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The crack and rumble of rifle fire reverberates through the jags of cobalt blue ice. I freeze for a moment and my crampons claw and gnash into the slippery surface beneath me.
I am perched on Perito Moreno Glacier whose ancient frozen bulk slides into Lago Argentino at the southern tip of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field.
The 250 square kilometre ice formation is 30km long and is one of 48 glaciers fed by the ice field in the Andes mountain range dividing Argentina and Chile. It is the world’s third largest reserve of fresh water.
For a moment I question why I am taking a morning stroll across an advancing glacier.
Oh that’s right, I hear a rumour there is a bottle of fine scotch waiting somewhere out there on ice. I may need the whole bottle if slabs as big as houses keep shearing off.
A few days earlier, wind swept and wind burnt, I rode into El Calafate from the desolate and ceaseless Patagonian Steppe. The town is the gateway to Los Glaciares National Park, home to Argentina’s massive Perito Moreno Glacier.
El Calafate, normally buzzing and bustling with touts for glacier tours, is a ghost town. The one poor soul manning the tourist information office lets me know why. I have timed my arrival to coincide with one of nature’s most impressive shows.
The day before my ice trek I find myself standing slack-jawed and frosty with a throng of Argentinians and foreigners as Perito Moreno Glacier undergoes its rare rupture – a spectacular collapse of its advancing face.
The solid mass of blue ice is awe-inspiring. It has a 5km frontage about 60m in height dropping vertically into the water of Lago Argentino. Over time the glacier creeps across the lake to the shore and about every four years eventually cuts the southern arm known as the Brazo Rico off from the rest of the lake. The mounting water pressure builds in ice-melt fed Brazo Rico and bores a small hole in the ice wall. This small leak ultimately is the catalyst for a spectacular demolition show.
After the first crack appears in the frozen dam wall, it is only a matter of time before the wall falls. The water flowing through from the Brazo Rico widens the crack. It relentlessly nibbles away then gnaws chunks out of the glacier’s snout. An ice bridge forms as the water funnels through. Moment by moment the hard fought ground won by Perito Moreno is lost to the force of the water and the tunnel grows wider weakening the bridge.
Under a brooding sky icy droplets of rain spittle, the hiss of anticipation escapes in foggy clouds from the open mouths of the masses lining the walkways and viewpoints opposite the imploding glacier.
From my vantage point I can see the water pouring through the growing span of the bridge. Frozen chunks swirl and twirl in the washpool. Ice continues to drop like shards of glass. A shower of smaller pieces turns into a cascade of giant blocks. In slow motion, pieces of ice the size of buses come crashing down. They are swallowed by the water, which after a few moments belches up gushing waves.
Each time Perito Moreno sheds a layer of ice, the crowd anticipates the cataclysmic end.
A sift of white powder drifts down from the shrinking bridge. The sifting becomes a shake and finally the bridge comes tumbling down. Thousands and thousands of tons of ice thunder down. A roar, like the sound of the earth opening up, sends trembles through the heavy damp air and an agonising groan carries on the chilly Patagonian wind. The lake convulses and a giant tidal wave rises like a leviathan from the deep.
A blanket of silence envelops Perito Moreno. But it is swiftly lifted when the crowd awakens from its stunned stupor and bursts into rapturous applause and unbridled tears.
Lago Argentino is whole again. The waters of the Brazo Rico and the rest of the lake flow together. However, Perito Moreno is already creeping slowly forward, patiently working once more to separate the two sections of the lake.
With the force and power of the rupture still playing over in my mind, I take a tentative crunchy step further onto Perito Moreno’s vast and expansive frozen surface.
The ice is firm and the crampons bite into the sparkling blue crystals with each footfall. Juan, our guide from Hielo y Aventura, leads the way. We zigzag up a steep rise. It is surprising how hilly a glacier is. It is not an ice rink. There are peaks and valleys, gullies and cliffs and deep crevasses dropping into infinite blue voids. Teetering and peering into one of the blue cracks I wonder if I would find a weirdo wearing a hat, a cat and a table set for tea if I slipped in.
Juan warns me not to push my luck. He assures me all I would find is a broken body and maybe a short cut to back to New Zealand. He also explains the deeper the crevasse the more blue and purple it appears. The ice way down in the hole is purer and therefore reflects the light in purple hues.
Glaciers begin to form when snow remains in the same area year-round, where enough snow accumulates to transform into ice. Each year, new layers of snow bury and compress the previous layers. This compression forces the snow to re-crystallize, forming grains similar in size and shape to grains of sugar.
At an overhanging section of the glacier, the neon blue reflection is blinding. The sunlight dances on droplets of water escaping from the ice. I fill my water bottle with some of the purest and coldest water on earth.
Crunch crunch crunch. Making my way through a frozen gulch and up a bluff it is easy to imagine I am a world away. Is this what it’s like to ramble on far off frozen purple planets? Blue knolls, blue ravines and blue brooks.
Traversing a steep rise we come into a small frozen glen. Nestled in the sugary ice is an open wooden crate and twinkling in the bright light is a bottle filled with tawny liquid. My steps suddenly become steadier and gait less like a drunken penguin in anticipation of a wee dram.
There are freshly hewn frozen rocks for the scotch. It’s sobering to realise the ice cube clinking like a mini berg in my glass is hundreds of years old.
One sip of the heart warming and bravado building whisky and I begin to wonder why I had any trepidations about trekking on the ice. I think with a few more nips, I’ll be ready to traverse the entire Southern Patagonian Ice Field, not just a postage stamp size portion.
Getting there: Air New Zealand has direct flights from Auckland to Buenos Aires. Internal flights are available with Aerolineas Argentinas from Buenos Aires to El Calafate. See airnz.co.nz.
For those up for a long bus ride, numerous companies make the 36-hour journey from Buenos Aires to Rio Gallegos with onward connection to El Calafate.
Walking on ice: Hielo y Aventura runs two treks on Perito Moreno Glacier between September and April. It’s Mini Trekking option ($215) spends 1.5 hours on the ice and recommends a moderate level of fitness. Big Ice ($350) takes groups to the centre of the glacier with a high level of fitness recommended. For more information visit hieloyaventura.com
Staying there: El Calafate is geared for visitors to Perito Moreno Glacier. Accommodation ranges from 5-star luxury to backpacker digs.
Sourse: stuff.co.nz
