a ghost story in patagonia

E and I arrived in San Carlos de Bariloche bursting at the seams to get into the mountains. As quick as we could, we located a hostel that would let us drop our unnecessary things, repacked for a thru-hike, bought the best map we could find, picked out the easiest trailhead to get to, and caught the bus that would bring us there. We arrived at the trailhead ill-prepared, with only a couple of hours of light. We picked a spot just off the trail to spend our first night. As the sun went down we could hear coyotes howling close by. We brought our things into the tent and hoped we wouldn't have any trouble. The theme of the next couple days of the trip was 'we bit off more than we could chew'. We completely overestimated our abilities and pace. We also overestimated how much food we needed - i was carrying a bag of apples and avocadoes - pretty heavy backpacking food. It took us another day and a half to reach the Refugio Frey, where we'd set up camp for a day to hang out around the alpine lake and watch the rock climbers on Cerro Catedral. From Refugio Frey we figured we could make the trek all the way to Refugio Lynch on the other side of the ridge in one day, so we set off in the morning just after dawn. The climb up to the ridge was delightful - there were large white and pink round berries that tasted the way strawberries smell. The rocks were fun to clamber up and over. The views were spectacular. The ridge /was/ steep, and it did take us longer than expected to summit it. Once we were there, the trail to Refugio Lynch revealed itself as a several kilometer long 1' wide scree path on a steep sloping mountainside, interspersed with unmarked boulder fields on cliff sides to navigate. Needless to say, by the time we got back over the ridge to the front side of the mountain, we were seriously behind schedule. The sun was setting, and the sky lit up in its oranges and purples and blues. Mountain ridges far to the west cast shadows on the clouds closer to us. It was one of the most beautiful and iconic sunsets I had ever seen. Now that the sun was down, it was getting cold, fast. We pulled out our head lamps and found the lift that was supposed to be running to take us down. It wasn't running. There was a sign that Refugio Lynch was closed. I started to get nervous, partially because there really was nowhere to pitch a tent. The ground was all coarse 1-3" sharp rock, with scarcely any flat spots. We were on the slopes of a ski hill during the summer, and no one was in sight. We had no cell service.

I spotted a building in the distance and suggested we go towards it. It turned out to be the ski patrol/mountain ops shed and the large garage door happened to be open. We walked in and yelled, "Anybody Here?!" with no reply. The building was stuffed to the brim with bamboo poles they'd use to string up area boundaries or mark obstacles. There were ski patrol sleds in the garage too. We walked deeper into the garage and found a door slightly ajar. We knocked on it and no one responded. We entered it and found the ski patrol office. It was a cozy spot with a couple of computers, a microwave, and two space heaters! One of the space heaters was the old oil style space heater, the other was a modern quartz crystal model that gave off a bright orange glow while it was on. We quickly turned on the space heaters and started to prepare dinner. When we used the microwave to boil water it tripped the breaker, which I had to find outside the room - lesson learned. On my way back in I tried to close the door and notice that it didn't have a normal door handle. Instead of a lever or a knob, there was just a literal deadbolt - a bolt welded to another bolt that slid into the concrete frame of the door. The concrete wall was at least 3/4" thick, probably more like 1" thick walled cinder blocks. I locked the door and we finished cooking our dinner, laid out our sleeping pads and bags, and fell asleep. All was well, until a loud BANG woke me up. I sat up in my sleeping bag - E was still fast asleep. Before my eyes could adjust I could feel a rush of cold air creeping in. I turned to look at the door and it was flung wide open. The deadbolt had ripped through the concrete wall, leaving a hole in the door jam. I let my eyes wander into the void where the green door once hung. They were met with two floating orange orbs, staring back at me, deep into my soul. I began to sweat, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I shouted and stood up at once, "Who is there?!". The eyes disappeared with a grunt and a whoosh. I stood up and slipped on my shoes and grabbed a headlamp, running as fast as I could to see what barged in. There was nothing in sight. I was standing alone under a full moon at the top of a ski resort in summer, goosebumps covering my body. I searched for a few minutes until the adrenaline wore off and then returned to the room. No longer able to lock the door shut, I propped a bamboo stick against the door to prevent it from opening. I crawled back into my sleeping bag, and slept the rest of the night.

Then next day we eventually made it down the mountain after some mishaps, but alls well that ends well. To this day I have no idea what could be strong enough or motivated enough to push a deadbolt through 1" of concrete, but those orange eyes still give me chills every time I recall this tale. I can see them floating there, hovering in mid-air, hungry as a ghost.