What's the attraction of this walk, that people who have never lugged around a backpack on a multi-day trail come here to 'do the “W”'? It seemed that everyone we met in our travels was either on their way, or had come from Torres del Paine. Even I, who has stated more times than either Jeff or I would like to remember, that 'I hate bush walking' and 'I hope to never do it again!' had put it near the top of our 'To Do' list for the trip.
But then, clearly I'm a walking contradiction given the fact that I only knew about the walk from a beautifully illustrated book called '
Top Treks of the World'. That I'd bought. And then day dreamed about when I should have been doing something more productive...
I won't lie, this isn't a get back to nature, leave behind all the crowds kind of place. Thanks to fully catered hosterias along the way, it's set up to be as convenient as possible for anyone willing to lace up a pair of hiking boots and carry a change of clothes. And yet I, like apparently every other hiker compiling a Top Ten list was totally smitten with the place and dare I say it – I loved walking the W!
Which brings me back to why? Well, standing on top of a great big boulder with the word mirador (lookout) painted on it in faded letters and looking out across the Valle Frances, it was pretty clear.
We'd walked a couple of hours initially through the
lenga forest where we'd heard the thunder like rumble of ice cracking off the nearby hanging glacier.
Once again we'd sat waiting to see the calving until the fierce Patagonian wind had chilled us enough that we'd had to keep moving.
Slowly the trees grew more sparse and twisted from the effects of the wind that that day had been predicted for around 70km/hour. In some places there was no forest just a round clearing of bare rocks and we contemplated what had happened there. My guess was UFO's.
Hannes' -
he who had called us pussies – favourite phrase was 'Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God' which he delivered in an unconvincing American accent, at just about everything - sometimes deservedly, but mostly not. Well at the top of the valley, I think all of us muttered some version of his phrase as we took in the 360 degree panorama of shale-capped granite walls with one of the turquoise lakes just visible in the distance.
But it wasn't just that the Valle Frances was spectacular, it was also so different to the glacier and ice field that was just a day's walk away.
Wind, rain and...Snow?!?
On the fourth day, it was the weathers turn to play games. While marching through the grassy fields, the rain alternated with the sunshine so we'd be throwing off our packs every few minutes to take rain jackets on and off as it would alternatively get hot then cold. Not only was this a great workout for the arms, but a way to make friends with other hikers we'd be camped beside that night. As we alternated passing and being passed when adjusting our gear, we'd share a laugh and a 'See you again in a couple of minutes!' look.
It wasn't even marked on the map, but when I saw it – or rather, felt it - I knew this was the
Paso de los Vientos and it was stunning! A few years earlier my parents had walked this same section of the trail and been in awe of the gusts of wind that had nearly sent them toppling down the steep side of valley into the Ascencio River below.
From the valley we could already partially see the 'towers' that the park is famous for and after another hour of walking we reached the woody campsite that marks the final ascent to the lookout.
Of course everyone hopes for a picture perfect view of the
torres, but unfortunately the unpredictable Patagonian weather usually has other ideas. So we thought we were pretty lucky that the mornings showers seemed to have cleared. After setting up camp we decided to go straight to the lookout while the sun was getting a look in, rather than trying for the stunning dawn glimpse which would have required a 4am start. The tables had turned on the pussy stakes you see and it wasn't the Aussies who were firmly committed to being in their sleeping bags at least until after the sun rose!
The hike up to the lookout involved much less actual walking and more clambering over boulders and sliding in every direction on the loose gravel of the badly eroded trail. And the higher we got on the barren hillside, the fiercer the wind became. When we finally reached the top, low lying clouds had blown in, shrouding the towers.
Covered in every warm piece of clothing we'd brought and huddled next to the boulders we waited in the hope that the sun would come out, while we debated weather we were getting a more authentic experience in Patagonia than if it had been a perfect day. While we made ourselves feel better thinking this, the weather decided to give us even more authenticity and it started to snow.
The snow came and went throughout that evening and during the night, so that when we woke the following morning, everything was covered in a light dusting of powder including the tent!
Apart from those who had actually woken before dawn and walked up to the
torres to see lots of fog (and the person who took a summer tent with them and was cold during the night) everyone was delighted with the snow. So we went for an exploratory walk which started with lots of photos...
Then turned to this....
Some of this.....
Then this....oh yes dear husband, thanks for TAKING PHOTO'S instead of helping. Just for the record, I drew blood!!
And finally...snowmen! Really, who doesn't go a little gaga when there's fresh snow on the ground!
Battle Scars from walking the 'W' with not one, but two Swabians!
After all this play, there wasn't a lot of time to head down the mountain to get the bus back to Puerto Natales.
But we made it with time to spare. In fact 1 hour and 20 minutes. Technically we still needed to catch a shuttle to the park entrance and the bus to Puerto Natales, which was going to cost 2000 pesos or $4 or 10 euro cents. Big deal right? Well if you're Swabian (from a part of Germany where people are considered to be rather frugal) it is. After all why catch a shuttle when you can walk the extra 7.5km, just like you walked an extra 17.5km to save catching the ferry! Can't hurt can it?!
Well, yes it can. During those last 7.5km I learnt the definition of 'blistering pace'. About half an hour in, Sebastian was joking about his red hot feet as we raced down the road.
By the time we reached the bus, with a couple of minutes to spare, I no longer thought my feet – or him – were particularly funny. For moment all that was forgotten when we got back to
Kaweskar (probably the best hostel on earth) and Omar the owner greeted each of us with great big bear hugs!
And then I took off my boots. Aside from the blisters covering the back of each heel that I already knew about, each and every one of my toes, both on the top and bottom had been rubbed raw, along with the front part of the sole. They were already swollen and got bigger during that afternoon and night making it really hard to walk. The upshot was being able to scare others hikers in the hostel who were about to set off on the 'W' by showing them my wounds. Plus I had a legitimate excuse to keeping my feet up while the boys shopped and cooked. For two nights, we feasted, socialised and drank wine and cocktails - the awesome Omar mixed killer pisco sours for us. I did mention that
Kaweskar is the best hostel in the world didn't I?
