Patagonia With A Purpose

Taylor Burk goes down South to check out the plumbing.

By Peak Design

Taylor Burk (@taylormichaelburk) used to be a plumber in Edmonton, Alberta. Today, he's one of the most well-known, sought-after outdoor photographers that we've worked with. He shoots for the likes of Backpacker Magazine, Travel & Leisure, Redbull, and Samsung.

We could blab on all day about how much we love him, how nice he is, how quintessentially Canadian he is, and all the time and energy he devotes to environmental causes. But it's easier just to show you this shot he took of the Fitz Roy range in Argentina, and then let him get on with his story about the most recent climate change research project he took part in. Enjoy.

When most people think of Patagonia, the imagery of untamed nature with massive jagged peaks and endless glaciers comes to mind. The beautiful, desolate end of the world. That’s at least the romanticized version I had in my head before embarking on a research mission in the faraway land at the bottom of South America.

Last fall, my girlfriend Hayley was approached by a PhD student in need of research assistants for her forestry and climate work in Argentinian Patagonia. It didn’t take much to convince us. Hayley had fallen in love with the area while spending some time down there on a previous trip, and I had been wanting to make the trek down for years. Plus, the prospect of traveling to such a mecca for mountain lovers with an environmentally-minded purpose was impossible to turn down. So, in February—after brushing up on our Spanish—we set off to meet up with Juliana and Paula, PhD candidates, in Nahuel Huapi National Park. This park is full of lush forests, volcanoes, glacier lakes and waterfalls. The flora and fauna are plentiful. Hiking trails and climbing routes are endless.

Sounds like a dream, right?

Almost, but not quite. Our time in Nahuel Huapi wasn’t just exploring epic landscapes and stoically trying to solve the world’s most pressing environmental issues. I mean it was kind of that, but with a lot more thorns in uncomfortable places, bamboo stab wounds, questionable camp food, and ‘making calls’ (pooping in the woods).

Our home base was in a little village (if you can even call it that) inside the park called Pampa Linda, which consisted of a small hotel, some farmland, and a log cabin that served as a hostel/restaurant for passing hikers.

The population was about 10, including ourselves.

There was absolutely no internet or cell service, so aside from three short trips to town, we were completely disconnected from the outside world. All four of us stayed in a small room in the log cabin, run by an imposing man and impressive pizza chef named Pablo. Day-to-day life in Pampa Linda saw a gang of aggressive chickens looking for breadcrumbs, loud cows running through the yard, horses and kittens visiting often, and dogs excited to hike with you.

The heartbeat of the cabin was a ping-pong table that seemed to never be left unattended, and Don Pablo was always blaring and singing along to Creedence Clearwater Revival while sipping his maté. Needless to say, this was not a quiet place, but we would only stay at the cabin when we needed to restock food, shower, or if the weather went south. The remainder of the time was spent camping in the backcountry so we could be close to the plots in the forest stands we were working in.

The research had us working our way through a large valley under the Castaño Overa glacier, hanging off the eastern face of the mighty Tronador volcano that looms over the park and Pampa Linda. We would hike and bushwhack our way through dense swaths of invasive bamboo and prickly plants, coating ourselves in burrs in order to access stands of the lengas and coihues we were after. Once an ideal target tree was chosen, we would take a core sample to age it, identify and classify its competitors, measure their distances and diameters, altitude, gps coordinates, crown widths, and use a clinometer to measure tree height.

The purpose of the research was to collect data to measure changes in tree species interactions with the onset of climate change, which could in turn offer scientists a better understanding of how to predict effects of future warming scenarios in the area. The results of the data could also help develop appropriate local responses to maintaining forest biodiversity as the climate changes. Nearly all of the theory that predicts tree species’ responses to climate change was developed using forest samples in the northern hemisphere, so the data collection from south of the equator was essential. Essential, but not easy.

On the first day in the field, Juliana baptized us by fire by taking us to the most difficult plot to deal with. Bamboo so thick that it was impossible to see each other from just a few metres away. Thorns and sharp branches creating painful obstacles and—wasps. Just as I finished weaving through the dense forest to reach a target tree, I stepped on a natural booby trap in the form of a wasp nest, and was instantly swarmed by the giant merciless flying insects. Twelve stings later, I realized that this was just day one of five on our first stint into the backcountry. At the end of that stint we nearly ran out of food, and in a desperate attempt to cook something tasty with what we had left, ended up with runny instant potatoes mixed with asparagus soup, peas, and chunks of the mystery cheese Pablo made back at the cabin. The scene was strange; a group of dirty, scratched-up, swollen and smelly kids sitting in the middle of a trail, hysterically laughing at a tupperware container filled with an oddly coloured goo.

Often the fieldwork was more enjoyable. We were granted permits to stay in some pretty awesome exclusive camp spots, far from any trails or tourists.

The terrain that was difficult to navigate was also extremely beautiful, with jungle juxtaposed with glaciers and alpine environments. I believe working amongst it allowed for a deeper appreciation than just walking through for a hike.

Getting to know the tree species, how and where they grow best, and the struggle of growing in harsh environments has changed the way I hike dramatically.

Between the fieldwork trips, we were able to sneak away and do some exploring and camping for ourselves, getting a feel for the infamous Patagonian gale force winds while camping atop Tronador. One memorable night had us camping high in the alpine amongst glaciers while five or six condors hovered above our tent with their 9-foot wingspans. Another had us bivvying on top of a volcano with no other humans for miles.

After we had finished our research and our time in Pampa Linda had come to an end, we continued south and spent a lot of time in the overwhelmingly beautiful mountain parks like Los Glaciares and Torres del Paine. We were finally living the romanticized version I had dreamed of before, with towering peaks and ice-fields as far as the eye can see. Yet even after some of the world’s most scenic and sought-after hikes, I found myself missing the quirkiness and type 2 fun of our fieldwork in Nahuel Huapi. There’s something to be said about getting to know a specific area so thoroughly, and traveling with a purpose beyond— well— just traveling.

Truly, our time in the little valley was not perfect. The data we collected has yet to be analyzed, but when it does, it will have but a small impact on the massive issue that is the accelerating warming of our planet. We were not there solving the problem of climate change. We can’t stop the glaciers from melting by measuring the DBHs of trees. What we can do is continue the conversation, and keep the biggest issue facing humanity at the forefront of our minds.