We crossed rivers, bordered lakes, rode through sketchy trails and ended up with sore buts, but we finally started to head up towards Tres Picos, The view was amazing: the lake, Cerro Catedral and Frey, as well as many other nameless mountains, maybe ridden by some local rider, or maybe not. We were told we were the second group of riders doing runs on that mountain, but here the locals are brave, and they’re not that keen on claiming their achievements; here, amongst locals, doing something is given way more recognition than bragging about it. We reached the summit of the third peak at 2140m, and even though it felt like a hell of an altitude, in this part of the world latitude is the main thing.
A trip always implies adventure and unexpected events, and horses are unpredictable, amazing creatures that sometimes won’t let you load your gear on their back. It’s no wonder; neither would I. One of these creatures decided he wasn’t going to put up with such a humiliation and took off galloping, while the second one remained there. The group was divided and even though we managed to immobilize the beast, night caught us and our single option was to bivouac on Mother Nature’s own frigid Patagonian ground. Needles to say, dawn light was a blessing and we finally reunited the group at noon. This is the kind of situation where either you make friends forever, or enemies for life and thankfully, we wrapped it up with the former.