TDP for 10 days!

Pictures:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/brianandkim/collections/72157603395213507/

and in its absence, the load of the pack swung around like a bucking bronco.

TDP Day 2 (for day one, see Puerto Natales)

True to form, we got up at the crack of dawn (8:30 or so), had a leisurely breakfast of eggs and leftover potato from the night before and tore down camp. The weather looked promising as we saddled up and hit the trail. Our destination was Refugio Gray, a campsite on a sandy beach at the edge of Lago Gray, just near Glacier Gray. It would be our first glimpse of the massive Campo de Heilo Sur (southern ice cap), and our first really big glacier. Apparently camping there was exciting as the valley echoed with the thunder of gigantic hunks of ice calving into the water, and you could watch icebergs float by. The map gave a walking time of 3 hours, so we figured that we could knock it out in about 2 1/2 hours since it was only about 11k.

As we started down the trail, I realized that despite having feasted on a few kilos of food the night before, I couldn't stand up straight under the weight of my pack. About 45 min into the hike (and still in the valley), Brian was kind enough to relieve me of a kilo of sausage, cheese and eggs. It is amazing how offloading a few pounds can make such a huge difference. We continued up and down over a narrow trail and rocky terrain, until we came to our first summit at the edge of the valley, and were welcomed by the refreshing Patagonian wind. This wind was such that it was difficult to stand up straight, and at that point, we were actually grateful for the extra 50+ pounds on our backs that made it harder for the wind to pick us up and blow us away.

Just when we thought all of the up was over, we began to climb again, and at this summit we caught our first glimpse of Lago Gray and some icebergs!!! Shortly thereafter we crossed an exposed section, and it was difficult to take a step forward with the wind in our faces. This wind was such that it picked water right up off the surface of the water and turned it into a horizontal rain, and the noise, and the trail continued up, and up, and up. We finally sat down for a break and a snack when we came to a little stream where we filled up our water bottles. We had been walking for 3 1/2 hours. As we rested, some people who we met on the boat the previous afternoon, came hiking back from Refugio Gray. I was pretty devastated when they told us that they had already been hiking for an hour and forty five minutes. This is when the cursing of the food began. Damn you food for being so heavy! After another half an hour of up and down, our spirits were buoyed when we caught our first glimpse of Glacier Gray. It was enormous, crevaced, seraced, and white! Its nearness was also an optical illusion, as it kept getting further and further away as we walked towards it.

We finally arrived at Refugio Gray and ducked inside a shelter that hadn't been used all winter long (dirty!) but was open, and out of the wind. Lucky for us, the Refugio was still officially closed for the season, so camping was free. Our lunch consisted of as much heavy stuff as we could eat. If it weighed more than pasta, we threw it in the pot. mmmmmmm.

Brian's bag had been difficult to adjust for the past month or so, and with all of the added weight of 12 days of provisions, had become spasm inducing, so we decided to investigate. We found the culprit--a missing bolt that connected the body of the bag to the waist strap, and in its absence, the load of the pack swung around like a bucking bronco. Pilar (the wife of our kayak guide) had told us that there was a nice couple who were going to manage the Refugio for the summer, and if we needed anything, we should ask, so cruised up to the Refugio to see if they by chance had a bolt to fix the pack. Despite much rummaging, no bolt materialized, but Christian and Brian managed to stabilize the pack with a long screw, some pliers, tape, and much pounding with a hammer while Ilene and I chatted about vacationing. Christian and Ilene are ski and snowboard instructors who usually head to the Northern Hemisphere for the winter to practice their trade, but turned down positions at Squaw Valley, and decided to have a 'summer' this year. They chose Patagonia. Go figure.

Bag fixed, tent pitched, and bellies filled, we headed out to the lookout point for a head-on look at Glacier Gray. Without our packs, man did we move, and we felt as light as feathers too! If we thought that the wind was strong on the walk over, we were shocked by the strength at the lookout. You could lean into at a 45 degree angle, and it would hold you up. This wind actually pushed me backwards as I dug my feet into the gravel, so I had to crouch town to keep from getting blown backward off the hill. I had laughed when Brian said he was going to tie a string around my leg and go 'Kim flying,' but I thing that it just might have been possible there. Even from the point of the lookout, the face of the glacier still seemed pretty far away, but we were able to get down to the shore of the water and touch some icebergs.

We anticipated a fairly easy day ahead of us on our approach to the last campsite before heading up to the pass as we studied the map, as we saw that we didn't cross more than one contour on the map. We ate some more heavy food, and put our aching legs and backs to bed.

TDP day 3

Another early start, and the gringos perdidos were out of the gates by 10:30.  We made much better time to the first campsite, Camping Guardas where we stopped for a snack.  The trail was not well marked here, reason being this was the point where the 'backside' or 'the circuit' officially began.  A bit of sniffing around led us to a fallen tree with a handwritten sign notifying hikers that the trail was closed, and contained dangerous and unmarked obstacles.  I believe that 'No Pasar' was in there somewhere too. The sign was only written in Spanish, so we got to play ‘dumb gringos who no hablo.’  We dutifully hopped over the fallen tree, and headed up the trail.

Despite the map indicating that we only crossed one contour line on the whole trek, we were climbing, and sweating, and again cursing the onions and potatoes and eggs.  There were a ton of fallen trees as we climbed up the steep pitch.

An hour and many liters of sweat later, we passed some Rangers who dutifully informed us that the trail and the circuit were closed, that there were many unmarked dangers, high risk of landslides that could crush our heads, strong winds predicted for the following day, and that we could hurt ourselves and be stuck in the back country if we continued.  In fact, they said, the previous weekend, a Czech guy fell on the pass and broke his leg, and had to spend a night out in the open before some other hikers came across him.

In a last ditch attempt to turn us back, they told us about how much more uphill we'd have to do that afternoon, and how today was just a sneak peek for the steepness of the approach to the pass we'd have to climb tomorrow.  We in turn dutifully smiled, nodded, said that we understood, and continued up the trail saying that we'd see them later at the camp.

We knew that there would be two canyon and river crossings en route to camping El Paso, and we had heard rumors that some of the infrastructure (‘ladders’ and 'bridges') had been washed away over the winter, so we weren't quite sure what to expect.  Two hours in, we came up an impossibly steep incline and around a corner over some boulders, and we saw what awaited us.  The crossing led down a field of loose gravel and boulders at a 50 degree angle.  At the bottom, one had to pick their way across boulders in a stream to reach the other side.  That was the easy part.  Looking up to the right, the canyon went on and on, up and up, with a stream rushing down from high in the mountains above.  To the left (and this was much more sobering) about 15 meters from the crossing the river dropped down into a waterfall, and continued on down out of sight to the edge of the glacier.

We picked our way along the loose gravel along a path that dropped off just beyond our left feet praying that they would stay on the path.  And then we reached 'the wall.'  In true safety first fashion, the Rangers had rigged up a rope to assist hikers up the 60 degree slope of sand.  Giving the rope a couple of tugs, we deemed it 'safe enough, but I don't really want to rely on it to save me from crashing down the canyon and landing in a mangled heap on the bottom.'  The rope was actually two lengths of rope tied together, then tied to what looked like it had once been a ladder, and beyond that the angle of the hill was such that we couldn't see what it was anchored to.  I'll be honest, I was ready to turn around right there, and call it good.  Brian (aka the mountain goat) with his gigantic pack decided to blaze the trail.  Scramble, scramble, and up he went.  I only had to dodge a few rocks that came crashing down from his ascent.  Being the gentleman that he his, he kindly descended the rope, and climbed back up with my pack.  Somehow I made it to the top, but sadly this was only the halfway point.  Now we really had to walk gingerly on the narrow slippery ledge that led us to another ladder.  Nothing like trusting your life to a ladder made of branches lashed together with some bailing wire and anchored at the top to a tree that was about as big around as my arm.  At the summit, we were both grateful to be back on solid ground and have reached the top in one piece.

One river crossing down, and one to go.  This is the point when I swore that no matter how hard, steep, snowy, or windy crossing the pass was, I was NOT going to do that canyon crossing again.

The second canyon crossing was a bit less exciting.  There was another quality log and wire ladder, but this one took you from the edge of the canyon all the way down to the ground.  They even provided a rope anchored to a rock on each side of the river to aid in crossing.  We trudged on, wishing that the trail was marked in some way with encouraging 'you're almost there' signs, or at least an ' X kilometers to ------------ camping' markers.

We were getting tired and hungry, and sat down with some trail mix for a rest.  About five minutes into our break, the friendly rangers passed us coming back down the trail.  We got on their good side by giving them trail mix, and they assured us that the campsite was only about 30 min away.  Elated, we waved as they walked on, and said we'd see them soon.

After our snack we were feeling slightly refreshed, and were excited at the prospect of taking our packs off for the night as we set off again.  This part of the trail was actually mostly obstacle free, and had a slight downhill pitch.  We were cruising with visions of pasta dancing in our heads.  And then, disaster struck.  As with all of my accidents, I'm not really sure how this one happened.  One second I was walking along thinking aah, only 15 minutes until I can take this beast off my back and the next second, as I stepped down, I felt a blinding pain in my left ankle and heard a huge pop, and was on the ground.  I think I screamed.  Gone were the thoughts of eating chocolate bars, replaced with thoughts of being labeled 'that American girl' who was hiking on a closed trail despite warnings of the rangers who had to be 'rescued.'  I think at this point Brian came running back up the trail.  He probably thought I was attacked by a puma or something.  I'll let him recount his side of the story in a moment.

We did a quick assessment of our situation.  My foot was already very swollen, and bulging out of my shoe.  I tried to move it, and could do so without too much pain.  I wasn't sure if it was just shock, or if it was really okay, but I wasn't going to wait to find out.  I slipped out of my pack, left it against a tree, and we hot-footed it to the campsite where I proceeded to stick my foot into the icy stream.  Brian went back for the pack.  Back at the campsite, as I was sitting with my foot in the icy glacial stream, the Ranger walked by and asked if I had blisters (oh, if only I just had blisters!).  I had to admit sheepishly that no, I had in fact fallen, and hurt myself.  When he saw my foot all he could do was shake his head.  I´m sure he was thinking DAMN YOU!!! I really don't want to carry your sorry butt out of here!  I assured him that I could still move it and he offered to make me hot water soaks in the morning.  He also recommended that we didn't try and tackle the pass. He came by shortly thereafter with papers that we were encouraged to sign acknowledging that we were in fact hiking on a closed trail and had been warned of the perils. I think there was also something in there about no liability. . .

Luckily I had bought an ace bandage before the trip, and I had actually brought it along on the hike!  I popped some Motrin, wrapped it up, and we sat down to survey our new situation.  Offloading food would be a priority, and Brian was game to take most of my weight.  We would probably have to take a rest day before continuing on, but that would all depend on how I felt in the morning.  We made some new friends at the campsite who where ecstatic to take our food and chocolate (yes, I even gave up the chocolate) as they were at the end of their hike and were running low on food.  What was left, we gave to the Rangers in hopes of getting on their good side.  It worked, but they still made us sign the waiver that we accepted the risks of hiking in the back country without a guide.

Back in the tent, we discussed continuing on the circuit versus turning back.  In the end, we decided that all decisions would be suspended until the morning, when everything just might be a little bit more clear. . .

Day 4 TDP

We woke up early on day 4 to assess our situation. Thankfully Brian had come to his senses after some sleep, and conceded that we probably shouldn't continue across the John Garner Pass and further into the backcountry for the four days after 'just in case' my foot situation got any worse. Thanks to some arnica gel, and ace bandage, and lots of motrin, I was able to get around pretty well as we packed up our campsite. We offloaded another couple of kilos of food, and lightened my load significantly. The Rangers were relieved to see that we were heading back in the direction that we came from despite having our signed 'no rescue, closed trail' waiver in their sweaty mitts. They were most excited however, about the largesse that we had left for them.

The trail back down the mountain was just as steep and treacherous as it had been the day before, and the canyon crossings were just as exciting and nail biting, but despite my lame hoof, we made it across without any major incident. I even had the guts to get the camera out and snap some pics on the way back to document just how exiting the journey was, although they don't really do it justice. As we walked, the wind started to pick up again and we were glad as a bunch of insects had hatched early that morning and were hungry. Avoiding the plague leg was going to be hard. As the wind picked up, so did the cloud cover, and just as we were approaching the Refugio Gray campsite again, the first drops started to fall.

After a 5 hour hike (yeah, we made really good time—down is much easier than up, even with a gimp leg) we returned to set up our tent with our tails between our legs. Just as we had removed and assembled our long metal tent poles, there was an enormous peal of thunder, and some impressive lightning. Lucky for us we were in a valley surrounded by much taller conductors around. Needless to say, we set up the tent in record time and hurried into the dirty camp shelter hoping the whole time that we had put our tent under a tree without too many widowmakers hanging above it.

At the campsite, the gimp ankle got lots of sympathy, and lots of people donated to my drugs not hugs campaign. I now had enough motrin to get me through the week. As impressive as the thunder and lightning were, the storm pretty much passed us by after a few spits, and soaked the people on the other side of the range.

Day 5 TDP

Today we headed back to our starting point in the park, the scene of the near-riot steak cooking. The walk seemed longer the second time around despite it taking us less time. The most notable difference between our journey out and back, was the lack of wind on the return. It was incredible. Maybe it was just that my pack was quite a few kilos lighter (poor brian had just as much or more weight, and was known henceforth as the mule), but I could actually stand up straight and walk!

So far, the trip to TDP had only cost us 5,500 pesos each to get to the park, 15,000 each to enter the park, 17,000 pesos each to take the catamaran across the lake (round trip), and 7,500 pesos each to put up our tent the first night. Luckily, I had timed my injury so that we could return to the Refugio Gray Campground the day before they started charging for campsites, so our prior three nights had been gratis. A real deal! Free leaves a much better taste in your mouth than $28 (US dollars) to pitch the tent for the night, so we decided that we would try the 'buy one get one free' deal at Camping Pehoe. We paid for the first night, but didn't put the tag on our tent, and since nobody had come around and bothered us about it, we decided to pay for pitching the tent only if asked to. Never fear though, we managed to spend plenty of pesos in the 'kiosko' buying a box of wine, noodles and mushroom sauce, cake, a packet of hot chocolate, etc. It was as if the food in our backpacks wasn't good enough in the face of overpriced 'just add water' options just inside the building.

Since we would be continuing on and exiting the park in a different location, we no longer needed the round trip catamaran ticket. Luckily, the Isreali couple sitting next to us were heading out on the 6:30 boat, and while doubtful at first about buying our 'discount' tickets, once I showed them my ankle as proof, their desire to get a deal won out, and we sold the tickets for 9,000 pesos each! Now we were feeling like the park operators weren't quite screwing us over so much, and our box of wine tasted that much sweeter!

Speaking of sweet, that is not how we were smelling! Four days of tough hiking had left us a bit rank (and this is an understatement). This was bad for us, since our tent is TINY, but we can only imagine how it must've been for the people who passed us on the trail. You know you stink when you can't stand the smell of yourself. You know you really stink when people just starting to hike pass you on the trail, and you remark to each other just how clean they smell. Yes, we could smell the shampoo and laundry detergent on them, and we were jealous. Thankfully one of the other perks of the Pehoe campground was that they had hot showers. We used them and were grateful. I even suffered through multiple minutes of cold water, taking my first cold shower in South America, while Brian enjoyed a full 10 minutes of steaming hot water. We even took out our precious clean shirt alternative and put them on knowing that we'd have to change back into the stink shirts the next morning when we started to hike again. Thank goodness for soap!

Throughout the evening, the clouds seemed to gather, and the wind went from a standstill to occasional gusts. By the time we hit the sacks (literally) the wind was rushing through the valley at a good clip. The wind is impressive, but the noise it makes is even more so. It just howls. Exhaustion and earplugs were necessary for sleep. By 4:45 am though, even earplugs couldn't block out the noise or the motion. With each gust, it was like a full grown pit bull would gallop at full force and collide with our tent causing the sides and roof to cave in. Luckily we could hear it coming, and each time flung our arms up to help support the tent poles. All you could do at that point was just shake your head and laugh, and pray that the poles didn't snap. I decided to brave the tempest and stick my head outside of the tent to assess the situation. I was greeted with a fantastic scene of the sun just beginning to light up the mountain range in purple as the crescent moon hung low in the sky. It was a gift.  We also discovered another gift in the morning when we finally ventured out of the tent. We were one of the lucky campers whose tent poles hadn't snapped in the wind over night. That would've made for some tough camping as the week went on.

Day 6 TDP Because of our special circumstances, we had decided to camp at Pehoe the night before instead of pushing on to Campimento Italiano, near the French Valley. This is meant to be the easiest section of the trail. Technically, this was a relatively flat and well-maintained section, but I was tired, my ankle was sore, and the wind was in our faces threatening to push us over just about the whole time. It was literally lifting tons of water of lake surfaces and pelting passers-by with sharp water pellets. After two hours of walking I had had it, and thankfully we arrived shortly thereafter at the campground.

We picked a nice semi-sheltered spot in the trees, away from the big branches that looked ready to crush innocent campers huddled below. Huddled was the right word, because the wind had blown in some cold air, and we were grateful for every layer that we had. Campimento Italiano is a free campsite at the base of the French Valley. Most people do a day hike up the valley for a view of the Cuernos (big granite peaks, see pictures). As we were warned, the hike was really worth it only if you had a clear day. Since the day was gray, we hid out in the tent until dinner time, and then headed straight back to the warm nest for some much needed sleep.