Riding into the Sunset

This article was written almost a year ago following my return from the Trans Andes Horseback trek. The article was published in the July edition of the Sunday Circle. A special thanks goes to the editor Sarah Puntan Galea.

Only one small piece of luggage remained on the revolving carousel which slowly ground to a halt. My luggage, containing all the equipment necessary for my Trans Andes horseback trek is lost somewhere between London and Mendoza, Argentina.

I am exhausted, alone, in the middle of a deserted arrivals hall, on the other side of the world. Realising that my luggage won’t arrive in time, there is not left for me to do but find my hotel and nurse the migraine that had started playing a symphony in my head.

Adrenaline rush

As an adventurous spirit searching for an adrenaline rush, my participation in the Trans-Andes Horseback Trek was a dream that I had ever since I was a little girl. The time never seemed right though…until September 2007 when bored at home one evening, I decided to do a Google search on adventure travel. The first result was a horseback challenge in aid of the Prince’s Trust in the UK which was set up in 1976, by Prince Charles, its purpose being to improve the lives of disadvantaged young people in the UK.

The Challenge consisted of a six-day trek starting off from Mendoza, Argentina and finishing in Santiago, Chile. It would involve riding up to eight hours a day, climbing up mountain passes as high as 5,000 metres, galloping through wide valleys, jumping over streams and negotiating river crossings.

There was only one slight problem. I did not know how to ride a horse. Not exactly the right qualification for such a challenge.

Learning to ride

Signing up for the trek prior to finding an instructor would be the driving force to get me started. Luckily I found a patient and good instructor willing to take up the challenge and getting me up to standard. Come rain or shine I would take lessons, when possible go out on longer rides just to get used to sitting on the saddle. I discovered muscles I never thought I had!




Although I was growing quite comfortable in the English saddle I was using, the trek, being in South America, would see us ride Western style. This style evolved from the ranching and warfare traditions brought to the Americas by the Spanish Conquistadores.

Trans Andes Horseback Trek

Mendoza, situated at the foot of the Andes, was our starting point. Being the only participant from Malta, I travelled separately from the rest of the group and met them in Mendoza a day before we started our trek. Fortunately some of them did not travel as lightly as we were supposed to and could afford to lend me some items of clothing.

Our team leader Louise was instrumental in helping me rent out vital missing equipment – sleeping bag, waterproof trousers and thermal clothing. I just hoped that what I managed to borrow would withstand the possible climate and not end up feeling uncomfortable or cold.

Following a detailed briefing by our guides, it was time to set off on the first part of our journey, a three hour coach ride out of Mendoza to Scaravelli where we met the other gauchos who would lead the trek, prepare our food and ensure that we had a pleasant and safe journey.

The Challenge begins

The horses we were allocated were based on our riding experience and would be our companions for the whole adventure. At this point, it all started to sink in: Here I was at the foot of the Andes, waiting to be given a horse that I would ride, on my own, over a six day stretch.




Many questions started flooding my mind. Would I cope with a strange saddle, would I bond with the horse, would the weather be fine? Happily one of my fears was soon allayed when I was introduced to Mio, a huge six-year-old chestnut with kind eyes. Rodrigo promised me that he had a gentle nature and that I would be fine.



With border formalities over, we mounted our horses and set off on a four-hour ride into Quebrada del Arroyo Grande – a vast ravine high in the mountains which would eventually lead us to our first campsite – Scaravelli lodge. As soon as I sat on the saddle, I immediately felt comfortable – in fact it is much more comfortable to sit on a western saddle, mainly because of all the padding that is placed on the hard leather frame. Though the differences in equipment appear dramatic, in reality there are fewer differences between ‘English’ and ‘Western’ riding, than most people think.

A slow steady pace takes us uphill, on uneven rocky ground. I start thinking about whether I am crazy but, looking at the scenery, absorbing the beauty of the nature around me, I start to relax.



My reverie is soon broken when the horse in front of me suddenly stumbles and falls back, sending Claire flying onto the sharp, rocky ground. I am horrified. Claire is an experienced rider and had never, in her 15 years of riding, fallen. Although she confidently mounts her horse and continues the ride I am quite shaken. This happens just 30 minutes into the ride. I start thinking that perhaps all this was not such a good idea. But I am here. There is nothing I can do. I need to compose myself, concentrate and keep on going.

We set up camp at Scaravelli, in a place called La Mula Muerta - one would think that the name didn't augur well however we were in a sheltered area complete with a corral for the horse, a sheltered kitchen where our gauchos prepared a delicious barbecue and a clean bathroom......yes I am not joking, we had a clean toilet in this campsite!






Honing horse skills

The next day, after breakfast, we embarked on the first part of the day's journey which would take us on a three-hour ascent to the Argentine Portillo, a high and narrow pass cutting through rocky cliffs, standing at 4,380metres. Reaching the Portillo I quickly realise that the way down was going to be quite frightening. The winding track was just about a metre wide and beyond it was a slanting scree. Falling down that scree would not be at all pleasant, so I am not ashamed to admit that at this point I froze. Not usually afraid of heights, abseiling down Mosta bridge headfirst is one of my favourite adrenaline rushes, here I was worried. The difference being that in this situation apart from trusting myself, I had to trust my horse.



Seeing the fear in my eyes, Rodrigo offered me two options – walk down leading Mio in the process or else trust the horse and ride down slowly. For a few seconds I weighed my options – the former was really not going to happen – I was here to trek the Andes on horseback not on foot. Putting full trust in Mio we walked down, slowly, the steep scree. What was a half hour trek seemed an eternity but we made it safely and by nightfall we were all laughing about it over dinner.

The next morning we gave the horses a well deserved rest. After lunch we set off on a short exploratory ride down the valley to Laguna de Los Patos.



It was during this trek that I experienced my first jump. Jumping usually comes almost naturally to horses but both the horse and rider have to have their techniques honed. Combined together we had none! Apprehensive as I was, I had no choice. I had to cross the stream. There weren't any options this time. The terrain gave Mio the necessary space and freedom to stretch out. Following his effortless movement we made it to the other side.

William Faulkner's words came into mind: “There’s something about jumping a horse over a fence that makes you feel good.” I was not feeling good, I was feeling ecstatic! I had done my first jump and I loved the feeling. I realized that I had come along way since my first riding lesson.

The daily challenges continue…

Day four into the trek and we were faced with another challenge – that of crossing, roaring waters with strong currents. As a safety measure we were instructed to wear our backpacks on one shoulder – serving as a quick release should we accidentally fall. If this happened, we were reassured that two gauchos would be positioned on either side of the river bank, armed with ropes which would be thrown in our direction and which we would need to grab so that we could be pulled in to safety.

One by one we coaxed our horses through the river. The currents could be felt pulling at the horses’ feet. There was no stopping. Squeezing Mio's flanks gently we slowly crossed the river. The lack of hesitation from Mio's part was so reassuring, helping me build a stronger trust in him as each day passed.



The weather started deteriorating. A cold biting wind started to blow. The fleece I had managed to borrow was warm, but did not protect me from the wind. I could not help but pray. As we climbed to approximately 3,500 metres we could see Tupungato looming above the dark clouds that started to form above us. A light drizzle started to fall. The wide grassy plain in front of us gave us the opportunity to ride into a fast canter, which the gauchos hoped would bring us closer to Palmares Valley in time for the night.

We did not make it to Palmares. The wind became stronger, and it was decided that it would be safer to find the first sheltered area and camp for the night. We would have to make up for the time lost on the following day, hoping the weather would clear up. The wind made it very difficult to set up the flimsy tents and all of us were wondering whether we would be flying away with our tents during the night!
The next morning, the wind had died down and the temperature was much colder as it had snowed during the night.

Achieving a dream

Our last day of riding would see us reach the steep Portillo Piuquenes – the official border between Argentina and Chile. Standing at 5,000metres it would be the highest pass in our trek. Welcomed by Matthias, waving a Chilean flag, it was time to bid farewell to our horses as Argentine horses are not allowed to enter Chile.




I never thought I would feel so sad at saying goodbye to Mio. I was not the only one to shed warm tears. Mio seemed to sense my sadness and just stood by me whilst I stroked his neck. Trying to lighten up the moment, I joked with the gauchos telling them that I would gladly give up my luggage should it arrive in exchange for Mio.

It was time to go.

Bidding a last farewell, we mounted our new horses and started a three-hour descent towards Plomo River. Reaching San Gabriel we went through Chilean customs formalities and effectively the trek was over.....

..... and I had achieved my dream of riding off into the sunset.