Chilean Patagonia

Puerto Natales sucks.

It is essentially the basecamp for those going to Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, which is the role it played for us as well. Parque Nacional Torres del Paine is considered by some the best park in all of South America. Because of this it is not only expensive, but full of tourists, especially during the high season of January and February. Things that are touristy and expensive are the antithesis of what we are looking for on our trip, so we decided to skip it and move on. Luckily, there was one person who wouldn´t let us give up on the Torres.

Eduardo was a tall, softspoken man with about 12 teeth. He owned a small, quiet hostel in the center of Puerto Natales and lived in the room behind the kitchen with his dog. When we told him that we were leaving without going to see the Torres, he would not have it. He took us downstairs to the map he had on his wall and showed us a trail that went along the border of the park, where we could see the Torres just as well, if not better, trek for free, and not run into anyone. We owe the adventure that we had the following couple of days to him.

Hitching out of Puerto Natales, Haukur forgot something back in town and we had to split up into two groups. It was then that Pétur and I were picked up by Cristian, the construction manager of the luxurious, and very expensive, new hotel right outside the park. He had been a guide in the area before and knew of the trail we were to take. If it wasn´t for him we would never have found the trail.

The trail started, to our dismay, on the other side of a river that was too deep to cross with our packs. Cristian left us on the riverfront at two abandoned police huts where we could sleep for the night and gave us some whiskey to keep us warm.

The river became a much smaller problem when we found an old, half flooded boat, though, after crossing things did not get any easier. Due to the previous week of rain the river had flooded and after a half-mile our trail was underwater. We checkd the map and found that in another mile the trail doubled towards the south and if we crossed over the mountains we could intercept it.

The mountains, we realized when we were halfway up, were covered in waist-high thorn bushes. Four hours later, atop a peak, with a full panoramic view of the magnificince of the Torres, our legs, our hope, and Pétur´s feet destroyed, we were about to give up when Haukur and I went to take a piss and realized that we were peeing on a trail. We picked up our packs and headed south into the forest.

To this day we have no idea if the trail we followed was the one on the map. As we walked we continued to lose it due to it´s infrequent use, and three hours into the woods it disappeared completely. To our right was a small lake, to our left a steep downgrade into a valley, and ahead nothing but thicket. We couldn´t even figure out where we were on the map. We were lost in the Chilean backcountry.

The icelanders wanted to go into the valley.
"If we just head south we have to end up somewhere, right?"
I was against this idea, knowing how easy it is to get lost in a forest. They don´t even have trees in Iceland and our navagating skills were obviously less than stellar. Much arguing ensued but we decided to set camp and stay by the lake for the night, and to return from whence we came in the morning.

The next day, we followed the trail back and found where it came out of the flooded area. There was a small refuge located twenty feet into the water. It was a dilapidated piece of shit. Upon inspection we found two small bedframes and an old wooden stove. The catch was the foot of freezing water that covered the floor. Discussion as to sleep in it or not turned into a nap next to the river. When I woke Haukur was gone. He returned, in his underwear, shoeless, his legs beat red. He had gone exploring, through the water, and found a house. Not the shanty that we had looked in earlier, but a legitamate house.

The house, we could see through the trees, was situated beyond 200 feet of glacier water. After twenty feet we couldn´t feel our legs. The door was shut, but we found it unlocked. Our one floor heaven was completely dry, having been built on stilts. It had an entrance roon, a full kitchen and a bedroom with two beds. Nothing worked but there were portable stoves and gas to spare. We cooked a proper dinner and passed the night in the warmth of candlelight.

The sky was cloudless. The stars came out, doubled by their reflection off the steel grey water. For one night we had our own private island.