Travel broadens the mind...

At some point while working my way south during the month of January I was struck by the notion to travel to the “end of the world”, Cape Horn, the southern-most point in South America (and the world, other than Antarctica?) before turning around and journeying north. This idea stuck with me and indeed the desire was stronger the further south that I traveled. And so after exiting Torres del Paine, the goal was to continue south, though as directly as possible as I had already spent more time than planned in Patagonia and would likely not be leaving in the near future. However, after talking to several people I learned that such a trip is not only a bit difficult but also can be very expensive – I could have made my way to Usuaia, Argentina or Puerto Williams, Chile and tried to find a fisherman willing to go, but as the waters are dangerous and there are many shipwrecks during the summer season the fisherman don’t like to make the trip (and charge accordingly); I could have tried to book passage/join a yacht making the trip, but again cost and the disinclination for many to travel there may have been a problem; I could have spent several hundred dollars for a flight (helicopter, according to some), but still would have had to make the trip to Ushuaia or Puerto Wiliams, which cost a decent chunk of money and would have required a good amount of time; or there are cruise options, the least expensive of which was around $2,000 USD. Most difficult of all: there were no guarantees that I would be able to find anything reasonable or that fit whatever schedule I may have had. Bottom line, I realized, I didn’t have the time or resources to make the trip to Cape Horn. I then considered Ushuaia, Argentina (the self-proclaimed southern-most city in the world/South America) or Puerto Williams (the actual southern-most city in the world/South America), but ruled both out – I would have wanted to spend more time than I had in Ushuaia (cost to and from was a factor as well) and according to many, there is nothing in Puerto Williams. Thrice foiled, it appeared.

However, talking to some of the people in my hostel I learned of another option: Cabo Froward, the tip of continental South America and where there is a massive cross built both to mark the end of the continent and also to celebrate a visit Pope John Paul II made to Chile several decades ago. The trek would take 6 days (including a night in Punta Arenas) and would include a variety of terrain and challenges from rivers to bogs, all of which was well off the “beaten path” (although there was a trail for most of the excursion) and during which it was unlikely we would see anyone else. Sign me up.

There were eleven of us in the group including our two guides (a guy who used to work at the hostel and his girlfriend), mostly Americans but also two from the UK and all hikers/outdoors people in one form or another. We set off from Punta Arenas, Chile, took a bus that literally dropped us off at the end of the road, and then set off on foot. The majority of the first day was a “walk on the beach” (really, we walked along gravel beaches for the bulk of the day) broken up by occasional shortcuts inland through the forest to save the time hassle of walking around each and every point. The scenery itself was an interesting mix of mountains, and forested hills, and wind-blown flora on the mainland, and snow-capped mountains and peaks of the islands to the south, which were shrouded in clouds most of the time. Dolphins, Magellenic Dolphins, were almost constant companions. We mainly spent the day walking, chatting, and getting to know each other, not surprisingly (even though it was early in the trip) getting into some deeper “world issues” such as the environment, politics, future generations, etc., and after a full day arrived at our first camp – the “southern-most abandoned house on the South American continent”. We spent the night by a fire, telling jokes, and even the occasional story, I think more than anything happy that it appeared we would get along well as a group over the next several days.

Day two would prove to be both the most interesting as well as the most fun. We didn’t begin hiking until around noon as we needed to wait and properly time low-tide at our first river crossing. Yes, that’s right, a river crossing – no bridge, no raft, definitely not tropically warm water. Arriving at the river, we stripped down to our skivvies (good thing we were comfortable with each other, eh?) and dove in. Luckily it had not rained (much) in the previous few days and we did in fact arrive around low tide, so the water was only about stomach deep on me – stomach deep did not make the water, which was snow run-off, any less cold, however. (I was one of the first across, so you can’t really get a sense of how deep the water was… shame)

Redressing, if only so that we could get moving and warm again (the infamous Patagonian wind, which had been with us the whole time, really kicked up here), we moved on. We wound along the coast, continuing our fairly leisurely if not quick pace. As we were following the coastline, there were times where we needed to negotiate the coastline itself, which consisted in boulder-hopping and your occasional easy climb.

All this was en route to the “highlight” of the day: the Turbal, a ninety-plus minute leg of trekking through a thick peat-moss bog filled with wet and/or muddy sink holes. Strapping on our gators (gore-tex leggings designed to keep water out), we began a steep ascent through thick trees that required a decent amount of negotiation. Arriving at “high ground” we began our trudge through the Turbal itself. While there was a trail, lack of drainage and the addition of rain that had begun shortly after entering the forest made for very wet conditions. Often we would step and find ourselves foot, ankle, even knee deep in peat-moss, a water hole, or outright mud depending on where we were. Thankfully, the gators did their job on the whole and the leg wasn’t too difficult, wet, or painful; indeed, I really enjoyed it, and not only because it was a new experience for me.

The rain continued to fall for the rest of the day, and so upon arriving in camp there was little activity – most were simply anxious to set up their tent, cook a warm meal, get out of wet clothes and be done with the day. I played cards with the guys with whom I was sharing gear and food – collectively known as “Team Meat-Stick” after one of the food items we were provided with for the hike – and then fell asleep to the soothing sounds of the rain. In spite of the rain, I had really enjoyed the day.

The plan for day three was to prepare a day pack with a lunch and any supplies (e.g. – rain gear) that may be needed and make a long day hike to the cross and the end of the continent. We woke early in an effort to hit low tide at what was to be our second river crossing, which was around 7 am. We all agreed that there wasn’t any better way than to start (and end, as we would be returning to the same camp 11 hours later) the day with a river crossing…. But while the river didn´t look terribly difficult the night and afternoon before, a night of rainfall throughout the valley and snowfall in the mountains changed the equation drastically. Instead of finding the river at a manageable waist or even chest high level, we exited camp to find a brown mass rushing with the runoff of a night’s worth of hard rain. We estimated at the deep point it was chest, maybe neck deep on me, much to high for half of the group who were shorter and likely not as able.

Having started the day in our skivvies (that is, most of us had elected to walk to the crossing in our crossing clothes – i.e. sandals and underwear) and realizing we were not going to cross at that moment, we retreated back to camp to discuss. We quickly built a fire, something that the shelter of the trees allowed, and all huddled close. It was decided that at least at that moment we would not be able to cross as a group, and unwilling to split up decided to wait and see if the water level would fall later in the afternoon.

At this point, four members of the group “volunteered” to wander upstream to see if we could find another place to cross. I think we went part for something to do, part for wanting to explore, and part for a genuine hope of finding a crossing. We fought the thick forest, wandering roughly along the river, for something like an hour. To give an idea of how thick the trees were and how much negotiation was needed, in the hour we wandered less than a half-mile from camp. While we did see some interesting terrain, we were unable to find a place that we could have all crossed. On the contrary, it appeared as though a crossing further upstream would be even more difficult due to a stronger current and what appeared to be deeper water.

Upon returning to camp, we were greeted by an interesting site: those that had stayed behind had taken advantage of the time and warmth of the fire to dry out wet clothes from the previous day. Pants, shirts, socks…. and underwear. We came back to find the group standing around the fire with underwear hanging from sticks over the fire, just as one would roast a marshmallow. Needless to say, more than a few jokes were thrown around. More importantly, as at one point we all were drying our underwear in such a manner we christened ourselves “Team Roasted Panties”.

The water level did not drop throughout the day; in fact it maintained it’s level and even rose throughout the day as the snow from the night before melted off the mountains. It soon became clear that we would not be crossing the river – doubts of whether or not we would be able to get back across to camp even if we were able to cross once were a major factor – and so we decided to make our way back to the abandoned house, hike to and camp at the bridge the next day in hopes of catching the morning (rather than the late) bus back to Punta Arenas on Friday morning. So we set out in mid-afternoon and made our way back along the beach, across the boulders, through the Turbal, through the forest and again along the beach, across the first river (which curiously enough was actually lower than the day before…), and then across a second river that was higher due to the rain. Throughout the day the wind blew, but we were moving so fast (due to our late start and wanting to get into camp before it became too dark) that we hardly noticed it. We arrived again at the abandoned house after sunset, ready to be next to a big fire.

We set out on what would be the last day of hiking after sleeping in and just hanging around camp, playing hacky-sack, taking a long breakfast, and, as much as was possible, drying out our clothing and boots. Eight hours of beach, forest, and trail hiking later we arrived at the bridge, where we were able to find a great campsite for the night. We again made a good fire, though this time we didn’t want to or didn’t need to “roast” much clothing.

We woke the next and final day to hard rain. Luckily we had only a 35 minute walk to the bridge where the bus back into town would pass, and once we arrived were able to find a relatively sheltered area to make breakfast, warm coffee, and wait out the ride back to civilization.

In all, the hike was a success even though we didn’t arrive at our goal. We had a great group that took on a unique experience and had a good time along the way in spite of wind, rain, and failure to reach the destination. I was and still am a little disappointed, not because there were some of us, myself included, that could have made it across the river and to Cabo Froward (I am quite certain there were others that felt the same way, but we weren’t about to break up the group), but because in the end I not only didn’t make it to the end of the continent, but would not make it very far south at all. Admittedly, part of my obsession for going so far south was so that I could draw the line on the map. But there is also something about “the end of the world” or “the end of the continent” that held my attention with fascination, and if nothing else the curiosity and desire will still be there. Indeed, it has not ebbed in the weeks since leaving southern Chile. But when the time came, when I returned to Punta Arenas, I knew it was time to set off north and continue with my journey.

PARQUE NACIONAL TORRES DEL PAINE

The long wait is over. I have visited northern Chile, and know much of central Chile, but the part that I have most wanted to explore and see, Patagonia and particularly Torres del Paine National Park, has been the part that has been the longest in coming. No more.

After spending an extra day in Puerto Natales relaxing and outfitting myself with the food and supplies that I would need, I set out into the park. As many know, there are essentially two main hikes that people going into the park do: the 3-5 day "W", do named because the trials do form something of a "W" when viewed on a map, and the full 6-11 day "Circuit", which includes the "W" but also the back side/north side of the park. Due to time and the fact that when I was making all my preparations I intended to hike it alone and didn't want to carry 8+ days of food and gear, I elected to trek the "W", but with the addition of a section from the principal administration building into the park itself. At the last minute, a guy that was staying in the hostel I was staying at, Paul from Amsterdam, asked if he could make the hike with me: he would carry a bit of the food and throw in a beer or two in exchange for me carrying the tent. This was fine by me, as I had already mentally prepared myself/planned to carry the stuff anyway, and if he wanted to throw in a few beers all the better.

The first leg, from Administración to Refugio Paine Grande, is 17 kilometers and according to the map takes about five hours. The trek itself was not terribly difficult, most of the time winding along a river with your occasional hill or brief uphill struggle. Perhaps because of this, or because we were just eager to get into the park we set a helluva pace and made the five hour trek in about three hours forty minutes; not bad time. Even though the hike was not difficult, it set the tone for the coming days as far as scenery was concerned. We followed the glacial blue Rio Grey, passed through patches of forest, summited small peaks that provided incredible views over the glacial lakes and valleys in the part of the park, and best of all the whole time on this first leg we were staring into the peaks of Paine Grande and the Torres themselves, which got bigger, sharper and more spectacular with each passing step. The quote of the afternoon: “It just keeps getting better the closer we get.” How true. Indeed this was a perfect way to both enter the park and start off the trip as a whole.



Having made such good time arriving at Refugio Paine Grande, we to continued on to Refugio Grey instead of camping at Paine Grande and making the trip to Grey the following day. After a brief rest and a coke, we strapped on the bags and set off. This section of the hike was more difficult, especially for me (Paul, as I would later learn, had been hiking for three weeks previous and was in much better shape than I) not only because I was a little tired from the first leg but also because the terrain was a little trickier. We wound through forests, along cliff-sides that at times had difficult footing, and crossed rivers on a trail that climbed and fell and then climbed again. As on the fist leg of the day, we were setting a good pace, though albeit less zealous: the map indicated that the 11 kilometer hike would take about 3.5 hours and we arrived at the camp at just under three hours.



One interesting thing about Torres del Paine is that it is one of the most “developed” national parks in Chile, maybe in Latin America. Which is to say that you can do the “W”, for example, and never have to sleep on the ground or in a tent (you can sleep in a bed in the refugio), cook a meal (all meals of the day are available in the refugios), or even shit in the woods (all campsites/refugios have toilets or full-on bathrooms). At first blush, this seemed to me to take a bit away from the experience. However, after the first day of hiking hard we were able to buy a cold beer from the little store in the camp. That beer may have been one of the best of my life.

Day 2 would be easier than the first, as we had already hiked to Grey and now needed only to arrive at Campamiento Itialiano. Before leaving the camp, I made the trip to the glacier lookout itself. It is hard to describe how massive the body of ice was, and even harder to put to words just how (deep) blue the ice was. After the quick trip to the mirador, we made our way back to Refugio Paine Grande and continued on deeper into the park. I can’t impress enough how spectacular and beautiful the scenery was. The bulk of the trek from Paine Grande to Italiano follows Lago Nordenskjold, and so at any moment when you look to one side you are confronted with a deep blue lake surrounded by lush greenery and other mountains of the park in the distance; as you look up or two your left, the mountains of Paine Grande and, through Valle Frances, the Torres themselves loom above you. And all the while, you are trekking through terrain that changes from tree lined, narrow paths to open meadows.





As on day 1 we made quite good time between our destinations on day two. The 11 kilometers that took 3 hours the previous day took around 2 hours 30 minutes this time around, and the 7.6 kilometer trek that the map indicated would take two hours took us one hour thirty minutes. Arriving early and with plenty of time before dark, I wandered back down to the river we crossed just before camp, found a comfortable boulder in the middle, and took in the last rays of the sun and the imposing mountains that surrounded, all while being “swept away” by the sounds of the rushing water that were all around me. Truly incredible.

Day 3 would prove to be the most spectacular yet, made even more enjoyable by the fact that the majority would be spent trekking into and back out of Valle Francia, using our campsite as a base, and consequently would not have to carry the heavy backpacks full of gear. It turned out to be a good thing too: parts of the climb through and into Valle Frances were quite steep and at times narrow due to trees and other undergrowth. Had we had backpacks, the trip would have been quite challenging. The Valley itself acts as the middle leg of the “W” and is sandwiched between the Paine Grande peaks and the peaks of the range that Torres rises out of. And arriving at the mirador, a rock that you must climb at the “end” of the trial in the valley truly leaves you in wonder. On all sides you are surrounded by peaks, some sharp and grey, others sharp and black, while still others looming and simply grand, all above the tree line (due to the last bit of hiking to the high point itself). The wind doesn’t howl; rather it blows gently and the valley itself is filled with a peaceful, awe-inspiring silence. Meeting up with a few other trekkers that we had and would continue to see on the trail, we spent close to 45 minutes just sitting and taking in the view. And for the icing on the cake: the weather was perfect, not a cloud in the sky, and as a photographic treat, the moon had not yet sunk and hung over the peaks.



The trek out was more difficult, neither because of the terrain nor because of the weather. Rather because at some point in the previous days I had eaten or drank something that was not agreeing with my system…. I was almost doubled over at times, and on more than one occasion had to wander off the trail to “relieve” myself in the woods. I said earlier that Torres del Paine on the whole is developed enough that you don’t have to shit in the woods; this doesn’t mean you won’t. Luckily Paul had some medication and after a brief rest for re-hydration (and the Imodium kicked in) I was able to continue. We made the trek from Italiano to Refugio Cuernos, a 5.5 kilometer trip that the map (impossibly) says takes 2.5 hours in about 50 minutes and spent the rest of the daylight drinking beer on the beach. That night I met and played cards with a cute Israeli girl in the refugio common room; once again, maybe infrastructure in the park isn’t too bad after all.

Day 4 was scheduled to be one of our longer days. We needed to make our way from Refugio Cuernos past Refugio Chileno and up to Campamiento Torres. Rising early to get a good start, we set out on the first leg, an 19 kilometer section that the map indicated would take 5-7 hours (the last section climbed almost 600 meters in the span of a few kilometers). Amazingly enough, this part of the trail was unique to the others we had trekked so far: we navigated around lakes (for a shortcut) and up terraced hills, along the lake shoreline and over grassy, sometimes sloppy knolls, and then up a steep rise into yet another valley. As on each other day we set a good pace and arrived at Refugio Chileno not in the 5-7 hours anticipated on the map but in 3:45. Having made such good time, we took a long break (why not) at Chileno, playing cards and meeting the other people that were making their way though the park. One guy, my new hero, was completing the “W” at 82 years of age. 82! Hiking the trails and all!



After the break we made out way up to the campsite at Torres, a trail of 5 kilometers that wound primarily through a forest, in about 40 minutes. As many people do, we intended the next day to climb up to the mirador Torres for sunrise over the Torres del Paine, hence the extended trek to the campsite. But having arrived so early in the afternoon, we decided to hike up and get a sneak peak of the views, and to see if we could pick out a spot for the morning. I have to admit, as my stomach bug had still been nagging (and “draining”) me for two days and we had hiked hard, I was quite dehydrated and dead tired after the climb up to the mirador. So much so that after finding a big rock in the sun, I simply fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. But after I woke, could fully take in and appreciate the site before me: Los Torres (the Towers) themselves. The picture speaks for itself; truly incredible.



The next morning we set off with a group from the campsite at 5:30 a.m. to again climb the mirador for sunrise over the Torres, a popular activity in the park if you don’t mind getting up really early and making the rocky assent to the mirador itself, this time in the dark. Upon reaching the top of the mirador the wind was so strong that we were forced to abandon our selected location, but were able to find a boulder big enough to get out of the wind and make hot coffee while waiting for the sunrise itself. When the sun finally came, the early wake up and moonlight climb was more than worth it.



After sunrise we made our way back to camp for more coffee with the group with whom we had made the hike, and after breaking camp started the trek back past Refugio Chileno to Hosteria Los Torres and out of the park. Not needing any energy for a long day, we set out to make “record time” out of the park, and actually ended up running/racing down about a third of the trail. The looks on the people’s faces as we raced past were priceless. Needless to say we made it out of the park incredibly fast, a “4 hour” leg in less than an hour and a half. Having nothing else to do but wait for the bus back to Puerto Natales, we pulled out the cards and just took in the sun. Before long other people that we had seen in the park during the week and that I knew from the Navimag trip made their way out of the park and to the hosteria, and with nothing else to do but wait we were soon buying rounds of beers (it was after noon, so why not?); several rounds later the bus finally came and the official stay in the park ended.

In all the 5 days were incredible, each building on, complimenting, and bettering the previous. And to top it all off, the weather held throughout – 5 days of perfect sunshine, with occasional clouds. I would learn that this kind of weather never holds for even a full day in Patagonia, much less for five days, and that we had truly had a once in a lifetime trip into the park. I’ll take it, to be sure.

I have wanted to visit the island of Chiloé for some time now and since I had a few days to pass over until my boat down south I filled up my day pack and caught a series of buses and ferries to the island. I didn't really know what to expect but had been told on several occasions by other travelers and Chileans that with its history, mythology, culture, and historical influences it was an interesting stop.

I arrived in Castro a few hours later and started exploring. On the outskirts of the city there were many interesting houses, colorful like in the hills of Valparaiso and many propped over a body of water on stilts. The port/docks was also a bustling area of activity. Fishing and the fishing industry is a major part of the economy in this part of the world. Consequently one can find hundreds of boats in the surrounding waters. While there were some other interesting quirks in the city, such as a massive church constructed completely of wood (as were all of the hundreds of churches throughout the island; in fact, one priest long ago described Chiloé as a forest of churches, each with unique architecture and style) and a museum, at its heart the city was just dirty and similar to many others throughout Chile. This wasn't what I came to see and so decided that a few hours wandering was more than enough time.

I then made my way to Achao, a city on an island off the mainland of Chiloé. Here I discovered what I pictured to be and could tell was "true" Chiloé; or in the least, more authentic than Castro. I wandered around the town for a few hours. One of the things that really caught my attention was the woodwork/shingling of the houses. Most of the houses are sided with wooden shingles in one of several dozen different patterns and styles. It was pretty cool to see one style in one house, then next door find something completely different.

In my wanderings I visited the church where I learned that there would be a religious folk-music performance later that night and so spent the evening listening to traditional religious-folk music. The group consisted of two singers, a guitarist (who played both and acoustic and 12-string), a second guitarist that played an unfamiliar guitar, a violist, a harpsichordist, and a guy who played recorder and wood-pipe. The show was "unplugged" and throughout reminded me why I like classical music so much: it takes you back in time. Particularly sitting in that church that felt 150 years old, when you listen to the music you can "be" in any time period, this to say nothing of the fact that its pretty cool that 100 years ago people were sitting in that same church, listening to the same music in this style. There were a variety of songs, one hilarious duet between Death and the Devil.

The next morning I made my way to Dalcahue, another small town that on this particular weekend was hosting both an annual artisan fair and rodeo. I wandered through the fair, and afterward made my way to the rodeo. I chuckle because when I hear rodeo, I think of US/Western rodeos with ropin', ridin' and other activities. I soon realized that rodeo in Chile is very different. Instead of riding or roping or anything like that, two gauchos would ride in a circle herding/chasing a cow (maybe a bull, but there were few horns), then when the bull reached a certain point in the ring the gauchos would slam and/or pin the bull to the wall. Then they would do it again on the other side. I ended up meeting two Chilean girls there that explained parts of it to me; suffice it to say there is technique and points are awarded depending how and where the gauchos pin the bull, etc. Quite different. Pansies.

After Dalcahue I made my way north to Ancud, where I discovered a city that, due to the massive destruction caused during the earthquake in 1960, was almost entirely prefabricated. Didn’t need to spend much time there and I soon made my way back to the mainland and Puerto Montt for the night.

In all a good trip: I got to see the unique, the good, the quaint, the dirty, and the boring, and along the way meet some interesting people. What more could you want?

Though this place is 450 years old, I can’t find many redeeming qualities. Were it not for a bed and a shower in the morning, and the low price of lodging, I would say there were none. Mish....

Though I spent the night out partying at the bars and woke up not at the hoped for 7:30 but rather a late 11:00, I was determined to get my trek underway. After some last minute shopping I caught a bus to Ensenada, about 8km short of the park and trail head. From Ensenada I caught a lift with a park ranger into the park itself, arriving at the trail head at about 3:00. Though I was told that the refugio was a good 7 hours hike, I thought that I could make it. I would find out that I was wrong. I made the first 5 km well enough, though not in the time that I wanted. It was then that the weather started rolling in, and the pack (in which I was carrying gear and food for 5 days) and the night before started catching up with me. I made it another 3 or 4 km on steep terrain when the rain and wind became more than I wanted to deal with. I made camp on a hillside with beautiful, if not very sporadic due to clouds and heavy rain, views of the lake and mountains. That night the storm really hit, with high winds (that almost flattened my tent at times) and heavy, heavy rain. And though I’m sure now it was just my imagination, I could have sworn that there were slight tremors at various points in the night (remember, I was sleeping on the ground on a volcano). But I faired well and even enjoyed myself to a degree, even though there were a lot of hours to fill.

That night I did decide that since this was supposed to be the weather for the next several days in the region (I thought that I would be a day ahead of the really heavy rains), I wasn’t in the mood to make the trip through the Andes as planned. A bit of a cop-out, yes. I didn’t mind, though didn’t enjoy, hiking in the rain, but what put me over the edge was the views: the whole reason I was making the trip was for the adventure and for the views. But the clouds were low enough that most of the time you couldn’t see anything. So the next day I made my way back to Puerto Varas, where from there I went to Puerto Montt and caught a bus to Osorno (the town, not the volcano) in route to Bariloche.