Torres del Paine – Day 2: The Towers of Blue
TORRES DEL PAINE
Day 2: The Towers of Blue
April 02, 2023
PART I
I got up earlier than anyone else, unable to bear the excitement any longer. Being all posh and all, I found my breakfast and boxed lunch waiting for me in the dining hall and, as soon as I was done eating, I headed out.
I had heard the trail is kinda idiot-proof, with signposts littering every step of the way along the park trails. That’s all well and good, but one tiny detail I would add to this is that they’re not quite as visible in the complete darkness that precedes sunrise. Perhaps it is for this very same reason that I spent the first twenty minutes of my day wandering aimlessly around the hills surrounding the hostel. Right when I gave up and started making my way back to the starting point, the sun started to rise, painting the mountainside in all hues of pink and orange and, more importantly, revealing the signposts that marked the beginning of the trail – a wooden bridge found on the opposite road, leading to a path through some shrubs and woodlands.
I can’t say I wasn’t alarmed when the silence of darkness was broken by a sudden stomping sound and rustling leaves. Having heard there were sightings of pumas in the region, I was equally thrilled and scared of encountering such a potentially murderous beast whilst completely alone and defenceless, save for an apple I could throw at it.
Turns out the source of the noise wasn’t quite as threatening – a herd of wild horses grazing on the prairie. Just like that, the very idea of a scary, dark, nightmarish forest turned into an idyllic, fairy-tale-like dream. And let’s not forget the hares hopping about and the thrushes bringing the still land to life with their chirps and songs.
Racing Against SIlence
Through the valley at the foot of Monte Almirante Nieto led the trail, every few steps lending themselves to a fantastic view of the surroundings – the rivers reflecting the fiery skies in their crystal-clear waters.
As I walked on, the vistas only seemed to get better, my eyes tearing up in veneration of great Mother Nature. Then it was the first steep climb – one that would continue all the way over the valley. Then it was the second uphill over a gorge – a steep trail with loose rocks surrounded by sparse shrubs and a few lenga trees here and there – their leaves still green.
Once again, my competitive side had taken the lead as I did my best to overtake anyone in my way – mostly so I could enjoy the silence of solitude, but also so I could prove to myself that I could do it in a shorter time.
In fact, I had told Bela, a member of the group I had started off with, that I intended to do the eight-hour trek in at least five, given that I had come to expect better of myself since I had started solo trekking in Ushuaia. That was the idea at least. With the wonderful views that awaited me at each and every twist and turn, I didn’t mind compromising this in order to take it all in – that was the point of me doing this after all. And so, on and on I went, relentlessly and as fast as I could, taking only a few breaks on the way up, my stamina and resolve somewhat better than what they had been a few weeks prior.
After the second slope came the Windy Pass – an open area on the mountainside with a narrow ledge of loose gravel as a path, completely exposed to the elements. It was here that I started to understand how potentially dangerous it could get, with every gust of wind having me wedge my feet as deeply as possible in the ground to avoid tumbling down the slope right into the river below. As risky as it was, I couldn’t help but stare in wonder at the gorge, the soft orange light bathing the entire valley in a glorious golden glow.
The World's Worst Java
A few more kilometres and I was at my first checkpoint – the Refugio Chileno. Having made good time up to that point, a brief stop felt more than warranted.
I stumbled upon the lodge, begging the first person I could find for coffee. I guess it was my ghastly look that had the host offer me a free cup of java. My “¡Muy amable!” was repaid with an even kinder comment; “You attract what you are,” which, admittedly, left me blushing. I went outside to enjoy my coffee and a cigarette, accompanied by a couple of horses grazing around the lodge and chimango caracaras expecting some crumbs or leftovers.
As perfect as this image might appear, I can’t say that was quite the case. I’m pretty sure it was the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted in my entire life. Having been raised to live off coffee by no one other than Lorelai Gilmore, I should be as much of a coffee snob as an Australian. Despite that, one of the many mantras I live by is that “bad coffee is better than no coffee” (especially when it’s free). But sweet Baby Jesus – shout out to myself – was that bad coffee. I do regret this one particular cup. Seriously.
Fuelled by Views
The next part of the trek was practically a rehash of that leading up to the Laguna de Los Tres so I’m just gonna go ahead and copy and paste from that section if that’s all right. Okay, no, I’m joking. But it kinda was. Especially the trail leading from forest to lenga-covered mountains that become redder the higher I climbed, with the bare, rocky mountains at the top.
Although the elevation gain here was similar to that of the Fitz Roy which had practically left me for dead a few weeks previously, this time round, I found myself speeding up the jagged slopes, stopping a couple of times for a few minutes to catch my breath on the way. Quite the useless exercise if you ask me, considering it’d be snatched away from me with every stunning view.
The Blue Towers
Given that I was going at it solo, I pushed myself harder than ever. I figured I’d rather spend more time at the checkpoint than on the way – plus, I didn’t wanna end up stranded on the mountainside after the sun would set. As it turns out, I was right to do so.
The view at the end left me completely lost for words. An emerald green lagoon enclosed by the bare grey rocks, the three towers of Las Torres looming above, their fractured granite bases covered in snow. With the three mountains forming the centrepiece of the national park, the South Tower is the highest – a rigid, upright, imposing structure that’s around 2,500 metres in altitude. If looking at them isn’t intimidating enough, imagine the rumbling sounds of the landslides on the sides of the lake. ¡Qué chori!
By this point, it kinda felt like I knew the Patagonian mountains more than I did my own backyard (probably cause I don’t have one at home), and so I had expected this to resemble the view of the Laguna de Los Tres – and, in more ways than one, it did. But as jaded as I had become with waterfalls back in Central America, I found myself reasserting that I could never, ever get tired of these kinds of views.
Right by the lake was Alex, a German cyclist I had met back in El Chaltén who was biking all across South America. Having done the same treks as I have, we found ourselves comparing the two, stating how different they are despite all their similarities and how rewarding it is to see such vistas after a challenging hike.
Chasing the Unexpectable
After a light snack, I started making my way down given that the wind chills were now almost unbearable. Alex, on the other hand, had been sitting there since 7:30AM in order to experience the next-to-glorious sunrise. I’m not known to chicken out or to skip something that’s reasonably achievable, but when all’s said and done, I draw the line at waking up at 3AM to trek in complete darkness up a mountain. No thanks. I saw his photos and while they looked otherworldly, I still stood by my choice.
You’d think the way back would be a boring repeat of the first. Only in Patagonia, you come to expect the unexpectable. From the moody weather changing every few minutes to views you’d miss whilst going uphill (like the Laguna Amarga right behind the valley), I was as immersed in fascination on the way down as I was on the way up. Especially when two Andean condors flew right by me as I made my way back through Windy Pass. Such majestic creatures – gliding effortlessly and elegantly! Also getting to overtake other hikers as I zipped down the mountains. So, so satisfying.
Once back at the Refugio, I can’t say I felt weary so much as thrilled at having stuck to the time goals I had set myself the previous day. I had done the way up in three hours and the way down in two, exactly as I had hoped for. When asked about it by this one trail-runner, his reply was that it’d probably be easy for him to do it in three. My eyes twitched. Good for him, I guess.
PART II
Soap, Radiators, and Ink
I had achieved my goal and by that point, I had bigger things to worry about – laundry. Even though I had packed (more than) enough clothes to last me the trek (and a couple more), I wanted to keep up with my laundry routine – my number one concern when it comes to trekking. Luckily enough, they had both soap and radiators – the ideal backpacking laundry ingredients.
Once that too was taken care of, all I had left to do was… a big, fat nothing. In wanting to pack light (ironically), I practically had no form of entertainment save for a few episodes of Firefly Lane saved on my phone which I wanted to ration for the five days I’d be there. As much as I appreciate being surrounded by nature, I’m not one to enjoy having absolutely nothing to do. The hammock-loving Marius that had learned how to chill back in Utila was still there somewhere, don’t get me wrong, but admittedly, it’s not the same to relax in the frigid Patagonian wilderness.
Pure, Dumb Luck
After an appreciable amount of time spent pacing around the hostel, I started sifting through my photos and going over all the adventures I had been through over the previous eight months. By the end, I was close to a complete and total breakdown.
Not the bad kind though – not at all. I felt this immeasurable gratitude – one I couldn’t quite begin to verbalise or put into words. I had done so much, lived so much, in such a short time! So far, most of the crazy, wild plans I never thought I’d be able to follow through had not only panned out as they were meant to, but I had also done so much more than I had anticipated. I might be an excellent planner, but when all’s said and done, most of what I was able to do depended on pure, dumb luck. Throughout those eight months, Latin America had seen countless natural disasters as well as political turmoil – yet somehow, against all odds, I had managed to not only get through unscathed but also to do almost everything I had planned save for a thing or two. Pure, dumb luck. And for that, I will eternally be grateful.
For the first time in months, I found myself putting pen to paper in my physical journal once again. Knowing I’d be writing about my adventures ad nauseum, I had decided to do so on my laptop way back in Mexico – given that otherwise I would’ve probably had to carry around a hundred diaries by the end. But getting to physically write? It felt simply magical.
The scratchy sound of the pen as it courses on the rough surface of the paper. The trail of fresh ink as it is absorbed by the paper for posterity. The elegance of the written word in cursive. The art of the written word… I had no idea how much I had missed it! Add to the list that it is infinitely more therapeutic, and I was once again hooked, writing for hours and hours, summarising my journey and the lessons I had learned. And most of all, I wrote my way into accepting the end of this one journey and welcoming the beginning of a new one once I’d be back home.
The Doctor's Flame
After my literary reunion, it was finally time for dinner – my stomach now as grumpy as an old man yelling at the kids to get off his lawn. Given the amount of money I had paid, I did expect the portions to be at least three times the size we were served, but if the quality versus quantity argument still stands, I guess I just have to shut up and accept that the food was delicious.
With a coffee and a cigarette, I then enjoyed the sunset and a short session of stargazing – the Milky Way putting on a spectacular show in the midst of the Patagonian mountains. With the Big Dipper not in sight so far south, I had to content myself with identifying the Southern Cross – the only other constellation in my arsenal.
Shortly before going to bed, I was joined by Nilesh, a general surgeon who had booked with the same agency as I had. As he recounted tales of his training, he mentioned a number of clichés I had heard millions of times, like the infamous “it takes a few months to master a surgical technique, a couple of years to learn when to use it, and a lifetime to learn when not to,” always using personal anecdotes to support his preachings.
I honestly can’t say how much I appreciated this conversation. I had been away from medicine for so long and, with the temptation of prioritising travelling as much as I do medicine, I felt as if my flames of passion were close to being extinguished. This one conversation changed all of that. As he showered me in compliments – telling me he admires me for being brave enough to take a break (when few others in my position would) and that I’ll make an excellent doctor (referring to my social skills), I could feel the flames burning brightly more than ever.
What struck me was that I had heard all of that before. I had had hundreds of testimonials saying these exact same things. But usually, I couldn’t care less about these things. Usually, it’d be my very own, unwavering confidence and resoluteness that would push me on. Now, after being away for so long, I needed to hear these words. So yeah, thank you so much Nilesh – you have no idea how much I appreciated your support!
Day two:
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- Weather:
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- Sunny and cloudy
- Wind: NE 3kts
- Temperature: 3°C
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- Weather:
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- Position:
- 50°57’56.8″S
- 72°51’57.1″W
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- Trek Profile:
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- Distance: 19.5km
- Elevation gain: 750m
- Time: 5hrs (average 9hrs)
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- Trek Profile:
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