I had spent three beautiful days
hiking in Parque Nacional Torres del Paine in Chile, but it hadn’t been
enough. I had really wanted to see the
towers from which the park got its name, but it had not been possible from the
hut that had become my base. The towers were just too far for a round trip hike
– sunrise to sunset. So not wanting to
miss them, I signed up for a tour in our hostel. The night before we were to set out, I fell
asleep rather easily despite my excitement.
However, when I woke up, disappointment coursed through my entire
body. Rain beat down on the windows and
the last thing I wanted to do was step outside into the cold soggy air. The fact that it was middle of their winter
was bad enough. I had no desire to spend
the entire day trudging through muddy fields as the rain seeped through my
clothes. But I wanted to see the towers
and since that night we were getting on a ferry which would carry us through
the fjords, I had no choice but to brush aside my disappointment and get
ready. I took a hot shower in
anticipation of the chill I would feel all day. I ate a big breakfast, knowing
I would probably have no desire to eat lunch in the rain. And I drank a large cup of hot coffee hoping
the caffeine would improve my mood. When
the van pulled up to the hostel I found a seat near a window (to avoid motion
sickness), opened a book and started to read.
I tried desperately to dissolve into the pages in an attempt to ignore
the rain, but it was impossible. Large
angry drops splashed against the window, taunting me, distracting me and making
me increasingly grumpy.
Sulking, I lifted my eyes to the
window as we turned into the park. Miraculously, the rain had transformed into
snow and looking out over the vast mountainous landscape everything was covered
in a thick blanket of white. A childish
thrill tickled me as the corners of lips turned up in a smile. Exhilaration immediately drove out dread, and
I could not wait to get out of the van and enter the winter wonderland. When the van finally stopped, we piled out
and rolled in the snow like children.
The group started hiking uphill, men
out front and women falling behind. We
thought nothing of the division until a snowball landed squarely on my shoulder
and the women looked up to find the men had taken shelter behind trees. A loud joyful scream was followed by the all
out attack, snowballs launched down at those of us who lagged behind. Rising to the challenge, we dropped our bags,
took shelter behind trees and launched an attack of our own. It’s always easier to through downhill, and
the men had counted on their better position to defeat us easily. What they didn’t realize was that several us
had played softball and had arms as strong and perhaps more accurate than they
did. For over a half hour snowballs flew
across the hills. It was brilliant, an
adrenaline rush like I had never before experienced in the snow and I relished
every moment of it. Eventually, we
called a truce, only because our grumbling stomachs had gotten the best of us
and we wanted to eat.
Following our meal, we continued
onward, reaching our destination shortly after noon. The towers were beautiful, rising up like
sentinels out of the snow to greet us, but when I think back to that day they
are of secondary importance. It’s the
hike itself, the random impromptu snowball fight and silence of the falling
snow that tugs most sharply at my memory.
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