Sarah and me in the crowd waiting for the start of the K42 Salomon Adventure Marathon.

I’ve now been running just over half my life.  Well, that’s if you count as running the two laps I would jog around Curtis Park in Sacramento with my sweet, now deceased Labrador in the early 1990s.  Although my running has increased from this early start, I can honestly say that I’ve never contemplated writing a race report. It seems somewhat absurd, given my running abilities, to subject others to stories of how many power gels I consumed along the race course or what my mile splits were. However, I realized while running the Salomon K42 Adventure Marathon in Patagonia, there’s a first time for everthing and I should write about why this race was so great, and since I haven’t written a blog post yet, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.

To give away the ending, I did not win the race, which was done by some guy who never runs mountains and did this insane course is 3:07.  But I am happy to say that I was just about average.  Before this race began, in a fit of inner geek escaping out, I took last year’s race results, imported them to Excel and determined the average finish time of all runners together was about 5:15.  Therefore, I am close to average — not really the stuff of a great race report.

But as you can probably tell, my placing in this race had nothing to do with why I wanted to make this my first race report, and first blog post.  What made this race great was that I enjoyed it more than any other marathon I have ever done.  I’ve now done six marathons since my first in 2005, and all have been different, with some more difficult than others.  I remember being so dehydrated and lacking electrolytes in Vermont that I was not sure I could finish the last 500 feet of the race.

But this marathon gave me a number of firsts: (1) I have never done a marathon, or any run in my life, that had over 10,000 feet in vertical gain and loss (or “an accumulated unevenness of 3,100m,” as the Babelfish translation of the Salomon race FAQ page states); and (2) I have never been on my feet for a single run lasting almost five and a half hours; and (3) this run was the first real trail run that I have done since breaking my big toe in August.

Beyond the statistics of running more elevation and for longer on my feet than I ever have, this race really reminded me of why I love running: being able to run though some of the most beautiful places on earth, with other people who share the same passion, energy and excitement about the event and the feeling of tremendous personal accomplishment for finishing the race.

The view of the start line and Lake Espejo, which is one of seven lakes in the region (click to enlarge).

This event, in particular, removed any competitive aspect very early on and allowed me to purely enjoy the personal aspects of it.  It began with us all huddled in the cold morning air by Lago Espejo (“Mirror Lake”) waiting for the start. The lake is about three miles from the little ski resort town of Villa La Angostura. It’s off a street called Siete Lagos because there are seven lakes, this being the lake district in the Andes foothills, and the border to Chile is just 26 miles east. Sarah and I moved up as close as we could to the starting line, but there was still about fifty feet packed with runners in front of us. Sarah commented that it would be a slow start, and she was right.

Starting off on a tight dirt road, the 1200 marathoners and the 800 15K runners were forced like water into a funnel. There was little or no running on this road, only moving the same jumpy-walk/jog with the crowd. The conditions only got more compacted as the road gave way to a small dirt trail where the runners further compressed and slowed. I quickly realized that large sections of this race would be run at whatever pace everyone else was going, since passing anyone on these narrow trails was not possible.

Runners funnelling onto the dirt road right after the start (photo courtesy of the race website).

After the first mile of running, mostly up a pretty steep single-track hill, the course did mercifully open up to more of a wide trail where two could run alongside each other, and it felt a bit less claustrophobic.  At this early stage I still had some vague idea that maybe I could do this course in the 4:30 that I ran the Catalina Island Marathon in a few years ago.  After all, they both have what looks like two major uphill climbs, the biggest being about 2000 feet from bottom to top. I quickly realized that the elevation chart on the website was quite misleading, in that it only showed the big highs and lows.

The elevation profile shows what appears to be a smooth course with two major hills.

What it failed to indicate is that almost no single stretch of this course was flat.  Unlike Catalina, or any other race I have ever done, this course was always either going uphill or downhill, rolling hills, straight up, or straight down the sides of mountains. With the combination of realizing that I was on the hilliest course I have ever seen, including more single track where you can’t pass, I soon gave up any real care about time.

After realizing that I would finish at precisely the moment that I finished (whenever that would be), I started taking in the scenery and taking pictures. The other thing I could concentrate on was the wonderful crowd that came to watch and cheer the runners.  Much of the early part of this race was along rolling dirt roads with picturesque houses where the owners, their kids and their big dogs would sit in the front cheering.  Knowing almost no Spanish, I don’t really know if they were cheering me or telling me that my pants were on fire.  However, I did keep hearing the word “chica,” so they might have been telling me that I run like a girl.

Early in the race with Lake Nahuel Huapi in the background.

Of course the most amazing aspect of this race is the location, which was confirmed at almost every turn.  Other than a 100-yard stretch along the highway that leads to town, this course was along dirt roads with views of the snow-capped mountains and beautiful Lake Nahuel Huapi. The single track and trails were through dense forested regions, with mountain streams that were luminescent blue from glacial runoff.  All the trees were heavy with green moss from the constant rain and snow that blanket this area for most of the year.  This area has the feeling of Alaska with the wild undeveloped rainforests that are simply stunning.

The forest surrounding a major uphill section of the course.

One of the big features of this race that concerned both Sarah and me greatly in light of the cold weather and snow leading up to the race was the riving crossing at Mile 8.  We had visions of waist-deep glacial water and stepping on a rolling submerged rock, only to float down the river and arrive at Lake Nahuel Huapi days later.  The anticipation of this moment was only heightened by the fact that we ran near the river for quite some time and could hear the sound of the rushing water, while climbing a steep hill before the crossing.  I also heard shouts up ahead of me, and had visions of people taking the aforementioned headfirst accidental plunge into the unforgiving spring runoff river.  Of course, the shouts were in Spanish so I have no idea what they were saying.  Perhaps, “Oh for God’s sake help me,” or maybe “I’m being swept away.”

Runners behind me crossing the river.

As I turned the corner on the trail, I saw a line of people, some splashing through and some tip-toeing, through an ankle-deep stream.  It was not exactly the terrify-me-to-my-core river crossing I feared and kinda hoped for.  Nonetheless, it was fun to jump into the river and feel some measure of being an Adventure Sports person.

After that river crossing we started our first major hill, where the 15K runners split off toward town and their finish.  The entire hill was basically un-runnable single track that just went up and up through a dense forest of primarily straight pine like trees with no sun breaking through the canopy.  It was quite fun to get to the top and do a nice downhill all the way back toward town, although some of the runners around me insisted on doing crazy-man-losing-total-control running on the downhills, with arms flying in all directions and legs pumping into the air.  I named one guy “The Bombadier” since he would always bomb down the hills like crazy, only for me to repeatedly pass him on the uphills.

After running above town on trails, we hit the main highway for about 100 yards and then quickly turned off onto a dirt road that started up the ski mountain Cerro Bayo.

"Runners" ahead of me climbing mud- and snow-covered ground.

We hit a section that was steeper and muddier than the famed connector at the fire trails above UC Berkeley.  Many sections required holding onto plant life to climb up the unstable, muddy trail.  However, numerous more macho men than myself were determined to get up these sections without using the brush and would attack the hills like trying to climb a vertical slippery slide, only to turn all those around them into bowling pins as they inevitably slid back into the others.

Mud on the steep climb up Cerro Bayo.

Early on the climb up this hill I searched for a walking stick to help with the straight-up march. I wanted one that was really light and small, and I was lucky to find one just the right size, and as this climb intensified, I was so happy to have my little stick that I started having thoughts of wanting to keep it forever.  “I could pack it in my suitcase and bring it home,” I thought.

View from the top (almost) of Cerro Bayo.

As we approached the top I was extremely excited to emerge from the trail onto a runnable dirt road that looked like a Cat track for the ski area, until I immediately realized we still had a long trek up through the mud and snow before we could come down again.  When we finally reached the top of Cerro Bayo, I really was attached to my little stick and did not want to discard it, but I started having visions of Tom Hanks in Cast Away with his soccer ball that he named and would talk to.  I decided the little stick made it all the way to the top of Cerro Bayo from the bottom and that it should rest there, so I sadly discarded it.

Soon after I let go of my stick, we started on the downhill, which consisted of running down a ski run on loose-pack, large-grain sand and rock. I heard a guy shout “SHIT,” and hearing English, I asked what happened.  He said as soon as he started down and hit this loose sand, both his shoes entirely filled with the pebbles and sand, and he could not run.

The ski "run" down Cerro Bayo.

(I later learned that this also repeatedly happened to Sarah.)  I took to surfing down the sand as best I could, while “Bombadier” flew by me.

The run down was silly and fun, and a really nice break from the monotony of the climb up Cerro Bay.

I’ve never run down a ski run before (another first). After reaching the bottom of the Cerro Bayo trail, we were dropped right back on the highway, which was the only miserable part of run (and luckily it only lasted a few hundred yards). It was bright, dusty from cars flying by, and exhaust filled the air.  Mercifully, this stretch was over quickly, and we went back to a beautiful dirt road and then a trail above town.  I could hear the blare of the loudspeakers at the finish line in town and was very happy to see the 40K marker, which meant I only had a little over a mile to go.

The final half mile was on the main street of the little town of Villa La Angostura, which we have made home for the last week.  The crowd was wonderful and still relatively excited and cheerful even though the elite runners had finished over two hours before.  Little kids loved to stand in the street so they could get “low fives” as you ran by to their extreme pleasure and giggles.  I got lots of cheers, and as I ran down the chute to grab my 5:20 finishing time, I heard my name being shouted. I was so happy to see Sarah right past the finish line, who was calling my name and smiling.

Me finishing the race with a big smile.

I told her I enjoyed this race more than any I have ever done, and she was just so happy to see I had not bonked, quit or died on that difficult course.  We both talked about how we really wildly underestimated the course and the need for calories (I had four “GUs” with 100 calories each, and she had five, to put in some obligatory race report information).

Although Sarah had a difficult race, with about eight stops along the way to fix shoe and sock problems, she still managed to pull off a win in her age division and tenth female overall.  She found this fact out by hearing her name repeatedly shouted over the loudspeaker while waiting and worrying about me.  She said it sounded like “Saaarrraaaaah Smeeeeeeeth,” “Saaarrraaaaah Smeeeeeeeth!”  I’m sure that in her catastrophizing she assumed she was being summoned to be informed that I had careened off the side of a hill or worse, but she was happily surprised to find out the insistent calling was to get her to the awards podium. With that, the race was over.

Well, I didn’t win my division (I was 70th out of 171 in the men’s 40 – 44 group), but this moment in Patagonia is one that I will always remember and cherish for how lucky I am to be able to run a course like that (at all), and to be in a place as beautiful and different as here. Events and times like these are what I dearly hoped my year-away trip would provide, and this, so far, was one of the best.  This event really put us into the life of this small town, and we were surrounded by people from Argentina and across South America (I think there were only two or three other Americans total). Even though I can’t really speak to the Latin Americans and don’t understand what they say, I have a much better understanding of this part of the world than I did before.  Mostly, I am comfortable here even with the language barrier, and events like the 42K just deepen that level of comfort and the realization that although there are major differences between different parts of the word, there are even more similarities.

Related posts:

1. Welcome to Patagonia, Where Paradise Packs a Punch
2. Gnome, Sweet Gnome In Villa La Angostura
3. Branching Out on Lago Nahuel Huapi

Arriving at our cabaña, we discovered that "los gnomos" are part of its charm.

Our arrival to Villa La Angostura, about an hour north of Bariloche, set the tone for a wacky week. Driving the windy road on the shores of Lago Nahuel Huapi thrilled us with views of snow-capped Patagonian peaks but made poor Kyle throw up all over himself in the car. When we eventually reached our cabaña complex, called Guardianes del Bayo, we probably looked as bad as we smelled because an icy rain and wind left us bedraggled and shivering.

The living room decor includes antlers and this little gnome.

As we unloaded our belongings and cleaned up the mess, my eyes took in a babbling brook that cut through a well-kept lawn and a cluster of wood cabins, flowing past a play structure and under several arched footbridges. Then my ears caught a tune from long ago that was piped in from speakers somewhere — The Carpenters’ “Top of the World.” Karen Carpenter’s saccharine voice singing “I’m on the top of the world, lookin’ down on creation …” floated through the breeze and became a tape loop in my brain.

Then I began to notice pointy red hats on little bearded figurines inside and outside our cabaña. And then the sign with our cabaña’s name: Los Gnomos.

With a mix of shock and awe — uh-oh and oh, wow! — we realized we had booked ourselves into some kind of fairy-tale lodge where everything seems a little bit off.

It’s not just our cabaña — these wooden creatures are everywhere. Just as varnished burl bear carvings decorate the landscape in the backwoods of Northern California, so do fanciful carvings of mythical spirits on these roadways.

I met this elf on the main road into Villa La Angostura.

Morgan did "I'm a Little Teapot" by this wood carving.

This part of Patagonia has a distinctive, Disneyland-esque style of mountain architecture that I hereby dub Gnome Home. We got our first hint of it in Bariloche, at a restaurant called Tarquino that we nicknamed the Hobbit Hole, which has an exterior that belies a surprisingly sophisticated menu.

Tarquino restaurant in Bariloche is a prime example of "Gnome Home" style.

But Gnome Home truly flourishes in this smaller, quainter tourist hamlet of Villa La Angostura. Large, heavily lacquered logs, all gnarled and knotted, frame every door and window, and over-sized, lumpy-looking rocks form the foundations and chimneys. Some of the dimensions of doorways and furniture seem designed for trolls — low and wide — while other doorways and stairways seem unnaturally narrow.

The kids are enchanted by the place and seem more elfin with each passing day. All they want to do is read, play make-believe and run around. They’re probably inspired in part because Morgan is reading The Hobbit to Kyle and helping both kids draw hobbit-like creatures. Another book we’re reading together, Lois Lowry’s classic The Giver, motivated them to spend hours creating a fictional community. They seem to have moved past their homesickness — at least for the time being — and Morgan observed the other day that it’s been weeks since we’ve heard either of them complain, “I’m bored.”

The kids are having fun just being kids, especially when playing outside this kid-friendly cabaña complex.

But just as every fairy tale has something frightening, so too did our week. We had to cope with a dental emergency when a crown on one of Morgan’s molars popped off, leaving the tooth underneath painfully exposed. We had no choice but to seek treatment — and very limited options. Hence we found ourselves two days in a row in a small office that specializes in cosmetic dentistry for the tourist trade. It had a waiting room decked out as though designed to appeal to twentysomethings from West LA. The kids and I spent a few hours sitting there on an oddly curved couch with faux fur trimmings, surrounded by neon accent lights and multiple video screens that played MTV videos from twenty years ago. We had noticed in Buenos Aires that American pop from the ’80s and early ’90s is big, playing on radios and in stores everywhere, but this dentist office showcased retro flashbacks as much as any late-night VHI marathon.

Video screens playing hits from the 1980s helped Morgan take his mind off his tooth pain and made the trip to the dentist slightly surreal.

Morgan, meanwhile, seemed to be disassociating while watching four music video screens that surrounded the dental chair. When the dentist (a fashionable and relatively young woman) prepped Morgan’s tooth, he discovered that she skimps on Novocain, and he later described the process as excruciating. The good news is that after back-to-back appointments, everything seems fine.

Perhaps you’re wondering, after all this, why we’re here as opposed to somewhere warmer and not quite so weird, such as Mendoza (where we’re headed next week). We came to Villa La Angostura, which has a population of around 7,000, for this weekend’s Salomon K42 trail marathon that traverses the town’s main peak, Cerro Bayo. Some 2000 runners and their families have arrived for the 42K and 15K races, so the town’s three-block center permeates an athletic vibe. We’re two of only three participants from the United States registered for it, but the event draws runners from all over South America.

To my dismay, I saw more fresh snow outside our window a few mornings ago (not what we need in advance of the trail marathon). The gnome on the windowsill seemed to mock me.

Earlier this week it seemed the weather would play a trick on us all, as fresh snow coated the ground and deepened the frigid knee-high river that runners have to cross, but the sun came out yesterday and everyone is cautiously optimistic it’ll hold. Nonetheless, I’m admittedly nervous about this event. But Morgan is game for it, and so am I. If I find myself plagued by doubt, exhaustion or hypothermia, I’ll just keep singing that Carpenters’ tune that’s been stuck in my head all week: I’m on the top of the world …

The shores of Lago Espejo by Villa La Angostura will be the starting area of Saturday's Salomon K42 trail marathon. I am dazzled each time I discover more peaks and lakes like this!

The marathon goes up and over this peak, called Cerro Bayo. We probably really will feel "on top of the world."

Related posts:

1. Welcome to Patagonia, Where Paradise Packs a Punch
2. When It Rains…
3. Branching Out on Lago Nahuel Huapi

Lago Nahuel Huapi, in the Andes foothills near Bariloche, as seen from our cabaña (click to enlarge).

Lake Nahuel Huapi spreads and branches out in all directions around this pocket of the Andes foothills of Patagonia, and its water has mesmerized us since we arrived a couple of weeks ago. Its surface changes almost hourly with the weather, from a glassy reflection to white-capped waves. It even harbors its own Nessie-like legend, and the kids are fascinated by the idea that maybe, just maybe, a plesiosaur-like creature whom locals call Nahuelito is lurking in the waters just off our cabaña’s deck. Nahuelito was caught on YouTube and the Sci Fi Channel, so it must exist, right? We all got a good laugh out of this clip, especially the music:

Click here to view the embedded video.

The lake dominates the center of Argentina’s oldest national park with the same difficult-to-pronounce name, Nahuel Huapi (try na-WHELL whoppy), which is a phrase from the indigenous people, the Mapuche,  meaning “island of the jaguars.” In the center of the lake sits a 12-mile-long finger of an island called Victoria.

Whoo-hoo, we're going on a boat ride! We were all smiles when we boarded the Cau Cau boat for Isla Victoria.

A few days ago, when the rain around Bariloche let up for a day, we jumped at an opportunity to board a boat for a day trip to Victoria. We didn’t research it much but simply wanted to get out on that water and see the views. One thing we did plan ahead and do right, however, is go on a day when an English-speaking guide was scheduled for the tour. Thanks to this wonderful guide and some good luck, we discovered a dream field trip for kids and grown-ups alike: visually stunning, physically active, and awash with interesting science and history lessons.

The six-hour tour is run by an outfit called Cau Cau and takes off from Pañuelo Port next to the Llao Llao hotel. We boarded a big, comfortable catamaran that can seat over 250, but on this off-season cloudy day we were joined by only about 50 other tourists. The guide, whose name I didn’t catch, translated everything for our family so we could hear about the history of Isla Victoria on the half-hour ride over.

Kyle didn't want to look up from the book he was reading on the Kindle, even when Morgan tickled his chin.

He told us it was this island, not the lake and surrounding park, that first had the “Nahuel Huapi” name, until it was changed to honor some pioneer named Victorica. Then the Europeans around here in the late 1800s confused Victorica with Victoria — or maybe decided that everything should be named Victoria — and the queen’s name stuck.

The island was severely deforested for timber, but then in the mid-1920s Argentina’s agricultural minister decided to turn it into an environmental laboratory of sorts by planting numerous exotic species and experimenting with forest management.

The guide tells Colly and Kyle about how a tree nicknamed "monkey tail" evolved.

We got to see, for example, 80-year-old sequoias that grow about 30 percent faster and bigger than their siblings in California because of environmental factors unique to the island (stuff like the soil, climate and dearth of threats to its growth). Seeing these giant redwoods, feeling their spongy bark and marveling at their size was like receiving a surprise gift from back home.

In another corner of the island, where pine were closely planted in perfect rows like in a tree farm, we saw how they grow straight, tall and virtually limbless to reach the sunlight. Standing in stark contrast to the uniform trees was a twisting, gnarled old pine with branches in all directions — one of the oldest trees on the island, having survived the previous century’s deforestation. We decided the old tree reminded us of Ed Asner’s character Carl in Pixar’s Up.

The giant trees made Kyle seem more impish than usual.

If my arms were big enough, I would have hugged this tree from home. It's one of many California sequoias planted on Isla Victoria. They're only 80 years old but grew faster than their California counterparts.

Then it was time to board the boat and head to a smaller island for a tour through Arrayanes National Park to explore an ancient grove of arrayán — a type of myrtle native to Argentina and Chile. Who knew that a bunch of myrtle trees would be worth writing home about? These cinnamon-colored species twist and embrace like dancers, their peeling bark creating a vibrant two-toned texture and pattern unlike anything I’d ever seen.

A pathway leads through the forest for about a half mile.

The arrayanes up close.

At Arrayanes National Park, with the Cau Cau catamaran in the background.

When we headed back to the port, the clouds began to lift and part as the sun went down and tinted the sky pink. With our heads lifted high to look at the sky, who knows if we might have missed a Nahuelito sighting?

These peaks are considered mere foothills in the Andes.

Lago Nahuel Huapi in the late afternoon light, as seen on the boat ride back.

Kyle kept a lookout for birds.

At last, a bit of blue sky!

Related posts:

1. Welcome to Patagonia, Where Paradise Packs a Punch
2. Gnome, Sweet Gnome In Villa La Angostura
3. 83 Places, 5 Continents, 10 Months

Our first view from the hotel by Lago Nahuel Huapi. We were struck dumb as we took in the view (which extended in all directions beyond this IPhone snapshot); all we could say was, "Wow."

Another shot of the lake from our first day near Bariloche.

I wish I knew what to call these beautiful creatures. They're everywhere.

The weather goes to extremes, too, like a toddler whose sunny disposition changes without warning to a tantrum. We arrived to an intensely blue sky and refused to believe forecasts that hinted at possible snow flurries. Snow? Slushy rain, maybe. But yesterday, we woke up to blizzard conditions and were transfixed as snow covered tulips and left white layers on all the trees.

It's spring down here. At least, we think it is! It's hard to tell.

When I woke and saw these snow-covered forests, I felt a split-second flutter of excitement about the onset of winter before remembering that this is an anomaly and summer is around the corner.

We heard the storm was called a nevada de tonto (or something like that), meaning a fool’s snowstorm, because it took everyone by surprise, and another person mentioned it snowed harder yesterday than any day in winter. Colly called it a “swinter wonderland” (for spring + winter).

We were enchanted — and woefully under-dressed. When it crossed my mind last week that I might need warmer clothes for Patagonia, I bought a pair of tights in Buenos Aires to wear under my sleeveless dress. A blizzard? So we piled on layers under our thin windbreakers and kept warm enough (sort of).

"Can you say, 'está nevando'?" "No, but we can say, 'We're freezing!'"

If you’re wondering where we are exactly, we’re about 1000 miles west of Buenos Aires, near the border of Chile, in the Rio Negro province on the Andean range. We’re in the midst of a vast national park called Nahuel Huapi (which I still can’t pronounce!), and the main town, Bariloche, is a ski destination. We spent part of the week about 13 miles west of Bariloche at the Llao Llao Hotel — which, like its surroundings, is over-the-top in scale and grandeur. (Pronounce it like Zsa Zsa’s name ending in “ow,” as in “Zsow Zsow.”) Opened in 1940 and rennovated in the early 1990s, it was reborn as a world-class hotel after being shuttered for lack of funds and neglect for nearly two decades, starting in the mid-1970s (not surprising, since that time coinscides with the country’s Dirty War). It reminded us of Yosemite’s Ahwahnee with rustic yet luxurious hunting-lodge architecture and decor.

The view of the back of Llao Llao and its grounds from our room. Believe it or not, we were in the most affordable "non-view" room. I'll take this view any day!

Click to enlarge and see Morgan's series on how the weather changed in four hours.

We went there because so many people recommended it, and we wanted a short stay in a hotel where the kids could swim in an incredible indoor-outdoor pool and do other activities organized by the hotel (it’s a very child-friendly resort) while we got the lay of the land and figured out longer-term accommodations. Getting the lowest-level room at off-season rates made Llao Llao almost reasonable in terms of cost — but still, I’m wincing at the bill. It was a guilty pleasure to be there for three days, but we were quite ready to leave, feeling bloated from the obscenely lavish breakfast buffets and gouged by prices for drinks and other services. Our happiest memories from the place involve swimming at the heated pool in the storm and eating dinners in the lounge, where we played nonstop games of Uno and five-card draw, using peanuts for poker chips.

The Llao Llao lounge, where we ate dinner a couple of times.

Affordable cabañas to rent are available all throughout the region — especially in these non-holiday spring months, when tourists are few and far between — so Morgan did a lot of research to sort through the options. We ultimately decided to stay close to Bariloche for a couple of weeks since the town, which some criticize as too touristy, has more to do than some of the more quaint and far-flung other towns. He found a cozy little place with a deck overlooking the lake. It’s part of the Villa Huinid hotel, so we have access to the hotel’s pool and gym, but it’s a separate condo-like one-bedroom cabin with a kitchen so we can cook meals. We adore it and are grateful to be in a place that feels like a home.

Morgan in our cabaña. The sofas in the background convert to beds for the kids.

My kitchen for the next two weeks.

The kids were thrilled to discover a play structure, chicken coop and several free-roaming dogs right outside our cabaña.

As for what we’re doing — besides transitioning, exploring and studying with the kids — we’ve spent a lot of time researching the area and deciding where to go from here. After much deliberation, we decided to stay in this region for almost a month and then drive up to Mendoza, rather than fly or take 18-hour bus rides on side excursions to places such as Iguazú Falls on the East Coast or El Calafate glacier down south. There is so much to see and do right around here, but it’s hard to tune out those who advise we can’t pass up the chance to see other parts of Argentina. Imagine being a foreign visitor to the United States and hearing people say, “You absolutely have to visit Yosemite and Niagara Falls and …” — which entails a lot of air travel and expense. We’ve decided to stick to our original plan of settling into a region and getting to know it. We plan to rent a car a few days from now for day trips, and in a couple of weeks move to a cabaña about an hour away near a town called Villa La Angostura. We recently signed up to run a trail marathon near there on November 14.

Speaking of running, Morgan and I got in one good run before the weather turned. We headed out on a trail that passed through a tunnel of bamboo, fern and cypress tress. Slowly we climbed as the vegetation thinned and the lakes came into view. I’m at a loss for words to adequately describe the feeling of being up there and taking in that view — feeling so small, so remote, so full of life and gratitude, disbelieving where we were and what we were seeing. Thankfully, Morgan brought his camera.

Morgan and I went on one trail run before the stormy weather hit. It started with a couple of miles through thick bamboo.

We made it to the top of one of the peaks.

This is heaven! (in spite of the cold)

Morgan's pano from our trail run (click to enlarge).

Related posts:

1. Branching Out on Lago Nahuel Huapi
2. Gnome, Sweet Gnome In Villa La Angostura
3. A Mountain Marathon in Patagonia That’s Way Above Average