After a successful ascent up Katahdin in July 2023, Charlotte Stetson and I were ready for the next adventure. I had read about the W Trek in Torres del Paine National Park in Chile from a publication that Charlotte and Lesley Straley gave me on my 70th birthday: Senior Hiker. Charlotte and I were both intrigued, found a week in the fall when we could make it happen, and reserved two slots on what promised to be an epic trip. Ironically, the same month of the trip, Senior Hiker announced it was discontinuing publication.
I would’ve been happy with a three-day trek, but Charlotte argued that if we were going to go such a long distance, we should take advantage of the five-day trek. I got busy with work and Charlotte took over as logistics manager for the trip: identifying and selecting a company (Cascada Expeditions), emailing with the marketing director with our myriad questions, researching the options for mandatory travel insurance, and much more. All was on track for a much-anticipated trip.
Fifteen days before our planned departure, I put in a long day in front of my computer, then stood up abruptly, too abruptly. I heard a snap in my leg and felt a shooting pain along the outside of my right knee. For the next 24 hours, I could barely walk across the room and wondered what this meant for our upcoming trip. I gave the problem five days to resolve itself, but then headed to Dr. Heard, the “family orthopedist.” After x-rays, he confirmed that I probably strained a ligament or might have a small tear in my meniscus. Realizing my fervent desire to make the trip, he encouraged generous doses of OTC anti-inflammatory medication and sent me to PT Solutions. After several sessions, Will, my very able physical therapist, further diagnosed a Baker’s Cyst on the back of my knee. My internet research on this ailment indicated the importance of staying off the knee and avoiding painkillers. When I queried Will about the apparent contradiction between the advice from the internet and the course of treatment we were pursuing, he smiled. “As I explain in my lectures to the medical residents, there is textbook treatment for specific ailments, but then there are the real-life circumstances of the people trying to get on with their lives.” My course of treatment had been tailored to someone dead set on going on a five-day hiking trip.
A week before departure, I got an excited email from Charlotte. “Hi, are you following the weather for Torres Del Paine? Snow, with temps in the low 30’s, seems to be forecast for every day during our trek!!!” Charlotte was ecstatic; she loves cold weather. By contrast, this news added another level of worry for me; I had not signed up for hiking on snow!
I felt I had a moral obligation to inform Cascada Expeditions of my knee problem, since I had checked that I was in “excellent health“ on the client profile form. Now I was clearly not at 100%. The marketing director based in Santiago (over 1500 miles from the national park) had no problem in reassuring me that I should make the trip. His job was the sell slots on these expeditions and let the guides in the Park deal with the consequences. Even if the company had any flexibility to postpone the trip by a few weeks, Charlotte did not. So, on November 5, I boarded the plane for Punto Arenas near the southern tip of Chile. Charlotte would already have arrived from Boston via Sao Paulo.
On the five-hour ride from the airport to our base of operations at EcoCamp Patagonia, we passed by the Magellan Straights, taking me back to elementary school days when we learned about Tierra del Fuego in our geography classes. I had our driver stop so I could take a photo of the road sign that read Ruta del Fin del Mundo (highway to the end of the world).
The first few hours were fairly non-descript, with vast stretches of land where sheep raising was prevalent. I got my introduction to guanacos, a cousin of sorts to the llama. By the final hour of the trip, as we neared the Torres del Paine National Park, the majestic snow-covered mountains came into view.
EcoCamp Patagonia was constructed on private property on the edge of the park, as a series of canvas domes – reception/gift shop, guest lodging (suites and standard), common areas, and even yoga and massage domes. It operates with the aim of environmental sustainability: on-site gardening, solar panels, and composting toilets (the human waste of which is used as fertilizer to plant trees elsewhere in the park).
Charlotte and I had opted for a “standard dome,” the entry to which was a 4-foot triangular opening. Each time I entered, I tried not to think of my greatest health vulnerability – a debilitating back ailment triggered by bending over. We had failed to read the fine print; the standard dome did not have a toilet attached to it, so we found ourselves exiting into the chilly 30-degree weather at 3 am each night. One silver lining: brilliant stars in the sky at that hour.
Otherwise, everything was first class. The showers provided plenty of hot water. The gourmet breakfast buffet and three course dinners served with plentiful amounts of Chilean wine left no room for complaints. The communal rooms were heated with pellet stoves and equipped with comfy couches. It was there that we met each evening for a briefing.
On the first evening together, our group of 11 hikers joined our two guides Hans and Sofía for an explanation of what to expect over the next five days. We were a motley crew: a group of five friends from San Diego, two female Asian physicians who had hiked together previously, Linda and Randy from upstate New York, Charlotte, and me. In total, 8 women, 3 men. At age 74 Charlotte and I were the oldest of the group, but we were relieved that our fellow hikers ranged from late 50s to early 70s.
The guides explained what we knew from the website and welcome packet: that the first three days would include the iconic W Trek, named for pattern of the trails through one section of the park. Each hiker would carry a light pack with water, food, rain jacket and rain pants, but not much else. We were each issued a waterproof dry sack in which to pack our toiletries, extra clothing, and headlamps for two nights away from basecamp. A group of 4 porters transported this extra weight between destinations, so as when we arrived at our new lodging on nights 2 and 3, we’d find our lime green dry sacks there waiting for us.
The W Trek forms a loop of sorts. Once on the trail, there was no returning to the comforts of EcoCamp. Bum knee or not, if I started, I’d need to complete the full three days. That became my focus. I reassured myself that my level of pain was only 1-2 on a scale of 10, and besides, Charlotte had chronic knee pain. I just hoped I wouldn’t slow others down. Before heading out, I slathered my knee with Australian Dream Cream that Charlotte recommended for reducing inflammation, pulled on a support sleeve to cover the knee while hiking, and popped the maximum daily dose of Aleve.
The welcome packet had outlined the hikes for all five days: the distance, degree of difficulty, elevation gain, the names of two refugios (shelters) where we’d spend nights 2 and 3. Had the beautiful photos in these informational materials distracted our attention to the details of distances and degree of difficulty? As we soon learned, the distances would 12, 16, 7, 14, and 4 miles over the five days, respectively, or 53 miles in total, if one were to do the full program.
We knew from the website that the setting would be exquisite, and the scenery did not disappoint. From the very first day, we found ourselves surrounded by snowcapped mountains in all directions as we trekked along turquoise blue rivers and lakes. The guides gave detailed descriptions of the glaciers that had created this interconnected water system, as well as the dramatic rock formations and spires that shot up against the horizon; also, the curious designs traced in the sides of massive rock walls. Alas, to the less geologically minded among us, we chose to gaze in awe at the natural beauty, foregoing the scientific reason for how it got there.
The 12-mile hike on Day 1 took us to the Refugio Cuernos (“horns,” describing the dramatic rock formation rising up from the nearby mountaintop). There we found our
accommodations for the night: a two-person tent perched upon a metal structure, assessable by ladder, with a thick pad covering the floor. As we crawled up the ladder and hauled our gear and sleeping bags through the zippered opening to the tent, I tried not to think about my back condition that unpredictably strikes in response to bending over.
The good news was that our group of 11 completed the first day’s journey with no major mishaps. Charlotte and I made a beeline for the hot showers and were ready for the pre-dinner briefing in preparation for the next day.
Day 2 would continue to take us along Lake Nordenskjöld and then up into the French Valley. As we hiked, the rumble of thunder announced avalanches of ice, rock, and snow on the French glacier. As we got closer to the French glacier, we could see these avalanches barreling down the slopes, creating a white plume of snow in their path.
The group had done fairly well in moving at a similar pace, but when we arrived at the Campamento Italiano, our guides gave us the option of forming two groups. One would go the full distance to the French Outlook. The second would stop mid-way up the trail, thereby cutting off a couple of hours of the hike. My knee was no better but no worse than when I started, but I decided to play it safe and elected the shorter route. In retrospect, after hearing the other group grumble about the conditions they’d experienced (steep rocky trail through streambeds of water, with high winds at the top), I was glad that I had wimped out of the more difficult option.
We arrived at the Refugio Paine Grande by late afternoon on Day 2. It was larger with more amenities than our first refugio. Months beforehand, when Cascada Expeditions gave us the option to upgrade from tent living to a bunkbed inside the refugio for this one night, I had twisted Charlotte’s arm to accept. (She was less excited about bunking with four people we didn’t know, one of whom would inevitably snore, and he did). But I reveled in the luxury of standing upright in my living space, organizing my pack for the next day with the benefit of electricity, slipping between clean sheets under a puffy comforter, knowing that the ladies’ room was a mere 20 yards down the hall within the building. The rest of our group spent the night in the large village of yellow tents on platforms outside the Refugio, wind howling against the side of their tents. In anticipation of these conditions, the guides had recommended earplugs.
As we awoke for Day 3, I was feeling more confident that I might make it back to EcoCamp despite my knee. The trek was to be shorter than the previous day, though the winds had picked up. After a few hours of hiking, we arrived at the Lake Grey lookout, which offered a stunning view: Lake Grey in the foreground, with the Glacier Grey nestled between two mountain slopes in the distance. Those who could manage to remain upright against the gale winds took photos of this spectacle.
As we moved down the trail, we reached a treacherous spot that combined a steep incline with jagged rocks covered by a rivulet of water. One member of our group took a nasty fall, causing the guides to race to her assistance. Fortunately, she had not hit her head, but instead landed on her back with her backpack cushioning the fall. It rattled the entire group, but after assessing that she was OK, we moved on.
An added bonus on Day 3 was a two-hour boat trip across Lake Grey, where we were able to get as close as 100 yards to the sheer wall of the glacier we’d seen from above. Charlotte and I looked like Michelin tire men in our lifejackets and winter gear. The staff of the boat made a big deal about having glacial ice onboard. Instead of using it to chill my welcome drink, I took advantage to ice down my knee.
We had been informed that there would be a 20-minute walk across a long stretch of beach between the boat landing and the bus that would transport us back to EcoCamp, Hans had seen no reason to burden us with the fact that the wind whipping across that beach would be the stiffest of the trip. The only consolation was knowing that if one were blown over, it would be onto a sand beach and not off a steep cliff. The bus transported us back to the EcoCamp, where the group split for the hot showers, the comfort of their respective domes, and the bar in the Common Domes. I breathed a huge sigh of relief that I’d completed the full three-day W Trek without additional injury to my knee or being a drag on the group.
Day 4 to the base of Torres del Paine was considered the highlight of the five-day trip; it was also the most difficult hike (10 hours in total, if we were lucky). Because we were back at EcoCamp, it was optional for those who preferred to take a day off. Unfortunately, during the previous night Charlotte had developed a sharp pain in her “good knee” and with great disappointment had to opt out, as did four other members of the group. My spirits were high and my knee was still within the limits of acceptable discomfort, so I opted in.
Given the gorgeous scenery and diversity of trails we’d experienced on the first three days, it was hard to imagine another experience within the Park that could top what we’d already seen. But Day 4 did exactly that. The guides explained that the trek would be divided in four very different sections of trail. Part 1 took us through the same valley we’d traversed on Day 1 before beginning a gradual ascent up a mountain trail. Part 2 was the mile-long Windy Path, which lived up to its name but fell short of presenting any real danger on the day we were on it. A dirt path some 15-20’ wide hugged the side of the mountain on the left and dropped off precipitously on the right.
Midpoint to the top we stopped at Refugio Chileno to use real toilets and refill on snacks and water. The third segment of the hike took us through a beautiful, forested area, quite different from anything we’d seen before; the gain in elevation was noticeable but the uniqueness of the surroundings provided useful distraction.
The fourth and by far most difficult segment of the hike consisted of a mile-long field of rocks and boulders, reminiscent of the Saddle Trail on Mt. Katahdin. I jumped into line behind Hans, eager to avoiding falling behind and (if the truth be known) to influence the pace. Halfway up the boulder field, I took the only spill of the five days. In a moment of distraction, I lost my balance. Lucky for me, as I twisted around to regain my footing, I sat backward onto a chair-level flat rock that seemed to have been placed there for my convenience.
Just over five hours after starting, we rounded the final corner of the boulder field to see the three imposing granite monoliths rising toward the sky on the far side of a crystal blue pond. We had reached the base of Torres del Paine, the crown jewel of the national park, and we were lucky enough to experience this massive rock formation at close range. Although it was chilly, we stayed long enough to eat lunch and snap photos.
By the time we headed down, the crowds had started to build. We were grateful that our guides had gotten us up there early, and we were departing as many other groups began to stream up the trail. We retraced our steps over the same four segments. Why did the stretch through the woods seem to have doubled in distance? How had we forgotten how much uphill there would be on the Windy Path? Still, we forged ahead, all in good spirits. We only had the final 2-3 miles of gradual descent down the mountainside followed by a level stretch on the floor of the valley still to go.
I was thrilled and relieved that I’d made it this far. But in the final portion of the descent, my knee let me know that I’d pushed it too far. The dull pain that had been 1-2 on a scale of 10 had crept up to 3-4. I could still walk but at a greatly reduced pace. Sofia stayed behind with me and took my pack as the rest of the group – themselves exhausted - proceeded down the mountain. I insisted that Sofía radio Hans to encourage him and the rest of the group to keep going and not to wait for me. It took me another 20 minutes to reach the valley – the final stretch back to EcoCamp. As we rounded the final turn, there was Hans in the other five hikers, taking a rest but waiting. When I protested that I’d told him not to wait, he replied, “No, we’re a team.”
Once on flat ground, my knee was fine, and I even took the lead as the group headed to EcoCamp. With about a mile to go, I was strutting through the parking lot of another hotel near the park, when Hans yelled out “Jane, stop!“ I had walked right past a van marked “EcoCamp Patagonia,” which Hans had called ahead to have them send, sparing me the final mile of the hike. As we piled into the van, I mock-apologized for depriving my fellow hikers of the final mile of the day’s excursion. The smiles I got in response communicated that they were also happy to have this hike over.
On Day 5 I joined the group in the van for an hour-long ride through areas of the park where we’d have a good chance of seeing wildlife. Within the first 10 minutes, we spotted a puma (yellow mountain lion) on a distant hill. Since it’s the trophy animal to see, we were fortunate to check that one off early. We also passed several clusters of guanaco (favorite prey of pumas), as well as Upland geese and other local birds. Fellow hiker Randy won the prize for the day for his photo of a flamingo in flight.
When the van reached the starting point for the Day 5 four-mile hike, I decided not to push my luck. The fear of again slowing down the group or further injuring my knee were factors, but if I’m honest with myself, the prospect of several quiet hours in front of the wood stove and a nap in my cozy dome was very appealing. When I learned afterward that it had snowed for 20 minutes during the hike, I did not regret my decision to stay back – despite the rave reviews of everyone else who did take it.
The group had a final briefing before our last dinner together at EcoCamp. Hans reviewed the logistical details of our departure the next morning. But the main agenda item was to share impressions of the five days. For the first time during the hike, Hans and Sofía discussed the age of the group, admitting that we were significantly older than any of the groups they had guided before. We laughed as Hans described his initial reaction to reviewing the demographics of the group he was about to guide. He got an even bigger laugh when he continued, “First I thought of my mother...” (And several from the group chimed in, “or your grandmother?”). He went on to say that she was 66 and his father was about that age, and they would never have considered doing anything like this. Sofía echoed the same: her parents were 63 and 67. “This would have been unthinkable for them. I could hardly get them to visit me out here.”
Despite the different issues that people had had – the difficult trail conditions on the extended hike to the French outlook, one woman’s tumble on the jagged slippery rocks on Day 3, my knee problems delaying the group late on Day 4 – Hans put a uplifting spin on the week by saying “everyone did as much as they could, and everyone has come home safe and sound.” Indeed, only four of the 11 completed all five days of the trek, but we shared a tremendous sense of accomplishment. Lots of good vibes resonated among this group who had been strangers less than a week earlier.
The next morning Charlotte and I packed our gear into the van heading to Punto Arenas, where we and five others would spend a final evening together. Charlotte would stay in Chile for an additional week of sightseeing; I would head back to New Orleans where my duties at Tulane awaited.
The trip had been everything we hoped for and more. It hadn’t been without its age-related infirmities, but it had given us a chance to push our physical limits in the spectacular setting of the Torres del Paine National Park, with great camaraderie.
What was next? Charlotte and I again discussed taking “one final trip” up Katahdin at age 75 in summer 2024, hopefully recruiting Randy and Linda to join us. But for now, it was time to head back to the physical therapist and work on getting that bum knee ready for the eight annual exceptional outdoors excursions in 2024.
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