HISTORY...

This history....started as a messy delirium of two friends: Sergio and Eduardo, people with affinity to adventure as it can be each one of You, and the experience of about 20 years of different map courses of adventure.

A day, after beeig engaged in a dialog about diverse fishing experiences, pieces obtained with the logical post mortem growth, passages of 4x4 with rivers, mud, hooking and chains, excursions and strolls in quads, camping and horse rides; had the initial fantasy to obtain a place where to be able to install a Tourist Complex with two trailer which each one had.

Thus the search of different places began selecting diverse natural and logistic factors...

.......... But fate had very accidentally lead them towards these places, since Sergio, for Easter of 1999, had suffered an accident in a  four wheeler with fracture of 5 ribs in the zone of the Pico River, in an adventure to Lago Verde Chile. Reason why the physically and psychologically wounded suggests to explore this zone since he remembers the multiple natural beauties of it and a glimpse that this place could be where to settle the dreamed enterprise.

At this moment days were interminable for Eduardo, who was longing the day in which Sergio would be fit for traveling towards the site mentioned and known now by multiple photos and histories.

Luckily a day of June in which they undertook the passage towards the longed Trapanlanda arrived. (old legend of the lost paradise of the Patagonia)

After surpassing different winter sections of 4x4 passage, and sorting the water obstacle of river Pampas, arrived at the field that bordered the Pico River with its beautiful curves and depressions bordered of green prairies framed in forests of lenga and ñires.

In that cold morning, after some “mate” and “churrasqueada” they mounted their horses and initiated the trip. They observed several alternative places that could be the place to install that longed place, just guided by the expert “baqueano”.

Difficult was to Eduardo to dominate both his anxiety, and the wild “petiso” he was riding. He was impossible to manage to accommodate his body in each step of short and jumping walking that the same had, while the rest of the troops moved away to him rapidly in a perfect march, avoiding canes, trees and branches that he never could elude.

After seeing several places and of multiple questions about the possibilities of installation of the touristic complex, there was no place Eduardo and Sergio would agree on. At the end of the day they mounted camping by a gelid stream, ate barbecue and decided that they would undertake the next day, the cavalcade towards the coast of the lake, place where there was no way but that  very difficult horse footpath through the mountains. The guide said that if they were up to the challenge, he would guide them.

The intensity of the matinal fog was so that it did not allow to see beyond of 2 meters,  there began the stony sloping by the cornice with the horses and, and to the repeated question “is it much farther?”, the repeated answer of the baqueano, “just a little more” (they had already been riding for an hour and a half, they had all the body wet and the hands frosted).

As they went down they could start hearing murmur of a stream that went out of a slope at the heart of the gorge the intense vegetation did not allow to distinguish beyond of the footpath, the horse that ahead lost itself in the same one like swallowed by the “cordillerano” forest.

Then they arrived to a small clear area and the “baqueano” jumped out of  his horse. “Now we must walk” he said, and disappeared in the depths of a narrower path.

Bordering the stream and making footpath with the machetes, they followed the channel of the water course, observing the beautiful image of hidden brown trouts and rainbows laying eggs in the vegetation of its borders.

They kept on the march when suddenly in front of them, there was nothing but vegetation, nothing but an intense mist curtain in a coast of mixed Nire with cane that formed an intense vegetation at their backs, like preventing them to find the return way.

Then the baqueano whispered: “here we are”.

There they watched like wanting to understand where they were, beginning recovering of the exhausting march to be able to analyze the place, fact that was very difficult since ahead was the immensity of the mist that mixed and ended at their backs as a wall of vegetation.

They seated on a trunk at the border of the imaginary lake... only being able to see the near edge of a calm water where the stream with its relaxed flowing and tired murmur ended. They lit a cigarette, and took some drinks from the cases. It was half past ten that morning of June when suddenly, like miraculously, the kilometric mist drop curtain began to rise slowly, letting them see the immense majesty of LAKE 5.

With its calm waters, their mountains edges covered with intense forests, and, in front of them, a small Island covered with vegetation that crowned the immense natural beauty that appeared ahead… Eduardo, then, knew that that was the place, since he had had eternally imagined it....

He told Sergio, “this is the place”, he nodded answering, “Yes, this place is way beautifull, but there’s no way. We can’t move the trailers here”.

....And Eduardo’s answer was,” If there’s no road, we shall make it!”, without even imagining the adventure in which he was incoming.