Venture into the wilderness?

I´ve spent the last four days in the Chilean national Park, Torres del Paine, and am now sitting here with aching legs and tired brain.

Before setting off for the bus I had to decide whether to camp or to stay in the "refugios" which range from relatively plush cabins to simple huts. After much serious cogitation, I decided that I was incapable of messing around with pegs and camp stoves and so opted to stay in the refugios. Little did I know how expensive they were to be. The average refugio costs around 20,000 chilean pesos, the equivalent of four nights stay in a basic hostel. That meant that the 70,000 pesos that I had taken out of the bank accound would only last me three nights. And that meant that I had to complete the "W" trek in a record-breaking three days; hence the sore legs.

After hunting around in search of a tin opener (I was later to learn the delights of opening a tin of tuna using the little piece of metal on your swiss army knife) I was off into the wilderness. In fact, Torres del Paine is nowhere near as wild as the Scottish highlands. You are given a rudimentary map at the entry point and hike along well-worn trails that constitute the "w" or the "circuit". The first day´s trek up to the Torres was steep and arduous, but well worth the effort. Like Mount Fitzroy, the torres rise up vertically from the surrounding rock and are framed by a deep turquoise blue lake. My pocket-full of almonds sufficed as sustenance. That was where the fun really began. The man at the hostel in Natales had told me that all the refugios had cooking stoves available and that I didnt need to take a camp stove. He was wrong. I was reduced to hacking away at a tin of tuna with a swiss army knife and suffered the ignomony of being the object of pity of a German couple who let me use their camp stove. I least I got a mountain of rice out of it. In comparison to the other refugios, this one was plain luxury with a chill out area in front of a wood burner. I uncorked the bottle of wine that I had lugged up there, kicked off my boots and chilled.

As I continued on my way, I kept bumping into people that I had met at different stages of my journey from Peninsula Valdes onwards. The second day´s hike to the Cuernos wasn´t the best because of the cloud, but was to be made up for on the third day. That night I found out why opening those cans had been such a struggle; the tin opener was upside down.

The third day was my longest, and involved a hike to Glacier Grey with a bald Polish lady who is living in London. She claims that English people aren´t open to foreigners and that Americans are more friendly. The pack now lighter given that the wine had been drunk, I hurried on over an undulating path before ascending up a steep valley towards Glacier Gery. It was even more impressive than Perito Moreno because you could see its full extent, curving down from the icefield like a vast motorway and carving its path down to the lake where it split in two around an island of slate. That night I cooked an inordinate amount of lentils and am now suffering the inevitable consequences. I was now thoroughly exhausted and slept for a good four hours on the bus the following day.

My plans have now been scuppered by poor Chilean engineering. The Navimag ferry that I was going to take from Puerto Natales to Puerto Montt has broken down and won´t be departing for another week. The only alternative may be to cross the border into Argentina and endure another gruelling bus journey to Bariloche. Got to go because two angry women are waiting to use the computer. Until next time.