Fire in the park, a set on Flickr.
the pictures i took from the first day. sadly it has gotten much, much worse. the view in the foreground in all of these pictures has now been consumed by the fire.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
A call to action
A call to action
It's with a heaviness in my heart and a saddness in my soul that I write this entry. Torres del Paine is burning. It's an act of recklessness, selfishness and stupidity. No fires are allowed in the park, it's one of the few rules to protect this incredible place. Anyone who has been here knows why, the winds in Patagonia are a force unto themselves. But a group of people thought this rule didn't apply to them. With a mixture of despair and anger I watched thick red/brown clouds spill over the ridges and fill the whole valley with smoke...and i cried.
It was just luck that I was able to get back to the park. My friend Mauricio is a guide and had some clients coming in and he invited me to tag along under the title of his assistant. Yesterday went fine, and I was able to visit parts of the park I had not seen before.
Sadly, today we woke up to the news that there is a fire in the park and the circuit is closed, the w is closed and they are trying to evacuate the park. We were on different trails off the main circuit and could see the smoke like a haze over the base of Paine Grande and the curenos. When we arrived at the trail head he was stopped by some of his friends that are rangers here and they asked for his help to fight the fires. He knows the park well and has fought fires before. He agreed and asked me to do him a favor. Of course I agreed, anything I can do to help.
He asked me to lead the clients on two small hikes so he could go help the firefighters and guide them through back routes to where they need to be. With a fierceness in his face he told me: I have to go. It's like watching my house burn. I can't just stay here and do nothing. They need my help and I can help. I have to go, will you do this for me?
If my heart felt like it was breaking I can't imagine how he must have felt. I fell in love with this place and am just barely getting to know it. He has invested years of his life here. If there is anything I can do, without a doubt I will do it. So I led the treks while he ran off with the firefighters.
The fire started somewhere between guardos and grey, in the old-growth forests that borders magnificent Glacier Grey. This part of the park is home to the elusive Huemules, foxes and a rich blanket of flora specific to the bosque.
I believe in the power of the collective. I believe in the power of positive thinking. I believe that the thoughts, prayers, vibrations, words, actions of one individual can make a profound impact...and that impact is magnified within our families, friends and communities.
I am asking you all to do your part and collectively we can hold in our consciousness the safety and well-being of all of those who rushed in to fight the fire and for a quick and harmonious end to it.
I saw young men, old men, military personnel, park rangers, gauchos and guides leave everything behind and in a moment load up horses, on foot, in cars and boats to reach the beginnings of the blaze and to battle it. This is their home. This is their prize. This is their livelihood and they are struggling to save it.
Friends I have met in my time here in Natales and in the park are there. I hold them and their families wrapped so firm in loving thought and ask you to do the same.
It's at times like this that we all are forced to remember that we are the caretakers of this world. It is an incredible responsibility. Our actions do make a difference...for better or worse. Let us now do our part to try and support those who need it in any way we can.
This is my prayer: to know that love is the force at work. To know that strength, courage and wisdom are guiding the men who face this fire. To know that this can and will be resolved quickly, harmoniously and without loss of life. With hope and faith...I pray.
It's with a heaviness in my heart and a saddness in my soul that I write this entry. Torres del Paine is burning. It's an act of recklessness, selfishness and stupidity. No fires are allowed in the park, it's one of the few rules to protect this incredible place. Anyone who has been here knows why, the winds in Patagonia are a force unto themselves. But a group of people thought this rule didn't apply to them. With a mixture of despair and anger I watched thick red/brown clouds spill over the ridges and fill the whole valley with smoke...and i cried.
It was just luck that I was able to get back to the park. My friend Mauricio is a guide and had some clients coming in and he invited me to tag along under the title of his assistant. Yesterday went fine, and I was able to visit parts of the park I had not seen before.
Sadly, today we woke up to the news that there is a fire in the park and the circuit is closed, the w is closed and they are trying to evacuate the park. We were on different trails off the main circuit and could see the smoke like a haze over the base of Paine Grande and the curenos. When we arrived at the trail head he was stopped by some of his friends that are rangers here and they asked for his help to fight the fires. He knows the park well and has fought fires before. He agreed and asked me to do him a favor. Of course I agreed, anything I can do to help.
He asked me to lead the clients on two small hikes so he could go help the firefighters and guide them through back routes to where they need to be. With a fierceness in his face he told me: I have to go. It's like watching my house burn. I can't just stay here and do nothing. They need my help and I can help. I have to go, will you do this for me?
If my heart felt like it was breaking I can't imagine how he must have felt. I fell in love with this place and am just barely getting to know it. He has invested years of his life here. If there is anything I can do, without a doubt I will do it. So I led the treks while he ran off with the firefighters.
The fire started somewhere between guardos and grey, in the old-growth forests that borders magnificent Glacier Grey. This part of the park is home to the elusive Huemules, foxes and a rich blanket of flora specific to the bosque.
I believe in the power of the collective. I believe in the power of positive thinking. I believe that the thoughts, prayers, vibrations, words, actions of one individual can make a profound impact...and that impact is magnified within our families, friends and communities.
I am asking you all to do your part and collectively we can hold in our consciousness the safety and well-being of all of those who rushed in to fight the fire and for a quick and harmonious end to it.
I saw young men, old men, military personnel, park rangers, gauchos and guides leave everything behind and in a moment load up horses, on foot, in cars and boats to reach the beginnings of the blaze and to battle it. This is their home. This is their prize. This is their livelihood and they are struggling to save it.
Friends I have met in my time here in Natales and in the park are there. I hold them and their families wrapped so firm in loving thought and ask you to do the same.
It's at times like this that we all are forced to remember that we are the caretakers of this world. It is an incredible responsibility. Our actions do make a difference...for better or worse. Let us now do our part to try and support those who need it in any way we can.
This is my prayer: to know that love is the force at work. To know that strength, courage and wisdom are guiding the men who face this fire. To know that this can and will be resolved quickly, harmoniously and without loss of life. With hope and faith...I pray.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Making peace with Torres Del Paine
I have never experienced childbirth (other than my personal entry into this world), but have been told that it is one of God's greatest miracles. Apparently, the mother soon after experiencing the pain and trauma quickly forgets and is ready to endure the process once more. If it weren't for this lapse in sanity and memory the human species would have ceased to exist long, long ago.
I think Torres Del Paine was my practice run at childbirth. When I was going through it, there were times I could think of nothing more than getting out of it and of course by then it's too late. Clearly there were times that I was overjoyed and in my euphoria fell in love with the park, almost giddy with the beauty of it. I had my moments of trial and told myself that I would go back and make peace. I knew that I would be spending a decent amount of time here in Puerto Natales and would have a chance or two to get back. But the way I hobbled out of there with Robert, I figured it would be weeks before the thought would genuinely cross my mind again.
Wouldn't you know it? I was wrong. It was only a matter of days before I was itching to get back. I was in the hostel talking to all the new groups of faces coming and going. I was answering questions about the park, selling tickets to get them there, recommending routes, storing gear...it was non-stop, absolutely relentless, park, park, park, park, park. The weather was all of a sudden perfect. I mean, not a cloud in the sky, a nice cool breeze, postcard perfect. People were coming back sun-burned! I kept hearing that the weather was totally unusual, and that guides have never seen anything like this. Before I knew it, I was scheming ways to get back. I was eating, drinking, sleeping, and cooking with plans of the park milling in my mind. I had to get back. It was like that itch you aren't supposed to scratch...but it would feel so good!
Bill had left town for a couple days. Julie had left to go to the park with her sister and some friends. I was there by myself, having a blast at the hostel, but looking with longing out the window at those clear blue skies and wondered what the French Valley must look like on a day like this. I never got to see it with Robert, and even if the weather had been clear, with the funk I was in, I'm not sure it would have mattered.
When Bill came back he told me that I should take advantage of this weather and head back into the park to see the valley. I didn't give him long enough to think about what he said, agreed and ran out the door to stock up on food. The following morning I would be on the 7:30 bus to the park for at least 3 days maybe 4. I was like a little kid packing my backpack to go back. It was like I had completely forgotten about the moment where I wanted to cry and cursed myself for agreeing to go in the first place. All I could remember was the beauty of the place; the burning, the pain, the cold...that was some distant inkling of some experience a long time ago. It couldn't have been THAT difficult, I was just being dramatic.
Morning came and I flew out of bed. My bag was packed the night before, I ate my hearty breakfast, and was waiting for the bus to come. Here it comes! I waved goodbye and skipped out the front door with a cheeseball grin plastered on my face. I scanned the sky and noticed that there were some clouds in the distance...but nothing too serious. I also noticed that there was a bit of breeze. I shrugged it off...it'll be fine I told myself. It will be perfect.
Oh silly rabbit. Fast forward 2.5 hours.
I'm walking down the trail, the wind is getting stronger, it's a little chilly and it's starting to rain. It's fine, I tell myself. It will be fine. The weather will change and it will be beautiful.
Fast forward 1 hour.
I'm still walking down the trail, the wind is something out of hell, it's miserable cold, it's heavily raining, my clothes and shoes are completely soaked and water squishes out when I step...and I still have at least 3 more hours to go before I get to the first camp. I am alone, so I can't even complain to anyone. Yeah, this pretty much blows. What the hell was I thinking?! There is a line from Forrest Gump when he is in Vietnam that kept playing in my head: "a little bit of stinging rain, big 'ol fat ran, rain that flew in sideways, and rain that seemed to come up from underneath." It actually hurt to get hit with this stuff. With the power of the wind behind it, it felt like little rocks pelting my face.
So there I was, just like I wanted...but not. I spent days thinking about coming back, then I got there, and was already trying to figure out how to get out! Isn't that just the way things always go?
I picked up the pace. I just wanted to get to a camp and figure out what I was going to do. My original plan was to hike all the way from the administration to Campamento Italiano...but with the weather I was considering stopping at Paine Grande. I was wondering how in the world I was going to set up my tent alone in that wind. The rain was annoying, but the wind was enough to blow me over, how was I supposed to set up my tent?! I kept looking up the sky to see if there was a break in sight. There was nothing...just a blanket of grey with no end. Shit! Why did I want to do this again?!
The view along this path is supposed to be amazing. But every time I looked up all I got was smacked in the face with stinging rain. Super. Really, this is just fantastic.
Then, just like typical Patagonia, the rain stopped. The clouds were still there, but at least the rain stopped and the wind was turned down about 4 notches. I stole a glance from my hooded jacket to see if I could see anything. Nope...those might be mountains, but I can't tell. Head down, keep walking.
It got lighter. I looked up. HOLY MOTHER OF LUCIFER! BAM!! There are the Cuernos. I stopped dead in my tracks, my arms went limp, my jaw dropped and eventually the corners of my lips turned up creating that thing called a smile. So that's what I was walking toward. Wow. I forgot all about the wet and the cold. I forgot about my plans of retreat. I was staring in wonder at this amazing thing in front of me.
The trail was almost to the mirador (lookout) of the infamous Cuernos, Paine Grande, and Lago Pehoe. Parts of Paine Grande were still covered in clouds but they were rolling and changing form so fast I could see what was below them. Lago Pehoe was more incredible than I remembered. The blue of it, it seems fake. If I could pull out a 150color crayon box I'd find this color blue labeled Caribbean Turquoise and even that wouldn't do it justice because it looks like the light is coming from within, like this lake glows.
I took an obscene amount of pictures of the water, of the Cuernos, of Paine Grande in its changing cloud jacket (unfortunately I lost all these pictures so I can't upload them to share). I kept walking and felt almost renewed...the wind had picked up a bit, but I didn't mind, it helped my clothes dry a bit faster. Actually, my pants were almost dry again. My shoes, well, there was no helping them, but slowly I was beginning to thaw. The rain wouldn't make up its mind, and the sky would spit rain and stop, spit rain and stop, just enough to keep me wondering. But in all its indecisiveness I could see the sun. Maybe this day will turn out alright.
By the time I got Paine Grande I was ready for a break. I had been walking for 4.5 hours and could use a snack. I picked a nice spot with a view of the lake, took off my shoes, wrung out my socks and insoles and laid them out to dry. I took a look at my toes; they were all white and pruney. Yuck. Let's leave those out to dry too. I took off all my outer layers and spread them out on the grass and bushes for the sun and wind to dry them. Out came the trail mix and the kindle. Why not just sit here for a while and enjoy the break.
It was a bit shorter than I anticipated. The sky started that spitting rain thing again and I figured I should just get to camp and set up in case the weather turns really foul again. So I put back on my wet socks and slid the wet insoles back in my boots, re-layered with my damp clothes and kept on.
It's amazing how much I didn't remember from my first time walking this trail. If I didn't know any better I would say that I had never been there before. There are glaciers there? There are waterfalls there? There are Cuernos there? No way?! I had no idea. Given my mental state last time I walked this path and the fact that it was raining and completely hidden in clouds it's no wonder I didn't recognize the trail until I got to that bridge. I remembered that bridge. I remembered that bridge well. Last time we met I knew it signaled camp. It meant the end of walking for the day. It meant rest. It was an emotional meeting, me and that bridge. But this time when I was walking across it I could see the beginnings of what made the "French Valley" and I was praying for a clear day the next day. This, I could tell, was something spectacular.
I set up camp quickly, fetched water, and started my stove to make dinner. It was raining again. Just finish cooking and then crawl in the tent to eat...and well, go to sleep I guess.
Female Stranger: "Hola. ¿Estas sola?"
Me: "Si." nodding my head.
Female Stanger: "¿Completemente sola?"
Me: "Si." still nodding my head
Female Stranger: "¿Estas cocinando? Quieres cenar con nosotros? Vale, venga, siente aquí con nosotros. Hay espacio. Venga." motioning me over.
Me: "Ok, déjame un segundo para terminar calentando esto, y me voy."
And this is how it starts. I make 3 new friends that night. They are a group, 2 guys and 1 girl from Puerto Montt in Chile. They are doing the W-trek together and saw a girl sitting alone and their Chilean hospitality just couldn't let that happen. They tried to feed me, offer me coffee, tea, dessert. They gave me a blanket to use and served me up dessert even though I declined the offer. The blanket was amazing and the dessert was nice too. They were just curious about me and wanted to know all kinds of things. What was I doing? Where was I going? Why was I alone? Where had I been? Why was I there? Where was I from? What is that like? How do I like Chile? We were only a couple questions in and then it got really cold. Clearly the only logical thing for us to do, was for all 4 us to crawl into one of their 2-person tents, sit cross-legged, share some blankets and continue the conversation. This is what I love about Chile. This is what I love about this culture. Instantly you are welcomed and instantly you are part of the family. It's a wonderful thing. Before I knew it, it was 11pm and I wanted to get up early the next morning to start the hike. So I said goodnight, and walked the few paced to my own tent.
The wind howled. It shook the trees. Giant chunks of ice would fall off the glacier in the valley and avalanches would roll down the rock face. I heard the drops of rain hitting like pellets on my fly. I would wake up and listen. Damn it sounds nasty out there. I dozed off again.
Morning came, and I unzipped my fly to find the most glorious morning.
I was almost in a frenzy packing my backpack for the day. I wanted to eat breakfast and get on the trail as quickly as possible. If there is anything I’ve learned down here is that nothing lasts as far as the weather is concerned, and I wanted to take full advantage of this day. So I loaded up my backpack with food, water, snacks, my kindle, layers of clothes and my camera. My Chilean friends were slow to get moving so we said goodbye and I thanked them for everything before heading up the trail.
I made peace with that valley within moments of seeing it. No wonder this is so many people’s favorite part. You pass by a powerful river that is fed from a glacier hanging from a sheer rock face. On the other side is the dramatic view of the two-toned Cuernos. Keep walking up the trail and you pass through bosque (forest), high lakes, pampa (grassland), and then finally walk up to a rock valley that is completely surrounded with dramatic rock towers. On the way down the trail you have a sweeping view of the lower valley including Lago Nordenskjold. I spent the whole day up there. I took a nap and would wake up sporadically to see that the light had changed on the towers, smile to myself and doze back off. The only sound was the wind in the tall grass at my feet, the constant flow of water on rocks and the occasional call of birds.
I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be, so I just enjoyed every second of being there. I was blessed because the weather didn’t change, it stayed perfect all day. A thin layer of high clouds created interest behind Paine Grande and I watched them shift. The sun was strong and the afternoon shadows created drama in the Cuernos, exaggerating the depths of the cracks in the rocks and ice. Eventually I decided it would be wise to make my way down. The sun was sinking low in the sky and it would get cold. I had eaten everything I brought up with me and dinner was waiting for me at camp. Whatever challenge I’d had with trek was now definitely of a thing of the past. All I had for it was love and respect. What a wonderful place. How could I ever not love it?
The next morning I packed up camp and walked back to Lodge Paine Grande. I was debating catching the noon catamaran or the 6:30pm one. If I took the noon catamaran then I would have time to do another hike with a view of the Cuernos from across Lago Nordenskjold before having to catch the last bus to town. If I took the 6:30 then I would be able to hike the trail partially back to administration and see what that trail looks like on a clear day. I was torn.
I thought I would make a run for it. If I was lucky I would be able to get far enough down the trail to see the view of the valley AND make it back in time to catch the noon catamaran. I left my backpack at the lodge and just took some water with me and started a steady trot down the path. It is so easy to run without a backpack on. Patagonia may just make a runner out of me. I imagine a decent pair of shoes would only make it that much better. I kept my eye on my watch and realized when I was a good distance away that I still had a bit further to go and there was no way that I would be able to make it all the way there and back in time. So I did the only logical thing...I sat down in the middle of the field and looked all around me and laughed. All of this was here all along and I never knew it. I never saw it. I was too wrapped up in being wet and cold and pissed off…and all this incredible stuff was happening just behind the clouds.
After a nice long rest, I slowly started walking back to the lodge. On the way I stopped to watch 3 condors. They were way off in the distance and were making their way towards me. I watched them disappear behind a ridge next to me and thought nothing of it. Then all of a sudden I heard this WHOOSH, WHOOSH like an airplane overhead. I looked up and it was the condors! They flew right over me, maybe 15-20ft overhead. They are huge! I had never seen them that close before. Then they all three landed on a rock maybe 30ft away. The 4 of us just stared at each other. That lasted probably 15 minutes or so until they were scared off by someone coming the other way on the trail. I took it as my hint to keep hiking too and watched the condors until they were little specks in the distance before heading back to the lodge.
I had a couple hours to kill before the catamaran. Lucky for me I had my kindle handy and set up a little nest for myself in the grass with a stellar view of Lago Pehoe with its surreal blue waters and read. Before I knew it, it was time to board the boat. From the deck of the boat I watched the Cuernos, the French Valley and the dramatic peak of Paine Grande change color in the early evening sun. These last two days were too perfect. Is this place real? Is this just a dream?
It was with a little bit of sadness that I looked out at those beautiful forms across the lake. I was well aware that this might be the last time I get to see them before I have to carry on with the trip and make my way out of Patagonia. But at least we made peace. We made things right between us. The remnants of hard feelings had melted away with the sun and dusted off with the cool breeze. Looking across that lake, I tried to sort out the emotions that simmered inside. It's a combination that is hard to peg: blessed, reborn, empowered, humbled and so, so grateful.
I think Torres Del Paine was my practice run at childbirth. When I was going through it, there were times I could think of nothing more than getting out of it and of course by then it's too late. Clearly there were times that I was overjoyed and in my euphoria fell in love with the park, almost giddy with the beauty of it. I had my moments of trial and told myself that I would go back and make peace. I knew that I would be spending a decent amount of time here in Puerto Natales and would have a chance or two to get back. But the way I hobbled out of there with Robert, I figured it would be weeks before the thought would genuinely cross my mind again.
Wouldn't you know it? I was wrong. It was only a matter of days before I was itching to get back. I was in the hostel talking to all the new groups of faces coming and going. I was answering questions about the park, selling tickets to get them there, recommending routes, storing gear...it was non-stop, absolutely relentless, park, park, park, park, park. The weather was all of a sudden perfect. I mean, not a cloud in the sky, a nice cool breeze, postcard perfect. People were coming back sun-burned! I kept hearing that the weather was totally unusual, and that guides have never seen anything like this. Before I knew it, I was scheming ways to get back. I was eating, drinking, sleeping, and cooking with plans of the park milling in my mind. I had to get back. It was like that itch you aren't supposed to scratch...but it would feel so good!
Bill had left town for a couple days. Julie had left to go to the park with her sister and some friends. I was there by myself, having a blast at the hostel, but looking with longing out the window at those clear blue skies and wondered what the French Valley must look like on a day like this. I never got to see it with Robert, and even if the weather had been clear, with the funk I was in, I'm not sure it would have mattered.
When Bill came back he told me that I should take advantage of this weather and head back into the park to see the valley. I didn't give him long enough to think about what he said, agreed and ran out the door to stock up on food. The following morning I would be on the 7:30 bus to the park for at least 3 days maybe 4. I was like a little kid packing my backpack to go back. It was like I had completely forgotten about the moment where I wanted to cry and cursed myself for agreeing to go in the first place. All I could remember was the beauty of the place; the burning, the pain, the cold...that was some distant inkling of some experience a long time ago. It couldn't have been THAT difficult, I was just being dramatic.
Morning came and I flew out of bed. My bag was packed the night before, I ate my hearty breakfast, and was waiting for the bus to come. Here it comes! I waved goodbye and skipped out the front door with a cheeseball grin plastered on my face. I scanned the sky and noticed that there were some clouds in the distance...but nothing too serious. I also noticed that there was a bit of breeze. I shrugged it off...it'll be fine I told myself. It will be perfect.
Oh silly rabbit. Fast forward 2.5 hours.
I'm walking down the trail, the wind is getting stronger, it's a little chilly and it's starting to rain. It's fine, I tell myself. It will be fine. The weather will change and it will be beautiful.
Fast forward 1 hour.
I'm still walking down the trail, the wind is something out of hell, it's miserable cold, it's heavily raining, my clothes and shoes are completely soaked and water squishes out when I step...and I still have at least 3 more hours to go before I get to the first camp. I am alone, so I can't even complain to anyone. Yeah, this pretty much blows. What the hell was I thinking?! There is a line from Forrest Gump when he is in Vietnam that kept playing in my head: "a little bit of stinging rain, big 'ol fat ran, rain that flew in sideways, and rain that seemed to come up from underneath." It actually hurt to get hit with this stuff. With the power of the wind behind it, it felt like little rocks pelting my face.
So there I was, just like I wanted...but not. I spent days thinking about coming back, then I got there, and was already trying to figure out how to get out! Isn't that just the way things always go?
I picked up the pace. I just wanted to get to a camp and figure out what I was going to do. My original plan was to hike all the way from the administration to Campamento Italiano...but with the weather I was considering stopping at Paine Grande. I was wondering how in the world I was going to set up my tent alone in that wind. The rain was annoying, but the wind was enough to blow me over, how was I supposed to set up my tent?! I kept looking up the sky to see if there was a break in sight. There was nothing...just a blanket of grey with no end. Shit! Why did I want to do this again?!
The view along this path is supposed to be amazing. But every time I looked up all I got was smacked in the face with stinging rain. Super. Really, this is just fantastic.
Then, just like typical Patagonia, the rain stopped. The clouds were still there, but at least the rain stopped and the wind was turned down about 4 notches. I stole a glance from my hooded jacket to see if I could see anything. Nope...those might be mountains, but I can't tell. Head down, keep walking.
It got lighter. I looked up. HOLY MOTHER OF LUCIFER! BAM!! There are the Cuernos. I stopped dead in my tracks, my arms went limp, my jaw dropped and eventually the corners of my lips turned up creating that thing called a smile. So that's what I was walking toward. Wow. I forgot all about the wet and the cold. I forgot about my plans of retreat. I was staring in wonder at this amazing thing in front of me.
The trail was almost to the mirador (lookout) of the infamous Cuernos, Paine Grande, and Lago Pehoe. Parts of Paine Grande were still covered in clouds but they were rolling and changing form so fast I could see what was below them. Lago Pehoe was more incredible than I remembered. The blue of it, it seems fake. If I could pull out a 150color crayon box I'd find this color blue labeled Caribbean Turquoise and even that wouldn't do it justice because it looks like the light is coming from within, like this lake glows.
I took an obscene amount of pictures of the water, of the Cuernos, of Paine Grande in its changing cloud jacket (unfortunately I lost all these pictures so I can't upload them to share). I kept walking and felt almost renewed...the wind had picked up a bit, but I didn't mind, it helped my clothes dry a bit faster. Actually, my pants were almost dry again. My shoes, well, there was no helping them, but slowly I was beginning to thaw. The rain wouldn't make up its mind, and the sky would spit rain and stop, spit rain and stop, just enough to keep me wondering. But in all its indecisiveness I could see the sun. Maybe this day will turn out alright.
By the time I got Paine Grande I was ready for a break. I had been walking for 4.5 hours and could use a snack. I picked a nice spot with a view of the lake, took off my shoes, wrung out my socks and insoles and laid them out to dry. I took a look at my toes; they were all white and pruney. Yuck. Let's leave those out to dry too. I took off all my outer layers and spread them out on the grass and bushes for the sun and wind to dry them. Out came the trail mix and the kindle. Why not just sit here for a while and enjoy the break.
It was a bit shorter than I anticipated. The sky started that spitting rain thing again and I figured I should just get to camp and set up in case the weather turns really foul again. So I put back on my wet socks and slid the wet insoles back in my boots, re-layered with my damp clothes and kept on.
It's amazing how much I didn't remember from my first time walking this trail. If I didn't know any better I would say that I had never been there before. There are glaciers there? There are waterfalls there? There are Cuernos there? No way?! I had no idea. Given my mental state last time I walked this path and the fact that it was raining and completely hidden in clouds it's no wonder I didn't recognize the trail until I got to that bridge. I remembered that bridge. I remembered that bridge well. Last time we met I knew it signaled camp. It meant the end of walking for the day. It meant rest. It was an emotional meeting, me and that bridge. But this time when I was walking across it I could see the beginnings of what made the "French Valley" and I was praying for a clear day the next day. This, I could tell, was something spectacular.
I set up camp quickly, fetched water, and started my stove to make dinner. It was raining again. Just finish cooking and then crawl in the tent to eat...and well, go to sleep I guess.
Female Stranger: "Hola. ¿Estas sola?"
Me: "Si." nodding my head.
Female Stanger: "¿Completemente sola?"
Me: "Si." still nodding my head
Female Stranger: "¿Estas cocinando? Quieres cenar con nosotros? Vale, venga, siente aquí con nosotros. Hay espacio. Venga." motioning me over.
Me: "Ok, déjame un segundo para terminar calentando esto, y me voy."
And this is how it starts. I make 3 new friends that night. They are a group, 2 guys and 1 girl from Puerto Montt in Chile. They are doing the W-trek together and saw a girl sitting alone and their Chilean hospitality just couldn't let that happen. They tried to feed me, offer me coffee, tea, dessert. They gave me a blanket to use and served me up dessert even though I declined the offer. The blanket was amazing and the dessert was nice too. They were just curious about me and wanted to know all kinds of things. What was I doing? Where was I going? Why was I alone? Where had I been? Why was I there? Where was I from? What is that like? How do I like Chile? We were only a couple questions in and then it got really cold. Clearly the only logical thing for us to do, was for all 4 us to crawl into one of their 2-person tents, sit cross-legged, share some blankets and continue the conversation. This is what I love about Chile. This is what I love about this culture. Instantly you are welcomed and instantly you are part of the family. It's a wonderful thing. Before I knew it, it was 11pm and I wanted to get up early the next morning to start the hike. So I said goodnight, and walked the few paced to my own tent.
The wind howled. It shook the trees. Giant chunks of ice would fall off the glacier in the valley and avalanches would roll down the rock face. I heard the drops of rain hitting like pellets on my fly. I would wake up and listen. Damn it sounds nasty out there. I dozed off again.
Morning came, and I unzipped my fly to find the most glorious morning.
I was almost in a frenzy packing my backpack for the day. I wanted to eat breakfast and get on the trail as quickly as possible. If there is anything I’ve learned down here is that nothing lasts as far as the weather is concerned, and I wanted to take full advantage of this day. So I loaded up my backpack with food, water, snacks, my kindle, layers of clothes and my camera. My Chilean friends were slow to get moving so we said goodbye and I thanked them for everything before heading up the trail.
I made peace with that valley within moments of seeing it. No wonder this is so many people’s favorite part. You pass by a powerful river that is fed from a glacier hanging from a sheer rock face. On the other side is the dramatic view of the two-toned Cuernos. Keep walking up the trail and you pass through bosque (forest), high lakes, pampa (grassland), and then finally walk up to a rock valley that is completely surrounded with dramatic rock towers. On the way down the trail you have a sweeping view of the lower valley including Lago Nordenskjold. I spent the whole day up there. I took a nap and would wake up sporadically to see that the light had changed on the towers, smile to myself and doze back off. The only sound was the wind in the tall grass at my feet, the constant flow of water on rocks and the occasional call of birds.
I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be, so I just enjoyed every second of being there. I was blessed because the weather didn’t change, it stayed perfect all day. A thin layer of high clouds created interest behind Paine Grande and I watched them shift. The sun was strong and the afternoon shadows created drama in the Cuernos, exaggerating the depths of the cracks in the rocks and ice. Eventually I decided it would be wise to make my way down. The sun was sinking low in the sky and it would get cold. I had eaten everything I brought up with me and dinner was waiting for me at camp. Whatever challenge I’d had with trek was now definitely of a thing of the past. All I had for it was love and respect. What a wonderful place. How could I ever not love it?
The next morning I packed up camp and walked back to Lodge Paine Grande. I was debating catching the noon catamaran or the 6:30pm one. If I took the noon catamaran then I would have time to do another hike with a view of the Cuernos from across Lago Nordenskjold before having to catch the last bus to town. If I took the 6:30 then I would be able to hike the trail partially back to administration and see what that trail looks like on a clear day. I was torn.
I thought I would make a run for it. If I was lucky I would be able to get far enough down the trail to see the view of the valley AND make it back in time to catch the noon catamaran. I left my backpack at the lodge and just took some water with me and started a steady trot down the path. It is so easy to run without a backpack on. Patagonia may just make a runner out of me. I imagine a decent pair of shoes would only make it that much better. I kept my eye on my watch and realized when I was a good distance away that I still had a bit further to go and there was no way that I would be able to make it all the way there and back in time. So I did the only logical thing...I sat down in the middle of the field and looked all around me and laughed. All of this was here all along and I never knew it. I never saw it. I was too wrapped up in being wet and cold and pissed off…and all this incredible stuff was happening just behind the clouds.
After a nice long rest, I slowly started walking back to the lodge. On the way I stopped to watch 3 condors. They were way off in the distance and were making their way towards me. I watched them disappear behind a ridge next to me and thought nothing of it. Then all of a sudden I heard this WHOOSH, WHOOSH like an airplane overhead. I looked up and it was the condors! They flew right over me, maybe 15-20ft overhead. They are huge! I had never seen them that close before. Then they all three landed on a rock maybe 30ft away. The 4 of us just stared at each other. That lasted probably 15 minutes or so until they were scared off by someone coming the other way on the trail. I took it as my hint to keep hiking too and watched the condors until they were little specks in the distance before heading back to the lodge.
I had a couple hours to kill before the catamaran. Lucky for me I had my kindle handy and set up a little nest for myself in the grass with a stellar view of Lago Pehoe with its surreal blue waters and read. Before I knew it, it was time to board the boat. From the deck of the boat I watched the Cuernos, the French Valley and the dramatic peak of Paine Grande change color in the early evening sun. These last two days were too perfect. Is this place real? Is this just a dream?
It was with a little bit of sadness that I looked out at those beautiful forms across the lake. I was well aware that this might be the last time I get to see them before I have to carry on with the trip and make my way out of Patagonia. But at least we made peace. We made things right between us. The remnants of hard feelings had melted away with the sun and dusted off with the cool breeze. Looking across that lake, I tried to sort out the emotions that simmered inside. It's a combination that is hard to peg: blessed, reborn, empowered, humbled and so, so grateful.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
I live at the last hope and it feels like home
They call Puerto Natales "Ultima Esperanza" or "the last hope." At first is sounds like a desperate situation, but I will be calling this my home for a little over a month and am thrilled to do it. This place is the portal back to Torres del Paine, a jumping off point to head north to Calafate and El Chalten, and a hub to get down south the the last city before all that's left is the sea and Antartica. Aside from that it's a cute little town. It's small and easy to navigate. There is a gorgeous view of the water and the mountains...and at night the clouds get painted pink and red and gold just before the sun sets. The sky is big here and wide, it almost feels like it spreads forever, and like in Easter Island, I can watch the weather as is rolls in and rolls out. I like this town. It doesn't feel like the last hope, it feels like renewed hope, and it's really starting to feel like home. That's a nice feeling...home. I also found a family here. They are an welcoming bunch, and within a matter of days I've gotten myself uncles, and brothers and sisters. Last hope? Nah, more like a welcomed rest.
I have another goal during my time traveling, which includes that ellusive thing called finding my life's purpose. It's no small feat. I have some ideas with how I might want to spend my time and energy, but I have yet to figure out how to tie them together or to find out if they are things I actually enjoy in practice. Possibly, part of that is the idea of one day opening my own little bed and breakfast on some small corner of this globe. Which part of the globe is still a big unknown. I also am not sure how I would actually do dealing with and cooking for a new batch of strangers every day. It sounds like it could be fun, but really, how would I like it?
I am getting my first trial run at parts of it. Granted I don't have to worry about the business and finance end of things but I am getting my hands dirty with the other parts. I am doing a work/trade thing in a hostel here in Puerto Natales. It's a fun place called Erratic Rock that you could say is a landmark here. Bill is the guy in charge and sets the tone for the hostel. He offered up a position here indefinitely for food and board assuming that I agree to be the house cook. That would be for all the folks that work here and at base camp next door (where they have a bar and rent gear). I very happily agreed...they hadn't tried my cooking yet and were taking a very bold leap of faith.
Another part of my responsibility is to welcome people as they come in, answer any question they might have about the town and the park (having been there 2 times now, I feel adequately prepared to do that), answer the phone if need be, run to town and do errands, clean-up a bit, and make breakfast if Bill has to be out of town. All in all, it's a pretty sweet gig. I like the work, I like the people, I like the place and it's nice to pick the brain of people who are coming and going about what should or could be next.
I've been put under the wing of Julie. She will be here for the entire season and has the responsibility of running the place when Bill it out. I love her! She is super friendly, easy to get along with and willing to teach me anything she can. We spend a lot of time together, cooking, cleaning, and generally just spending time here in the house. When the weather is pleasant or the sun promises to make a show of sunset we've climbed on to the roof or walked down to the water to get a good view. I consider her my sister here and have really enjoyed having that connection. Julie did a world trip last year, and decided to come back here for a longer time to really get to know it. This part of the world does that. I've posted a link to her blog HERE as well. Be impressed it is written in Spanish, French(her native language) and English...all of which speaks fluently and flawlessly.
It's inspiring me to be around people who can flip back and forth so easily and reminds me how important it is to learn this language. It's easy to speak in English most of the time, especially with so many Americans, Australians, British, and Europeans (Germans, Dutch, Austrians, etc.) who speak English better or more easily than Spanish. But I have made a few attempts to force the native Chileans to speak to me in Spanish only and help me practice. It's no easy feat....they flip to English easily too.
As for the cooking...well, that's been an interesting situation. They haven't thrown me out yet, so something must be right. I share this responsibility with Caleb, another volunteer/intern and we either work together or switch off days. Trying to cook for a big group is no easy task. It's still hard for me to wrap my head around making the right quantities...and of this crew we don't have one small eater. We've got me, and well, let's be honest, I easily east for someone twice my size. Then there is Bill and his brother Paul, who runs Base Camp (the combo bar and gear/rental shop). It's uncanny how much those two sound like each other. If you just hear them talking and can't see them, you can't tell which is which. Then there is Koen, a fun kid from Holland that speaks english with such enthusiasm it's hard not to get excited about even the most mundane things. He's 20 or 21, and being that age eats like nothing I have ever seen! Then we've got Caleb and Veronica, both intern/volunteers. Caleb is from Virgina and has all that aura of a artist musician. Vero is from Argentina, warm, welcoming and friendly like I've learned to expect to from this culture. The last of the regulars is Carla, who runs one of the travel agencies here in town and happens to be Bill's girlfriend, and Carla's dad. Every once in a while Scott, Matteius, and Mauricio will join too.
So far I've tried my hand at making homemade gnocchi with a vodka sauce, black bean burgers, lentils, zucchini and pumpkin soup, shephard's pie, chicken and veggie stir-fry, lasagna, summer salad and zucchini bread. It's all been eaten...and for the most part the all turned out pretty darn good. On day's like today I get lazy and just run over to the Proa Norte (the local grocery store) and we have a sandwhich day. Everyone seems to like that too. Me especially....there are hardly any dishes!
I wasn't long into this gig when I was told that Bill would be out of town for a couple days and that Julie would also be leaving to go to the park with her sister who was coming down so they could do the trek together. So...you're saying you are leaving me in charge after 4 days?! Damn, THAT is trust. So, I was to be getting up early to turn on the old school gas heaters and stove (which my first attempt left me with some burned hairs), open the blinds and doors, turn on some pleasant morning music, start the coffee and hot water for tea, and when the first batch of guests came down the stairs I was making omletes and cutting up the homemade bread. In the afternoon and evening I was checking people in, taking payments, making reservations, selling bus tickets to the park, answering questions about the park and town...all in all, having a great time. This is fun!
When Bill got back he set me loose to go exploring. So I had a second chance to go back to the park as the weather had been unusually sunny and clear and to get over the border to El Calafate and El Chalten. I wasn't about to say no to that. So with complimentary bus tickets in hand and a free place to sleep in Calafate I was gone to explore knowing that I would have home to come back to after my little trip.
I didn't realize just how much this really did feel like home until I got back. First of all, I got off the bus and I knew where I was going. I passed familiar faces on the street...and then I walked in front door to, "Hello Kiddo! Welcome home!" Yeah, that's nice. I dropped my stuff, started a load of laundry and helped myself to food in the fridge.
Even on downtime I've found it's easy to spend my time. When alone, I walk around town down to the water, read in the park, bike around just to bike around, yoga...and when I have company, sip matte at base camp, set up the slackline and try to walk it and get some coaching from Koen on how to climb.
Bill has warned me to keep my passport hidden or he might steal it, and I'll be stuck here the whole season. But they have made this feel so comfy the problem is that I don't want to leave. At first it was just going to be for a couple weeks, then one more, then one more....and finally I made a promise to myself to leave after the first of the year. I have a flight to catch from Bariloche and that will let me spend Christmas and New Years here with my adopted family at the last hope, and right now, I can't think of too many other places I'd rather be. If I won't be home, this is for sure the next best thing.
I have another goal during my time traveling, which includes that ellusive thing called finding my life's purpose. It's no small feat. I have some ideas with how I might want to spend my time and energy, but I have yet to figure out how to tie them together or to find out if they are things I actually enjoy in practice. Possibly, part of that is the idea of one day opening my own little bed and breakfast on some small corner of this globe. Which part of the globe is still a big unknown. I also am not sure how I would actually do dealing with and cooking for a new batch of strangers every day. It sounds like it could be fun, but really, how would I like it?
I am getting my first trial run at parts of it. Granted I don't have to worry about the business and finance end of things but I am getting my hands dirty with the other parts. I am doing a work/trade thing in a hostel here in Puerto Natales. It's a fun place called Erratic Rock that you could say is a landmark here. Bill is the guy in charge and sets the tone for the hostel. He offered up a position here indefinitely for food and board assuming that I agree to be the house cook. That would be for all the folks that work here and at base camp next door (where they have a bar and rent gear). I very happily agreed...they hadn't tried my cooking yet and were taking a very bold leap of faith.
Another part of my responsibility is to welcome people as they come in, answer any question they might have about the town and the park (having been there 2 times now, I feel adequately prepared to do that), answer the phone if need be, run to town and do errands, clean-up a bit, and make breakfast if Bill has to be out of town. All in all, it's a pretty sweet gig. I like the work, I like the people, I like the place and it's nice to pick the brain of people who are coming and going about what should or could be next.
I've been put under the wing of Julie. She will be here for the entire season and has the responsibility of running the place when Bill it out. I love her! She is super friendly, easy to get along with and willing to teach me anything she can. We spend a lot of time together, cooking, cleaning, and generally just spending time here in the house. When the weather is pleasant or the sun promises to make a show of sunset we've climbed on to the roof or walked down to the water to get a good view. I consider her my sister here and have really enjoyed having that connection. Julie did a world trip last year, and decided to come back here for a longer time to really get to know it. This part of the world does that. I've posted a link to her blog HERE as well. Be impressed it is written in Spanish, French(her native language) and English...all of which speaks fluently and flawlessly.
It's inspiring me to be around people who can flip back and forth so easily and reminds me how important it is to learn this language. It's easy to speak in English most of the time, especially with so many Americans, Australians, British, and Europeans (Germans, Dutch, Austrians, etc.) who speak English better or more easily than Spanish. But I have made a few attempts to force the native Chileans to speak to me in Spanish only and help me practice. It's no easy feat....they flip to English easily too.
As for the cooking...well, that's been an interesting situation. They haven't thrown me out yet, so something must be right. I share this responsibility with Caleb, another volunteer/intern and we either work together or switch off days. Trying to cook for a big group is no easy task. It's still hard for me to wrap my head around making the right quantities...and of this crew we don't have one small eater. We've got me, and well, let's be honest, I easily east for someone twice my size. Then there is Bill and his brother Paul, who runs Base Camp (the combo bar and gear/rental shop). It's uncanny how much those two sound like each other. If you just hear them talking and can't see them, you can't tell which is which. Then there is Koen, a fun kid from Holland that speaks english with such enthusiasm it's hard not to get excited about even the most mundane things. He's 20 or 21, and being that age eats like nothing I have ever seen! Then we've got Caleb and Veronica, both intern/volunteers. Caleb is from Virgina and has all that aura of a artist musician. Vero is from Argentina, warm, welcoming and friendly like I've learned to expect to from this culture. The last of the regulars is Carla, who runs one of the travel agencies here in town and happens to be Bill's girlfriend, and Carla's dad. Every once in a while Scott, Matteius, and Mauricio will join too.
So far I've tried my hand at making homemade gnocchi with a vodka sauce, black bean burgers, lentils, zucchini and pumpkin soup, shephard's pie, chicken and veggie stir-fry, lasagna, summer salad and zucchini bread. It's all been eaten...and for the most part the all turned out pretty darn good. On day's like today I get lazy and just run over to the Proa Norte (the local grocery store) and we have a sandwhich day. Everyone seems to like that too. Me especially....there are hardly any dishes!
I wasn't long into this gig when I was told that Bill would be out of town for a couple days and that Julie would also be leaving to go to the park with her sister who was coming down so they could do the trek together. So...you're saying you are leaving me in charge after 4 days?! Damn, THAT is trust. So, I was to be getting up early to turn on the old school gas heaters and stove (which my first attempt left me with some burned hairs), open the blinds and doors, turn on some pleasant morning music, start the coffee and hot water for tea, and when the first batch of guests came down the stairs I was making omletes and cutting up the homemade bread. In the afternoon and evening I was checking people in, taking payments, making reservations, selling bus tickets to the park, answering questions about the park and town...all in all, having a great time. This is fun!
When Bill got back he set me loose to go exploring. So I had a second chance to go back to the park as the weather had been unusually sunny and clear and to get over the border to El Calafate and El Chalten. I wasn't about to say no to that. So with complimentary bus tickets in hand and a free place to sleep in Calafate I was gone to explore knowing that I would have home to come back to after my little trip.
I didn't realize just how much this really did feel like home until I got back. First of all, I got off the bus and I knew where I was going. I passed familiar faces on the street...and then I walked in front door to, "Hello Kiddo! Welcome home!" Yeah, that's nice. I dropped my stuff, started a load of laundry and helped myself to food in the fridge.
Even on downtime I've found it's easy to spend my time. When alone, I walk around town down to the water, read in the park, bike around just to bike around, yoga...and when I have company, sip matte at base camp, set up the slackline and try to walk it and get some coaching from Koen on how to climb.
Bill has warned me to keep my passport hidden or he might steal it, and I'll be stuck here the whole season. But they have made this feel so comfy the problem is that I don't want to leave. At first it was just going to be for a couple weeks, then one more, then one more....and finally I made a promise to myself to leave after the first of the year. I have a flight to catch from Bariloche and that will let me spend Christmas and New Years here with my adopted family at the last hope, and right now, I can't think of too many other places I'd rather be. If I won't be home, this is for sure the next best thing.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
torres del paine
torres del paine, a set on Flickr.
my pictures of the trek. You can check out Robert's too...he takes better pictures than I do and has a SWEET camera to boot.
I hope you enjoy!
1st semester midterm. So you wanted a test right?
I started off this noble adventure with the idea of learning something about myself. I was expecting there to be trials, moments of discomfort, reaching out for support in friends, strangers, God...having to dig down deep to find that extra ounce to keep on keeping on. I had this romantic idea of learning through blood, sweat and tears, and from the comforts of home, I typed that thinking how hardcore it sounded.
Then I got schooled. Really schooled. I had my first real test and in my ignorance I thought I would ace this thing. It can't be THAT tough, I've been prepping for this. At first I laughed at the discomfort and welcomed it as my first real trial. Then I met the moment where I hurt. It beat me down, one km at a time, one painful step at a time, one throbbing foot at a time, one sharp shooting pain in the hip that spread into my back at a time. I was cold, I was wet, and I wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry, crawl into a nice, dry, warm bed and nurse my blistered, tenderized feet. What am I doing here? People do this shit for fun? Am I out of my damn mind?! Thank goodness I had a friend there with me to pull me back together, tell me that everything I was going through was perfectly normal and that, yes, I would be just fine. He was right. Eventually the rain stopped, the wind died down, I was fed, the pack got lighter, the pain just went numb and I started to rebuild myself from all the snot covered pieces.
Torres del Paine, you are beautiful, amazing, and completely unpredicable. What's that saying about being broken down so you can be built back up? I think just experienced that, and I never knew it could be so...humbling. But that was the whole point of this right? I wanted to learn? I wanted to grow? I wanted to find out what I could take? What I was made of or if I would break? Torres del Paine AKA towers of pain.
Turns out I like pain.
If I could sum up the experience it would sound like this: 7.5 days, 125 Km, 2 friends that didn't kill each other, Armadillo! a sunburn on perfect clear day, How's your pack riding? My hip bones are bruised...oh, that's normal? m0th$@#%! mosquitos, bi-polar weather, bloody nose and bloody cuticles, my first glacier...again and again and again, making friends with porters and guardaparques, yup, we're on the"W" now, was that kid in jean shorts? limping to camp, thanksgiving in the rain, reaching out for spiritual support, blown over, Dr. Rob - that's how you know a true friend, too much cheese, running up towers, getting greedy for sunrise, mmm...nothin' like the smell of horse shit, all I want is a shower and pizza, napping on the grass.
Of course it wasn't that simple. It wasn't that fast...and not nearly as easy. Don't get me wrong, I realize this entry probably sounds like complaining, it's not. If I could do it all over again, I would and wouldn't even think twice about it. I would pack up my bag and be waiting for the bus to take me back to the park and meet those challenges head on with a smile on my face and say, "what now bitch? I've got this." But first, I had to be brought down, dragged through the mud, and have a pity party. I had a really good pity party, but now the party is over. Fortunately, Robert was there to slap me around a bit when I needed it to pull me out of my funk and point to the incredible view in front of me and say, hey! snap out of it. He was also there to literally take a load off my shoulders when I simply couldn't go on anymore and never once let me feel like a pansy for it.
So what did we actually do? The full circuit of course. None of this "W" nonsense, we're too hardcore for that. Our plans changed with the weather, but the final itinerary looked like this:
Day 1: the catch afternoon bus from Puerto Natales and arrive in the park at about 5pm. Hike from Laguna Amarga to Campamento Seron (14 km/4.5 hours)
Day 2: Campamento Seron to Refugio Dickson (19 km/6 hours)
Day 3: Refugio Dickson to Campamento Los Perros (9 km/4.5 hours)
Day 4: Campamento Los Perros to Campamento Los Guardos via Paso John Gardener (18 km/9hours)
Day 5: Campamento Los Guardos to Campamento Italiano (22.5 km/8 hours)
Day 6: Campamento Italiano to Campamento Chileno (18 km/8 hours)
Day 7: Campamento Chileno to Campamento Torres and day trip to Campamento Japones and Mirador los Torres (14 km/5 hours)
Day 8: Pack up camp to go Hosterra los Torres and bus back to Puerto Natales (11 km/ 5hours)
The first day was pretty smooth...almost too smooth. It was a fairly flat walk, the trail was well marked, the weather was perfect. The only thing was that my pack was heavy. I was only carrying the basics, but apprently I eat a lot. We were carrying everything we would need for the next 7.5 days, including all the food, gas, stove, cook kit, tent, sleeping pads and bags, food, rain gear, layers, first aid stuff, more food. We had a lot of food. By the time we got the camp I noticed that my feet were talking...they were not so pleased with what was going on. My hip bones too were making a racket about carrying all this weight. When I took off my pack I noticed that they were tender to the touch. The guardaparque showed us that there was a scale there and he wanted to know how much we were carrying. I put my bag up there...24kilos. The guardaparque did that hand shaking thing like it was burning, "pesado!!" yeah, tell me about it, I know it's heavy. But I was too excited to let it bother me...yet. We got to camp and set up made easy pasta for dinner and called it a night. For some reason, I was tired.
The next morning we got up to see the sun was shining. The makings of a perfect day. But I was a little stiff...just got to get moving is all. Get them pegs moving. We were in no rush. It was a pretty easy day, and we were told that it was mostly flat. "Flat" in patagonia is almost like "up" they both seem totally relative. The topo map we were using was pretty much pointless, the lines were too far apart to really do us any good, and we had no real idea of what to expect as far as elevation gain on the trek. Fortunately we were not in any kind of rush, so we were slow to get going in the morning and took our time to stop and admire the view along the way. It was an incredible view and it was a noble battle for my attention raging between my feet and the vista. Most of the time the view would win, but I was limping a bit and favoring one side. Robert was a bit concerned for me I think and being a trained guide wanted to help. I learned that there are multiple ways to tie a shoe. I did not know this before and his new method did help prevent my toes from jamming so much into the front of the shoes. But I fear that at this point the damage was done and the blisteres were already well into development and my toenails were all tender to the touch. I kept thinking that I hope they don't fall off...that just wouldn't be cute. Just when the battle was really raging between feet and view and the feet were winning, the view took pulled out an amazing swing and nearly knocked me out. BAM! Lago Dickson and glacier Dickson and the most picturesque campsite the world has ever known. (I stole this picture from Robert who gave me permission to do so and to link to his Flickr pictures as well. To see those click HERE)
It was like being given a fresh shot of adrenaline. I could see the destination. I could make it and then I could drop my pack and take me shoes off and hobble my way down to the water to stick my feet in them. Nature's ice bath. But honeslty, who wouldn't be thrilled to call this home for a night?
Fortunately the next day was an even shorter walk. Robert took some of the weight from me to lighten my load and I felt like a baby but also had enough sense to realize that I needed the help. Besides, he told me that if I was feeling super strong he would happily give me the extra gear back. It turns out the I needed the the help because even with a shorter day ahead I was still struggling a bit to finish the day. I think it may have just been residual tiredness. Or maybe I'm not cut out for this multi-day backpacking business. This day it was raining, and we got to perros campamento with lots of time to make dinner and rest. There was a little shelter made of a tarps and with a little fire pit in the middle there for just that purpose, apparently this camp tends to be wet and cold. We were invited in to the shelter by the guradaparque (the park ranger) that worked there. He took notice of the fact that we were alone and wet. The shelter was occupied by a relatively large group. We had seen them at the other camps and kept getting passed and passing the same group of porters. I talked with them a little bit at Campamento Dickson and they had invited us share their lentils when we got to Perros camp. We would cross paths with these porters several times along the way and having little snippets of conversations with them along the trail and at various camps. Perros camp is the camp before the big hike, the one that takes you over the pass. It is supposed to be the most difficult day not only because of the elevation but also because the terrain. There are portions of the trail that are a bit dangerous and we had been advised by the park rangers to use particular caution on this next leg. I slept as best I could that night, but it was colder than previous nights and I was excited about the next day.
The next morning came early and Robert took even more weight from my pack. THANK GOD. I had a great day and I think part of the reason was that I was carrying significantly less weight than when we started...and we had eaten some food. We had a good climb in front of us and it was my first time trekking through snow. Robert made it a point to teach me the proper way to lay and maintain tracks so people can follow easily behind you. For whatever reason that day I felt great. Maybe it was the excitement of snow. Maybe it was seeing a glacier like glacier gray for the first time flowing like a river of ice. Maybe it was slipping and falling in the snow and using it as an excuse to slide as far down as I safley could - apparently this is a real mountaineering technique. :) Not the slipping and falling part, but the sliding.
I consider glacier gray my first real glacier. I got to see it over and over and over again. The trail apparently liked to make us earn the same elevation time and time again, and each time there was another first glance at the glacier. I didn't mind....but I think Robert was probably not so thrilled about having to do that with all the weight. He never complained but there was one time where I heard him slightly exhasperated groan, "you've got to be kidding me!" after we had to re-climb for the umpteenth time. I was skipping up that mountain completely enamoured with that glacier. I had never seen anything like it. There was in fact 2 parts where the trail was a bit dodgey...there was a ladder that had to be descended and a rope to help us climb back up from the river bank on the other side.
Totally safe...and I only feared for my life once. But then there was that glacier again and I forgot all about it. The weather was crazy that day. It was typical patagonia...start off clear, then rain, then hail, then snow, then coudy but dry, then clear, then rain. So not only did we see the same glacier a handful of times by re-earning the same elevation, it really was like new every time with the changing weather.
Day 5 started off alright but then Robert and I took turns feeling like poop. Fortunately we didn't feel crappy at the same time, but still. It threw me off to see that my composed mountain guide had lost a bit of his composure. Turns out he's not a machine and that day going over the pass carrying more than the lions share of gear and food may have been harder than he let on. After lunch he was re-charged and the same smiling, optimisic Robert I had come to expect was back...and then it was my turn to mope at my pity party. The weather had turned sour, my feet were screaming, my back hurt (that was new) and there was a sharp pain in my right hip. I was walking like a seriously injured old woman. I was wondering what in the hell would posses me to want to do this...and it was Thanksgiving. I wasn't feeling very thankful, in fact I was quite busy ruminating on my general unhappiness at that particular moment.
I hurt. I was cold. I was wet. I was hungry. I missed my family and it was my favorite holiday and I felt - for the first time on this trip - really far away from home. The wind was fierce. The coulds were thick. My feet were soaked. All I wanted at that moment was for that day to be over. I knew that the next day would be better and that old mantra came to mind, that yes, this too shall pass. But at that moment it was hard to see that. Robert snapped this picture right before we reached camp that night. I was deep in thought...wanting to die. I promised myself that I would come back to this part of the trail and make peace with it, but that day we were enemies.
We set up camp in the rain. I hobbled down to the river to get us water and Robert started to make dinner. Bless his heart he was trying to make Thanksgiving out of this day regardless of how crotchety I was. He had hidden a box of instant stuffing in his pack, fryed up some apples in cinnamon and sugar and fried some sliced ham. It was actually really good. I was starting to recover from my previous state and remembering that yes, I did in fact have an overwhelming amount of things to be grateful for. I was spending Thanksgiving in one of the most beautiful places in the world, and even in my moments of unhappiness, the blessings of my life were overflowing. I was glad that I had a friend there with me to remind me of this and didn't take my sour mood personally. After I was fed and warmed with some fresh socks I was already in a much better place. The clouds were still thick and the sky didn't look very promising. We were hoping that it would clear up by the morning. The theory was that we would have a day hike in the french valley and then move camp in the evening. But for that night it was Thanksgiving and we had a thanksgivingesque dinner for it. Afterwards I excused myself to hide in the tent and read for a bit. I needed some time alone with my thoughts and to get them back where they needed to be.
I heard a voice from outside the tent tell me that there was dessert if I wanted. Dessert?! This really IS thanksgiving. Apparently Robert had been toting around a giant can of pumpkin pie filling in his pack too. So we had warmed up pumpkin pie filling while the sky insisted on spitting out rain. But by then the worst of it was over, I felt ready for another day. We talked about a plan for the next day. If the rain continued and the clouds hung low there would be no reason for us to day hike the valley since we wouldn't be able to see anything, so we decided that if that happened we would just move camp closer to the towers and try our luck with the weather there.
Morning came...I heard the rain all night and it was still raining in the morning. We tried to wait it out, hoping that the clouds would break for us. No luck, so at around noon we decided to pack up camp and move. Wouldn't you know it that as we packed up and started hiking to the next camp, maybe 2 hours into it the sky started to clear and eventually the sun came out. The valley itself was still completely socked in with clouds so we didn't regret our decision, but we were both a little sad that we never got to see the valley. I'll be back I told myself, not just to make peace, but to actually get to see it.
Walking along on day 6 we met the infamous Patagonian wind. It literally knocked me on my ass at least once and shoved me around a bit too. It was tricky because it was, like everything here, totally unpredictable. The wind would seem to come consisitently from one side, blowing hard enough to warrant me leaning all my weight into it and then suddenly and without warning it would completely change direction. I was still leaning into where it used to be only to find that there was nothing there to push against and I would be stumbling around like a drunk on the path. Our trail map warned us that this part of the path was windy, but I don't think either of us were prepared for wind like this. Apparently there have been people blown off the cliff here because of the wind...
Day 7 was our last full day and we moved camp for the last time. But first it was time to address these feet of mine. Dr. Rob got all serious on me and pulled out his first aid kit, sanitized a needle, took my nasty smelly foot in hand and drained all the fluid from my blister. Then, taped them up all fancy and moved to the other foot. He wasn't even fazed. I was ashamed at my own feet and wouldn't have wanted to touch them, let alone drain blisters, this is a friend. All bandaged up and nursed I felt much better...almost like new. The clouds were hanging low when we moved camp, and by the time we finished it had started raining again and the torres were completely hidden in the clouds. It's ok we told ourselves, we have all day here and tomorrow morning too. They are bound to come out some time. We spent the day bumming around camp and taking a fairly easy hike to the Japanese camp were climbers stay with special permits to climb the torres. I made friends with the guardaparque there, his name was Luis. He invited us in for matte and wine if we were interested, I respectfully declined the invite, but picked his brains for more information about other hikes in the park, the things most people never get to do. He was a wealth of information, but mostly I think he was just bored and was glad to have someone to talk to. I liked the excuse to practice my spanish, so in the end it all worked out.
It was our last night so we decided to eat everything we could so we didn't have to carry it down. I love cheese, I mean, I really love cheese. I also really love pasta. Fortunately these things were the foundation of our diet and we still had quite a bit of cheese left. So we made cheesy pasta and gourged ourselves. I was actually so full I was uncomfortable - loosen your pants uncomfortable. Glutony in it's true form. It was uncomfortable to sit, it was uncomforatble to stand...Why did you make me eat that?! Then at around 8:30 that night I looked up and the rain had stopped and the clouds had lifted over the towers. I yelled at Robert that I think this was our chance. We were planning on getting up early in the morning to see sunrise over the towers, but we could see the towers now! So we did the only appropriate thing, we nearly ran up the path the toweres. In a moment of doubt Robert told me that we were going to miss the light. To hell we are! Where this energy all of a sudden came from I have no idea. Maybe it was the cheese. And then, there they were, in all their glory. The picture perfect torres with the lake below. There was even some couds for added drama to catch the light of the setting sun.
We made it up just in time and stood in wonder at the sight. So this is what has been hiding under all those clouds? Robert took some pictures (my camera was dead at this point) and then we headed back down...running, just for the fun of it. The trail map says it should take 45min-1hr to get up to the lookout. We, however, made it up, took pictures and back down in 1hr20min. Take that trek.
We were absolutely thrilled that we got a chance to see the towers and went to sleep dreaming that we would see the sun bathing the towers in glorious golden light.
We woke up to rain and thick heavy clouds. It was 4:30 in the morning...
But, when in Patagonia you get up anyway and hope that by the time you get to the lookout that the weather has changed. The only thing that changed was my core temperature as my clothes got soaked in the rain. We tired to wait it out and at least we got to see the colors of sun sweep across the valley below. As for the towers, you couldn't even tell they were there, just a big mass of clouds. But they were so clear yesterday!
I stood on a big rock and with a mixutre of sadness and gratitude looked back at the valley and the path that wound down out of the park. In a couple hours we would be packed up and waiting for a bus to take us back to Puerto Natales and the next day Robert would be going home. It was in that moment that I realized just how far this trek had really taken me. Yeah, we were right back were we started 7.5 days ago, but I felt like a different person. Sure, a smelly and blistered version of myself, but a stronger version too. It was almost in disbelief that I traced our route on the trail map...you mean, I walked all that? My low moment on Thanksgiving day felt like worlds away...and so did that sense of enchantment of seeing Campamento Dickson. Those moments of good, the laughing conversations, the mind-blowing too beautiful to be real views, the discomfort, the pain, the physical trials all seemed like worlds away. And this too shall pass...
I remembered that when I was being challenged and vowed right there on that rock to remember that when the good happenes too, so I don't take it for granted and get caught up thinking about the next best thing. This is the next best thing. This life, this moment, this cloud covered view that last night was traced in gold.
I will be back and will take the lessons that this mountain tought me to move along her trails more gracefully.
Then I got schooled. Really schooled. I had my first real test and in my ignorance I thought I would ace this thing. It can't be THAT tough, I've been prepping for this. At first I laughed at the discomfort and welcomed it as my first real trial. Then I met the moment where I hurt. It beat me down, one km at a time, one painful step at a time, one throbbing foot at a time, one sharp shooting pain in the hip that spread into my back at a time. I was cold, I was wet, and I wanted nothing more than to sit down and cry, crawl into a nice, dry, warm bed and nurse my blistered, tenderized feet. What am I doing here? People do this shit for fun? Am I out of my damn mind?! Thank goodness I had a friend there with me to pull me back together, tell me that everything I was going through was perfectly normal and that, yes, I would be just fine. He was right. Eventually the rain stopped, the wind died down, I was fed, the pack got lighter, the pain just went numb and I started to rebuild myself from all the snot covered pieces.
Torres del Paine, you are beautiful, amazing, and completely unpredicable. What's that saying about being broken down so you can be built back up? I think just experienced that, and I never knew it could be so...humbling. But that was the whole point of this right? I wanted to learn? I wanted to grow? I wanted to find out what I could take? What I was made of or if I would break? Torres del Paine AKA towers of pain.
Turns out I like pain.
If I could sum up the experience it would sound like this: 7.5 days, 125 Km, 2 friends that didn't kill each other, Armadillo! a sunburn on perfect clear day, How's your pack riding? My hip bones are bruised...oh, that's normal? m0th$@#%! mosquitos, bi-polar weather, bloody nose and bloody cuticles, my first glacier...again and again and again, making friends with porters and guardaparques, yup, we're on the"W" now, was that kid in jean shorts? limping to camp, thanksgiving in the rain, reaching out for spiritual support, blown over, Dr. Rob - that's how you know a true friend, too much cheese, running up towers, getting greedy for sunrise, mmm...nothin' like the smell of horse shit, all I want is a shower and pizza, napping on the grass.
Of course it wasn't that simple. It wasn't that fast...and not nearly as easy. Don't get me wrong, I realize this entry probably sounds like complaining, it's not. If I could do it all over again, I would and wouldn't even think twice about it. I would pack up my bag and be waiting for the bus to take me back to the park and meet those challenges head on with a smile on my face and say, "what now bitch? I've got this." But first, I had to be brought down, dragged through the mud, and have a pity party. I had a really good pity party, but now the party is over. Fortunately, Robert was there to slap me around a bit when I needed it to pull me out of my funk and point to the incredible view in front of me and say, hey! snap out of it. He was also there to literally take a load off my shoulders when I simply couldn't go on anymore and never once let me feel like a pansy for it.
So what did we actually do? The full circuit of course. None of this "W" nonsense, we're too hardcore for that. Our plans changed with the weather, but the final itinerary looked like this:
Day 1: the catch afternoon bus from Puerto Natales and arrive in the park at about 5pm. Hike from Laguna Amarga to Campamento Seron (14 km/4.5 hours)
Day 2: Campamento Seron to Refugio Dickson (19 km/6 hours)
Day 3: Refugio Dickson to Campamento Los Perros (9 km/4.5 hours)
Day 4: Campamento Los Perros to Campamento Los Guardos via Paso John Gardener (18 km/9hours)
Day 5: Campamento Los Guardos to Campamento Italiano (22.5 km/8 hours)
Day 6: Campamento Italiano to Campamento Chileno (18 km/8 hours)
Day 7: Campamento Chileno to Campamento Torres and day trip to Campamento Japones and Mirador los Torres (14 km/5 hours)
Day 8: Pack up camp to go Hosterra los Torres and bus back to Puerto Natales (11 km/ 5hours)
The first day was pretty smooth...almost too smooth. It was a fairly flat walk, the trail was well marked, the weather was perfect. The only thing was that my pack was heavy. I was only carrying the basics, but apprently I eat a lot. We were carrying everything we would need for the next 7.5 days, including all the food, gas, stove, cook kit, tent, sleeping pads and bags, food, rain gear, layers, first aid stuff, more food. We had a lot of food. By the time we got the camp I noticed that my feet were talking...they were not so pleased with what was going on. My hip bones too were making a racket about carrying all this weight. When I took off my pack I noticed that they were tender to the touch. The guardaparque showed us that there was a scale there and he wanted to know how much we were carrying. I put my bag up there...24kilos. The guardaparque did that hand shaking thing like it was burning, "pesado!!" yeah, tell me about it, I know it's heavy. But I was too excited to let it bother me...yet. We got to camp and set up made easy pasta for dinner and called it a night. For some reason, I was tired.
The next morning we got up to see the sun was shining. The makings of a perfect day. But I was a little stiff...just got to get moving is all. Get them pegs moving. We were in no rush. It was a pretty easy day, and we were told that it was mostly flat. "Flat" in patagonia is almost like "up" they both seem totally relative. The topo map we were using was pretty much pointless, the lines were too far apart to really do us any good, and we had no real idea of what to expect as far as elevation gain on the trek. Fortunately we were not in any kind of rush, so we were slow to get going in the morning and took our time to stop and admire the view along the way. It was an incredible view and it was a noble battle for my attention raging between my feet and the vista. Most of the time the view would win, but I was limping a bit and favoring one side. Robert was a bit concerned for me I think and being a trained guide wanted to help. I learned that there are multiple ways to tie a shoe. I did not know this before and his new method did help prevent my toes from jamming so much into the front of the shoes. But I fear that at this point the damage was done and the blisteres were already well into development and my toenails were all tender to the touch. I kept thinking that I hope they don't fall off...that just wouldn't be cute. Just when the battle was really raging between feet and view and the feet were winning, the view took pulled out an amazing swing and nearly knocked me out. BAM! Lago Dickson and glacier Dickson and the most picturesque campsite the world has ever known. (I stole this picture from Robert who gave me permission to do so and to link to his Flickr pictures as well. To see those click HERE)
Fortunately the next day was an even shorter walk. Robert took some of the weight from me to lighten my load and I felt like a baby but also had enough sense to realize that I needed the help. Besides, he told me that if I was feeling super strong he would happily give me the extra gear back. It turns out the I needed the the help because even with a shorter day ahead I was still struggling a bit to finish the day. I think it may have just been residual tiredness. Or maybe I'm not cut out for this multi-day backpacking business. This day it was raining, and we got to perros campamento with lots of time to make dinner and rest. There was a little shelter made of a tarps and with a little fire pit in the middle there for just that purpose, apparently this camp tends to be wet and cold. We were invited in to the shelter by the guradaparque (the park ranger) that worked there. He took notice of the fact that we were alone and wet. The shelter was occupied by a relatively large group. We had seen them at the other camps and kept getting passed and passing the same group of porters. I talked with them a little bit at Campamento Dickson and they had invited us share their lentils when we got to Perros camp. We would cross paths with these porters several times along the way and having little snippets of conversations with them along the trail and at various camps. Perros camp is the camp before the big hike, the one that takes you over the pass. It is supposed to be the most difficult day not only because of the elevation but also because the terrain. There are portions of the trail that are a bit dangerous and we had been advised by the park rangers to use particular caution on this next leg. I slept as best I could that night, but it was colder than previous nights and I was excited about the next day.
The next morning came early and Robert took even more weight from my pack. THANK GOD. I had a great day and I think part of the reason was that I was carrying significantly less weight than when we started...and we had eaten some food. We had a good climb in front of us and it was my first time trekking through snow. Robert made it a point to teach me the proper way to lay and maintain tracks so people can follow easily behind you. For whatever reason that day I felt great. Maybe it was the excitement of snow. Maybe it was seeing a glacier like glacier gray for the first time flowing like a river of ice. Maybe it was slipping and falling in the snow and using it as an excuse to slide as far down as I safley could - apparently this is a real mountaineering technique. :) Not the slipping and falling part, but the sliding.
I consider glacier gray my first real glacier. I got to see it over and over and over again. The trail apparently liked to make us earn the same elevation time and time again, and each time there was another first glance at the glacier. I didn't mind....but I think Robert was probably not so thrilled about having to do that with all the weight. He never complained but there was one time where I heard him slightly exhasperated groan, "you've got to be kidding me!" after we had to re-climb for the umpteenth time. I was skipping up that mountain completely enamoured with that glacier. I had never seen anything like it. There was in fact 2 parts where the trail was a bit dodgey...there was a ladder that had to be descended and a rope to help us climb back up from the river bank on the other side.
Day 5 started off alright but then Robert and I took turns feeling like poop. Fortunately we didn't feel crappy at the same time, but still. It threw me off to see that my composed mountain guide had lost a bit of his composure. Turns out he's not a machine and that day going over the pass carrying more than the lions share of gear and food may have been harder than he let on. After lunch he was re-charged and the same smiling, optimisic Robert I had come to expect was back...and then it was my turn to mope at my pity party. The weather had turned sour, my feet were screaming, my back hurt (that was new) and there was a sharp pain in my right hip. I was walking like a seriously injured old woman. I was wondering what in the hell would posses me to want to do this...and it was Thanksgiving. I wasn't feeling very thankful, in fact I was quite busy ruminating on my general unhappiness at that particular moment.
I hurt. I was cold. I was wet. I was hungry. I missed my family and it was my favorite holiday and I felt - for the first time on this trip - really far away from home. The wind was fierce. The coulds were thick. My feet were soaked. All I wanted at that moment was for that day to be over. I knew that the next day would be better and that old mantra came to mind, that yes, this too shall pass. But at that moment it was hard to see that. Robert snapped this picture right before we reached camp that night. I was deep in thought...wanting to die. I promised myself that I would come back to this part of the trail and make peace with it, but that day we were enemies.
I heard a voice from outside the tent tell me that there was dessert if I wanted. Dessert?! This really IS thanksgiving. Apparently Robert had been toting around a giant can of pumpkin pie filling in his pack too. So we had warmed up pumpkin pie filling while the sky insisted on spitting out rain. But by then the worst of it was over, I felt ready for another day. We talked about a plan for the next day. If the rain continued and the clouds hung low there would be no reason for us to day hike the valley since we wouldn't be able to see anything, so we decided that if that happened we would just move camp closer to the towers and try our luck with the weather there.
Morning came...I heard the rain all night and it was still raining in the morning. We tried to wait it out, hoping that the clouds would break for us. No luck, so at around noon we decided to pack up camp and move. Wouldn't you know it that as we packed up and started hiking to the next camp, maybe 2 hours into it the sky started to clear and eventually the sun came out. The valley itself was still completely socked in with clouds so we didn't regret our decision, but we were both a little sad that we never got to see the valley. I'll be back I told myself, not just to make peace, but to actually get to see it.
Walking along on day 6 we met the infamous Patagonian wind. It literally knocked me on my ass at least once and shoved me around a bit too. It was tricky because it was, like everything here, totally unpredictable. The wind would seem to come consisitently from one side, blowing hard enough to warrant me leaning all my weight into it and then suddenly and without warning it would completely change direction. I was still leaning into where it used to be only to find that there was nothing there to push against and I would be stumbling around like a drunk on the path. Our trail map warned us that this part of the path was windy, but I don't think either of us were prepared for wind like this. Apparently there have been people blown off the cliff here because of the wind...
Day 7 was our last full day and we moved camp for the last time. But first it was time to address these feet of mine. Dr. Rob got all serious on me and pulled out his first aid kit, sanitized a needle, took my nasty smelly foot in hand and drained all the fluid from my blister. Then, taped them up all fancy and moved to the other foot. He wasn't even fazed. I was ashamed at my own feet and wouldn't have wanted to touch them, let alone drain blisters, this is a friend. All bandaged up and nursed I felt much better...almost like new. The clouds were hanging low when we moved camp, and by the time we finished it had started raining again and the torres were completely hidden in the clouds. It's ok we told ourselves, we have all day here and tomorrow morning too. They are bound to come out some time. We spent the day bumming around camp and taking a fairly easy hike to the Japanese camp were climbers stay with special permits to climb the torres. I made friends with the guardaparque there, his name was Luis. He invited us in for matte and wine if we were interested, I respectfully declined the invite, but picked his brains for more information about other hikes in the park, the things most people never get to do. He was a wealth of information, but mostly I think he was just bored and was glad to have someone to talk to. I liked the excuse to practice my spanish, so in the end it all worked out.
It was our last night so we decided to eat everything we could so we didn't have to carry it down. I love cheese, I mean, I really love cheese. I also really love pasta. Fortunately these things were the foundation of our diet and we still had quite a bit of cheese left. So we made cheesy pasta and gourged ourselves. I was actually so full I was uncomfortable - loosen your pants uncomfortable. Glutony in it's true form. It was uncomfortable to sit, it was uncomforatble to stand...Why did you make me eat that?! Then at around 8:30 that night I looked up and the rain had stopped and the clouds had lifted over the towers. I yelled at Robert that I think this was our chance. We were planning on getting up early in the morning to see sunrise over the towers, but we could see the towers now! So we did the only appropriate thing, we nearly ran up the path the toweres. In a moment of doubt Robert told me that we were going to miss the light. To hell we are! Where this energy all of a sudden came from I have no idea. Maybe it was the cheese. And then, there they were, in all their glory. The picture perfect torres with the lake below. There was even some couds for added drama to catch the light of the setting sun.
We were absolutely thrilled that we got a chance to see the towers and went to sleep dreaming that we would see the sun bathing the towers in glorious golden light.
We woke up to rain and thick heavy clouds. It was 4:30 in the morning...
But, when in Patagonia you get up anyway and hope that by the time you get to the lookout that the weather has changed. The only thing that changed was my core temperature as my clothes got soaked in the rain. We tired to wait it out and at least we got to see the colors of sun sweep across the valley below. As for the towers, you couldn't even tell they were there, just a big mass of clouds. But they were so clear yesterday!
I stood on a big rock and with a mixutre of sadness and gratitude looked back at the valley and the path that wound down out of the park. In a couple hours we would be packed up and waiting for a bus to take us back to Puerto Natales and the next day Robert would be going home. It was in that moment that I realized just how far this trek had really taken me. Yeah, we were right back were we started 7.5 days ago, but I felt like a different person. Sure, a smelly and blistered version of myself, but a stronger version too. It was almost in disbelief that I traced our route on the trail map...you mean, I walked all that? My low moment on Thanksgiving day felt like worlds away...and so did that sense of enchantment of seeing Campamento Dickson. Those moments of good, the laughing conversations, the mind-blowing too beautiful to be real views, the discomfort, the pain, the physical trials all seemed like worlds away. And this too shall pass...
I remembered that when I was being challenged and vowed right there on that rock to remember that when the good happenes too, so I don't take it for granted and get caught up thinking about the next best thing. This is the next best thing. This life, this moment, this cloud covered view that last night was traced in gold.
I will be back and will take the lessons that this mountain tought me to move along her trails more gracefully.
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