Shortly before Christmas we finally stepped out of the desert and into the lush green forests of the Argentine Lake District.  The change was abrupt and dramatic.  One moment we were looking at wild llamas and ostrich (guanaco and rhea) running across golden tussocky desert and the next we were immersed in deep green beach forest punctuated by wild lupins, roses and bright yellow gorse bushes.  And being The Lake District - there were lakes.  Lots of them.  Deep blue picture postcard fjord like lakes and ice cold trout filled streams.  Our hitherto nightly companion, an incredible hemispherical night sky, was reduced to a small window in the tree canopy above.  But we received compensation enough.  Here we revelled in the good life and the luxuries of fresh green grass beneath our feet, wood for our fire and fresh clean water just strides away.  After the deserts - this was easy living.  We had long dreamed of our arrival in Patagonia as herralding a new phase of physical adventure, but our camping spirit was captivated and it was some time before we could tear ourselves away from the simple joys of camping, good wine and cooking on an open fire. 

The desire for action had not disappeared entirely however and after a few mild mannered (and sometimes very wet) forays on to the beautiful lakes and rivers of this area in our canoe it was time for our fist little challenge;  a seven day 'tour' by foot, canoe and bicycle.  The first part, the trek, was an established trail - billed as the most difficult in the Argentine lake District, but looking around at the pretty tree covered mountain slopes we couldn't understand what all the fuss was about, until that was, we got started.  The trail up beyond the last indigenous village was not at all distinct and asking at the village we received an enthusiastic but vague arm wave in the general direction of the river and the hill beyond.  No matter what we asked we got the same response.  So off we set following little more than a series of cattle trails that came to dead end after dead end in little sunny meadows. Cow heaven - yes, trekker heaven - no.  After a full six hours of fruitless bush bashing we eventually found a marker post.  We were scratched, bitten and bleeding and had gained little more than a mile all day but at last we were now on a 'trail'. 

After a delay of 6 hours and an unplanned camp on the mountainside our little expedition continued more or less as planned for a while and after a further two days of trekking we reached our canoe (which we had stashed earlier) and set off across the most beautifully still lake and on down river.  Nobody seemed to know if the river was navigable but from our recce the previous week, what we could see looked ok.  What we couldn't see would be blind pioneering.  Several days later and after quite a number of time consuming and back breaking portages, we pulled over to scout the next section of rapids.  Ah!  As far as we could see, the river was a mass of bolders, completely un-runable.  Should we carry the canoe overland to the next navigable section four miles downstream ?  And then go back to collect the kit ?  And what lay ahead beyond that ?  With our food running low we had to take a decision.  Time to stash the canoe and start hiking.

Over the next two days we hiked 35km over the mountains to our second stash.  With some relief we found our bikes tucked underneath a bush just where we'd left them. With a strong storm wind now blowing in our faces we mounted up for a 30km bike ride back up hill to our start point.  Perhaps it was not the most sucessful mini expedition, but we had had a great time and as heavy rain envolped our camp and snow settled on the high paths recently troden we were eager for more. 

We finished off our tour of The Lakes with a dash up to the summit of the very much alive volcano that is Mount Villarrica at 9,317 ft.  After peering in to the rumbling, smoking, sulphurous crater it was time to head back down.  Normally the worst bit about climbing a mountain is the return downhill, but this mountain was to be an exception.  Looking down we could see thousands of feet of smooth white snow.  Brilliant !  We put on our waterproof trousers, sat down ... and bum-slid full speed all the way down !   What fun !