According to my Fitbit, we walked 16.5 miles, took 41,781 footsteps, and climbed 446 sets of stairs yesterday. The Fitbit can’t tell the difference between climbing stairs and hiking uphill, and neither can my thighs or my butt, quite frankly.
Gung-ho to see as much as we can while here in the park and to take advantage of the beautiful, sunny skies, we decided to do the long hike through the Valle de Ascencio up to the base of the three Torres del Paine on day two. Knowing the hike would take the better part of the day, we got up early, drove the 1.5 hours to the trailhead, and set out on the 13-mile, 7.5-hour hike. Why wait until we are acclimatized?
The Towers, or Torres de Paine, are three granite spires that stand sentry over a glacial lake—the tallest measuring 9,186 feet. There are three segments to the hike. The first section of the trail is an aggressive angle up the side of the mountain to the Refugio: a wooden structure offering bunk beds, a common area with a wood stove, some food, and a campground. The second segment follows a stream and meanders through a beech forest at a reasonable slope until it steepens, requiring steps carved into the trail. The third, and hardest, segment is a 45-minute scramble up a boulder moraine to the base of the towers. The reward is a stunning view of the azure lake and the peaks reflected in it.
I am used to hiking in the Rockies or the Sierra Nevadas, where the elevation climb is equally as intimidating. Yet, because trails generally do a long zig-zag up the mountain, you just put it in low gear, breathe deeply, and take one step at a time until eventually you get to the top. Here, the concept of switch-backs is misunderstood at best. While they exist, they are more like the zipper of a jacket: a step to the right, then one to the left, but they leave no question that the way is up. Forget breathing and pacing oneself—it is just gulps of air between grunts.
I lost count of the number of times I stopped and announced, “Okay, I am not doing this. This is it!” Then, of course, Kevin would smile down at me and start heading up again. I’d then take a deep breath and dutifully follow. Until the last stretch, that is.
After three hours of hiking, we came to the very last and most difficult section—the boulder moraine. I felt I could have made the last 45-minute scramble to the lookout, but I was afraid that if I did, I’d never make the three-hour hike back down. My legs already resembled something akin to jelly. Sometimes I make smart decisions.
I handed Kevin my camera, and he headed up. He arrived at the Vista Overlook 45 minutes later. It was no doubt spectacular. As he focused on the perfect shot, the camera batteries went dead. Instead, he took out his trusty iPhone, snapped a few photos, and headed back down. 1.5 hours after leaving me and reuniting on the trail, we headed back down, bone tired with six more miles to go.
For anyone thinking hiking downhill is a piece of cake, you simply have never hiked downhill. Toes jammed into the front of your boots, shin-splits to make you cry, and the torque on your knees enough to make you confess to most anything. The only benefit of going downhill is that you can breathe, but who cares at that point?
You cannot read a trail guide or even an article about this park that doesn’t mention this infamous Mirador del Torres hike. Yet, miraculously, we were within approximately 30 minutes of arriving back at the trailhead—the sun had gone behind the mountain, leaving only a few more hours of daylight—when we met two stylish Italian women heading up. Given the time of day, we felt a responsibility to ask them where they were going, assuming they would reply with something sensible like, “Oh, we’re just going a short distance before dinner.”
To our utter surprise, they said they were headed to the Mirador. Turns out they knew nothing about the trail they were on, so we told them. Instead of turning around, though, and walking down with us, they incredulously continued up. We shook our heads but figured it was ultimately okay, since they did have their purses. A little refreshing of the lipstick around midnight, and they’d be set to make it to the top by morning.
We ended our day ordering a larger-than-life Patagonia hamburger, sitting at a table looking up at the mountain we had just come down. Walking back to the truck was torture for both of us. Each step was nothing short of pain and suffering. On the twilight drive back to our hotel, Kevin got leg cramps. He managed to put his foot on the brake and the clutch at the same time—twice. God, how I love seat belts and the “F” word. They are both so very helpful.
