3 March 2008
The next day, my “Alternative Tour” to the Perito Moreno Glacier involved an extra hour of guided bus ride on the “old road” to reach the glacier. The road was unpaved and barren except for various large birds of prey, scavengers, and English hares. Our tour guide was gifted naturalist, historian, and storyteller, and I felt like a Patagonian expert by the time we rounded the corner to catch our first glimpse of the glacier. From our distant vantage point, the famous ice field looked like a vast spread of jagged, thick, milky frosting sliding around the mountains and severed abruptly at the edge of the chalky blue-green lake. The serrated peaks of the wall grew more clearly distinguishable as we approached the face, but even on closer inspection, the enormity of the ice was unfathomable.
The bus stopped for lunch at the sole tourist look-out, and somehow Brett and I found each other in the crowd of travelers. His tour would head down from the lookout to the glacier, where their “mini-trek” would begin. My tour would follow a different track down to the lake for a mini glacier cruise. As we ate, rested, and watched the glacier, several gigantic slabs of ice cracked and tumbled into the water, releasing waves of sound like elongated thunder. I’m sure that I and every other person there wished the crowds would disperse and leave us to our private wonderment, but we had to be content that at least people tended to hush when the ice cracked.
