She Travels

11 March 2008

IT Blows

Posted by Steph under: Tales from The Road .

As we departed Puerto Natales, the last “civilized” stop before reaching the park, I reflected on all the stories I had read, and heard, and wondered if there was any possibility that this place, Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, could ever measure up to the “hype” offered up by those who had seen and “done” this world famous national park. I mean, when has a place you’ve heard so much about ever measured up to the tales told by those who had been there? And still, I held out hope that I would be awed.

As we left the pavement and started on the gravel, known in South America as “ripio,” I started to have faith that it was possible - this place could be as awesome as I was led to believe. The sky, filled with clouds of all types, was an ever-changing theater of color, intensity and shapes. I could have filled 4GB memory cards just with shots of the clouds and colors it presented. And then, there were the vast open ranges, fields of solid ochre grass dotted with the livelihood of those who have tended it for many years. The cows and sheep provided a reminder that there was ongoing life here, something necessary to a passer by. Otherwise, one would think this was a part of the world that time had forgotten, a land that idled along on its own.

 

As we rounded bend after bend, I pondered what life would have been like for those who came here first, those who saw these sights for the first time. Much as I was seeing now, they must have thought they had reached a place no man had ever tamed. And yet, they had enough faith, in the land and themselves, to undertake creating a life here. The “estancias,” founded by those daring few, eventually became ranches supporting hundreds of thousands of sheep and cattle. I was definitely in awe.

And then, there it was…my first glimpse of the “towers,” the Torres del Paine. It was true…this really was an awe-inspiring place. Doug and I exchanged oohs and aahs and he slowed the rig to a crawl so we could take it all in. Little did we know at the time that that would prove impossible. There just wasn’t any way to absorb it all, and to express words sufficient to describe the beauty that lay before us. We had to stop…we had to have photographic evidence that this really existed. After all, how we would ever begin to describe this to someone “back home” without pictures?

 

Click, click, click went the shutter. And yet, as I reviewed the images, no, they simply would not do. This was so much, so much, SO MUCH more impressive than what I was capturing with my camera. A new position. Yes, that was it, that was what I needed…a better angle from which to capture what I was seeing. Surely I could do this justice, right? Wrong. There simply wasn’t an angle or a shot that could adequately portray what I was seeing with my very own eyes…eyes that had already experienced so much beauty in so many places. But, I tried.

“OK, we really need to keep moving,” Doug said. “We need to keep moving so we can get in the park before dark.” No, we were not even close to the park entrance yet and I was already overwhelmed with what I was seeing! But, I acquiesced and agreed to stop asking him to stop at every bend and every new view of the famous towers. At least that was my intention.

Just then, as we stared at the slight rise in the gravel rutted road, I spotted them. There were a lot of them…guanacos! And, they were looking relaxed and busy with their grazing. “Oh, can’t you please stop one more time?” I begged. Begrudgingly, Doug agreed to let me out to shoot. I had in mind slinking up to them under the cover of FUSO. Unfortunately, that part of my plan was lost on Doug, who by this time was hell bent on keeping us moving forward so we could make the park entrance before dark fell. So, off he went, up the rise ahead…and there I stood, in the open, somewhat surprised by my lack of cover, but nevertheless determined to integrate myself into nature. Hah, not so easy when you’re wearing all black and everything around you fits within nature’s palette of beiges, tans, off-whites and light greens. But hey, I’m determined!

I walked, determined, but non-aggressively, toward the left side of the road where the first grouping was grazing, barely noticing my presence. In my head I heard Doug’s voice,” Don’t wait…just start shooting.” And, so I did. As I walked uphill, I raised the camera to my right eye, squinted my left, and starting banging away. Click, click, click… By now I had attracted some attention, but none that signaled to the herd that I was a threat to be concerned with, and they went on eating, keeping a few eyes trained on my position. As I approached the first grouping, now only 10 or 15 yards away from me, I slowed my gait, keeping my camera tight against my body and my approach slow and measured. Click, click, click. Wow, this is amazing, I thought to myself! Cool, so very cool! Click, click, click…As I walked, ever so slowly, taking shot after shot, I realized that I had time to check the camera’s settings and to take my time framing the shot. This was really amazing! Click, click, click…adjust the dials…change my position…check the background for distracting images…look for a shot with the “Torres” behind the animals. Woohoo! OK, I have a ton of shots…and still, there they stand, curious about this clicking blob of black sidling up next to them. Hmmm…what’s she up to? And then, I was satiated. Hard to believe, even for me, but I was done. I had some shots and now I just wanted to “see” them, perhaps for the first time beyond the end of my lense…to see them just living life, just passing the time in the early minutes of dusk.

 

I slowly walked away from the herd, crossing the ripio road toward the truck in which Doug waited, ever so patiently, for his camera toting bride to reappear so they could move forward, hoping to reach the park before nightfall. And there it was, a lone Guanaco, intermittently grazing and glancing at the white blob (a.k.a. FUSO) that stood idling before it, and the approaching black blob crossing the road and rising up onto the hill. Funny, he seemed little concerned with me or my impending approach. This was, again, so different from the behavior we had experienced with Guanacos on the eastern coast of Patagonia. Prior to this, even a minimal slowing of a passing vehicle would enlist a call to action by one of the herd followed by a very quick dismissal of the rest. This time, there was a calmness, an acceptance of my presence. Again, click, click, click.

Mr. Guanaco’s expression was priceless, one of curiosity and humor. I could swear he gave me a smile! And then, he was off…off to join his brethren. Exhilarated, I caught Doug’s glance out his window and announced that I would die a happy girl if this was my last moment on earth! I then opened the truck door, anxious to share all of my experience with my patient husband. He smiled, I climbed in and thanked him for his patience, he responded with that look that says, “OK, can we go now?,” and off we went.

As we approached the first intersection, we were called upon to make a choice: Laguna Azul to the north, or Largo Amargo and the park entrance to the left. We chose the latter. Up and down we went, weaving our way around the hills, eventually curving around to our right and coming upon a turn-out perfect for a few quick shots of the rig, Ms. FUSO, in front of the snow and ice covered mountains of the park. Who could have known that this spot would provide a perfectly reflective pond of mineral water sprouting from the ground and a frightened little frog who dashed under an overhanging rock as I stepped into his path. It was simply perfect!

 

After a few shots by both husband and wife, we were off again. And, soon presented by a site even more awe inspiring than all those we had seen on our way to this point – a phosphorus green lake fronting the perfectly clear Torres del Paine (Towers of Paine) and accompanying snow-covered Monte Almirante Nieto. Wow…wow, wow, wow! I just could not come up with any other words. Wow!And, as quickly as we had been presented by this view, a view beyond anything I could have imagined existing in the real world, Doug was driving off the main gravel road onto a smaller, and steeper gravel “path.” “We’ll stay here tonight!” “Hmmm…” I said “I don’t know about this, couldn’t you have picked a spot a bit more picturesque?!”

 

Laughs and smiles were quickly exchanged, and the recollection of why we so enjoy traveling together was quickly remembered. And best of all, we made it before nightfall!

That night we enjoyed stalking the mountains, waiting for just the right cloud or sliver of light, to backlight the impressive towers or change the color of the water in the foreground. It was a photo-buff’s dream come true! As I shot, and repositioned myself, all I could think was that this would be worth it even if not one shot came out! What a day this had been! I just couldn’t believe we had it all to ourselves…where were all the thousands of tourists we had been told to expect to encounter?

The next day we awoke to the sounds of vans crushing the gravel on which we were solitarily (or so we thought) parked. Who is that? “Look,” I said, “there are more coming!” Yup, you guessed it…vans filled with tourists had found “our” spot! As quickly as the tires came to a stop, they leaped forward, cameras in hand, launching toward the water and a better viewpoint from which to capture “the” best picture of what lay before them. Oh man, it’s much too early for this. I need some caffeine! And so it was, for hours…they came…and they went. Now, it’s important to note that they were mostly quiet and respectful of mother nature and of us. But, there were more than a few “Now I know what it feels like to be an animal at the zoo” moments! I can’t even begin to count the number of times I saw a camera pointed at our “home,” or the number of times a van drove like mad toward the water’s edge scaring away the flamingoes and any bystander’s hopes of catching a shot of one!  

 

As the day wore on the tourist vehicles diminished and we were faced with only a few Chileans and other travelers on holiday, all trying to cram in as many sites as possible before returning to the “real world” back home. We felt fortunate to have some fun conversations and were lucky enough to learn a bit from those seeking to know more about our journey. To say we finally felt like we were on “our” journey would be an accurate description of the feelings we shared with each other just before grilling a rack of lamb and sitting down to enjoy wonderfully fresh veggies and a nice bottle of 2005 Norton Malbec Reserve. Could this day be any more perfect?

Perhaps it could. Within a few moments of the departure of the last passerby, a young man from Los Angeles, California, we were treated to the most absolutely serene view of the mountains and towers, the perfectly glassy water reflecting their beauty upward, and the quietest quiet I had ever (not) heard. Click, click, click…it was simply amazing.

 

As we turned in for the night, the wind kicked up, but just a bit. And then, IT began. “It” being the winds Patagonia is famous for, the winds known for reaching speeds of up to 120km per hour! At first it was intermittent…a gust here, a gust there. But then, wham! It whooped and whirled all around us, rocking a very heavy FUSO from side to side and creating creaks where there had never been any before. Surely this will not last long, right? Wrong. It kept its pace, strengthening and accelerating, for hours. To say I was scared would not even begin to describe what I was feeling. Curled up next to my husband, the man I have trusted with my life so many times before, was of little comfort this time around. Somehow, even his assurances did not alleviate the abject fear boiling inside me. I was truly terrified. I started to shake. I was actually trembling, uncontrollably. Not even my husband’s tight grip could stop the shaking, nor assure me that we would be safe, that FUSO would protect us, that we would, as Doug so assuredly expressed it, “be fine.” I laid there for what seemed like hours, praying (yes, literally praying) for protection. Occasionally, I would think my prayers had been heard when the wind “switched off” just like a light switch had been thrown, only to find it howling through the distant ravines, like an oncoming freight train whistle, back for more punishment. Wham! It whirled all around us, reminding me of scenes from The Wizard of Oz, only much less entertaining!

Had it not been for the Nyquil cold capsule I had taken earlier to help me sleep better after two nights lost to sleep deprivation from a nagging cold (and the noisiest campers in Chile whom we had unfortunately been subjected to), I might have laid there all night like that, shaking and praying, and never getting an ounce of sleep. Eventually, however, I did fall asleep in my husband’s grip, waking only a few times during the night to sidle closer to him or to cover my head with the blankets in a vain attempt to block out the sound of the next wave of wicked wind and the accompanying slap of lake water being thrown our way.

As I opened my eyes for the first time early the next morning, realizing that we (Doug, FUSO and I) were all still alive, and in good shape, I realized my prayers had been answered. Doug was right - we were fine. As for the wind-enabled water that spat against the passenger side of our home the night before? It had disappeared, leaving only low-hanging clouds far in the distance.

 

Again I thought, it just doesn’t get any better than this…or so I thought….

 

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