Patagonia / W Trek

So in Chile, one eats their sandwich with a knife and fork. Plus, an average sandwich costs 3,000 Chilean pesos. No shortage of digits in their money. Oh, and don't try to bring a Chilean pisco into Peru, it is flat out forbidden. Lucky for me, the lady at the Santiago duty-free warned me, thereby sparing me the disgrace of starting yet another Peru-Chile war.

  I use this blog as a diary, so I include a lot of trivial detail…so don't feel any pressure to read it all, feel free to just look at the pictures!  

Andean Condor / View west from Torres towards Cuernos all the way to Paine Grande

Getting to the Southern Tip of South America: Arrival in Punta Arenas

I was off to catch up with Farnaz & Paul, ahead of me by a few days, in Punta Arenas, Chile. Punta Arenas is the big town (150,000 maybe) down where the Straights of Magellan cut trough the southern tip of the continent. It is roughly as close to the South Pole as Juneau is to the North Pole. [Which are both, it turns out, not all THAT close to the poles when you really look at them. It's like I've been blind to the one-third of the globe all my life, to how much territory actually lies at the extremes. Still, it FEELS like the end of the earth in Punta Arenas.] I arrived there a little frazzled, having literally sprinted through the Santiago airport to make my connection. But my midnight cab ride to Punta Arenas from the little airport was graced by a humongous half-moon reflecting off the waters and a starry night. Little did I know that this would be my last chance at stargazing here, and the driver only pointed vaguely when I asked about the Southern Cross, so I have to content myself with the strangeness of Orion sitting low on the northern horizon. I was further soothed by the little yoga-hotel, Ilaia, with crisp white sheets and simple decor and a note waiting from my friends saying we would meet at breakfast. I may not do yoga, but the place relaxed me. I insulted the landlady by asking about bottled water when, of course, their water seems to melt crystal-clear straight from a glacier to the tap.

The difference between Chile and Lima was undeniable. Uniformed officials there greeted me casually, little corrugate homes and buildings cluster together for warmth, more worried about the elements than crime. In fact, I could not escape the feeling that everything was at 2/3-scale, like model-train models glued down to a paper-maché landscape. Not that things were cutesy; the people and their town seem capable, friendly, unadorned.

Getting to the Park: Transit to Torres del Paine

Busride to Puerto Natales

After breakfast, Farnaz and Paul and I walked over and caught the bus for the 3hr ride to Puerto Natales, a smaller town from which many travelers continue up to the mountains. Our subsequent 3hr bus up to the park did not leave immediately, so we had time for Paul to choke down what may be the worst pizza in the world while I tried one of the local delicacies, king crab, but perhaps not the best sample. Both bus rides afforded uninterrupted enjoyment of the Patagonian steppes. I thought of my dad, for the landscape reminded me of Wyoming, if Wyoming had Norwegian fjords. The yellow rolling grasslands reveal snowy peaks on the horizon and estancias (ranches) keep sheep, cattle and horses. The bus winds around lakes, eventually turning for the last hour onto a gravel road from which we see guanacos (similar to llama) and rhea (similar to small ostrich). Finally, after entering the park and catching a transfer, we were dropped off at the first "refugio" of our trek.

Trail from Refugio Torres to Refugio Cuernos,
along Lago Nordenskjöld

The park goes all the way around a conglomeration of sharp peaks and towers, and it was our plan to do the popular W Trek, so named because the route forms a W as one hikes in and out of the mountains on various days. The summits are not so incredibly high (less than 10,000ft), but consider that the lakes at the bottom are almost sea level and you will get an idea of how dramatic the vistas are. Along the trails are several trekker's hostels, the refugios, that provide meals and bunks and sleeping bags.

The Torres

The first one for us, Torres, was large and institutional relative to some of the others. Still, from the front door we could see up to the tops of the 3 towers known as the Torres and it's just pretty to wander around. Many people camp, some camp and come to the refugios for meals, and in this spot at the end of the road there is even a nice lodge if one desires total comfort. In a strange way, even being so far from home, the overall experience feels less "foreign" to me. Sure, the details are new and exciting, but being on beautiful trails with people from all over the world is something I have been lucky enough to have experienced before. This day, and all days after, we encounter Spanish, German, French, Hebrew, etc. After dinner with our fellow international trekkers, we retired to our bunks. I'm a top-bunk kind of guy.

Day 1: Hike to the Torres Lookout and Back

Patagonian temperatures are relatively temperate, never much over 60-deg in summer or much below freezing even in winter. But the weather changes every couple of hours and the elements of rain or sun or hail or wind have a lot of say in how things feel. So within the first uphill half-hour of our hike, I was wishing for shorts. Within an hour of that, I had my poncho on. Exposed up on the lake, the wind robbed my fingers of their feeling. These variations describe many of the days to come.

Lago Torres (that's not me, but the little guy is good for scale!)

This hike climbed up out of the grass into a valley angling back into the peaks. Once in the valley, we loped along the wooded banks and gullies of a small river, only to have an exposed straight up 45min climb to the icy lake and viewpoint for the Torres. The trails here don't seem to see the advantage of switchbacks, so climbs and descents are all pretty steep. Three towering granite spires rise up behind a small slate-green lake. Farnaz, Paul and I all hike at our own pace, so we arrived at different times…but we were all able to be up there together at one point. Of course, we were also accompanied for a large part of the day by Jumbo, a 1st-generation Chinese-American who took a couple days to get the hint that staying with us 24-7 was rather overstepping the bounds of friendliness. On the return, I ended up behind a horse train from the lodge. It afforded me an up close look at the gauchos I had only seen at a distance. They are able to make a beret look as macho as a Stetson, with a full leather duster and supple riding boots and cowhide spats. Anyway, 12 miles later and several mashed toes we were back at the refugio to sup and bunk down for the night.

Day 2: Hike to Refugio Cuernos

Farnaz at Lago Nordenskjöld

Knowing that this portion was only 6 miles, we took our time getting going, stopping at the lodge to buy a little wi-fi time. Just before heading out, I noticed a bottle of golden liquor at the bar, labeled pisco, and was intrigued. It seems the Chileans create a caramelized version that is very much like rum, and though it was 10:30am I enjoyed a bracing dose. This route took us along the shoulder of the mountains, with a very long blue lake down on our left. We went up and down, passing small lakes or crossing streams, hitting several different ecosystems along the way. As always, Farnaz was logging her bird sightings, and this day inspired her to dub the route "Condor Alley".When we stopped for lunch sitting on a bluff, we had more than 20 condor fly-overs, a couple below eye-level so we were treated to more than just a distant silhouette. Over the course of the trip we spotted several birds new to her life-list…but the condors were amazing. I was also surprised to see a parakeet, somehow I never pictured them in a place so alpine. Moving on, every hour or so, the hike revealed to a fresh view of some new promontory, but the ever-shifting cloud cover veiled the full effect from us.

The deck at Refugio Cuernos

Refugio Cuernos feels different, being accessible only by trail. The staff strikes me as similar to a ski-lodge, as does the vibe in general. Arriving to a warm deck with benches looking up the cliffs, we relaxed in our socks with a bottle of wine. A group of guides passed around a mate gourd, refilling it from a little water thermos as per custom (mate here is made of Yerba Buena, a shrub ground up to make an aromatic, long-lasting "tea"). An Ecuadorian rolled out some jewelry he packs on the trail Just prior to serving dinner, three of the staff jumped up with sunglasses and did a lively rendition of the "Gangnam Style" dance. Not a 5-star place, certainly, but the overall sincerity (e.g. the handmade calafate-berry cream-puff dessert) made the overnight here pleasant. We had to share a room of triple-stack bunks with a French family who were not the friendliest bunch, but appropriate perhaps since the next day we set out for the "French Valley".

Peaks at entrance to French Valley

Day 3: Hike to Refugio Paine Grande, Side Trip to French Valley

By this morning, Paul was feeling the trail in his bones, and opted to skip the French Valley side trip and head straight for the next refugio. In fact, the crumbly downhills the day before had made it clear that I have probably very little cartilage in my knees anymore…downhills were pretty gimpy and painful. Nevertheless, Farnaz and I set out quickly for the 12 mile trip. 20 minutes in, however, Farnaz realized she had left a bag of clothes behind and turned around (eventually deciding it was not worth it, catching up with me later). After loping along the rolling shoulders of the peaks, I turned up the valley under a drizzly cloud cover, following the glacial river upstream. The last couple miles before the viewpoint are straight up the ridge and a good portion of the hike was over a loose moraine of wet rock. Topping out at the viewpoint was a little disappointing; there was a partial view of the glacier across the valley, but the ceiling of clouds blocked the rest and blinded us to the spectacular peaks that are back in there. In fact, every 15min or so I could hear some piece of glacier falling above…and then a couple minutes later a skree of snow would pour out over the lip of rock visible in front of us. Happily, I had just gotten a good photo of a bird Farnaz wanted to ID and she showed up a few minutes later. There was no point going farther into the clouds, so she and I turned back down and exited the French Valley.

Glacier, French Valley

Once out, we again turned west for a couple of hours. This part of the hike was memorable in part because it marked our entry into the burned area of the park. Two massive fires in the last decade have marked the park for many decades to come; indeed, there are no fires allowed in the area, even camp cookstoves only light up in the designated camping spots next to the refugios. So it was a desolate, charred forest we were walking through. But the birds seemed oblivious to the scarring, and Farnaz got some good looks. When we wandered out into the yellow grasslands, a couple of hawks put on an aerial show…diving to attack each other, performing barrel-rolls and other tricks. We finally crested the last ridge and saw a beautiful slate lake, Refugio Paine Grande on its banks, and there in front of us was Paul. We literally caught up with him at trail's end.

The last couple miles had been murder on my knee, but Paul had it worse. At least at this refugio there were options, for this is where the catamaran ferry runs across the lake to the road, so Paul and Farnaz availed themselves of the option of skipping the next two days of wear and tear, leaving the next morning on the ferry and getting themselves up to Glacier Grey by boat (which is a great story in itself: horrible hotel, but an amazing boat ride that took them right up against the 4-story edge of the glacier, complete with tumblers of whisky served over fresh glacial ice). But before they left, we spent a sunset sitting out in the grass with a bottle of wine and people from all over. The refugio is named for the tallest peak in the park, Paine Grande, topping out at almost 10,000ft. That may not seem so impressive, but keep in mind that we were sitting at sea level staring up at 10,000ft of gorgeous rock shooting straight up with almost no preamble at all. The wine tasted pretty good, paired with a view like that.

Day 4: Hike to Refugio Grey

So I headed off north towards the glacier, grateful for the hiking poles Farnaz had lent me. The hike was pretty, but again clouds hid the peaks up to my right. There was a pretty little lake early along the way, and soon after I crested up on the ridge that runs up along Lago Grey. I was surprised to see big chunks of ice floating in the lake and as I move on I was given several good views of the glacier off in the distance. Sadly, the whole 6 miles were rainy and I was soaked by the time I got to Refugio Grey. Another of the refugios only accessible by trail, this one was cozy and even decorated by someone who cared. The common area had a fire and I joined several people drying out and reading.

Glacier Grey

A couple of hours later it was nice enough to wander the 15 minutes uptrail to the spit of land directly across from the glacier's edge. I spent a couple hours clambering around, taking pictures of the true-blue chunks of ice floating there, or simply staring at the wall of ice across the water. There is something about seeing a glacier like that, it is almost as if you can feel the sheer MASS that it carries. The rock I stood on was red, oxidized and polished smooth by the glacier back before receding to its current edge. Local guides told Paul and Farnaz that the island that the glacier splits around was completely invisible a decade earlier…yet more evidence of the great melt-off. I did not see the glacier calve, having to content myself with witnessing a Volkswagen-sized chunk of one of the icefloes break off and plunge into the water. On the short return to the refugio, I saw the boat that Farnaz and Paul were on. I may not have had whisky with me like they did, but tasting the glacier ice pure was pretty special on its own.

Glacier Grey (I photoshopped in the boat just for scale!)

From the dock, Paine Grande

Day 5: Hike Back to the Catamaran Dock at Refugio Paine Grande, Return to Punta Arenas

I left before breakfast was even served, wanting a comfortable margin to catch the catamaran and, more importantly, jump on the bus that Farnaz, Paul and I had agreed to meet up on. The hike was the same, only drier and, for some reason, my knee decided to complain less painfully. Maybe the nerve just gave up and died. Going backwards in better weather, there was more chance to see the waterfall and scenery I had slogged past the day before. I made the dock in plenty of time and sat happily munching lunch, watching condors and the clouds puffing out off of Paine Grande as if the mountain was actually making the clouds like some giant smokestack. The ferry was breezy and I found the right bus to reunite with Farnaz and Paul on the other side. Our bus eventually left the park in caravan with 2 others; fortunate since our bus broke down and we had to jump on the others. Anyway, back past the rhea, the guanacos, until we hit Puerto Natales. F & P were staying the night, heading off to other locales, and I was catching the connection to Punta Arenas. We had time for dinner at a nice little restaurant on the main square, it redeemed Paul's "worst pizza ever" experience from the last time we were in this town and served artisanal beers.

Bus Station, Puerto Natales

I caught my bus and enjoyed the long, late, low-latitude sunset over the steppes and mountains. I would have enjoyed it more, but the bus put on a movie. There's no explaining it, but of my 3 busrides in South America with movies shown, 2 have been Adam Sandler movies. Late that night I arrived at the yoga-hotel, just as my first night, tired and grateful for a shower and crisp sheets.

Getting Back to Lima

My 10am flight pushed away from the gate on time, but quickly returned. Very long story made short, the plane was kaputt and they needed to fly in another, new departure time 8pm, too late not just for MY connection in Santiago but too late for ALL Lima connections. This was horrifying because it was Carter's birthday and I already felt so guilty about missing most of it. There were several hours of stress and standing in line, but finally my hero was a woman named Loreto. She got me on the only other flight going to Santiago AND got me on the last Lima flight. Sadly, this still meant Carter would be asleep upon my arrival. Just on principal, I tried to get in the door at home before midnight, but I must have caught the one slow taxi in all of Lima and came in at 12:04.