As many of you may know I had a very unique opportunity to spend some time on an authentic Patagonia sheep farm. I just got back from this other-worldly experience and the next two posts will be an attempt at me trying to convey just how unreal it was. The first post, this one, is simply a modified version of a daily journal I kept while down on the farm. It's probably going to be long. Next week I will try to post something much more concise, as well as a few words on my side trips to Chalten and El Calafate.
To give you an idea of just how remote this place actually was, I'm posting the directions, taken directly from Mapquest:
-Arrive at Buenos Aires airport, get on flight without ever having had your passport checked.
-Fly to Rio Gallegos, the capital of the San Juan province, though rather small in size.
-Refuse to get a hotel for the night (240 reasons why)
-Immediately regret decision as you arrive at the bus terminal to spend the night
-7AM, take overcrowded shuttle to Gobernador Gregores (pop: 5,000), 8 hours away
-Call Marcelo, the farmer cousin of your friend, and hope he picks up as there is poor cell phone reception
-Spend the night with Marcelo and fam as your trip has exceeded 17 hours thus far
-Next afternoon, leave for the farm in a farm truck (5 ton Mercedes like a dump truck but without dumping capabilities)
-2/3 of the way stop to dig our way out of the mud
-3/4 of the way stop to dump some load as the truck won't make it up a hill
-72 miles, 2500 ft in elevation, and 8 hours later...arrive
DAY 1
I awoke with stiff/sore shoulders and back. The terrain we went through was type they use to sell hundreds of thousands of jeeps and trucks. We made it all the way in the behemoth, of course we did it without the XTerra first aid kit. The problems that we encountered with the truck the day before seemed to continue on today, something electrical. It wasn't the battery, but for some reason giving it a jump seemed to get it started. The problem with this method is that there were no jumper cables on the farm; thus, makeshift ones were needed. An old wire, exposed on both ends, was used and did the trick. The wire, however, was short and we had to removes the batteries (2) from the other truck in order to make the jump work. This process was repeated three times throughout the day. I also learned my first two lessons through our morning ordeal:
1) You're not always...check that, better said: you're rarely going to have what you need when something goes wrong so you better be prepared to make due.
2) Things go wrong frequently
Once the truck was finally in position we began to shovel gravel out that was to be used for a bridge. Upon first glance it hardly looked like 13,000 lbs but my back soon corrected my eyes err in judgment. 3 men, one boy, 3 shovels and 2 hours of grueling work while the wind whipped dust and rocks in our eyes was an appropriate welcome to life on the farm.
As we finished up, some men came by the farm, which is surprising given it's distance from EVERYTHING. They were part of a group that looks for new ways that that Argentina can invest and these in particular had a proposal to build export facilities in Gobernador Gregores (the closest town). We toured the facilities and I listened as they discussed various aspects of farming i knew nothing about, then we ate lunch. I mistakenly took a siesta after lunch, figuring that was the norm, but awoke to find that I had missed loading the wool in the truck. I would soon get my comeuppance.
In the late afternoon we went down to the lower farm to visit the grandmother and Marcelo's other son. We took two trucks and Marcelo and I went to unload the wool along the way. We currently had about 1/7 of their 77,000 lbs loaded up in 26 stacks of 450 lbs apiece. We made it to the unloading zone (a plateau near the lake) around sunset and fought forty mph wind as we tried our best to hurl these stacks out of the truck. It literally looked like something you'd see on a World's Strongest Man competition, except there were two of us and it was freezing cold. As luck would have it, the truck broke down again and we had to wait longer enough until our presence was missed (no forms of communication exist here). About an hour and a half later we were picked up and taken back to the lower farm. I'm not sure why but Marcelo's brother, Noni, decided to bring the two children, Fran (10) and Gero (5), as well as their cousin with him. That meant our half hour ride back to the lower farm was six people in a single truck cab, all the while covering mountain terrain in unpaved road at night exceeding the maximum safe speed by at least 10 mph. Quite the adventure.
As we neared the house they spotted a fox off in the distance. The truck stopped and Nonie stepped out, aimed, and fired a shot. he missed, but he and fran went out night hunting to try and get him as they kill the chickens. I stayed in and afforded myself a bath in what was probably the smallest tub I have ever used. Rinsing myself involved putting my body in yoga positions that I'll save you from in their description, just know they were none too comfortable.
DAY 2
Even more sore, this time lower in the back and in some muscles I didn't even know I had. Keeping in mind that I'd been swimming and lifting consistently I found it quite humbling. The morning started off slow and I could tell that it was going to be a "dia tranquilo," so I decided to venture out a bit to get to know the place and take some pictures. Marcelo offered me his truck but I preferred to walk. The house was about a mile away from Lake Cardiel so I walked down there, admiring the scenery along the way. I must have meandered for about three hours, as when I returned it was lunch time. Noni had gone into town (3 hour trip, minimum) to get the necessary parts to repair the truck, leaving us stuck at the lower farm until he returns. I caught up on some reading, writing, and necessary terminology I'm not quite accustomed to while Marcelo played with his children. I also managed to fit in a small hike with the two boys and catch up with Ursula (the grandmother) about a variety of topics, ranging from European travel to Obama's childhood.
As early afternoon passed into late afternoon I started to realize we wouldn't be heading back to the other farm this evening. Apparently Noni had to go to Piedra Buena, another 3.5 hours further, to get the necessary parts and we wouldn't be expecting him until tomorrow. We knew this because he sent us a message over AM radio once he arrived into town and found he needed to venture on further. He also mentioned Marcelo's girlfriend would be coming with another truck but I knew we wouldn't be leaving at least until tomorrow.
As I felt I hadn't earned my keep for the day, I went looking for something to do. The task at hand was cleaning and organizing the big truck...not a necessary task, but since we had down time. Marcelo's gf arrives around 9pm in time for dinner. After dinner Ursula shared some of her homemade cherry liquor. Not only was it delicious, but you also pick out the cherries on the bottom of the glass with a toothpick. Alcoholic and interactive? My kind of drink. I then headed to bed early as I was under the impression we would be rising rather early the following morning.
DAY 3
Let me explain something about Rooster's, they're not exact. In fact, they may be down right stupid. Sun up was probably around 6:30, though this one started crowing at 5AM. Not once, not twice, but probably closer to 30 times until I finally got up at 6:45. I dressed, I packed, and made my way to the main room to find it desolate. I then laid back down until 8:15, when I heard the first sounds of others awake. After a light breakfast Marcelo and I loaded up the small truck with supplies (110 lb bag of flour, onions, potatoes, and 5 large wooden posts at about 50 lbs each). We made our way back to La Angelina (the upper farm) with the three adults in the front and the two kids in the back. Thanks to fighting and elevation -it got much colder as we went along- the kiddos made their way up front so I volunteered to sit in the bed. Bumpy as hell and ever colder as we climbed, but I stilled imagined it more comfortable than five in a single cab. After we arrived and unloaded the aforementioned items (plus 10 110lb bags of cement) it was time for lunch. After that, the real show began. The chileans (aka gauchos, horsemen, cowboys) had rounded up all the wild horses -close to 100- from the countryside and the day's task was castrating and branding all those that needed it.
I'll spare the details for those with a week stomach for now, but will include a detailed section at the bottom for the curious. More than anything else, watching the cowboys work was spectacular. Corralling horses is an art form more than anything. In the corral there were probably 30-40 horses, but in order to accomplish your objective you need to isolate individual horses. The four gauchos work together, one working to keep the group together, the other to draw out an individual horse, and two more with lassos ready to bring him (or her) down. Believe it or not, cowboys don't lasso horses around the head or neck, these animals are way too big for that. The lassos are actually thrown in hopes of hooking the two front legs, using the animals momentum (he's running at the time) to help bring him down. Again, here things rarely go to plan and improvisations are often used.
This lasted for about four hours today. Oddly enough, watching castrations can get a little old. Fortunately, there were a few things that kept me entertained. The first was one of the gaucho's, who has apparently had an aneurysm or stroke. He could still get the job done, though a little slower than others, but the part I enjoyed was his haunting and inappropriate laugh. It was the kind of laugh that haunts dreams and he often belted it when the fight against a horse was lost. It didn't really seem like he was laughing at the gaucho's though, more at the respect to the power of the horse, a power of nature kind of thing. The second was that during the last hour Marcelo brought out three bottles of champagne and they just started bucking them during the work. There's very little booze on the farm, which is surprising because there's little else to do, but I guess four hours of castration was taking it's tole on the gaucho's too.
DAY 4
It's amazing how much you sleep here. This is due in part by the weather conditions, in conjunction with the fact that there's nothing else to do. We ate last night around 9:30 and I doubled up on my pasta plate, not because I was hungry but because I was cold and it was hot. I'd imagine I was in bed around 10:30 and got up around 9. I awoke at 8, but everyone seems to get off to a late start around here so I stayed warm in bed. As cool as it was yesterday I guess I hadn't realized how exposed I was to the elements as I was surprised to find myself both sun and wind burned. Upon venturing out I found the gauchos at it again, finishing up work left undone yesterday. I resumed my post as "keeper of the brand," even though I started to tire of my rather simple job. It certainly didn't involve much skill or activity, and watching the horses loses its luster after awhile. It may not have been glamorous or noteworthy, but it's what needed to be done and I guess that's what I signed up for.
The job was finished just before noon and we headed back down to the lower farm, Dos Hermanos. The principle reason I would guess is to arrange transportation (as Noni was back by now). It makes perfect sense though, that if you travel hours to a place, you may as well have multiple reasons to go, so an asado (barbecue) was also arranged. Much like our night adventures, on our trip down Marcelo stop to try to shoot a Gaunaco (cousin of a llama), but couldn't bring him down. I really enjoyed my fist day at Dos Hermanos, but the second trip is starting to wear on me. As this is the winter farm for all the animals and it's currently summer, there's not much to be done. As I've already seen all that needs to be seen down here and got pretty roughed up by the elements yesterday, I'll be staying in unless I'm needed. After the truck ride down (I was in the bed again), it probably took me three hours alone to warm up. This leaves me inside reading, writing, and talking with Ursula, all of which I enjoy but feel I could be making better use of my time.
DAY 5
Every time I wake up a wave of guilt passes over me. I feel I've slept too late, that I'm delaying work that needs to be done. My guilt is starting to seem pointless though, for without fail the fay is at least an hour from being started.My general plan is that if I don't hear anyone stirring I go back to sleep. Upon the first voices, however, I get up. A little something to drink, some light conversation and a bit of reading is usually how I pass the first hour of or so.
There was actually a little bit of worked to do after that as we loaded up the big truck. It appears as if the lower farm not only serves its winter function, but is also used as a dropping off point for supplies since it's much easier to access. Marcelo and the kids put a few tons of sand/rock mixture in the truck yesterday and today we added 15 more posts (5-75lbs, 10-50lbs), a carnillera (what they strong up dead animals on to drain the blood), a barrel of gas, and a dead guanaco (Noni had succeeded in bringing one down to feed the dogs).
The day got more or less interesting as it went along. I mean this in the most literal of manners. Less interesting because it rained and there's not a whole hell of a lot to do on a farm in the rain. More interesting in that a 3 hour journey in a 5 ton truck along unpaved roads in the rain can be quite interesting. We made most of the trip unmolested but knew we were in trouble as we neared our destination. The road became slightly less rocky (meaning more muddy). Up ahead there was the slightest of hills, similar to ones we pass by on a daily basis and probably don't even press harder on the accelerator. This hill was only about 50 ft long with an incline of around 10%, and it took use a half hour to reach the summit. It was a new experience for me, moving so slow that you have to look out the side windows because looking out the front window gave the appearance of being at a dead stop. Even then our pace was so slow I had to mark an object outside to make sure it was changing positions in my line of site.
DAY 6
This morning we worked with the mares, more trimming, branding and castrations (for the stallions left over). I guess I've neglected to mention the trimming thus far as it's been over-shadowed by the larger more permanent trim. No matter the horse, each one get's a hair cut on the mane and the tail, and I now know (or can at least infer) what "two bit" means in that old song "shave and a hair cut, two bit." Have a seat, we'll take care of all that extra facial hair, and while I've got the razor out...
I found morning an odd choice for this activity as I usually like to do my castrating after lunch, but I didn't have much choice in the matter. The corral was still rather muddy from the rain the other day, which proved to be an added obstacle in the work ahead. The lassos became heavier, making them harder to throw and giving them less bounce. There was also a bit more slippage, among both horses and gauchos. I'd guess that these factors added extra risk, though you never would have known it by the way these men handled themselves: business as usual. One of the major setbacks was the loss of Achilles' (what a cool name huh?) pen knife, which was used to do the dirty work (pun intended). It probably disappeared somewhere in the mud, leaving him to resort to a blade that measured approximately 10" to perform this surgery.
After lunch we were readying to leave. I had packed up, cleaned up, and was now wearing my travel clothes in place of my farming clothes. Sandals instead of boots, linens instead of jeans, and only a t-shirt and sweatshirt. Where I ran into problems was my final task on the farm: helping Marcelo take out the trash. As I mentioned before, they burn everything, but that which cannot be burned must be thrown away. When I first saw the basural (cracked earth where Marcelo dumps his trash) I initially thought it repulsive, but revisiting the idea I now realize that it's no worse than a dump. But I digress, back to my problem. After we loaded all three 70-80 lb barrels into the truck I discovered Marcelo's method for emptying them: hurling them from the truck and letting the trash fling out as it tumbles down the crevice. Not too bad of an idea, except for the retrieval part. If you're wondering what doesn't burn, a good sampling would be: glass bottles, metal wires, sheep hooves, and compost. If you're wondering what this combination feels like beneath (and on top of) your practically bare feet, the answer is not pleasant.
The deed was done, however, and I was re-washed and ready to go. I said my good-byes and Marcelo and I made our way out. My next destination: Chalten and El Calafate, which, due to my current location of BFE, was rather hard to get to. Imagine for a second a map that's like a clock face and I'm currently at the 12. I'm trying to get to 9 but the only known route is by going clock-wise. Marcelo and I weren't having it though, and he took me to what would have been the center of the clock. From there he was willing to go half way to the nine and leave me to hitch the rest of the way (an idea I was pumping myself up for). As luck would have it, this plan was unnecessary. At the center we came across a tour bus heading to Chalten and they agreed to let me tag along. It wasn't exactly hitchhiking in that I wasn't on the road with a thumb, but it was a free and unknown ride for multiple hours. I'd say all in all it was a fitting end to an experience unlike any other.
NOT FOR THE WEEK OF STOMACH
Horse castration is surprisingly simple. The hardest part is getting the animal down (which I previously described). From there, the gauchos use a long leather strap that they wrap around the horse to pin it's hind leg up. The two front legs are already tied up from the lasso, and there are usually two gauchos pinning the horse down: one at the neck, the other on the body. The entire operation only takes about thirty seconds if the horse is behaving, which surprisingly occurs more often than not. Four quick snips with a pen knife, pour some salt in the wound, and let him up. The salt I guess is meant to disinfect but to me it seems more like adding insult to injury. Another surprising element is that the horse just gets up and walks off. I only saw one walk kind of gingerly and none of them made any whimpers or anything of the like.
As my hidden random thought of the week, I think I now know the worst thing that can happen to a man. Generally, when the gauchos would discard the horse testes, they would just throw them to the nearest open location. I'm not sure if this particular event was just a matter of chance in that the nearest location was close to the horses head, or if it was done on purpose since the horse was acting up a bit. I guess it's really not important as I would imagine getting hit in the face with your own testicle has the same effect, regardless of intent.
