The Expedition Team - Reactions (Torres Del Paine)

Ninja Turtle
Had strong reservations against his assigned task of mosquito-killing. While quoting Ghandi, "an eye for an eye and the world goes blind", he was unwaivering in his refusal to comply. After a long debate, we came to a compromise -- it was agreed that for every two mosquitoes bites, one would be killed, therefore offseting the ratio. The results, 8 mosquito bites, 2deaths.

Sharki E. Thrash
Acquired land-sickness. He walked in zig-zagged lines and was tossed around by the wind. He wasn't feeling well and asked to not have his photo taken during these times.

Tintin
Due to the lack of showers for 5 days, acquired a condition -- brown nose. He's quite disturbed by this and more disturbed that his picture is posted in this entry.


Monkey
Tried to crawl out of my pocket.





...at the moment, San Pedro de Atacama, Chile
oops, should have posted this entry before the last. Anyhow, got water and am happy :)

in the waiting line

* this entry from 3/8 *
In the Waiting Line, Los Glaciares National Park, Argentina

Perito Moreno Glacier, a massive crack like nearby thunder, the sound lingers. Full pillars of ice, their weight crumbling in on themselves, collapsing into the lake below. And behind them, new pillars of ice stand in line.








Andean Condor

Perito Moreno is considered to be among the small percentage of glaciers that is not retreating, advancing up to 2meters per day. With all the noise being made about global warming and the retreating of glaciers and collapsing of ice shelves, despite the controversy of whether this is anthropogenically induced, a majority of glaciers are still on death row.

An hour bus ride back to El Calafate, the sun sets outside the window, and in its place rises the moon.

*

A walk from the bus station to the hostel, with hands in pockets, I stop by the market. At the checkout line, vegetables and a roll of cookies slide slowly down the conveyer belt. An unlikely song is playing in the background.

Later that evening from the Hostel’s dorm room, there is a view through the neighboring house’s window. Inside, illuminated by a warm orange glow, someone is being swung – back and forth – in a hammock.


...at the moment, San Pedro De Atacama, Chile
at a warm and stuffy internet hub. My mouth and nostrils are dry. I want water, but that requires me to get up and buy some... okay.. getting up.

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.

The Diaries of Torres Del Paine (Part 5)

Forks in the Road, Torres Del Paine
3/3, Day 4

Today is the long day – 20 some kilometers with a good portion of the route uphill. Two big bars of chocolate have sacrificed themselves and abandoned ship at Cuernos to lessen the weight. I’m on the road by 9am giving me at least 12 hrs of daylight to get to Campamento Torres at the base of Torres del Paine.

*


forks in the road

Munching and the pulling of plants. Horses with sleek bodies and whisking tails, they block the path with mouths to the ground. I have a newfound respect for horses and those who willingly give piggy-back rides.





*

Uphill -- tiny steps and frequent stops to bend over, allowing the weight of my backpack to shift from off my shoulders. I’ve come up with a road march song -- it consists of curse words and numbers.






Trees hanging on

*

Round 6:30ish, scrambling up a sheer rock, I threw my wooden trekking poles like javelins up the slope and held onto tree roots and branches, the wide river rushing below.

Getting here -- A sign, with arrows pointing in opposite directions, interrupts the trail. While pondering options, a passing fellow warns me in Spanish, Do not take that route. It is an old road and dangerous because of a big rock. Follow this one instead. He points towards the trees on the other side of the river. Thanking him, I continue to ponder with skepticism, and wait to see what direction passing trekkers take. Most everyone veers to the left in the way of the old road. I follow the majority and indeed encounter the dangerous rock.

*









The freaking JOY. I’ve changed my mind about signs. Yay signs!

Upon arrival, I see a familiar face – the fellow who warned of the rock. Turns out, he´s a park ranger.

Camp is built just before nightfall. A big soup, the remains of the last chocolate bar, nice conversations with neighboring campers and it’s bedtime.


getting better at this building a tent thing, tonight´s abode comes with a walkway.

This evening’s reading – understand the concepts of this book beforehand and leave it at home.

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.

*

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











*

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.

*

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.

The Diaries of Torres Del Paine (Part 3)

Catapillar Crossings, Torres Del Paine
3/1, Day 2

Happy March. Having lunch on a viewpoint just off the trail that overlooks Grey Glacier. Next time I will pack less and add more nuts to the Sunny Sabado trail mix. That's what's nice about next time. First time's to screw it all up and the next times are to get it right.

Last night, through Gortex and fleece and a cacoon shaped sleeping bag, a Mosquito managed to bite a trail across my left scapula. Ninja Turtle has been assigned the task of Mosquito hunting.


cold morning

*

3.5hrs = 5hrs for me, so 5hr = roughly 11km, 7.6 km level trail takes 2.5hrs, roughly 3.15hrs, Italiano closed, Valley Frances one way in & out, most likely injury - muscle strain or being knocked over by wind, 11 X 5.5 to Valley Frances, get to Cuernos by nightfall and backtrack following day, no no only moving forward, eat chocolate so heavy, water refill in approx 20minutes, take a break then, Expedition Team - check, Monkey - check.

Calculations. I've forgotten to look up. These concerns about the what-ifs and whens and where-tos. I've forgotten about the catapillars, the flowing creeks, and sunshine.

It's decided -- I don't care if do the W, the U, or the slanted line, if I stay in the park 1 or 8 days -- I'm going to enjoy the catapillar crossings.



*


waterfall refills








weather chart near Pehoe Lake

*

The wind howls in spurts. It makes the zippers in the tent jingle. I'm writing with gloved fingers and drinking hot mint tea. Earlier, in a wooden room where campers used their stoves protected from the strong winds, I met a French couple who have been travelling the world for nearly a year. They shared their tattered bag of sandwich bread to others at the table, light reflecting off their kind eyes.

This evening’s reading – water. Without water, life expectancy is measured at 2.5days in 120°F and 12 days in 70°F.


Campgrounds beaneath the massive granite peaks of Cerro Paine Grande (approx 10,000 feet).


To prevent a tent-kite episode, big rocks were placed in and on the tent at all times until constructed.

The Diaries of Torres Del Paine (Part 2)

Ode to the Ant, Torres Del Paine
2/28, Day 1

On the bus, the sun still climbing upward. Goosebumps prick my legs, whether it's the chilly morning or nerves is unsure.

Jagged granite towers -- snow and cloud capped -- grace the scenery at the entrance of the park. Passport numbers and entry fees are given to the uniformed man. The bus continues some thirty minutes to where passengers can be deposited near the catamaran. Tall green grasses shudder against the blowing wind, a group of guanacos are grazing.

The bus stops near the milky, emerald-blue Lake Pehoe. I collect my backpack and walk towards a clearing where trekkers are waiting for the boat said to arrive in one hour's time.

A huge burst of wind hits. It feels like I’ve been shoved from behind. A moment later, the wind has subsided, but I can't move. Is the wind really this strong? Turns out my tent sack's cord got wrapped around a wooden beam. The wind starts up again. It lifts mist off Lake Pehoe. It looks like a wide cloud stampeding towards me. Tied to the wooden beam, the thought occurs, what the hell was I thinking?

On board the Catamaran, the ride over Lake Pehoe feels like a miniature version of the Drake Passage. Some twenty or so minutes later, passengers are deposited at the west end, and starting or ending point for the popular “W” trail.

While walking up the ramp I pass a long line of dirt-stained, greasy-haired, and armpit-smelling people.

Before starting the trail, I have a heart-to-heart with the Expedition Team. It’s explained that no one can get injured, because we can’t carry each other. We hug, high-five, and take off on the 5-day, 70km trek.

*

Some twenty minutes later -
Sitting on a boulder, rubbing my shoulders, and eating Sunny Sabado mix.

*

Sometime later -
Ants are my idols.

*

Some 5.5 hours later.

The pitter-patter of soft rainshowers on the tent tarp. Inside, drinking hot mint tea in the sleeping bag with the Expedition Team, legs slanted. At the opposite end of the tent is a hump -- a big rock is underneath.

The hike here was not so easy - up rocky hills, down steep slopes, cross rivers, bridges, windy passes, light rain, muddy terrain, forested areas, and hills. As I inched upwards, middle aged folks, with huge bags and trekking poles, briskly passed by, "hola" they'd say with ease and cheerful tone.

Alas, an arrival at Refugio Grey, a campground near the massive dirt encrusted Glacier Grey. Lake Grey, studded with blue floating ice broken from off the glacier, borders the campground.




With the company of the Expedition Team we boiled water, drank warm soup, and when it got cold, we went into the tent.




the joy - a roof over the head and building my first tent

This Evening's Reading - SAS Survival Handbook, J. Wiseman
"Even more important is the will to survive...without this, this book is useless.."


Took a photo of this pretty flower. According the reading, Foxglove is poisonous.



...at the moment, Hostel Palahnuk?
It hit in the middle of the night, this wave of illness that had me sprinting for the bathroom throughout the night and today. Suspected culprit -- cheese or fruit. With muscle aches and nausea, I'm waiting for Mo's flight to arrive.