it is still raining, slowly but persistently.  

I put on the beanie, the hood of my jacket, and I tie so the wind would not remove it. I put the globes to grab the walking sticks. 

We go out to the freezing weather once more, but it doesn’t feel the same. 

Our bellies are full, our legs, rested, and our hearts, happy and confident for the way back home. 

While I start walking, I think about how weird it seems to leave a place like this, where we put so much effort and time to reach. 

So are most things in life, think to myself. 

But I don’t want to dive deep into that thought. 

I’d rather keep on inhabiting the simplicity of the moment and what Nature teaches: That everything runs its course. That everything has a starting point, and so has an end. 

But still, my mind resists. 

“I can always return”, I tell myself. And that thought helps me to turn back on the refuge, the Cagliero Glacier, the beach, the Devil’s Lagoon, the roaming female huemul, and start walking again.