Patagonia Pt. 6

Campamiento Grey —> Campamiento Frances —> Campamiento Central

After hiking eight grueling hours under a beating sun from Campsite Grey to Campsite Frances, I had a Snickers, a pot of curry-flavored quinoa, and half a can of beer. The other half I spilled in my tent.

At this point, I accepted the sloppiness of my existence, like “showering” with a Neutrogena wet wipe or spit-launching dusty loogies without breaking my stride on the trail. Anyway, I thought about sleeping in the nude, but the bitter cold convinced me otherwise, so I slipped on my least dirt-crusted clothing and relished the warmth. That night I had the deepest sleep of my life. Cushy beds in Vegas Venetian Suites paled in comparison. Not that I experienced those too often.

I woke to the smell of my beer-soaked tent. Without complaint, my body sprung into the morning ritual. Within 30min of waking up, I was on the trail chomping on mouthfuls of peanuts as I marched.

I marveled at how my body had changed, even after just a week of backpacking. My lungs breathed deeper, my skin was smoother, and my thoughts were kinder. The weight of my backpack was less burdensome, and elevation gains no longer made my muscles scream like they used to. Now I can simply relish the view without cursing the earth beneath me.

During the last section of the 12ish-mile hike to Campsite Central, I met a new friend. This man would hike past me, then I would pass him, then he would pass me, and we did that for miles until eventually, we stopped to talk.

“Es hermoso, no?” He asked me in Spanish. He walked up behind me while I was admiring a nearby lake.

“Sí. Es ummm… lo siento mi español es muy malo, pero queiro practicar!” I wanted to say so much more about the lake, but I did not have the vocabulary.

“Oh don’t worry. I speak English. Where are you from? Also, yeah, let’s practice!”

He was a young, sweet Chilean man who spoke with intensity and passion. We walked a few miles together, switching between English and Spanish. We talked about Chilean history, people uprisings, feminism, and the environment. I learned more about Chilean bureaucracy than I ever thought I would.

I remember listening to him talk about hope as I gazed out onto the neverending trail. A cool breeze made the hot sun tolerable, and there was a satisfying crunch of dirt beneath our boots as we marched in matching strides. The dramatic metamorphic mountains, glaciers, and waterfalls were behind us as we ventured towards the Welcome Center, exactly where I started seven days before. I wondered how I would feel when I would eventually arrive. All the positive changes I mentioned came from living out in nature, but how would I fare back in the “real world?”

After a few hours together, my new friend decided to stop at a river to relax. I continued without him.

I crossed the last suspension bridge, pushed through one final steep elevation gain, and saw my final campsite. A wooden sign indicated that the Welcome Center was just up the road, but a hotel and parking lot already alerted me that I had returned.

I stopped walking. My eyes spilled with joyful tears, and my stomach knotted with excitement. Seeing the hotel made me smile and laugh as I audibly whispered to myself, “Holy crap. I did it.” I completed the Torres del Paine O-Circuit! 80 miles in seven days. 30.1 miles in just the last two.* I arrived back exactly where I started, but I could not have felt more different.

With newfound energy, I set up my campsite swiftly, my hands working on automatic while I daydreamed about the next day, my last hike in the park, the grand finale: an 18-mile* round-trip trek to the base of Torres del Paine. At least I could leave my backpack at the campsite.

I walked to the little store to buy myself a coke and an hour of wifi. There, I bumped into my Texan friend (the man I hiked with for 11 hours over the John Garder Pass). He was sunburnt, dirty, and leaner, but he looked so happy. “I want to hear all about your last few days!” He said as we hugged.

He bought me another coke and one for himself. Rain began to pour as we excitedly recounted our adventures as the sun set on the distant Torres del Paine Towers, our final destination.

^{*On maps, the distances between campsites are written straight-shot, point-to-point. They don’t count the miles of switchbacks, loops, and bends that a person must hike between point A and point B. I’m basing my mileage on the data I got off my phone days after I finished the trek.}