Chaltén: 40kms. Relaxed in the warm sun by a waterfall with Ivan. Met some other Aussie cyclists, Amy and Ben. I made the seemingly insignificant decision that I would go hiking for a few days and ended up having a life-changing experience that I struggle to articulate. It was a two day, 60km walk that I will never forget:
I set out with the goal of at least seeing and possibly setting foot on the Southern Patagonian Icefield. It was supposed to take four days. I knew bad weather was forecast for day 3 but I always make better time than is estimated for hiking trails. The first 15kms were easy and mostly uneventful. Some great views and I saw a skunk. Then came the river crossing. The water was only knee deep, but fresh off the glacier - maybe 200m. As soon as my feet touched the water they started to ache. Other than nearly loosing my sunnies, I crossed without any major issues. From there the track was much more difficult to follow. At times there were many contradictory 'pircas' (cannes) and at times there was none because large sections of the mountainside had succumb to the glacial pressure and crumbled, either covering the old markers or just carving out a large steep-sided gullies. The pircas that remained were near impossible to see amongst the landscape of rubble and slate. Nevertheless I made it to my first major obstacle - the inferior glacier. And I did it. I stood on it. Heart pounding in my throat, I could hear the blood surging through my diluted veins, for the fear of falling through to an icy death..
I struggled for two more hours along the gravelly v-shaped gully at the junction between ice and mountain. I stopped many times and wrestled with the idea of turning back. I was in over my head. Inexperienced. Alone. I was scared. And then I was at the lagoon at the foot of the superior glacier, where I had planned to spend the night. According to the map there was a protected spot in this area that I could camp the night, but I searched around and couldn't find anything. So, I had the choice to go back to the last campsite I had seen or push on and try to make it over the pass and down to the frozen lagoon at the edge of the ice field where the next safe campsite was supposedly located. It was 2pm and this next leg was estimated to take 4 hours. The way was very steep and I could see part of the trail carved in the snow where it levelled out high up on the mountain. I pushed on.
I followed a few pircas but quickly reached a dead end. In my haste to beat the night I made the stupid decision to create my own path. I knew roughly where the trail was and that if I climbed up I would eventually cross it. It was very difficult going - steep and gravelly. I had to be very careful not to initiate a landslide - above or below by feet. If a large rock slide from above it could break my leg or pin me and if it fell from below I might not be able to stop myself from tumbling the whole way down. It was impossible to take a step without dislodging something. At one point I dislodge a sizeable boulder and watched it crash down the lagoon below. I looked back a few times and realised how high I was. It was now so steep that I was climbing on all fours. I eventually got myself to position perched on a ledge, clutching the surrounding rock so as not to be shoved backwards by a sudden gust, where I couldn't go any further. I contemplated my options. I was about 500m up the slope, dark clouds were gathering, the wind was building, if I continued and had to turn back a little higher up, the down climb would be much too difficult. The fear got the best of me. I conceded that it was too dangerous and that this was the end of the line. I took some photos, swallowed my pride and bitter disappointment, and turned around.
My return journey was much quicker than that of my ingress. Due to the fatigue, my decisions were a little shady and I resolved to cut straight across the ice as opposed to struggling through the rubble as I had done earlier. It took only 45mins to cross in contrast to the 2 hours in the morning. When I arrived on the Eastern side of the glacier I happened upon a perfect camp spot. An isolated site nestled between a knoll and the edge of the inferior glacier with breath-taking views, the protection wasn't great but sufficient. It was a few kms short of the river crossing (which would be more difficult to cross so late in the afternoon), and the refuge. Consolation prize.
I awoke the next day so sunny weather, an aching body and a renewed drive to achieve my goal. I hiked over the glacier (again) and found the trail I had lost the day before almost straight away. Along with the campsite I had been searching for.. I could only laugh. A few uphill hours later, when I arrived at Paso del Viento, I was greeted with one of the most incredible sights I've ever seen. Campo de Hielo Sur - The Southern Patagonian Icefield. I had a panoramic view of the vast frozen ocean before me, scattered with chucks of rock carved from the sides of mountains and enormous peaks jutting out like waves of solid ice. I could see the flow of the ice all the way from the horizon to the foot of the pass in which I was standing and then down to a glacier and lake to the South, like current the moves inconceivably slow.
I nearly cried. I threw my fists to the sky and shouted at the wind in jubilation. The sense of achievement is something I will never forget. I could barely believe that I had made it to this place. This special, once in a lifetime, place. Reserved only for those with enough drive to push through the mental and physical barriers. I felt so grateful to be among the few to experience this alone. I added a stone to the giant pirca-in-progress, spent some time looking around and playing with the violent winds, ate lunch, marvelled one final time at the raw intense beauty of the nature in front of me, and set off on the Long. Walk. Home.
I set out with the goal of at least seeing and possibly setting foot on the Southern Patagonian Icefield. It was supposed to take four days. I knew bad weather was forecast for day 3 but I always make better time than is estimated for hiking trails. The first 15kms were easy and mostly uneventful. Some great views and I saw a skunk. Then came the river crossing. The water was only knee deep, but fresh off the glacier - maybe 200m. As soon as my feet touched the water they started to ache. Other than nearly loosing my sunnies, I crossed without any major issues. From there the track was much more difficult to follow. At times there were many contradictory 'pircas' (cannes) and at times there was none because large sections of the mountainside had succumb to the glacial pressure and crumbled, either covering the old markers or just carving out a large steep-sided gullies. The pircas that remained were near impossible to see amongst the landscape of rubble and slate. Nevertheless I made it to my first major obstacle - the inferior glacier. And I did it. I stood on it. Heart pounding in my throat, I could hear the blood surging through my diluted veins, for the fear of falling through to an icy death..
I struggled for two more hours along the gravelly v-shaped gully at the junction between ice and mountain. I stopped many times and wrestled with the idea of turning back. I was in over my head. Inexperienced. Alone. I was scared. And then I was at the lagoon at the foot of the superior glacier, where I had planned to spend the night. According to the map there was a protected spot in this area that I could camp the night, but I searched around and couldn't find anything. So, I had the choice to go back to the last campsite I had seen or push on and try to make it over the pass and down to the frozen lagoon at the edge of the ice field where the next safe campsite was supposedly located. It was 2pm and this next leg was estimated to take 4 hours. The way was very steep and I could see part of the trail carved in the snow where it levelled out high up on the mountain. I pushed on.
I followed a few pircas but quickly reached a dead end. In my haste to beat the night I made the stupid decision to create my own path. I knew roughly where the trail was and that if I climbed up I would eventually cross it. It was very difficult going - steep and gravelly. I had to be very careful not to initiate a landslide - above or below by feet. If a large rock slide from above it could break my leg or pin me and if it fell from below I might not be able to stop myself from tumbling the whole way down. It was impossible to take a step without dislodging something. At one point I dislodge a sizeable boulder and watched it crash down the lagoon below. I looked back a few times and realised how high I was. It was now so steep that I was climbing on all fours. I eventually got myself to position perched on a ledge, clutching the surrounding rock so as not to be shoved backwards by a sudden gust, where I couldn't go any further. I contemplated my options. I was about 500m up the slope, dark clouds were gathering, the wind was building, if I continued and had to turn back a little higher up, the down climb would be much too difficult. The fear got the best of me. I conceded that it was too dangerous and that this was the end of the line. I took some photos, swallowed my pride and bitter disappointment, and turned around.
My return journey was much quicker than that of my ingress. Due to the fatigue, my decisions were a little shady and I resolved to cut straight across the ice as opposed to struggling through the rubble as I had done earlier. It took only 45mins to cross in contrast to the 2 hours in the morning. When I arrived on the Eastern side of the glacier I happened upon a perfect camp spot. An isolated site nestled between a knoll and the edge of the inferior glacier with breath-taking views, the protection wasn't great but sufficient. It was a few kms short of the river crossing (which would be more difficult to cross so late in the afternoon), and the refuge. Consolation prize.
I awoke the next day so sunny weather, an aching body and a renewed drive to achieve my goal. I hiked over the glacier (again) and found the trail I had lost the day before almost straight away. Along with the campsite I had been searching for.. I could only laugh. A few uphill hours later, when I arrived at Paso del Viento, I was greeted with one of the most incredible sights I've ever seen. Campo de Hielo Sur - The Southern Patagonian Icefield. I had a panoramic view of the vast frozen ocean before me, scattered with chucks of rock carved from the sides of mountains and enormous peaks jutting out like waves of solid ice. I could see the flow of the ice all the way from the horizon to the foot of the pass in which I was standing and then down to a glacier and lake to the South, like current the moves inconceivably slow.
I nearly cried. I threw my fists to the sky and shouted at the wind in jubilation. The sense of achievement is something I will never forget. I could barely believe that I had made it to this place. This special, once in a lifetime, place. Reserved only for those with enough drive to push through the mental and physical barriers. I felt so grateful to be among the few to experience this alone. I added a stone to the giant pirca-in-progress, spent some time looking around and playing with the violent winds, ate lunch, marvelled one final time at the raw intense beauty of the nature in front of me, and set off on the Long. Walk. Home.
Facebook: Day 1: After nearly turning back several times this was the point at which I did so. I had done about 25kms and was unable to find the campspot that was marked on my map. I had the choice to turn back or try to make it to the next marked campspot. I decided to push on but lost the trail so started to make my own way up this steep gravelly mountain. I dislodged some sizeable boulders while scrambling up the slate and watched them crash to the lagoon below. The clouds looked threatening, the wind was building, and the fact that I was alone and clinging to this ledge wearing a heavy pack finally outweighed my naive desire to reach my destination. I took some photos and began the difficult descent.. I felt happy to have got this far but a little deflated that the mountains had defeated me.
To the left of my ear is where I started to climb my own way from the lagoon.
The valley to the top right of the photo is where I came from that day.
I had to cross that glacier to take this photo, and cross it again to get back to the last refuge I'd seen.
The valley to the top right of the photo is where I came from that day.
I had to cross that glacier to take this photo, and cross it again to get back to the last refuge I'd seen.
The superior glacier (they were a set if two, but I didn't have to cross this one)
Facebook post: Day 2: I woke up to aching legs good weather and a renewed drive. Time for attempt number two. I hiked over the glacier (again) and found the trail I had lost the day before almost straight away. Along with the campsite I had been searching for.. I could only laugh. A few uphill hours later and I was rewarded with this. Paso del Viento (Windy Pass). My panoramic viewpoint of the Southern Patagonian Icefield. I can't properly articulate the intense awe at the incredible landscape and sense of achievement that I experienced when I came over that final rise. Definitely worth continuously pushing through the physical and mental obstacles.
Frozen peaks jutting up through the solid ocean of ice.
Calafate:
Day 31: Rest day.
Day 34: Rest day. Cleaned my bike. Noticed I had a broken spoke. First repair!
Day 35: Hitchhiked with some friendly locals to Glacier Perito Moreno. Finally got to see big chunks of ice falling off a glacier! Went to a rodeo and saw Argentine cowboys.
Day 36: 120kms. 15km climb up to a desert-like plateau with freezing cold wind roaring of the icy peaks to the West. Saw an Armadillo! but it was squashed on the side of the road.. still counts. Then the road to hell began.. The combination of the condition of the road, the cold, the wind and the isolation made for some of the most difficult riding I'd done to date. At the first building in 20kms (a closed police station) I met two Polish cyclists - Marchin and Daria.
Day 37: 45kms. First flat tyre! Worst. Road. Ever. 7hrs with a howling headwind and terrible road conditions. I didn't get out of first gear all day. It snowed. Painful and very cold. 5kms short of the main road (and shelter from the wind) my rear wheel seized..
Although it may look peaceful and warm the freezing wind of this plateau in the Argentinian rain shadow made for some fun and some very difficult riding (depending on the direction of said wind). At one point, one of two things happened. Either it started to snow, or tiny knives started to fall from the sky. I'm pretty sure it was the latter and combined with the screaming crosswind it made for a painful 15mins. This is the place I spent seven hours riding head on into what felt like a tornado, only to achieve 45kms. This is also the place where my rear wheel decided to seize. About 8kms short of the main road. Luckily, just as I started to walk, a few German blokes came by in a ute and gave me a lift to the main drag. I then hitched the next 120kms with a friendly Argentinian (Carlos) to Río Turbio - near the city of Puerto Natales in Chile. When I didn't have enough cash for the only open accomodation we could find, Carlos gave me 100 pesos. What a champion. However, after he drove away the receptionist informed me that she had made a mistake and that she actually didn't have space for me. So with my bike falling to pieces and carrying all my things I struggled down to the immigration office and hitched another ride over the border to Pto Natales. The guards at the border took the sheep skull I had tied to my handlebars..:( The Chilean blokes dropped me at the bike shop in the city where I encountered a nasty old hag who absolutely refused to help me because the mechanic was too busy. When I explained that all I needed was two small springs just so that I could actually move my bike and then I could return tomorrow, she started yelling at me. I swore at her in English and left exhausted, confused and angry, hoping that that was not the only repair shop in town. Once again I gathered all my things and struggled down the road to the first hostel I could find. No space. A little further to another hostel and I dumped all my things and crashed. Longest. Day. Ever.
Day 38: Spent the day chasing my tail trying to fix my bike in Puerto Natales. Met some rad people at 'Erratic Rock' who helped me out a lot. Turns out I need a completely new axel, gear cassette and chain! Bit of a disaster but at least I don't need to hitchhike/bus to Punta Arenas (the next big city).
Day 39/40: resting/figuring out my bike. Tried to go to Torres de Paine National Park but had more bike troubles so had to go back.
Day 41: 75kms. Set off for T del P (again). Found a wild camp with a perfect view of the towers. Watched them change colours during sunset/rise.
Day 42: 13kms. Entered the NP and decided to ride to the first 'refuge' - a big hotel. It wasn't easy. So steep that I wore out my brake pads before I got to the end of the track. That made the last few hills really difficult. Left my bike at the hotel and walked in to 'Campamento Italiano'. Lots of people around.
Torres del Paine:
Due to the very high amount of tourist traffic, the hikes are of the 'follow the highway' sort. So for a bit of adventure and to up the adrenaline a little I decided to go off the beaten track. My plan was to link a public track with a 'guide only' track by forging my own path through the towers. It was incredible. There was a point where I could see that my plan was not possible (without crampons/ice picks/ropes/other people etc) but despite the little voice in my head, I kept pushing. I wanted to get to a certain point so I could look around a rocky peak to see just how difficult it would be. Unfortunately the weather was turning for worse. I was knocked off my feet and a few times I had to literally dive for cover behind some rocks.
The walk to the next campsite was pretty uneventful. A German guy gave me some tea bags. Win.
I woke up early the next day to make the 45min hike to the infamous Towers in time for sunrise. I found the perfect spot to sit with my warm sleeping bag, breakfast and favourite tunes. Stunning.
So my original plan was to cycle from Puerto Montt in Chile to Ushuaia in Argentina. I'm not exactly sure why I chose to take on such a hectic place for my introduction to cycle tourism, but needless to say I learnt quickly and had a crazy awesome adventure. However, once I completed the infamous Carretera Austral (about 1200kms or something) my focused shifted to hiking. I got a taste of the adrenaline when I went out to the Icefield and I want more! I now have a new goal in mind and if I achieve it before Christmas I'll be sure to let you all know. For now, here is a pic of my sunrise breakfast in bed at the Torres Del Paine. More pics to follow via FB.
After breaky I headed down and started to circle around to the back side of the Park. I asked a waiter in one of the upmarket 'refuges' if I could take the leftover toast that people didn't eat from breakfast and he gave me a few slices of fresh stuff for free. Champion!
A long 30km walk to 'Los Perros'. Views of the Icefield, perpetually frozen, high up in the mountains. I want to go there again..
The final challenge for the Park was the hike through Paso John Gadner. Known to be a unpredictable and a little dangerous at times it is recommended to attempt in a group. So of course I went alone. I had no trouble apart from wandering off the official path for a few hundred meters. I found a hidden, slightly protected spot on the other side of the pass, with views of the huge Glacier Grey, and sat to have 'mate' (tea) and chocolate.
As mentioned in the above FB post, somewhere along the line I became more interested in solo trekking than achieving my initial goal of reaching Ushuaia by bicycle. I had heard of a trail called 'El Circuito de los Dientes de Navarino' (The Teeth of Navarino Circuit) - the most southern hike in the world, apart from Antarctica. It was located on the Chilean island of Navarino. It was designed by an Aussie. It had some serious obstacles. And I had my heart set firmly on it.
So rather than continuing to ride south to Ushuaia, I decided to take a bus to Punta Arenas so that I would have the time to attempt the hike. When I arrived, all flights to the island were booked for a week so I asked the 'hospedaje' I was staying in if I could do some work in exchange for a bed and food. I ended up having a great time (including a few killer bbq's) with Seabass, Marisol, Josh and Tank. I look forward to the day that I return to that part of the world. Very cool people.
Considering the extreme location of the trek I was about to attempt I was prepared for some extreme weather to match. My battle with the elements began before I even arrived at the island. My flight was delayed 24hrs due to strong winds (aka a normal day in Patagonia). On the plus side I met Cecilia at the airport. She is the owner of a hostel/refugio on the island and is incredibly friendly. She was very patient with my dodgy spanish and offered to help me get a flight home (I was booked on a ferry which was much more expensive).
The following day I finally arrived on the island keen to get going. Cecilia gave me a lift into town and invited me over for breakfast. As the sky darkened and the rain started to fall, I considered staying inside that night and beginning the circuit the next morning. As I was on my way to the hostel, the little voice in my head got the best of me. Why was I taking the easy way out? I came here for a challenge right? I turned around and headed for the foothills..
Four or five hours later I arrived at the first safe camping spot - a beautiful icy lagoon surrounded on one side by lush green foothills and the other side by high cliffs, wet from the melting snow above. I met a bunch of young Israeli blokes on the trail and we chatted for a while. As night fell and I started to organise a warm dinner I remembered that I had forgotten to buy a can of gas in the town before I left. Shit.
Facebook post:
I was so excited to get amongst the mountains that in my haste I forgot to buy a gas bottle. 'All good' I thought, 'I'll just have to cook on a fire'. Slightly more convoluted but entirely possible. Then, on day 2, while musing about nothing of particular value, my mind stumbled across the memory of the afternoon prior to departing Punta Arenas... when I had broken my lighter... Expletives were uttered. Or to put it more accurately I yelled 'Fuck' numerous times, dumbfounded, and amused at my shortsightedness. At that stage I collected a few flint-looking rocks in the hope I might be able to achieve fire using just my wits. Luckily, when I arrived at Refugio Lago Windhond some generous traveller had left behind a small amount of gas (enough to boil water a handful of times) and some matches. I took the gas and used a match to light a fire for that afternoon. In exchange I left some tea bags and a shitload of firewood. The system works.
What do you do when you're alone at the end of the world, two days walk from town? Get naked and think about life of course. And then go swimming.
The Refuge.
It was like being on the moon.
However, when I arrived at the treacherous cornice, I was a little let down. The down-climb was indeed very steep and slippery, but the perilous pass itself had melted sufficiently to allow ample walking space on the rock as opposed to the snow. One slightly tricky point was accomplished without a hitch and I was on my way again. Happy, nevertheless, that I didn't have to turn around.
After struggling for hours through slushy marshes and muddy slopes I arrived here, the final pass of the circuit, with amazing weather, rare far reaching views and a strong sense of achievement. I 'ummed' and 'ahhed' about setting up camp for an hour. Tossing up the rarity of such perfect conditions at such a mind-blowing site, and the risks of overstaying my welcome. I hadn't planned on an extra stop so was running very low on supplies. I paced back and forth, changing my mind every 30 seconds, until finally I decided this was a chance too exceptional to pass up. I could survive the next day on just a small breakfast. I was very close to the valley leading to the main road, so I reasoned that the worst that could happen would be that I would be very wet and cold for a few hours. I built a wall, pitched the tent and spent the remainder of the day revelling in the sheer untamed beauty of the country in which I found myself, incredulous that I had, in fact, found myself there. A place reserved only for the adventurous and sometimes the lucky. A place reserved just for me.I awoke at 4am with the first light of the following morning. I poked my head outside to be certain I hadn't dreamt the previous day and saw, to my dismay, the lights of Ushuaia to the North and a huge dark wall of clouds beyond that. Some seriously bad weather was on it's way. 10mins later after packing all my things, I turned to check on the incoming storm and could no longer see Ushuaia. It was on it's way fast. The freezing wind was building. So I ran. Minutes later, just over the precipice of the valley the snow started falling hard. I was able to make a quick descent to the lagoon below where I was a little protected from the wind and the snow turned to rain. From there I relaxed a little and made the long, wet hike back down to Puerto Williams. It was longer than expected due to the fact that about a km short of the main road I lost the trail and just made my own way. Later that afternoon I was sitting on a Punta Arenas bound plane, head still spinning from the experience. It was an adventure on par with that that I made to the Icefield. One that I won't soon forget.
When I arrived back to the hostel I got a few surprises - Jennifer (a rad chick met earlier) was back in the hostel, and Marisol very generously took over my shifts so that I could go on a 'trade cruise' with Seabass and Josh. What a champion!! So off we went, three 'rock star pirates', on a two night cruise around Cabo de Hornos - the most southern point of mainland South America.
