By the time we come down and reach our campsite, a clearing near a swift creek, it is 8 p.m. The sun is still high. Patagonia, in its proximity to the South Pole, enjoys long summer days. A drawn out sunset concludes at 11 p.m. We make camp, cook a pasta dinner, tell travel stories and retire to our tents just as the light is draining from the sky.
Trail time is measured in footsteps, slow shifts in scenery and the space between meals.
All day and into the evening, we traverse the sloping base of the mountain until we reach Camp Italiano. As we continue our rolling traverse the next day, we gain better and better views to the west of snow-crusted mountains. In the foreground, and sometimes at our feet, ponds and lakes open up, always reflecting a unique shade. The plant life, forced low to the ground by the wind, compensates with a riot of colors and textures. Especially beautiful are the crimson blooms of the ciruelillo plants that ooze sticky pollen and coat my clothing when I brush them.