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The Making of a Free Woman

November 6, 2023 / jessgarion / Leave a comment

Patagonia Pt. 7

Campamiento Central —> Base de las Torres del Paine (and back)

After seven days of backpacking, looming ahead was 21km/13 miles (round-trip) and 901m/2956ft of elevation to reach the base of las Torres, the crown jewel of Patagonia, and my final hike on the O-Circuit.

I woke up late that morning, but I packed up my belongings for the last time. Breaking down camp no longer felt like a chore. In fact, it felt like a welcome morning ritual, as routine as brushing my teeth. Since this trail was out and back, I got to leave my 25lb backpack at the campsite then I hit the trail right at 8am.

Hoping to beat the crowds, I hustled, passing large tour groups along the way. I was surprised at how the trail life had conditioned my mind and body in only a week.

For example, my heart no longer raced when I hit aggressive elevation. I had more confidence in my feet as they hopped from rock to rock over running water. My introverted self stopped to converse with friends I made over the past week on the trail. We laughed and hugged each other goodbye, knowing I would probably never see most of these people again. Even though I traveled to Chile alone, because of them, I never really felt lonely.

The terrain was aggressive. I was practically pistol-squatting my way up, scrambling over sharp rocks. I gazed down into the valley whenever there was a break in the trees, relishing my last day on the O-Circut. When the trees ended, the trail continued up, exposed to gusts of wind and sporadic buckets of rain. The trail became loose, slippery shards of dark, metamorphic rock. The only way we knew where to go was to follow the orange posts hammered into the ground. Even without my backpack, it was challenging.

I got to the top at exactly 11:22 AM, the month and day of my mom’s birthday. Her passing a few months prior was the catalyst of my one-way ticket to Chile. Even the wind and rain stopped to reward me with a moment of peace. The glacial lake that sat beneath the three majestic towers was so still I thought it was frozen and everything was quiet. Gloomy clouds pooled at the summits of each tower.

“I heard las Torres are incredible when basked in sunlight, but even in the rain they are incredible,” said my friend Jeff, whom I bumped into while hiking. I agreed. Even in the rain, they are incredible. Everything felt right.

Only six other people were at the Torres with us. It felt beautifully intimate and profound. Jeff and I split a Kind Bar and sat beside each other in silence.

At that moment I felt whole. I felt like I was fulfilling my every potential as a human. Over the last eight days, I maxed out my body, my mind, my social skills, my problem-solving skills, my sorrow, and my self-love in the most healthy way— fully present and one step at a time.

I did it. 8 days and 100+ miles hiked with a 30-pound backpack on these short but mighty Filipina legs. Holy cow, I did it, and I felt…light. I thought I would feel like a hardcore, brave woman at the end of it all, but I surprisingly didn’t feel brave. I felt like sunlight.

I felt free.

A Torres del Paine O-Circut Slideshow from my Camera Roll

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Without Cursing the Earth Beneath Me

June 14, 2022June 15, 2022 / jessgarion / Leave a comment

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.

^{See that river? Yeah, that’s the trail.}

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.}

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Profoundly Sh*tty

May 8, 2022May 9, 2022 / jessgarion / Leave a comment

I am basking in the warm California sun as I reminisce on my last few months traveling alone in Chilean Patagonia. When I arrived in Santiago in early February, my heart would race every time I left my hostel. I took taxis everywhere, afraid of public transportation. I would constantly search for wifi to look up simple things, afraid to use my spotty Spanish to ask for help. I called home often, afraid of missing out on what was happening back in LA.

Every week the fear would abate. Soon I was hitchhiking to a volcano in a car full of badass backpacking Chilenas I just met as we shared our latest adventures. Growing up painfully shy, I often pause these days to rejoice at the person I have become:

A person who feels competent enough to backpack and camp alone. Open enough to express myself in a language I am still learning. Confident enough to be the first to extend a hand in friendship. Free enough to trust that I will always be okay.

Part of that freedom came with accepting death- my mom’s and my own. I remember laying on a petrified log in Playa Cole Cole, watching seals bob out of the water and thinking, “Death is coming, and I intend to make life so beautiful that when death does come for me, I can go satisfied, whether it comes tonight or 80 years from now.”

I closed my eyes, listened to the ocean, and felt the chill breeze raise goosebumps on my skin. After a few breaths, I opened my eyes to a fiery sunset as I surrendered to all that life had to offer.

This Mother’s Day, I offer all my growth, longing, and joy to a woman who lived so well that God called her home early. My first Mother’s Day without her physical presence has been so profoundly shitty, but………yeah. That’s it. Just shitty. And honestly, that’s okay.

Our Sister, the Ice Monster

March 15, 2022March 8, 2022 / jessgarion / 2 Comments

Patagonia Pt. 4

Direct From the Journal: Torres del Paine “O” Circuit Day 3- Dickson to Los Perros

I am sitting at the base of the Los Perros Glacier. An icy green lake ripples at my feet, and a frigid breeze nips at my face. Behind me are giant rounded hills that wear lush forests at their sides, though their hilltops are grey and bald. At least, that means I have a clear view of the numerous waterfalls as they spill into the forests below.

Today’s hike was level and pleasant, lasting a little over nine miles, but I heard that tomorrow’s would be brutal. It would supposedly take six hours to get from the Los Perros campsite to the John Gardner Pass then another four hours to make it to camp. Considering the map listed it as a 12ish-mile day, the terrain must be aggressive. At least, it is only 2:30 pm right now. There is plenty of time to be off my feet once I get to camp, which is less than a few hundred feet away.

I wish I could camp here, though. I have never seen a glacier this close, and it blows my mind that I am the only person at this lake. It is just me, a tiny human, and a giant, gentle ice monster. Her millions of years of existence versus my 26. She is massive, baby blue, and crumbling before me. I just saw a piece fall off in a thunderous show of both power and vulnerability. Waterfalls spurted from her walls of ice until she seemed to piece herself back together. After a chorus of loud cracks and howls, it was quiet again. She was still there, in all her glory, exactly where she had rested for millions of years. Her crumbling made her even more impressive.

Oh, how much we can learn from one of the wisest of God’s creations, our sister, the gentle ice monster! The longer I sat, the more I felt that I was not the only living thing at that lake. Every blade of grass, every rock, every tree, every drop of water, and every piece of that glacier was created with the same divine energy that created me. All in the image and likeness of God in various, perfect forms, even in their worldly fragility.

The Los Perros Glacier was not simply a tourist attraction. She was a host who welcomed us into her home. She lives on our timeline, and she is just as vulnerable and finite as we are. But even in that vulnerability, she remains beautiful, mighty, and divine…just like you.

Hike Info:

Campamiento Dickson to Campamiento Los Perros

Length: 11.6 km (7.2 miles).
Elevation Gain: 591 m (1939 ft.)
Terrain: Dirt, small loose rocks during the final ascent
Other Notes: Plenty of tree cover! Even though it’s an easier day, don’t take too long to get to Los Perros Campground. The next day will kick your butt and you’ll need all the rest you can get!

^{Other breathtaking views from the hike between Campamiento Dickson and Campamiento Los Perros!}

Like Seeing a Fox in the Snow

March 7, 2022March 8, 2022 / jessgarion / 2 Comments

Patagonia Pt. 3

Campamiento Serón to Campamiento Dickson

I woke up to a flooded tent. Well, “woke up” would imply that I slept. The intense wind, pouring rain, cold temps, and constant need to pee resulted in a restless first night. Also, I forgot my tent pegs, so I had to line my tent with rocks. All night I watched the wind thrash my tent around, praying the rocks would hold.

I stayed behind to mop my tent with my only towel and wring out my damp clothes while my new friends hit the trail. They waved goodbye to me apologetically as they left. At 11 am, I figured I had done all I could and decided to start walking.

Within the hour, I was climbing up a steep, consistent incline of switchbacks that faced the campsite. It was frustrating not to see the starting point get farther as I trudged my way up. At the summit, I stopped to eat the last of my Oreos while watching a couple begin the incline far below.

The woman caught up to me quickly, and we snacked together while we watched her husband plop down on the side of the trail about halfway down.

“Pobrecito” Poor thing. She said.

“Animo!” You can do it! I yelled down to him.

We had a pleasant though choppy conversation. My Spanish is conversational, but the Chilean accent was so hard I might as well have been traveling in Italy. I understood almost nothing.

I wished her luck, and I continued walking.

The rest of the hike was flat, peaceful, and quiet. The only sounds came from the occasional babbling brook, rushing wind, woodpeckers, and hawks.

I walked, and walked, and walked. Hours passed without seeing another person, and though the view was beautiful, it was unchanging.

I sang songs to pass the time.

When couldn’t sing anymore, I practiced talking to myself in Spanish.

That didn’t last long.

So, I started trying to make up songs in Spanish. A challenge!

While trying to think of a rhyme for arbol I approached a wooden sign. It had information about the upcoming wetlands and a map with the distances scratched off.

“Pumas and wolves rely on these wetlands you are about to enter. Stay still and see if you can hear them,” it read in Spanish. Perfecto. I thought.

A wooden boardwalk replaced the dirt trail as I walked over the wetlands. It was magical, and it took my mind off my solitude. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. The magical boardwalk and wetlands ended, and another dirt trail began. I was back to the same unchanging, grassy landscape. I did not know how much longer until the campsite, and there was no signage of how much I completed. I wasn’t tired nor frightened for my safety, but for some reason, I felt anxious.

I was walking through an open plain when the trail dipped deeper than the surrounding grassland, so I felt like I was walking in a trench. Around me were miles of a vast, empty, grassy expanse, and I was alone in it. The anxiety intensified, making my stomach queasy, and then it bubbled to the surface. I started to cry. I knelt and sank lower into the ground, threw off my backpack, and I cried even harder. I miss my mom. I said it out loud.

It was like that part of Wild where Cheryl Strayed saw a fox in the snow, yelled in an attempt to scare it away, and ended up calling out for her also cancer-stricken and deceased mom. I understand how she felt.

Memories of laying beside my mom in her hospital bed holding her hand while she wept. Or cooking meals for my grandpa while organizing my mom’s medication while entertaining visitors. Or removing the IV that kept her alive though in excruciating pain. Or being told, “stop saying you’re young. It’s hard on everybody” when I expressed that I was 26, motherless and tired.

These memories weighed heavy, but they were nothing compared to how painful they were in real-time.

Oddly enough, this last thought made me feel better.

These memories are simply that: memories. Still shitty and still heavy, but there is a growing distance between them and me. The doctors’ appointments, the grocery shopping, the nursing, the cooking, the funeral planning, the cleaning, the lawyer/bank meetings…everything was in the past. Being responsible for managing my mom’s pain while listening to her beg God to take her. It was hell, and now it is over. I am now responsible for my own pain management, for nursing my own mental and spiritual wounds.

I used the sides of the trench to stand up. I hoisted my 30lb backpack back onto my shoulders and walked confidently into the expanse without bothering to wipe the tears from my face.

After two-ish more hours, I looked down into a valley and saw the campsite beside a massive green lake. Mountains with baby blue glaciers set the backdrop to this dreamy, rainy, overcast scene. I hiked down with excitement and set up my tent by the water. I heard two friends call my name, and I smiled as they walked over to greet me. “You made it! Also, we found these on the trail!”

One of them held out his hand and in it were two crooked, rusty, old tent pegs.

“Now maybe you can get some sleep tonight!”

I laughed, used a rock to happily hammer my new pegs into the ground, and then gathered with the rest of my friends for dinner.

Hike Info

Length: 19 km (11.8 miles).
Elevation Gain: 730 m (2395 ft.)
Terrain: Easy dirt trails even during the steep ascent. For about an hour after the initial ascent, you walk on the side of a mountain that is exposed but felt very safe. Winds might change the experience. Loose rocks on the final, steep descent to Campsite Dickson.
Other Notes: Do not attempt if you do not have a reservation at the Dickson campsite! The rangers will send you back!!!

The Making of a Brave Woman

February 26, 2022February 28, 2022 / jessgarion / Leave a comment

Patagonia Pt. 1

I’ve been in Chile for a little over a week now, slowly working my way south from Santiago towards Patagonia where I am trekking the 85-mile O Circuit in Torres del Paine National Park. (I heard that 85 miles are just the straight-shot distances between campsites and not the actual length of the trails!) After six nights in Santiago and two nights in Punta Arenas, I have arrived at Puerto Natales, my last stop. Tomorrow morning I’ll take a bus to the trailhead and begin my trek. As the hike looms closer, I’m trying to channel my inner Cheryl Strayed in Wild, or Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love. Both women were tangled in messy life situations until they carved their way out by physically removing themselves from the mess. Sometimes, all you need is some distance to put things into perspective. Sometimes, all you need is simply to worry about the next step.

^{View from Cerro Santa Lucía in Santaigo.}

With the many logistical hurdles of this trip, taking steps one at a time is the only way I stay sane. To quickly recap all I’ve been through up till now, I spent a week in Santiago eating Nutella and backlogging writing for work. Afterward, I took a flight to Punta Arenas, a small town (but largest in Patagonia) in the southernmost part of the continent, and stayed there for two nights. I left on a bus this morning for Puerto Natales. Each of those steps required many little ones. Additionally, as a solo female traveler, I’m constantly vigilant yet simultaneously making sure I enjoy myself.

^{Admiring the awesome bike lanes in Punta Arenas.}

The whole experience is a challenge, privilege, joy, and blessing. It is messy and sometimes scary and tiring, but worth it. Maybe that is why travel is the means of healing for so many book and movie characters. It mimics all the ups and downs of life and teaches you that the whole experience can be beautiful. Take this afternoon as an example.

I reserved a bed at a gorgeously unique adobe-like hostal. The only issue (that initially began as a super cool idea) was that it was up in the countryside hills and far from the city center. Not too bad, but there were only two roads to get there. Road #1 had two aggressive, sometimes violent, large guard dogs. They are chained 50% of the time. Road #2 had four similarly large dogs that only act aggressively. They are never chained, but will most likely not lunge. Getting to the hostal was hard enough without GPS, but sprinting from dogs was a bonus. Unfortunately, after settling into my hostal, I needed to leave again to buy groceries for my trek.

^{Heading to my hostal in Puerto Natales.}

“Tengo miedo.” I’m scared. I laughed nervously.

“Yeah, they’re scary, huh? All you need to do is stand your ground and say, ‘FUERA!’” The young woman who worked at the hostal responded to me in English while leaning against the front desk. She had a partly shaved head, purple highlights, and avant-garde tattoos.

It was getting late, and I needed to go. The woman gave me a thumbs up and a “buenos suerte” as I walked out the door. I nervously paced outside for 15 minutes before finally walking down road #2.

I rounded the corner and thought, “You are Walter Mitty getting on that helicopter in Greenland. You are Cheryl Strayed traversing the PCT trail buried in icy snow. You are brave!”

The dogs lay curled up on the side of the road. “Cute,” I effortfully thought while adrenaline heated my body, urging me to run. The good news was that the dogs were sleeping deeply enough that I could quickly walk around them, delaying my opportunity to face them, at least until I had to return.

After stocking up on all my meals for the week, I began the long walk back, hoping the dogs were still asleep. “You are brave!” I repeated in my mind as I left the town center, as I crossed the stream, and as I made my way up the hills towards my hostal.

I walked alone, up the dirt path, between tall yellow grass. The snowy Patagonia mountains were visible in the distance. Colorful homes and a glacier-blue lake painted the foreground of my panoramic view. As I looked out in awe, two dogs stepped out of the grass and onto the road before me. My eyes widened. Tails in the air, they barked and bounded towards me.

“YOU ARE A BRAVE WOMAN!” I screamed internally. My heart was pounding!

I took out the baguette from my grocery bag and swung it like a sword. “FUERA!” I said!

Weird, but it worked! They continued to bark but they stopped running. As I walked through, still swinging my baguette, the dogs moved to the side and barked until my back was towards them.

Heart still pounding, I speed-walked into the hostal and plopped into a chair. The woman with purple hair asked how it went, and I gave her the story. She laughed and said she was proud.

The dog experience may not seem like a big deal, especially if you live in an area where fierce dogs roam free, but hey you gotta cut me some slack. I was born and raised in Los Angeles, where we’ve got 99 problems, but stray dogs ain’t one. Regardless, having to face them was unexpected, scary, and undesirable BUT I believe I am a little better because of it.

–

Anyway, see ya in a week. Torres del Paine, here I come.

Jess Outdoors

Trails, Travel & Gratitude

Patagonia, Chile