Patagonia Part I - Torres Del Paine
Torres Del Paine National Park, Patagonia is hands down, one of the most amazing places in the world. But that's no secret.
Patagonia and its glaciers, mountains and rivers top thousands of adventure bucket lists and Top 10s. For backpackers, photographers and conservationists, it's regarded as a definitive must. It's a place that once you learn about, you never truly forget, and one I seem to add to Google Flight searches every few months. However, because North American winter is South American summer (science), it's always competed with my love for snowboarding, and always lost.
In April, that finally changed. I pulled the trigger and purchased flights to Chile and Argentina to trek the classic routes that every fervent hiker needs on his or her resume. The timing was perfect — cold mornings welcomed camp-side coffee as chlorophyll broke down in the canopy above, filling the valleys with red and orange foliage.
I had twelve days on the ground in Patagonia. I split my time between Torres Del Paine (TDP) and El Chaltén and wished I could have stayed forever. I used buses to get around, which were cheap and easy enough but ate up several of my limited days. Without many large roads, you're really out there, and it isn't always easy or convenient getting where you needed to go. In classic American form, I celebrated my two-week vacation, feeling fortunate being able to travel somewhere for such an extended period. Foreign travelers laughed this up, wondering why anyone would venture so far from home with such a small time allotment. Most were visiting the continent for six to twenty four months.
But there I was, on the tarmac in Punta Arenas, Chile with a backpack, camera and twelve days of freedom. The only thing missing? A pair of pants. The wind whipped my exposed legs as it howled across the Strait of Magellan, and I quickly realized that Patagonian fall was more akin to the climate growing up in New Hampshire (30°) than fall back home in Utah (55°). Several passengers wearing full expedition-down gear gathered in the cafe, killing time before boarding their flights to Antarctica.
It isn't easy getting to TDP without a car. After spending the night at a hostel in Punta Arenas, I walked into the city and booked a bus to Puerto Natales, the southern jumping-off point for those heading into the park. Puerto Natales was a fine little city, full of tourism bureaus and outfitters. I gathered five days worth of food, and went to packing and planning my week.
An important note about planning: my campsites and itinerary for the entire trip were booked months ago.
The coolest map
Yo-yo-ing 'The W' Trek - A Beginners Guide to Sore Knees
One morning in February, I sat down and began planning my Patagonia trip. I figured the planning would be pretty easy, as most hiking vacations typically are. Since you're carrying all of your food and shelter, you really only need to figure out public transportation, book a couple hostels and wing the rest. However, when I began my research, I learned that the name of the game had changed in TDP. A record-breaking season the year before led to overflowing toilets, mountains of trash and campsites far beyond their intended capacity. This overuse demanded the enforcement of a stricter set of new rules. The main one being that all lodging (including camping) had to be booked before arrival. To complicate matters, lodging was limited and several spots were already full. Some sites didn't allow cooking due to a fear of open flames and high winds (requiring you pay $50 a meal) and others would be shut down for the season by the time I arrived.
Planning a campsite months ahead of time makes the short list of things I hate. What happens if a location is beautiful and you feel compelled to spend the day there taking photos and relaxing? What happens if it rains and you'd rather hike twice as far and put some miles behind you? Since Patagonia is known for horrible weather, these questions were serious considerations. Nevertheless, I found an itinerary, booked my lodging and decided I'd stick to it. Then I checked the forecast in Puerto Natales.
Two days of perfect weather would give way to two days of storms. My final day hiking The W (one of the more popular hikes across the park) would be the crown jewel of the trip - including a sunrise at the parks namesake towers. A must. I did some quick calculations and realized that I could book one night of extra lodging, see the towers, then hustle back to my original itinerary, effectively hiking The W twice.
The ambitious agenda allowed for unobstructed views and a full heart. But the 20-mile days demanded respect, as they reminded my body that it wasn't in superior shape. Soon, my knees began to ache. The small Osprey backpack was a brick house, overloaded with food, lenses, camera and tripod. As I hiked, I swore I would better manage photo gear on future trips. But, as I look at the end result of the heavy camera load, I honestly don't think I regret a thing.
DAY ONE
The first day on the trail was spent hiking through the east entrance of the park, dropping a bag at Refugio Chileno, and hiking up to Las Torres. The towers were mindblowing - enormous granite monoliths standing tall over glacial turquoise waters. I watched the setting sun dance around Las Torres for hours before making my way back down the mountain, grabbing some sleep, and returning the following morning for an encore.
DAY TWO
I awoke long before sunrise, ate a CLIF Bar, and quickly realized my headlamp was out of batteries. I began the uphill slog, using the generous beam of light from my iPhone.
After several hours of absolutely losing myself over these towers (again), I said my emotional goodbyes and returned to pack up camp. Back on the trail and heading west, I passed the bright orange Cuernos, walked along deserted beaches and looked over idyllic Lago Nordenskjöld. As I continued on, I began to hear a rumble in the distance, growing louder and louder. Soon, I watched as natural avalanches broke off Punta Bariloche and cascaded down onto the Frances Glacier.
What is this place?
DAY THREE
I spent my second night at Refugio Paine Grande at the west entrance of the park and awoke to a light drizzle. I quickly packed camp and headed north, walking along Lago Grey and stopping for a late breakfast at Glacier Grey. Fun fact: Glacier Grey is part of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, the world's second largest contiguous extrapolar ice field. Even cooler, this ice field is the world's third largest reserve of fresh water. Neat.
The trip to Glacier Grey marked the end of the original hike and the halfway point in my strange itinerary. It was time to turn around and head back the way I came.
The best part about retracing my steps? I was able to see all the beauty Torres Del Paine had to offer, again. With clouds rolling in throughout the day, new shadows emerged, new colors popped, and new photographs presented themselves.
Night three was spent at campsite Italiano along the Rio de Frances. Morning plans included sunrise in the Valle Frances, an uphill jaunt that would complete the trail's "W" shape.
DAY FOUR
While the sunrise hike to Las Torres was filled with a myriad of tourists searching for the perfect image, the sunrise hike up to Valle Frances this morning was empty.
At the pinnacle of the walk, I met another photographer. He was working on his second book about Patagonia and had been granted special permission to camp in the park for a month to shoot. This permission allowed him to camp at the base of these peaks, affording the ability to roll out of bed for sunrise shots.
Meanwhile, I had to run the last half mile in order to beat the day's rays. I wiped the sweat off my forehead as we waited for the world to do its thing.
We got lucky. The light put on a show for an hour before clouds came in. These same clouds would end up blanketing the park for the next four days, blocking all views of the high peaks. Stunned, tired and grateful, I bid adieu to my new friend and meandered back down the path.
Rain began and my stride picked up as I headed back toward the east entrance and my trek's origin. At this point, I was physically done, ready for a hot shower and a warm bed before bussing north to Argentina to explore Fitz Roy and El Chaltén.
