Living in Neverland: March 2018

***as always, tons of photos throughout the copy, and more at the bottom***

Day 5: Campamento Grey à Mirador Grey à Campamento Paine Grande (12km; 3h 15m then 6km; 1h 45m to Lake Pehoe viewpoint)

Not long after falling sleep, I was abruptly slapped into consciousness as the sides of my tent collapsed onto my face, retreated, then collapsed again, completely at the mercy of the great gusts of wind. While my tent remained rooted to the ground (thank you stakes!), the poles were no match for the power of the gales and were yielding with every gust. I lay there, desperately trying to go back to sleep, but kept from doing so by fear of my tent collapsing, poles breaking, and being blown away in the wind. After about two hours of pathetically cowering in my tent, hoping for the wind to die down, I decided to see if I could fix the situation myself. Cautiously, I unzipped my tent and slithered outside, only to have a massive gust of wind knock me on my butt. Aaaargh. Determined to get at least a few hours of sleep, I used my guy lines to rig up a support system for the windward poles of my tent. Doubtful – yet optimistic – that my tent would withstand the wind, I crawled back inside. Howling its displeasure at my attempt to thwart its power, the wind continued to blow, but my tent seemed at least a bit more stable. Stable enough for me to drift into an uneasy sleep.

Mirador Grey

When I awoke the next morning, I saw that I was not the only one with tent issues the night before. I saw two collapsed, abandoned tents, and heard many people lamenting about their broken tent poles as we packed up. Miraculously, my tent poles adopted the “bend but don’t break strategy” and survived with no breaks, but a permanent curve. Fine with me. Honestly, I was just happy the night was over and I didn’t have to lay in fear in my tent anymore.

happiness high kick! (this took many attempts due to
extreme soreness)

Since I was up so early, I decided to take a short hike out to Iceberg Bay (as only I call it); I think its proper name is Mirador Grey, as it provides a vantage point from which to see Grey Lake and its namesake glacier, as well as the chunks of ice that had broken off and drifted into the bay. Amazingly, I was the only person out at that time of the morning and had the entire area to myself, a private sunrise view. I scampered around the rocks and banks, trying to find the best viewpoint, before simply settling on a rock to enjoy the serenity that comes with a solo sunrise. It was incredible, and I couldn’t help but do a little dance of pure happiness. While lacking in vibrant colors, the muted golden rays stretched over the icebergs and the rugged landscape, enhancing the natural beauty of these monuments and creating stunning reflections in the lake’s calm waters. I lingered out there for about an hour, trying to soak up every moment, before heading back to camp to pack up and head on to the next camp.

The next camp was only about three hours away, and on a very easy trail, especially compared to the trail from the day before. For the rest of the trek, all trails were to be compared to “Pass Day Trail,” and if I ever found myself waning, I would remind myself, “You already did the hardest part; nothing will be as rough as that day.” And for the most part that was true. There were longer hikes, there were steeper segments, there was worse weather, but on the whole, nothing compared to that day ascending to the pass, then descending to camp. So, day five passed easily. I took my time meandering to camp, stopping for snacks, photos, to let others pass, etc. Early in the afternoon, I found myself emerging from a valley onto the shores of a lake, Lake Pehoe, and I stopped again. This body of water had milky turquoise waters with small islands seeming to float on its surface and mountains in the background. Could life get any better?! As a matter of fact, it did: Camp Paine Grande was situated right on the shores of this lake! For the next two days, I would get to watch the sunrises and sunsets over this lake. I could hardly believe my amazing fortune.

Eventually I snapped out of my reverie, and made it to the camp where I once again had to battle the wind and utilize all my limbs, and ample rocks, to set up my tent. This time, I didn’t mess around and immediately attached my guy lines to the biggest rocks that I could transport to my little area. Only when my tent was set up did I relax. I was a bit dismayed at the sheer volume of people on this part of the trek – we had joined up with the more popular and accessible W Trek – but also amazed at the conveniences that accessibility brought. The camp had its own little hotel, reminiscent of a ski lodge, with a large common area whose walls boasted floor to ceiling windows, a full kitchen, and rooms upstairs. Sitting here, I enjoyed a cup of coffee while my friend enjoyed a victory pizza before getting on the ferry home; she had completed her trek. Once she was off, I ventured down a faint trail along the side of the lake, which took me to the far end of Lake Pehoe and offered an incredible view back towards camp. Later that evening, I went into the camp kitchen area where I made myself dinner, and met some new friends. As always, this was a highlight of the day: sharing a meal and relating experiences and swapping stories with people who have similar interests and life experiences as you, but are from all over the world!

Lake Pehoe

Day 6: Campamento Paine Grande à Mirador Britannica à Paine Grande (26km; 8 hours)

I had heard rumors of the intense winds at Paine Grande, and as previously mentioned, had created the best bunker that I could, but it all proved unnecessary (at least on this night). The night was calm and cool and I slept like a rock, awaking well before my alarm and just in time to watch the sun rise. Watching the sky change colors, and Lake Pehoe reflecting these colors to create a never ending sky, was breathtaking.

I was extremely excited about the day that lay ahead of me: I had heard nothing but awe-inspiring sentiments about the viewpoint that I was hiking to, and to top it off, since I was going back to the same camp tonight, I didn’t have to break down a tent, pack my bags, then carry said bag at all today! I felt light as a feather – and actually a bit off balance – as I set off down the trail with nothing but my miniscule day pack. In an attempt to avoid the crowds, I started walking as soon as I was done gawking at the sunrise. Still, I got stuck behind countless tour groups: lines of (often older) tourists with their walking sticks and toting an insane amount of stuff, following behind an unenthusiastic guide, like schoolchildren following their teacher down a hallway. Each time, I took the first opportunity to race past these groups and eventually I got to the head of the pack and could actually enjoy the hike and the surroundings without hearing the clanging of tin cups (which a surprising amount of people had hanging from some strap on the outside of their bags), jingling of bear bells (yes, a few people had bear bells…despite the lack of bears), or the incessant clacking of the walking poles (which seemed more of a nuisance than a help to most people).

The walk itself proved to be rather unexciting for the first bit. It was an easy, flat trail that took you by yet another lake and then through some trees, over a footbridge and to another camp. From this point, the trail got a lot tougher, and more interesting. The next 90 minutes of my life were spent scrambling over scree fields, hopping little streams, climbing over boulders, and navigating through the forest, all the while going up, up, up. As I struggled up the mountain I was constantly trying to peak through the trees to get a preview of what I would eventually see. Although I managed a few glimpses through the foliage, the view in its entirety was not revealed to me until I emerged above the trees and the path leveled out. Rising into the clouds was a rugged mountain, topped with snow, and cradling more in its crevices. Knowing that there was another vantage point further on, and deterred by the number of people crowded around here, I continued on, knowing that I could stop on my way back to have a few tranquil moments observing this mountain.

my awkward moment of being a
'happiness model'

After another 45 minutes of (mostly flat) walking, the trail once again veered toward the sky and I knew this was the final pitch of my ascent. I clumsily made my way up the steep slope and was relieved to finally reach the top, turn around, and take in all that sprawled before me. From a large boulder nearby, I heard “Holy s*@!;” another person had voiced my exact thought. Joining the small group of people on the boulder, I spun circles as I tried to take in the 360 degree view. Everywhere you looked were interesting mountain formations, streams far below, and sediment stripes through the rock. Without taking my eyes off the mountains, I sunk down onto a rock and settled in to eat my breakfast and enjoy the view. I completely zoned out in my own little world and was brought back to reality by a feminine voice commenting, “Wow, you look so happy, and peaceful, and…happy just sitting there,” followed by, “May I take your picture?” Surprised, I turned to give her my full attention; was she serious? I let out an embarrassed laugh when I realized she was, and consented to let her take my photo. I have never been anyone’s “happiness model” before, and though it was extremely flattering to know that I was literally the picture of contentment, I was incredibly awkward about it and probably ruined her picture. Oooops.

small avalanche

Once I had gotten my fill of these picturesque views, I retreated down the mountain, but didn’t make it very far before spotting the perfect place to view the snowy mountain I had passed on the way up. The “perfect place” was actually a massive boulder in the middle of a stream, which I had to wade to, then stack up rocks to make a ladder, in order to get on top. But it was so worth it. In perfect solitude I sat for an hour listening to the sounds of the water and the occasional thunder-like rumble as masses of snow slid down the face of the mountain, cascading over drop-offs to create a temporary waterfall. The sound of tons of snow barreling down a mountain is not quite deafening, but it is definitely attention getting. It makes you stop in your tracks and whip your eyes back and forth, scanning for the source of the noise. In short: it was another unforgettable experience. As I trudged back to camp – the walk was just tedious this time around since I had already done it that morning and was eager to get back to camp – I kept replaying the experience of watching the avalanches crash down the mountainside, feeling so lucky that I got see this force of nature from a safe view point.

Day 7: Campamento Paine Grande à Campamento Torres Central (25km; 7 hours)

Awaking this morning, I was so glad that I had put up my guy lines when I first pitched my tent. My second night at Paine Grande lived up to all the hype that I had heard about this being the windiest campsite on the trek. Even with the extra support, my poles were quaking in the wind and threatening to snap. The fabric of my tent was constantly flapping and snapping in the wind, creating enough noise to jolt me from sleep throughout the night. In the morning, I saw one tent that had been ripped from its stakes and blown across the lawn, then a rumpled heap of wrinkled fabric and broken poles lying beside a building. After winning the fight against the wind, and successfully packing up my tent (aka stuffing it into its sack after giving up on folding or rolling it up), I began the day’s trek. And oh boy, was it a trek. Today I had to walk 25 kilometers to get to Camp Torres Central; I hoped to get there early so that I could rest, have an early dinner, and early bedtime so that I could wake up and hike to the torres in time for sunrise.

Knowing what lay ahead of me, my mind and body went into autopilot mode. My legs were working of their own accord and my brain was lost in its own thoughts; it’s as if my body was trying to make this day a bit easier for me by just doing its own thing and not making me think about it. Lucky for me, this trail crossed a variety of terrain and afforded numerous gorgeous views. At one point I was walking along the shore of another stunning lake – although it looked more like an ocean on this day – and getting sprayed with mist as the wind whipped water from the lake’s surface. Just two hours later, I was on top of a ridge, looking back at the lake and admiring the rainbows that were rippling in the mist and appeared to be blown across the lake. There was also a lot of climbing up, just to summit and come back down, then go back up again a short time later, but I didn’t mind. I kept reminding myself that nothing could compare to “Pass Day.”

the only way to get supplies to and from certain camps

This little mantra came in handy at the end of this day, when I topped a hill and could see my camp in the distance, but there was about 4 kilometers of dusty, open, flat land separating me from it. With the sun beating down and causing me to sweat an unbelievable amount, I marched towards the camp. It never seemed to get any closer though! It was exceptionally frustrating to be so close, and yet have such a mental battle going on in my head. When I did finally get there, it was like reaching an oasis in the desert! My legs, knowing they had completed their job, stopped functioning, and the fatigue set in. I had just hiked 25 kilometers in 7 hours; a journey that was supposed to take 10 hours. It was all I could do to claim a spot to pitch my tent and join some other O-Trekkers at a picnic table for a snack.

Once again, my timing for setting up my tent was impeccable: as I was putting in the stakes, it started sprinkling, then developed into a true downpour that did not relent until the next morning. Comfortable in my tent, it took a lot of will power to get out and go to a designated cooking area to make my dinner. Huddled with a handful of other hikers, I ate my dinner and made plans with them to meet at 4am in the morning to hike up to the Torres del Paine together. We would be hiking for about 2.5 hours in the dark, and best to do that in a group, especially in a land riddled with steep drop-offs, strong winds, and lurking pumas.

Day 8: Campamento Torres Central à Torres del Paine à Camp à Lake Amarga entrance (19km; 7 hours)

3:30am: wake to the sound of rain on my tent

3:31am: I give up, back to sleep

3:35am: maybe it’s not actually that bad….

3:37am: alright, Rochelle, let’s do this!

4:00am: standing alone (in the rain) at our meeting point

4:15am: still alone (in the rain and darkness)

4:17am: I’ll just start and maybe meet someone along the way…

one of those times that I couldn't quite
tell how high up I was...

And off I go. Into the darkness with my faulty headlamp. Into the rain armed with my dinky raincoat. Into the land of canyons and pumas, armed only with my own bravery. I remember looking around about an hour into my hike and being absolutely astounded, and a little frightened, that I did not see a single other light. Not even a tiny speck in the distance. Nothing. I am not sure that I have ever experienced loneliness like that, or exhilaration like that, for that matter. There I was, somewhere between 4:30 and 6:00 in the morning, by myself, trekking through the darkness and drizzle, racing the sunrise to the top of the mountain. As I crept along the trail, I could hear the sounds of rushing water – sometimes right next to me, and sometimes, far, far below – and sense drop-offs. Every noise was most certainly a puma, stalking me in the darkness, and my heart would leap when a hare bolted from the underbrush! Yet all this anticipation and heightened senses contributed to the sense of adventure that I was experiencing that morning. I won’t lie, when I looked around and could not find any other lights, and I realized just how alone I was at that time, I was a bit frightened. In the back of my head I heard all the warning: “Don’t hike alone;” “Don’t hike in the dark;” “Always make sure to follow the trail;” etc. But then, louder than the voice of warning, I heard my adventurous spirit take over, and urge me onward. With every step I took, I was writing this blog post, wondering how I could relay the sense of adventure that I was experiencing during that dark hike. Even as I write this, I am back there; I can envision myself stumbling through the darkness, losing the trail, finding it again, and constantly glancing over my shoulder for any signs of light. And yet, I find that my words will fall far short of transporting you to that moment. The best way for you to understand, is to go visit yourself! But, I will try my best to relate my personal experience here.

proof that I was on the right path

Onward and upward…for the most part. There was one section that I found myself leaning back as I made a steep descent and I wondered if I was still on the trail, or walking myself closer to a precipice. Fortunately for me, it was the former; this trail was taking me to another camp along the trail where I was confident that I would find people awake and getting ready to head out and I could hopefully join a group. However, when I arrived at the camp, it was completely still and quiet, no signs of movement at all. I lingered for a couple moments, trying to determine if anyone was stirring in their tents. Nope. Determined to make it before sunrise, I continued on my way, still rollin’ solo. By this point I had accepted the fact that this would be another solo adventure in its entirety; fine by me.

Soon after passing through the camp, which was about halfway, my headlamp began to falter. Seriously?! I had just put in new batteries! It dimmed for a few moments, then eventually flickered out. Well shit. It was still dark and I had at least another hour until sunrise. I soon discovered that the red light setting on the headlamp was semi-functional and used that as a last resort. My eyes adjusted fairly well to the darkness and were, for the most part, able to pick out the path. I definitely took a few wrong turns, but if I was really turned around I could turn on my headlamp for a minute to re-orient myself and get back on the path. Around the time that my headlamp went kaput, the drizzle stopped, and the wind died down. And it was just in time, too. The beginning part of the hike was on a wide trail in the open, then it moved to a narrow trail above a river, which in turn became a winding trail through the woods. However, now, the trail kicked me out at the bottom of a massive rock pile. Or, at least that’s what it seemed like to me. In the faint morning light, all I could see as I looked up were the silhouettes of ginormous boulders, looming and ominous against the charcoal sky.

The trail seemed to have come to a dead end at this point; there was no obvious path or trail markers that I could make out. Figuring that I needed to go up, I started climbing. Had it still been raining or windy, it would have been a miracle if I made it to the top without some sort of injury. As it was, the rocks were slippery and while I had a few good stumbles, I avoided any serious accidents. Picking my way up the boulder field, I sensed that I was getting close. As if to remind me of the need to hurry, the sun had just begun to make its presence known; the black sky was smeared with pink and blue streaks, which were soon replaced by fiery orange hues and I had to stop for a moment so that I could turn around and fully appreciate the intensity of this sunrise. From my vantage point on the rocks, I had unobscured views of this event. As the sun began to share its light, I spotted an orange arrow a ways away, painted onto the side of a rock. Making my way over there, I soon found a trail – or at least, some more worn rocks, due to the constant battering of peoples’ footsteps. Some twists and turns, ups and downs, and next thing I know, I am standing on the lip of a lake, with the Torres del Paine glowing orange in front of me. I had made it!

the Torres del Paine at sunrise

our (off limits) cave

The sun’s rays were just reaching the iconic mountains and I was enthralled as I watched them take on an almost unnatural orange hue. The mist was still lurking in the background, but had yielded just enough to provide an unobstructed view of the mountains. As I stood in awe, I thought that I heard voices. I hadn’t seen anyone else on my way up and thought that I was completely alone. Following the sound, I scrambled up another rock field and found a cave…with four other people in it! Two of these people were a couple who had done the O Circuit Trek with me, actually they were the two South Africans that I had met on day one! I was thrilled to see them, not only because I was eager to share this special moment with someone, but also because they had hot tea! Huddled in our little cave, we sipped our steaming tea and stared out at the vista in front of us. The wind had picked up, temperatures dropped, and it had begun to snow! Fresh snow covered parts of the torres and flurries swirled around in the wind. It was a surreal moment. I quickly donned every item of clothing I had, but still could not keep from shivering. The others had left camp at 2am and had already been here for a couple hours, so as soon as the sun was up, they headed back down. However, I was not quite ready to relinquish the view that I had worked so hard to obtain, so I remained behind and for about twenty minutes, I really did have the place to myself. Sitting on a rock by the lake’s edge, I closed my eyes, tilted my head back, and tried to paint a mental picture of that moment. I don’t ever want to forget the tranquility that I felt and the gratitude and happiness that filled my heart at that moment. I had done it. I had hiked about 150 kilometers, over a period of 8 days, in about 52 hours, and seen things that most people in the world could not imagine, much less get to see for themselves. And this was my first true, backpacking experience – how blessed am I?!

like I said, the wind picked up - blowing both me and my
camera over! love this photo :)

Reeling from everything I had just seen and all the emotions I had just experienced, I made my way back to camp where I would pack my things for the last time, and hop on a bus back to Puerto Natales. The hike down from the torres was pretty incredible. Floating on a cloud of contentment, I felt no soreness or tiredness. And since I had hiked up in the dark, I was seeing everything for the first time. It was quite comical actually to realize how far from the trail I had been at certain points, how right I had been about feeling like there were steep drop offs, and to actually get to see the water that I had just heard on my way up. As I was coming down, hordes of day hikers were coming in, and the wind was picking up (I actually had to sit down at one point to avoid being blown over a precipice – me and the wind never called a truce to our battles). For both of these reasons, I was so thankful that I had forced myself from my cozy tent and made the trek in darkness of the early morning.

view on the way down from the Torres

Back in camp, I ate lunch, packed up my bags and with a last glance behind me, said goodbye to Torres del Paine National Park. The eight days that I had spent there were absolutely incredible, and nurtured my desire to do more treks like that. There was just something so satisfying about carrying everything you needed on your back. About being totally self-reliant and living basic. Something about getting to a camp, pitching your tent, and standing back to look at your temporary home and your ‘backyard’ for that night. For anyone who is even thinking about maybe someday wanting to do this trek: do it! Don’t doubt yourself, or be intimidated by the other ‘professional’ back packers out there. Just throw some things in a bag and get out there and try it. You won’t regret it; I most certainly did not.

PHOTO GALLERY

DAY 5: Camp Grey --> Mirador Grey --> Camp Paine Grande