Cerro Torre, Argentina

To my mind, Cerro Torre is the greatest mountain in the world. When I visited in November 2011 my astonishing luck held and I got to see the whole mountain, summit and all, on the very first day. This photograph, I suspect, is a more usual view. I've heard of people staying three weeks and only seeing the mountain on the last day.

[If you haven't discovered it already, Pohanginapete has a new post]

All content © 2015 Pete McGregor

Patagonian farmacia

Towards evening we stopped somewhere along the roughly two thousand kilometre route between Bariloche and El Calafate. Just before the bus pulled over, a gaucho galloped a band of wild-looking horses along the main street of the little town. We turned onto this side street and parked just past the farmacia. The place felt like the legends of Patagonia.


[8 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 200, 1/1000 at f11]

All content © 2012 Pete McGregor

Cerro Torre and FitzRoy

One of my main motivations for coming to South America was to see Cerro Torre. Given the notorious reputation of Patagonian weather, I'd expected to have to wait weeks for a glimpse of this legendary mountain.

This was a view from the bus (through a grimy window) from El Calafate to El Chaltén. Cerro Torre's the highest of the row of peaks on the left — the one that looks like a shard of glass. The highest peak, on the right and partly obscured by cloud, is FitzRoy.



[9 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 150 mm, ISO 200, 1/3200 at f8]

All content © 2012 Pete McGregor

Rio Torre & Nothofagus; PN Los Glaciares

The Rio Torre debouches from the terminal lake of the Torre glacier, which, not surprisingly, flows beneath Cerro Torre. I set up camp, then wandered up the river hoping I might see a torrent duck. No luck, but the next evening back in El Chalten, I saw a pair with chicks just 15 minutes or so upstream from the bridge.

The gnarly little shrub is one of the species of southern beech (Nothofagus), but I'm not sure which. New Zealand also has several Nothofagus species, and the forest here was similar enough to make me think of the place to which I'd return in just over a month, but different enough to remind I was in a different country.


[11 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 100–300 mm at 234 mm, ISO 100, 1/10 at f16]

All content © 2012 Pete McGregor

The new Archaeopteryx

Walking along a rough and broken concrete footpath beside the lake at Bariloche, I glanced down. At my feet, a foot. What had happened here — what had befallen the bird? What series of coincidences had left this limb precisely here, framed in this way? I couldn't help thinking of Archaeopteryx, perhaps the most famous of all fossils.

I walked on, still wondering. In the following days, ash from the volcano swept over the town, leaving a fine, powdery film over everything, perhaps even over the foot on the footpath. In another time, the foot might have turned to a fossil; this time, this relic would vanish into oblivion. But perhaps, for who knows how long, this photograph will remain as another kind of record, a statement of questions more than answers, an incitement to wonder. A new kind of fossil.


[7 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14– 45 mm at 45 mm, ISO 200, 1/160 at f8]

All content © 2012 Pete McGregor

Cerro Torre before sunrise

I got to the lake when the first light from the clouds had just begun to stretch through to touch the snowfields and rock walls. The headwall of Cerro Torre was obscured by cloud, but I didn't mind. This mountain was one of the things I'd most wanted to see in Patagonia.

The colours kept changing, moment by moment, until, not long after this photograph,the land looked like this.


[11 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 29 mm, ISO 100, 3.2s at f11]

All content © 2012 Pete McGregor

Ushuaia stream — [triptych]

The Martial Glacier near Ushuaia, on Tierra del Fuego, turned out to be a puddle of ice mostly buried under snow. Still, I enjoyed being there, and on the way down we walked through beech forest that reminded me so strongly of Aotearoa/New Zealand that I felt a sense of the uncanny*.

A pre-emptive response to the question, "Why the triptych?" — I don't know. It just works a lot better.

*I'm not sure if I'm using "uncanny" in Heidegger's sense, because I haven't found an intelligible explanation of what he meant.


[2 December 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 36 mm, ISO 200, 1/13 at f8]


All content © 2012 Pete McGregor

Bridge, Laguna de los Tres trail

A small footbridge near the start of the final, steep section of the trail to Laguna de los Tres. On our return from the laguna, I'd skipped quickly down the trail, enjoying the feel of moving lightly over the boulders. I stopped to photograph this lovely little footbridge, then waited for Sophie and Janine at the shelter a minute or two further down the trail.

Janine smiled at me. "Pete the mountain goat", she said. I trust she was referring to my nimble footwork over the rocky trail rather than my smell.



[14 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 100, 1/13 at f14]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Laguna de los Tres

In Argentina's Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, Australians Sophie and Janine and I walked from El Chalten to Laguna de los Tres on a wild, grim day. No one stayed long at the top, where the bitter cold turned the rain to ice and the wind drove it near horizontally. Fitz Roy reared into the cloud beyond the laguna, but  we could see almost nothing of this mountain, which in clear weather dominates the skyline. It didn't matter.

A long walk, cold and wet at times, but the mood of the place and the excellent company made it a day to remember.



[14 November 2011, Panasonic Lumix GH1, 14–45 mm at 14 mm, ISO 100, 1/100 at f14]

All content © 2011 Pete McGregor

Beagle Channel boats, Ushuaia

At Ushuaia I found myself constantly looking along the Beagle Channel. Somewhere out there, Tierra del Fuego ends and Cape Horn faces the Drake Passage. Beyond that, Antarctica.

What is that draws us so strongly to these places; compels us to keep moving onwards?





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

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

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

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

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