Patagonia--The hiking's not for sissies, but camp is

I like to challenge myself. Enduring a bit of physical pain now and then reminds me I am alive, capable. Trekking in Patagonia is not for sissies. That's not to say that it's overly taxing or unattainable. But if you only like to don shorts and hike on well-maintained marked trails, Patagonia may not be your venue. If, on the other hand, you thrive on repeatedly passing up and down over the contour line, pole-vaulting over streams and bogs, using your full body weight to battle through brambles, or clinging to rock faces over a flowing river, all while viewing some of the most stupendous scenery in the southern hemisphere, then it would be an apt choice.

Casey and don Moncho loading up the gear

Tom opted to wade rather than walk the log

We did not hike a lot of vertical in Chile. And each day's hike was only "6 miles;" John's definition of 6 miles is suspect, though. Maybe it just seemed far longer because there were often obstacles along the way. Some days, we crossed up and down the contour line. Think interval training--a steep uphill followed by enough of a descent to catch your breath before heading up again. Our packs were not heavy because pack horses carried all the more cumbersome gear. We did, though, tackle roots, rocks, plenty of sand on the river beach, a rickety bridge or two, and a ladder and rope on the rock faces. The rewards were great. We hiked four full days, and spent an afternoon on the Nef Glacier before we ran into any other people on the trail.

this one was a tad rickety

Frank spotting Tom as he descends the ladder above the river

A little upper body strength needed here

Life in camp was not too much of a hardship. Casey or Frank erected our light, center-poled hexagonal tent. Pablo strung up a cooking tarp and concocted hearty, mouth-watering dinners and breakfasts. We always camped in a campo near the river. Tom took advantage of the bathing opportunity. Not I. Only my face. That's all the numbness I could handle.

the honeymoon suite

End of the day. Time to get those boots off my feet.

 

Never has camp food tasted so good. He even brought along an entire ditty sack of herbs and spices. We feasted on yogurt (packed into Coke bottles); granola; fresh bread; cheese; egg scrambles with meat, onions, and garlic; pasta; risotto; plenty of fresh fruit; and red wine (decanted into Coke bottles). I witnessed much chopping, sauteing, and real cooking. Pablo's energy never waned after he finished his morning mate. Neither did his smile, even when doing the dishes.

A word about mate: A gourd with a silver straw is passed from person to person in the morning. Looks like it should be illegal, but it's not. Mate consists of yerba mate leaves steeped in just-short-of-boiling water. It's wildly popular in southern Chile; I first encountered it on Aconcagua in Argentina. There is etiquette involved. John taught Tom how to hold and pass the gourd. Pablo warmed the water by the side of our campfire in a little black kettle. The water in the gourd is replenished from time to time. When the mate starts to become bitter, it is tossed. I guess it jump-starts the day without the jitters of caffeine. Must be an acquired taste.

Snack time on the trail

Casey chopping garlic for the morning scramble

Yum! Great way to start the day.

John and I talked about the different ways of approaching time on the trail. He shared that he never thought he'd acquiesce to the idea of a "supported" trek, but we agreed that it's a pretty nice option. I've carried the burdensome 45-pound pack before, laden with group cooking gear, fuel canisters, and tent parts. The supported trek, with only extra layers of clothes and water in your pack, is a real pleasure, I must say.