Trails & Techno_text_december 06

viernes

x D 1 8 15 22 29

L 2 9 16 23 30

M 3 10 17 24 31

M 4 11 18 25

J 5 12 19 26

V 6 13 20 27

S 7 14 21 28

Destino: Torres del Paine

6 de diciembre

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Modo: Micros y Pies Distancia: 420 kilómetros

El Calafate, Argentina a Torres del Paine, Chile After a great night’s sleep, we were up and rolling at 5:15. Pressed for time, we bagged the showers and breakfast and folded up Casa Cunagin in under two minutes. After a frenzied search for the tent pole bag, we were off at 6:20 and arrived downtown ready to go at 6:35. Raúl, our driver and the husband of Carolina from the day before, was already loading up the micro. We made two stops to take on eight additional passengers, all French and German. Unfortunately for Raúl, none of them were ready to leave on time. After a very lengthy stop at the first hostel, we pulled into the parking lot of the second joint and Raúl seemed very tense. While waiting, he explained that our arrival at the Chilean border was expected around 10:15 or as he said, “Me matan!” (“They will kill me”) One grouchy German woman was our last pre-departure hurdle and the last one to be ready. While we sat patiently in the parking lot with the micro idling, she emerged from her cabin with serious bedhead and a nasty temper. She quickly launched into a tirade against poor Raúl, who probably spoke as B

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“Champagne & Glaciers...No Way” A F

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Back On Track in Torres del Paine

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“This Wasn’t On The Original Triptik.’” E R

Chilean Trekker Euphoria Syndrome 38

CHILE

ARGENTINA

Torres del Paine Puerto Natales

El Calafate Rio Gallegos

much German as I do, and insisted that we weren’t supposed to be leaving until 10:00. Raúl then assured her in some sort of convoluted dialect (either Spanman or Germish, I presume) that we had all agreed to a 7:00 departure. Finally, her husband, who obviously didn’t wear the lederhosen in that family, rolled out of their little cabin at 7:10. On his wife’s cue, he scaled the micro’s ladder, pulled their matching Louis Vuitton backpacks off of the roof and tossed them to the parking lot below, cursing in German all the while. So, with a grand total of eight paying passengers instead of the anticipated ten, Raúl threw our dusty Daihatsu into high gear and we set off due south for La Republica de Chile. At 10:30 we arrived at the Chilean border where we crossed via the Paso Río Don Guillermo and switched vans. Of our original gang of eight, Andy and I were the only two continuing on to Torres The Argentina/Chile border del Paine that afternoon. The other passengers were all going to Puerto Natales to spend the night. We did, however, pick up one extra passenger named Carlos. Carlos was a sharply dressed businessman from Madrid who was just taking a scenic tour along with our driver, Pablo. From his RayBans and khakis to his polo shirt and pullover, it was obvious that camping was not on Carlos’ agenda. Pablo, the first Chilean that we met, was friendly and an excellent tour guide. In fact, he offered to stop the van every twenty minutes so that we old bridges could take pictures slow cattle of the beautiful gringos! scenery. In addition to emerald green lakes and snowhungry llamas covered mountains,

rural chilean road hazard hazardss

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we saw lots of indigenous wildlife including birds and guanacos. At14:00, we disembarked at the Park’s Centro de Administración and checked in with the park police, better known around here as the Carabineros. We also made sketchy arrangements with the driver of another van for a ride to Puerto Natales on Monday afternoon. Before leaving civilization, Andy made a quick long-distance call to his father, while I waited outside and repacked my gear. The not-too-distant rumbling of what sounded like major thunderstorms had me concerned, but a little summer rain could not possibly spoil a beautiful Chilean day like this. At approximately 15:00, after a final equipment check and a handshake, we were off. Thirty minutes later the proverbial roof caved in. A band of ominous clouds that had been hovering over the peaks in the distance rapidly descended upon us. We quickly donned our rain gear and pack covers while the rain started coming down. As we were trekking through flat Chilean pasture, there was absolutely no place to take shelter. Andy informed me that our two options were to keep moving forward or to keep moving forward. Taking my cue from the seasoned trekker, we continued on for a solid hour in a driving rain. This one-hour soaking, courtesy of Madre Naturaleza, taught me a valuable lesson about the importance of buying proper gear. My 100% cotton Banana Republic khakis, although highly-stylish and runwayfriendly, were soaked and my $60 hiking boots had leaked through to

my socks. Meanwhile Andy Cunagin (a.k.a. Patagunagin) was high and dry in his Gore-tex second skin. Around 16:45, we passed the first campsite on the trail where two small tents were set up. I was ready to cash-in and let my clothes dry, but we were determined to stick to our original plan and reach the Refugio at the northern end of Lago Pehoe 40

sometime before nightfall. The packs continued to weigh heavier during our inaugural trek, but we pushed on. Occasional pit stops for trail mix broke up the journey and restored our energies. The final hour was tough and hilly offering a prime view of the sparkling blue water of Pehoe. Our only visual stimulation other than the rocks at our feet came in the form of the largest double rainbow that I have ever seen. After one final ascent, we saw the Refugio at 20:01 and coasted down the last hill. With base camp firmly established, we whipped up some grub and devoured plates of salami and rice with yellow sauce. Since Andy had cooked, I was assigned the evening task of plate duty. Never one to shirk my responsibilities, I rolled up my sleeves and carried our greasy pots and utensils back to the campsite’s outdoor sink. By now, it was well past 22:00 and the temperature was dropping rapidly. The wind chill was pushing thirty-five degrees when I began to bare-hand wash and scrub the skillet. Unfortunately, the combination of cold water, stiff breezes, nonabrasive human flesh and coconut-scented camp suds was no match for our cooked salami residue. I marched back to the tent in defeat and vowed to battle the grease tomorrow. Upon arrival, Andy assured me that the grease would only be more stubborn after a good night’s hardening, so the two of us bellied up to the spigot and scoured the cookware in record time. Minutes later, we were back in the friendly confines of the Trango getting ready for lights out. In the southern Patagonia in summertime, however, the lights often stay on well past 22:00.

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At 23:00, I was relaxing in the tent vestibule reading the Spanish translation of Kerouac’s On The Road (En El Camino) and watching the sunset. Sometime shortly thereafter, I realized that Andy had already fallen asleep. Considering the length of our trek to Glaciar Gray the next morning, I decided to turn in myself. You Are Here

Lago Pehoe base camp

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