Los Torres del Paine

Finally concluding my patagonian crown in la tierra del fuego, last Saturday I stepped foot in the national reserve, Los Torres del Paine. Thinking that I was fairly prepared trekking with three canisters of propane, a hand-stove, a sack full of cereals, bread, soups and fruit, my sleeping bag, a couple jackets, two pairs of socks, one pair of shoes, my one-man tent and a impermeable poncho I passed through the park enterance feeling the strong patagonian wind hit my face. I trekked about 7 miles of pure ascent until I reached the gratuitous campamento los torres. I put up camp and dined on bread and crema del queso. As the night proceded I began to hear tiny rain drops break against my tent... knowing that with a certain degree of effort their brigade could invade the corners of my tiny tent. I threw the poncho over my mobile castle hoping that it would be a better defense against the assault. Waking every other hour I soon began to see tiny puddles forming inside and the damp weight of my sleeping bag. I knew that there was really little more I could do so bearing the obvious defeat I waited until the morning to regulate the remains. It never stopped. I awoke in the morning hoping with every crevass that there would be some sort of compassion left but to my unfortunate behalf the elements left no sympathy. I decided to at least try and hang the poncho like a hovering wall tied with my artisan strings to at least reduce some of the moisture. Overall this maintained the majority of the rain striking down. About 3 o`clock or so the sun came out a bit and I was able make the hour hike above to see the towers. The following day I headed out to make it at least to the next free camping which was about 16 miles away, or around 8 hours considering the incline and decline. With the heavy weight of my pack I soon realized that it was not the incline that broke me but rather the decline which left me in an utter reck. Practically dragging my scraps to the paid camping of los cuernos, I stopped carressing my swollen knees waiting for a miracle. I soon realized that the last 3 miles were out of the questions I began to bargain with the administrator so he would let me stay with a tiny exchange of artisan jewlery. He agreed asking nothing in return and I began to try and set up tent. Knowing that battle I had prior, I unsuccessfully attempted to hang the poncho over my tent but this time the trees were further away and I was setting booby traps for the oncoming trekkers rather than the upcoming torrent. An attentive guide who had been watching me since the arrival offered a vacant tent for the night. I quickly accepted and took down my barracks to resume in a more suitable one. Waking the next morning with the now familiar sound of raindrops, I had also awaken to the aching pains left in my inflamed knees. I decided to at least wait and see if the rain would subside a bit and take advantage of the warm refuge in the camp. I ran into four young chileans, Sebastian, Rudulpho, Orlando and Oscar, that had more or less the same idea and we settled on the stratagem to stay the night and head out the following day. We took advantage of te tiny break relaxing with a few cups of wine and later a bit of Pisco and conversing with a couple other trekker we met in the camp. The following day was no less of a battle than the one prior or prior to that. Having really no other choice but to procede I removed the detachable arms of one of my jackets, put them on as some sort of leg warmer so that the water did not drench me entirely and threw over another sack to protect my backpack. We began the advance.. what was suppose to be a two-hour hike had turned itto a three-hour one and I was undoubtably and incredibly soaked from head to toe. Passing through glacier streams, getting pounded by the rain and wind, sinking in the heavy mud we had finally made it to el campamento italiano. Supposedly we were going to leave the packs there and finish the ensueing three-hour ascent to see the horns and glaciar frances. I regretfully threw in the towel hoping that my fattened knees would recuperate a bit before the even harder passage the next day. The boys set out but had returned within the hour saying that the clouds were too heavy and there was no way to see the horns nor the glacier. In the morning Seba and Rudulfo set out to finish the middle half of the W, the trail that we were making. As for the rest of us we felt the additional 6 hours were too much considering we already had an 8-hour journey ahead of us which is to say around 16 miles or so until the glacier grey. Finally the clouds broke and we lavished in the warm sun bronzing our wind-beated faces. The last 2 hours until the glacier grey were probably the most brutal of the entire trip. An unabaded delcine that left me in shambles. I wasn´t sure if it was the force of the wind which was throwing me like a ragdoll from side to side or the shooting pains jumping straight from my knees to my brain that left tiny tear drops trickling down my face. We made it to the black beach of the Camping Grey and decided to stay there waiting for the other two to arrive. We headed out to the lookout point to get a better view of the Glaciar Grey. 10 minutes into the trip we began to see a blue Giant that had crept through the mountains filling the valley with its monstrous girth. Absolutely breathtaking. Orlando and Oscar slid down to the coast and touched for the first time a floating piece of glacier. They brought up a couple pieces and that night we shared a well-aged glass of scotch with a piece of the glacier floating inside. The final day we headed back to el lago Pehoe to take the catamarán to the highway. I arrived the day before yesterday and still am limping around but with a spectacular memory still running through my head. I won the battle but it captured my heart. Should be heading to Chiloe the following week.