Torres del Paine- Q Circuit

The bus pulled into Puerto Natales, Chile around ten. I checked into the first hostel I came across. It advertised in the window, ¨Don´t worry, we speak good English¨. A greasy haired man showed me to a cramped attic room where dirty old mattresses were stacked along the wall. The room was alive with bed bugs, so I slept on top of the comforter fully clothed with my hair stuffed tightly into a stocking cap.

The transition from Argentina to Chile was riddled with unique difficulties. Changing currencies, for instance, required adopting a new dollar conversion into my financial sense. At the moment, the American dollar is worth 616 Chilean pesos. 6000 pesos buys a night in a flea infested bed. The first day in a new financial scheme, using different money, always turns out to be expensive. The wad of unfamiliar bills looks like Monopoly money in the palm. It is spent with the same frivolous disregard. Unfortunately, there is no Monopoly man handing out 200 pesos after passing go.

The next morning I attended a free information session about hiking in Torres del Paine- the reason I came to Puerto Natales. The Chilean national park is two and a half hours north of Natales. Only recently, in the last twenty years, Torres del Paine was nationalized and turned into a park. Its famed towers (Torres del Paine) draw climbers and trekkers from around the world to test themselves in wild Patagonia. There are three trekking options in Torres del Paine. The ¨W¨ takes about four days, leading through the premier attractions of the park. The W is a hike most readily taken by softfooted tourists who want to do little more then see the park for the day. The next option is the Circuit. The Circuit leads around the park, ends with the W, and takes about seven days. Then there is the Q- considered by local guides as the ultimate Torres del Paine trek.

The ¨Q¨ is the longest trek in the Patagonia Andes. It runs 85.4 miles (140 km) through Torres del Paine. Depending on the weather, the Q can take up to ten days. The trek begins at the southernmost entrance of the park. Beginning here requires a long hike into the depths of the park. Eventually, the trail meets the W. While hiking the W, daily sidetrecks are made to various miradors (lookouts). After passing through the W, the trail picks up the Circuit leading around the backside of the park. One guide described the Q as a true baptism by fire in Patagonia. I was sold.

Earlier in the day, I met an Israeli named Sagiv. He also planned to hike the Q. Park officials nearly forbid doing the Q alone, so we decided to tackle it together. While shopping for supplies, I learned the Sagiv recently finished his military service as an officer. This was intimidating information. Israeli soldiers are molded into marching machines during their service. Rallied by the camaraderie of their troop, boys are transformed into solid men of startling physical endurance. This fact was partially confirmed when I commented to Sagiv that buying cans of tuna might be unwise due to the added weight. He responded, ¨Don't worry, I am good with weights.¨ He then went on to describe how he use to carry heavy drums of water for hours on end. I thought to myself, Shit, the only canned liquids I have carried in the last two years were 12 ounces- and they got lighter the longer I carried them.
Standing well above six feet tall, Sagiv is built like a soldier. With broad shoulders, he looks like he swam the butterfly his whole life. Short black hair runs narrowly past his ears and opens up into a well kempt beard. His brow relays a certain seriousness while his even smile reveals an inherent innocence . He walks with a deliberate gate and looks me in the eye when he speaks.
The next morning we threw our packs on the bus, and took the three hour ride to the southeastern entry to the park . This was to be the hardest day. The trek spanned 24 km, and we were doing it with full packs . In addition to my tent, sleeping bag, four jackets, cooking gear, a two liter camel pack, medical kit, and a set of dry clothes, I had an eight day food supply in my pack . This supply consisted of 1500 grams of pasta, 540 grams of soup powder, 47 granola bars, five bags of raisins, five bags of nuts, two bags of dried apples, two sausages, a kilogram bag of instant oatmeal, a bag of cookies, and a jar of cherry preserve.
After yanking our straps tightly and making our packs a extensions to our bodies, we set out on the trail. Sagiv instinctively took the lead and set the pace. Across planes of high, swaying grass, we cruised with fast, long strides into the depths of the park. I stayed right on Sagiv´s heals, and even stole the lead at times to let him draft off me. A strong, constant head wind pelted horizontal rain into our faces.

Patagonia is not especially dangerous. There are few poisonous insects. Most of the water is drinkable. All the berries are edible. The weather is what makes Patagonia wild. Torres del Paine is the premier theater to experience this phenomenon.
Wind is constant. It gusts in overpowering waves, and without mercy. During the information session, the guide told a story of a female climber who was blown twenty feet in the air when clinging to her tent in a gust. Last year a hiker was killed when the wind pushed him off a cliff while taking a picture. The wind can kick up golf ball size rocks, and can blind trekkers by whipping pack straps into their eyes. The wind whips weather through the park. Someone once said , ¨If you don´t like the weather in Patagonia, wait five minutes.¨ In a matter of an hour it can rain, hail, even snow- then be completely sunny. The guide advised us to wear one quick dry outfit when hiking - no jackets; no gortex; no fleeces. Changing for the weather takes too much time. ¨If you get cold¨, he said. ¨Just hike faster.¨ That is exactly what we did: hiked fast.

We did the first section of the day´s trek in three and a half hours. The guide books say that it should take five hours. Some trekkers do it in six. We did it in three and a half- hiking straight into the wind and the rain, up hills, down valleys. We took two five minute breaks to wolf down a granola bar or two. A short paragraph of dialogue was exchanged between the two of us. The next push was to take three hours from Camp Paine Grande to Camp Italiano. I realized later, that doing this shaved a day off the entire trek. Those hours were utter agony. I retreated ten meters behind Sagiv who hiked at the same pace as when we started. I no longer admired his endurance, I loathed it. I was in bootcamp with G.I. Jew.

Into the second hour, my body screamed in pain. I maintained the ten meter gap from Sagiv, but only barely. Soon I became delirious with pain and exhaustion. I retreated another five meters to Sagiv so I could scream horrendous profanities into the wind. Anger is exacerbated when there is no one, or thing to pin it on. I was mad because the camp was never around the next bend. When I realized it was not valid to be mad, my anger gradually gave way to a sense of brokenness. I found my boundary. But I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I forced my mind passed the barrier and began to rally my body for the last push. Come on kid. You got a little more. Push it. Push it. Push it. Seconds before I was about to collapse, tents came in to sight.

I threw off my pack, but there was no relief from the pain. My body hurt more without the weight. It began to rain again. I needed to set up my tent as quickly as possible, and do so correctly so it would stand up to the wind. My body was a wreck. Dehydrated, famished, and entirely exhausted, I moaned aloud unknowingly. Hearing this, a nearby hiker asked if I needed help. I did not respond. I could not respond. My teeth were too tightly clenched to let words form. Each minor difficulty with the tent flared intense frustration within me. Finally it was up. I unrolled my sleeping mat half way, and collapsed face first with my booted feet hanging out the tent. We did the seven hour, 25.1 km trek in five hours. I felt accomplished and defeated all in the same moment.

At camp we learned that a recent warm front caused a glacier to shift and melt faster. This increased run-off flooded the rivers. One of the rivers washed away a foot bridge and made the trail unpassable. We decided to camp at Italiano an extra night and do an alternative side trek on that extra day. Our hope was that a couple cold nights would reduce the flow of the river and make it wadable.

Two days later we happily received word that the night frost quelled some of the run-off and the river´s strength was reduced. We awoke at 6:30, cooked a quick meal, packed up our gear, and were on the trail by eight.

Despite my desire to slow my pace, I continued to follow closely behind Sagiv. I could not shake my quasi-competitive nature. This resulted in another laborious day. We shaved 30 minutes off the first two hour section. The next leg was five hours- we did it in four. The terrain was uphills, and down into valleys- over and over and over. The only relief was on level ground, and this was always brief. We learned later that the day´s difficulty was partly due to the fact that we hiked the horse path, rather than the hiking one.

Sagiv proved to be an excellent trekker. He constantly read the trail looking for small indications of the best route. I attributed this skill to his military experience. At one point he stopped and laughed out look. Alarmed by this unexpected lighthearted moment, I asked him what was funny. ¨Look here¨, pointing to the dirt. ¨Someone is wearing the same boot as me.¨ I was struck by the fact that he was literally analyzing foot prints on the long, exhausting trail. But he was right, the tracks matched. Each day, my admiration for Sagiv grew.

The last hour of the day was much like that of the first day, my body began to waver and I found myself swearing again. At one point, I exclaimed a particularly nasty combination of vulgarity that stopped Sagiv in his tracks. Hoping he did not think it was directed to him, which it wasn¨t , I forced a smile and told him I was having water bottle issues.
We entered camp- Sagiv literally running, me pinballing from tree to tree. My face pulsated red. My hair was sopping wet to the ends. Miserable pain again.

The next morning we woke at 4 am. Torrential rain beat on my tent. We forced ourselves out from the warmth of our sleeping bags, back into out damp, sweat stained clothes, and then out into the rain. We were camped 45 minutes below the iconic towers of the park, Los Torres. Part of the trek´s tradition is to wake up early, and catch the sunrise at Torres. Not wanting to break tradition, we climbed with headlamps up slick rocks and through flooded streams. After an hour, we made it to the top. Huddled along a big boulder we waited for the sun. I had wisely packed a change of warm clothes and foul weather gear. Protected by the gear, I contently sat in the rain while Sagiv shivered violently. The sun never came. Only illuminated white fog caught the morning light and hid the peaks from view. We slowly retreated back to our tents to catch a few more hours sleep before getting on with the day.

Later in the morning we returned to Torres, where it was brilliantly clear and beautiful. The four towers extended up like calloused fingers, tickling the cloud streaked sky. Warm rays illuminated the almond hue of their shear faces. Snow at its base quietly melted into trickling streams that fed into an aquamarine lake below. The scene was very different than that of the morning.

After spending an hour or so below the towers, we returned to camp, packed up our gear, and hit the trail. Our next stop was Seron. The trail would take us out of the W and on to the Circuit. This was the turning point for me. I felt significantly stronger. While the pains continued in my feet and back, I learned to distance them from my mind. The pace of my breathing became more measured and consistent. My stride felt powerful, and I no longer slumped over the trail. With head lifted and back straight, I met my surroundings for the first true time.

The nature of the trek changed dramatically. It became a process of cleansing my body. The previous day`s pains and exhaustion were due to all the impurities I had been putting into my body for so long. Hiking hard with a heavy pack forced my body to shed the impurities that caked my interior for so long. This trek became an opportunity to purge out the bad from my body, and glean a healthier self. With this thinking, I embraced the pain. Pain was part of the process. I was born anew.

We trekked along happily until the trail was eaten up by a flooded river. We were forced to wade through the frigid hip deep water. Failing to see the depth change in the murky water, both Sagiv and I fell in up to our shoulders. Our earlier happiness was swiftly diminished. The path crept out of the water and we swashed miserably in our boots. Our only comfort was the thought of the camp site ahead. It was to be our first night at a paid campsite. There was a refugio on the grounds. We both conjured up fantasies of what it was going to be like. Soaking wet, sloshing in my boots, I relished in the thought that it was free pizza night at the campsite and big breasted women would be serving cold Coronas to the campers. When we got to the campsite, we were equally overjoyed to find that it had a shower with warm water.

The pure enjoyment of the simple things in life was another gift of this trek. Living outdoors, life is stripped to the basics. Dry shoes, a warm meal, a cold drink of water, a good sleep, all became luxuries of the highest standard. In this simplified life, the body and mind function as they should. True clarity is attainable.

Each day`s trek led us through magical landscapes that stoked the imagination. Walking through dense forests of ancient alacers, we debated over who was the best mythical character. I offered that elves appealed to me because of their skill with a bow, their ability to walk on top of snow, and their eternal youth. Sagiv said he would want to be a centaur. ¨They are noble warriors¨, he argued. ¨You just want to be hung like a horse¨, I joked. I was still unsure how Israelis took crude humor. Sagiv chuckled for my benefit.

The sixth night we each cooked up big dinners with most of our remaining proteins. I boiled up 500 grams of meat filled raviolis, then added a turkey soup to the mix which turned the pasta into a sticky paste. I fried up some sausage chunks, and poured them in to the pasta, grease and all. We were loading our body with carbs and proteins for the big day to come.

The next morning, we packed up and headed out for the John Garner Pass. The pass, apparently named after the gringo hiker who first ascended it, is the highest point on the circuit. Blistering winds and unpredictable weather make it a difficult climb. If it rains, descending the back side can prove to be highly treacherous. The grey morning hinted to bad weather to come, but with our stuff packed, we were committed to the ascent.

The first section of the hike brought us over uneven gravel fields that paralleled a creeping, grey river. Every now and again the trail would dip below the tree line and we would get brief relief from the howling wind and spitting rain. Mountains surrounded us and we hypothesized which beast we would have to climb for the pass. Over time the trail ascended more vertical. Soon we were at the foot of the climb. We took a few minutes huddled behind a big boulder to chew up some trail mix and get a little sugar rush for the trek ahead. Peaking over the rock, I saw a line of eight backpacks creeping up the pass. This added an additional obstacle. There was no doubt in my mind that we were going to pass them on the narrow trail. Sagiv and I hiked like wolves. Anyone else on the trail were sheep that we were going to overtake and put in our wake. We had no malicious intentions. We just hiked faster than most (except of course for other wolves). Most days we were the last out of camp, and the first to the next.

We cruised up the pass with suspiring ease. Passing the summit marker, the profound scene of Glacier Grey came into view on the other side of the pass. From our elevated vantage point, Grey was more impressive than Argentina`s famed glacier Perito Moreno. It filled the expanse of our gaze, and met mountains in the distance.

We made the long descent down the backside of the pass, and pushed for another four hours to camp. This was our last night in Torres del Paine.

While I was in desperate need of a long hot shower and a proper meal, the departure from the park was bittersweet. After eight days trekking and seven nights camping, I was a junkie for the hiker´s high. Surrounded by some of the most profound nature in the world, endorphins overflowing, I was hooked. I came to Torres del Paine as an unhealthy drinker and smoker who harbored unfounded fantasies of being an outdoorsman. I was leaving purged of addictions, healthy, powerful and one with nature.

* Note to family: I am getting on a bus today (1-29) to go to Puenta Arenas, Chile, then (1-30) I am taking a bus to Rio Gallegos, Argentina, then (1-31) I will take a bus back to Bariloche. I plan to go back into Chile via Bariloche. I will call before I do so. I love you.