Nancy Pfeiffer - Riding Into the Heart of Patagonia

Riding Into theHeart of Patagonia

Nancy Pfeiffer

Praise forRiding into the Heart of Patagonia...

This bookbegins as one kind of epica novice horseback rider in her 30s, making hersolitary way across one of the worlds great wildernesses. That would be reasonenough to read this absorbing accountbut at the end it morphs into somethingeven deeper, the story of her participation in the glorious nonviolent struggle(conducted largely from the saddle) to stop the damming of Patagonias greatrivers. An adventure in the truest sense of the word. Bill McKibben, authorof Wandering Home

Nancy Pfeifferwrites with an easy going, conversational grace, with pithy aphorisms tossed into spice things up. Riding into the Heart of Patagonia is a storyof a cultural landscape that is changing rapidly as all cultural landscapes arechanging. It is a must read for those of us who have experienced adventureourselves, and equally important for those who can appreciate the awakening ona physical journey, without necessarily seeking the hardship itself. JonTurk, author of The Ravens Gift

Saddle up.These gutsy journeys will not only take you into the wild, tangled, changingheart of Patagonia, but also lead you deep into its soul. Pfeiffer isextraordinarily spunky and tough, but it is her gentleness, astuteobservations, and seasoned insight that will make her story resonate long afteryou have warmed up by the fire. Jill Fredston, author of Rowing toLatitude

Patagonianpeople are proud of where we come from. It isnt often we find foreigners whounderstand and experience this amazing wild place we call home as we do, almostbecoming one of us. I met Nancy at a reading of her book here in Patagonia. Thewords and the feelings she shared touched me deeply. It didnt matter thelanguage or the audience, I felt a connection that goes beyond race or nationality.Hers is a story of one who has lived the way we do, the way our parents andgrandparents did. Samuel Niklitschek Foitzick, Ensenada Valle Simpson,Patagonia, Chile

2018 Nancy Pfeiffer

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced or transmitted in any means,

electronic or mechanical, without permission in

writing from the publisher.

978-1-945805-67-7 paperback

Cover Photo

by

Fredrik Norrsell

Back Cover Photo

by

Ignacio Grez

Cover Design

by

Photo credits:

Fredrik Norrsell

Ignacio Grez

Nancy Pfeiffer

FolkLiterature of the Tehuelche Indians. Jahannes Wilbert, KarinSimoneau. Estados Unidos : University of California, 1984. Story on page 14.

Bink Books

a division of

Bedazzled Ink Publishing, LLC

Fairfield, California

http://www.bedazzledink.com

Tothe people of Patagonia

Patagonia

I long to belong

to this place and its wind

I could be that old woman

on the back of a horse

And flash a toothless grin

at strangers passing by

I could live in this place

raise chickens and sell sheep

I could be of this place

Yet, never like those

who know this place

and no other

Tableof Contents

LaSemilla (TheSeed)

LosLecciones (TheLessons)

Perseverancia (Perseverance)

Vagabunda (Wandering)

LaRuta Antigua (The Old Route)

AlInterior (The Land Within)

LaVuelta (TheReturn)

EstanciaValle Chacabuco (The Regions Largest Sheep Ranch)

Cambios (Changes)

Otooen el Campo (Fall on the Farm)

AlNorte (Northward)

ngelesy Diablos (Angels and Devils)

CabalgataSin Represas (Horseback Ride Against the Dams)

Chapter 1

LaSemilla (TheSeed)

Patagonia1993

AMAN APPROACHED on a horse. His mount, a rusty red beauty, sported theshort-trimmed mane and neatly squared-off tail of a well-kept mount. Colorfulhandwoven saddlebags tied behind a sheepskin-covered saddle held groceries fromtown. The man wore goatskin chaps, a woolen poncho, and the jaunty black berettypical of the region. Crinkles around his eyes spoke of years of squintinginto the sun. This man and his horse belonged to this place in a way I couldonly dream of.

Hepaused on the banks of the rain-swollen river to stare at us, a group ofcollege students up to our knees in mud and dwarfed by huge backpacks. Wet andhungry, we had been stacked up on the wrong side of the river for days, ournext food supply a few kilometers away on the other side of the torrent. Helooked perplexed. We had tents. We had expensive rain jackets. We obviously hadmoney, but we had no horses.

Porqu no tienes caballos? he asked as he rode into the river. The strongcurrent piled up around his horses belly. The man gently lifted his feet fromthe stirrups and placed them on the horses rump so as not to wet his boots, ashis horse strode confidently through the rushing water.

Thatmoment, I knew. I wanted to travel this country like the people who lived here.I longed to know this place as only one on horseback can. Having ridden horsesonly a few times in my life, I knew practically nothing about them. This wasirrelevant. There was a thirteen-year-old girl inside of me who desperatelywanted a horse.

I HAD COME to Patagonia as a mountaineering instructor forthe National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS), an international nonprofit thatteaches wilderness and leadership skills to young people. For months mycolleagues and I had been traversing the mountain ranges of the Aysn Region ofChile with a group of college students, teaching them to read a map, live in atent, dry their clothes, and be responsible for themselves and each other.Mostly we were letting nature do the teaching. Wilderness, the great equalizer,didnt care if you were rich or poor, if you lost your coat you were going tofreeze.

Whilewe often hiked on the same trails the locals traveled on horseback, I livedeach day in my own little gringo community, insulated from the lifestyleof Patagonia.

Thatyear, I stayed in Patagonia long enough to watch early spring pass into latesummer. On our last morning, the friends I had lived and worked with for thelast several months gathered on a windy ridge high above the NOLS base camp. Westood in intermittent rain and sun, while just to the west heavy rain fell fromdark clouds. Broad bands of color arched across the sky as a double rainbowstretched from horizon to horizon. One of the senior instructors, Scott, toldus the legend of the calafate:

Koonek,the old sorceress of the tribe, was too weak to continue migrating with herpeople. So they built her a sturdy hut, and Koonek remained there alone. Thatfall the birds moved away. Somehow, the old woman survived the long winter.When the birds returned, Koonek blamed them for leaving her in such solitude,but the birds could not have stayed as there was no food for them in winter.