Refugio Frey, Laguna Toncek and my second Christmas present

Laguna Toncek, Argentina
25 December 2008

We’re standing in the middle of a large bowl, just a few hundred meters from the rustic Refugio Frey, 1750 meters above seal level. This bowl at the beginning of the Patagonian Andes is formed by a ring of spiny peaks reaching skyward like bony fingers. The snow melt from the mountains nearly completely ringing us fills the large lagoon in front of us: Laguna Toncek. At the east end, behind us, is the refuge. And behind that that is a view of the ridge leading to the peak of Catedral Norte that we left behind an hour ago, and which we can now spy through the narrow opening in the bowl.

We had just left Frey, after I finished up a home-made refugio ham sandwich and a Quilmes beer. The sandwich wasn’t as necessary I as had thought it would be, because while I carried very little food and water, Bill had packed a couple of days worth of supplies in his rucksack. Still, I wanted that sandwich. Frey was similar to Lopez in style, but full of rock climbers and their gear. We talked at the hut with a chatty German family who were originally Barilochenses. They were drawn back here to these mountains and trails from Germany. I understand, because I want to return here myself.

Bill and I walk around the lagoon towards the opposite side of the bowl. Water, pooling, diverging, converging, running everywhere. Many different loops and ponds lead to the lagoon. It all flows down from the big bowl we’re in. Friend SJ would love this water, in all its forms here. I listen to the little streams and recall the language she once sent to me about the feeling of water flowing over skin. These myriad waterways make one think of how it would feel to be in it. I dip a hand in – it’s cold and clear. The shallow stream bed is sandy and a bit reddish.

Turning from south to north you can see the major peaks of Torre Principal, Torre Piramidal, and Roca Inclinada. Between the big peaks are a continuum of incredible shards of vertical rock peaks – many dozens - that all look they could be climbed only using equipment. Later, I will discover that this bowl is one of the most popular rock climbing areas in Argentina, with hundreds of well-known vertical routes.

One large, isolated rock finger is right next to Frey, just on the other side of the stream that flows from the lagoon and past the refuge. A group of climbers are scaling it, with one standing atop the several hundred foot tall and nearly vertical cylinder of granite. A prickle of fear make my fingertips sweat to look at this lead climber, waving casually down at us. “Acrophobia by proxy”, I call this familiar sensation.

We decide to walk past Torcek and to hike up the mountainside a little ways to the Laguna Schmoll on the way to Catredal Norte and the ski area. Bill and I are quiet as we pick through the clumps of grass, mud puddles and rocks around the lagoon. We had been fairly garrulous on the long walk up, in which we first passed through a burned out forest, then an intermediate forest of bamboo, a mature forest of cascading streams and the occasional strange flower, and finally up to Refugio Frey and Laguna Torcek.

Tiny frogs live in Torcek, according to some discreet wooden signs along the lagoon’s perimeter. We’re not to bathe in the water if we have sunscreen on, so as not to disturb their delicate metabolisms. Some strange birds rest on a small knoll in the middle of the waterways. They look half duck and half pheasant. South American geese? I don’t know…

A huge boulder sits near the center of the bowl, unique in size and position. T would probably say that it is mystical stone, and I would too, if I believed in the kind of mysticism she does. I do feel the power and special nature of this place. I feel the hum and the harmony, and something akin to the awe that religious people must feel. All the myriad forms of life and geology here, interacting in uncountable ways, somehow arising from the ten billion year old stardust that slowly intermingled all across our galaxy from the ashes of ten million long dead suns. This is the kind of miracle that has amazed me all my life, but that often bores the conventionally religious or spiritual. An improbable speck of beauty arising from a vast and empty Universe. I am luckier than I can imagine as I stand here, in this place and at this moment, a flash of consciousness awake for an instant, existing just long enough to experience this beauty and be aware of it, and also of my place in it.

Ascending the rockpile towards the north side of the bowl, on the way to the ridge leading to Catredal Norte, we reach a shelf. There we find some snow edging a small Alpine lake. It’s the beginning of summer here, so the mountains are almost snow-free. Much more barren than the system a few hundred meters below us, but this place is also beautiful. I can imagine how much snow must be here in winter. I want to see it someday.

We consider pressing onwards, upwards and around Catredal Norte, but my experience at Lopez suggests that things will get very hard, and that it will take much more time than the map suggests. Bill wants to go on, but finally we agree to return. As it is, it will take us many hours to find the town with an operating bus and a ride back to Bariloche.

We gather in the look of the place for a few silent moments. I think – not the first time on this trip – this is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.