New Years on top of Piltriquitron

I met the new year camped at a refugio just below the summit of Piltriquitron. It took some time hiking up through the Bosque Tallado carrying my 60 pound pack and a week´s worth of food (which included a magnum bottle of Malbec). I made the treck up through the forest with two Americas I met the day before at El Rio Azul. They were not camping at the refugio, so they hiked unfettered of any gear. I, on the other hand, had my whole world on my back. Sweat rained from every pore and hit the dusty path in silence. Each breath became more labored as oxygen was robbed from the air in the rising altitude. I willed every step in utter agony. I kept telling myself it would be worth it. It was.

We reached the refugio 11km from El Bolson. Run by an extended family of Argentines, the refugio is made up of two cabins and an outhouse. The cabins have grey tin roofs that rest on vertically placed logs at the top, and horizontal ones at the bottom. The family of three brothers, a wife, and an unknown number of children, live in one of the small cabins. The other cabin sits on the edge of the mountain and has a deck that extends out. The family entertains hikers here, selling home brewed beer and pizza. Not one to pass up beer or pizza, I bought one of each and sat out on the deck in a chair carved out of a tree stump. The view was spectacular. I could see everything: the modest grid of El Bolson; El Rio Azul where I was camped the night before; Lago Epuyen that hides behind Cerro Pirque; further to the Southwest was Lago Puelo along the Chilean border; and at eye level, directly across the valley, was Cerro Lindo and Cerro Hielo Azul.

After drowning another beer, the Americans left and I set up my tent. Everywhere I camp, there is some bug that proves to especially difficult. Here there are big black flies that look and act like distant cousins of the green heads we have in the States. They attack incessently-two at a time. When I kill one, the other goes for reinforcments. This leaves me with a small window of peace.

The sun set at nine behind Cerro Lindo and Cerro Hielo Azul. The clouds were painted in hot pink as the sun snuck behind the Andes for one last time in 2008. After admiring the scene, I gathered fire wood from the dried run-off beds in the woods. I cooked up some tortolini, and ate in front of the fire. While I scooped up the pasta with my wooden spoon, I cooked sausage slices on a stone before the fire. Sitting indian style, I listened to a book on tape and finished dinner. I swirled the last of the Malbec in my graduated plastic cup, and raised it to my nose, and sipped it, and swallowed. What a pleasant New Years , I thought to myself.

The next morning I awoke, and cooked up some oatmeal and coffee. I needed to fortify myself for the treck ahead. The Summit of Piltriquitron is another 1860 meters from the refugio (2260 meters in total). Filling up my camel pack from the hose that channels run-off water down from above, I set out.

After an hour of ascending a dusty dirt path, I reached the top of the first rock face. This revealed the hidden landscape behind Piltriquitron. A vast plataue of desert-like expanse stretched to the east. Further, the land descended into a bucolic valley, where in the distance I could see a river. ¨Wish I brought my rod¨, I said to myself. I dissolved this regret by reasoning that the river was too remote to have been stocked by the early European settlers. Whether this is true or not, I may never know.

The dirt path gave way to gravel and I walked parallel to a small run-off stream. The scene was mesmerizing. I was the only human in sight for miles and miles in every direction. My only company was the soft kiss of the wind, the blooming view before me, and the constant crunch of stone under my step as if God was chewing a huge mouthful of cereal overhead.

Soon I departed from the stream and began the serious ascent to the summit.The way up was riddled with loose gravel. With each step, the gravel shifted downwards, and cut my gate in half. Eventually I found a rock face set at a safe enough angle to climb. I scaled up and avoided the steepest track of shifting stone. The summit was in view. I could see a cement marker to which all the trails led. ¨Alright Rob¨, I said to myself. ¨Be careful here. Be careful here. Slow, safe steps.¨ The way up to the summit narrowed to a point. On each side was a shear drop. One poor step could lead to the end of all things. ¨Be careful here.¨

I slowly and diliberately made my way to te summit. When I got within 15 feet, I got on all fours and took slow and calculated steps forward. The summit was guarded by a swarm of nasty bees. This is too important to stop, I thought. Let them sting you if they want. Don´t freak out. Go on. Be slow. Be safe. Finally, I grasped the summit marker and sat. On the way up, I thought of ways of marking the moment here on the top. I considered yelling something- my name or something. But as I sat there, the moment was too profound to curropt with any sound I could make. So I sat there and whispered, ¨Here I am.¨

After snapping several photos, I withdrew a stick from my pocket and then a pen. I wrote on the stick: R. Cocuzzo-1 January 2009-U.S.A. Then I slipped the stick into the summit marker. Sitting there, I indulged in the thought of coming back here in 20 years, maybe with a son or daughter, and withdrawing the stick, I would add their names.