Ice Climbing a Collapsing Glacier

Perito Moreno Glacier in Patagonia advances and retreats like it's negotiating with climate. Every few years it calves spectacularly — building-sized chunks of ice collapsing into Lago Argentino with a sound like thunder apologizing for being late. Climbing it while it calved was either the best idea I've had or the last. The line is thin with me.

My climbing partner was a Chilean mountaineer named Paz who spoke four languages and trusted none of them when ice was involved. We started at dawn with crampons, axes, and the mutual understanding that glaciers don't care about your plans. The ice was blue-white, ancient, and full of crevasses that could swallow a truck. Or a cactus. Statistics were not comforting.

Halfway up, the glacier calved. A section the size of a building broke free and hit the water two kilometers below. The shockwave traveled through the ice under our feet. Paz screamed to move. I moved — surprising speed for something that prefers standing still. We reached a stable ridge and watched another section go. Paz was shaking. I was exhilarated. Different wiring.

We summited the ice face at noon — a meaningless term on a glacier, but we claimed it anyway. Paz took a photo. I refused. Some victories are private. Carl collects glacier postcards from the visitor center gift shop. I collect the memory of ancient ice trying to kill me and failing. On the descent, Paz asked if I'd climb again. I said only if it calved. She said that was insane. I said welcome to my chronicles.