Ryan's Blog

Torres del Paine — Day 6
February 5, 2007

Waking up in our tent on the last day.

Amanda and I slept at Campamento Grey, the end point of the W trail. The edge of Grey Glacier was a short distance from our tent. The view was impressive, but a couple hikers told us that the view of the glacier from the next campsite, another hour along the trail, was spectacular. Our boat was leaving at 9:30am, so this was our plan: get up at 6:00, pack up camp, leave for the next site at 6:30, arrive at 7:30, return at 8:00, and be back at camp by 9:00 to catch the boat. I know, it was a crazy idea.

When my alarm went off, I heard the heavy rain, I saw Amanda fast asleep, and I realized that I was tired. I blamed it on the 44 miles we had covered in the last five days. We weren’t the young kids we had been earlier in the week. It didn’t take long to decide that one early-morning, rain-infused wakeup was enough for me. I reset my watch and went back to sleep. Later, at a more civilized hour, we woke up, ate breakfast, and packed up camp for the last time.

We wouldn’t be making the hike to the next camp, but there was another option. Visiting the look-out point the night before had been such a unique experience. The convergence of the scenery, the chill, and the wind made it a perfect place to end the trip. I had gone alone while Amanda slept, but the best things in life are meant to be shared. I wanted her to see the look-out point too. We stowed our packed bags under a tarp and took off jogging towards the look-out.

Amanda and Ryan make a W after hiking Torres del Paine’s W trail.

Grey Glacier was still there, staring us in the face when we arrived. The night’s precipitation had dusted the nearby peaks with snow. We took snapshots of each other, took in the view, and made our way back to camp, satisfied with the morning. Over the ridge I spotted the Grey II, the ship that would take us home, moving across the lake. I lagged behind on the trail, taking pictures of berries. We ran back to camp where I, not thinking we were pressed for time, used the bathroom. Suddenly I heard Amanda yell, “Hurry up—get your pack, I’ve got your shoes!” My watch read 9:25, but apparently the boat didn’t run on my time. A few days on the trail had made me lax with my timetables. The raft to take us to the boat was on its way out. I grabbed my pack and sprinted towards the shore. Amanda had to make them hold the raft until I got there while the Grey II waited farther off-shore with the rest of the passengers. My bathroom trip almost cost us our boat, but we made it and the raft ferried us out to the Grey II.

Of the thirty people on-board, we owned two of the four backpacks. Most were guests at park hotels, which made sense given the price of the ride. We dropped off our bags and went to the upper-deck. The cold wind whipped across our faces. A crew member served us pisco sours, the Chilean national cocktail, complete with ice chunks from the glacier. Drinking glacier ice felt a little like hunting an endangered animal, but I enjoyed the luxury. Our ship pushed through chunks of ice as we made a full pass along the edge of the glacier. According our guide, Grey Glacier is currently in a state of recession. During the twentieth century it lost thirteen feet a year. From 1994 to 2005, however, it lost over a mile of ice.

The bluest ice in the world.

The ice that calved from the glacier was an unearthly blue. I had seen these frozen blue flames from afar the day before, but it was something else altogether to be floating among them. Just when I thought I had seen it all, we pulled alongside a small iceberg: it was the bluest ice in the world. I haven’t traveled everywhere, but I can’t imagine anything bluer—it would burn your eyes. The ice looked like a half-dozen things—a frozen piece of sky, water behind aquarium glass, crystal—but not like ice. Apparently ice’s blueness is related to the amount of bubbles in it; fewer bubbles equals more blue. The captain steered our boat into the iceberg and an aspiring comic crew member shouted, “Look, it’s Titanic!” I thought her timing was off. With the iceberg floating at our stern, we could reach out and touch it. People lined up along the prow of the boat to admire the ice. Once we had seen it, Amanda and I ducked into the cabin to avoid the latest Patagonian rainstorm.

A couple hours later we landed at the south end of Grey Lake. From there we rode in a pickup truck to the park administration building. Through the window we said our goodbye to the Cuernos and the Torres in the distance. At the admin building the bus picked us up for the trip back to Puerto Natales. We loaded our backpacks into the bus’s gut. I made a point of taking out my book so I could read during the trip. A few minutes later, I fell asleep, dutifully holding Isabel Allende’s Mi Pais Inventado on my lap. It stayed there, unopened for the next three hours.

Kayaks and other outdoor gear decorate the Erratic Rock hostel in Puerto Natales.

In Puerto Natales we returned our rental stove and trusty pot. Then we checked into Erratic Rock, a hostel that Amanda picked out. The place fit my romanticized vision of a hostel perfectly. It was a cozy place run by people with ties to Patagonia, mostly trekkers who came to visit and never left. There were large, open common rooms with soft couches and stoves. Several hundred VHS tapes—every movie imaginable—lined the downstairs shelves. The shared rooms had hardwood floors. Snowboards and kayaks were mounted on the walls. In the morning, Bill cooked us a “trekker’s breakfast.” The night cost $12.

We shared a room with a woman from Northern Ireland who was on her way into Torres del Paine the next day. We started telling her stories from our short stay in the park, interspersed with advice on what to see and how to do it. Maybe we overwhelmed her. She listened excitedly, but then added, “Well, I’m not an expert like you guys. I’m just going into the park and I’ll see what I can do.” An expert? Two weeks ago I knew next to nothing about backpacking. I’m not an expert, and I told her as much.

But our Irish roommate’s comment got me thinking about what I had learned in the last week. Amanda had taken a few courses when she was at college in Utah, a perfect place for outdoor learning, so she had a legitimate understanding of what to do in the wilderness. Along the trail, she passed much of it along to me. Now I could select a good location for our tent and pitch it in five minutes. I learned what gray water is and how to dispose of it. I could read the contour lines on a map to see how difficult a day’s hike would be. I mastered lighting our gas stove (admittedly not that difficult, but it’s something). I felt confident that I could plan the meals for a trip myself now. I carried my 45 pound pack without a complaint. I thought I could go one-on-one with a puma and come out the winner. That’s wrong, of course, but it shows you what a week on the trail had done to my ego. Expert, no. But I wasn’t a clueless amateur anymore, either.

The sun rises over Santiago as our plane approaches the city.

The next day we returned to Punta Arenas and caught our plane back to Santiago, leaving the ruggedness of Patagonia behind us. On the flight I started thinking about checklists, of all things. Many people keep checklists of things to do before they die. Going to Torres del Paine had not been on my list, even though it seems just like the kind of thing that should be. Would it be cheating, I wondered, if I put it on the list just to cross it out?. The problem with life checklists, though, is that they are prone to rapid growth. Cross off one box and four more appear to take its place. Already I caught myself wondering where I could go backpacking in the U.S. Or what about the rest of South America? I was in trouble.

A few days later I was reviewing my journal when I got to the last line from one night on the trail: “I want to come back some day to do the complete circuit.” A couple months ago the idea of backpacking sent me reeling with worries, and here I was ready to return. My list was growing.

When asked why he climbed Mt. Everest, George Mallory replied, “Because it is there.” Now that was how I felt about Torres del Paine National Park. Why would I go back? Why not? I had been there once. I had lived to tell the story. The end of the world is spectacular, and it turns out that it’s not that far away.

Posted by Ryan at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Torres del Paine — Day 5
February 4, 2007

Our last day of hiking would be our longest. We had 12 miles to cover. If you believed the map, it would take us six hours to do it. I woke up with legs as stiff as boards, especially in my calves, although I couldn’t say how much I attributed to hiking and how much was due to squatting at the stove last night. It wasn’t until I had inflicted considerable damage on my legs that Amanda pointed out that I could sit on my sleeping bag rolled up in my stuff sack. Live and learn, I say.

On our way out of the camp we crossed a well-constructed bridge with a worrisome sign: ONLY TWO PEOPLE ON BRIDGE AT A TIME. What do you suppose would happen if we put three people on here? I wondered. Or would you have to use four before it got exciting? “Are those two people with backpacks or without?” Amanda added to my concerns. We moved across quickly leaving little time to answer our quandaries. Before long we had traded the darkness of the French Valley for another sunny day on the trail. We met up with our old friend, the still unpronounceable Lake Nordenskjold, which looked as blue as ever. The scenery was reminiscent of our long trek two days ago. There were clear skies and a warm sun overhead. Streams en-route to one lake or another frequently crossed our path.

Many people camped at the Great Paine site which offered a great view of the Cuernos and the Torres in the distance.

Even though we had our packs on again, my back made no complaints. I felt we had barely gotten started when we spotted our lunchtime destination two hours later. Around 1:30 we arrived at a veritable oasis on the circuit. It was just as other backpackers had described it to us: like a city. Campamento Great Paine was at the edge of Lake Pehoe. A catamaran arrived and departed twice daily with service to the park entrance. This explained both the abundant supplies and the sudden explosion of people. Dozens of tents were set up in the picturesque clearing outside the lodge with a clear view of the Cuernos and Torres. In the dining room I saw a baby, which told me that wherever we had stopped was too posh. “This is backpacking!” I hissed to Amanda. “It’s supposed to be too hard for babies!”

After our exquisite lunch—salami and cheese sandwiches, with replenished salami from the metropolis mini-mart—we hit the trail bound for our final destination, Grey Glacier. This was the last part of the W, the left arm. If the morning was any indication, we would be seeing more of the same today. It was not. I was amazed that on our last day we were still seeing new things. The afternoon held all sorts of novelties. I spotted a condor circling overhead. Amanda pointed out purple and white flowers that looked like a set of Swiss horns. We saw sheets of easily-fractured gray rock, distant snow-swept mountains, and new lakes. Still no pumas, sadly.

A tree deformed by its struggles to stay upright in the wind.

The trees were my favorite. They are a Patagonia trademark, a visual representation of the fact that Patagonia is the windiest place on earth. Some grew with all their branches pushed to one side. Others were twisted beyond recognition. One looked distinctly like a cartoon man trying desperately to walk against the wind. A batch in the area where we were hiking were bleached white and leaf-less; they were fallen soldiers in the ongoing battle with the wind.

One of the unexpected pleasures of traveling to Torres del Paine was meeting people from around the world. In the park we bumped into travelers from Chile, the U.S., Canada, Australia, Germany, Austria, Ireland, England, Spain, Italy, and Israel. I heard Hebrew spoken for the first time. When we overheard other people, Amanda and I tried to guess the language they spoke. I tried to decipher the accents behind the “holas!” that we exchanged in passing.

After several days on the trail, this Italian hiker’s boots could barely pass muster.

In the afternoon we ran into an Italian from Pisa who we had met earlier in the week. “Oh no!” I told him. “Your other boot’s broken now too.” The first time we saw him, he had wrapped medical tape around the toe of his left boot to keep it from splitting open. Now both shoes sported the same jury-rigged treatment. “I just need them to last a little bit longer!” he said. Then we continued in our respective directions. Sometimes the interactions with other hikers weren’t profound, but they gave a certain sense of camaraderie on the trail.

Not all interactions were good ones. Later on the trail, I was jogging to catch up with Amanda after having an extended photo shoot with the mountain. I found her waiting on the trail. “Stop,” she said to me, but her words didn’t register in my mind until I had already gone several paces past her. It was too late. I spotted the bare-butted woman squatting at the side of the trail. Apparently not everyone takes bathroom privacy as seriously as we do in my culture. I did an instant about-face, ran past Amanda for the second time, and pretended to take a picture of the distant hill to mask my embarrassment. Two minutes later, the woman and another hiker walked past us laughing nervously. “Gracias,” she muttered. Once they were out of earshot, Amanda remarked, “I guess when you gotta go, you gotta go.” Indeed.

The wind stung us as we got our first glimpse of Grey Glacier.

Two-and-a-half hours into our afternoon walk we rose over a main ridge. A British hiker had described this section of the trail to us a couple nights before, saying, “You’re just so exposed on that section along Grey.” We were no longer protected from the wind as we had been climbing out of the valley. Gusts of wind were now invisible bullies pushing us around the trail. Our reward was that we got our first view of Grey Lake and Grey Glacier.

Grey Lake contains the melting water and the icebergs that break off the glacier. Having never seen a glacier or iceberg, I was unprepared for the sight. Grey Glacier is a mass of hulking ice that no description can fully prepare you to see. It is 4 km wide and 27 km long. The glacier abuts the Southern Patagonian ice field, which is the third largest ice mass in the world; Antarctica being the first and Greenland the second. Its mass conveys stillness and urgency at the same time. Though it looks immobile, it is a jagged ramp winding inexorably towards the water. The icebergs attest to that. Chunks of ice the size of automobiles—Excursions, not Smart cars—and apartments drift in the lake, floating away from their limited-time membership in the glacier. Their blue color is otherworldly, like a fiery glow captured within the frozen ice. I swore they would light the night.

On a salient ridge overlooking the glacier we were struck by a blast of chilly air. It would probably be more appropriate to say “pummeled,” or “under continuous bombardment.” It was like a battle between us and the wind. Our weighty backpacks conspired with the wind to put us off-balance. I almost fell a couple of times. Though cold, I found the air invigorating. I wanted to drink it.

Since we could see the glacier and our destination campsite was next to said glacier, I figured we would be there in no time. Seeing may be believing, but as it turns out, it is not arriving. Distances are deceiving when you are looking at big things. The rest of our hike took over an hour. Once again, the map’s estimated time was based on people faster than us. While we were plodding along, a park ranger without a pack went running past us. We had found the pace-setter for the map’s aggressive time estimates.

Our feet started to get heavy. When you get tired, your first thought is that it is enough to drop one foot in front of the other and keep moving. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. You can’t let tired feet become lazy feet. Just throwing one foot in front of the other is a good way to get hurt. Earlier in the week, before I learned this lesson, I nearly rolled my ankle a few times. You have to keep using all the muscles in your legs to make controlled steps.

By the time we arrived at Campamento Grey, we were exhausted. Amanda set up camp while I went to reserve space on the boat out of the park in the morning. I came back to her with a blank face, shell-shocked. Our guidebook listed the fare at $20. I was just told that it would cost $70. Each person. Plus a $15 van transfer on the other side to get us back to the administration building. In an instant, I had quadrupled my spending in the park. Before this day, these were my expenses:

• Entrance fee (with Chilean residence discount): $8
• Transfer van at entrance: $2
• Campsite fees: $14
• Extra food: $5
• Total: $29

Our only other option was to turn around and hike another four hours to Campamento Great Paine where the cheaper catamaran would take us home. Our bodies ruled that one out immediately. I had to return to travel principle number one: you don’t go on vacation to save money. Ours had been a relatively inexpensive trip to date; hopefully the exit tax wouldn’t break the bank.

The wind twisted and felled trees along the exposed ridgeline. This isn’t a black and white photo, which gives you some idea of how stark the landscape could be.

We ate dinner, and then Amanda crashed with hopes of a more sound night’s sleep than she had the previous nights. This time she had the added benefit of an Ambien tablet my mom had mailed me. My day wasn’t over yet, however. On our way into camp I noticed a sign indicating a look-out point over Grey Glacier about ten minutes away. I wanted to see it before sunset and it was already 8:50 by the time I finished washing the dishes. I took off running up the trail. Apparently I had enough energy for one last burst.

At the look-out I climbed to the top of the highest hill I could see. I found myself face-to-face with Grey Glacier. Its left arm formed a giant blue wall in front of me. I felt strangely alone without my travel companion. The view was intimidating. Here I was, surrounded by mountains, a lake at my side, a glacier staring at me, at the end of the world. I sat silently, letting the wind attack me, reflecting on the past week that I saw summarized before me in a single vista.

I wanted a picture of myself alone in this strange, remote place. I mounted my camera on the hillside and pointed it towards Grey Glacier. I set the ten-second timer and pressed the shutter button. Then I ran to the outcropping of rocks ahead of me and got ready. Suddenly, as the ten seconds counted down, I thought to myself I’m at the end of the world. I should do something outrageous. I picked up the largest rock I could find at my feet and held it over my head. I heard the shutter click. My batteries were too low for the instant gratification review we have come to expect from digital cameras. It didn’t matter; I already had the moment in my mind forever.

As it grew dark, I made my way back to camp and fell asleep.

Don’t miss the exciting conclusion to our adventure on Friday.

Posted by Ryan at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Torres del Paine — Day 4
February 3, 2007

The rain was sometimes a blessing. This morning, for example, the rain gave us an excuse to sleep late. We started our day so late, in fact, that we skipped breakfast and went straight to the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

We had slept at Campamento Italiano, which lay at the base of the middle spoke of the W trail. The day’s plan was to hike up that center spoke and back to the base where we would spend a second night at Italiano. That meant no packs. As we set off wearing our cumbersome raingear, I felt light as a feather. I bounded up the mountain even though my legs were sore. They rejoiced at having to carry a mere 160 pounds instead of over 200. My shoes suddenly felt much more comfortable.

The sun was shining brightly on the back side of the Torres. It was not shining where we were

The rain came and went throughout the afternoon. Low-hanging clouds and haze made the day dreary. Everywhere else we looked we saw nice weather, which made our particular patch of gray skies seem grayer still. The sun shone over Lake Nordenskjold at our backs. From certain high points, I could see the Cuernos in clear, blue skies to our right. Slightly north of the Cuernos I saw, much to my surprise, the backside of the Torres. I thought I had bid them farewell the day before. It was an unexpected reunion, though one I should have been able to anticipate if I had taken any time at all to study the map.

Our immediate surroundings were formidable. Swathes of ice covered the Great Paine on our left-hand side. Some ice patches had a cool, blue color; others were a dirty gray. At the edges, the ice melted into a multitude of waterfalls that fed the valley’s central, raging river. We could faintly make out the Paine’s peak through the fog. Much of our time was not spent in clearings that afforded a view of the Paine, though. We twisted in and out of dark forests thickly populated with trees. I heard many people on the trail say that the park evoked Tolkien’s Middle Earth. If that were the case, then we were walking in Mordor, the land of shadows.

Panorama of ice and snow on the Great Paine

When we saw or heard the main river I was impressed by the sheer quantity and force of the melted water. I suppose I had thought of melting as a gradual, gentle force, not the violent, powerful one I saw. There was certainly no shortage of water. The rain notwithstanding, this valley was a wet place. No sooner had we crossed one stream on its way to join the river than we arrived at another.

Shortly after being photographed in my hand, these berries with clover tops went into my mouth.

Given the number of streams we crossed, I should mention that Torres del Paine is a backpacker’s paradise. I say this not just because of the scenery, nor because of the occasional opportunity for a hot shower, but because many typical backpacker concerns don’t exist there. Water, for example, is potable everywhere. You can fill your water bottle directly from the stream and drink it untreated. The park rangers endorse the practice, and everyone does it except for one hiker we met who told us he used iodine drops because the idea of untreated water scared the bejeezus out of him. The water was good H₂O. I thought I could make a pretty penny if I could bottle the stuff in the States (“Made from the ice of pure Patagonian glaciers”). All the berries in the park are safe to eat as well—as we hiked I plucked handfuls of red ones for a tasty trail snack. There are no bears, which means no bear-proofing the campsite, and no snakes either. I don’t think snakes are a typical backpacker concern, but I think they should be. The pumas in the park make themselves scarce. You’re considered lucky if you catch a glimpse of one. To my disappointment, I was not. I walked the trails trying to lure them out by saying, “Looks like there aren’t any pumas around these parts. Definitely not going to see one of them here today.” Amanda was not amused.

Shortly after we passed Campamento Britanico, we got a little meteorological surprise. In our few days in the park, I had adjusted to the rapid and by now predictably unpredictable weather changes, but this was something unexpectedly unexpected. Amanda confirmed my observation: snow. It wasn’t a blizzard by any means, but there were white flakes drifting gently through the air and landing on our clothes. Yesterday we had been hot in shorts and T-shirts; today it was snowing.

The visibility past Campamento Britanico was limited.

After a couple hours of up and down (but on the whole, up), our energy was waning. I was growing somewhat frustrated with the trail’s attitude. Why would it let me walk down a steep downhill if it goes right back uphill a few yards later? I asked myself this question several times. By the time we were fifteen minutes past Britanico, our energy reserves were just about empty. From our current position a number of colorfully-named peaks sat in the distance: the Cathedral, the Shark’s Fin, the Castle, the Twin Hills, and the White Throne. We couldn’t see jack. The sum of the low visibility, the cold, and our fatigue lead to our executive decision to turn back about an hour short of our goal. Other hikers told us the view at the end of the trail was impressive, but there wasn’t much point in hiking to see the unseeable.

Amanda walks down a particularly rocky section of the trail.

As we descended I had more time to appreciate the views. The weather cleared, and we could see the icy face of the Great Paine more clearly. There was so much ice that it made you cold just to look at it. A certain variety of tree also caught my eye. At times its branches were nearly perpendicular to the trunk. Leaves covered the branches sparsely, arranged like a hand held upwards, palm open to the heavens. Since we were distracted by the scenery, it took us hardly any time to make it back to camp.

Then it was time to eat again. Amanda had more experience camping and backpacking, so she put herself in charge of our food and cooking. This was good news to me because I just recently learned how to keep myself satisfied in the kitchen, and the new constraints of trail cooking frightened me. I was somewhat alarmed, however, when she showed up in Chile reading Alive, the real-life story of the Uruguayan rugby team’s plane crash in the Andes where the survivors had to resort to cannibalism to stay alive. Great, I thought. My travel companion is planning our meals and reading a book on cannibalism. This looks good. My main consolation was that I would be gamey eating.

Our food for trail, in Zip-lock bags with recipe cards.

I needn’t have worried. Besides the cannibalism book, she arrived with a half-dozen giant zip-lock bags. Each contained the measured ingredients for a meal, complete with a photocopied recipe card taken from the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) culinary bible, Cooking. This wasn’t just any trail food, either. It was better food than I ate at home. One night was whole-wheat pasta with a cheese sauce. The next was pad thai noodles with a spicy peanut butter sauce. This evening we ate a potato and cheese soup— seasoned with garlic powder and dried onions—and biscuits. I kid you not. We cooked everything in our single pot, which was the size of a cantaloupe, over our gas flame. For the biscuits we fried both sides lightly in butter and then simulated baking by cooking them in the closed pot over low heat. Also at Amanda’s suggestion we bought two half-liter boxes of wine (what’s two extra pounds?), which are high class when compared with U.S. boxed wine offerings. After our long day of hiking, we had a glass of wine with dinner. I ate like a king on the trail. Other backpackers at our site were likewise impressed. An Australian took one look at our outdoor kitchen and his mouth dropped open, as he squirted tomato sauce from a bag onto the pasta he was eating directly from his pot.

Amanda drops our no-bake cookies on a zip-lock bag to cool.

The piece de resistance was the no-bake cookies that Amanda prepared. We boiled water and mixed in powdered milk, butter, and brown sugar, followed by cocoa powder and oatmeal. Then we formed balls from the gooey mess and let them cool. The cookies were a campsite hit. An Englishman said, “You have no idea how good this tastes. I’ve been on the trail for ten days and haven’t had anything like this.” Another man asked Amanda for the recipe. Later in the week we ran into two Irish women from that night who, upon seeing Amanda, exclaimed, “The cookie lady!” I was doubly happy because the cookie ingredients had been in my pack. Now in addition to the tasty treat, I had less to carry on our last day of hiking.

Be sure to return tomorrow for the sights—including one we shouldn’t have seen—during our last day on the trail

Posted by Ryan at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Torres del Paine — Day 3
February 2, 2007

I woke up and started the third day with my routine. Get dressed. Use same clothes from yesterday. Dust feet with talcum powder. Apply to socks too. Gotta keep these workhorses happy. Boil water for oatmeal and coffee. Stuff sleeping bag into sack. Roll sleeping pad. Eat. Wash dishes. Take down tent. Start hiking. The whole process sounds mechanical and short, but it took a surprising amount of time. Today, for example, Amanda and I woke up at 8:30 and it took us two full hours to run through the tasks.

At least today, our sluggishness could be attributed to a poor night’s sleep. The night before, we had pitched our tent strategically in the narrow space between two trees. They would shield us from the Patagonian wind, we thought. The wind didn’t cooperate. Instead of blowing parallel to our protective tree line, it changed direction and blew directly into our tent. All night long. I had a nightmare—not unfounded—in which the wind ripped off our tent’s protective layer. At three o’clock in the morning I sat bolt upright. “The rainfly!” I shouted, looking desperately out the tent window to see if it was still there. It was, but that gives you some idea of the kind of night we had.

Rapidly passing hours wasn’t the only time anomaly, either. I was already losing track of the day of the week. I knew that it was day three, but I hadn’t the foggiest idea if that was Tuesday or Friday. In my book, that’s a successful vacation.

At 10:30 we left camp. Our route for the day was ten miles long, practically all of which followed the northern shoreline of Lake Nordenskjöld. We would do the first seven miles and then break for lunch. Shortly after we hit the trail heading west, I started questioning our itinerary. Here we were with days left in Torres del Paine National Park, and we had already seen the Torres del Paine. Would it just be downhill from here? Of course not literally—that would be quite the blessing—but would there be any highlights left on the trail? What was left to see? Maybe it would have been better to start at the other side of the W and go east. That way we would have saved the park’s namesake for last. You know, we could have gone out with a bang.

My backpack anxiously awaits me at the start of the day.

There was so much time to think as we hiked on the trail that I quickly moved on to other topics. For one, I thought about the bag on my back. Backpacking requires lots of specialized gear and major companies compete to make equipment better and lighter. These companies aren’t shy about letting you know what gear is theirs either. Logos cover everything. When I envisioned myself on the trail, I felt like a human NASCAR vehicle plastered with corporate sponsorships. I had a Kelty backpack with a CamelBack water pouch. My daily uniform was Eastern Mountain Sports zip-off pants and a Hind shirt (which gets my vote for best slogan: “Making sweat look good,” and they did). When it got cold I wore a Patagonia jacket on top of a North Face fleece and an Orvis vest. At night I slept in an REI sleeping bag on a ThermaRest pad in an REI tent. We cooked our food over a Doite stove. I used a Black Diamond headlamp. My feet in particular brought in big sponsor bucks. I wore SmartWool Seriously Comfortable Hiking Socks, and alternated between Chaco sandals and Lowa boots with Gore-Tex lining and Vibram soles. The most notable difference between me and NASCAR vehicles, discounting top speed, is that I paid for my sponsorships instead of earning money from them.

Gear isn’t cheap, but Amanda and I had used a few tricks to reduce acquisition cost. I didn’t own any hiking clothing, so instead of buying it I just had Amanda bring some of my dad’s. We needed a tent, and Amanda, together with some friends, had given one as a joint wedding gift some months ago. She asked to borrow her gift and we were set. Our stove and pot we rented for $2 a day.

Panorama of Lake Nordenskjöld

I got lost in thought. When I found myself again, I realized I had some serious scenery gazing to do. This was spectacular, and so different from the day before. Our path along the northern edge of the unpronounceable Lake Nordenskjöld gave quite the view. The lake was a pale blue, unlike any I had ever seen before. Fast-moving clouds overhead cast shadows on the lake’s smooth surface. As we rounded a corner I caught sight of the Cuernos del Paine, the Paine Horns. This is another one of the landmark sights in the park. The horns are two granite peaks, white with a sharply defined black upper layer, that look as advertised: like a pair of horns on the hill. Beyond the Cuernos was a glacier-encrusted mountain. Taken together, I had a saturated Technicolor view of nature’s palette: the pale blue of Nordenskjöld, the vivid green hill to the south, the white snow, the light gray and black granite of the Cuernos, the icy blue of the glaciers, vibrant red berries, and the dirts, which ranged from black to the rich brown of coffee mixed with milk. Seeing such chromatic variety at one time was overwhelming. If yesterday’s exhibit-on-display was the weather’s force, today’s was color and the sheer variety of natural formations.

Amanda crosses one of the wider streams on our route.

The mountains on our right sloped downward to Nordenskjöld on our left. Dozens of glacier-fed streams ran towards the lake. We had to cross a number of them, ranging from the simple, crossed with a well-placed step and a leap, to the more complicated, which required advance planning and looking for the next few steps. My slipshod planning at some streams made me thankful that my shoes were Gore-Tex lined. Even so, water entered at my ankles a couple times.

Panorama of the Cuernos del Paine

Every few steps I saw our surroundings with new, awe-struck eyes and took a photograph. The Cuernos from a minutely different angle? Better take a picture. A twisted tree? Better take three. Lake Nordenskjöld, which had been on our left-hand side for four hours and would continue to be there at least another hour still: picture. Berries, flowers, a stream: snap, snap, snap. Miraculously, we still made good time and covered the first seven miles within the four hour estimate the map gave. We arrived at the Cuernos rest point, located at the base of the horns, just in time for our sandwich lunch.

The swank lobby at Hostería Las Torres at the park entrance. Staying here starts at $180 a night. Using the bathrooms is free if you ask nicely. Guess which one we did.

Torres del Paine isn’t untouched wildness in all areas, technically speaking. The trail system is well developed. You can get from site to site without a map, although you might be caught off guard by those wily contour lines. Moreover, the rest points are at times outrageously equipped. Many have lodging, cooking facilities, meals for purchase, toilets, even hot showers. The result is a park that caters to several tiers of clientele. People visiting Torres del Paine in the top tier stay at fully equipped hotels found at a few major points on the trail, like Hostería Las Torres or Hostería Lago Grey. These start at $170 a night for a basic single and rise to $300 a night for a fancy double. These same places offer dinner for $40 and lunch for $33. Moving down the list, at the second tier, there are many refuges along the trail with shared bunks for $40 a night and meals for $13. Down at tier three there are serviced campsites which cost $7 a night per person. Amanda and I avoided those for the most part because we were in tier four, comprised of the people who sought out the free, unserviced campsites at select points along the trail. It was for that reason that we were continuing after lunch from Cuernos, a pay site, to Italiano, a free one. Also, there appeared to be an inverse relationship on the trail between wealth and backpack size. Big rollers in the park traveled with tiny packs and rented what they needed at waypoints, everything from tents to stoves. Unsurprisingly, our packs were large.

The trail class system didn’t bother me. In fact, I thought it was fantastic that there were different levels of access to the park. I figure if I came back later in life, I’d move up at least to a couple nights in the refuges. For the most part, though, we didn’t cross paths with the people in tiers far above us. Humor ensued when we did. At one stop we ran into a woman who asked us to describe the trail we hiked the day before. We told her that it was up-and-down for about ten miles and took us seven hours to cover. “Oh,” she reacted. “I suppose I’ll see if I can’t get a horse then.”

Ryan and Amanda at the shore of Lake Nordenskjöld.

As we made our way towards Campamento Italiano, our pace slowed. The undulating trail sloped mercifully downhill, only to rise up again. We descended to Lake Nordenskjöld and touched the waters. Then, faced with a particularly arduous uphill climb, I said to Amanda, “I’m not stopping until the top. If I do I won’t start again.” It was a hot day—we wore T-shirts and shorts—which didn’t help matters. I finally rose over the last hill and turned the bend, only to find that it merely appeared to be the last hill; another one sat in front of me. “Does it ever end?” I screamed at the mountain. From behind me I heard Amanda’s faint voice, “Don’t say that!” Before long, we found ourselves a few hundred feet above the lake.

Our pace was further slowed by my addiction. Every several paces Amanda would hear the tell-tale sound of Velcro ripping apart as I opened my camera case to take another shot. “I think this is my last one for awhile,” I would tell her. “Then I’ll just appreciate it with my eyes.” But time after time as we took in the landscape I felt compelled to take pictures, almost more in awed homage to the scenery than to capture the view. I knew the results wouldn’t show people back home what I was seeing, but taking pictures was a reflex when faced with such beauty. In the end it was only my limited battery that convinced me to stop.

The glacier-encrusted Great Paine rises 10,160 feet in front of visitors to the French Valley.

Near the end of our day’s route we veered north, away from the lake and into the French Valley. Suddenly we found ourselves in a darker place. The gray Great Paine mountain that had been foreboding from a distance now overshadowed us. The Paine’s main peak is 10,160 feet high, which may not be tall in absolute terms, but the pinnacle was only three miles away and we were standing at a mere 600 feet above sea level. The difference was enough to push your head back in wonder. The French Glacier rode on the mountain’s ridge and scattered ice patches gave it a war-torn look.

Not long after, we reached Campamento Italiano, where we set up camp and spent the next few hours chatting with other travelers. Three men, from England, Ireland, and Australia, were on their last day of the complete park circuit and they had plenty of advice on what to see and how to do it. When it was dark, Amanda and I collapsed into our tent. A long day on the trail and a site protected from the wind made for a sound night’s sleep. As I fell asleep I decided I had been a bit quick to want to revise our itinerary in the morning. Based on what I saw today, it was clear the trail still had plenty in store.

Continue reading tomorrow to find out about one unexpected surprise that the French Valley had in store for us.

Posted by Ryan at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Torres del Paine — Day 2
February 1, 2007

As planned, my alarm went off at 3:55am. It was not a pleasant sound. Not according to plan, however, was the torrential downpour pounding our tent, as it had been doing since midnight. The forecast for the day was a smiling sun. There might be sun at some other point during the day, but for now it sounded like bullets were raining down on us. I’d hate to see a day when rain is forecast.

The rain provided a pretty powerful incentive to stay in bed, as did the time of day. Fortunately Amanda and I had setup a more powerful still peer pressure system: we had hiked until 10:20 the night before to set up this one-shot opportunity to see sunrise at the Torres, and neither one of us wanted to be the one to suggest staying in bed. We were moving slowly, but moving, which was itself a victory. We split a chocolate Pop-Tart, put on our rainpants and raincoats, and with our headlamps on we left the protection of our dry tent for the dark, wet, cold morning.

It was a deluge in pure blackness. When I turned off my light I couldn’t even see the tent I had just exited. There were about 30 other tents at our campsite, but my headlamp was the only illumination around. The beam of light caught the raindrops for a moment as they passed my face. It made it look like I was in the middle of an electrical storm, with a shower of sparks pouring over me. I wanted to take a picture, but with so much water I knew it would have been my camera’s last.

We started up the trail at 4:20am. From camp the Torres are supposedly 45 minutes west. The sun was supposed to rise at 5:09am. Neither turned out to be the case for us, although the problems cancelled each other out: our trek was longer, but the sun rose later. The incorrect sunrise time was a typo—one of the only two I could see—in the park guide. See if you can find both mistakes in this sunrise chart:

Since Dec 21 is the summer solstice and the longest day of the year (at least in this hemisphere), sunrise should be earliest on that day and get later each subsequent day. There’s a break from that pattern on January 30, where sunrise is listed at 5:09am. Ten days earlier it was at 5:52am; ten days later at 6:30am. Sunrise probably should have been listed at 6:09am. We fell victim to a cruel mistake that got us out of bed far earlier than necessary.

That turned out to be a blessing because 45 minutes to climb the hill is an aggressive estimate, most likely based on the speed of a hungry puma. The trail to the Torres—which means “towers”—is only a mile long, but in that distance you scramble up rocky boulder fields to rise 1300 vertical feet (i.e. the Empire State Building). Thankfully we had left our backpacks in our tent, so we weren’t carrying our sacks o’ lead. (Theft isn’t a problem on the trail, either because of some backpacker code of honor, or perhaps because only an idiot would deliberately increase his pack’s weight.) The trail—I am being charitable in my description—was marked periodically with orange dots painted on rocks and trees. Whoever marked the trail was either drunk or very forgetful. Sometimes we would go what seemed like ten minutes without seeing anything, then we would see four dots on two rocks ten feet apart. Our situation was further complicated by the darkness and the rain. Amanda and I probed the night with the surgical beams of our headlamps, scanning for colored circles on rocks.

“I don’t see anything. Do you see anything?”
“Uh-uh. Are you sure this is the trail?”
“No. Wait! Is that a dot over there?”
“Where? I don’t see it.”
“Over there by that rock.”
“That one? Which one?”
“Right there, where my light’s pointing.”

Sometimes it would be another precious dot left by the Mad Dotter. Just as often we would get excited only to find that it was a patch of orange lichens or a discoloration on the rock.

Black towers against the sky at dawn.

Finally, after about an hour and twenty minutes of climbing, after dot after dot after dot, we caught a glimpse of the Torres. They were an imposing black silhouette against a slightly less black sky. Ribbons of ice twisted along the base. Melting snow cascaded downward in a handful of tall, thin waterfalls until it collected in a glassy smooth lake beneath the towers. To the right of the Torres was the massive Condor’s Nest peak. With the big picture to orient us, we reached the viewpoint as the sun was painting the clouds at our backs a faint pink.

Timelapse of sunrise at the Torres
5:55am	6:06am	6:19am	6:23am

We sat and waited for the sun to rise. In the meantime, we were completely alone with the iconic formation—the namesake—of the park. As the rays began to peek through the valley, the Torres lit up. On cue, the rain stopped. We sat admiring in the ferocious wind. We took pictures with my camera, which I almost lost to a particularly strong gust of wind. We took pictures with our minds to capture the details the camera couldn’t. Twenty minutes later, the Torres were clearly visible. It was light enough to see without our lamps. With the fierce wind chilling us rather thoroughly, we turned to head down the mountain. At that moment, a rainbow formed over the coal-black mountain to the north. It was absolutely perfect.

The weather changes on a whim in the park, and there was no better example of that than our time at the Torres themselves. One moment, the towers would be obscured by clouds. Thirty seconds later, the wind would have blown them away. One moment the Condor’s Nest would be dark with the overcast sky above; the next, a brilliant orange-yellow. I watched clouds being sculpted like clay shaped by invisible hands—not just moving with the wind, but literally twisted by it. The rainbow we saw faded out of existence and back again several times. Within just a few seconds, I watched it go from vivid and pure to pure nothingness. It was almost as if some weather engineer was sitting in front of a control panel, dialing the intensity of the rainbow up and down for our enjoyment. For a moment, the rainbow split into two and the pair of rainbows arced back towards the towers, into the lake that sits at their base.

The Condor’s Nest next to the Torres at a particularly golden moment.

On the way down, the rain started again. We saw the sunlight shooting through the valley, dancing through sheets of rain that the wind pushed violently across the sky. It wasn’t until 6:40am, two-and-a-half hours after we woke up, that we saw our first other person. The rain must have been a deterrent. Farther down the hill we ran into a guy from Washington we had met the day before. “Did you make it to the Torres?” he asked. We told him yes, told him about the rainbow that was already long gone. “Congratulations. You got your reward.” We made our way back to the campsite, cooked oatmeal for breakfast, and fell asleep until noon.

When we woke up for the second time, we packed our gear and made the three-hour hike back down the mountain to Hostería Las Torres, the point where we had arrived the day before. The overhead associated with making camp and taking it down is easy to underestimate. By the time we ate lunch, arrived at the base, and prepared our area it was time for dinner and shortly afterwards time for bed. On the schedule for the next day was six hours and ten miles of hiking. We would need more than the five hours of sleep from the night before to do it. I fell asleep recounting the day to my journal. I was surprisingly not sore. Even if I had been, even if I had been completely unable to move, it would have been worth it.

Our adventure and this series continue Monday as we hike along Lake Nordenskjol and see the Cuernos del Paine.

Posted by Ryan at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Torres del Paine — Day 1
January 31, 2007

The day after Amanda arrived in Chile, she and I showed up at the Santiago airport for our midnight flight to Punta Arenas. I had been so consumed with a lingering preoccupation about the weight of my backpack that I was wholly unprepared for the sensation I felt at the check-in counter. Liberation. It was a marvel to travel with so little. Granted, at 48 pounds my backpack was at the upper limit of what I could comfortably carry—a typical suggestion is 25% of your body weight—but when I last flew it was to South America for 28 months and my suitcases’ combined weight was around 130 pounds. This time I had nothing extraneous. I had one of everything: one pair of pants, one pair of shorts, one t-shirt, one jacket—except for socks and underwear where I had generously allotted myself two pairs. For the first time in memory, I didn’t even have a carry-on bag. I felt completely unencumbered as I boarded the plane. Sleep was my only in-flight entertainment, and I did it until the landing in Punta Arenas awoke me.

Hostel beds are more comfortable, but the airport floor is free.

We arrived in Punta Arenas at 3:15am. At the baggage claim we noticed several large backpacks riding on the belt alongside ours. We were in backpacker country. Within 20 minutes we met a woman from Australia, our first fellow traveler to Torres del Paine. Before we could get moving towards the park, though, we had to wait for the world to wake up. Principle I of my travel philosophy is that you don’t go on vacation to save money. All the same, there’s no point to paying for something you can get for free. A hostel costs money while the airport floor is free, so we unrolled our mattress pads and slept in a dark corner and slept until 7:00am. When we woke up we took a taxi into town and boarded a bus northbound to Puerto Natales.

Principle II of my travel philosophy is that much of the fun comes in the mishaps. Whatever doesn’t kill you or end your trip makes a good story back home. I considered us quite fortunate that by the time we were on the bus we had already accumulated two stories. First, shortly after checking my bag in Santiago I realized that I still had my Leatherman knife in my pocket. In the past I have been unsuccessful in sweet-talking security into letting me keep knives, so I asked the check-in counter attendant if he had any suggestions. He did. I could purchase an extra suitcase at the airport store, put my knife in it, pay an excess baggage fee, and check the bag. Unimpressed, I decided to store my knife at the airport. So instead of coming with me to cut things and helping me look useful on the trail, it was costing me $2 a day back home.

Second, we paid $10 to take a taxi from the airport to the bus station. We boarded the bus and shortly after departing Amanda keenly remarked that the landscape looked familiar. We were on route back to the airport, where our bus stopped to pick up all the backpackers who had gotten the message that the bus passed by the airport. Not only had those better informed travelers saved ten bucks, but they got an extra hour of sleep on the airport floor. I crossed my fingers and hoped that I wouldn’t be making amateur mistakes all week long.

Old Man’s Beard is a green lichen that covered all the trees we saw.

The road between Punta Arenas and Puerto Natales reinforced my adventure-inspired idea of being at the end of the world. The sky was an ominous gray; it waited a mere 18 minutes into our ride before it split open for the first time and poured out its rain. Light gray, arthritic trees were scattered across a rich green carpet. In this extreme environment, the trees were defiant in their very existence, but bowed in submission to the will of the wind. Many were draped with sheets of hairy, pale green lichens called barba de viejo, or Old Man’s Beard.

In Puerto Natales we wrapped up our last errands. We rented a stove, arranged transportation to the park, and bought our perishable foods. Better to shop outside the park than inside. We paid $2 for a stick of salami at the grocery store in Puerto Natales; later in the week we saw the same one for $5. I emailed my parents saying I was checking out. Then we boarded the bus and did just that.

Hundreds of sheared sheep run in front of Torres del Paine National Park. In the distance, you can see the Torres rising into the clouds.

Two hours later we caught our first glimpse of the park while still 20 miles away. The scene would challenge even great poets in its description. Across small lakes and rivers, Mt. Almirante Nieto slants towards arrivers, bearing its snow like a diamond. To the west we saw the Torres (“Towers”) themselves. “Wow,” is an appropriate first reaction—it was mine—but using superlatives is redundant; they are implied in the landscape. Beautiful, amazing, breath-taking, stunning, and incredible are hollow words when compared with the sight itself. As we approached we saw the Torres rise into the sky, pierce the clouds, and disappear into them. If this were Greece, I thought, that would be Mount Olympus where the gods reside. The bus passed guanacos, a llama-like animal indigenous to the park, and hundreds of sheared sheep, on our way to Laguna Amarga—Bitter Lagoon—where we entered the park. After paying our entrance fee, we took a transfer van to Hostería Las Torres where we would begin our hike.

The two most popular routes in Torres del Paine are the Circuit, a giant ring around the entire park, and the W, so named for the shape it cuts through three parallel valleys. Given our limited timeframe, we opted for the W, which takes four to five days to complete, in comparison with the eight to ten needed for the Circuit. Our trek would cover about 44 miles across terrain of varying difficulty.

Our plan was to hike the W route in Torres del Paine, which covers about 44 miles.

By the time we unloaded our backpacks from the van at Hostería Las Torres, our adrenaline was pumping in anticipation. It was 6:00pm. We had left my house for the airport exactly 24 hours earlier. Twelve hours ago we were sleeping on the airport floor. We were ready to take the first steps of our adventure. Our goal for the first day was to hike six miles through Valle Ascencio to Campamento Torres. That would put us within striking distance to see the supposedly spectacular sunrise at the Torres the next morning. It was a three-and-a-half hour hike. The sun didn’t set until 9:45pm, at which point there would still be enough light to setup camp. No sweat.

Despite the 1,150 foot vertical rise, Amanda does well on the trail.

Strike the last sentence. I record taking my first step up the mountain at 6:18pm. Subsequently, I record the watching the first drop of sweat roll down my nose and fall to the ground at 6:48pm. It turns out that our first day’s work was not flat. I quickly learned the meaning of contour lines. These lines covered my hiking map. They overwhelmed me at first, but I quickly learned that they meant one thing: hard work. The hiking trail on the map crossed the lines so effortlessly, but on the trail in the real world, I did not cross them nearly as well. Each line on my map represented a change in elevation of 25 meters. In the first two hours of our hike, we crossed 14 of them. Do the math and you’ll find that we had climbed 1150 feet, or just slightly less than all the stairs in the Empire State Building.

Ryan rests for a moment with the Ascencio Valley in the background.

Fortunately, although sweating, we were in very good spirits. We found ourselves hiking with John and Grace from Cork, Ireland, and Johannes from Austria. It was exciting to meet people from around the world on our shared journey. Plus, the scenery was a booster. The Ascencio River ran through the valley on our right-hand side, and as we climbed we saw the slopes behind us splayed out in a gigantic panorama. Before long, we made it to the two-third waypoint at Campamento Chileno. There we left John, Grace, and Johannes and pushed on towards the Torres.

At 10:20pm we arrived at Campamento Torres. We slowed down noticeably on the second part of our hike, and once we reached our goal it was a race to our beds. We pitched the tent, arranged our backpacks, and Amanda cooked whole-wheat pasta with cheese for dinner. After eating, we crawled into our sleeping bags. The plan for the next day was to see sunrise at the Torres del Paine. Our camp lie 45 minutes from the towers, sunrise would be at 5:10am, so I set my watch for 4:00am. I recounted the day in my journal and turned off my headlamp at 11:30pm. Morning would arrive soon.

Continue reading tomorrow to see how successful we are with our 4am wakeup call.

Posted by Ryan at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Torres del Paine — Day 0
December 2006

Like many dangerous plans, ours began with a series of emails. My longtime friend Amanda had already booked a flight to Chile, and through messages back-and-forth we were trying to decide on an itinerary for her visit. I suggested some sight-seeing in the Lakes Region, a typical Chilean destination during the summer. It would be something relaxing, easy to plan, laid-back; we would see penguins and snow-capped volcanoes while traveling in comfortable buses. I told her to look at the Rough Guide to Chile at a bookstore and let me know what she thought. A few days later I received a reply: “You may regret recommending that book. What do you think about a backpacking trip in Torres del Paine?” Uh-oh.

Whenever I had gone camping as a child it was Dad who picked the destination, planned the trip, and packed everything into the car, as I was reminded on occasion. All I had to do was show up and burn marshmallows. I was somewhat apprehensive about arranging a multi-day trip in which we were responsible for all the logistics, equipment, know-how, and cooking. When it comes to outdoor knowledge, I am a veritable Socrates: all I know is that I know nothing. As for food, I can barely feed myself in my own kitchen. How could I possibly do it in the middle of nowhere? On top of all this—almost literally—we would have to carry everything we needed on our own backs. I bare strikingly little resemblance to a pack animal, and I had certain doubts about myself, specifically in the strength and endurance departments. Amanda runs marathons; I just run out of clean clothes and have marathon laundry sessions. I sent a non-committal message back saying I would think about it and try to have my housemate Emily convince me.

Torres del Paine appeared on the cover of all the Chile guidebooks I saw.

Emily played the part well. Her first reaction: “That’s incredible! You have to do it—you have to go!” The guide books I consulted tended to agree. In fact, the very guide book I had referred Amanda to said in its list of 26 things not to miss in Chile, “#1. Torres del Paine National Park. One of the highlights of any trip to Chile. A sight that does not disappoint even after all the photos and build-up.” Later it added, “one of the world’s stunning geographic features.” The Insight Guide Chile had gorgeous pictures of the park, which it called, “by far the most impressive sight in the Chilean south.” Upon closer inspection, I realized that both books feature Torres del Paine as their cover image. My dad, much more the outdoorsman than me said the trip sounded fantastic and that he wished he were going. That was easy for him to say since, after all, he had been the one packing the car all these years. All the same, it sounded like a unanimous opinion everywhere I looked, so I wrote Amanda back saying I was on-board for the adventure.

Our agreement was that Amanda would plan our time inside the park and I was in charge of getting us there. Torres del Paine National Park lies deep in southern Chilean Patagonia. To get there we would fly from Santiago to Punta Arenas at the southern tip of the continent. Once in Punta Arenas we would take a bus north to Puerto Natales followed by a second bus farther north to the park itself. If I could manage that, Amanda would take care of the rest.

I nearly failed as soon as I had started. I looked for tickets with LAN, a popular airline in Chile, through the English version of their website. The cheapest fare I could find was $650 roundtrip. At that price, I wouldn’t have to worry about my backpack’s weight because we wouldn’t be going. Out of curiosity I tried again, this time on the Spanish version of LAN’s site. Suddenly a slew of fares that were previously invisible appeared, including a $120 roundtrip to Punta Arenas. Sure, we had to depart at midnight and return at 4:00am, but at least we would be going. The price was right for our lightweight budgets. In early December I booked the flight for our trip. We would depart on the last day of January.

At that moment I filed our trip away in the back of my mind, scheduled for some vague point in the future. December and January turned out to be the busiest time of the year for me. I kept myself occupied with a few major projects and I scarcely gave Torres del Paine a thought. Weeks flew by. Before I knew it, I found myself at the airport picking up Amanda. It was time.

Read more tomorrow as this series on Torres del Paine continues with our arrival in the park.

Posted by Ryan at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

For some time I wanted a mini-tripod for my camera. Though tiny, they’re useful for getting sharp pictures in low-light conditions and for taking timer-delay pictures when there’s no one else to take the picture. They do come with some of the typical limitations of tripods. You need to have a usable, mostly flat surface to set it up, and getting the tripod to hold the camera straight can be challenging. I live with tight purse strings and my tripod needs weren’t all that pressing, so my acquisition never went through.

Then I found it, the object of my camera-stabilization desire. Good fortune brought it to me: completely coincidentally, Brook saw the same tripod and sent it to me for my birthday. I am now the proud owner of a GorillaPod. It’s a tripod with wrappable legs so you can easily take pictures with your camera attached to trees, benches, rocks—pretty much anything you can think of. Here’s my Gorilla in action during my trip to Torres del Paine last week:

Since we traveled alone on our backpacking trip, nearly all of the pictures that show both of us are Gorilla-assisted shots (like this one, this one, and this other one). The GorillaPod is a versatile little sucker; I attached it to trees, rocks, the inside of our tent, and a bridge successfully. The legs are so bendable that it’s pretty easy to get it setup in any location. I was pleased with the results. If you’re into photography, look into a GorillaPod for yourself.

Posted by Ryan at 7:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I spent a couple hours yesterday designing and setting up the headline displayed at the top of this page for the Torres del Paine special feature that begins later this week. There are six images that rotate through the display. They are all posted here so you don’t have to reload the page several times to see each one.

Tent frames the Torres del Paine.

Icebergs floating in Lago Grey.

A hillside tree in front of the Cuernos del Paine.

The famous towers at sunrise.

The park as seen from Laguna Amarga.

A rainbow forms at dawn.

Posted by Ryan at 1:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Amanda and I made it back from Torres del Paine National Park alive. It was incredible. We hiked for about 5 days in the park, during which time we took around 700 photos. I was limited primarily by the number of batteries that I brought. I don’t think that a couple paragraph write-up with a few pictures would do the experience justice, so I’m preparing a series of articles to recount the trip day-by-day. I’m culling through my journal to cut out the boring parts and revising to add a better narrative and incorporate some thoughts from the trail. I expect to begin posting this upcoming week. In the meantime, you can take the unguided tour of a select batch of the photos on Flickr.

Posted by Ryan at 5:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)