Puerto Natales, Chile: The shuttle up to Torres Del Paine was nearly full, maybe 20 people and the views were quite different than coming down the day before. When I go someplace new, if I go that way again, it seems shorter the second time. Why is that? So the ride up the mountain seemed shorter and quicker, sort of a bonus. It snowed in the night up high and the line of sight ascending gives a different feel than when descending; the tour had started and we were barely out of town.
At Torres Del Paine they split us up into two groups, in smaller vans. We passed each other through the day, went the same places but not in the same order. My companions were German and Swiss. Our guide gave long accounts in German then brought me up to speed with a few sound bites in English. The Paine Massif or Cordillera is part of the Andes Mountains but also an independent formation. Recently as mountains go, 12 million years, sedimentary rock was uplifted then eroded away by who knows how many ice age glaciers. It exposed much older, harder granite peaks and spires that are still wearing away from the same forces. Torres (towers) is Spanish and Paine, as best I could glean has an indigenous origin referring to the blue color of glacial ice. The signature image for the park are the two most prolific peaks, locally referred to as the horns of the bull, “Los Cuernos del Torro”.
The day was cloudy, threatening rain with gusty winds that you had to lean into. We enjoyed descriptions of breath taking views and looked at photographs of mountain peaks that were cloud shrouded on that day. Once in a while the clouds opened for a brief glance at the skyline but we had to rely on the photos. We stopped at a waterfall, walked a short walk from the parking lot to the observation deck. Not so wide or far to the rocks below but the volume of water churned with a roar and mist that rose up to meet us. The water had a pale blue cast to it; on a gray, rainy day it wasn’t the light. It reminded me of the Grand Canyon at the mouth of the Little Colorado where soluble minerals from up stream color the water. When you take photographs you learn quickly, whatever the conditions give you, that’s what you get. Direct, low angle sun light is what photographers pray for but you never know when poor, wet, low light conditions will capture an awesome image. So you take the shot regardless, and another and another. It was the last week of fall, snow, and wild flowers were blooming. In paper thin top soil and fractured bed rock, low, woody scrub was decked out in lemon yellow blossoms. I thought of Gibran’s essay on children; that it’s not about parenting or even about the child. He said it was about life, longing after itself. On a sunny day in summer those bushes would be barren, not a second glance. On this cold, gray day they were life’s instrument, longing for itself. Shutter-click, shutter-click.
Torres Del Paine is a rock climbers paradise. Within the park with its 10 or 11 major peaks you find 5 of the world’s top 10, technical climbs. Nobody there risking life and limb while we were there but they don’t close the park. Recreational climbing, camping and hiking are popular all year long, whatever the weather. Farther north and east, higher up there is a huge ice field spilling valley glaciers in all directions. Earlier we saw Perito Moreno, on the Argentine side. In Torres Del Paine one of its siblings runs down and into Grey Lake. That was our next destination.
The good part about riding around in the dismal weather was there was no dust. Our ride to the whale museum in Puerto Madryn was without AC, windows open, a dust bath and I appreciated the humidity. At the lower end of Grey Lake the road ended at a big, 3 story lodge and visitor center. It was closed for the season but its restrooms and vending machines were at our disposal. We brought our own lunches and its covered deck was the best place to shelter and eat. Even with low clouds and dank conditions, the views were still spectacular. Sparsely clad, low rolling hills were mottled with gray, black and brown. The melt water lake below the glacier terminated in its outwash plain, just a short walk away with a boulder & cobble stone beach.
Our guide explained our next option. “If you want to see the glacier itself, see its icebergs, we have to hike across the beach to the far side. It’s about a ten minute hike. The wind will be very strong so if you want to remain here, we will be back in about 45 minutes” I was surprised to see how many people chose to stay back. So our small group took the board walk down to the near beach. Walking required undivided attention. From a distance the beach looked very manageable but a careless foot placement could leave you with a twisted ankle or worse. So it was 8 or 10 careful steps and a quick look up the fjord. Slowly we made our way past the huge rock formation and mountain side that had blocked our view. The wind was strong, and gusty, making our trek longer than he had predicted. On the far side, some of us climbed over low boulders, up the shore toward the glacier. Icebergs were small but they were there, a stone’s throw away. “This is where the wind blows them. They will stay here until they melt.” He congratulated us for coming this far, conceding that this was a favorite place. You could see all the way up the fjord, to the glacier itself, snaking its way up into the clouds. In the terminal pool in front of us, ice bergs were no bigger than small cars but they were radiant blue. The closer to the water, the bluer the blue. Glacial ice is mysterious, magical. Once you understand the science the mystery is solved but it may be more enjoyable than the fact and you almost wish you didn’t know.
Up the lake I noticed a dark gray patch between the clouds and the water, our guide was watching it too. “Is that a squall?” I asked. He nodded, not sure if he should grin or grimace. His directions gave us two choices. We needed to get back to the lodge. The rain squall was bearing down on us at 80 Km/Hr. and there was no way to outrun it. The shortest distance was the way we came but a longer walk, away from the beach would be easier, faster walking. He was going the long way and he would run. The group split, I went the way we came, hopping from stone to stone. At half way there was a powerful gust and rain drops big as grapes began to pelt us. I turned away as much as possible, slowed down a bit and kept hopping. It was the second time in recent time that I was smug faced; fleece layered, hood up in my Gore-Tex jacket. My feet and legs were soaked but hips up, I was dry.
Back at the bus, the storm had blown through. If not for our wet feet and pant legs, there would be no clue. The folks who stayed back were glad they weren’t out in it. The ones who got wet were glad for the excitement. It’s lackluster and lame to recount the storm you didn’t get caught up in. Sandwiched between the ground and low clouds, the van ride started to feel redundant, second verse same as the first. At scenic overlooks, all we could do was listen to graphic descriptions of views that we were missing. We did see foxes at roadside stops, rummaging around waste barrels. They aren’t particular: an easy meal of Twinkies or chips would always be appreciated. Guanacos are basically Patagonian lamas, we saw some of them too. On placards at the lodge, we read about native mountain lions and small deer but the birds were perched somewhere else and the place felt deserted.
By mid afternoon our tour was about spent. The lakes and waterfalls, all of it for that matter felt like Lord of The Rings. The dark, wet conditions just made it all the more so. Several times, the guide apologized. If you come all the way to Torres Del Paine, you should be see the towers, the horns of the bull. Several times he pointed to a spot far off in the clouds; “That’s where the towers are, right there: if only you could see them.” With Grey Lake behind us the sound of tires in soft, wet gravel was sort of a so-long, fare-well to the park. I know a man, one of his favorite expressions is, “When you least expect it, expect it!” This was one of those ‘Least expect it’ moments. Our driver let up on the gas, made a noise that could have passed for either pain or excitement and he got on the brakes. Face to the window and the big side mirror he said,”There it is!” We lurched to a stop, he opened his door and jumped out. “The Towers: the clouds just opened up and there they are.” I was next row back on the other side with my camera in hand. I was out in a flash, looked back and there they were. The view was not clear or unobstructed but clouds were moving through. It was like teasing the cat with a piece of string. The view of the towers went from barely to not at all and back to barely. Then there would be a gap and you could see the whole thing but only for a second, then back to partly obscured. I had been there before: you don’t wait for a better shot. I started taking pictures. In less than a minute the sky was socked in again and the chance of seeing more of the towers had gone from slim to none.
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