November 8, 2016
Reflection: Lago Posadas Route 2010
Toward the end of 2009, I had set my sights on a certain remote route-detour; something that was neither Caretera Austral nor Route 40 but a road somewhere in-between. Located in northwest Santa Cruz Provence-Argentina, to the south of the second largest lake in South America: Lago Buenos Aires; namely, a local provincial road from the lakeshore town Los Antiquas, south through the cordillera to the village and lake Lago Posadas; and thereafter east, out to Route 40 and the road-junction village Bajo Caracoles. I didn't quite know what to expect in regard to road conditions. And I may have chickened out of it altogether if not for an old friend, a local tour-guild who was in a hostel in San Martin de Los Andes the same night as me.
Daniel a tour-guide from Baraloche who I first met in 2004. He gave me a lift late one afternoon when I'd overshot my my destination for that day, Casa Piedra, an estancia doing tours to the World Heritage Cueva de Los Manos hand-print cave. There was no body about at the farm. I was new to Patagonia then and didn't know this was normal: a farmhouse without a soul anywhere to be seen: the front door unlocked, but after opening the door and calling into an old fashion parlour: Anyone home? There came no reply. My naivety then stretched to me not camping out along the road, so when at five o'clock I found no one about at Casa Piedra, I rode on determine to reach Baja Caracoles by nightfall, another fifty kilometres on.
The wind as always was a problem, and I think I'd only covered fifteen K by seven when along come Daniel in a white mini-bus and stopped. He had only two excursion tour-goers, so he easily fitted my bike in between the seats and I got in and we moved on. Even in a vehicle it was slow going but I was glad not to be riding any more that day: the day was already long enough as I looked out at the loose dusty road stretch ahead over a vast vista. Daniel would lift his right-arm off the steering and point to things and tell me and the other two about them; such as the snow streaked peak of Cerro San Lorenzo, the highest mountain in Patagonia. Or at herds of retreating Guanacos, or flamingos taking flight.
Anyhow, after six years he had filled out somewhat and I didn't fully recognize him when he stepped into the hostel commom-room and shouted my name, though I knew we'd met somewhere before. It took a few seconds until it donned on me it was Daniel who'd given me a lift six years earlier. He still had the same crop hairstyle and unshaven face close to a goatie beard. "Sean! You come back to Patagonia."
Once we had eaten together and cleared the dishes, I spread my map of Santa Cruz out on the dinner table between us and pointed to Route 41, as the road is designated. Over the years Daniel had got to drive about every road in Patagonia through work, and if anyone should know the condition of a road he should. Therefore when he said the road is in good condition, I took his word for it. He was even enthusiastic about it, saying, it is a very worthwhile alternative to Route 40, and expressed what an unworldly place Lago Posadas is. He then switched on his camera and showed me a photo on the back of it; showing the lake with an oblong rock with a hole through, a semetrical natural arch in the water.
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