rapa nui, a set on Flickr.
some Maoi, some horses, some beach...some pictures of a downright beautiful place.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
A Rapa Nui lesson in sustainable living and building ass calluses
Sometimes I like to do things, not just because they're cool, but also because they SOUND cool when you tell people about it later. Things like eating a guinea pig, or going caving with bats, or biking around Easter Island. So yes, I went to Easter Island, and it rocked. Sure, it's beautiful, the Moai are eerie and magnificent at the same time, the snippets of Rapa Nui that are overheard in conversation are fun, the water is like something from a photoshopped picture, and there is something magical about wild horses running free, but that's not all. It does something far more important than that, it teaches us what will happen if we treat the world that we call home with a sense of entitlement and forget about that little thing called gratitude and respect.
Easter Island, as we know it (or Rapa Nui as the native people know it, or Isla de Pascua as the Chilean people know it) is a pretty remarkable thing. It's just a tiny little spec of land in the middle of the Pacific. The weather is favorable for living, and thus it became home for people...people of Polynesian descent. With that said, one would expect that this island and it's culture would resemble that of other small islands that dot the Pacific.You know, the likes of Tahiti or Hawaii. I can't speak for Tahiti, having never been there, and at first glance it did kind of have a surface resemblance to Hawaii....but notably less green, lush and far less developed. Why is this place so much less green? Look at the history of this place and it becomes clear...the people that initially inhabited this island got so wrapped up in tribal warfare and exploiting all their available resources to out-do their competition that they, well, eventually cut down every last tree and mostly everyone died. You would think that somewhere in the process that someone in any of the tribes would have said something, "uh, dude, we might want to cut this shit out, we're almost out of trees..." but alas, they did not, and to this day the island is mostly grassland. The few trees that do dot the island were planted far after the fact, and if I understood correctly, are all non-native species.
But it wasn't ALL in vain. Minus cutting down all the trees and basically killing off the population of the entire island, they got these pretty sweet Moai out of the deal. Which, I will admit, are pretty amazing to look at. Unfortunately the majority of them are knocked down, that was another part of the game. After fighting with one another, the winning tribe would knock over the losers Moai as a show of superior strength. It's a pretty significant feat, these things are huge. I mean, really, really big. To this day no one is entirely sure how they moved them about the island like they did, or how they got them to stand up. They are everywhere. For an island this tiny, it's basically saturated with them. They live all along the coast, mostly facing inland or face down with their hats removed and rolled a fair distance away. There is only one that doesn't follow form, it's a grouping that lives inland and faces the sea. Another enigma for us to wonder...why are these fellows looking the other way? There is a theory that it has some astronomical significance, because at the summer equinox at sunset they face the setting sun perfectly.
The horses too were an interesting thing to see. They are mostly wild. I can't say entirely wild because they are clearly not native to the island. A lot of them also are marked as if they belong to someone, but they just run free all over the island. Apparently owning horses are signs of wealth, so they go out there, mark a horse and then let it run around until it dies. It wasn't an unusual sight to see the carcass of a horse along the side of the road, or to see packs of horses grazing on grass around the ruins. Don't get me totally wrong, the people there ride the horses too and use them to work as well, but it seems that the vast majority of the horses are just free to wander as they please.
I had almost a week to explore the island. Before I left, everyone kept telling me that 3 days was plenty of time to be there and that I would have nothing to do after that. Maybe so, if you drive everywhere, take just long enough to snap a picture and get back in the car, or have something against sitting and admiring nature. The pace of things was so pleasant there. I liked being back in my tent. I liked having hours of not seeing another living soul. I liked being able to sit and watch giant turtles for hours on end. I liked the quiet or if it wasn't quiet, it was the sound of rolling ocean waves. Yeah, Santiago is a nice city and all, but it is still a city. A big city in fact. With lots of people and cars and buses and subways and noise and pollution and stuff to buy and things to see and places to go and the buzz of needing to go, go, go! After spending a month in my tent in Patagonia, it was like experiencing mild shell shock. So even though I had great hosts, a wonderful place to stay and met friends who made sure I had a pleasant experience, I couldn't wait to get out of there and back to a slower pace and the space to breathe and just sit still.
Right after I got to the campground and setup my tent I was invited to go with a group of french travelers on their quad and see some of the island. Heck yes! I would love to go! So the first day I got around the island on the back of a quad. It was fun, and dirty, but helped me get my bearings a bit. From then on out, I explored the island from the saddle of a mountain bike or by hoofing it. The majority of the time I was on a bike, which I feel was a great way to explore the island. It allowed me to cover a lot of ground and take it in. I calculated it out, and in 3 days I rode somewhere around 100 km. It hurt to sit, I mean the actual act of being seated was painful after that, but what the hell. I did, in the process develop a whole new sense of respect for my friends that bike a lot. To those of you who fall into that category, I think I got it. Yeah...it can be pretty fun, and there it nothing better than coasting down a big old hill after giving it everything you've got to get up there.
There is only one beach on Easter Island, Anakena. It is straight out of a stock photo beautiful. The entrance to the beach is grass and tall swaying palm trees...there are even a few Moai standing watch. The grass fades and is replaced by white sand and the white sand eventually gets covered over by vibrant turquoise water. Part of what makes it so incredible is that it is the only beach on the island, but also, that the rest of the island is rock, black lava rock. Where in the world did this white sand come from? I have no idea, but I spent a whole day just sitting there and admiring it. Getting there and back is no easy task. There is one town on the island, Hanga Roa, it is the only place on the entire island where you can stay and the only place that you can buy anything. It also happens to be on the opposite side of the island as the only beach. 16km one way to be exact. It's a pretty nice ride though, being the only real paved road in the town, it was a welcome change from the bumpy dirt roads with mud puddles, giant potholes and loose rocks. Most people it seemed would just rent a car or a scooter, and zip from one Moai ruin to the next or across the island to the beach. I actually liked being on the bike. For the most part the roads were empty, the weather was pleasant, and if the view was knock your socks off beautiful, I could stop the bike right there and drink it in. I did that a lot.
It was interesting to watch the weather roll in and roll out. You could see for miles over the ocean, and see that yes, the rain was coming. But you could also see that it wasn't going to last. It was almost like watching time lapse satellite photos on from the weather channel. Yup, here comes the the clouds and the rain moving over the island. The winds will be coming in west and the storm will follow, expect afternoon sunshine. Done and done. I don't think I have ever seen anything like it.
After my week was up and it was time to go back to Santiago, I was actually sad to leave. I was thinking about the bustling city again, and comparing that to the calming sound of the ocean. In my time there, I had actually grown a fondness for that place and its quirky Moai, its horses, its giant turtles, its schizophrenic weather. I had to slap myself a bit, and remind myself that this is still just the beginning of this adventure, and that there will be other places that I fall in love with. Besides, when I get back to the mainland I have to scoot on over to the coast and see Valparaiso. For some reason Santiago people are always raving about Valparaiso and Vina del Mar. When I get there, I will be sure to let you know.
Easter Island, as we know it (or Rapa Nui as the native people know it, or Isla de Pascua as the Chilean people know it) is a pretty remarkable thing. It's just a tiny little spec of land in the middle of the Pacific. The weather is favorable for living, and thus it became home for people...people of Polynesian descent. With that said, one would expect that this island and it's culture would resemble that of other small islands that dot the Pacific.You know, the likes of Tahiti or Hawaii. I can't speak for Tahiti, having never been there, and at first glance it did kind of have a surface resemblance to Hawaii....but notably less green, lush and far less developed. Why is this place so much less green? Look at the history of this place and it becomes clear...the people that initially inhabited this island got so wrapped up in tribal warfare and exploiting all their available resources to out-do their competition that they, well, eventually cut down every last tree and mostly everyone died. You would think that somewhere in the process that someone in any of the tribes would have said something, "uh, dude, we might want to cut this shit out, we're almost out of trees..." but alas, they did not, and to this day the island is mostly grassland. The few trees that do dot the island were planted far after the fact, and if I understood correctly, are all non-native species.
But it wasn't ALL in vain. Minus cutting down all the trees and basically killing off the population of the entire island, they got these pretty sweet Moai out of the deal. Which, I will admit, are pretty amazing to look at. Unfortunately the majority of them are knocked down, that was another part of the game. After fighting with one another, the winning tribe would knock over the losers Moai as a show of superior strength. It's a pretty significant feat, these things are huge. I mean, really, really big. To this day no one is entirely sure how they moved them about the island like they did, or how they got them to stand up. They are everywhere. For an island this tiny, it's basically saturated with them. They live all along the coast, mostly facing inland or face down with their hats removed and rolled a fair distance away. There is only one that doesn't follow form, it's a grouping that lives inland and faces the sea. Another enigma for us to wonder...why are these fellows looking the other way? There is a theory that it has some astronomical significance, because at the summer equinox at sunset they face the setting sun perfectly.
The horses too were an interesting thing to see. They are mostly wild. I can't say entirely wild because they are clearly not native to the island. A lot of them also are marked as if they belong to someone, but they just run free all over the island. Apparently owning horses are signs of wealth, so they go out there, mark a horse and then let it run around until it dies. It wasn't an unusual sight to see the carcass of a horse along the side of the road, or to see packs of horses grazing on grass around the ruins. Don't get me totally wrong, the people there ride the horses too and use them to work as well, but it seems that the vast majority of the horses are just free to wander as they please.
I had almost a week to explore the island. Before I left, everyone kept telling me that 3 days was plenty of time to be there and that I would have nothing to do after that. Maybe so, if you drive everywhere, take just long enough to snap a picture and get back in the car, or have something against sitting and admiring nature. The pace of things was so pleasant there. I liked being back in my tent. I liked having hours of not seeing another living soul. I liked being able to sit and watch giant turtles for hours on end. I liked the quiet or if it wasn't quiet, it was the sound of rolling ocean waves. Yeah, Santiago is a nice city and all, but it is still a city. A big city in fact. With lots of people and cars and buses and subways and noise and pollution and stuff to buy and things to see and places to go and the buzz of needing to go, go, go! After spending a month in my tent in Patagonia, it was like experiencing mild shell shock. So even though I had great hosts, a wonderful place to stay and met friends who made sure I had a pleasant experience, I couldn't wait to get out of there and back to a slower pace and the space to breathe and just sit still.
Right after I got to the campground and setup my tent I was invited to go with a group of french travelers on their quad and see some of the island. Heck yes! I would love to go! So the first day I got around the island on the back of a quad. It was fun, and dirty, but helped me get my bearings a bit. From then on out, I explored the island from the saddle of a mountain bike or by hoofing it. The majority of the time I was on a bike, which I feel was a great way to explore the island. It allowed me to cover a lot of ground and take it in. I calculated it out, and in 3 days I rode somewhere around 100 km. It hurt to sit, I mean the actual act of being seated was painful after that, but what the hell. I did, in the process develop a whole new sense of respect for my friends that bike a lot. To those of you who fall into that category, I think I got it. Yeah...it can be pretty fun, and there it nothing better than coasting down a big old hill after giving it everything you've got to get up there.
There is only one beach on Easter Island, Anakena. It is straight out of a stock photo beautiful. The entrance to the beach is grass and tall swaying palm trees...there are even a few Moai standing watch. The grass fades and is replaced by white sand and the white sand eventually gets covered over by vibrant turquoise water. Part of what makes it so incredible is that it is the only beach on the island, but also, that the rest of the island is rock, black lava rock. Where in the world did this white sand come from? I have no idea, but I spent a whole day just sitting there and admiring it. Getting there and back is no easy task. There is one town on the island, Hanga Roa, it is the only place on the entire island where you can stay and the only place that you can buy anything. It also happens to be on the opposite side of the island as the only beach. 16km one way to be exact. It's a pretty nice ride though, being the only real paved road in the town, it was a welcome change from the bumpy dirt roads with mud puddles, giant potholes and loose rocks. Most people it seemed would just rent a car or a scooter, and zip from one Moai ruin to the next or across the island to the beach. I actually liked being on the bike. For the most part the roads were empty, the weather was pleasant, and if the view was knock your socks off beautiful, I could stop the bike right there and drink it in. I did that a lot.
It was interesting to watch the weather roll in and roll out. You could see for miles over the ocean, and see that yes, the rain was coming. But you could also see that it wasn't going to last. It was almost like watching time lapse satellite photos on from the weather channel. Yup, here comes the the clouds and the rain moving over the island. The winds will be coming in west and the storm will follow, expect afternoon sunshine. Done and done. I don't think I have ever seen anything like it.
After my week was up and it was time to go back to Santiago, I was actually sad to leave. I was thinking about the bustling city again, and comparing that to the calming sound of the ocean. In my time there, I had actually grown a fondness for that place and its quirky Moai, its horses, its giant turtles, its schizophrenic weather. I had to slap myself a bit, and remind myself that this is still just the beginning of this adventure, and that there will be other places that I fall in love with. Besides, when I get back to the mainland I have to scoot on over to the coast and see Valparaiso. For some reason Santiago people are always raving about Valparaiso and Vina del Mar. When I get there, I will be sure to let you know.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Patagonia overview...what and why.
So what exactly was I doing in Patagonia? What was my purpose in spending a
month in Valle Chacabuco other than just to see it? What is the guiding motive of the organization that I paid to do manual labor for and what cause was I helping support? Why, in my relatively novice status as a camper, did I feel inspired to live in a tent for a month in relatively difficult conditions? Why, as the lonely traveler, did I think it would be a good idea to do some communal living with complete strangers? How did I envision this time was going to help me find myself and ultimately my great life´s purpose? Funny you should ask...
I hadn't really thought of any of that. Justin had seen the movie 180degrees South, and we watched it together afterward. He told me, that if I plan on going to south america, that I need to go the estancia and volunteer. It just looked too amazing not to. That was pretty much all I knew, the rest I figured would all work out. If not, well, you can tolerate pretty much anything for a month.
So what about this organization, Conservacion Patagonica? What is it they are really trying to do? What's all this noise about Patagonia Sin Represas? Do the people here really support the creation of a new national park and what do they really think about a foreigner coming in and buying up a bunch of land with the promise of one day gifting it to the state? Sure, I had my doubts, but now...call me a convert. I believe in what they are doing down there, and if you feel inspired by what I've written or by the pictures I've posted I encourage you to support this cause: visit, donate, volunteer. It really is an amazingly beautiful place. They call it salvaje, wilderness...and it really is wild, I can only hope that it stays that way. Please click on the links if you want to know more about the organizations and what they are doing. I will give you the cliffs notes version, but I really encourage you to look into it some more.
Fly into southern Chile and you see the posters everywhere, Patagonia ¡SIN REPRESAS! Which means, patagonia without dams. This region has huge powerful rivers and a large supply of the worlds fresh water and glaciers. Some claim it is the ideal place to build huge dams to supply some of Chile´s ever growing energy needs. Other say it is one of the last wild places on earth and that it should be preserved for the future generations and for the native flora and fauna distinct to this region. The argument goes that those that who make the policies in the north are not aware of the life of those who live in the south, who's lives would be most affected by the dams. I can't claim to understand either, as I am just passing through, but this much I do know, I have never seen a place so beautiful, and it would be heartbreaking if it were gone. It's difficult to imagine that someone would not see the inherent value of this wild place. That, given a little more infastructure, tourists would flock here to see it. But as with anything, there are always challenges.
The driving motive behind Conservacion Patagonica is to create the future patagonia national park. Once this land has been restored to it's native state(fences and invasive plant species removed and natural wildlife has had a chance to return) and the infastructure has been put in place (trails, campgrouds, visitor center, lodge) that they would like to combine the land of the estancia with two existing parks, Reserva Nacional Jeinimeni and Reserva Nacional Tamango to create one new super park - Reserva Nacional Patagonia. My job as a volunteer was to remove fences. This is no easy task, as the fences stretched across swamps, hills, calafate fields, rocks, mud, creeks and overgrown with grass. The estancia had originally been 32 distinct smaller estancias or farms. They were pastureland for thousands of sheep and cows. The land had been fenced off to seperate the distinct farms and to facilitate moving herds throught the year. To create this pastureland acres and acres were burned and trees were removed. Eventually the land became ineffective as it had been compromised by years of overgrazing. It was at this point that this land was purchased by Kris Tompkins. It was with the intention that it would be resotored. This has been a many year process, and now, the effects of the work are being seen.
With the fences gone, there are corriders that allow the animals to move as they naturally would. Guanacos now are a familiar sight throughout the entire park. Huemules too are free to move and breed, an important development as they are a threatented species. Most of the critters that I was lucky enough to see, have benefitted by the removal of fences. No longer trapped in small corners or killed when trying to pass them. We saw evidence of lives lost, in bones left entangled in the fences.
The work I did as a volunteer was to remove those fences. We encountered 2 different tasks, removal of standing fences, and removal of fences that had been partially taken down and rolled. The majority of the work that occured in the first week was to remove fences that were rolled. Believe it or not, this was actually harder. The last 3 were to take down standing fence. We all worked together as a group, usually split into partners, working on different tasks along the same fence line. For the most part it was fun work. A welcome change from sitting in a desk or wandering around all day with no real purpose. It was rewarding to see the fenceline disappear, to hear the thud of a post and it was wedged out of the ground, to watch the piles of rolled wire grow bigger and bigger and to know that know this stretch of land was free to recover as if man had never placed a fence there.
It was easy to loose track of time. I would have my head down working on the task at hand, and every so often take a look up and remember where I was and what I was doing. Every time the view would take my breath away. Don't get me wrong, it's hard work. Backbreaking labor, carrying tools, carrying wire, fighting your way through swap and calafate (a thorny bush) and mud. There were a couple of days we got pelted with rain and hail, and even with the correct gear your fingers would freeze from the cold. But that view, even on the hard days would make it all seem worthwhile. We'd hear the sporadic calls from the guanacos and remember why we were there. I hear you buddy, you don't have to worry about these fences anymore.
The incredible thing about the work was that we were able to visit parts of the park that most people will probably never get to see. We were pretty far from trails at times and it was exciting to know that we would be some of the few people to set foot on this land. Pretty cool. We had a decent amount of down time, especially in the last to weeks where we were taken on little excursions to see more of the park. To see huemules and the furthest stretches of the park and to swim in the lake. We had asados with the gauchos that worked and lived there, and heard stories of hunts and the life of a guacho. They taught us about the different flora and fauna...and told us about the history of the park, the region and the people.
We were told that yes, there is a lot of skepticism from the locals about what Tompkins is really doing. There are nasty rumors and fear from outside the park about what happens inside. The locals that work there work hard to inform the others what is really taking place. They hope that with time and education that people will understand that this park is for the good of everyone and the region; that it has the potential to provide jobs and livlihoods for those in the surrouding communities. They have a difficult task. There is not really a culture or tradition of camping and hiking. All the locals know is that this was once pastureland...and now, they can't use it like before. Those who know about the true motive of the park see it's value. That this could rival the likes of what is happeing in Torres del Paine. But like anything, to build trust and allow the shift in mindset takes time.
This project has been in the making for several years. It is well on it's way to becoming the future patagonia national park. I hope, that someday I can return with my family and share it. With pride be able to admit that yes, I was a small part of this and had a hand in helping. I was lucky enough to get to see the beauty of this place before it was finished. That the hours spent in manual labor and the dollars donated to the cause are worth it, because in 5 years, 20 years 100 years there will still be this magical wild place. The rivers will still be flowing freely and thanks to those miles of removed fences, so will the natual rhythm of the animals.
I didn't really have a greater plan when I came down other than just to learn a bit about this world and myself. I learned some things in Patagonia that I didn't expect. I learned that deep within me there is a connection to this world and an appreciation for its strength, its beauty and its principle that unfolds itself every day. I learned that I'm not afraid of the dark or spiders or swamps or snow or rain or dirt in my water. I learned that it's possible to feel refreshed after a long days work, and that physical labor doesn't have to be exhausting. I learned that it's possible to connect with strangers and almost instantly become friends if you just allow yourself to be open to the idea that we are all working for the same good. I learned that even the noblest ideas can be met with resisence, but resistence can be overcome with love, hardwork and tenacity. But most importantly, I think my time in Valle Chacabuco, I learned of the fickleness of percieved need.
month in Valle Chacabuco other than just to see it? What is the guiding motive of the organization that I paid to do manual labor for and what cause was I helping support? Why, in my relatively novice status as a camper, did I feel inspired to live in a tent for a month in relatively difficult conditions? Why, as the lonely traveler, did I think it would be a good idea to do some communal living with complete strangers? How did I envision this time was going to help me find myself and ultimately my great life´s purpose? Funny you should ask...
I hadn't really thought of any of that. Justin had seen the movie 180degrees South, and we watched it together afterward. He told me, that if I plan on going to south america, that I need to go the estancia and volunteer. It just looked too amazing not to. That was pretty much all I knew, the rest I figured would all work out. If not, well, you can tolerate pretty much anything for a month.
So what about this organization, Conservacion Patagonica? What is it they are really trying to do? What's all this noise about Patagonia Sin Represas? Do the people here really support the creation of a new national park and what do they really think about a foreigner coming in and buying up a bunch of land with the promise of one day gifting it to the state? Sure, I had my doubts, but now...call me a convert. I believe in what they are doing down there, and if you feel inspired by what I've written or by the pictures I've posted I encourage you to support this cause: visit, donate, volunteer. It really is an amazingly beautiful place. They call it salvaje, wilderness...and it really is wild, I can only hope that it stays that way. Please click on the links if you want to know more about the organizations and what they are doing. I will give you the cliffs notes version, but I really encourage you to look into it some more.
Fly into southern Chile and you see the posters everywhere, Patagonia ¡SIN REPRESAS! Which means, patagonia without dams. This region has huge powerful rivers and a large supply of the worlds fresh water and glaciers. Some claim it is the ideal place to build huge dams to supply some of Chile´s ever growing energy needs. Other say it is one of the last wild places on earth and that it should be preserved for the future generations and for the native flora and fauna distinct to this region. The argument goes that those that who make the policies in the north are not aware of the life of those who live in the south, who's lives would be most affected by the dams. I can't claim to understand either, as I am just passing through, but this much I do know, I have never seen a place so beautiful, and it would be heartbreaking if it were gone. It's difficult to imagine that someone would not see the inherent value of this wild place. That, given a little more infastructure, tourists would flock here to see it. But as with anything, there are always challenges.
The driving motive behind Conservacion Patagonica is to create the future patagonia national park. Once this land has been restored to it's native state(fences and invasive plant species removed and natural wildlife has had a chance to return) and the infastructure has been put in place (trails, campgrouds, visitor center, lodge) that they would like to combine the land of the estancia with two existing parks, Reserva Nacional Jeinimeni and Reserva Nacional Tamango to create one new super park - Reserva Nacional Patagonia. My job as a volunteer was to remove fences. This is no easy task, as the fences stretched across swamps, hills, calafate fields, rocks, mud, creeks and overgrown with grass. The estancia had originally been 32 distinct smaller estancias or farms. They were pastureland for thousands of sheep and cows. The land had been fenced off to seperate the distinct farms and to facilitate moving herds throught the year. To create this pastureland acres and acres were burned and trees were removed. Eventually the land became ineffective as it had been compromised by years of overgrazing. It was at this point that this land was purchased by Kris Tompkins. It was with the intention that it would be resotored. This has been a many year process, and now, the effects of the work are being seen.
With the fences gone, there are corriders that allow the animals to move as they naturally would. Guanacos now are a familiar sight throughout the entire park. Huemules too are free to move and breed, an important development as they are a threatented species. Most of the critters that I was lucky enough to see, have benefitted by the removal of fences. No longer trapped in small corners or killed when trying to pass them. We saw evidence of lives lost, in bones left entangled in the fences.
The work I did as a volunteer was to remove those fences. We encountered 2 different tasks, removal of standing fences, and removal of fences that had been partially taken down and rolled. The majority of the work that occured in the first week was to remove fences that were rolled. Believe it or not, this was actually harder. The last 3 were to take down standing fence. We all worked together as a group, usually split into partners, working on different tasks along the same fence line. For the most part it was fun work. A welcome change from sitting in a desk or wandering around all day with no real purpose. It was rewarding to see the fenceline disappear, to hear the thud of a post and it was wedged out of the ground, to watch the piles of rolled wire grow bigger and bigger and to know that know this stretch of land was free to recover as if man had never placed a fence there.
It was easy to loose track of time. I would have my head down working on the task at hand, and every so often take a look up and remember where I was and what I was doing. Every time the view would take my breath away. Don't get me wrong, it's hard work. Backbreaking labor, carrying tools, carrying wire, fighting your way through swap and calafate (a thorny bush) and mud. There were a couple of days we got pelted with rain and hail, and even with the correct gear your fingers would freeze from the cold. But that view, even on the hard days would make it all seem worthwhile. We'd hear the sporadic calls from the guanacos and remember why we were there. I hear you buddy, you don't have to worry about these fences anymore.
The incredible thing about the work was that we were able to visit parts of the park that most people will probably never get to see. We were pretty far from trails at times and it was exciting to know that we would be some of the few people to set foot on this land. Pretty cool. We had a decent amount of down time, especially in the last to weeks where we were taken on little excursions to see more of the park. To see huemules and the furthest stretches of the park and to swim in the lake. We had asados with the gauchos that worked and lived there, and heard stories of hunts and the life of a guacho. They taught us about the different flora and fauna...and told us about the history of the park, the region and the people.
We were told that yes, there is a lot of skepticism from the locals about what Tompkins is really doing. There are nasty rumors and fear from outside the park about what happens inside. The locals that work there work hard to inform the others what is really taking place. They hope that with time and education that people will understand that this park is for the good of everyone and the region; that it has the potential to provide jobs and livlihoods for those in the surrouding communities. They have a difficult task. There is not really a culture or tradition of camping and hiking. All the locals know is that this was once pastureland...and now, they can't use it like before. Those who know about the true motive of the park see it's value. That this could rival the likes of what is happeing in Torres del Paine. But like anything, to build trust and allow the shift in mindset takes time.
This project has been in the making for several years. It is well on it's way to becoming the future patagonia national park. I hope, that someday I can return with my family and share it. With pride be able to admit that yes, I was a small part of this and had a hand in helping. I was lucky enough to get to see the beauty of this place before it was finished. That the hours spent in manual labor and the dollars donated to the cause are worth it, because in 5 years, 20 years 100 years there will still be this magical wild place. The rivers will still be flowing freely and thanks to those miles of removed fences, so will the natual rhythm of the animals.
I didn't really have a greater plan when I came down other than just to learn a bit about this world and myself. I learned some things in Patagonia that I didn't expect. I learned that deep within me there is a connection to this world and an appreciation for its strength, its beauty and its principle that unfolds itself every day. I learned that I'm not afraid of the dark or spiders or swamps or snow or rain or dirt in my water. I learned that it's possible to feel refreshed after a long days work, and that physical labor doesn't have to be exhausting. I learned that it's possible to connect with strangers and almost instantly become friends if you just allow yourself to be open to the idea that we are all working for the same good. I learned that even the noblest ideas can be met with resisence, but resistence can be overcome with love, hardwork and tenacity. But most importantly, I think my time in Valle Chacabuco, I learned of the fickleness of percieved need.
You didn't play a lot of team sports as a kid, did you?
Alright, I admit it. There are certain things that I don´t do well, like doing a half ass job. I credit my dad for that one and have this constant mantra in my head, "how you do anything is how you do everything." My mom warned me before I started this adventure, in a very stern voice she told me, "don´t you dare turn this into a business trip." But old habits die hard. I haven´t fully embraced the Chilean way of doing things, although I am learning. I am still punctual, I still have that truly american sentiment of, I can do it myself and I don´t need your help, I work fast and take few breaks. Yes...even when volunteering.
As long as I could remember I have never been a huge fan of group work. In school I always ended up taking on most of the responsibility and feeling like I was carrying the group. That said, I tended to shy away from it. In sport, it was the same thing, I'd rather win or lose my by own performance, knowing that if I just work harder it will work out. Well...I didn´t really have that option here. We were a group, we would be working together side by side, day in and day out. We would share responsibilities, share meals, share close living quarters, share supplies. There wasn´t a lot of space for "me" or "I". It was like being thrown blindly into some reality show to see what happens when a bunch of strangers have to get along in some idealistic quest to save Guanacos. I realized there would be potential for challenge. This whole group thing was really not my element. For the most part really, it worked out ok. We were all there with the same bright-eyed enthusiasm only someone who pays to work can muster. We all knew what we were getting into...and knew that we would have to play nice and get along. With the exception of a couple bitterly cold nights we all got along well. Even the nicest of people get short-tempered once in a while. Nothing too dramatic, it just meant someone retiring early to their tent to enjoy a couple moments of solitude or perhaps a snarky comment whispered under their breath.
The first days were the most awkward. We were all strangers and being strangers, had little to say to one another other than the basic pleasantries. The work required us to work in partners, so there was that first day of school nervousness about meeting your new friends, looking around, sizing one another up, trying to gauge who could possibly be your new bff and then working up the courage to talk to them...Hi, I'm Claudia, you want to me my partner?
I zoned in on my prosective partner. I'd like to belive that I have this skill of picking out my kindred spirits as far as work ethic is concerned. In the morning we had both worked independently, quietly doing our assigned tasks. But the time had come to partner up, the moment of truth. He was pretty quiet, and didn't say a whole lot, but was nice enough and worked hard. I can get behind this arragement, I don't need to talk all day.The first day went along pretty smoothly, and before I knew it, it was time to hike back down to camp. I thanked Andy for being a rockstar partner, and started down the path, chatting with one of the other girls in the group.
The following day Andy and I ended up working together again as the rest of the group had partnered up the same as the day before. We were quietly unrolling fence and cutting wire. Stacking the wire and wood in neat little piles, moving really fast at our task. Occasionally one of us would make a small comment about how beautiful it was there or make a suggestion about how to dismantle the fence faster. We took note of how uniform and tidy our piles were when compared to the other groups and took pride in how well we worked together. It was soon discovered that Andy had gone to school for architecture. What is it with me and running into design people? It's like some strange magnet, we just find each other. First the two guys in Putre and now Andy. But this did explain our compulsive desire to make our piles in such a way. It was almost like a competition we had created, unspoken to each other and to the rest of the group: WE WILL WORK FASTER AND BETTER.
We were moving like machines:
1. I would pull a roll out from the grass and find out where it started.
2. I would grab the end of the roll and walk it away and Andy would pull from the center until it was laying flat on the ground.
3. Andy would take the clippers and cut the wire so I could seperate the wood from the wire
4. I would gather bunches of wire and take them to the wire pile. Andy would take the wood the wood pile. Repeat.
We were stupid fast. Getting nearly 2 rolls done in the time the other partners did one. In the middle of one of the rolls, we were gloating a little about our method while we looked up the watch the others with their clearly inferior methods of fence dismantling and Andy looks at me with a knowing sidelong glance and says "you didn't play a lot of team sports as a kid, did you?" I respond, "No. Is it obvious? You didn't either, did you?" We both had to laugh. We were both far too competitive to be "team players" but here we were in a social experiement of communal living.
It wasn't long before we found another one of our kindred spirits. We adopted her into our partnership of fence destroyers and dubbed ourself the the dream team. It wasn't just in dismantling fences where the 3 of us (Annie, Andy and myself) seemed to work just a little bit harder and a little bit longer. Andy had developed the habit of always making the fires, he was good at it too, and in doing this earned himself the title of fireman. He'd get up before everybody by like 30 minutes to start the fire and begin the process of boiling water. Which, I have to admit was amazing. It was a saving grace to get up in the morning and stumble half asleep out of my tent to a fire already burning and warm water to put in my oatmeal. In the evenings when we would get back from working he'd walk down first thing to the barrel and start the fire so it would be ready when we wanted to start cooking. I adopted the task of always getting the water. Water for dishes, water for cooking, water for washing hands, water for tea/coffee, water for putting out the fire. Every time we needed more water, I'd make my way down to the creek to get it for the group. It's amazing how quickly you go through water when you don't have the convinience of just turning on the tap. Annie took on the role of food preparer and stirrer. I placed myself in between these two, the one in charge of the heat and the one in charge of the food. It was a good place to be.
During the day while working we would continue to work extra; volunteering to carry the tools, carry the lunch food, carry back fire wood. Even as our numbers in the group grew from 6 to 10, the 3 of us were still were doing more. There was one day in particular that really showcased our supergroup. We had to break down base camp and take down all the gear, the tools and the food. Of course the 3 of us were packed up first, so we started taking down and packing up the communal goods. Annie and I ended up with daypacks full of canned goods (read: super heavy) and some of the cookware and tools. We left some of the other heavy things to disperse among the group and were not suprised to find that no one else could take them. So the three of us again took on the task. This time I strapped a couple of parrot tools to my backpack and placed the rockbar on my shoulders. Let's recap, my backback had my personal gear, plus communal cookware and tools. My dayback, now on the front of my body was full of canned goods, AND I was also carrying a 5ft rockbar that we estimated weighed near 30 lbs. All said and done, I think I was carrying somewhere around 60-70lbs. Andy was in the same boat. Ironically, we were the 2 smallest people in the group. Hmmm...
But the choice was either take on the extra weight or make 2 trips out of it. Granted if we took 2 trips not everyone would have to go back. By this point I already knew that if I didn't take it, then I would be hiking that path again to get the stuff left behind...so fine, strap on another tool, I can carry it. This is how it went, the dream team, always taking on the extra. So no, I may not have played a lot of team sports, and neither did the other two, but here we were, taking one for the team. Explain that.
In retrospect I probably did it to myself and it didn't have to be that way. But like the saying goes, old habits do die hard. I can be extremely competitive. I don't like to ask for help. When I take on a task or make a commitment, I give it everything I have. And I have this nagging sense of responsibility to do the job if no one else can. So...thanks Dad, even when volunteering I still work like a horse. Sorry Mom, there was a couple days in there that turned all business. Now, looking back, it's kind of funny, and I hope that the sight of a 5ft tall girl carrying 60-70lbs made the guys of the group feel like a bunch of babies. I mean, let's be honest, one of the males brought rolling luggage. Who does that?!
At least I had the dream team by my side. Even with sweat running down our backs and faces, we could still give each other sidelong glances and shake our heads and laugh. No, we may not have played a lot of team sports as a kids, but we've got the fire, the water and the food.
As long as I could remember I have never been a huge fan of group work. In school I always ended up taking on most of the responsibility and feeling like I was carrying the group. That said, I tended to shy away from it. In sport, it was the same thing, I'd rather win or lose my by own performance, knowing that if I just work harder it will work out. Well...I didn´t really have that option here. We were a group, we would be working together side by side, day in and day out. We would share responsibilities, share meals, share close living quarters, share supplies. There wasn´t a lot of space for "me" or "I". It was like being thrown blindly into some reality show to see what happens when a bunch of strangers have to get along in some idealistic quest to save Guanacos. I realized there would be potential for challenge. This whole group thing was really not my element. For the most part really, it worked out ok. We were all there with the same bright-eyed enthusiasm only someone who pays to work can muster. We all knew what we were getting into...and knew that we would have to play nice and get along. With the exception of a couple bitterly cold nights we all got along well. Even the nicest of people get short-tempered once in a while. Nothing too dramatic, it just meant someone retiring early to their tent to enjoy a couple moments of solitude or perhaps a snarky comment whispered under their breath.
The first days were the most awkward. We were all strangers and being strangers, had little to say to one another other than the basic pleasantries. The work required us to work in partners, so there was that first day of school nervousness about meeting your new friends, looking around, sizing one another up, trying to gauge who could possibly be your new bff and then working up the courage to talk to them...Hi, I'm Claudia, you want to me my partner?
I zoned in on my prosective partner. I'd like to belive that I have this skill of picking out my kindred spirits as far as work ethic is concerned. In the morning we had both worked independently, quietly doing our assigned tasks. But the time had come to partner up, the moment of truth. He was pretty quiet, and didn't say a whole lot, but was nice enough and worked hard. I can get behind this arragement, I don't need to talk all day.The first day went along pretty smoothly, and before I knew it, it was time to hike back down to camp. I thanked Andy for being a rockstar partner, and started down the path, chatting with one of the other girls in the group.
The following day Andy and I ended up working together again as the rest of the group had partnered up the same as the day before. We were quietly unrolling fence and cutting wire. Stacking the wire and wood in neat little piles, moving really fast at our task. Occasionally one of us would make a small comment about how beautiful it was there or make a suggestion about how to dismantle the fence faster. We took note of how uniform and tidy our piles were when compared to the other groups and took pride in how well we worked together. It was soon discovered that Andy had gone to school for architecture. What is it with me and running into design people? It's like some strange magnet, we just find each other. First the two guys in Putre and now Andy. But this did explain our compulsive desire to make our piles in such a way. It was almost like a competition we had created, unspoken to each other and to the rest of the group: WE WILL WORK FASTER AND BETTER.
We were moving like machines:
1. I would pull a roll out from the grass and find out where it started.
2. I would grab the end of the roll and walk it away and Andy would pull from the center until it was laying flat on the ground.
3. Andy would take the clippers and cut the wire so I could seperate the wood from the wire
4. I would gather bunches of wire and take them to the wire pile. Andy would take the wood the wood pile. Repeat.
We were stupid fast. Getting nearly 2 rolls done in the time the other partners did one. In the middle of one of the rolls, we were gloating a little about our method while we looked up the watch the others with their clearly inferior methods of fence dismantling and Andy looks at me with a knowing sidelong glance and says "you didn't play a lot of team sports as a kid, did you?" I respond, "No. Is it obvious? You didn't either, did you?" We both had to laugh. We were both far too competitive to be "team players" but here we were in a social experiement of communal living.
It wasn't long before we found another one of our kindred spirits. We adopted her into our partnership of fence destroyers and dubbed ourself the the dream team. It wasn't just in dismantling fences where the 3 of us (Annie, Andy and myself) seemed to work just a little bit harder and a little bit longer. Andy had developed the habit of always making the fires, he was good at it too, and in doing this earned himself the title of fireman. He'd get up before everybody by like 30 minutes to start the fire and begin the process of boiling water. Which, I have to admit was amazing. It was a saving grace to get up in the morning and stumble half asleep out of my tent to a fire already burning and warm water to put in my oatmeal. In the evenings when we would get back from working he'd walk down first thing to the barrel and start the fire so it would be ready when we wanted to start cooking. I adopted the task of always getting the water. Water for dishes, water for cooking, water for washing hands, water for tea/coffee, water for putting out the fire. Every time we needed more water, I'd make my way down to the creek to get it for the group. It's amazing how quickly you go through water when you don't have the convinience of just turning on the tap. Annie took on the role of food preparer and stirrer. I placed myself in between these two, the one in charge of the heat and the one in charge of the food. It was a good place to be.
During the day while working we would continue to work extra; volunteering to carry the tools, carry the lunch food, carry back fire wood. Even as our numbers in the group grew from 6 to 10, the 3 of us were still were doing more. There was one day in particular that really showcased our supergroup. We had to break down base camp and take down all the gear, the tools and the food. Of course the 3 of us were packed up first, so we started taking down and packing up the communal goods. Annie and I ended up with daypacks full of canned goods (read: super heavy) and some of the cookware and tools. We left some of the other heavy things to disperse among the group and were not suprised to find that no one else could take them. So the three of us again took on the task. This time I strapped a couple of parrot tools to my backpack and placed the rockbar on my shoulders. Let's recap, my backback had my personal gear, plus communal cookware and tools. My dayback, now on the front of my body was full of canned goods, AND I was also carrying a 5ft rockbar that we estimated weighed near 30 lbs. All said and done, I think I was carrying somewhere around 60-70lbs. Andy was in the same boat. Ironically, we were the 2 smallest people in the group. Hmmm...
But the choice was either take on the extra weight or make 2 trips out of it. Granted if we took 2 trips not everyone would have to go back. By this point I already knew that if I didn't take it, then I would be hiking that path again to get the stuff left behind...so fine, strap on another tool, I can carry it. This is how it went, the dream team, always taking on the extra. So no, I may not have played a lot of team sports, and neither did the other two, but here we were, taking one for the team. Explain that.
In retrospect I probably did it to myself and it didn't have to be that way. But like the saying goes, old habits do die hard. I can be extremely competitive. I don't like to ask for help. When I take on a task or make a commitment, I give it everything I have. And I have this nagging sense of responsibility to do the job if no one else can. So...thanks Dad, even when volunteering I still work like a horse. Sorry Mom, there was a couple days in there that turned all business. Now, looking back, it's kind of funny, and I hope that the sight of a 5ft tall girl carrying 60-70lbs made the guys of the group feel like a bunch of babies. I mean, let's be honest, one of the males brought rolling luggage. Who does that?!
At least I had the dream team by my side. Even with sweat running down our backs and faces, we could still give each other sidelong glances and shake our heads and laugh. No, we may not have played a lot of team sports as a kids, but we've got the fire, the water and the food.
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