Kyle Berg

Christmas Day I woke up early because of the 4:30 a.m. sunrise. I laid around trying to get back to sleep, but eventually crawled out of the tent and stretched my aching back. I fired up my ancient cooking stove to make some oatmeal, but that thing let me down again and I ended up with a lukewarm breakfast. At least it served as good energy. After a long day of walking yesterday, my hope today was to hang around the sea lion colony and try to get closer than yesterday. After this, I wasn’t really sure, but figured I’d see how things went.

The sun burned fiercely as I set out for the day. After a short distance, I stopped to take pictures of a group of guanaco grazing nearby. These cousins of the llama are common throughout all of Patagonia and are one of my favorites. There’s something about the color of their fur (or hair), their shape, and manner of walking that I find intriguing. They weren’t scared of me as long as I maintained a distance. But I couldn’t get too close or move very fast without frightening them. It was a nice opportunity for me because I hadn’t been able to get pictures of guanacos other than from the window of a tour vehicle.

Next I moved on to visiting the sea lion colony. The route I took and the point from which I ultimately took my pictures was probably off limits. However, I was alone in the park and didn’t ask permission. I figured it was one of the perks of solitude and climbed up, down, and walked along a ledge on the opposite side of the peninsula where the sea lions were perched. There was no hurry and I took baby steps and firmly planted both my feet and my trekking poles the entire way. The drop-off to my right allowed little room for error and I had to be careful, lest I fall 40 feet along the rock or into the ocean. I breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching my objective and sat down for lunch. Then it was up to take a look at how close I was to the sea lions.  While it wasn’t as close as I had imagined, the vantage point was still excellent and significantly better than that from up above.

I gingerly walked to the other side and sat down to take shots of the sea lions. They barked, slid around, and some made their way down for a dip in the ocean. Some other tourists had finally arrived, so I went back to the other side of the ledge and out of sight for a while just to minimize the chances of being reprimanded by some park ranger. After a rest on the other side, which was much warmer because it was protected from the wind, I went back and took a brief video. It was nice to have the shots of the animals, but not quite as cool as I had thought. Looking at the walk back along that ledge and feeling my nerves, I wasn’t sure if it had been worth it. But after a few minutes, my fears were gone as I was firmly planted on level ground. The angle of the slope wasn’t as severe as I had imagined.

Around 4 p.m. it began to cloud over and without the blazing sun it was actually quite chilly. I took a few pictures of the surrounding landscape, but the dull, gray sky limited hampered the ambience. I made my way back at a relaxed pace, this time following the gravel road instead of the coast. Again there was a group of guanacos in front of me. This group had quite a few youngsters and I thought they were especially interesting. The young guanacos looked and walked exactly like their parents, but in a miniature form. The rest of the walk was uneventful until I got back close to camp. It was here that I became fully aware of the dramatic difference between the low and high tides at Monte Leon. I had noticed it the day before, but it seemed even more dramatic here. Where water had beaten against the rocks, there was now nothing. I found it impossible to believe these areas were filled with water only 4 to 6 hours earlier.

There were a couple people fishing along the more distant shore of the low tide. I decided I would join them and went down to walk along the area vacated by the water. I remember saying to myself, out loud, “This is cool,” and thinking it had still been worth the stopover, despite the absence of the beautiful cave that was once the park’s centerpiece. Walking along the sand, seeing the water lines along the rocks, and looking up at the coast, I felt as if I were doing something illegal. How was it possible to have such a variance between the tides? I took a couple of pictures of large caves, but decided to save them for the return trip. First I wanted to walk around the bird island and see if perhaps that’s where the impressive cave was located. I knew it had collapsed, but a part of me had to make sure it wasn’t there and see exactly was was in front of that island. It turned out there was nothing and that part of the walk turned out to be a big mistake.

I had taken my camera out of my chest pack to snap some pictures of the coastline. However, I failed to place it back in the pouch and simply slung it under my right arm. Unfortunately, despite my caution and use of trekking poles, I fell while walking over some rocks along the island. This was no ordinary fall. It was a doozie. I didn’t land on my butt or break my fall with my hands. I fell directly on the area where my side met my ribs. The sound of glass shattering was loud and distinct, but I couldn’t think about that at first. I kneeled on all fours, stunned, gasping for air, and hoping my breath would return. I had the wind knocked out of me and hurt my back, but I could breathe again after 10-15 seconds. I looked at the mess that was my camera lens and felt sick. There’s no way I could have fallen that hard and not broken the lens. Fortunately, after closer inspection, I unscrewed the broken UV filter and discovered that the lens was fine. The $38 filter had sacrificed itself for the much more costly lens. Relief washed over me and I was able to release all the thoughts of having to return to Buenos Aires or the US in order to fix or replace the camera. This soon proved to be a false sense of security, however.

On the other side of the island I stopped to take a picture. The shutter snapped and the camera took the picture. But the picture it took was not what I had expected. It was almost completely white and the screen flashed “Err” (error). This was not good. So much for taking pictures of the caves on the way out. I put my head down, grasped my poles, and quickly made my way back to camp, hiding my disappointment and horror as I passed the other tourists. Perhaps there was an error with the lens, I thought. Back at the campsite I tested the camera with my other lens and still had the same error. My lens survived, but I had broken the camera. Neglecting to take 15 seconds to return the camera to its pouch was going to cost me dearly and I knew it. I sat down at the picnic table by my tent, buried my head in my hands, and began to cry. The frustration was so great I didn’t know what else to do. No one had to tell me the reality of the situation. I would have to go back to Buenos Aires to fix the camera. There would be a 30 hour bus ride to get there. I would have to not only pay for the repair, but also for the transportation to Buenos Aires and later back down south to pick up where I was. Finally, and worst of all, I knew the repair wouldn’t be quick. This was what caused me the most pain. I had so thoroughly enjoyed meeting people and seeing places over the last few weeks and I knew I would have to return to my more solitary life in Buenos Aires as well as the heat, noise, traffic, and everything I was so glad to escape. I sarcastically sang “Have yourself a Merry little Christmas” in an attempt at humor, but it didn’t take. It certainly did not feel like Christmas.