“Holy s*@!, this was a mistake. I can’t even find the trail to start, my back
pack weighs 100 lbs., these walking sticks are completely useless, and I am
drenched in sweat. And, everyone else
around me looks way more legit than I do.
What if I just skipped this part of my trip? My mom is the only one who
knows that I was going to do it, and I can handle her teasing.”
These were the thoughts occupying my mind as I wandered
around looking for the trailhead to Campamento Seron. Everyone said that the trail was obvious; am
I an idiot? This does not bode well for
the rest of the trek, the next 8 days.
Eventually, I found a group of people who were also searching for the
trailhead and that greatly reassured me that I was in fact, not totally
hopeless. So with two South Africans,
two Brits, an American, and a Netherlander, I began my 8 day trek through
Torres del Paine National Park in southern Chile.
Day 1: Lake Amarga à
Campamento Seron (11km; 5 hours)
 |
| fake it 'til you make it |
I am soaked with sweat (so much for moisture wicking
shirts!), being devoured by mosquitos, and being crushed by my ~40 pound back
pack; what the heck was I thinking?!
Adding to these physical discomforts was my dismay with the trail. Spoiled by the unbelievable hikes that I had
just done in El Chalten, this walk back to Camp Seron was a massive let
down. As I reached the park entrance and
began my hike, I had visions of wild grandeur in my mind: hiking through
remote, rugged, inaccessible areas that you could only reach on foot, or maybe
by horseback…and then a car came flying by me, spewing gravel and choking me in
a cloud of dingy brown dust. The ‘trail’
was basically a road. At times it ran parallel
to the road and was a footpath, but most of the time we shared the gravel road
with the park rangers and camp coordinators that came flying by in their
trucks, laughing as they passed by. My
lofty dreams of a once in a lifetime adventure deflated with each car that
passed by, with each step that I took alongside the well-worn road. So, with the trail situation combined with my
pack digging into my shoulders and rubbing my back, I was not the happiest
camper there ever was. I was also
irritated by the stupid walking sticks that I had rented, because everyone
insisted that I ‘would need’ them.
False. While they may be helpful
for others, they were merely a hindrance to me and I was annoyed that I not
only paid to rent them, but now had to carry them around for 8 days, adding a
few extra pounds to my pack.
I kept trying to shake my pessimistic attitude and
appreciate where I was. This trek is
world-renowned; surely it earned that reputation for a reason. Surely, there was something that I was
missing and things would get better.
About an hour outside of camp, the trail finally detoured from the road
and I could pretend that I was in the middle of nowhere. Still, the walk fell way below the overeager
expectations that I had formed. It was
flat. It was wide open. There were no mountains in sight. I felt like I was walking through a wheat
field in one of those non-descript mid-western states back home. The only break in the monotony was the river
laconically winding its way through the tall grasses. Arriving to camp was a much welcomed relief.
Dump the pack, set up the tent, hide inside from the mosquitos, strip off my
sweaty clothes. That was my only thought
process. It was only about 2:30 in the
afternoon, so I had a ton of time to kill, but little entertainment (stupidly,
I had not brought a book, convinced that the extra pound might kill me). Instead, I tried to take a nap in my tent,
but the breeze had stilled and the sun was high and hot overhead. Laying in a pool of my own sweat, I again
questioned my decision to go on this trek.
Day 2: Campamento
Seron à
Campamento Dickson (19km; 6h 15m)
The morning announced itself with harsh rays of sunshine
piercing the shell of my tent and bringing me back to consciousness. Stumbling out of my tent, I stretched out my
sore muscles, then gathered my supplies and headed to the cook tent for
breakfast, oatmeal with nuts and dried fruit.
After breakfast, I began to pack up my things and break down my tent,
the process of which proved to be a bit of a struggle for me. Not yet having any kind of system, and
managing to fully unpack my bag the night before, the contents of which were
scattered on the floor of my oversized tent, caused me to take over 90 minutes
to get myself organized and ready to hit the trail. Grudgingly, I sling the pack onto my back and
wince as the discomfort from yesterday returns.
“I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.” This was my mantra as I shuffled off down the
trail.
I started in the Iowa wheat fields again, but gradually the
landscape transformed into the more rugged, interesting terrain that I had been
hoping for. Following a grueling uphill
climb, I am treated to vista of a massive lake, filling the valley and ending
at the base of the mountains in the distance.
It is at this point that I get a glimpse of the first glacier of many
that I encountered on the trek.
Brilliant white, and blinding to look at, the glacier seems to hover
between the peaks. Now this is what I
was hoping for! Immediately my spirits
lift and my excitement about this adventure revives itself. Atop the lookout, I encountered two other
Americans and after enjoying a snack together and taking a few photos, we each
moved on at our pace, occasionally leapfrogging each other along the
trail. This was the case for most of the
trek: there was a group of about 25 of us doing the O Circtui Trek , and while
I enjoyed hiking by myself and setting my own pace (aka, turtle pace), I always
looked forward to getting to camp and hanging out with the other trekkers while
cooking our meals and relaxing after the day’s hike. 
Unlike yesterday, where the highlight was getting to camp
and dumping my gear, the highlight today was the stunning hike. We were finally in the mountains and our
trail wound its way alongside a small river, providing a continuous soundtrack
for the day’s adventure. Ups and downs,
forests and fields, vast views and screens of trees, today had a bit of
everything. And when I did reach the
camp, the day only got better: this camp was incredible! Situated on the tip of a peninsula which protruded
into the calm waters of the lake, the camp was idyllic and scenic. The ridgeline that surround the western side
of the camp made for an interesting silhouette against the royal blue sky. To the east was the lake, and just beyond
that, more mountains with snow piled haphazardly in the crevices and
valleys. Within the camp were grazing
horses, used to pack supplies in and out to various camps – no more cars back
here! Sitting on the rocky lake shore,
then meandering back to camp to enjoy the sunset provided the perfect ending to
the day. 
Day 3: Campamento
Dickson à Campamento Los Perros (12km;
4 hours)
I started the day where I left off yesterday: sitting on the
shore watching the sunrise, and enjoying the stillness before others awoke and
brought the camp to life. Once the color
show was over, I began preparations for the day. Much more efficient this go round, I had
eaten breakfast, and packed my bag, and made my PBJ for lunch, and was on the
trail within an hour. Also, when I
picked up my pack and slung it onto my back, it actually felt lighter! It did
not make me cringe to have that weight settle on my back and I was feeling much
more comfortable! It may have actually
been noticeably lighter, but was more likely due to the fact that I fidgeted
with the straps and finally found the best setting for myself. I was no longer having to use my butt as a
shelf to keep the pack up, and my left arm was no longer going tingly with
shots of pain after an hour of carrying the weight. Life was good! And I felt slightly more confident in my
pursuit. 
Today’s trail was also right up my alley. It weaved through the forest, along a river,
and over rocky expanses; it was constantly changing and it was
interesting. Walking through the forest,
it was musty and damp, filled with moss covered trees with twisted, gnarled
limbs, arising from a bed of emerald-colored ferns. Through the trees, the sound of running water
trickled into my ears and I could occasionally catch glimpses of its source as
I meandered along. For whatever reason,
I saw way less people today as I hiked – I was not constantly playing leap frog
with other hikers and could completely immerse myself in the solitude of the
woods. When I stopped for my lunch break
– PBJ and some nuts – there was not another soul in sight and it was
amazing.
During the hike, you would encounter some swamp-like areas,
where, in a vain effort to keep hiers’ boots from getting muddy (heaven forbid peoples’
brand new, state of the art, brand name hiking boots actually get dirty!), some
ambitious souls laid planks across the swamps to form walkways. While these ‘bridges’ were formed with the
best of intentions, they actually created an obstacle course for those of us
lacking balance. Trying to cross the
balance beam of planks while fighting the wind and lugging 30 pounds on your
back, and also trying to enjoy the scenery, is a major feat. More often than not, I would get blown off
(fall off) the walkway and end up in the spongy swamp, where the mud and water
flooded through my ripped boots and soaked my socks. On other occasions, the planks were arranged
to actually form a proper bridge, but they always looked like something out of
a Dr. Suess book – planks of different sizes, nailed together seemingly without
regard to any measurement or layout, which created a roller coaster of a
bridge. Although these bridges required
extra attention, they were actually kind of charming and added a little
something extra to the hike.
Up to this point, we had been blessed with amazing weather:
sunny days with only light breezes.
However, during the last hour of this hike, Patagonia felt the need to
defend her reputation and remind us of what she can do. The wind picked up, out of nowhere clouds
converged to blot out the blue sky, and rain began to fall. Trying to climb up a 30 degree rocky slope is
difficult enough; doing it on wet, slippery rocks with the wind constantly
throwing you off balance is a whole different matter. Upon reaching the top of this slope, I used
only a few minutes to take in the lake and glacier in front of me before
directing my steps towards camp. As I
walked the rest of the way, I was wondering on earth I was going to set up my
tent in this wind?! Long story short, it
required lots of rocks and every part of my body. I felt like I was playing a game of Twister, having to strategically place
my hands and feet in various locations to hold the tent down and myself
up. Of course, as soon as I had my tent
staked down, the wind calmed and the blue skies banished the clouds. Pre-dinner, I walked back out to the lake to
fully enjoy the glacial scene, but as soon as I plopped down on a rock, the
wind returned with a vengeance and I was doused with a spray of cold lake
water. That was all the urging that I
needed to return to camp, eat dinner, hang out with other hikers, and snuggle
into my sleeping bag. 
Day 4: (Glacier
Day!!!!) Campamento Perros à Campamento Grey (23km;
10 hours)
The anticipation of today’s hike kept me from having the
most restful night of sleep. I kept
waking up, thinking it was time to pack up and hit the road. This was the biggest day of the entire trek,
and I had been simultaneously dreading and anticipating it. Today was the day that we would make the
brutal crawl up to a mountain pass and get to see Grey Glacier, a
mind-blowingly large ice field! We had
been informed that we needed to be walking by 6 or 7 am in order to improve our
chances of having cooperative weather.
In the afternoons, the wind picks up and it is not uncommon for rain or
mist to obscure your vision. We were
warned of the importance of following the trial markers and not straying from
the trail and not trying to walk onto the glacier – apparently, two people have
already died this season for those reasons, and only one of the bodies was ever
recovered. So, with all this in mind,
you can understand why I had a restless night’s sleep and woke up before my 5am
alarm.
Fumbling for my headlamp, I began the morning processes of
breakfast, packing, and breaking down the tent.
By this time, I had become quite adept at it and I was ahead of schedule!
In fact, I was the first one to hit the trail, but that only lasted about 5
minutes as a group of four passed me as I shed some layers of clothing. (That was the worst; if you had too many
clothes on then got sweaty, because when you stopped for a break or when the
wind picked up, you would be freezing).
For the next 15 minutes or so, I was chasing the light from their
headlamps, watching them to make sure that I was on the right track. And then, my headlamp died. I still had about an hour of darkness to cope
with, so I slowed my pace to be more cautions and watched their lights fade
into blackness. Luckily, I maintained a
slow and steady pace and caught up with them about 20 minutes later. I was
grateful to be with them, for both the company and the bit of
illumination. 
The swampy areas from the previous day extended to this
territory as well, and you occasionally felt your foot being sucked down with
an ill-placed step. My poor boots had
seen better days and with holes in each, my socks were soon soaked and lined
with muck. As gross as it was, it added
a humorous element to hear the various yelps as we each fell prey to the swamp.
I loved this part of the hike. Creeping through the forest in the dark added
to the adventure and created an aura of mystery and anticipation. I was almost bummed when the sun broke the
horizon and colored the sky with its fiery hues, but the vibrant display
assuafed my disappointment that the night hiking was over. 
The downside to having natural light illuminate our path was
that we could now look ahead and see all that we had to conquer. As far as the eye could see were rocks and
boulders forming a steep incline up, up, up, until it met with the sky. Slow and steady was the name of the game; we
plugged on and stopped only for short breaks, never letting ourselves get too
comfortable and loose our momentum. It
helped that we had incredible views as we climbed up. On our right was a glacier, basking in the
golden glow of sunrise; behind us the sun was coming up and filling the valley
below with soft light; directly in front of us was the promise of terrific
views, we just had to get there. So on
we continued, always up, many times thinking that we couldn’t go any higher
only to find a false summit. Luckily for
us, we were given another gorgeous day. The
blue sky was decorated with clouds – some wisps, others like cotton candy, and
other forming striations across the sky – and sunshine added a warmth to the
entire scene. The wind was present, but
not overpowering. Everything was in our
favor and we cheerfully made our way up the pass.
When we finally topped out, we were stopped in our tracks by
the scene that lay below us. “I can’t
even; I just can’t even…” I don’t know what on earth I was trying to say, but I
clearly could not express it. In front
of us Grey Glacier dominated the scene, stretching to fill my entire field of
vision. Its blue ripples were accented by
the sunlight and the shadows of the clouds added another dimension to this
already beautiful scene. With the sun
behind us our shadows were elongated towards the glacier, and made for a pretty
amazing picture. As I stood there, I
could barely take it all in: the glacier, the clouds, the mountains, the lake
in the distance. It was a total sensory
overload. For days after, I looked back
at these pictures and noticed something new every time. Eventually the strong, cold winds brought an
end to our gaping and we bagn our descent.
And holy cow, was it a descent.
The trail down was so steep and difficult to navigate in some places,
that I found myself being grateful for the few short uphill sections. After just two hours of going downhill, my
knees were aching and my thigh muscles shaking.
Despite the pain, I was in heaven.
We were walking next to a freaking glacier! Between the trees, we could see it towering
over us as we descended to its base. 
An unbelievable glacier, a gorgeous trail, and good company;
could this day get any better?!
Yep. The improvement came in the
form of three massive suspension bridges spanning deep avalanche chutes in the
mountainside. As you walked onto the
bridges, you could feel them bounce and sway beneath you. Each footstep reverberated the length of the
bridge, sending vibrations through your own body. From these bridges, we had incredible views
of the glacier and waterfalls coming off the mountain; you just had to be brave
enough to stop and look and ignore the moving bridge beneath you. Ahhh, it was so cool! Crossing these bridges allowed you to have
your own Indiana Jones moment and
feel like an explorer! Of course, I
giggled the entire time, laughing out loud at my good fortune and incredulous
at how I ended up in this part of the world.
In a haze of wonder, I completed the rest of the hike with
our little group. At every look out
point we stopped to observe the glacier from a new angle; we never tired of
gazing out at its expanse and marveling at its sheer size. As we reached the end of the glacier, we
watched chunks break off and plunge into the lake, then slowly drift away to
join the collection of orphaned icebergs that had gathered in a sheltered bay
of the lake. We took some extra time
here to really soak in what we had accomplished and enjoy the last bit of
exclusivity that we had been experiencing; we knew that once we got to Camp
Grey, there would be infinitely more people since it was part of the W
Trek. As we came into camp, our
assumptions were affirmed. No more tiny
little guard house and a small patch of land to hold 25 tents. This was a compound, complete with a little
store, dining room, dorms, showers, and a ton of people. On the back side it was always easy to find a
sheltered spot to pitch your tent, but here, all those spots were taken, and we
were forced to make camp in the middle of a field, with no protection from the
ferocious winds that had been building throughout the day. Noticing the gathering rain clouds, I hustled
to pitch my tent and get my stuff inside before the rain arrived. As I lay in my tent listening to the rain and
wind, I had the feeling that this might be a bit of a scary night. And I was not wrong…
PHOTO GALLERY
Day 1: Lake Amara to Seron
none - can you tell how little I enjoyed this first day??
Day 2: Seron to Dickson
 |
| a Patagonia hare |
 |
| lunch spot |
Day 3: Dickson to Los Perros
 |
| the beginning of the end |
 |
| guard house at Los Perros |
Day 4: Los Perros to Grey
 |
| Glacier Grey |
