the patagonia trip: Settling In

I slept okay last night, though there were some bouts where I laid awake listening to the stream nearby and the roar of the wind high in the peaks. The two sounds would merge periodically so I wasn’t sure if I was hearing a full-on Patagonian gale or a benign rush of water.

 We woke around 8:30am to find some light hail and cool temps. Since much of our camping equipment was still down at Campamento Chileno, we had few breakfast options. In fact, regardless of our lack of cooking equipment we were also somewhat paralyzed to eat the food we had so painstakingly humped up here. Every bite we ate would bring us closer to having to leave. In the end we let ourselves to some cereal with powdered milk. 

 Soon after we began our hike back to camp Chileno for our first of the day’s slated two loads. Even with our packs empty, the going was tough. We could certainly feel our activities of yesterday. Other hikers even passed us, driving home the point that we were ragged, but we later caught up and overcame them at a short scrambly section, which made us feel better. 

 For the last section of the hike we were starved and our spirits sunk to a lump in our throats when we found the kitchen to be closed at camp Chileno. Then, having settled on purchasing a Fanta orange soda, the light eyed local behind the counter couldn’t make change for our only Chilean bill. We swallowed the lumps in our throats, filled our packs from our horse carried gear cache and began our way back to base camp in the standard spitting rain and wind.

the patagonia trip: Logistics

Sleeping through our optimistically set 7am alarms, we woke at 8am, brushed our teeth, I donned my contacts and we sauntered off to the hostel for breakfast. With what we thought were the fixings for cinnamon toast, we made toast with butter, sugar and powered coffee. It wasn’t bad. I liked it. So we ate it with amusement, along with the oatmeal, scrambled eggs, juice and tea, which was all part of the standard hostel breakfast.

What came next was by no means elegant. We ferried ourselves between the hotel and horse stable area and the hostel, which are 800 meters apart. We reserved the horses at the hotel, then had to go to the hostel to pay, then back to the stable to find out if they would bring the horses to our camp for loading, which they wouldn’t… Then we spent a couple hours walking our six giant bags of gear and food to the stable, where, upon completion of the effort, the authentically dressed gauchos told us it would be an hour before we could depart.

Meanwhile the gauchos attempted to load a very freaked out horse with two 4’x 8’ sheets of plywood, one on each side, which made the horse rear and fall over. The gauchos calmed the horse, which had successfully ejected the load and proceeded to hang out, cavort and do everything but load our luggage on to any one of the hundred or so not-freaked horses. Two hours later, Dave and I caved to our hunger pangs and went to grab a bite at the hotel. When we returned, our bags had finally departed. We strapped on loaded trekking packs and embarked for Campamento Chileno.

the patagonia trip: First sight

Our hostess kindly had breakfast ready for us this morning at 6am. By 6:25am, after sweet corn flakes, yogurt and toast we were piling our cab full of our gear with the help of our cabby.

We boarded our bus around 7am in a spitting rain and were quickly lulled back to sleep. The bus was chilly but comfortable with seats that reclined effectively. A few times I woke, feeling guilty about passing up the scenery, but a glance through the windows, which were bleary with condensation, reassured me that I wasn’t missing too much. It was only the flat terrain with the standard trees and scrub brush we had already become acquainted with.

 A few hours later, awake for good after some strange dreams, the landscape began to change. All of a sudden there were hills, then vegetated mountains and eventually larger mountains of dark crumbly rock with some small snowfields. When we reached the Paine massif, we saw only a whirling mass of clouds, but we knew we had arrived. The bus stopped at an outpost for the passengers to pay the $15 entrance fee. Dave and I spoke with a ranger about what we’d need to do from there. We would have to take a bus, which would come in four hours, one and a half hours to the outpost with the administration center, where we would have to get our climbing permit processed. Presently we are returning from the administration station to pick up our gear, which we left behind, and will take another bus to an outpost further in the park. There we will spend the night. 

 Back at the admin station we got to name our expedition. We chose, “Tradical Sabatical.” Also, Christian had left us an encouraging note. He said that he had stopped by to see if we had arrived and that he had some ideas for our days with him. He would meet us at Campamento Japanese on the 9th and we would try to climb on the 10th-13th. “Have information on the Bonnington-Whillans route on the central tower and also on the north tower,” he included. Those were the words that truly stoked us and those were the two towers that peaked at us through the clouds, giving us glimpses of their phantasmagorical proportions.

the patagonia trip: Expectations

Many months ago, when the idea of this trip was born, the vision was of an epic voyage, traveling and climbing from peak to peak with only the supplies we could carry on our backs. Serious sacrifices were expected to be necessary. Perhaps we’d only be able to bring a couple pairs of underwear, a single set of clothes and simple, light-weight food would be all we could manage. We could realize an ideal of backcountry freedom by traveling so light.

I still subscribe to the ideal, but, as our planning for the trip progressed, the realities of our ambition to climb technical peaks in locations with large environmental extremes evolved our vision. We came to terms with the fact that we’d have to travel with a duffel in addition to our “only” pack when, on a weekend trip to the Adirondacks, our “only” packs were bursting with only a couple days worth of supplies. Speaking with our alpine hero, Jim Donini, on the phone didn’t help. He told us of the myriad things he brings on his own Patagonian expeditions, including large tents, good food and stoves.

the patagonia trip: Intro My Partner

“I don’t know what chill is, but I know that I’m not part of it,” says Dave, my climbing partner, as we wait at the gate to board our flight out of DC.  You know we're going to be spending many days together couped up in a tent don't you?  At least he shouldn't be spacing on belay!

the patagonia trip: Loose Ends

Laura, Megan, Aaron, perhaps a couple others and I walked up a glass-walled stair shaft that looked out upon a dreary airport runway. What did Aaron do that pissed that lady off? Apparently there was a pissed off lady who wouldn’t relent with her updates on the ill-effects of Aaron’s action. I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad. Oh? He hit her with a chunk of ice? He was horsing around, lobbed a chunk of ice into the air and hit an obnoxious lady in the rib! I see. What a strange interlude. But, getting back to the conversation at hand, of course it is going to be an amazing trip. Amazing trip! Amazing trip!

The past few months have been a groundhog day of this conversation. I talk about my coming trip and then the eyes of whomever I’m speaking with light up as if watching a movie of my trip on the inside of their eyeballs. Then they say, “You’re going to have such an amazing time! Such an amazing time!” I always want to know what they see on the inside of their eyeballs.

I awoke from this funk of sleep in the mangled position I’ve been growing accustomed to on the 6:05am Amtrak train from Philly on Monday morning. The train is perfectly timed so I can go from the depths of sleep to the guilt tainted horror of being groggy, red-eyed and half an hour late to work within the ten minutes it takes to walk from Union Station to Senate Square Towers. But this wasn’t any day back from a weekend visiting Laura and friends. It was my last day at work before THE trip—the day I would have to dump my loose ends—loose ends I was sure had been breeding in the corners of my pre-TRIP world—onto coworkers whom I genuinely liked…

the patagonia trip: Purgatory

I have boarded the train to Philly to find myself in the “quiet car” towards the rear of the train. I didn’t even know there was a quiet car in the afternoon.

There is an African American man in the seat ahead of me, chatting in subdued tones. I wouldn’t have noticed him or that I am in the “quiet car” were it not for the display coming from the guy across the isle to our right. 

With curly grey hair, wire rimmed glasses and a grey goatee the pudgy caucasian is glaring across the isle at the man in front while vehemently thumbing his newspaper. “Shhh!” he bursts with his finger to pursed lips, failing to attract the attention of the man ahead, from whom I’m beginning to smell alcohol.

He continues to glare and thumb his newspaper. Finally it is too much. He reaches across the isle and taps the man in conversion. “Shhh!” he says, again with the finger and pursed lips, “this is the quiet car, which means there is no talking!”

After a beat the fellow in front of me leans over, pokes his critic in the arm, who is still focused intently on him and says in forced politeness, “just because this is the quiet car doesn’t mean you can’t talk.”

“You’re supposed to be quiet, they announced it!”

Both are reasonable stances, I had to think. What’s right? Is something juicy about to happen? What is really bothering this uptight dude and what craziness is being uttered by the man ahead?

As if to respond to the unfolding drama, the conductor’s voice came across the intercom. “…the dining car is open and serving drinks and snack. And the last car is the quiet car, where a library-like atmosphere should be observed. That means no cell phones, music or loud talking.”

Well there we have it. I wouldn’t think his talking is loud.

Just then, the conductor walks up, takes my ticket and punches it with the smoothness of a well-practiced motion. He moves ahead and punches the ticket of the man ahead. “This is the quiet car. If you want to talk you’ll have to move to the main cabin.”

That’s that. End of drama. At least I got to distract myself from this purgatory I have been feeling lately. Over the past few months I have engrossed myself in the imaginary world of my two month expedition and endless possibilities. Warm granite towers beckoned me and prospects of stormy bivouacs heightened the anticipated thrill. Now that film is growing faint and I wait in silence for the lights to come on and the reality to begin.

HA! My buddy Jeb just called and the pudgy goatee guy Shhh’ed me! Freakin’ quiet police.