Cerro Mackay was a challenge I had been itching to have a go at for a long time. We were stuck in a beautiful but rather small and dinky transfer town in the center of Patagonia, Chile, when I first laid eyes on it. A transfer town is one of those places that has grown up for no other reason than that it exists between two points of interest- in this case, a glacier and a huge national park. Considering the immense size of South America, quite a few of these little hubs have built up over the years, especially along the Carrera Austral.
This particular town, affectionately called Coyhaique, has incredible natural beauty surrounding it, though I must admit but that by this stage we had become almost immune to it. In South America, Patagonia especially, it is quite the norm to poke your nose out of the window of the bus and see a vista that will completely defy any preconceptions you had before about how big mountain ranges were really allowed to be. Not to mention a colour scheme that would give a mushroom-tripping hippie an aneurysm.
Coyhaique had a number of dominant natural features, but there is one large mountain that overshadows the entire town. That is Cerro Mackay. Its sides are almost sheer and made of crumbly sedimentary rock, meaning they would be impossible to climb. So naturally, I began planning how I could get to the top. A detailed google search revealed just one entry of a climb attempted 2 years ago, with dubious details and an even less accurate indication of a route to the summit. Sounds good to me.
One thing it may be important to understand about me is that I have been told my entire life that I am too short, too weak, to young (now sadly, more the opposite of that last one) to achieve anything grand. This is not because I was particularly small or weak, but rather that I had a group of mal-adjusted friends whose favourite form of entertainment was ‘torture everyone around you’. Mentally, emotionally, physically, all was acceptable (extra points for tears!) as long as the scars weren’t too visible afterwards.
Now however, as a result of that mostly self-inflicted psychological trauma, when presented with anyone telling me it’s not a smart idea to do these things alone, or that I need a guide, or that I could die a horrible death, my mind blanks out this logical and reasoned argument in favour of something more like ‘I can SO do it!’. Perhaps not the best survival strategy to employ but hey, it has provided some incredible adventures over the years. And the accompanying scars are always conversation starters.
I decide, therefore, that I will do the climb, and as much as I try to dissuade her, my incredibly stubborn girlfriend decided to accompany me. This was a complication I was not overly excited about- not only would I need to be extra vigilant to ensure her safety above all else, but I also found it very difficult to be recklessly stupid (as she puts it) when she uses her judgy-Mc-judge face on me.
We began the day of the hike with a very pleasant walk through town for about 40 minutes to the beginning of the so-called trailhead. The huge monolith was directly before us, and we picked a dirt trail at random and began walking up, full of nervous excitement.
My approach to tackling long uphill trails is to simply put my head down, turn my legs onto autopilot and just slog through it. I enter into a kind of daze that lets my mind drift, and often can be quite oblivious to things going on around me. So once I had settled into this state, it was a surprise to hear a scream of panic and a set of hands gripping my shoulders suddenly.
Now in a very chauvinistic way, I have found that screams of panic from girls are very seldom deserved and have therefore adopted a response that is kind of a stoic “it’s ok, let me chase away the scary spider” attitude. Full of superiority I turned with disdain to see what little annoyance had elicited the scream, but my eyes widened with terror and I gave an involuntary little yelp myself as an enormous werewolf launched itself out of a nearby gateway and began careening towards us, slobbering jaws wide revealing an alarming amount of large teeth.
I am, fortunately, very confident with animals of any kind. Being as hairy as I am I think I have a certain kind of affinity with them. I pushed Sarah behind me and stood slowly, beginning to speak in a calm voice, opening my arms in the universal dog language sign for “Hi buddy, I want to scratch your ears and play with you, please don’t tear off my fingers”.
The werewolf, who on closer inspection, still pretty much just looked like a werewolf, changed his body language from “I’m coming to rip your face off, stranger-danger” immediately to “FRIEND!!”.
He collided with my legs in what I am sure he felt was a friendly manner, and proceeded to turn his bum round towards me asking for a scratch. I happily obliged, glad now that this monster really was friendly, and also to keep him busy as I knew this experience would have been somewhat traumatic for Sarah. Any large dogs were intimidating for her and this one was truly a monster.
I tried to calm Sarah quietly and spoke happily with the dog in front of me, rather pleased at the way I handled the situation. I was just recovering a little of my chauvinistic hero complex, when it was shattered again as a loud bark sounded from behind the gate. Oh dear.
Something you need to understand about Chile is that it is totally (and wonderfully) full of stray dogs. They are technically public property and are usually treated very well, wanting only a scratch behind the ears rather than begging desperately for food as you often find in other countries. However, dogs are still dogs- territorial and often aggressive when new dogs are present- instinct takes over and they can be very difficult to manage, and dangerous for anyone caught in the middle.
Now another huge dog bounded into sight, careening down the hill towards us. It had the colouring of a rottweiler and the size and build of a ridgeback. Now genuinely getting a little nervous, I again made sure Sarah was behind me and approached the dog, meeting him halfway to try to prevent him launching at the werewolf, who might very well decide to eat him (both were boys). Thankfully, my universal “come here for a hug” dog language worked again, and he changed to become a happy pup, obviously already acquainted with my werewolf friend and just hoping to be included in the cuddles.
I walked forward a little more, keeping the attention of both of these big boys on me as I knew Sarah would still be nervous about them being so close (even though she loves animals almost as much as me, she isn’t able to ignore their potential to cause bodily harm as readily as I can).
Then, of course, I hear a third bark. This really was getting rather ridiculous.
Fortunately, the next fluffball to appear was much more on the cute rather than terrifying side. A gorgeous, red, mid-sized doggy ran out to see us. Or rather, he limped. As I looked I could see his hind leg was badly damaged and he held it off the ground. This is unfortunately a rather common situation in South America as the dogs don’t often look before crossing the street. I was concerned it was a fresh wound but quickly realised he had healed long ago and was unfortunately left with this injury.
Looking into his face I immediately fell in love. Some dogs have faces you can read in an instant, and this young boy (whom I immediately dubbed ‘Tripod’) had an open, honest, loving face. I understand that applying such anthropomorphic attributes to a dog must seem silly to some, but the dog lovers out there know what I’m on about right?
The pack of dogs surrounding me understandably led to an extremely nervous girlfriend, so in order to get a little space, I decided to give them all a quick scratch and then continue on up the trail. Sarah ignored the two big boys who came to give her a sniff, and I quickly brought their attention back to me, but I encouraged her to say hello to Tripod when he wandered down for his customary sniff. She was nervous initially, but I could see that he won her over just as thoroughly as he had done with me in a few moments. I could see we both now had a new friend.
I still had my climb on my mind, so I said goodbye to the dogs (quite literally- a habit that gets me some strange stares I’ll admit) and began to attack the trail.
I assumed the dogs would follow us for a little while, then grow bored and head back home, so it surprised me that all three chose to walk alongside us with no hint of stopping any time soon. Tripod tucked himself just behind me and would nuzzle up close for a cuddle every few minutes. I had nicknamed the other two ‘Big Boy’ (rather unimaginative for a werewolf but there you go) and ‘Puma’, for no other reason than I had mountain lions on my mind and I hoped having this pack around me would deter Puma’s namesake from trying to eat us as we walked through the forest.
We walked for a good hour uphill, making good progress and loving the vanguard that accompanied us. Big Boy turned out to be a kind of Malamut-Rottie mix- yes, every bit as scary as that sounds, with a huge head and solid, stocky black and grey body. He was a tank and was panting heavily as we walked uphill together. Puma simply romped ahead, sniffing every tree and sprinting like a gazelle from one side of the road to the other, full of boundless energy.
Tripod, bless him, was content to wander between Sarah and I, stealing cuddles and, I believe, feeling secure in the protection he felt he drew from us.
It was clear these three were a family, and were completely comfortable with one another. Big Boy was the boss however, and I was always sure to be firm with him to show that I was the pack leader- dominance issues often accompany the larger breeds.
We continued this idyllic pace through fields, passing the occasional home until even these finished and we entered the forest properly. By now it was over an hour and a half since the pack had joined us and I was genuinely becoming concerned about when they would head home. Could they find their way back? What about Tripod, who had only 3 legs to limp on?
However they kept doggedly on (ha!), and as we passed through the long grass and wildflowers to head underneath the canopy of the forest, I kept expecting the pack to abandon us and head home, but they would periodically turn their heads our way just to make sure they knew where we were going.
I had just about adjusted to the idea of having adopted 3 new children when we came to a garden plot in the middle of nowhere. It was cultivated land, with a corrugated shed left out in the field. No one was around, though there was a fence blocking our path. After some investigation, I found a dirt path leading around the little farm and as we stepped onto this new path, a fourth complication decided to rear it’s little black head.
He was small, stocky and obviously thought he should rule the world. Pups, as Sarah affectionately dubbed him later, popped out of a nearby hedge at a thousand miles an hour, overjoyed to come and see what we were up to, giving Sarah and I a hell of a fright. This little dude looked like a miniature labrador- more muscular and with a longer body almost like an enlarged daschund. He was bolshy, like a lot of little dogs are, and excitedly rammed his snout up the bums of Tripod and Puma with enthusiasm. Tripod was nervous and Puma really couldn’t care less, but when Pups tried this with Big Boy, he got a big surprise.
Turning with surprising speed and ferocity, Big Boy slammed into the smaller dog, knocking him to the ground and growling fiercely as he took a mouthful of skin and bit down. Sarah screamed and I ran forward ready to try to separate them both if things got out of hand. Yet, though it was loud, fierce and quick, I knew they had to establish the pecking order, and as expected, though Pups yelped as though his paw had been chewed off, Big Boy let him up after just a second, with no blood, and no visible wounds. It was all bluff and bluster to put the young one in his place, and it had worked. I was actually thankful, as Pups had been bullying Tripod a little and I knew now he would watch his behaviour around the rest of the pack.
Pups, his place now understood, happily followed along with us. He was less interested in cuddles than the others, preferring to dash haphazardly into the undergrowth in search of Lord knows what. With yet another sigh, I realised that we now had four surrogates on our adventure.
Eventually we came to a fence, and it was with a huge sigh of relief I carefully climbed over, knowing that our four-footed friends couldn’t follow and would be forced, finally, back home.
However I should have learned by now not to underestimate the ingenuity of the stray- Puma, the little bastard, found a section of fence that was slightly askew and forced himself under it. Even Big Boy, scrabbling like a sheep trying to fit through a velcro doorway, managed to scrape himself underneath it.
They did in fact beat me to the otherside of the fence and waited for us, petulantly pleased with themselves as I shook my head wondering what to do.
Well, I figured, surely bushwhacking through dense undergrowth and climbing steep, slippery paths would send them home. After a quick confirmation with Sarah, we decided to press on. After all, if the dogs wanted to follow, surely they would leave when the going got too tough. It was amazing how quickly I developed a sense of responsibility towards these boys- they had chosen to follow me, and just like the protective teacher that I was, I felt I would protect and defend them as much as I was able. Sucker. I could tell with one look at Sarah that she felt the same way. How is it that animals can worm their way so thoroughly and irrevocably into our hearts?
Our merry little band carried on, and I was amazed at Tripod, who didn’t seem to look at his lost leg as a disability. Indeed, he was faster than the other three, although I could see it took quite some effort for him to move over the difficult terrain compared to the others.
Eventually we came to the base of Cerro Mackay proper, and here I knew it would get tough. The paths were steep, slippery with gravel and often with just rock to grip. I turned, prepared to bid our canine companions farewell, only to see that Puma had already worked his way up the path already and had turned to stare happily down at me. Tripod meanwhile, gave me such a look of devotion I realised it would be easier to pry black off the night sky than it would be to get him to abandon us. Big Boy, of course, simply and stoically waited, tongue wagging, to see where we were headed next. I sighed, berated all three of them for being so stubborn and making me care about them, then turned and began the climb.
It was tough, even for us. We had opposable thumbs and practice with rock climbing, but somehow the dogs just seemed to do it naturally. We climbed up scree cliffs, over fallen logs and rubble, over boulders and through thorns, and they just somehow found a way to keep up. This was encouraging, until I heard Big Boy start to wheeze. He was working hard, puffing and dragging in breath. He was so bulky that pushing his body up the hill was taking a huge toll. His fluffy fur and size meant he was in danger of overheating as well- I was sweating bullets myself, and I didn’t have the burden of a fur coat.
Unscrewing my bottle I cupped my hand and poured out water for Big Boy to drink, though he didn’t seem too interested in it. I took this as a good sign and we continued on.
The thing is, it just kept going- on and on, up and up- we had to forge new trails because any semblance of a path had long ago disappeared, if there ever was one in the first place.
We were scratched, tired, hot, and coughing in the dust stirred up by all the dogs.
At one point we found ourselves walking in a small gulley, full of loose stones and incredibly steep. The incline was so harsh that it was actually becoming dangerous and I placed myself at the rear of the group in order to catch anyone that might slip, worried that they would not be able to stop their slide and would just end up hurtling down the hill.
This may seem like overkill, but not 5 minutes after I moved back, I had my first customer. Tripod, inspiration that he was, had finally found an obstacle he couldn’t overcome- a huge tree stump lay directly in the middle of the gulley and climbing over it was tough. Our little Tripod, always the trooper, was trying to scrape his way over it but simply couldn’t get his body high enough on the one rear leg. I reached him, and he gave me a look that said “I’m sorry, I’m really trying but it’s so tough!” I gave him a loving cuddle, and then, careful of his damaged leg, picked him up and pushed him over the stump. I had worried that being picked up would be such a foreign experience for a stray dog that he might get scared and try to struggle or bite, but he showed that fascinating nature of animals, who will sometimes relax when you are trying to help, even if the situation is a little scary.
Feeling rather pleased with myself, I hauled myself over the log and we all carried on. We were getting closer to the top when I heard a slight yelp and the scrabbling of paws on smooth rock. Looking up, I saw the huge rear end of Big Boy sliding rapidly towards me. I dashed forward- if he fell now the chances are the slide down the hill could kill him. Planting my feet, I gripped an exposed root with one hand and caught his rear with the other. Boy was he heavy. But I was able to stop his slide, and with a big push, managed to get him up onto a more flat section of rock off to the side where he could get his legs underneath him.
The struggle had taken a hard toll on him though. All the things that made him the perfect protector for his pack back in town- his size and stature- now worked against him, and he lay down with a thump, trying to catch his breath, wheezing worse than ever.
We waited too, making sure he was comfortable and offering him some water once more. Once his breathing had calmed he hoisted himself up and shuffled wearily into the shadows of the trees. We followed, and he came to rest on some soft ferns in the shadows, finally content to rest while the rest of us continued. I never understood why he pushed himself so hard- was it the drive to stay with the pack, his family? Did he expect us to fulfil some promise we didn’t understand? These thoughts wandered guiltily through my mind as we eventually turned to go- we would come back down the trail on our return so knew we could get him again, if he didn’t decide to wander home on his own.
I hoped the others might be persuaded to stick with their alpha and finally give up on the hike, but by now I really should have known better, considering Tripod’s loving eyes followed us every step we took.
With one more sigh of frustration, we started off once more. I was determined (which in my case is just a nicer way of saying stubborn and thick-headed) to reach the peak, and we really were getting closer. As I looked up I could see gaps in the trees and the sky poking through, meaning we really were almost there.
The trail ended at a rock face that ran for about 20 meters to the left and right of us. There was no easy path around this sheer face, and if we really wanted to get to the top, it was going to need to be straight up. Now at this point, a normal, well adjusted human being says to themselves “Well, we tried our best but we just can’t do it. To continue now would be stupid and dangerous”. In fact I could hear Sarah behind me giving a fair rendition of that exact sentiment from behind me. However, my mind is neither normal or well-adjusted, and it said to itself “We can’t stop now, we haven’t reached the top! This mountain thinks you’re a little b**ch, are you gonna take that?”
Despite Sarah’s best attempts to argue, guilt or shame me into doing the sensible thing and just turn around, I turned a deaf ear to her and began to climb up the cliff face. Both of us are well practiced rock climbers and yes, while this activity is usually done with safety equipment and lovely mats underneath you to stop you from breaking any bones, the male ego knows no bounds when it has been slighted (especially by such a smug mountain) and so I simply refused to turn away.
I climbed up perhaps 7 meters, aiming to reach a shelf that jutted out from the rock face to rest and recoup to see if there was a realistic chance of climbing the rest of the way to the top.
It was tough going, and while Sarah had given up on shouting, I knew I was (and justifiably so) going to be in the dog house for this one. Speaking of, I could hear Tripod wandering nervously at the base of the cliff, desperate to follow but unable to. Pups was off rustling through the bushes but Puma, who normally never strayed too far away, was curiously absent. I didn’t pay it too much attention though as the climb was getting really tricky and I only had the roots of some shrubbery to hang on to.
With much grunting, grumbling, plenty of sweat and even a little blood, I could finally see the lip of the shelf just a few yards above my head. I reached up to curl one hand over the top, but immediately pulled it back in shock as something unexpectedly brushed my hand. The sudden change in momentum almost ripped my grip free from the wall and I flailed desperately for purchase on the rock face, scratching my forearms on the sharp rock.
I scrambled madly to get a secure grip, then took a deep breath and looked up at the shelf above me. Staring down, and looking immensely pleased with himself at doing it, was Puma. How in the world did he get up there? Completely nonplussed, I hauled myself over the lip, pushing aside his wet nose, so I could find some room to rest.
Puma, now bored that I hadn’t done anything more interesting than almost fall to my death, put his nose to the ground and snuffled at a few bushes that were next to us, and I followed the ledge down with my eyes, seeing an angled lip in the rock face- so narrow I couldn’t believe he had managed to stay on it, leading down to the little plateau beneath us. Even seeing it there, I realised I couldn’t use it to get back down, as there was simply nothing to grasp onto. This dog had better rock climbing skills than I did!
Amazed, I got my breath back and began the descent back down. I had looked up to try to find a way to the top but it really was a no-go, and somehow being shamed by a waggly tongued canine put a stopper in my “I’m a manly man who is gonna have a fight with a mountain” attitude.
Strangely, I wasn’t even worried that Puma couldn’t get back down- I somehow knew he would just as smugly wander down in his own time and true to form, he was back on the plateau before I was.
After this I conceded that it would be best to head back, and so we gathered our pack and began the trek back down hill. Sarah was speaking to me again, thankfully. I think I melted her anger at my ‘reckless self endangerment’ a little by telling her about Puma meeting me at the top.
Our merry little band began the long trek home, and I led the charge, eager to get back to Big Boy and see how he was doing.
We wandered along, my little Tripod never more than a few feet away, and usually close enough that his red fur brushed against my leg. The sunlight filtered in dappled patterns through the leafy roof, and the boys amused themselves chasing after any little scurry they heard in the undergrowth, be it bird, bug or beast.
After a haphazard struggle back down the ravine that had caused us so much trouble, we found the spot where Big Boy had been. He wasn’t there, and I must admit I was relieved, thinking he must have wandered back home on his own. Thinking about him made me conscious that our little menagerie hadn’t had water for a while, and a stream was bubbling away nearby, so I decided to head that way and get us all a drink. Pushing my way through the tightly packed undergrowth, I got a hell of a fright when a massive shape shifted in the bushes near me. Black and huge, I really should have immediately realized who it was but my mind made the leap to ‘Bear!’ and my heart caught in my throat. Big Boy. He really was a scary beast when you weren’t ready for him.
But him being here was really worrying. Why hadn’t he moved? I was glad to see however, that his breathing was normal and he seemed relaxed. I gave him a welcome back pat, and filled my bottle from the nearby stream, as the boys filled their bellies.
Reunited, we took a short rest in the cool of the trees, and then began the still rather tortuous ravine trek. After only 10 minutes though, Big Boy started showing signs of discomfort. His wheezing returned and he would stop to rest after every few steps. He was far too big to carry, and we could not stay any longer or would risk being stuck out there when the sun went down, completely unprepared for the bitterly cold night. Looking at one another, Sarah and I made the heart wrenching decision to leave him. I was confident he would be more than capable of getting himself back home eventually, but I still hated to leave him.
The rest of the pack were not so sentimental though, and happily followed us down to the fields below Cerro Mackay. Despite our worries, it was hard not to smile as Puma and Pups took off pell-mell after birds and rabbits and whatever else they could find, showing tremendous speed as they tore under the trees and through the tall grass.
We stopped here again briefly to rest, and Tripod happily curled himself up against us, more than content to be near and just watch his brothers with interest.
We had to take a different trail back, owing mainly to my complete lack of directional sense, and eventually made our way into town once again. This, of course, set off a riot amongst all the dogs who lived there. It was a strange thing, but I had noticed that any dog behind a fence was immensely territorial here, growling and gnashing their teeth at anything that walked by, a complete contrast to the usual Chilean stray. All of the stray dogs we met were happy to wander over and say hello to our pack, interested but not aggressive.
It was a shame to realize what a negative impact man had had on the behaviour of these dogs by confining them behind fences.
Tripod always stuck close when other dogs barked or the strays came to see us, nervously hiding behind my legs for comfort. I understood- with his damaged leg, he could easily be hurt by more aggressive animals. I tried to comfort Tripod as often as I could, but it didn’t help that Pups seemed to think he was 12 feet tall and bullet-proof, launching aggressively at any other dog we saw whether they were behind a fence or not. This caused a number of scuffles, and though I did my best to keep Tripod protected while making sure Pups didn’t get murdered, I could tell it was a stressful time for the gentle dog.
Finally we made it to our hostel, our boys following right up to the door, and giving heartbroken looks when they realised they couldn’t get inside. Sarah organised some water for them outside, and we both wandered inside to clean up and put some warmer clothes on, preparing for the cold of the evening.
By the time we were ready and stepped back outside, our boys had gone. I know I should have been happy that they were more than likely off home, and were well used to taking care of themselves, I couldn’t shake the thought that I had somehow abandoned them, especially my treasured Tripod. Did he think I left him? Would he be ok on the way back to his home without my protection?
He had his brothers with him, and that was a comfort. But I wished I could have walked him home, or at least said a decent goodbye. Sarah felt the same, I knew. We had both fallen in love with him completely. But there was not much to be done, and we wandered back inside to cook a hard earned dinner.
It was late that night, when the cold had settled in and the town was quiet, that I could no longer hold myself back. I put on my winter jacket and went outside onto the streets, wandering for as long as I could stand the cold looking for my boys, but I never saw head nor tail of them. The cold reminded me of Big Boy, possibly still out there in the forest, alone and abandoned. It was not an easy night for either of us.
It was a fitful sleep, and with bleary eyes we boarded the early bus that was to take us 8 hours further south in search of the wonders of Patagonia. I should have been excited, but I carried a huge ball of anxiety in my gut over those dogs. I still had one slim hope though- our bus would drive directly past where we had first met our pack and I might just catch a glimpse of them if they had made it back home.
I was a complete ball of nerves, and was terrified some tree branch or passing truck would obstruct my view. True to form, just as we passed closest to Cerro Mackay, a huge semi completely blocked my view. I could have screamed in frustration.
We turned a corner that took us out of sight, but in a last ditch effort, I twisted fully in my seat to look out of the back window.
There, just visible on a slight rise, I could see the spot where we met them. It was empty, and my heart sunk. But just as it was almost lost to sight, I saw a massive werewolf wander into view, tongue lolling like always. And just behind him, a brief flash of red...
My loyal Tripod getting some cuddles
Comentários