Torres del Paine, Chile (Part 2)

Day 4 started with a stunning sunrise, the pinkest I've seen - so beautiful in fact that we forgot to heed it's 'red sky in the morning' warning. We trekked on through some really (I mean REALLY) strong gusts and up to Camp Italiano, under a darkening sky. Italiano is CONAF operated and free, so you can say goodbye to refugios and flush toilets. We found long drops and a cooking shed smaller than the kitchen at Windmill Rd to accommodate the now numerous free loaders. We pitched our tent around lunchtime, dropped our bags and darted up Valley de Frances under developing rain and brutal winds. Before we knew it we were sodden from head to toe and beginning to freeze under the icy conditions. We were almost at the snow line and we could hear distant avalances crashing down the face of the mountain and out of the clouds every 15 minutes or so. Just before the first lookout (or Mirador if your speaking spanish) my knee locked up. The same injury that causes you not to make it home on a MERC run. I crawled to the lookout which was horrendously wild! With rain and wind battering the exposed hill and ripping through any cracks in layers, I hurriedly decided to pull the pin and hobbled the hour or so back down, livid with the weather and my incapable limb. Fearless Cat however, marched onward to the second lookout even further into the storm and can report both the weather and the view were worse. We returned separately to a wet and now very muddy campsite with next to no shelter and an ever increasing number of wet and cold hikers. Getting warm and dry involved some acrobatics in the tiny tent followed by a few hours listening to podcasts in our sleeping bags. By the time dinner rolled around we were very unenthused at the thought of cooking and getting wet again. Due to a rather large and recent forest fire, CONAF forbids any form of fire (cigarettes and gas stoves included) to be had in any location other than those specified. Unfortunately the only location within 10km of Italiano was a tiny wooden shed with one small picnic table and a floor resembling a pig pen on a wet day. It was jam packed with hikers and all their wet gear, leaning over each other and reaching between. It was probably one of my most awful cooking experiences and made hostel kitchens seem like heaven. To make matters worse, getting water from the river involved getting drenched and a tricky little descent for which my crook leg did not thank me for. Undoubtedly the least enjoyable night on track.

We rose to a break in the rain, a dry tent and were on the track for another glorious sunrise which lifted our spirits from the gloom of the the previous day's shortfalls and failures. When I say sunrise, I mean pink skies. We never actually saw the sun. The sky just went pink and then the day was light. It was as if nature was playing a magic trick and we had to guess how the act was done. Two hours of rain free walking with more marvellous views and many chocolate raisins was enough to bring us up to full spirit, despite my distinctive hobble, monotonous moaning and snails pace. If I weren't carrying her tent, I have no doubt Cat would have left me on that mountain.

Day 5 was a big day. We had 25km to cover which included the climb to our highest camp and the past few days and nights had begun to take their toll on the bodies (injury or otherwise). Despite taking it easy we managed to climb to Chileno in good time for a long stop before our final ascent. That of course, was after watching a pair attempt to cross a football field sized bog in trainers whilst trying not to wet their feet - ever more grateful that we invested in expensive waterproof boots! Chileno was another flashy Refugio in which we cowered near their fire, and took a break from the rain which had settled in over the last few hours. We had a cheeky game of chess and bode our time, not wanting to spend any longer at the next camp than was absolutely necessary. With a couple of hours before dark we set off to Camp Torres (another freebie) in the wind and rain.

As we neared camp it was still raining and we turned a little loopy, as if it couldn't get any worse than five days without sun. Then it started sleeting. Bitterly cold sleet stung the face just enough to hide the tears. And then the magic - just before dark and whilst we were setting up our tent - it snowed. I'm not talking inches but there was a layer of snow on our tent. There was shelter in the forest and the wind eased and for a teeny weeny moment I enjoyed the snow. Then my wet hands froze, our tent got sodden and the admin of cooking and bedding ourselves seemed like an insurmountable task. Fortunately, the tiny cooking house was filled with just the right amount of people including some friendly Chileans with whom we dined with and managed to con into planning the next part of our trip for us. Chocolate, Pisco and hot water bottles were just what we needed to see us through our last night. We dozed off to another podcast, praying and dreaming for at least a cloud free sunrise.

Our prayers were unanswered and our dreams still just dreams as the next morning it was still raining. Or snowing, I couldn't tell. Our aim was to make the highest mirador on the 'W' before sunrise to witness the spectacle of the sunrise on the towers. The towers of Paine. And no, despite what we thought could be nothing other than the truth, towers of pain is not the literal translation. Paine is an indigenous word for 'blue'. Lame. Getting out into the rain was tough, but the pack free climbing was a welcome change from the day before. It was snowing and windy but hope pushed us onward to the top. After an hours climb in dark, we huddled under a rock and waited in the windy snow, eating cookies and drinking lemonade like a kid in a candy store. To crush our dreams, the sun rose unceremoniously behind cloud and the spectacle of the towers were partly visible for a brief moment before sealing the day in agonising grey cloud, biting winds and more snow. A view for which we had put so much effort into, withheld by relentless bad weather. Two very unhappy hikers descended back to camp to pack up a miserably wet tent and start the four hour trek out of the park.

We hadn't walked that fast all trip, smashing the descent and all our remaining food in under three hours, feeling no sorrow for those ascending to our wet and wild origin with tents, ponchos and assorted flailing items soon to be drenched or blown away. The extent of just how close to the end of the season we came was reinforced with the Chileano staff taking selfies in front of the 'Closed for the Season' sign. Notwithstanding, the view of the valley and park below the cloud was impressive - perhaps the view we needed to remind ourselves as to why we just endured what we did. We reached the Torres Hotel at the base just as another blustery squall blew through, stinging the face with horizontal rain. Perhaps natures idea of a slap on the bum and 'thanks for coming'? A short wait and a confusing bus system later and we were on our way to warmth and comfort. We had completed just over 100km of trail in some fairly adverse conditions and although we missed out on the view from a few key miradors, I remain convinced the beauty of the park is in a league of its own. Perhaps next time we won't hike it on the last six days of the season.

Hot showers, soft warm beds, Chilean lamb AND steak, beer, and red wine rounded off a fantastic last night in Chile, despite the pouring rain. No surprise there. It's been a while since we really appreciated heat, sleep and good food and we won't be taking it for granted again anytime soon. Bye for now Chile, Argentina here we come!Read more