The week goes by full of anxiety over the trek I'm about to take on. Even though I have experience with trips and camping, I've never done an ascent involving trekking or mountaineering. The weather isn't helping much either — the forecast calls for rain over the weekend, though it later shifts to clear skies. As the days go by I keep wondering how I'll perform: “Will I manage to reach the summit?”
A lot of people ask me why bother? … the first answer is simple: being in touch with nature, living alongside it, is unmatched. The next answer isn't as simple: it's about testing yourself, wanting to overcome obstacles, feeling alive.
Photography is the medium I can use to try to show whoever's interested the value of preserving, living alongside, and enjoying natural beauty — I hope I can pull it off.
The day arrives, and I make my way to the meeting point, platform 20 at Retiro bus terminal. There's Fernando Robledo from Argentina Extrema - AEX (who will be one of our guides), and also Jesica Porreca (Jesi) from AEX, who we've all driven a little crazy with our emails and questions. Introductions and greetings go around the group, we load our packs onto the bus, a bit of small talk before setting off on our trip to Tornquist, Buenos Aires Province, with a stop beforehand in Liniers where the rest of the team gets on, along with our second guide, David Werner (Ioda).
After roughly 600 km from the city of Buenos Aires and 10 hours on a "milk-run" bus that stops at every light along the way, we reach the small Tornquist bus terminal — the day is very overcast. Two 4x4 trucks are waiting to take us to Estancia Funke, about 15 km away. We quickly unload all our gear and set off, making a brief technical stop at the Rodolfo Funke Foundation's office, where we stock up on hot water for the ever-present mate and register our entry as a safety measure.
The ranch sits among the valleys and sierras of the Ventania mountain range, which originated from the compression process that led to the separation of the continents. Within the property you'll find peaks like Cerro Funke, Cerro Napostá, and Cerro Tres Picos — the tallest in the province and in the Pampas region as a whole. That last one is our target for the climb.
We climb back into the trucks, which take us to the “La Glorieta” outpost. There we get off and unload backpacks, gear, tents, food for two days, and more. A small water tank will be our last supply point — after that, we'll have to find water in the streams.
For the first time, we're all together face to face. Fernando, David (Ioda), and Jesica (Jesi) gather us for a group introduction — we're 14 enthusiastic trekkers plus the three guides.
Fernando takes the lead and gives us the instructions we'll need to follow from here on, telling us to carry at least 2 liters of water per person.
Meanwhile, Ioda (still just "David" at that point) gives us some technical tips on using trekking poles, packing our backpacks, how to load them, how to put them on our backs, and what clothing to wear.
Just when we think we're all set, Fernando tells us he's going to inspect our gear. One by one he gives us instructions to follow, ordering us to empty our backpacks and carry “only” what we're wearing! ... we all protest — but we packed exactly what was on the list (which we'd gotten by email before the trip)... he repeats firmly... only what you're wearing! The load — food, tents, etc. — has to be split among everyone. Anything extra stays behind at “La Glorieta.”
The only person in the group I'd met before, at an Argentina Extrema info session, was Fernando — and even then, it had just been a short chat about the trip. My first thought at that moment was “how over the top,” and his tone struck me as pretty commanding, but I wasn't really in a position to argue — only to respect my guide's experience.
With my backpack empty, carrying only the bare minimum (I left behind all the clothes I'd packed for the two days), I loaded it up with food and part of a tent. The weight is considerable — thinking about it now, I'm not even sure it was any lighter than what I'd originally packed. Ioda helps us put on our backpacks and adjust the straps. Everything has to be well secured for the climb — nothing can be left loose.
With our backpacks on our shoulders and our jackets on again, Fernando gives us another piece of advice... those wearing their jackets need to take them off, or within a few meters we'll be dying of heat! I had my jacket on and zipped up. It was cold and starting to drizzle. Once again, we take off our backpacks to store our jackets somewhere within easy reach.
At last, buzzing with anxiety, the whole group sets off with the goal of reaching the summit of Cerro Tres Picos at 1,239 m.a.s.l. I think, without saying it out loud, we were all asking ourselves the same thing: what's waiting for us out there?
And so begins a day that would turn into a long test of physical and spiritual endurance.
We set off from the “La Glorieta” outpost across open country, passing through gates and a small stream, which we have to cross by hopping across rocks with our packs on. This first stretch across the field isn't hard, but despite the overcast sky, the heat is starting to build. We'd been told to protect ourselves from the sun and look after our one and only water source.
Little by little, as the terrain starts climbing, rocks begin to take over from the open dirt of the field. The group starts stringing out into a long line, with more and more distance opening up between the fastest hikers and those falling behind. One guide leads the line, another brings up the rear. The trail enters a small pine forest that gives us a bit of shade, while the climb gradually gets steeper, though the elevation gain still isn't too much.
Along the way, we make small stops that let me rest, take a few sips of water, and eat a piece of candy or turrón that Jesi kindly hands out to keep our energy up. I'm already feeling the heat and the weight of my pack. I end up falling behind with the slower part of the group. Fernando (who by now is just "Fer") keeps encouraging us and giving instructions on how to move forward safely.
The trail gets steeper and steeper, full of rocks that make walking harder, and this is the first time I really understand the point of trekking poles — they're a great help for stability and balance, keeping you from stepping wrong and getting hurt. Once we leave the pine forest behind, we hit a big climb — for me, this marks the start of a long, difficult stretch.
The pace feels slow to me; my mind is telling me to go faster... but my legs don't listen, keeping their own, ever-slower rhythm. Luis (my hiking partner) and I are at the back of the pack. I see Fer — not worried, exactly, but trying to keep our spirits up so we don't fall too far behind. Another one of Fernando's rules comes out: count 10 steps, rest for 2 seconds, and keep climbing like that. The point of counting is to stop your mind from taking over and to keep you moving forward. The secret is trying to keep a steady rhythm, easy and unhurried.
And it's true!... by now my head was completely full of pessimistic thoughts. I'd see the lead group far ahead and feel bad about being last, thinking... what am I even doing here? I thought about my trip to Salta in November (my next challenge, "El Macón") and told myself if I can't even handle this, what am I going to do there! ... I started wondering if I could change my flights, how much money I'd lose... Everything was negative.
We finally reach a big gate they call the “Tranquerón.” Luis and I slowly catch up to the group, who are already resting, and we take shelter to eat some empanadas that had wisely been packed along — by that point, they tasted amazing to me.
After the break, the group gets up and starts moving again. Ioda, at the back with us, starts to worry about the cramps I'm getting in both thighs. He has me stretch and takes some of the load off my backpack. While I stretch, I look at the trail getting steeper and steeper — more rocks, and more rocks.
My mind was racing, caught in a contest of purely negative thoughts. I started watching the group marching along in a line, and without realizing it, I began to see it as a “common thread” of energy that I started following, without paying attention to the roughness of the terrain — and little by little, I made it up what I'd consider the hardest stretch.
Little by little, the route turns into an actual trail, with small cairns (stacked stones) or painted stakes marking that we're on the right track.
Sometimes, when the clouds hang low, they reach the sierra and get trapped there, causing thick fog that completely blocks visibility. In those cases, people who know the area advise against going any further — it's a good spot to pitch a tent and wait for better weather, since someone without experience could easily get lost by continuing on.
But today the weather's good, so we can keep following the trail. Ahead we see a fork — our path goes left, while the other one continues straight up toward the summit, though reaching the summit isn't today's plan; today it's the Cave.
We keep moving, tired, but we know we're in the last stretch. There are still a few slopes left to climb, some pretty rocky, and after a slow march, before I know it I have the towering Cueva de los Guanacos (Guanaco Cave) in sight, just a few meters away. That's where we'd set up camp.
There's no rest — we have to pitch the tents and get the gear organized before the last hours of daylight run out. The guides need to head to the San Diego stream, where even just a trickle of water will be enough to refill all our bottles. Reaching the stream means going quite a way down, then climbing back up with the weight of the full bottles in the packs — which is why Fer and Ioda are the ones who take on this task.
Luckily, the cave wasn't already taken up by other tents, so we were able to pitch ours inside it, giving us some extra shelter from the cold that was already starting to bite. A few rounds of mate, or a hot tea or mate cocido, really hit the spot.
Making the most of the last rays of sunlight, the group decides to head out toward nearby Cerro Napostá. I'm tired, so I decide to stay behind to recover my strength, wandering around with camera in hand, looking at the imposing shape of Cerro Tres Picos right in front of the cave. I climb up onto some rocks that give me a view of the valley, the cave, and the peak. I take photos as the clouds slowly start to roll in and cover the area. Alone with my thoughts, I keep asking myself over and over... how am I going to make it to the top? ...far off in the distance I can make out tiny figures of people coming down — the route doesn't look easy from here.
Night falls, and Fernando, Ioda, and Jesi put their culinary skills to work, cooking our dinner... some pasta that by this point we're all circling our guides for like hungry predators. The pasta with sauce is delicious, and we go back for seconds and thirds, leaving our plates spotless while chatting about all kinds of things, using the chance to get to know each other a bit better. Just when we think it's all over, the night's surprise arrives... a chocolate fondue!!! Absolutely impossible to resist.
Before we go to sleep, Ioda says a few words and gives us some advice to keep our spirits and willpower up for the day ahead. His words keep swirling in my head as we settle into the tent with Luis and Adrián (two friends from San Bernardo who, phones in hand, are tracking minute by minute how the bets are going on whether they'll manage to reach the summit).
It takes us only a few minutes to fall completely asleep, weather and tent conditions be damned.
Starting around 6 in the morning, along with the cooing of the pigeons that live in the cave, the first signs of movement stir in the group. One by one we get up — it's pretty cold — and while hot mate and coffee help us warm up, we pack our backpacks, take down the tents, and leave the whole campsite clean, while one group heads to the stream to fetch our water supply for the day. I make the most of these last few moments to take some photos and get the camera gear ready that will go with me on the climb.
The trek to the summit will take a few hours; I don't know the details of what it's going to be like, so I start getting myself into a “positive” mindset, just like Ioda taught us the night before. Over and over I tell myself I'm going to make it, even as I keep looking up at Cerro Tres Picos, which from where I stand looks pretty tough to climb.
The group sets off, packs on our shoulders, picking up the same trail from the day before. It's a climb over rocks that this time I can handle more easily since I'm rested, but we face a new challenge... the wind keeps blowing in strong, crosswise gusts, making it hard to scramble over the rocks with a loaded pack. Several times we have to turn and face into it to avoid getting knocked over among the rocks. The climb starts to take its toll, but I keep holding onto one single positive thought... I can do this!
So, after a fairly short stretch, we reach what will be our base for the summit push. There, sheltered among the rocks (in the middle of nowhere), we leave all our gear and backpacks — we'll go up carrying only our jackets, water, and trekking poles. In my case, I bring a small foldable backpack where I stash my Canon camera with a single 18–135mm lens; everything else stays with the main pack.
Little by little we climb toward the summit, always in a line, which I keep seeing as my common thread — my one thought being that I'll make it all the way up there. Halfway up, we take a short break; a few candies, some fruit, and sips of water feel like a real treat. It's the first time on this whole trip that I look back (I hadn't done that on day one), and I can't believe how far we've climbed — in the distance we can see the cave where we spent last night. Now I'm that same tiny dot that could be seen from down there, on the way to the summit. Personally, I'm doing well, I feel good!... we keep following the trail, still climbing but without feeling tired, until we reach a new spot where we leave behind the rest of our gear — our trekking poles and anything else (water bottles, etc.) that might get in the way of the final push. This is a sign that we're getting close, but this stretch is steeper, done by scrambling and climbing among the rocks, under the watchful eye of Fer and Ioda, who, from strategic spots, guide us on where to step and where to grab hold as we climb step by step, careful not to touch loose rocks that could fall and hurt whoever's coming up behind. The excitement is so great that I forget about the effort and my fear of heights on the way down — all I can think about is making my way through this stretch, which I find fascinating, searching for handholds, for footholds, and before I know it I can already see the cross marking the summit and the first members of the group who are arriving.
I was part of the first group to arrive. Ioda was right in front of me, and we shared a big, long, emotional hug while I kept repeating “Thank you, you're an amazing motivator!” His words were my inspiration for reaching my first summit — something that had looked impossible from down below.
By that point, up on the summit, it was all celebration — congratulations, hugs, group and individual photos, selfies. We find the summit log and read a bit of what those before us wrote, leave our own message, and then take a break that everyone uses differently — some find a quiet spot, meditate, relax, sleep, write; as for me, since the view is amazing, I don't stop taking pictures of the landscape all around us. Again and again I look down, unable to believe I'm actually up here.
In some of the accounts of this climb that I've read, it said… “Some people might think there's nothing to celebrate — after all, it's just a small peak that doesn't pose much of a challenge. Still, I believe the challenge is always there, no matter the height of the mountain; sometimes it'll be greater, no doubt about that, but reaching the summit should always be cause for celebration (even if only symbolically).”
Again and again I wander around the summit, endlessly fascinated by the view — the contrast between the sierras and the flat plains of our Pampa. The clouds are slowly starting to cover the peaks of the sierras. It's time to begin our descent.
We take the descent nice and easy. The climbing section wasn't as tricky as I'd feared despite my fear of heights — being up there, so full of happiness, seemed to make nothing bother me. Along the way we pick up our gear again, and as we head down we cross paths with other groups just starting their ascent. At an easy pace we make it back to where we'd left our backpacks. By then, other groups had also set up base there, leaving their own packs along their way up.
After some good sandwiches and fruit, resting and looking back at Cerro Tres Picos, the stories start pouring out from everyone. Happiness shows on every face, and as a farewell gift, a group of guanacos shows up close by, with cameras clicking away nonstop to capture them.
Backpacks on our shoulders, we start the slow walk back, retracing our steps — since it's downhill and rocky, we need to be careful. The fatigue, the heat, and the eagerness to get there make this stretch feel never-ending, with almost no breaks. Far off in the distance we can see our destination, “La Glorieta,” which seems to never get any closer no matter how fast we walk — we're running late. Once we get there, we drop our packs to sit and rest while the 4x4 trucks are already waiting to take us back to the terminal.
Once we unload all the gear, we settle in to wait for the bus and take the chance to clean up, put on fresh clothes, and rehydrate with flavored water... and best of all, some cold beers and pizza, along with stories and anecdotes as we go through the photos.
The trip back… a long ride where tiredness and sleep won out.
My thanks to Fernando Robledo from Argentina Extrema – AEX, who showed his mettle as a group leader by keeping his instructions precise and to the point. In this kind of experience, nothing can be left to chance — our safety and wellbeing are in his hands, and that's exactly how it played out: nothing improvised, always with a close eye on every detail.
To David Werner (Ioda) — beyond his broad experience and skill, he's an inspiration, a born motivator, who knows how to give you strength, how to draw energy out of you that you didn't even know you had.
To Jesica Porreca (Jesi) from AEX, who we all drove a little crazy with our questions, I have nothing but gratitude for her dedication — always looking out for our wellbeing. Her background as a naturalist adds real value for the whole group.
