Friday, January 24, 2014

Hiking Through the Patagonian Snows

Patagonia, Chile - 2003



            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.




No comments:

Post a Comment