Ice Climbing in Patagonia

As the ferry approached Viedma Glacier, and the towering columns of deep blue ice came into focus, I felt anxious for the first time. Ice climbing had been a childhood dream of mine.

As an adult, I'd tear out the page of a National Geographic Adventure story about ice climbing on an artificial waterfall in Colorado, hoping one day to follow in the author's icy footsteps.

I'd pass on the opportunity in New Zealand as there were too many others to choose from.

Two years later, I passed in Switzerland without even researching the costs, assuming that the country would be one of the most expensive places in the world to try it. Another two years later, in Peru's Cordillera Blanca, I'd pass again when a local mountain guide told me the ice was “dirty” – covered in soil and rock.

My image of ice climbing in Patagonia, the dream I wanted to fulfill, involved beautiful white walls of ice set against bright blue skies. I'd scale vertical walls with ice axes in hand and crampons underfoot, just like in the movies. I'd been waiting for the perfect experience, however unrealistic it may have been.

When I arrived in El Chalten at the start of my G Adventures tour, I was ready to “just do it.”

There were no guarantees the weather would be great. In fact, upon questioning the staff of the local company we'd use, they informed us of the potential for rain that day. It was a $140 gamble.

But I wouldn't be taking this gamble alone. I would be accompanied by eight of the nine others in our group. Only Dennis, an American retiree, would opt for the glacier walk instead. He would later say it was his favorite experience of the trip.

In addition to the water-resistant pants and gloves I'd acquired for the Fitz Roy hike the day before, I also rented thick, ankle-high boots. It's worth the extra few dollars to ensure your crampons attach appropriately to your footwear.

Grey skies greeted us on our second morning in Patagonia. I prepared myself for the worst, climbing ice in the cold rain.

It was a short drive from El Chalten to Viedma Lake, where we boarded the one-hour ferry to the glacier by the same name. The Viedma Glacier is stable and larger than Perito Moreno Glacier, which gets much more attention given its ease of view from land.

The ferry slowed down as we approached the glacier, allowing us to view spectacular icebergs drifting in the cold waters. A rainbow was visible over the glacier, and the clouds slowly but surely began to fade.

The sun was shining when we made landfall on a quiet inlet to the left of the glacier. It was a short walk on the slick, rust-colored rock to reach the brown tent where much of the equipment was stored.

We put on climbing harnesses and helmets and took another short walk to the glacier's edge. The four guides, led by the striking Giselle from Bariloche, helped everyone put on their crampons. They instructed us how to walk on them, and then we made our way to a halfpipe-like section of the glacier.

Giselle announced we'd spend much of our time there, and as long as the weather cooperated, we'd spend up to five hours on the ice.

Once the first rope was fixed, Giselle instructed us to climb the near-vertical wall of ice before us. A key point was not to rely on your arm strength to pull you up; the same holds true for rock climbing. Proper technique and using your legs to lift you are more critical. I just wanted to get my hands on those ice axes and start plunging them into the wall.

Melissa, a soon-to-be Columbia University graduate, beat me to it. She was already being roped in before Giselle had finished instructing us. We all watched as Melissa climbed the wall. It didn't look easy, but she was determined to reach the top.

I was feeling excited and inspired. We'd been led to a beautiful wall of white ice, and blue skies beckoned us up them. It was a picture-perfect day, just as I'd always imagined.

My first climb was tentative and slow. I made my way up the wall but felt clumsy. Adrenaline, if nothing else, brought me to the top. But if I was going to continue climbing, I had to focus more on proper technique than trying to pull myself up using upper body strength alone.

Early on, I wasn't trusting my crampons to hold me against the wall. I'd kick them in several times to get a good hold, but I rarely felt like I got it. As a result, I'd expend a lot of energy stopping and starting instead of developing a rhythm that would bring me to the top faster before my arms gave out.

I always felt the tension in the rope. At times I felt it was holding me against the wall more than my ice axes and crampons. If the rope had not supported some of my weight, I'd have fallen off the wall quite a few times. Then again, most people don't ice climb without rope.

Between climbs, I'd take photos of the others and the glacier. As each route was climbed multiple times, and the sun continued to warm the ice, it began to deteriorate.

Our guides did an excellent job of ensuring everyone got at least one chance on each route, and then they'd set up new ones. We had the opportunity to climb four different routes of varying difficulty.

The most difficult route of the day involved an overhang. Before we attempted to climb it, I doubted it'd be possible.

The photos don't do it justice, but if you've ever tried to climb over an overhang on either rock or in a climbing gym, you know what I'm talking about. Giselle gave us additional instructions, including a new technique for climbing walls like this one. It'd be my fourth climb of the day. I reached the overhang quickly, but at that point, I struggled to get over it.

At one point, my arms burning from trying to hold on, the ice gave way under one of my axes, and I fell backward. Once I regained my connection to the wall, I figured I wouldn't get any higher. I paused for a photo (seen above).

And then I heard shouts from below, egging me on to go a little higher. I let out a few f-bombs and began plunging the ice axes a little higher. I climbed a little higher until I reached the overhang, where I claimed the route climbed and signaled the guide to prepare for my descent. My arms were exhausted.

Descending was the easy part. We'd take the axes out of the ice and lean back so our legs and bodies were perpendicular to the wall. The guide would slowly release the rope, and we'd walk down Batman style. It's very similar to abseiling waterfalls in canyoning.

As others took turns climbing that route, I rested and climbed the other route, still set up two more times. Between the first and sixth (and final) climbs, I gained confidence in my equipment and myself. I was climbing noticeably faster, and it felt more rhythmic. I wanted to keep climbing, but my arms were worn out.

After everyone got their fill, Giselle led us around and above the ice wall for further views of the glacier. We posed for photos and were informed that two surprises still awaited us.

My question to you is whether I should publicly share the surprise end on Viedma Glacier or keep it a secret, known only to those who can walk on it in person. Leave a comment below, and let me know!

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Disclosure: This Patagonia tour is in partnership with G Adventures. The opinions expressed are entirely my own.