Day 136: December 28, 2007 Estancia Angelina
Trip Start
Aug 15, 2007
1
138
202
Trip End
Mar 01, 2008
Rio Gallegos,
Argentina
Friday, December 28, 2007
After buying groceries for lunch, we drove out to the mechanic's shop. He had not had the chance to look at it yet so we decided to do some exploring. The line at the police checkpoint and the subsequent grilling when it came our turn caused us to miss the turn to the Río Turbio road as we discussed the absurdity of police checkpoints. Rather than turning around, I decided to take Will and Megan to one of my secret places: the beach at Estancia Angelina. I had only been there once before, 10 years ago when I was doing exploration consulting for Du Pont. I tried to take my GSA group there in 2001 but the bus could not get through one muddy part of the road.
We turned off Ruta 3 and headed toward El Indio oil fields. All of the estancia signs that once helped guide me were gone. Even so, the road looked familiar. After following "El Indio" signs and traveling across the pampas past myriad sheep, rheas, and guanacos, we went straight after reading the "Stay Out!" signs at the El Indio plant turnoff. A pickup coming the other way flashed us down. I talked to the guy who I think is one of the foremen at Estancia Angelina. He looked familiar to me. He told me the gates should all be unlocked and that if anyone questioned our presence to tell them we had his permission.
We entered the ranch with its flying saucer-like building perched on a small hilltop. It looked more run-down than it was in the past. No one was around but I recognized the road we needed. We passed through three gates, all of which appeared to be locked at first glance but were not. After another 40 minutes of traveling through the beautiful but stark Patagonia steppes, we got our first glimpse of the ocean. We descended to the beach on the road just north of a radio tower. A guy was there camping by himself. He had no problem with our being there so we parked beyond a couple of ramshackle fisherman's huts and walked out onto the wild, windswept, perfectly Patagonian pebble beach at high tide. The cliffs were exactly as I remembered them and we were able to recognize the same volcanic strata we found at Pescazaike, 51 km away, as the crow flies.
We walked north to a beach outcrop as the tide hit its maximum, looking at the channel sandstones preserved in the cliffs between the volcanic beds. We returned to the car for lunch by the freshwater lagoon. We walked southward a little after lunch; Will found some more huts-more like hovels. We headed north again. By the time we got to the beach outcrop, the tide had receded considerably. It would recede more than a kilometer before hitting low tide. This part of Patagonia has about a 10 m tidal range. Both students admitted wondering where the hell I was taking them earlier in the day but agreed it was well worth the bumpy ride.
It took us an hour and forty-five minutes to get back to the highway. We arrived at the mechanic's shop at 6:20. To our delight, the drill started right up. Less amusing was the 350 pesos he tried to charge us. I talked him down to 200. It turns out all he really did was clean the carburetor and re-gap the spark plug. Even so, the sound of the motor running was music to my ears.
We returned to the hotel and celebrated a great day with a bottle of Quara Malbec. Then, we walked down to El Roco and all three of ordered salmon with cilantro pesto. Back at the hotel, a large, loud party was going on at the club right next to our room. It didn't phase me too much. I was asleep in no time.
