Something frigid this way comes (and it's the size of Buenos Aires)

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The flight south from Buenos Aires took in a brownish landscape and occasional sea before, after nearly 3 hours, we passed over a green river wiggling off to the horizon and then we were in El Calafate, with more than half the country having been bypassed. There's only one reason for people to be in El Calafate and that's to visit the Perito Moreno glacier, so the town that has grown up around this industry is packed with souvenir shops, outdoor gear stores, Buenos Aires-priced cafes, and - most incongruously - a casino. However, with a crisp and sunny climate (at least at the present) and no tout hassle, it's by no means an unpleasant tourist trap.

My hostel was a vast improvement on the two I'd stayed in in Buenos Aires, though this one had an inexplicable shortage of electricity outlets (including none in the dorms), plus the odd red material from which the dorm floors were made stuck to one's shoes and was then smeared on the corridor like lipstick. Yet another strange key system was in operation - in this case, there was just 1 key for the dorm between 4 people.

There seemed to be mainly pass-through custom, with El Calafate being the middle of the Torres del Paine-El Calafate-El Chalten route and little else to do in town. I rarely had the same dorm-mates 2 nights running during my stay. A more permanent presence in the town was a motley collection of stray dogs that alternated brief periods of activity (generally chasing cars) with extended slumbering sessions in shop doorways.

I opted for a tour to the glacier, as the price for doing it independently was barely less. The guide provided a bilingual commentary that was sufficiently word-for-word that it doubled as a Spanish lesson. With land being plentiful and people few in Patagonia, enormous estancias (ranches) occupy much of the available space, herding tens of thousands of sheep and cattle with a minimal workforce. Tall poplars act as windbreaks as well as a sign that humans are close, a welcome sight for anyone traversing the flat yellowing windy plains of the Patagonian steppe. We saw rheas, eagles, hawks, and hares as we churned up dust clouds on the old road to the glacier.

After having paid a special foreigner fare for the flight down from Buenos Aires, I shouldn't have been surprised at the special foreigner entry fee to the national park containing the glacier. The glacier is named after a chap who never actually saw it. The explorer Francisco Moreno (a technical expert, i.e. perito, in his field) came to the area to attempt to define the border with Chile but returned to Buenos Aires before reaching the glacier. However he's regarded as the father of Argentina's National Park system, hence deserved to be remembered in some way.

The glacier itself is one of those startlingly awesome sights that nature produces so effortlessly. A 60m cliff of blue-white ice spans the valley, the waters of Lago Argentino lapping at its base, and its crumpled and broken back disappearing off into the cloudy mountains and freezing climes of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field. It seems contradictory that such a vast mass of ice should be able to co-exist with water and trees that are mere inches away.

It moves at the rate of about a metre a day, the pressures at work producing a menacing series of groans and cracks that echo off the hills. Occasionally a slab of ice will break off the front of the glacier and plummet to the lake below, the distance to the viewpoints being such that the sight of it can precede the associated explosive rumble by a couple of seconds. If you're not looking in the right direction, the sound is usually your first indication that anything has happened, and when you swivel in its direction all you may see is a ponderous wave swelling out from the point of impact, and the lingering evidence of miniature icebergs bobbing in the water.

The most famous event at the glacier, which generally occurs at intervals of years (and was not coincident with my visit), is its damming and subsequent rupture. The damming occurs when it reaches the Magellan Peninsula (on which the viewpoints sit), thus splitting Lago Argentino into 2 parts. Water levels and hence pressure rise in the smaller section and, 2-5 days after the damming, the water first undercuts the dam and then shatters the remaining arch. This event can supposedly be heard 80km away in El Calafate (Google it to find some video).

I can only assume that the current tourist crowds are a far cry from the volume of human traffic the park was originally supposed to handle. Certainly some of the walkways could only be considered two-way if skinny midgets were the point of reference. The path and gangway leading to the tour boat are also unsuitably narrow for the ~150 people trying to board and the ~150 people trying to disembark at the same time. Anyone unsteady on their feet would be well-advised to ensure they're hanging on to someone (preferably that they know) if wanting to take the boat tour. I thought the viewpoints on land gave a better perspective of the glacier than the boat, which slowly parallels the ice cliff a couple of hundred metres away, though if you're lucky you might get to see a decent ice fall (I didn't).

To me, one of the most astounding things about the Perito Moreno glacier was that I'd never even heard of it. Yet I'd be surprised if it didn't comfortably make the list of my top 10 favourite natural wonders of the trip. So, with dreams of further wintry encounters ahead, I jumped on a bus to El Chalten.

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Photos

Ice anvil
Lago Argentino

Church
El Calafate

Tree
El Calafate

Ice colours
Lago Argentino

Perito Moreno glacier
Note boat at upper right