Before leaving Sydney I decided it would be worthwhile to go hiking in Patagonia. The “I” trek, arguably the most famous trek in the Torres del Paine, is what I opted to do. Although I noted the logistics of the trek in another post, I will share the photos and other stories here.

I flew into Punta Arenas on an overnight flight, arriving just after 6:00 in the morning. The airport was small, similar to the one in Medford that I knew so well. It was comfortable, with plenty of room to spread out and sofas to lie on. There was also free Wi-Fi, although the connection was slow. One question remained: how would I get to Puerto Natales? I knew a bus left from the city and thought it might stop at the airport, but I was not certain. To be safe, I jumped into a minibus when one arrived, and the driver took me to the bus station. I arrived at about 7:48, bought a ticket by credit card, probably to the operator’s annoyance, and by 8:00 was on my way to Puerto Natales. The bus did stop at the airport for a ticketed passenger, but only one seat remained.

The bus continued for three hours through a rainy Patagonia, and I began to dread five days of hiking in wet weather.

I arrived in Puerto Natales at about 10:30 a.m. and, after orienting myself, walked to the Erratic Rock hostel. The hostel was reasonably priced, had good reviews, and provided a free talk about the park at 3 p.m. Its mission statement about sustainability was appealing, so I booked my first night there. My room was not ready, so I cooked some quick food and walked around the city.

The city, with about 18,000 people I think, was interesting. Some parts clearly benefited from the influx of eco-tourists, while other blocks felt quieter and more worn, with boarded windows and trash in places.

The main supermarket, Unimarc, stood at the junction of the city’s main streets. I walked there and was greeted by packs of healthy-looking stray dogs.

Inside, it resembled many other supermarkets: a full row of alcohol, not much meat, and wonderful-smelling bread. The checkout proved to be one of the slowest I had ever experienced, though I was probably spoiled by Sydney’s self-service checkouts and widespread contactless payments.

One of the more interesting cultural differences was the use of plastic bags at the checkout. The woman bagging my groceries used several, perhaps three or four instead of one. I left a 100 CLP tip for her help, which probably did nothing to improve the plastic-bag situation, and walked back to the hotel.

After a short rest, I attended a briefing at Base Camp, a gear-rental shop associated with the Erratic Rock hostel. Base Camp and Erratic Rock both displayed Oregon memorabilia: licence plates, stickers, trinkets, and plenty of familiar accents. I soon learned that two friends had founded the businesses and that many Oregonians stayed at the hostel.

I had a rough map of what I wanted to do in the Torres del Paine, but it was soon obvious there was no way my plan would work, as the park does not accept “pirate camping” - you have to camp at a campsite. Most of the campsites are paid, and some are relatively expensive, at least for campsites. The route suggested at Base Camp fit perfectly into my schedule, so I used that. The talk was filled with people.

Back at my room I took another short nap and prepared for the  next day. After organising my food for the next five days, since I needed to bring my own food, I showered and prepared for bed.

The next morning, I awoke at 6:15 and went downstairs for breakfast. One of the Oregon women, a friend of the owner, was preparing it. Colourful metal plates sat on the table beside jars of yoghurt and containers of cereal. The cereal was lighter than what I would normally eat, but perfect with yoghurt. The highlight was spreading their peanut butter on my bread. This is not meant as an insult; the peanut butter was genuinely excellent. When I commented on it, I learned that they made it themselves.

By 7:30 a.m. I was on my bus to the Torres del Paine. The man in front of me had a broken seat, so it kept flying all the way back, but I’m pretty patient with things like that.

Every so often I caught a strange smell drifting through the bus, though I never figured out where it was coming from.

After a few hours I arrived at the Porteria y Guarderia Laguna Amarga, the entrance to the Torres del Paine, where I paid my entrance fees, listened to a short speech about the rules of the park, and boarded the bus. It was at this stage that some people left the bus to begin hiking east to west, while I continued on to hike west to east.

The bus continued along the dirt road for another hour, pausing for a few photo stops before reaching the catamaran station. I walked to the boat, marvelling at the size of some packs and relieved by how small mine was. The catamaran carried me across Lago Pehoé to Paine Grande, a charming little resort station. I rearranged my bags and set off. I practically sprinted up the trail, although I had to remind my companion that our campsite was still 11 kilometres away. That was not an enormous distance, but the terrain rose and fell constantly, often requiring me to use all fours or offer a helping hand.

My first stop was Laguna Los Patos, where I filled my water bottle and encountered the kind of views that would appear around every corner. The trail was pleasant for a while, then began snaking through the hills. I caught a brief glimpse of Glaciar Grey before the trail descended, then descended further. I had to take care stepping from large rocks without slipping. Just before 17:00, I reached Refugio Grey and set up my tent. Most of the other trekkers arrived a little later. I helped Jason and Roxanne with their tent because it “looked funny.”

Jason and Roxanne were bubbly Australians living in London. I later learned that they were tour guides for Contiki Tours and Top End, giving them five months each year to travel.

After setting up a tent I started walking the additional four kilometers to a lookout (mirador) over Glaciar Grey. Despite wanting to turn around because of sore feet or legs, I persisted, and after a little while made it to the lookout. Just before arriving I had the pleasure of needing to cross a giant suspension bridge. The sun was setting behind the glacier, but the views were still nice. I slowly wandered back to the camp and prepared for dinner.

The campsite had a designated cooking room, which was nothing more than a mess hall with one sink. Everybody was packed in, and I made room next to some people from Chile. Most people had giant stoves with large bottles of gas - I had a small stove. Dave and Mike, two brothers from England, came in later and sat down near me. I lent them my lighter and walked off.

The campsite did have showers, but it was generally concluded that the water was “not warm”, in other words, somewhere between cold and warm, not between warm and hot.

During the night, the temperature fell below zero, and I awoke to find everything frozen. Every tent was coated in ice, and I understood why people might not have slept well. My tent and sleeping bag were warm enough, although my feet became a little cold.

After breakfast, I packed and began hiking back to Paine Grande. I arrived around lunchtime, at about the same time as everyone else, and ate in the sun. The weather was lovely, although the bright sunshine left many faces red. By lunchtime, my right knee was beginning to hurt. I set off for Campamento Italiano, another 7.6 kilometres along the track. The pain became strong enough that I ignored some of the scenery and focused instead on walking with as little discomfort as possible. By the time I arrived, the day was nearly over. Having walked almost 20 kilometres, I set up camp, ate, and crawled into bed. There were no showers.

The next day, I was supposed to hike up the French Valley, about three hours each way, but decided simply to walk to the next campsite, Los Cuernos. My knee hurt almost immediately, as did the arches of my feet. At Los Cuernos, only 5.5 kilometres from Italiano, I set up my tent and cooked the first of three meals. The showers were pleasantly hot.

During my last meal of the day I met a couple from Nancy, a city I had contemplated moving to. The couple, named Julian and Alice, were working in Tahiti. Julian had studied in Nancy and had taken some ecology related courses, and it soon became apparent that Julian and I knew a professor in common. I really enjoyed talking with them.

I went to bed uncertain if I would make it all ~24KM to Campamento Torres, or if I would need to call it quits and go to Hotel Los Torres and leave a day early. Following Alice’s advice I soaked my knee in the freezing cold river, hoping it would make a difference the next morning.

Bright and early, I ate breakfast and set off on the trail. Only a few people left before me, including Julian and Alice, and I walked almost nine kilometres before anyone overtook me. One by one, my friends caught up: Jason and Roxanne; the “English Couple,” Stephen and Marion, although Marion was Austrian; and the “Swiss Girls,” Denise and her friend. Others must have left later, including “the guy with the big yellow pack,” Anthony, and the “English Brothers,” Dave and Mike.

When Jason and Roxanne caught up to me they asked how my knee was, as I had mentioned it was why I did not go up to the French Valley, and Roxanne walked back and said in her happy Australian accent, “hey, I had some trekking poles, but tripped on them the first time I used them, so I’m not using them anymore - want them?” I replied sure, of course, and thanked her. After figuring out how to use them I realised how useful they would be, and how much stress they take off your back. Quoting Dave, “they are like using a cross trainer”. Walking up hills no longer hurt, and I would walk mostly normally downhill.

I cruised up the first steep hill, had lunch beside a lake overlooking the valley, and continued climbing until the “shortcut” ended. I then joined the main trail, which was more like a wide road, and caught up with everyone at the Chileno campsite. After another meal, I reached the Torres campsite about an hour later. My knees did not hurt at all.

After setting up my tent I had some dinner and contemplated how to plan for the next day.

It seemed traditional for everyone to climb to Base de las Torres at sunrise, so I woke at 5:45, which was easy after going to bed at 9 p.m., and remembered one mistake: I had not brought a headlamp. In fact, I had no torch at all. This had not mattered earlier because I could sleep when the sun went down, but it would make climbing the mountain difficult.

I found a couple hiking up the mountain and joined them as they left camp. Navigating the trail without a light was difficult; I constantly felt ready to slip and fall, and it required more energy than expected. My knee hurt increasingly. By 6:50, I had reached the Base among the first people there and watched with amusement as the rest of the campsite climbed onto the ridge. It was a bit like watching a centipede made of lights crawl up a hill.

The sun was supposed to rise at 7:00, but this time came, and went. And 7:15 went, as did 7:30. I made the call that at 7:35 I would turn back, since I needed to pack and get back to the bottom of the mountain by 14:00. When the time came I slowly started hobbling down the hill, my knee beginning to hurt. At about 7:50 I looked up and the sun shot through the clouds. A little off the ridge, I debated going back. Someone nearby said, “I’m running back,” and darted away. They arrived just in time, took a photo, and began walking back. I think this was one of my greatest regrets - thinking the sun would sit behind the clouds for longer than I had. I was nervous about getting to the bus in time, but I could have caught the later bus if need be.

Disappointed to have missed the best light after trekking in the dark, I walked back to camp. I packed quickly and was hiking before almost anyone else.

At Chileno, I cooked risotto, took a 30-minute break, and set off again. I gave Mike my last gas canister because his was nearly empty and I no longer needed mine. I made decent time down the mountain. It was interesting to see people who had been limping the previous evening almost running downhill the next day. I was relieved to have trekking poles, using them to lower myself over many of the larger rocks.

Just after 12:00, I reached the bottom ahead of schedule. I went to the small supermarket, bought a beer, a Fanta, and some biscuits, and waited for the minibus.

At 14:00, the minibus arrived. I tossed my pack onto the roof, and 14 of us crammed inside. The “English Brothers” arrived just as we departed, so they took the next bus. We travelled the remaining seven kilometres of dirt road to where the main buses would collect us. Everyone spread out on the grass, tired from their respective hikes and enjoying a beer or two.

The sun was brightly shining, requiring me to put on more sunscreen, and some people started cooking. Another group who had hiked the trail had joined my Erratic Rock group, and a 62-year-old American hiker with a deep voice was reflecting on all the places he had travelled. He seemed to gravitate towards the Australian group, one member of which had an accent so strong it almost sounded exaggerated.

I continually looked back at the mountains I had just hiked around.

After arriving at the main guard area, I gathered my belongings and basked in the sun a little longer. At about 14:30, I boarded the bus to Puerto Natales. One rest break and three hours later, I was back in town, ready to return my equipment and meet the others for a quick drink.

I checked into a different room at Erratic Rock, a side room little bigger than its double bed. It was enough for me, and I appreciated finally sleeping outside a bag. I showered, found a laundry that was closed, and wandered around the city. After eating, I made it to the Base Camp bar just before 21:00 to meet the others. Dave and Mike arrived first and ordered a round of beers, followed soon after by the “Swiss Girls.” Anthony and a woman from Germany also joined us. Almost everyone was taking the ferry out the next day.

I sat, drank, and chatted until almost midnight. Despite wishing to stay up later, I figured it would be best to get some sleep, as I would likely wake up early the next morning.