The Diaries of Torres Del Paine (Part 6)

In the Backyard, Torres Del Paine
3/4, Day 5

00:12 – it’s only midnight
02:30 – nope, not yet, neck, ouch
05:00 – neck, ouch. Yes, 30 more mins
06:06 – missed the alarm, cold, neck, get up, get up

Stars like needle points are scattered in the sky. Reflective silver bands on neighboring tents glare. No bright dots signifying flashlights are seen. Has everyone begun the ascent to the lookout point? (Later I learn that my watch was set an hour in advance.)

I stuff the sleeping bag into my empty backpack and with the expedition team and toe warmers, we set off.

Grateful for my headlamp, I walk towards bright points -- reflective strips on rocks and trees. Later, the reflective strips are replaced by orange circles, difficult to find. Crawling up a cluster of boulders and steep rocks, something feels wrong. In the distance, dots of light bounce up and down. Following the lights, I find the trail again.

In an effort to pack light, I’ve left behind the water bottle. At the sound of water trickling, I kneel down and slurp cold water from running streams. The wind is blowing from different angles.

Up a steep sandy slope, up large boulders, up and further up, I finally join a cluster of headlamps and flashlights at the viewing point. Before an audience stands the two granite monoliths of Torres del Paine.

In the sleeping bag heated by toe warmers, the Expedition Team and I listen to music and wait for the sunrise.


views upon arrival









*
Back at the camp, I break down the tent, pack, eat cereal bars, and prepare for the last leg of the journey.

*
Rocks are glistening, the valley shrouded in a misty haze. It’s raining as I walk downhill, and the sun is shining. While listening to the last of the ipod juice, a skip joins my walk, a sideways bob to the head, a swinging to the wooden trekking poles. An interruption to this rhythm occurs when I fall face-first toward the mud, the weight of my backpack slides up over my head, trekking poles flung somewhere. The easiest part of the trek and the first time I fall. An old woman hiking upward witnesses this and cracks up.





With mud smudged hands, I continue, past the valley of the horses, the grassy fields, and blowing dandelion seeds.




a resting place for the trekking poles

*

On the bus ride back to town, tall green grasses seem to shudder against the blowing wind, a group of guanacos are grazing.

Today’s contemplation, "... and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."
- T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding






… at the moment, Happy House (Santiago, Chile)
sitting at the long dining room table at Happy House Hostel (chosen for the name), I’ve just finished a roll of thin mint girl scout cookies. Now to transfer this onto a pen drive and find internet connection. I love my big sister.