Mourning the Torres del Paine

On New Year's Eve this was the kind of news I didn't want. I loved the few days I had trekking in the Parque Nacional Torres del Paine and still think of that spectacular landscape. But now the park is burning — already about 8500 hectares has been consumed. I suppose I could say I was lucky yet again to have enjoyed the park before this disaster, but in these circumstances I simply can't think that way.

These spectacular peaks are the Cuernos del Paine. They'll look the same after the fire, but the context will be entirely different.




[20 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 100, 1/125 at f16]


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Oroua river, Ruahine range

Yesterday morning in the Oroua river at Iron Gate hut. A friend had wanted for some time to do a tramp in the Ruahine and we finally managed it, walking in on Tuesday afternoon. I'd expected the hut to be full so had packed the tent, but to our delight we found no one else there — we had the place to ourselves the whole time. In the evening we explored the river; I'd hoped we might see or at least hear a whio (blue duck), particularly because my friend had never seen them in the wild.

We saw two not far downstream from the hut, and watched them for some time, sharing the 10x42s, listening to the calls — the male's whistle, the female's rattle. Of all possible returns to the Ruahine after four and a half months overseas, this was right up there with the best.

[28 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 30 mm, ISO 100, 1/00 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Sunrise on the Salar de Uyuni

A 4:30 a.m. start followed by a steep climb up the flanks of the volcano wasn't easy, but we arrived on time as the first sunlight touched the summit. We watched while the warm light crept down the mountain and thought ourselves lucky to have a guide like José, who knew how to persuade us to rise before dawn, knew how to time our arrival perfectly, and knew we'd appreciate the effort.

That's neither cloud nor water down there — it's salt.

[23 October 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 400, 1/320 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Approaching Puerto Montt

Still a few hours from the end of the sea journey and the sun went down, the light began to fade, everything softened. The beat of the engines continued unabated. Everyone came on deck, unable to resist the last of the light.

Merry Christmas everyone. Thanks for calling in, even if you seldom or never leave a comment (but special thanks to those who do, and, in doing so, encourage me to keep posting). Be kind to each other; make the world an even better place.

[8 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/6 at f11]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Dawn at Puerto Montt

Although the ferry berthed at about midnight, we stayed on board, had breakfast the next day, then disembarked. I wandered the deck at dawn, almost alone, watching the light grow, the colours change, a seal swimming.




All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Brujo glacier, Chilean fjords

As the ferry returned to its course north, the glacier began to slip behind a ridge. Weak sunlight touched the ice as if to say remember this moment.

Then the glacier vanished and the grey rain set in.

[6 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 100, 1/1250 at f11]

 

 

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Approaching the Brujo Glacier, Chilean fjords

During the journey through the fjords, the Evangelista detoured to take us close to the Brujo glacier. Rain threatened, and at times delivered on the threat; droplets driven by the wind spattered the lens, eventually forcing me to abandon the 14–45 and replace it with the 100–300. My fingers started to numb, my nose ran, but nothing could quell the compulsion to make the most of the short visit.

[6 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 100, 1/160 at f11]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Waterfall, Chilean fjords

As the Brujo Glacier passed out of sight, the spectacular views continued.

[6 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 269 mm, ISO 100, 1/30 at f16]

 

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Chilean fjords

Sometimes during the first two days of sailing from Puerto Natales, we were treated to sights like this.

[6 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 100, 1/1600 at f11]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Approaching Puerto Montt

Dusk on the last day of the journey from Puerto Natales to Puerto Montt, in southern Chile. We reached Puerto Montt shortly before midnight and disembarked yesterday morning; I caught a bus to Puerto Varas and this afternoon travel to Pucón. I fly from Santiago to Auckland late on the 15th. Time is relative to the amount left.

[8 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 200, 1/30 at f5.6]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Dolphin gull, Ushuaia

Walking along the waterfront at Ushuaia, I noticed several gulls foraging in the stinking black ooze at the water's edge. They looked different from the gulls I already knew — what's usually white was grey, and the bills seemed bulkier and redder. I checked the book. Dolphin gulls are apparently uncommon, although in Ushuaia they were easy to find. Over several days I tried to photograph them, but found them difficult subjects. This detail, although straightforward, is probably the best of a large number of mediocre photographs.

Of all the things I liked about Ushuaia, the birds rate highly.




[30 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/2000 at f5.6]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Beached boat, Puerto Natales

I could spend hours, days, maybe more, on the shore in front of Puerto Natales.

Having written that, I wonder why the sea is always in front of a coastal town, never behind it? How widespread is the compulsion to look out at the sea in preference to back towards the land? Thoughts appreciated (but I won't be able to reply until I'm on land again in a few days).

[4 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 100, 1/125 at f16]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Waterfront, Puerto Natales [2]

Another view of the coast directly in front of the main part of Pto. Natales. Just a few steps along from the site of the previous photo.

I board the ferry tonight, bound for Puerto Montt, so for the next several days I'll have no Internet access. I'll schedule some photos for posting, but won't be able to reply to comments.

When I disembark, I'll have less than a week left in South America.

[4 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 100, 1/80 at f16]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Waterfront, Puerto Natales

A beautiful day — warm, Spring-like, sunny — turned into a mild, partly overcast evening. I walked along the waterfront in the late afternoon, enjoying the birds, photographing, relaxing under the sightless gaze of the extinct giant ground sloth which Puerto Natales seems to have adopted as its emblem.

[3 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 100, 1/40 at f16]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Morning at Puerto Natales

Lapwings yell from a small, rocky mudbank a little way from shore; two black-necked swans cruise in the distance; a Magellanic oystercatcher probes among the stones; a few crested ducks float quietly. A cool but pleasant breeze wrinkles the water shortly before brief, light drizzle.

Voices in the distance; the continuous, deep hum of a boat engine; gently lapping water; the sulphurous smell of decaying sea lettuce. I walk back towards town along the waterfront past an almost collapsed fence — three thin rails on leaning pickets, what remains of the white paint now scaly and flaking, streaked with orange and red from the rusting nails — and cut up towards the centro under a hazy sky streaked with cloud and patches of blue. I love this beautiful, flawed, impermanent world.

[24 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 200, 1/200 at f16]

 

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Beached boat, Puerto Natales

I like Puerto Natales. To me, it has a charm like that of a small coastal fishing town — once-bright colours weather-faded to lovely pastels, silvery-grey worn wooden fences no longer neatly upright, plenty of the wonderful colours of rust; in short, Puerto Natales seems scruffy but in that functional, full-of-life way. Yes, tourism now dominates, but the town's far from being ruined by it.

Perhaps I'd feel differently about Puerto Natales in the mad chaos of the tourist high season or in the bitter winter when perhaps everything closes in on itself. But when I visited, I ended up thinking this is the kind of place I could settle for a while; find a simple place to rent, somewhere I could write and work on my Spanish and enjoy the birds and maybe get to know a few people. The reality — particularly the financial expense — would be a different matter. But the thought intrigues me.

Back there in a few days.

[24 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/100 at f16]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Cascada Río Pipo, Tierra del Fuego NP

The first place we visited in Tierra del Fuego National Park was the small waterfall and rapids on the Río Pipo, about ten minutes' stroll from the car park. As usual, I could have stayed there indefinitely photographing the flow of water.

[28 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 127 mm, ISO 100, 1/15 at f16]

 

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Chimango caracara, Tierra del Fuego NP

Yesterday I visited Tierra del Fuego National Park with a couple of new friends. We walked several trails, including a lovely 8 km walk along the coast through southern beech forest and across small, beautiful coves with pale shingle beaches, rocky headlands and short spongy grass cropped by Upland and Ashy-headed geese. At roughly the two-thirds mark, we stopped for a snack and a rest. Soon after we stopped, a pair of Chimango caracaras visited, presumably looking for handouts (we didn't oblige — apart from the park rules which say don't feed wildlife, the kind of food they're likely to get from humans is likely to be high in salt, which can harm many birds).

[28 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 100, 1/320 at f5]

 
All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Paine Grande sunrise; PN Torres del Paine

Sights like this were worth the early rise, but so were the torrent ducks. A morning I'll always remember.

[21 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 200, 1/25 at f16]

 

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

The mountains of Tierra del Fuego

Mountains loom over Ushuaia, pushing the town against the waters of the Beagle Channel. Some look as if they could be climbed on an easy stroll, others look like serious challenges, but the weather can make all excursions difficult.

[25 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/250 at f5.6]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

End of the World

Early morning in the Beagle Channel, from Ushuaia. Not far to go to Antarctica, but unfortunately that's out of the question for me. Soon I start travelling north, and I doubt I'll ever again return this far south in this lifetime.

A strange feeling.

[26 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 200, 1/640 at f11]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Harpoon [Paine Grande ice]; Torres del Paine

On our way to the mirador beyond Campamento Britanico, we stopped to admire the light on Paine Grande's glaciers. For a few seconds, sunlight grazed the top of the glacier near Cumbre Norte (the north summit), and I managed a couple of quick photographs. Then the light vanished.

I'm now in Ushuaia, the furthest south I've ever been. In a few days I begin the long journey north again.

[Update: New post just published on Pohanginapete]

[20 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 252 mm, ISO 100, 1/1600 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Cerro Paine Grande; Torres del Paine

Shortly before 5 a.m. I got up and walked the short distance to the bridge at Campamento Italiano. The early light had already begun to colour Paine Grande, and over the next 15–20 minutes the mountain and clouds put on a gorgeous display.

I didn't realise when I photographed this that a male torrent duck was standing on a boulder in midstream (he's just discernible if you look closely) but soon after, the male and female both appeared right in front of me.



[21 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/20 at f11]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Detail from the Torres del Paine mirador

In the evening I climbed through light, blowing snow to the mirador (viewpoint) looking over the small lake and towards the Torres del Paine. Only three other people shared the evening, but although the cloud never cleared completely and the cold never relented, the reward in terms of the light more than compensated.



[19 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 200, 1/80 at f16] 

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Torrent duck female, Torres del Paine

My luck still seems to be holding. On the last morning of my time in PN Torres del Paine I rose before dawn and watched the spectacular colours and light on the mountains around campamento Italiano. The display had just passed its peak and had begun to fade, so I shut the camera down and began to think about breakfast.

I switched the camera on again quickly, though, when I saw a male torrent duck standing on a boulder in the river right by the footbridge. The female joined him soon after, and for quarter of an hour or so I watched and photographed as they preened (here, the female has just paused during preening) and swam downstream before flying back up opposite me in the river, much closer than the birds at El Chalten. With so little light, photographing was difficult (I have many blurred photographs), but the softer light gave a lovely effect.

At times, particularly in the swiftest water, they seemed to be running in the torrent, standing erect with little more than their feet submerged. No one else had risen when I saw them for the last time, bobbing down the river.



[21 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 280 mm, ISO 200, 1/13 at f5.5. Unlike the previous photo, this hasn't been cropped at all.]


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Crested duck, Puerto Natales

At Puerto Natales in the South of Chile, waterfront signs identifying some of the common birds recognise that many people are interested in more than just the region's spectacular landscapes (Puerto Natales is the gateway to the Torres del Paine). Yesterday I saw a group of elderly visitors armed with substantial binoculars and an enormous, tripod-mounted spotting scope taking obvious delight in watching a family of black-necked swans. For once, I hardly felt self-conscious about taking out my own binoculars and joining the delight, and this morning I had the good fortune to watch a family of crested ducks. The crest on this bird is visible, although it blends with the plumage on the back in this photograph, and the appearance leads me to wonder whether it should be renamed the mullet duck ;^)

I leave today for Torres del Paine, so posting will be on hold for a few days.



[17 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/1600 at f5.6]


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Torrent duck (female)

This is the female torrent duck in the Rio Fitz Roy close to El Chalten. Read about the encounter and see the male at the previous post. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to photograph the two chicks — fluffy (but clearly water-resistant) black-and-white balls bobbing in the turbulent shallows.


[11 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/1250 at f8. Heavily cropped.]


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Torrent duck (male)

One of the birds I particularly wanted to see in South America is the Torrent duck (Merganetta armata), a strikingly-coloured bird that in habits and taxonomy resembles Aotearoa's whio. At the Laguna Torre campsite in Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, I'd investigated the upper section of the river but had seen no ducks. After returning to El Chalten I enquired at the park headquarters. Where, I asked, might be the best place to see torrent ducks?

Laguna Torre, she replied.

When I said I'd checked the river near the Laguna, she explained that anywhere along the river might be likely, and she showed me good access points. Last week, she said, they'd actually seen a family of torrent ducks right here in town by the bridge. She suggested I start walking up the river from the rubbish dump — at the mention of the dump she hung her head and said, "So sorry, so sorry. We're trying to do something about it."

At five in the evening I left the hostel and quarter of an hour later had reached a point near the dump where I could easily access the river. I briefly scanned the bouldery river edges with the binoculars, then began the short descent. Partway down I looked up and saw, directly opposite the dump, what looked like a bird at the water's edge. I checked through the binoculars, thinking surely I couldn't be this lucky.

But I was. Not just this male, but mum and two chicks as well. I followed them from a respectful distance as they worked their way down the river towards the bridge. Sometimes I think I haven't worked hard enough to have been rewarded with all the wonderful things I've been gifted with on this journey.



[11 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 200, 1/1000 at f8. Heavily cropped.]
 

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Rio Fitz Roy near Laguna Torre

At De Agostini campsite I set up my tarptent near the river and late in the evening walked up the riverbed towards Laguna Torre, hoping to see torrent ducks. I didn't, but was rewarded instead with striking and slightly different views of Cerro Torre, while the river itself, milky with glacial flour compelled me to photograph.


[10 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 214 mm, ISO 100, 1/15 at f16]


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Cerro Torre, dawn

At Laguna Torre I shared the camping ground among the southern beeches with about a dozen other tents. By 9 p.m. I'd already wriggled into my sleeping bag and had finished scribbling a few quick notes, yet the evening hadn't darkened enough to make the headlamp necessary. I dropped off to sleep immediately, woke often during the night but still managed the better part of about eight hours. At 5 a.m. I woke, got up and walked to the Laguna. Dawn had just begun to colour Cerro Torre and the cloud enveloping its summit. I watched and photographed until the first direct sunlight touched the mountain. Within a minute everything had turned grey.

I walked back to the camp. No one else had risen.

[Note: In light of the actions of a Red Bull film crew on Cerro Torre in 2010, I'd encourage you to boycott this company's products and events.]



[11 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 29 mm, ISO 100, 1/2 at f11]


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Fitz Roy

As the bus approached El Chalten, no one seemed able to look away from the mountains ahead. I happened to have been allocated a seat right at the front of the bus and was able to photograph directly through the windshield (splattered insects and all). The dominant peak is Fitz Roy (sometimes spelled FitzRoy or Fitzroy), with Poincenet to the left. Cerro Torre stands out of the frame of this photograph, behind and to the left.

When I woke this morning, Fitz Roy and Poincenet had been largely obscured by cloud; the infamous Patagonian wind howled around the hostel; the place where Cerro Torre had reared into the sky yesterday evening had turned to a wall of cloud.



[9 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 136 mm, ISO 200, 1/2500 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

"A shriek turned to stone"

One of the main reasons I came to South America was in the hope of seeing the greatest mountain in the world — to my mind, Cerro Torre. I came prepared to camp out for as long as I could in the hope of catching a glimpse of the mountain famously described by one of the greatest mountaineers ever, Reinhold Messner, as "a shriek turned to stone".

Yesterday I arrived in El Calafate; this morning I caught the bus to El Chalten, gateway to Parque Nacional Los Glaciares' northern sector, which includes the Fitz Roy Massif where Cerro Torre and its satellite peaks shriek at the Patagonian sky behind the enormous pillar of Fitz Roy itself. The infamous Patagonian weather relented; the relatively small amount of cloud dissipated and even the wind, which blows with extreme violence almost constantly, had subsided. I walked partway to Laguna Torre in the afternoon and this is what I saw. That, my friends, is the greatest mountain in the world.

Tomorrow I walk back up to Laguna Torre to camp there in the hope of better light for photographs, particularly at dawn. Given my unbelievable luck so far, I don't hold out too much hope, but who knows?



[9 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 201 mm, ISO 100, 1/800 at f8]


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Evening on the edge of the Salar

On the second evening we stayed on the edge of the Salar in a quiet little village where, José told us, the young people had left to seek more advanced education. I walked through the empty lanes at dusk to the edge of town where ribbons of tattered plastic hung from a single strand of loosely strung barbed wire — the boundary of a roughly ploughed, dusty field. A breeze fluttered the plastic and tugged at my hair; the sky darkened; a bird sang.

Eventually I turned and walked back to the salt hotel where the window of the dining room burned yellow in the dusk.

[24 October 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 193 mm, ISO 400, 1/125 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Mangrove branch

Mangroves, despised by so many people, have a role along the world's coasts that can hardly be overestimated. I love them mostly because they provide homes for so many animals of such a diversity, and perhaps also because they're so resilient, so tough. Survivors that look after others.

[17 September 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 23 mm, ISO 400, 1/400 at f16]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Typical weather, southern Ecuador

In southern Ecuador rain seemed integral to the environment. I'd intended visiting Cajas and/or Podocarpus National Parks, but the prospect of walking all day in the rain and seeing little other than the inside of the cloud put me off. The short message: if you're visiting southern Ecuador, allow plenty of time. This is a telephoto shot from my hostel in Vilcabamba.

This seems so long ago now. Hard to believe it was just over a month ago.

[29 September 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 400, 1/2000 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Near Oruro, from the train

As the train left Oruro, the first hints of the salar appeared. On the other side of the train, the wetlands retained a layer of water that supported hundreds of birds, of which flamingoes were the most obvious, but on my side only occasional small ponds supported apparent life.

[New post up on Pohanginapete: Leaving Huaraz]

[22 October 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 40 mm, ISO 200, 1/1600 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Bolivian altiplano

At roughly 4700 metres, the the highest point of our traverse of the altiplano (a.k.a. puna) between the Salar de Uyuni and Eduardo Avaroa Andean National Fauna Reserve on the third day of the tour felt like the roof of the world. For some, this might be one of the bleakest landscapes on earth; for all of us, it felt exhilarating.

[25 October 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/500 at f16]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Uyuni street scene

A typical scene from Uyuni, which is geared up for running tours of the Salar (salt lake). Apparently, over 70 operators compete for the constant stream of tourists. We eventually settled on Quechua Connection, and with José as our guide, driver and cook, I can't imagine having a better tour. I was lucky, too, with my excellent companions from Italy and France.



All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

From the train to Uyuni

Filippo, Davide and I took a bus from La Paz to Oruro, then the train to Uyuni — the only train journey of these travels. The landscape from the train captivated me completely, but over the next four or five days I almost ran out of words to describe the spectacular lands through which we travelled.



All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

The Salar de Uyuni

The enormous salt flats near Uyuni in Bolivia make up a landscape unlike any I've ever been in.I spent four wonderful days with Filippo and Davide (Italy), Jean-Baptiste and Eugenie and Vincent (France), and our guide/driver/cook José, who spoke excellent English and looked after us superbly. This is one of the reasons for the hiatus in posting recently, but I trust I'll make up for it over the next few days.


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

From the Muela del Diablo

My Italian friends, Davide and Filippo, and I hired a taxi in La Paz and visited several nearby places including the remarkable, savagely rain-eroded landscape around the Muela del Diablo. We saw no other tourists and only a couple of local people. We climbed as high as was safe on the Muela itself and were treated to fantastic (in several senses) views, including this, when the late sun highlighted one of the area's remarkable features.

Apologies for the lack of recent posting. I've been travelling away from Internet access, and even when it again became possible, it wasn't easy. I'm now in Salta in Argentina, scared by the expense of the place (especially after the cheap and wonderful Bolivia) and rushing to get to Patagonia where, among other things, I trust I'll be able to stop bleeding money by camping :^(



All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Cordillera Blanca — Churup from Huaraz

From the rooftop patio of our hostel, we could see the Cordillera Blanca in every kind of light. Here, morning rain filters the light around Churup.

I loved Huaraz and the Cordillera Blanca. You might have to put up with a few more photos from there.

[8 October 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 300 mm, ISO 400, 1/500 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Lake Titicaca

From Copacabana the boat journey to the Isla del Sol takes roughly an hour and a half. I found the trip enjoyable and relaxing — something about the continuous roar of an outboard motor seems strangely meditative to me.

Once again my journey south has been delayed by protests. The road out of Copacabana has been blockaded, apparently in protest at some judicial decision. Apparently, though, it's possible to take a minibus to the blockade, walk through and take another minibus to the straits of Tiquina where the ferry crosses to where I can catch yet another minibus to La Paz. I'll try early tomorrow morning, but I'm lucky — Copacabana's not a bad place in which to be stuck, even if not quite as appealing as the wonderful Huaraz in Peru, where I was last delayed by similar action. Still, I'm keen to keep moving south so I'm not short of time in Patagonia.




[17 October 2011 [Ecuador], Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 17 mm, ISO 200, 1/320 at f16]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Uros Islands, LakeTiticaca

The Uros Islands lie on Lake Titicaca, just offshore from Puno. Hundreds of tourists visit them each day — I was one. The people who live on these floating islands were welcoming and good-humoured and I found the islands, constructed of constantly replenished layers of reeds, fascinating. As we listened to the explanation of how the islands were constructed, I could see ours undulating just perceptibly. The accomplishment seems remarkable; the islands support not just people, but livestock — I saw cattle and pigs (the two cats were popular subjects for tourists' photographs, too).

But whether the hundreds of tourists each day benefit the islands depends on what one considers a benefit. The subject of "authenticity" has intrigued me for a long time and I've had several good discussions about it with people I've met on this journey. I'd begun to lean towards the view that, in a sense, everything's authentic — this is how it is, now — but after visiting the Uros Islands I'm less sure of that.

I'm now in Bolivia, at Copacabana, recovering from another three-day headache :^(



[16 October 2011 [Peru], Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 100, 1/100 at f16] 
All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

First view of the Cordillera Blanca

Towards evening the bus crested the range and in the distance we saw for the first time the snows that give the Cordillera Blanca its name.



[4 October 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14-45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 400, 1/2000 at f8]  

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Coastal desert, Peru [2]

In many places between Trujillo and Chimbote, not even cacti grew. If not for the blue sky (which grew bluer as the misty cloud cleared), we could have imagined ourselves on a lifeless planet. I'd never realised geology alone could be so beautiful.

[I'll be crossing into Bolivia soon, and don't know whether I'll continue to have the wifi access that's allowed me to post so frequently. Moreover, since leaving Huaraz the opportunities to photograph have been limited and with some exceptions, like the magnificent bus journey over the altiplano from Arequipa to Puno, I've felt uninspired to photograph. Posting might be light for a while.]

[4 October 2011 [Ecuador], Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 400, 1/2000 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Blue-footed booby on the Tintoreras

The best view of a bluefooted booby in the Galápagos was on the Tintoreras, the small islets next to the wharf at Puerto Villamil on Isabela. No mistaking the identification here.

I'm now in Arequipa in the south of Peru; next stop Puno and Lake Titicaca. The Galápagos seem so long ago now, but I'll never forget them. 

[16 September 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 136 mm, ISO 400, 1/640 at f8]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Bridge & stream, Laguna 69 trail, Cordillera Blanca

A wooden bridge crosses a small stream at the start of the trail to Laguna 69. Fed by glacial meltwater, the stream rose noticeably during the course of the day.



[7 October 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 18 mm, ISO 100, 1/15 at f16]


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Frigate bird, Puerto Ayora

Despite their size, frigate birds can jink and turn in an instant; if one decides it wants your fish, resistance is futile — you can't outfly it. This one at Puerto Ayora on Santa Cruz was one of a good number looking for scraps from a fisherman cleaning his catch.



[19 September 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 400, 1/800 at f7.1]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Backdrop for ice climbing; Cordillera Blanca

We climbed mostly under an overcast sky, on the face of an inactive part of a glacier. Occasionally the dense cloud parted, revealing parts of the surrounding mountains.


[8 October 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 100 mm, ISO 100, 1/800 at f11]


All content © 2011 Pete McGregor