The Diaries of Torres Del Paine (Part 4)

Signs, Torres Del Paine
3/2, Day 3

The sound of the plastic trash bag crumpling outside. I shake the tent, the noise stops. Grey morning light, cold, cold and a stiff neck. The noise starts again. An intruder at the campsite -- a little critter scurrying, likely eating Sunny Sabado crumbs.

In the cocoon shaped sleeping bag, the morning is spent making pb&raspberry rolls while listening to Jose Gonzales´ Teardrops, a cover song (Massive Attack) which was also heard in a café in town.

After breaking down camp and loading it onto my back, I’m off to Camp Italiano where I’ll leave my backpack and hike up Valley Frances before returning to pick up my bag and continuing to Camp Cuernos.

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Along the way -- catapillar crossings and bug burials, the trickling of creeks and the thunderous sound of glaciers calving in the distance.











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At Lake Nordenskjold’s pebble strewn shore, I unclip the hip belt and let my backpack fall on the ground. I comb the shore for smooth flat rocks and take to skipping them in the water; each lands with one plunk. Afterwards, I lay on the rocky shore in the position of Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man and watch the clouds while listening to Stina Nordenstam´s Little Star.





The strong wind blows the clouds into quickly changing forms. For all the questions that dance in my head, I ask for a sign. Paying close attention to the clouds, I try to decipher a message, to make shapes, but nothing comes to mind. Like the rock-skipping, I let go of the pursuit and instead just watch the clouds, especially the little one with the rainbow lining.



The little rainbow cloud joins with the bigger cloud. I think that was the inadvertent sign – to stop trying to figure things out, that things just come together.

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I finally made it to Cuernos. Every so often a sign would pop up – 1hr more, 30 mins more. The more signs, the more a reminder of almost. I would have preferred no signs; not relying on signs makes me more reliant on Faith.


After surveying the campsite, I found some wood planks down by the creek and carried them to a muddy and uneven spot that overlooks the lake. The fellow charging for the campsite didn’t make me pay. He offered me a cerveza. I said, ´no thanks, I’d prefer a horse´.

This evening’s reading – Campsite hygiene and food preservation.