¡Hola Amigos!When I got off the plane in Punta Arenas on the 25th of November, I really had no clear idea of what I was going to do. I had considered hiking the seven day circuit through Torres del Paine, or visiting Parque Nacional Los Glaciares, a segment of the Argentinian side of Patagonia, but other than those options I had no other plans. With a total of seventeen days to kill in the southern wilds, I was looking for another option. I picked up my backpack from the baggage claim, and walked out into the terminal. One thing I have learned during my travels is that at the information booth of most airports there is a small, free publication written for tourists (always in English) with very good advice. It's usually kind of like a small guidebook; for example, in Buenos Aires there was an article entitled "What to do with only Seven Days in Buenos Aires". The airport in Punta Arenas was no exception. As I sat in the transfer shuttle waiting to go to the hostel, I began to peruse a publication called "Blacksheep". Immediately, an article called "Dientes Circuit Review" by J. Williams caught my eye. The article goes on to describe what is billed as "the southernmost trekking experience in the world". It is well written; here's a sample.
For 53 km the route winds through an other-worldly landscape of mountains broken from the floor of the ocean, where the Andes crumble into the antarctic plate, where tenuous passes from one valley to the next defy truly staggering winds and where spartan vegetation clings to a precarious existence between the punishing climate and the persistent manipulations of the introduced beaver. For the serious trekker, the five day Dientes Circuit is a chance to experience a unique terrain at what is literally the last scrap of land before the legendary Cape Horn and Antarctic sea. And while the route offers many worthy experiences, like awesome vistas that stretch as fas as the Cape Horn straits, it is also impressive for what it lacks, like crowded trails, clearly defined paths and over-crowded refugios. In fact, there are no refugios on the route. There is no entrance fee to pay, trekkers are only required to check in with the Carabineros in Puerto Williams.
I simply had to go. The following are journal entries written by yours truly during the trip. They have been edited slightly for content and grammar, but stand largely un-altered to give you, dear reader, a first hand look at the end of the world.
Day 1 (Monday, 27th November): Getting There
Today was very hectic. This morning, Jeff and I didn't even know if the flight to Puerto Williams, the only town on "La Isla de Navarino", left at 7 am or 9 pm, let alone whether there were seats available. Thankfully we went food shopping last night so we were prepared to set of on any excursion with a duration of 5 days or fewer. We called the airline, DAP, at 7am this morning and asked about flight info. We were told to come down to the office, "al tiro" (right away). Once there, we talked with a very friendly gentleman who did everything in his power to find a feasible manner for us to have 4 days on the island. We tried every combination of flight dates that we could think of. Finally, we reserved a flight down and were put on the waiting list for the return flight. "Come back at three" he said, "and we'll have your answer". At this point we had given up on the 4 day trip and were simply trying to squeeze in 2 days here or there. We moped around for the day, and went back at 3. I'll never know if it was sheer luck or a gift from God, but when we went back he told us that our original flight dates, our "ideal plan" if you will, were available. We were ecstatic! He said to return to the office at 6 pm that same night to catch the shuttle to the airport. With these flight dates we would have four full days on the island and fly back at 9 pm on Friday, the 1st of December. The next few hours were a mad dash for last minute supplies and preparations, but we made the airport on time.
When we arrived at the airport, the check-in attendant asked if we had any explosives or flammable items in our baggage. We looked at our backpacks which contained no less than 1.5 liters of white gas, looked at each other, looked at her, and said "nope." It had been a battle to buy white gas in the relatively large city of Punta Arenas, and it would be nearly impossible to do so in Puerto Williams, pop. 2500. We were sweating the whole flight down, hoping they wouldn't confiscate our fuel bottles, or worse yet, arrest us as we walked off the plane. However, the scenery on the flight down was so spectacular that we forgot our worries. We saw jutting peaks plunging into the sea covered by glaciers crawling in a frozen cascade into the ocean, bright blue glacial lakes, and an endless range of peaks off into the distance.
When we stepped off the plane onto the tarmac, the first thing I noticed was the air. It was as if I had never breathed before--the air was so fresh and clean that I stood motionless for several minutes just pulling it into my lungs. It was the perfect mix of mountains and sea; I was standing in the mountains, next to the ocean. We took a shuttle into town, checked in with the Carabineros, and not wanting to pay for a room, used the last hour of daylight (sunset was at 10:40 and it's only November) to hike to the trailhead and camp. We heated up our chicken sandwiches on the fire, and as I lie in my warm sleeping bag with a full belly, listening to the sound of a waterfall in the distance, I am content.
Day 2 (Tuesday, 28th November):
Right now I'm sitting in my tent with a very comforting bag of Lemonheads in a very uncomfortable position for writing. I'm trying to figure out why I've decided to journal in the first place--I've never done it before--and have concluded that my excess of time, sensory overload, and the need to talk with someone have driven me to write. It's raining outside, and has been since 1 o'clock, although it was snow when we were hiking higher up. We got a late start today, and didn't leave camp until about noon. When we started hiking it was one of the hardest climbs of my life. I was dying. To make matters worse, Jeff hikes like the hounds of hell are chasing him up the hill. I don't know how he does it...I know for a fact he's been just as slothful this semester as I have, but it doesn't seem to have caught up with him in the same way. Anyhow, I think my saving grace were the trekking poles I bought at Sanchez y Sanchez in the "Zona Franca" in Punta Arenas. I paid 4600 pesos for each one and they were worth every one. Anyway this hill was killing me. No switchbacks, steep, slippery and really boring. After a little more than an hour, I reached tree-line where I ran into the British couple we met on the flight yesterday. They first informed me that they were lost (subsequently inferring that I too was lost) and then pointed me in the direction of the trail. They said Jeff had passed by some minutes ago and was now climbing the hill above. I broke through the last of the trees and stopped, agape, at the spectacular panorama spreading away beneath me. I could see the ocean, Puerto Williams, and the mountains of Tierra del Fuego. Wow. Suddenly I felt like I could fly up the mountain, and I did just that. I reached the top of the hill in no time, and caught up with Jeff.
The middle part of the hike was easy--just cruising on the tundra--however the route (not path, there was no path) began to follow the tree line along the side of a very steep mountainside which consisted mostly of loose scree. Occasional patches of snow were a relief to walk on, but they were few and far between. After about an hour, I was fairly sure we were lost. Both what I had seen earlier on the map, and the description of the trail I had in my pocket, led me to believe that the trail was supposed to drop down to a lake. Problem was, Jeff had the map and he was out of earshot and sight of me. When I finally caught sight of him, he pointed up the mountain indicating that we should climb, not knowing that the trail was below us. Unable to straighten his account, I knew I had to climb to meet him--it would be a bad idea to separate now. After a frustrating half-hour climb I had gained hardly any elevation and I was still unable to communicate with Jeff. As if to emphasize the desperation of my situation, it began to snow. At this point I was worried the visibility would drop to a few meters or less which would be a major problem on a slope where every step loosed scree. Also, a total lack of visibility would simply worsen the situation of being lost and separated. On top of everything, I was exhausted. I should mention that at this point I was mad as hell at Jeff for walking so far ahead and not waiting--I would never have done that, I said. To calm myself, I took a knee and organized my thoughts. "No good panicking" I told myself. I happened to glance below and saw three specks: the British couple and Jeff. He must have seen the trail from above and descended. Now at least a 30 minute descent from the others, and really mad at Jeff, I headed down.
When I reached Jeff, the first thing I gave him was a sizeable piece of my mind. I said something along the lines of "I didn't hike this alone for a reason, and it does us a fat lot of good when you have the map, I have the compass, and we're lost half a mile apart!" He apologized immediately, but I was still furious. To sooth my temper, I plopped on the ground and ate my sandwich. Afterwards, I gave him a whistle and told him that if he ever walked that far ahead again I would really let him have it. He put the whistle in his pocket instead of around his neck (if you wonder how that made me feel you have never backpacked with me), apologized again, and explained that sometimes he simply got in a rhythm and forgot to look behind. Still mad, I spat a caustic glob of sarcasm in his general direction and turned to walk. The rest of the day was uneventful--we arrived, made camp, and I made a half-hearted attempt at fishing; I was too tired to give it a real go.
Day 1 (Monday, 27th November): Getting There
Today was very hectic. This morning, Jeff and I didn't even know if the flight to Puerto Williams, the only town on "La Isla de Navarino", left at 7 am or 9 pm, let alone whether there were seats available. Thankfully we went food shopping last night so we were prepared to set of on any excursion with a duration of 5 days or fewer. We called the airline, DAP, at 7am this morning and asked about flight info. We were told to come down to the office, "al tiro" (right away). Once there, we talked with a very friendly gentleman who did everything in his power to find a feasible manner for us to have 4 days on the island. We tried every combination of flight dates that we could think of. Finally, we reserved a flight down and were put on the waiting list for the return flight. "Come back at three" he said, "and we'll have your answer". At this point we had given up on the 4 day trip and were simply trying to squeeze in 2 days here or there. We moped around for the day, and went back at 3. I'll never know if it was sheer luck or a gift from God, but when we went back he told us that our original flight dates, our "ideal plan" if you will, were available. We were ecstatic! He said to return to the office at 6 pm that same night to catch the shuttle to the airport. With these flight dates we would have four full days on the island and fly back at 9 pm on Friday, the 1st of December. The next few hours were a mad dash for last minute supplies and preparations, but we made the airport on time.
When we arrived at the airport, the check-in attendant asked if we had any explosives or flammable items in our baggage. We looked at our backpacks which contained no less than 1.5 liters of white gas, looked at each other, looked at her, and said "nope." It had been a battle to buy white gas in the relatively large city of Punta Arenas, and it would be nearly impossible to do so in Puerto Williams, pop. 2500. We were sweating the whole flight down, hoping they wouldn't confiscate our fuel bottles, or worse yet, arrest us as we walked off the plane. However, the scenery on the flight down was so spectacular that we forgot our worries. We saw jutting peaks plunging into the sea covered by glaciers crawling in a frozen cascade into the ocean, bright blue glacial lakes, and an endless range of peaks off into the distance.
When we stepped off the plane onto the tarmac, the first thing I noticed was the air. It was as if I had never breathed before--the air was so fresh and clean that I stood motionless for several minutes just pulling it into my lungs. It was the perfect mix of mountains and sea; I was standing in the mountains, next to the ocean. We took a shuttle into town, checked in with the Carabineros, and not wanting to pay for a room, used the last hour of daylight (sunset was at 10:40 and it's only November) to hike to the trailhead and camp. We heated up our chicken sandwiches on the fire, and as I lie in my warm sleeping bag with a full belly, listening to the sound of a waterfall in the distance, I am content.
Day 2 (Tuesday, 28th November):
Right now I'm sitting in my tent with a very comforting bag of Lemonheads in a very uncomfortable position for writing. I'm trying to figure out why I've decided to journal in the first place--I've never done it before--and have concluded that my excess of time, sensory overload, and the need to talk with someone have driven me to write. It's raining outside, and has been since 1 o'clock, although it was snow when we were hiking higher up. We got a late start today, and didn't leave camp until about noon. When we started hiking it was one of the hardest climbs of my life. I was dying. To make matters worse, Jeff hikes like the hounds of hell are chasing him up the hill. I don't know how he does it...I know for a fact he's been just as slothful this semester as I have, but it doesn't seem to have caught up with him in the same way. Anyhow, I think my saving grace were the trekking poles I bought at Sanchez y Sanchez in the "Zona Franca" in Punta Arenas. I paid 4600 pesos for each one and they were worth every one. Anyway this hill was killing me. No switchbacks, steep, slippery and really boring. After a little more than an hour, I reached tree-line where I ran into the British couple we met on the flight yesterday. They first informed me that they were lost (subsequently inferring that I too was lost) and then pointed me in the direction of the trail. They said Jeff had passed by some minutes ago and was now climbing the hill above. I broke through the last of the trees and stopped, agape, at the spectacular panorama spreading away beneath me. I could see the ocean, Puerto Williams, and the mountains of Tierra del Fuego. Wow. Suddenly I felt like I could fly up the mountain, and I did just that. I reached the top of the hill in no time, and caught up with Jeff.
The middle part of the hike was easy--just cruising on the tundra--however the route (not path, there was no path) began to follow the tree line along the side of a very steep mountainside which consisted mostly of loose scree. Occasional patches of snow were a relief to walk on, but they were few and far between. After about an hour, I was fairly sure we were lost. Both what I had seen earlier on the map, and the description of the trail I had in my pocket, led me to believe that the trail was supposed to drop down to a lake. Problem was, Jeff had the map and he was out of earshot and sight of me. When I finally caught sight of him, he pointed up the mountain indicating that we should climb, not knowing that the trail was below us. Unable to straighten his account, I knew I had to climb to meet him--it would be a bad idea to separate now. After a frustrating half-hour climb I had gained hardly any elevation and I was still unable to communicate with Jeff. As if to emphasize the desperation of my situation, it began to snow. At this point I was worried the visibility would drop to a few meters or less which would be a major problem on a slope where every step loosed scree. Also, a total lack of visibility would simply worsen the situation of being lost and separated. On top of everything, I was exhausted. I should mention that at this point I was mad as hell at Jeff for walking so far ahead and not waiting--I would never have done that, I said. To calm myself, I took a knee and organized my thoughts. "No good panicking" I told myself. I happened to glance below and saw three specks: the British couple and Jeff. He must have seen the trail from above and descended. Now at least a 30 minute descent from the others, and really mad at Jeff, I headed down.
When I reached Jeff, the first thing I gave him was a sizeable piece of my mind. I said something along the lines of "I didn't hike this alone for a reason, and it does us a fat lot of good when you have the map, I have the compass, and we're lost half a mile apart!" He apologized immediately, but I was still furious. To sooth my temper, I plopped on the ground and ate my sandwich. Afterwards, I gave him a whistle and told him that if he ever walked that far ahead again I would really let him have it. He put the whistle in his pocket instead of around his neck (if you wonder how that made me feel you have never backpacked with me), apologized again, and explained that sometimes he simply got in a rhythm and forgot to look behind. Still mad, I spat a caustic glob of sarcasm in his general direction and turned to walk. The rest of the day was uneventful--we arrived, made camp, and I made a half-hearted attempt at fishing; I was too tired to give it a real go.
Dinner, however, was really fun. We made spaghetti with onion, garlic, green pepper, and chorizo sausage, and it was excellent! Afterwards, we had hot chocolate spiked with a dark green peppermint schnapps resembles mouthwash in color, taste, appearance and smell--but is was a nice touch nonetheless. I remembered, drinking the hot cocoa, that it's my 21st birthday today. Amazing to think that took until almost 10 o´clock for that realization to hit me. Jeff said "shoot man, I guess you're going to have to kill the rest of that schnapps!" I think we understand each other better now, and hopefully the rest of the trip (all 10 days) goes more smoothly. Tomorrow will be long, we've got 15.6 km and a peak to summit if we want to hit a lake with fish in it. Should be no problem because my legs felt pretty good today, and it stays light until about 10:30pm, but we'll have to get an early start anyway. I have had "I want it that way" by the Backstreet Boys stuck in my head all day, and I can't wait to fall asleep and get it out! It's making me crazy. With that, goodnight!
Day 3 (Wednesday, 29th November):
Today was one of the most incredible days of my life. One of the longest, to be sure, but amazing all the same. We woke up at a reasonable 8 o'clock and headed out my 9.00. We knew it would be a long, hard day--15.6 km with 2 ascents and 2 descents. We headed out of the campsite and hiked up above timberline. The British couple buggered out; we saw them heading back when we were leaving camp. Above timberline the landscape was all rocks and snow; there was no vegetation whatsoever. The rock formations, however, were substantially more interesting than most plants I've seen. Because no one has stepped all over them, they have very cool patterns and juttings-out. I took photos of several. We continued climbing upwards toward the Dientes Pass marked by SNUPIE #15 following a fairly decent trail of cairns. SNUPIE is a French system of trail markings--there are 30-odd SNUPIES on the circuit and one follows the blazes from SNUPIE to SNUPIE. After several hours of hiking, we reached a high saddle marked by a huge cairn with a number on it. "SNUPIE 15," we thought. At this point we made 2 mistakes. Mistake A: neither of us looked to see if the number on the cairn was actually 15 and not some other number. Mistake B: I ignored my compass. I should mention that the compass is a little questionable in the first place. It has a tendency of sticking and one is never quite sure which way it's trying to point--factors that made me predisposed to doubt it. Anyway, the directions said to head down the valley to the South, staying to the left of the lakes. My compass showed the lakes to be exactly north of us. Oh well, I thought, either the compass is broken or the magnetism of the poles has reversed and the whole modern world is currently in a state of chaos not seen since Y2K (sarcastic chuckle). All we knew was that we were supposed to hike down a valley to the left of a lake, and that's what we did.
Day 3 (Wednesday, 29th November):
Today was one of the most incredible days of my life. One of the longest, to be sure, but amazing all the same. We woke up at a reasonable 8 o'clock and headed out my 9.00. We knew it would be a long, hard day--15.6 km with 2 ascents and 2 descents. We headed out of the campsite and hiked up above timberline. The British couple buggered out; we saw them heading back when we were leaving camp. Above timberline the landscape was all rocks and snow; there was no vegetation whatsoever. The rock formations, however, were substantially more interesting than most plants I've seen. Because no one has stepped all over them, they have very cool patterns and juttings-out. I took photos of several. We continued climbing upwards toward the Dientes Pass marked by SNUPIE #15 following a fairly decent trail of cairns. SNUPIE is a French system of trail markings--there are 30-odd SNUPIES on the circuit and one follows the blazes from SNUPIE to SNUPIE. After several hours of hiking, we reached a high saddle marked by a huge cairn with a number on it. "SNUPIE 15," we thought. At this point we made 2 mistakes. Mistake A: neither of us looked to see if the number on the cairn was actually 15 and not some other number. Mistake B: I ignored my compass. I should mention that the compass is a little questionable in the first place. It has a tendency of sticking and one is never quite sure which way it's trying to point--factors that made me predisposed to doubt it. Anyway, the directions said to head down the valley to the South, staying to the left of the lakes. My compass showed the lakes to be exactly north of us. Oh well, I thought, either the compass is broken or the magnetism of the poles has reversed and the whole modern world is currently in a state of chaos not seen since Y2K (sarcastic chuckle). All we knew was that we were supposed to hike down a valley to the left of a lake, and that's what we did.
We took off down a field of snow and walked across several avalanche-prone slopes to get down to the lake. When we got there, we couldn't find SNUPIE #16. We walked around for about 1 hour climbing high points, comparing topography on the map, and reading hiking instructions. Everything seemed to fit, but we couldn't find the SNUPIE. Jeff kept saying "we hit snupie 15 and came down, where else could we be?"I wasn't so sure, and that phrase "where else could we be" didn't sit well with me at all. While I'm here, let me add a small sidenote. This saddle above the valley was the windiest place I've ever been. About once every two minutes a blast of wind strong enough to knock you off your feet would come by and, well, knock you over. Having a 45lb pack certainly didn't help things either. I'm not kidding or exaggerating--I had to kneel or crouch repeatedly to avoid being thrown to the ground. It was especially brutal trying to look at a map, and being lost we were doing a good deal of that. The wind was so strong that one could lean back at about a 45 degree angle, as if lying on a large poofy mattress of air. Lost in this wind tunnel, I had the presence of mind to do two things. First I checked my compass, and second I asked Jeff if he actually saw the number 15, not just any number but the number 15 on the last snupie we had seen. By doing both of these things I deduced, correctly, that we had dropped down too early and the lake we were standing by was not in fact the lake we thought it was. The cairn we had seen was snupie 14, not 15. Suddenly everything made sense, and we were able to regain our trail after only a 30 minute walk across the ridge. "From now on", I said, "If we get mad at the trailblazers for lack of cairns, it probably means we're lost." The feeling of accomplishment was really incredible. I had kept cool, made a series of deductions, thought logically, not listened to Jeff, and seen my way through the problem. Although we lost almost 2 hours, we were on our way. We "lunched" at the now-famous snupie #16 and continued on our way.
Over the next 7 hours of hiking the scenery changed drastically several times. First scenery change: old wood forest and spectacular views of the mountain range we had just left behind. The start of the next leg took us upwards toward the peak of a mountain I forgot the name of, and the hike up indicated another change of scenery. The entire peak was a massive pile of shale--each rock between the size of a computer mouse and a remote control. There were a few rocks the size of watermelons, but they were sparse. Climbing was very hard. My legs were already quite spent from the first climb, and the shale was rough on the feet. Not to mention the lack of motivation...who wants to summit a massive pile of garden rock? As we climbed, however, the view became increasingly interesting. We could now see almost the entire Dientes range spreading behind us. Finally, beat and sore we reached the top. The view was really spectacular. On one side were the Dientes in their toothy glory and on the other side we could see Cabo de Hornos (Cape Horn). It was breathtaking. After some quick photos we began to descend a narrow spine covered in shale--to the left a large snow cornice and to the right a steep rocky slope. Eventually we followed the snow on the left down to a shallow lake below.
Scenery change: huge plateau of shale. This part of the hike really felt like the end of the world. We walked for at least 3 km on nothing but rock. It was like walking through xeriscape for a solid hour.
Scenery change: old gnarled forest grove--little underbrush. Very quiet and peaceful feel, and the low lying trees blocked almost all the wind. 30 minutes.
Scenery change: damp thick mossy forest descent. The trail down was incredibly steep, slippery, and incredibly un-ending. My knees were hurting something fierce, and we decided to make ibuprofen stew for dinner. To make matters worse, both Jeff and I fell numerous times due to the wet leaves on mud. The abundance of greenery and plant life was incredible, but the forest had a spooky feel because of the noticable lack of animal life. The only sound was the wind in the trees above and athe occasional bird chirp. 1 hr 15 minutes.
Scenery change: Peat bog. Never-ending peat bog, which was endless and without end. I guess more accurately I should say that the end was always visible but never attainable--like chasing some sort of mirage in the desert. At times we hopped from tuffet to tuffet on firm little green plants. Other times it was like a maze, and one would have to backtrack several meters to find a passable route. We were both very tired with very sore feet and finally, after more than an hour, we reached the woods and the cabin. The cabin was constructed by the Chilean navy in the 60's and refurbished sometime in the 90's. It's a typical, run-down affair with holes in the ceiling and floor, but it had a wood stove and meant that we wouldn't have to set up the tent. We were all for it. The boards were all hand-made, and the floor was so uneven that you needed your "sea legs" to walk properly. There were also various knicknacks left from previous inhabitants, and joy! a fishing net. We started a fire to dry our wet clothes and finally got to take off our boots. At this point it was about 7:30 and I was as tired as I've been in my life. But, I was simply dying to fish so I dragged my weary behind to the lake. Too tired to cast, I threw on a nymph rig with indicator (fancy way to bobber fish) and sat down. Nothing. Soon fish began to rise, so I threw on a big dry. Still nothing. In spite of the lack of fish, the setting couldn't have been more beautiful. The lake was calm--not a breath of air--the fish were rising and the sun was setting over the mountains. Jeff and I were the only people for miles and miles, and it was the sort of moment that only happens several times in a lifetime. I still wasn't catching fish, though, and my backcast was blocked by trees. Finally I got fed up, took off my pants, put on my crocs, tied on a big gnarly cool-looking streamer that mom and dad sent me and waded out into the lake in my shorts. Right away I nailed a big bow. In 30 minutes I caught two big fish and numerous small ones, some of varieties I didn't recognize. The moment was made. I believe the proper word would be "serene." It was a moment to top all moments, and a perfect end to a perfect day. As far as I'm concerned, that place is paradise, and although I will most likely never see it again, I will be able to go there anytime I like.
Day 4 (Thursday, 30 November):
Over the next 7 hours of hiking the scenery changed drastically several times. First scenery change: old wood forest and spectacular views of the mountain range we had just left behind. The start of the next leg took us upwards toward the peak of a mountain I forgot the name of, and the hike up indicated another change of scenery. The entire peak was a massive pile of shale--each rock between the size of a computer mouse and a remote control. There were a few rocks the size of watermelons, but they were sparse. Climbing was very hard. My legs were already quite spent from the first climb, and the shale was rough on the feet. Not to mention the lack of motivation...who wants to summit a massive pile of garden rock? As we climbed, however, the view became increasingly interesting. We could now see almost the entire Dientes range spreading behind us. Finally, beat and sore we reached the top. The view was really spectacular. On one side were the Dientes in their toothy glory and on the other side we could see Cabo de Hornos (Cape Horn). It was breathtaking. After some quick photos we began to descend a narrow spine covered in shale--to the left a large snow cornice and to the right a steep rocky slope. Eventually we followed the snow on the left down to a shallow lake below.
Scenery change: huge plateau of shale. This part of the hike really felt like the end of the world. We walked for at least 3 km on nothing but rock. It was like walking through xeriscape for a solid hour.
Scenery change: old gnarled forest grove--little underbrush. Very quiet and peaceful feel, and the low lying trees blocked almost all the wind. 30 minutes.
Scenery change: damp thick mossy forest descent. The trail down was incredibly steep, slippery, and incredibly un-ending. My knees were hurting something fierce, and we decided to make ibuprofen stew for dinner. To make matters worse, both Jeff and I fell numerous times due to the wet leaves on mud. The abundance of greenery and plant life was incredible, but the forest had a spooky feel because of the noticable lack of animal life. The only sound was the wind in the trees above and athe occasional bird chirp. 1 hr 15 minutes.
Scenery change: Peat bog. Never-ending peat bog, which was endless and without end. I guess more accurately I should say that the end was always visible but never attainable--like chasing some sort of mirage in the desert. At times we hopped from tuffet to tuffet on firm little green plants. Other times it was like a maze, and one would have to backtrack several meters to find a passable route. We were both very tired with very sore feet and finally, after more than an hour, we reached the woods and the cabin. The cabin was constructed by the Chilean navy in the 60's and refurbished sometime in the 90's. It's a typical, run-down affair with holes in the ceiling and floor, but it had a wood stove and meant that we wouldn't have to set up the tent. We were all for it. The boards were all hand-made, and the floor was so uneven that you needed your "sea legs" to walk properly. There were also various knicknacks left from previous inhabitants, and joy! a fishing net. We started a fire to dry our wet clothes and finally got to take off our boots. At this point it was about 7:30 and I was as tired as I've been in my life. But, I was simply dying to fish so I dragged my weary behind to the lake. Too tired to cast, I threw on a nymph rig with indicator (fancy way to bobber fish) and sat down. Nothing. Soon fish began to rise, so I threw on a big dry. Still nothing. In spite of the lack of fish, the setting couldn't have been more beautiful. The lake was calm--not a breath of air--the fish were rising and the sun was setting over the mountains. Jeff and I were the only people for miles and miles, and it was the sort of moment that only happens several times in a lifetime. I still wasn't catching fish, though, and my backcast was blocked by trees. Finally I got fed up, took off my pants, put on my crocs, tied on a big gnarly cool-looking streamer that mom and dad sent me and waded out into the lake in my shorts. Right away I nailed a big bow. In 30 minutes I caught two big fish and numerous small ones, some of varieties I didn't recognize. The moment was made. I believe the proper word would be "serene." It was a moment to top all moments, and a perfect end to a perfect day. As far as I'm concerned, that place is paradise, and although I will most likely never see it again, I will be able to go there anytime I like.
Day 4 (Thursday, 30 November):
Today was hard. It began on the floor of the cabin where we slept because the beds were really gross. Of course, we woke up late. I had intended to fish but the rain pattering on the roof (and subsequently on my face) had taken the wind out of my sails, not to mention the fact that we were completely bushed from yesterday. We cooked breakfast on the stove and turned our backs on paradaise at 1:00pm. We hiked all day--first through the never ending bog and later following the river up the valley. It was very pretty, very soggy, and relatively exhausting. The descent down from the pass was the worst though...I fell 2x in the mud while descending into the campsite. We finally made camp at 9:30pm, and I am exhausted! Blisters, soreness, chafing... you name it I've got it. Phyisically and mileagewise, this is the hardest trip I've done. Dinner, as usual was the saving grace. We did the red sauce with onions, garlic, green pepper, and chorizo, but this time with tortellini. We also had a fire, which was wonderful. That said, I'm going to sleep.
Day 5 (Friday, 31 November)
Today we awoke late (there's a shocker) but since our flight didn't leave until 9 pm we had plenty of time to get out. We hiked about 3 hours to the road, mostly through marshes and bogs. My feet were sloshing around in my wet boots because I stepped in a stream this morning trying fo find focks for a fire ring. (The only rocks available were in the streambed.) The fire pit turned out really swell, though, so I guess it was worthwhile. We found our way into town, let the carabineros know we were back safely, and headed to the plaza to recoup. We took off our wet stuff, found a restaurant and ordered ourselves some papas fritas. We also talked to a guy who runs a quasi-guiding service on the island, and he told me about some fishing holes where 4 kilo trout were the average. I wanted to cry--we had walked right past several of them yesterday, unknowing. I thought hard about changing my flight and staying longer, but it was impossible to manage. We walked the 4 kilometers to the airport (when was the last time you went straight from a backpacking trip and got on a plane) and took the tiny 20-seater home. We're heading off for Torres del Paine the day after tomorrow, so we'll have one day of rest at the Hostal Independencia (thank God), and then it's off on another crazy adventure.
If I don't get them up before then, the photos from this segment will be shown Sunday night the 17th of December. I'm doing a little talk about my experience abroad and my patagonian adventure. Anyone is welcome to come, simply send me an email and I'll get you more specific details about time and place (stumped405@comcast.net). Hope all is well at home!
ya me voy, Andrius
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