Doing the W! Torres del Paine: Part One

“Ah, you're just pussies,” he said, leaning over the seat as our bus lurched from side to side on the winding road in Torres del Paine National Park. We were twenty minutes away from being dropped off at the ferry that would take us to the start of the W, which we'd planned to walk over four days and three nights.

Five minutes later, it had become a five day hike with at least an extra 17.5km thrown in for good measure. Oh and the company of two German guys. Apparently us Australians are all the same!

At least the decision paid dividends right from the start, even if it meant our carefully calculated food rations would need to be stretched an extra day. At the ferry terminal there had been a lot of commotion as someone had seen a puma. A group of both tourists and park workers gathered at the crest of the road hoping for a glance that didn't materialise. Eventually, after everyone on the bus except for our little group had gathered their things, we continued down the road.

Not far from the terminal another group of employees stood watching the opposite hill. As the bus approached they started pointing frantically, to the spot they were observing. There, blending perfectly into the golden grass, a puma was walking up the hill. As the brakes on bus shrieked into action, she stopped and turned to look down at us. That's when we saw not one, but two of her cubs as they bounded past her and over the crest of the hill.

It was after 12pm when we hit the trail with a projected 8-9 hours of walking ahead of us.

At least the first section which took us straight towards the Paine Massif was easy, providing us an opportunity to work out exactly what we'd gotten ourselves into by joining the crazy Germans.

By the time we reached the section that we'd initially planned to walk that day, most other hikers were already cooking dinner by their tents or sipping wine at their hosteria. That, along with the clear, calm weather was a blessing. When the path emerged from the forest and onto rocky outcrops, we were alone to observe the lake filled with blue icebergs.

In the late afternoon, when we got the first glimpse of Glacier Grey and the enormous ice fields all around, we felt like we'd discovered something amazing.

And when finally I stumbled into the campsite that evening, where the other hikers were already settling into their down sleeping bags, I was convinced that they, not I were pussies.

It gets easier from here...
It did not escape the attention of some of the members of our group, that we were camped just near an enormous glacier. Me? I slept straight through the thunderous noise as chunks of ice broke off the terminal face and slid into the water, to eventually come drifting past the little beach we were camped beside.

In the morning, we went further up the hill to get a better look at Glacier Grey from the campsite we'd hoped to have reached the previous evening. After a bit of a scramble we got to the lookout that sits high above the ice and for over an hour, we admired the deep blue crevasses and waited for the glacier to calve. When they did the chunks of ice seemed miserably small in comparison to the thundering roar, which got us thinking about just how enormous the glacier, the mountains and ice fields beyond, really were.

By the afternoon, when we'd picked up our packs and were headed for the middle of the W, the famous Patagonian wind was in the mood to play. The gusts would come in so strong, that our footsteps would inevitably land everywhere but where we'd intended, giving us the appearance of drunken backpackers stumbling from one side of the path to the other. I'd been warned, but it had always seemed inconceivable that the wind could so casually almost knock us off our feet.

Later in the day and in a seemingly entirely different section of the park the wind eased. Without needing to worry about staying on our feet, we could focus on how much the scenery had changed just from that morning. From rocky cliffs and forest, we we're walking straight towards the heart of the Paine massif, past turquoise glacial lakes and shrubs set aflame with flowers.
 

Finally, not long before night fall, we crossed a very cool suspension bridge over an icy river to reach our campsite in the shelter of the lenga forest. While the Patagonian wind swept through the canopy, I dreamt about the glaciers and mountains I'd gotten a glimpse of upstream.

A visit to Seno Otway

Did you know that Magellanic penguins sound like they've swallowed a harmonica? Nor did we until we visited their nesting ground at Seno Otway.

We'd umm'd and ahh'd about whether it would be worth going, since we southern hemisphere dwellers had seen plenty of penguins already. But the decision was made fairly simply on the basis that there was little else to do in Punta Arenas.

Walking through the town that morning, we'd offered to take a photo of a guy trying to set his camera up on a park bench and struggling. Turns out he was in the Chilean navy, had just gone around Cape Horn and was more than happy to tell us the rest of his life story as well, but not before becoming facebook friends with Jeff. His logic? You can never have too many friends.

On the way to the penguins, our driver proved to have razor sharp eyes (apart from his excellent mechanical skills proven by his ability to fix our van when it broke down just after we hit the dirt road) as while dodging potholes he spotted a pair of nandu on the side of the road. And on the way back, a skunk!

It was a little early in the season, meaning that not all 5000 breeding pairs were likely to have arrived at the colony yet, so we were very excited by the first sighting.

Down by the beach, there were plenty more hanging out on the shore, watching the other penguins as they caught the waves in and then waddled up onto the sand to join the group. Occasionally a seagull that was hidding amongst them would take off and for a second, I'd get excited thinking I was watching evolution in progress.

Finally a little group decided to head back to their burrows and started waddling up the beach towards the dunes.

They passed right next to the shelter and formed a neat line as they entered the track leading amongst the grass and shrubs.

Sometimes they almost disappeared in the vegetation.

Until they each peeled off and went to their partners, where they preened.

They touched.

They waddled around some more.

And they called out.

To who we wondered.

Glaciar Albino & Lago Esmeralda

We'd mentioned that we wanted to go up to Glaciar Albino to a few people in Ushuaia in the hope of getting some information about the walk. The tourist office had sent us to the office of Club Andino, where the bored woman at the counter suggested a tourist agency to organise a guided tour, before returning as quickly as possible to updating her facebook profile.

At Antarctica Hostel, where the bubbly staff had provided us with lots of tourist information, I'd had the same conversation about five times.
Me: We'd like to walk up to Glaciar Albino and wanted to know what the conditions were up there.
Staff: No, no. You mean Glaciar Martial.
Me: No, I mean Glaciar Albino.
Staff: No, it's called Glaciar Martial.
Me: I know that, but I don't want to go to that one. I want to go to Glaciar Albino!

Glaciar Martial is the ice bucket sized glacier above town, which provides beautiful views of the Ushuaia and surrounds. But after walking up the Cerro del Media the previous day where we'd had a great view already we were after something a little different. And to be honest we really wanted to step off the beaten track and explore the wild side of this supposedly wild continent.

Unfortunately the complete lack of information was making this difficult. In fact, we'd had so much trouble already, that we'd bought Lonely Planet's 'Trekking in the Patagonian Andes' which was how we even knew about the walk. But instead of getting an impression of conditions, all we'd heard was that it was probably impossible and there was likely to be too much snow which only served to strengthen our resolve to clamber up there. As long as no one said the word 'avalanche' as they had in Bariloche, we figured everything would be sweet.

Our specially ordered bus was over half an hour late to collect us and in the meantime we'd picked up another recruit for the trek, right from our very own dorm room. Mark had ridden a motorbike from Peru to Ushuaia which immediately endeared him to us and Jeff had already spent hours discussing logistics and motorbikes. What's more he was the one going to Antarctica in just a few short days. Check out his blog 'A Motorcycle Diary'.

Despite attempting to persuade the driver to drop us off at the start of the trail where you don't need to pay, we arrived at Refugio Valle los Lobos where the woman at reception negotiated our time of pick up with the driver and gave us a mud map up to Lago Esmeralda. Mention of the glacier was met with a mumbled jumble of words that included 'snow', 'difficult' and 'impossible'. So we set off with no further instructions, no accurate map, knowing the trail was unmarked and with two hours less than we'd hoped. The driver had seemed unhappy with our initial agreed time of 7pm, so she'd negotiated our pick up for 5pm.

The lake was an easy walk of one hour through the bright green lenga forest. At the edge of the forest there was a large bog and despite instructions to follow the bank of the stream, we followed an alleged path straight through. On the other side, my socks were already damp after sinking into almost ankle deep mud and stepping on spongy mosses. Please don't even mention my guilty conscience.

After another quick climb we were on the pebbly shore of the turquoise laguna surrounded by 1000m peaks. In the valley above the tree line where we were supposed to walk, pristine snow reflected brightly in the sunlight. On the other side of the laguna was a beaver dam next to a whole forest of fallen trees, that had been efficiently cut down by the little critters. They are a pest down here and looking at the destruction it was easy to see why.

On the other side of the forest, just before leaving the tree line we came across the first patch of snow which was easily crossed. But the second one, which looked about 1m deep seemed like it would stop us in our tracks. Luckily there was a way around and up into the valley.

We were following a rough track when it emerged out of the snow. As we got higher, we'd scramble up the slippery moraine, where there was more and more snow and less rock. In some patches the snow would reach up to our knees when a boot inadvertently fell through. On the cliffs around us, there were small waterfalls from all the melting snow above that together sounded much bigger.

The guidebook helpfully advised to turn left at the grey rock before clambering up a steep section. We assumed that the grey rock must have still been buried and continued up the snow before turning towards the only rocky outcrop where we could possibly walk. By now the slope was so steep that we were using our hands to clamber up the snow. Stopping every now and then to catch my breath and admire the foot holes in the pristine snow, I was relishing the descent.

At the top of the rocky outcrop there was no glacier. Instead there was another little waterfall with its water was running directly under the snow we were walking on, before cascading off the red and orange cliff edge.

Continuing along the plateau, we were convinced the glacier was just over the next section of rock around the corner. But all we found was another crest, with more jagged peaks in the distance. Little piles of rocks were dotted here and there, but they ended abruptly and the only other indication of a path was a set of footprints in the snow on a distant section of the slope. We wanted to keep going but we simply didn't have any more time and without knowing exactly where the glacier was we could have kept going on and on. So instead we had lunch, with a spectacular view of the lake way down below, surrounded by forest and mountains.

While the ascent had made us feel like adventurous mountaineers, on the descent it was like we were little kids again. As soon as the slope was big enough we jumped onto our waterproofs jackets and plastic bags and slid down the hill on our backsides. I had a distinct feeling that as a kid I'd been told not to do this probably so I didn't end up with wet clothes and boots and snow everywhere. From the bottom we admired our slide marks in the snow that could even been seen from the far shore of the lake.

We made it back for the taxi just on time and at the hostel looked at the topographic map of the area. It looked like the glacier was exactly where we'd thought. But despite the feeling that it was still unconquered it was a brilliant day and we definitely deserved the the calafate berry flavoured ice cream that evening.

Cerro del Media & the Beagle Channel

From the top of the mountain, Ushuaia looked beautiful. Built on the hillside we'd just climbed, it's gaze seemed permanently fixed on the Beagle Channel and those travelling at the end of the world.

With just a few hours to spare before our intended boat trip – weather permitting – we'd hiked for two hours through the damp lenga forest that we'd grown used to in Patagonia. Near the top we'd slipped our way crossing a bit of snow at the edge of the tree line before reaching the lookout.

Further along there was supposed to be a lagoon so we'd followed the stone markers across the bare, rocky ground. Again, a large patch of snow covered the trail that led up the hill to the lagoon, which turned out to be less of a lagoon and more of a puddle.

After leaving big boot prints in the pristine snow on the way up, Jeff decided to create another set of marks in the snow. He slid all the way down the hill on his backside, almost hitting a rock at the bottom when his steering failed.

That afternoon the wind hadn't picked up and the port of Ushuaia was open for business. We set sail with Patagonia Adventure Explorer on the slightly crowded boat, our stern pointing towards Alicia Island.

'Island' is probably too generous a name for the hunk of rock sticking out of the middle of the channel, but it was here that an entire colony of sea lions were basking in the sun. They were a lazy bunch with not even a flipper moving to show any sign of life. As our boat neared, a few heads moved to look at us and one sea lion sat up and posed for the cameras.

Leaving the colony to their sleep we continued sailing out to Les Eclaireurs Lighthouse the little red and white lighthouse that is the symbol of Ushuaia. With it's backdrop of snow capped mountains and blue water it looked very picturesque on that perfectly clear afternoon. In fact there were so few waves, I was a little disappointed!

On Isla de los Lobos another colony of sea lions lazed in the sun, while on the other side cormorants fed their newly hatched chicks, that we could hear and see squawking in their nests.

 Spot the eggs in the nest and the couple of day old chicks.

Isla de Pajaros, another rocky island was home to a different type of cormorant which our guide was at pains to point out were not penguins. Obviously the sheer quantity of what appeared to be black and white dinner jackets fooled a lot of people, including us. The cormorants were arriving here for the summer to nest, so the colony was multiplying daily.

The final stop was on one of the Bridges islands, where we wandered windswept paths in the place where the indigenous Yamana people had once lived. Covered in low shrubs and mosses, some of which grew just a millimetre a year, the island was in the full bloom of spring.

 We took particular note of the Calafate bushes, whose berry, once eaten insures a return to Patagonia. For the moment, there were only pretty yellow flowers, but there were many options to try them in a preserved form. Our guide recommend the Calafate berry flavoured ice cream, a suggestion we took very seriously...to ensure we made it back to this beautiful part of the world of course!

At the End of the World

The next morning the sun was shining and melting the snow on the roof of the hostel. I could hear the heavy drops falling onto some sheet metal on the balcony, so I was convinced it must still be raining and therefore it wouldn't be worth getting up.

It was late by the time we set off for the glacier just above town, which was said to be no bigger than a bucket of ice. But before we'd even made it around the corner from the hostel, we'd already decided that we should investigate the options for travelling to Antarctica. One of the guys in our room had finally made up his mind to go and was buying his passage that morning.

As the little map at the port of Ushuaia shows, this is the closest place on earth to Antarctica, with just 1000km of water separating it from the frozen continent. In fact by boat it would only take around 1.5 days to cross the Drake Passage. At least that explains the cold!

Thanks to last minute specials available only in Ushuaia and a strong Australian dollar it at last seemed possible to do something I've always dreamed off but that normally is prohibitively expensive.

We wandered up and down the wharf for a while looking at the jagged peaks of the mountains now covered in a fresh layer of snow. On the other side of the Beagle Channel lay Chile, separating us from Cape Horn just a hundred or so kilometres ahead. In the harbour a National Geographic boat made us yearn for an adventure.

After an hour of wandering we did book a trip, but a significantly shorter one. We decided Antarctica would have to wait for another time.

Our boat trip that afternoon was supposed to take us to a lighthouse on a minuscule island in the middle of the Beagle Channel, as well as a sea lion colony and for a walk on one of the bigger islands. The wind had picked up in the afternoon forming very innocuous looking white caps on the little waves, which made me very happy. Just like turbulence when flying, there is nothing I enjoy more than standing at the front of a boat that's riding the waves. But apparently the port authorities of Ishuaia do not share my idea of fun and had closed the harbour cancelling our boat trip. The guide was at pains to explain to me that given the size of the waves in the harbour, they would be monstrous out in the channel. Like I needed to know the fun I would be missing out on!