Hey Puma!

Hey Puma!

Torres del Paine National Park is arguably the golden goose of the much celebrated Patagonia hiking region. Any reputable website or print publication that ranks the world’s best trekking routes has the circuit around the Paine Massif in the top 5, many say it’s the best there is. Recommended to do it in 8-10 days, I had the unfortunate shackles of time constraints due to onward travel plans and needed to do it in 6. I did have the option of doing an abbreviated version of the circuit, known as the “W” which goes through some of the parks best parts, including of course, the spires of the granite towers that gives the park it’s name sake (Towers in the Sky). A landmark so prominent that the image is on the Chilean 1000 Peso note. Looking at the map of the park and knowing that trail times are usually determined with an overweight senior citizen lady named Bertha in mind, I figured I can skip a few days and do the full circuit in 6. I woke up early, something I would become very familiar with, from the neighboring town of Puerto Natales, took the 2 hour bus ride to the park and after registration and debriefing was on the trail by 11am. I started out the trail alone and therefore thought plopping in my headphones and listening to the soundtrack of Into The Wild one time wouldn’t hurt. I immediately thought of the book I’m reading, “The Power of Now” and wondered if doing so would kinda go against living in the “Now”, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. I even justified it to myself as listing to that particular soundtrack would actually help me focus on the now. I was finally here, on the trail, a dream I had for many years and living it right then and there. I put in the headphones to get into the spirit more, I convinced myself. The trail actually starts out on a dirt road that you need to walk on for about a mile before reaching the footpath. I used that fact to justify jumping into the back of a pickup truck, that 2 guys ahead of me just did, and which was now stopped waiting to see if I wanted a lift to the trailhead as well. I figure why not. I run to the truck, as much as a person can run with a 45 pound backpack on, which is more like a rumbling waddle. So here I am, 2 minutes into my hike, in this most pristine Patagonia wilderness, listening to headphones and hitchhiking like a fuckin moron. When I make it to the truck I’m half way through the first song on my iPod. I leave my backpack on, secured at the hips chest and shoulders, and try to jump in the truck bed as quick as possible. With 1 foot in the bed and the other swinging around I slip. Something on the truck hooked on to my headphone cable and jerked me backwards onto the ground. It wasn’t a graceful fall either. It was one of those ass-over-elbows, complete loss of coordination and moments of sheer panic when all you have time for is to instinctively protect your head. With the 2 people in the cab, along with, the 2 backpackers in the bed fearfully watching, I jump up to my feet as quick as possible and dust off my ego, thankfully the only thing that suffered any bruises. I take off my backpack this time and hand it to one of the guys in the truck bed. Miraculously the earbuds are still in my ears. It wasn’t till a few minutes down the dirt road that I realized the headphone cord was no longer attached to the iPod. I looked down and it was worse than I thought. Not only was the cord no longer attached, but in fact the cord had completely snapped and frayed. In the process it must have flung my iPod into the woods somewhere cause it was nowhere to be found. All I had left were 2 earbuds and about 8 inches of frayed wire. I will go throughout the rest of my South America trip with no music. A hard lesson on instant karma definitely learned.

Half way into my first day I meet John from Alaska, one of the more awesome characters I’ve met on my travels. With a beard that put the memories of mine to shame on its most burley days, and the hair to match, he looked like a small and cheerful version of Chewbacca. John, originally from St. Louis, moved to the Alaskan bush 22 years ago. He works 2 months as a fisherman in the Bering Sea, 2 months as a fly fishing guide in Alaska and travels the other 8 months of the year. He’s been keeping that schedule for 18 years. He has several very long distance (6 month+ type) treks under his belt including the Pacific Crest Trail, The Continental Divide and Pan American Trail. The Pan American trail has only been hiked by a handful of people and to John’s knowledge he’s the only non Panamanian to do it. He needed a special permit from the government and at one point was held at gunpoint with knee in his back and AK47 to his neck until he presented this permit. Upon discovery of the permit he was not only allowed to pass, but celebrated by the soldiers who stopped to drink with him. He’s chalk full of stories just like this.

When we get to our camp the first night I’m parched. Just about the time I’m gonna get up off the bench and go fill up my water bottle here comes John with a 1 liter Coca Cola bottle full of water and hands it to me without saying a word. I’m thinking to myself how honed this guys outdoor skills are and in tune with his surroundings that he’s a damn mind reader even. I hold the bottle just off my lips to be polite and chug away. It wasn’t till the 4th or 5th big gulp that I realized this wasn’t water at all and, to his delight, I just did about a quadruple shot of vodka. About 45 seconds later I was wasted and he couldn’t stop laughing. That night when everyone is preparing their food I pull out my dehydrated camping meals, which I brought from the U.S. After I pour the requisite 2 cups of boiling water in the bag and I let it sit. John asks if I brought any spices to put in the bag. I thought to myself, could it be possible? Did the wonder of these fantastic Mountain House brand camping meals somehow allude this outdoorsman all this time? Am I really about to educate HIM on something? I say to him with confidence; “No man these things are great! It comes all perfectly seasoned with everything you need, all you do is add water and 10 minutes later presto!” He responds; “Oh yeah I know, Mountain House actually sponsored one of my long distance hikes, I added some salt and red pepper flakes to mine usually, I had those so many of those I can’t stand the thought of eating one again. Cliff Bars too, they sent me a few thousand, I still have boxes and boxes of those at home I’ll never open.” I hang my head in shame. His packing list for food was a brick of blue cheese, a jar of peanut butter, 15 Snickers bars and a liter of vodka. The sun is setting and I’m getting ready to retire early because I would be starting my double-up days the next morning. Just then we look out and about 50 feet from our camp walks a puma. A damn puma! It’s one thing to spot a wild cat in an African game reserve and another thing entirely to have one walk, essentially, through your campsite. Pumas are common in Patagonia, but seeing one is not. I fumbled to get my camera out and was able to just get a single quick blurry picture before he walked into the grass. My tent was furthest out from the camps center because I knew I would be getting up early. What this now meant is that I’m also first line of defense for any carnivorous wild cats that happen to be lurking in the night.

Next morning I was up early, had my tent packed and was on the trail by 6. It was sad to part ways with the crew from day one, which also included a fun loving German couple, but I had ground to cover and no other choice. The fact that I was first on the trail meant that once I got far enough away from camp I had to start intentionally making noise in efforts to not sneak up on and surprise any freekin pumas. This is common practice in areas with bear populations. Some people wear jingle bells on their packs, others put loose nuts, bolts and nails in a metal coffee can and for lack of any other creativity people commonly just make noise or shout out “Hey bear!” every so often. So this is what I did. “Hey bear!” 2-3-4 “Hey bear!” 2-3-4 “Hey bear!”. Soon it dawned on me. What if pumas are like people and have selective hearing? Like when you would be blocking out white noise, but then hear your name whispered in a crowd. So I changed it up. “Hey puma!” 2-3-4 “Hey puma!” 2-3-4. Eventually the trail filled up with other hikers and this was no longer a necessity.

On the 2nd night, after a 10 hour hiking day, the notorious Patagonia winds put my tent to the test. I’ve been using the same tent since my trip to the Grand Canyon 7 years ago and I’ve probably slept in it 100 times since, including some very challenging conditions in the Sierra Nevada’s. I used it in winter weather on Mt. Whitney and the whole time camping in New Zealand for 6 weeks. Like improperly putting together an Ikea bookshelf I always had this bag of left over parts. I knew the extra lines, hooks and cables served some purpose, but until that night I never had the need for them, so I didn’t care. Thankfully I quickly figured it out and with guy lines in place my newly reinforced tent withstood the onslaught that howled through the night. Day 3 came the high pass. 6 hours of straight up and down. This ended up acting as a rest and relax day for me, which is funny to say because to almost everyone else this was the day most feared. Many trails ago I’ve discovered that going up really isn’t a problem for me. I can grind it out with the best of em and got some pretty strong legs for climbing. (This is probably a testament to carrying around 15 extra pounds since I’ve been about 12 years old). Going down, on the contrary, I’m not a fan of at all and my knees take a beating. (Which, also, is probably a testament to carrying around 15 extra pounds since I’ve been about 12 years old). At the end of the pass my knees were beyond aggravated with me so I decided to camp at the recommended spot instead of skipping it. I’m glad I did because it gave me a nice afternoon to relax. I found a private little spot overlooking the glacier and hung out there reading my book and watching the sunset.

Days 4 and 5 were coming up and going to be some long, long days so I needed some early sleep. When I got back from my little sunset spot, however, I found that a couple had set up their tent inches away from mine. Not only were they talking at full volume till the late hours of the night, but as soon as the talking stopped the snoring started. I got a few hours of broken sleep and was out of my tent by 5am. This time I had no qualms about zipping, unzipping, zipping and unzipping again, shaking out my rainfly, clearing my throat, farting and doing whatever other thing I can think of as long as it was noisy. I was on the trail again by 5:30, head lamp on and away I went… “Hey puma!” 2-3-4 “Hey puma!” 2-3-4.

Half way through my 4th day I met a girl from Canada that was in complete agony. The bottom of her pack reached down to the fold of her knee, the top stretched a few inches over her head and it had shit hanging off of it from all sides. She was limping. I stopped to ask her if she’s ok. She looked up at me, grimaced and said she’ll make it. She had on brand spanking new hiking boots and her feet were badly blistered. This reminded me of that same trip I did hiking rim to rim of the Grand Canyon with new, un broken-in boots. After the 3 days my feet looked like Rocky Balboa’s face after, seemingly, every single fight he’s ever had. And in this I discovered a shortcut to enlightenment. If you truly want to live in the moment. If you want to practice the Power of Now. If you want to completely forget about every other problem you have or ever will have again it’s simple. Go on an 8 day hike with an oversized 50 pound pack and wear uncomfortable shoes. {make checks payable to Vagabond Roberto, PO Box…} Shoes were my big internal debate when packing for South America. I had both well broken in hiking boots as well as trail runners, so that part wasn’t an issue. The problem was pack weight. Since I wouldn’t be hiking exclusively on this trip I wouldn’t want to be lugging around big hiking boots, and I definitely wouldn’t want to be wearing hiking boots when I wasn’t hiking. Every blog, recommended Patagonia packing list, or chat room forum I read said hiking boots are a must. “Do not come to Patagonia without hiking boots” they all said. I left mine at home, and here’s why. In my humble opinion water proof and ankle support are both myths. Your feet get wet, it happens, deal with it. If your shoes are so waterproof that truly nothing with penetrate them, it only means your feet have no chance to breathe and your feet will, in turn, be soaked with sweat. You don’t want “waterproof” you want “fast drying”. This same applies for “waterproof” jackets. The only real waterproof jackets are the bright yellow Paddington Bear style raincoats made of rubber. Wearing something like that backpacking would be like a wrestler trying to make weight by wearing a trash bag on a treadmill. And now onto ankle support. Ankle support is also a myth. I believe hiking boots that claim to give you ankle support just lull you into a false sense of security. Trust me people still suffer ankle sprains with hiking boots on. I think your ankle needs to have the freedom of its natural motion. There may be times you step on something wrong and tweak it a bit, but I think allowing the ankle to give a little prevents more sprains then it causes. If you want real ankle support wear 1980’s ski boots make of hard plastic… As an added bonus they are also completely water proof. [DISCLAIMER: make up your own mind about what’s right for you and don’t go blaming me if you snap an ankle wearing trail runners. The waterproof part though, that’s fact! Just don’t skimp on good and several pair of wool blend hiking socks]

Shortly after well wishing the poor Canadian girl and her battered feet I come over a ridge and see a massive lodge that presented itself like a mirage in the desert. This was one of the camps I’d be skipping that day, but decided to stop and see what my lunch options were. The choices were a hamburger or “box lunch”. Of course I wanted the hamburger, but just as I go to pay for it the girl says “it’s soy, no carne”. It would be my first time in 4 days to have a real meal, I’d be damned if that real meal was going to be a fake hamburger. I chose the box lunch. Imagine cheap, poor quality, cafeteria food. It consisted of a few pieces of dry chicken and onions on top of rice, it included a soup which was literally nothing more than vegetable stock, a chocolate cracker thing and a thimble of powdered lemonade. This came in at the grand total of $18. The most overpriced meal for the quality I probably ever had, and simultaneously best $18 I ever spent. From there I hightailed it to the camp called Italiano. I needed to get there at a decent hour, because its at Italiano where the permits for the camp at the base of the towers are given out, and space for those permits are limited. I make it there shortly after 4:00, just shy of an 11 hour day. When the ranger heard I came all the way from the camp near the pass he was shocked. He commented that it’s not uncommon for people to do that in 1 day, but he’s never seen someone do that and show up before 6:00. He gave me one of the last reservations for the towers base camp, ensuring that I’d be able to get up early and make it for the highly recommended sunrise at the towers. From camp Italiano there is a side trip called Britannico. The ranger told me it’s his favorite part of the entire trail and I shouldn’t skip it. He then said if I did want to do that though, it would mean getting up very early and it would be a longer day than the one I just completed. I set up my tent, passed right out, woke up at 4:30 and was back on the trail at my earliest time of 5:00. “Hey puma!” 2-3-4

I’m glad I listed to the ranger and did the side trip because it turned out to be my favorite part of the trail as well. Because I had such an early start I had it all to myself. I made good time and knew that, not only was nobody ahead of me, but when I left camp there was no rustling around or signs of anybody else getting up. At the end of the trail I sat in a heavenly valley in blissful solitude. To one side the sunrise over a distant lake, to another a glacier, ahead of me a river flowing down from a mountaintop, and to my other side the granite towers of the Paine Massif. It was perfect. I laid back on a flat rock and told myself, regardless of how much ground I still needed to cover that day, I wasn’t going to leave that spot until the next person showed up. 30 minutes go by, 45, an hour, an hour and 15, finally right at the mark of having this perfect slice of Patagonia all to myself for an hour and a half, and still nobody else has shown up, I decide I need to start making progress and be on my way.

13 hours later I sluggishly lumber into my final camp just before sundown and the mosquitos are already out. I get one of the very last tent spots which was at about a 5% incline (not even close to flat), it was going to make for a very uncomfortable nights sleep. But wait it gets worse. Here comes the rain. To that point it sprinkled a bit here and there, but nothing like I experienced that night. I battened down the hatches and prepared for the worst. As I mentioned earlier I figured out how to more securely reinforce my rainfly. It didn’t help. At about 11pm I got the first few drops of water directly on my forehead. I looked up and noticed the rainfly couldn’t handle the downpour. My tent was leaking and I now have a bone to pick with REI. I move to the far corner of the tent and hope for the best. Around 1:00am I wake up again and EVERYTHIHNG is wet. My tent, backpack, all my clothes, sleeping mat, sleeping bag, everything. There is one tiny spot of my tent not completly soaked with water so I curled up in the fetal position in that tiny spot and went back to sleep. Finally 5:00 comes, the time I was supposed to get up to go see the sunrise, but jokes on me. I’m still in the middle of this torrential downpour which has given no sign of letting up. Sunrise my ass! There’s not going to be no damn view of any sunrise today! I threw in the towel. Now completely soaked with a few inches of water at the foot of my tent I tell myself to hell with the sunrise. I’m going back to sleep. I’ll see the damn towers whenever I wake up. The sunrise was scheduled for 6:30 and I finally crawl out of my tent when the rain subsides around 8:00. Because it was my final day I didn’t care how things were packed. I loosely stuffed all my wet gear in my wet backpack and prepared to head for the towers. When I made my way through the camp I heard that the people who did actually get up for the sunrise saw nothing. The sun wasn’t out (no shit fellas, I could tell you that from inside my tent), but not only that, the clouds completely obscured the views of the towers. People saw nothing at all. Everyone in camp was hearing this and simply turning around to walk back down the mountain. It’s 45 minutes! There is only 45 minutes left of the trail. I don’t care if I see nothing but clouds I’m not going to hike for 6 days and leave out the final 45 minutes! I made the final push to the towers. I asked the few people I ran into coming down if they saw anything and there were mixed reports. “It comes and goes” everyone was saying. “If you wait long enough there will eventually be a break in the clouds where you can at least see the towers”. That’s good enough for me. When I get to the top there’s only 1 other person there, an Australian guy. I ask him to snap a photo of me, but instead of my standard arms high overhead in victory celebration I give the 2 thumbs down signal indicating failure. He hands me back the camera and heads down the trail. I’m standing there alone waiting for less than 2 minutes when the sky opens up. What’s revealed is a hazy view of the towers in the distance, but what breaks out in the foreground is the most perfectly formed rainbow with the brightest, most vivid, colors I’ve ever seen in my life. So intense that looking directly at it was like starting at the sun. More stunning than a smack in the face and it was arms length away. I felt like I could reach out and touch it and I actually out stretched my hand to try. Truly one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed. There is no possible way I will ever forget that little special moment in time. Just as quickly as it appeared it was fleeting. I tried to take a picture, but my camera lens was wet. I kept it in a dry bag, but the condensation fogged up the glass. I tried again, the same result. I tried wiping it with my shirt, but that was soaked too. As fast as I could I undid my belt buckle, threw my pants down around my ankles and found a little corner of dry underwear to wipe the lens. The picture turned out and seconds later the rainbow was gone and clouds had returned. Nobody else saw it. When I showed the picture to people back at the camp no one could believe it. The people that got up early for the sunrise were pissed. A group of girls that just got back turned right around and went back up. I stuffed my camera back into the dry bag and started down the mountain, happy as can be. I’m not sure how the clouds at the top acted for the rest of the day or if that unbelievable rainbow ever returned. For me though, it was the perfect ending to an unbelievable hike. When I got down and finished the hike I celebrate the way I always do. A single Snickers bar that I carried with me the whole way, and as a new addition to that ritual, an airplane approved size bottle of whiskey.

Bob