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Published: October 24th 2011
Caviahue--Winter Wonderland
Dog sledding, hiking up to the rim of a volcano and peering into its sulfur lake, and taking a mud bath--all in my first day in tiny Caviahue. For six weeks, I snow-shoed and hiked to waterfalls, lakes and over mountains for hours with ethereal silence and no one else in sight. No need to catch a bus or pay for an excursion to hike in the mountains--I just walked out the refuge door. I was in heaven!
Most come to the high Andean town of Caviahue, 1650 meters/5000 feet, for the skiing and snowboarding at its small resort even higher in the mountains. I could't afford either of these fantastic sports, but there was plenty of adventure in the mountains around the town and sweet company in the refuge.
While many foreigners visiting Argentina go for the cities; I wanted the road less traveled--to know the small towns like Caviahue, population 500, nestled along the Andes. Travel among these towns is not easy with buses running sometimes only twice weekly, sometimes not at all in the low season, but what rewards!
Malargue and Las Lenas
I'd been in the popular city of Mendoza
Mendoza--Water, Wine and Yankee Traps and was supposed to be heading north, heading home, but I just wasn't ready to leave the Andes. So, I decided to go to Caviahue, which looked intriguing in my book. However, getting there required a bit of drama as there were no remotely direct buses.
First, I boarded a tiny van for a five-hour ride to Malargue, a small, desert town whose saving features were the distant views of the snow-capped Andes, and day-trips out of there, including an hour and a half one to Argentina's premier ski resort, Las Lenas. The resort is the highest in Argentina, with lots of powder and gorgeous mountains, but with modern architecture somewhat reminiscent of a penitentiary.
Las Lenas draws the wealthy from Buenos Aires and foreigners from the northern hemisphere who want to ski year round. I spent a great day there, hiking around and watching the skilled skiers carve sinuous tracks down vertical drops, imagining I was in their boots. Unfortunately, I'd left my camera at the hostel, but I've got great images in my mind.
I'd hoped to visit a national park with 800 volcanic peaks, the highest concentration in the world, and go caving with
a head lamp, but in this low season, there weren't enough tourists in town to fill a jeep for a tour. Oh well, I'd catch one of the twice weekly, south-bound, overnight buses along the mythical Route 40, that connects little-visited towns.
Tricky Travel
At 10 pm, I slogged uphill to Malargue's bus station and caught the first of three long-distant buses that would eventually take me to Caviahue. No one in the terminal had been able to tell me about onward buses and the small bus company posted nothing on the internet.
I was flying blind and hoping the buses ran in the winter. I was lucky and though there were long waits in the dark night in tiny towns, I made it in a rather respectable 14 hours, which I suspect would have taken 5 hours in a car.
The journey was worth it--the snow-covered Andes rose behind the bleak bunch grasses of the flat Patagonian steppe. Indigenous Mapuche got on and off the bus at places bereft of anything--they must have had a long walk to where ever they were going. Then, we cut through a mountain pass to a clear blue lake surrounded
by snow mountains and the end of the line--I'd arrived.
Caviahue--Snow Heaven
Caviahue was incredibly beautiful in its thick blanket of pristine-white snow. It's a small dirt-road town on a lake, surrounded by a forest, mountains, and a volcano. For a California born and bred beach bunny, the snow was utterly magical. It was mid-September, spring, and already scorching hot a few hours further east. Yet here at 1650 meters--almost a mile high, snow was everywhere; it even snowed several times while I was there. This is what I'd come for!
As I descended the bus, I was lucky to have been met by a friendly, 2-legged taxi who, for 10 pesos/ $2.50, carried my suitcase, with its useless wheels, through the streets' deep snow to the hostel. There, Tami welcomed me at Hebe's House Hostel, which the Lonely Planet said was the only one for miles around (which fortunately, turned out to be untrue). It was warm, upscale and friendly but booked out for the coming weekend.
Obstacle=Challenge/Opportunity
No problem--as usual, the seeming obstacle turned into a blessing. My eyes had been attracted earlier by Tibetan prayer flags fluttering in the wind at a rustic, wooden,
hand-built house, which turned out to be a wonderful, mountain-like refuge. After a few, friend-filled days in the hostel, another friendly guy carried my suitcase across the street to the Refugio de Caniche ("Poodle" after the owner Ruben's curly hair). There I had a room generally to myself in the dorm for 5 in this great low season.
I offered to write to the Lonely Planet to advertise for them, but Ruben, Patricia and Alejandra preferred having the fewer numbers who were organically led to their haven than the hordes driven by a guide book; thus they preserved their tranquil atmosphere--perfect. The guests that came were wonderful, and once again, I'd come home!
Excursions: Dog Sledding, Volcano, Hot Springs
My first day in Caviahue, I fulfilled a dream--dog sledding! I told them I wanted the fastest, wildest team and was rewarded with an incredible ride--flying over mogels, popping wheelies, and charging through the wilderness. As in Alaska, they no longer use heavy Huskies but mix them with other breeds for smaller, leaner, faster dogs. The dogs were well treated and loved being pet and cuddled. I was in pup heaven!
That afternoon, I combined two of my
other passions--volcanoes and glaciers. I hitchhiked up to the ski resort and joined a few others in a gigantic, Antarctic snow-track machine. Up we lurched past the chairlifts and skiers and the hot springs town of Copahue that is snowed-in, inaccessible and uninhabited during the winter.
Finally, we stopped near the top of Volcano Copahue, the only active one in Argentina and which last erupted ten years ago. The air was thin from the 2785 meters and filled with sulfur fumes. Although I'd puffed on my asthma inhaler, I was gasping for breath with every step up to the crater--but it was so worth it.
The crater was filled with water a beautiful turquoise, colored from the hanging glacier that backs and feeds it. There were also swirls of yellow sulfur on the surface. The waters from the crater bubble below the earth, feeding the sulfur springs in both towns below and filling Lake Caviahue with water so acidic that no life exists in it.
From this height, we could also see why Caviahue is completely ringed by mountains. These mountains were once the sides of a mega-volcano millions of years ago, and the town and its
lake are nestled in its ancient crater. Undoubtedly, this contributes to the town's magical energy field.
Not only did we see the volcano's crater and glacier, but also we were graced with grand vistas of the Andes cordillera and the line of volcanic cones, the tops of which separate Argentina and Chile. We were really on the top of the world. Finally, the lucky skiers and skateboarders among us flew down the volcano on their boards while the rest of us chugged back.
That evening, one of my roommates and I went to the town's fancy hotel and spa for a $20 mud bath--we were slathered with supposedly healing mud from the volcanic waters. I was wrung out--what a great day and introduction to the town!
While there were lots of other excursions offered, I'd hit the limit of what I could afford. Fortunately, my private English student, a doctor and the director of the extensive hot springs' resort of Copahue, took me to the snowed-in town; while she worked, I luxuriated in one of the open-air sulfur springs. Hopefully, I'll return in the summer when the road there is open, and I can hike and further
explore this area of fumaroles, geysers and hot springs.
Hiking in the Snowy Present
My planned week stretched into six, as I bundled up like a bear and explored the snow-covered mountains with their outcroppings of hexagonal volcanic basalt (like Northern Ireland's Giants' Causeway), rivers and araucaria pine forests.
Daily, I took long, solitary walks listening to my breath, hearing the crunch of snow in my footsteps, feeling the gentle wind and sun on my face and sensing the vastness of nature spread before me--I felt so joyful, peaceful and present in each moment.
I read a copy of Eckhart Tolle's
A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose that someone had left in the refuge. Finding this book was a gift, reminding me of the importance of my inner journey, returning me to my breath and making my hikes into walking meditations (as well as adventures).
On the top of a little-visited snowy hill, I found a clearing with a large sacred circle made of rocks. Once I'd found a perfect, round volcanic rock for the cairn in the center, I entered the circle with my offering. To the east was the lake over which
the sun and moon rose and stretching high into the air, a giant, grandfather araucaria/penhuen tree, sacred to the Mapuche. To the south, waterfalls and the river; the west held the fiery sun that was setting behind the volcano, while the north was anchored by earth--the mountain that rose protectively behind the town. Each time I returned to this sacred spot, I felt whole, healed, grounded and at home.
One day, I snow-shoed up a trail to find a rock sacred to the indigenous people. While there were various rocks of a medium size scattered about, one completely drew me to it. It now sported "te amo" (I love you) in spray paint; clearly this rock ha special energy, even to taggers.
I often climbed the canyon of the Rio Agrio as it rushed down from the volcano, creating thundering cascades and purifying me with the sound of falling water. One day, off-track, I found the carcass of a sheep under the snow. It had been left behind during the transhumance when Mapuche shepherds and flocks moved to lower pastures for the winter. Surely, it will be a tasty picnic for a puma when it thaws.
Also
fabulous for exploration was the hill that towered over the town with its
Laguna Escondida and
Cascada Escondida (Hidden Lake and Waterfall) and infinite places to explore. How fabulous to be here in September and October when I had these places all to myself! I love the off-seasons.
Araucaria Forests
Another love was being in the dark, mysterious forests of the rare araucaria or monkey puzzle tree. It's call monkey puzzle in English supposedly because the leaves are so sharp it would puzzle a monkey trying to climb it. I'd seen the tree in other parts of Patagonia, but only at this latitude and across the Andes in Chile does it grow abundantly in forests; in fact, here it's the only non-deciduous native to add its green to the winter's white.
The araucaria is called the pehuen by the native Mapuches, and its pine nuts were a staple of their diet, as were the oak acorns for the Chumash of Santa Barbara. Today, the Mapuches are the only ones allowed to harvest the pine nuts from the tree. Hopefully, I'll return in the summer to sample some.
Like the sequoia and bristlecone pine of California and the
alerces of southern Patagonia, the araucaria is a millenaria tree, living longer that a thousand years. As it grows older, lower branches fall off, giving it the appearance of an umbrella; for this, it's also called the umbrella tree. From a distance in photos, it also looks incongruously like a palm tree growing in the snow. I love incongruities!
Changes of the Seasons
Most incongruous of all was the weather which was ever changing. Patagonians love to say that they can experience all four seasons in a day, and I found this to be as true here as further south. And as in the rest of Patagonia, the winds blew furiously.
Equally impressive was the wild change of seasons--something I'd not experienced in the more subtle changes of my Santa Barbara's eternal spring. Here were palpable, daily changes especially once we'd passed the spring equinox.
The sun beat hotter (though it was still often around freezing), and snowy streets turned into wide, muddy streams, later into muddy puddles and finally to dusty dirt roads. However, piles of snow remained on the south sides of everything, and it still continued to snow occasionally as it will do all
year round.
As the days warmed, mountain walks also became trickier as rivers of melted snow ran under seemingly solid banks of snow, and it was all too easy to fall through the thin crust of snow that hid one of these spring watercourses. It was so rewarding to learn the ways of snow and start to feel at home in this very new environment.
The Town
In many ways, the young mountain town with its snowy, muddy and dirt streets and half-finished buildings is still a bit rough. It was established as a tourist destination and only began growing in the last decade.
It's more like funky Rosalind, Alaska, from the heart-warming TV series
Northern Exposure than upscale Aspen. Even the fancy hotels and mini-markets didn't bother to shovel the snow from their front doors, and I always stepped rather gingerly not wanting to slide on the ice that built up.
Moreover, once the snow melted, piles of trash were everywhere, and lots of the town's magic was lost. If I end up staying awhile as my imagination fantasizes, I'd love to help ban plastic bags and encourage folks to buy reusable ones that perhaps
the local Mapuche could produce.
On the positive side, the
Northern Exposure, small-town friendliness was wonderful here. Everyone greeted each other in the streets, young people were always polite and no one locked their doors. Really, a slice of heaven.
Also great was the abundance of dogs who ran up for loving attention, accompanied me on walks, rolled in the snow and stood on snow drifts--king of the mountain style. Very fun and silly!
Another way in which the town was so civilized was its heath care. As in all of Argentina, it's free. I'd fallen when on my first bus here and bruised some intercostal muscles. After 5 days of pain with each inhalation and laugh, I was urged to go to the health center. There, the doctor examined me and gave me fabulously strong anti-inflammatories without charge. Can you imagine such a kind thing happening in the US? We can only hope.
Next?
The refuge, like many places here, will soon be closing for a bit--time to go, but where? Maybe to big city Temuco or Santiago in Chile to replace my dead camera. Then again, maybe I'll continue in these small lake towns
since it's low season. So many possibilities--I wonder what the future has in store!
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Ali
Ali Watters
Great blog!
... your slow travel style is fantastic too :)