On a Christmas, thanks to a shaky WIFI connection, I watched my sisters take part in a cookie decorating contest. Obscene amounts of frosting were being smeared over ginger-men, the winner of receiving upwards of five hundred dollars. I smiled at the Christmas festivities, thinking, why am I not there? That’s because I am here, and so is the Torres Del Pain, this beautiful yet brutal hiking challenge in the Chilean side of Patagonia. While the towers are too big to stuff in a stocking, they are why I ventured to the end of the world this holiday season. Stealing the words of George Mallory (one of the first to climb Mt. Everest), I’m climbing it because it’s there, and so am I, as opposed to decorating cookies.
I don’t have George Mallory in my DNA, more likely Mr. Potato Head, as I love the feeling of a TV remote in my hand as much as hiking poles. But I decided to take on this beautiful but brutal challenge for the same reason I’ve done a lot of other insane things. A whim, an impulse triggered by a photo from in an inflight magazine, a funky T-shirt from a place you can’t locate on a map, or because a hotel receptionist warns that the next stop on your itinerary is being overrun with drug cartel violence, so may he suggest visiting this quaint attraction instead. But Patagonia has been in my brain for a while, due to an off-the-cuff comment a music house rep made back in my advertising days, when cell phones were the sizes of bricks and Al Gore hadn’t invented the internet yet. Patagonia stuck in my mind and I don’t even like their apparel. So when I saw this photo of the Torres del Paine base on some random website, I told myself, I wanted to go to that mountain, that slab of granite or whatever it’s called. I want the feeling that I’ve accomplished more than just binge watch Breaking Bad.
How I got to Torres del Paine
I took a bus ride from the Ushaia, the tip of South America on the Fin du Monde, or End of the World highway, using BusSur. Tip: don’t fly between cities in Patagonia or you’ll miss the beauty you ventured there to see. For ten hours, I gaped out the window and hundreds of kilometers of flat green nothing. No gas stations, no billboards promising sparking restrooms. Just guanacos (the Patagonia llama) playing, countless sheep grazing, horses galloping, and rheas (that emu-looking bird) doing whatever it is that rheas do.
About three hours into the ride, the bus crossed from Argentine to Chile, and passengers had to deboard and go through immigration. That’s where my tomato and yogurt got confiscated. The tomato I understand. But yogurt? Anyway, the wind was incredibly strong, making me feel like a kite ready to take off, but with no trees to get caught into. A few hours later, the bus boarded a ferry to cross the Strait of Magellan. A few hours later, I was polishing my hiking poles.
Enough back story already. What about Torres del Paine?
I connected with a few folks of my age via facebook groups who did the climb and lived to tell their cardiologists about it. Howlanders, the tour group I chose, paced the hike based on the stamina of the group. Before the hike, along with our passport numbers, they asked what medications we were taking. Like I said, they’re professional!
The eight-hour hike was serious from the get go. Imagine getting on a step-master machine at the gym for four-hundred and eighty minutes, cranking it to high. The hike needs both energy and concentration: as much as you’ll want to take photos, you will be pressed to keep going. Another thing the hike requires is hiking boots with good treads. That, way, you won’t go down the mountain in one of these.
The hike is in four quadrants. The first hour is straight up a rocky path, which is difficult, but you just tell yourself, there’s only forty-eight thousand more steps to go. Then, there’s a part when you cross over a few streams right out of a Bambi movie. That’s where you tell yourself, there must be a bathroom soon. There is, but you have to pay two US dollars. Then, you go through a rollercoaster like forest and windy pass, where you want to slow down, but your guides keep you going, and finally, the jagged rocky-road of the last sixty-minutes.
There was a line of hikers ascending to the top (they appear like ants in the above photo), reminiscent of those who want to reach Mt. Everest’s summit. Some were rude, just like that honking driver during rush hour, but without a horn. Two fathers had toddlers tethered to their backs, which seemed insane on many fronts. I could barely handle the weight of my water bottle and my bottle wouldn’t need a diaper change.
The guides are what will make or break your trip.
While he wanted to tell me about the rock formation, I was more curious what he ate for breakfast. He laughed, “I eat so much!” We’re talking four eggs and a milkshake, the Chilean equivalent of a Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast at IHop. When we finished the hike and I wanted to collapse, my guide hit the ground and began stretching. Why? He may have to do the twenty-two killometer hike again tomorrow. He does an average of three hikes a week, finding out the night before on via a text on his phone.
How to prepare for Torres del Paine?
First, go for walks longer than strolls down the sample aisle at Costco. Second, don’t read too much about it, or you’ll chicken out. But the one thing you can’t prepare for is the weather. I lucked out, but in my backpack, I had a sweater, gloves, and rain poncho.
Is Torres del Paine base ever closed?
Yes. If you don’t get to the rocky-road pass by three-pm, the gates are closed, as these girls learned the hard way. Once, my Mr. Four-egg-and-shake-breakfast guide got a group of Brazilians all of the way to the rocky-gate when a snowstorm hit. But the Brazilians were thrilled to see snow even though they never made it to the base.
The Torres del Paine National Park has other hikes that are easier, like to the viewpoint of Las Cuernos which is a great hair-of-the-dog hike to take the day after. About two and a half hours (with aching muscles) and time to dilly-dally. If you hear what sounds like a clap of thunder, it’s just a chunk of the snow breaking off.
One of the best parts of the hike (other than soaking my feet afterwards) was the condors. Condors are roughly the size of flying refrigerators, but they may appear to be the size of your cell phone, as they soar in the sky that high. Their crisp black and white coloring is as unmistakable as it is breath taking.
But the most amazing part of Torres del Paine National Park?
It had to be these two Asian teen boys, too enthralled in their videogames to take in the view. Go figure.
So while my sisters finished off the last of their cookies, I threw out my hiking boots. While they were comfy, they had worn out treads, making them as useless as bald tires on the rocky steep path. But they lived a good life in Chile, Peru, Argentina, Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam, China, Laos, Portugal, Spain, the USA. Next stamp in their VISA? The dumpster.
