The cold bits

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Vik's share:
An erupting earthquake interrupted our best-laid plans, and in order to progress southward from Chiloe we first had to retrace our steps north. A mad dash for the ferry at Puerto Montt proved hot and fruitless (said ferry was full) and so it was back to the bus in order to journey on. The prospect of a 24-hour journey 'classico' style (classico being a fancy way of saying 'no frills') was only further brightened by our designated route; a great big lovely loop that took us out of Chile, into Argentina, back into Chile. Four border crossings, brilliant, more games. And the really marvellous bit was that we were aiming for Argentina anyway...but of course we couldn't get off there, we were on a Chilean bus. But as our options were not proving enormous, so be it, and we hopped on our budget bus and made a logistically ridiculous zig-zag (this time not of our own making) in order to get south.
So another 1000 or so kilometres further down the road, and we arrived in Coyhaique, a fairly forsaken place with little to celebrate except its route out. But, turns out, it really is worth ending up there, if only to then leave. A spectacular lake crossing (back!) into Argentina.
And after tiring days heading south, we finally got there; Patagonia proper (not just the bits that claim to be, but are really next door - "Iffley Borders" style). Our first days spent in El Chalten, from where we could stumble out of our doorstep and straight into the surrounding national park. Amazing peaks, that teased us with rare glimpses through the blanket of cloud. But it really didn't matter that it was only on our bus out that we saw the mightiest of the mountains here - Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre - because the walking was still stunning.
Firmly on the tourist trail, our next stop was El Calafate, where the thousands flock to enjoy one of only two advancing glaciers in Latin America. Whilst we did not bear witness to any great strides on Perito Moreno's part, our dawn arrival (courtesy of Steve's first venture behind a wheel since we left safe roads and sensible driving styles) rerwarded us with enough rumbles and tumbles to feel that we had really seen (and heard) something very special. It was quite a surprise how many hours - and hours - could be wiled away watching what is essentially just a great big pile of snow.
But back to the zig-zag, and a return into Chile. Another national park to visit - it's thick with them round here - where we hoped to have a go at a five-day walking trail. Not quite Inca style, this time there were no porters to kindly ship our stuff. And so the dining room tent had to go. As did nearly everything else when it became apparent that the 2kg rented sleeping bag took up most of my pack. So after some painful sacrifices, we headed off - with our leaky tent and our weighty bags - for a few windy days in the Torres Del Paine.
We had been dutifully warned in our 'pre-trail briefing' that by far the most 'hardcore' element of this venture would be our battle with the breeze, but it still proved more than a little alarming when the catamaran ferrying us to our starting point was mercilessly savaged by the waves as we crossed no more than a lake. But that turned out to be quite a gentle introduction to the 80km winds that greeted us as we made our first steps. A bit like walking whilst some invisible source boxes with your backpack, at times there was really nothing to do but hope that gravity would win over wind. And then came the rain. Incessant drizzle, the kind that 'gets you really soaked', as we often like to remark back home. I'll be honest, as I lay in my crap sleeping bag, wet and cold on Night 1, I had a number of niggling doubts at the prospect of making it to Night 4. But Day 2, 3 & 4 were infinitely better. Up and down the most spectacular valleys. And sunshine, plenty of it. Even the wind was taking a well-earned rest. So we made it to Night 4, still cold but less wet as I lay in my flimsy liner contemplating our 4am start for the final ascent. The plan was to take tea at the top as we watched the much-celebrated sunrise over the Torres of 'Torres del Paine' fame. The howling wind and rain that kept us from sleeping wasn't an encouraging sign, but given that we'd made it this far we ploughed on with our plan. We crawled our final slope, but the only light show was the one from our torches. There was a sunrise there somewhere, but it was not to be seen through the blanket of snow. Said blanket became a blizzard, and after a quick cup of tea courtesy of our new canadian chums, we had to hop it sharpishly down. After a tired but elated descent we got comfy on the bus and glanced back at our summit to at last see the towers in all their glory. A pattern was emerging.

Steve stuff

Back to Chile, or Argentina, then Chile, from Chile...I think that was it. Anyway, it turned out the Argentinian Border Guards were so hungry that they took the sandwiches off our bus. The barren grass lands of the Argentinian Patagonia gave way to the bright greens and bushes of Chilean Patagonia, the Andes still mark the border but are now much lower, as we wind our way through its lower passes, huge lakes appear and vanish again buried in a mass of mountains and hills. Coyhaique nestles amoungst the smaller mountains, their tops still snow covered, but their sides smothered in trees, a large canyon marks the edge of town, with impressive views down to the water below and the green valley sides.
The lake crossing back to Argentina was magnificent, huge towering mountains giving way to patagonian steppe, the lake seemed to change colour from a light green to an irredecent deep blue as the scenery changed, then the winds began whipping up large waves, and pulling small water spouts towards the sky. We arrived in Chile Chico, a small battered minibus which a cheerful driver drove us through the border to Los Antiguos, the place of the ancients were the old tribes people came to die, its warm micro climate making life a little easier, sadly most of the old burial sites have long since been desecrated.

A 5am arrival in El Chalten, greeted by light snow and cold winds, as most people sheltered in a cafe waiting for a bit of light, two set off, then returned still in the dark anounced that "it sucks" got back on the same bus and left, a very quick assessment, for what would become one of my favourite stops. The small town seemed even smaller as you walked away from it, dwarfed by a vast valley, and by the mountains whose peaks looked like upward pointing daggers, the weather could change in minutes from warmish sun to freezing cold blasts of air, then snow and low cloud. Our treks, within minutes, lead us into incredible scenery, initially through ancient woodlands then low shrubs, sometimes we waded in snow, tarns broke up the valleys, then once when resting on a ridge watching as a massive snow storm made its way down the valley, a Condor swooped past maybe a meter above our heads. The views were often hidden, and then when you least expected it, a huge vista would appear of distant lakes and mountains.

El Calafate, and the Perito Merino glacier, we set of at 6am, with a car full of great Germans, our small team arriving hours before the park was besieged by tour buses. The glacier was unbelievable, it grunted and groaned, crashed and banged, icebergs fell from its ends sending large waves rushing down the lake. Sometimes the noises were so deep they would reverbarate inside our chests, it felt like i could spend forever in anticipation of the next break-off, then the next, then the next.

Next came 5days trekking the Torres del Paine.

Day1
6am start, early mornings never quite the norm. A few hours on the bus, excitement builing, the weather teasing with sun and rain. As we waited for the catarmaran over the lake, we banged in a short walk, to see a waterfall, it turned out to be more of a water blast, driven on by incredible blasts of wind. Then the boat, a cushy looking journey over a bright green lake, we turn around the bluff and the wind hit us, driving waves over the top of the boat, its nose constantly diving into the next wave...it leaked, but not too much, our arrival on land was really nice. Then five and half hours trekking, our packs at their heaviest. Then distant views of the Patagoinian ice sheet, and the wind was outrageous, sometimes it would pick stones up and throw them at us, othertimes it was us who were thrown. Our campsite next to the glacier, the ground freezing, the heavy rain began, a whole evening and night of it.

Day2
9am start, our unwillingess to leave shelter and put back on our cold wet clothes slowed our start. The Glacier was incredible close up, it whiteness going off as far as we could see. Then off, this time the wind at our backs, woods gave way to scrub, then woods, then back to yesterday's start. The mountain views above us, the peaks seemed to slice and shred all the clouds that dared to go near. Our arrival at our next campsite was greeted by the awesome sound of an avalanche, at first we thought it was thunder peeling down the valley ahead then we saw its tail ripping down a mountain, we just stood stunned by its power. Our arrival at camp was greeted by a grey fox, and some Canadians we met the night before.

Day3
8am start, easy day, first a 4hr round trip up Valley Frances, undoubtably the most impresive walk, first we wound past the avalanche mountain, who continued to shrug off its finely balanced snow throughout the night and day, its roars and crashes raising our spirits. At the top of the valley we found ourselves surrounded by huge mountains, different coloured rocks leaving vast stripes on their sides, some so steep that snow could not cling to them. Back down the valley, pick our stuff up and a few hours later we arrived at our third campsite. The last hours of walking had again shown completly different lanscape, the mountains still stood above us, but we were surrounded by flowering shrubs, their brightly coloured flowers seemed to help lift our tired limbs, then a walk along a beach by the lake side.

Day4
8am, our packs at their lightest yet having eaten most of our food, feeling lifted by a warmer nights sleep, we set off for supposedly our toughest day. The scenery was now grasslands, with steep gullies and a gradual ascent that lasted the day. Our views were of Patagonian steppe, dotted with lakes reflecting the colour of the sky, sometimes steely grey, other times deep blue. Then we plunged into our last valley, it looked like a giant knife cut in the mountains, its sides steeply cutting down to a river often lost at its bottom. Some glimpses of the Torres appeared and disappeared replaced by snow clouds. Our campsite despite being sheltered in amongst trees, was freezing cold, however we received another warm welcome from our now travel companions the Canadians.

Day5
4am, really cold, really tired, really steep climb and it was dark. However we still banged in a cup of tea at the top before being beaten off by the snow. Despite not seeing a thing it all felt amazing, we then fled down the valley to warmth, our packs feeling light as feathers we returned to humanity, huge smiles plastered on our faces.

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