Posts Tagged deutschlanders

I went on a walk for a few days recently; I chose to hike a route called The W in Torres del Paine near Puerto Natales in Southern Chile, and I made it a tad over 64 miles before I broke down, bought some Fanta and a Sahne-Nuss, and waited for the high-speed catamaran to take me back to civilization.

Click it to make it bigger:

Five days, four nights:

Dia Uno] Thought that I’d already gotten lost 20 minutes in, backtracked to realize that no, I was going the right way, And decided to trust myself better the rest of the way. Made it up a pretty steep grade to Campamento Torres, where I pitched my tent and walked up to Campamento Japones and back before making Rice and Lentils (henceforth known as R&L) and dashing off to sleep.

Dia Dos] Woke up at 4:30 (a.m.!) to hike up the quick, albeit vertical trail to the Torres Mirador at sunrise when the towers allegedly glow red with the dawn; was greeted by a laughable scenario:

Hiked down, unpitched tent (struck camp?) at noon or so, and walked back to the junction in clear, partly cloudy weather past a beautiful fjordy lake, a couple gauchos, the refugio at Cuernos, which seemed to house most of the East coast of the United States, as well as a fair-sized chunk of Western Europe, and a million dainty red mountain flowers to Campamento Italiano, where again, I pitched:

Dia Tres] Walked up the middle branch of The Dub to Campamento Britanico and another cloudy viewpoint, at which I was again unable to see past the foggy cloudiness — I chose not to take a picture this time. And arrived back to Italiano in a blizzard, for real, so I waited for an hour or so for it to turn into, again, a warm sunny day. I struck again that afternoon and hoofed it back down the W to Paine Grande, which seemed to be the main center of pseudo-civilization in the park. I’d been planning on hiking another four hours that day, but the running water (showers!) in the campground’s on-site banos lured me in. I’m glad I stayed there, as the afternoon and evening turned out to be sunny and warm; I took it pretty easy, ate some R&L, and took some time to marvel at the amazing array of Gore-Tex that surrounded me. Gore-Tex from all over the world, in every color of the rainbow.

Dia Cuatro] Awoke from a comfortable night of two-sleeping-bag-luxury, made some Nescafe and oatmeal with cocoa and lots of azucar, and started the long slog up to Campamento Paso. This was my favorite part of the trek. Most of the trail followed a couple of bright turquoise (from glacier milk!) mountain lakes, and alternated between deep forest and breathtaking views over the surrounding mountains. Until, that is, I arrived at Glacier Grey. I think that what I wanted when I visited Perito Moreno was a big fat blue glacier in the middle of nothing. And I got it on my second-to-last-day of hiking between Refugio Grey and Campamento Paso. Most people stopped The W at Refugio Grey, so the trail was far less crowded after that point, and it followed the edge of the giant hunk of ice for six strenuous, sweaty kilometros until the campground. Glacier Grey is smaller than Perito Moreno, and less blue, and big hunks of ice fall off much less often, but it was a much more rewarding experience: just myself, a large, slowly moving mass of ice, and a whole lot of nothing.

Glaciar Grey:

Dia Cinqo] Woke up, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and found a bug in there. Hiked back to Paine Grande, tired and stinky and sore and with broken boots, but made it with a couple hours to spare before my boat, so I relaxed, washed my face in the complimentary running water, and purchased the earlier-mentioned expensive snacks to munch on while playing solitaire.

The embarque back:

And so,

I’m glad that I’d been training for the marathon. I found that while hiking with a 40-or-so pound mochila, my legs didn’t get tired, but my back and feet definitely did. And I seemed to be hiking a bit faster and more efficiently than most of the other gringos I met on the trail.

And gringos there were. I can confidently say that English was spoken on the trail much more than Spanish, and that blancos outnumbered morrones by at least two to one. It was like hiking in the Alps, I’d imagine, but with more Germans. And it was much, much more beautiful. You should try it.

Also,

Things I broke while hiking the W in Torres del Paine:

My gaiters
My boots
My spork
The fleshy bit of my fingertip

Finally, observations:

The wind was blowing so hard at the huge Refugio Lago Pahue that it was whipping the tops off of the whitecaps and blowing a mist all over the lake.

You can drink the water right out of the streams up near the glaciers. It was fantastic, and cold, and tasted like absolutely delicious nothing.

I love my long underwear/black loungy pants combo. They’re warm in cold weather and comfortable all the time. Dirt and mud and stink just seem to dissolve away, and they seem pretty indestructable. Thanks, Uncle K!

Black spongy mushrooms that just looked lethal were everywhere. I didn’t eat.

There was a giant, wolf-sized fox with a bushy tail at Campamento Italiano. I was like, “What the Ephron?”

More squat toilets, even grosser this time.