A Point and some Ports

Time for trekking. With my parents successfully making my camp-gear drop-off, I was itching for an adventure, something to help me get over the emotional hump.

After a few chats with fellow travelers and some glancing at a couple different guide and hiking books, I was set on tackling Torres del Paine - a rugged and raw Chilean National Park set in the Magellanese Region of southern Patagonia. This would be the next on the ever-changing/growing list that would hopefully adorn a worthwhile and worthy check-mark. But it wasn't that easy to get to...

Alone for the first time on the trip, and feeling it, I went into survival mode. I was now my only line of defense and quickly found out that the language barrier would be my number one challenge.

Out of Pucon and back to the cross-road terminal of Osorno. Rumor had it that I would be able to pick up a bus from here, head back into Argentina, down to the coastal town of Rio Gallegos and then back across the Chilean border and into Punta Arenas, a mere 30-40 hours later - depending on the number of flat tires, dirt road pull-offs and the powers of pachamama (mother nature). And what a trip it would be, except that the only two companies that run the route were booked until next Saturday... and it happened to be Sunday! With my best effort of Spanish, mixed with animated hand-gestures, I slowly started coming up with plan B and bought a quick ticket two hours south to Puerto Montt.

Puerto Montt, a hot-bed for all things south in Chile. But it wasn't hot, I needed a bed and it was raining. The not-so-trusty, beat-up and dated guidebook that had been pushed farther and farther towards the bottom of my day-pack, did provide a reference for a cheap place to stay. With a bed secured for the night and my bags off my shoulders, I relaxed and articulated plan B. It was still Sunday and the town was dead.

I had previously bought a return flight, through Sky Airline, from Punta Arenas back up to Santiago for March 2nd. This was under the preconception that I would find other means of transportation down there, preferably by bus. But now with time becoming an issue, the bus was no longer an option and boat/cruise was just too expensive (around $500 USD - taking four nights). So up-and-at'em Monday morning to find the Sky Airlines office of Puerto Montt to buy a plane ticket. This time, it was that easy - my flight to Punta Arenas was set for the next day.

Now with my exit strategy in place, I tried to give the port town another go. The work-week had begun and though the weather was still sedative, there was a new-found pulse in the streets. I walked with no real direction, strolling the waterfront, people watching along the break-wall, scouting out photo ops and ascending alley-ways in search of scenic vistas. I also ducked into a friendly cafe to warm up, enjoying the best cortado (coffee with milk) of the trip thus far.

With good company, better weather and proper time to explore, I'm sure Puerto Montt could leave a better impression, but I was more focussed on leaving than mingling...

The short two+ hour flight, that saved countless gray hairs, was smooth (which I hear is a rarity), comfy and classy. As we made the final descent into Punta Arenas ("Sandy Point"), the clouds broke and the view of frigid fjords, jagged snow-topped peaks, marshy islas and vast glaciers overwhelmed my senses. I was arriving at the end of the world, the gateway to Antarctica, the heart of Chilean Patagonia and the home of the Magellanese Region and the infamous "straight" bearing the same name.

Punta Arenas made its mark in history with the wool boom at the turn of the 20th century, an accessible port town for all ships taking the shortcut with regards to Cape Horn. Now it's the drop-off point for planes, ships and long-term buses filled with adventurers braving the ever-changing weather conditions. A quaint plaza in the center of town welcomes all with its friendly information kiosk, sunny park benches and artisans selling anything "penguin" - the city's unofficial mascot. Old mansions from the "boom" days have turned into museums, administration buildings, restaurants and bars. A well manicured cemetery reveals the past's powerful families and the mirador (viewpoint) shows the diversity of buildings, colors and city layout. Clouds are ever present, blue sky breaks through when it can and the winds blow bitterly and consistently. I spent 3 days and four nights here.

On one of those days, I indulged as a tourist. I packed some sandwiches, a few snacks and a bottle of water and caught a collectivo (cab that runs a specific route - cramming strangers together at a discounted rate) to Tres Puertes, in time for the 4:00pm ship to the Isla Magdalena... home of 60,000 pairs of penguins! It took two hours of steadily rocking through the Straight of Magellan before we arrived on the shores of this rightfully protected island. Shaking off a-bit-of motion sickness, I stumbled from the ship.

A roped-off path persuades you along the way as thousands upon thousands of penguins waddle, watch, snooze and squawk as you enter their domain. The island is simple and small. It consists of a lighthouse, dirt, rocks, molted feathers, penguin poop and the portly pen-heads themselves. That's it. And somehow it works. Simply Magellanic!

The 'guins were great, but that wasn't the reason I was down here. Torres del Paine was close. I could smell it.

Three hours, on the dot, north of Punta Arenas is Puerto Natales, base camp for TdP. Briskly built on a hill surrounded by waterways and mountain ranges, Puerto Natales is eager to gear-you-up for the Park. If you need it, they have it. But I needed a trekking partner and all the information anyone was willing to tell me on what to expect out on the trail. I needed it, they had it.

I walked into the hostel, was shown my room and dropped my bags. One other had his stuff in the three-bed dorm and by the looks of his ball-cap, he was an SF Giants fan. I wasn't going to hold this against him, especially if he was willing to join me on this adventure. And it worked out that easy. Kyle needed a partner in crime as well, needed gear (which I had covered) and so the planning began.

'Eratic Rock' hostel (not the one I was staying at) had the information. At 3:00pm each day, Rustyn (an Oregon born-and-bread expat) holds an hour+ free talk about all-things TdP. This is a must, a MUST. With coffee offered, a huge wall-map and a broken tent pole as his pointer, Rustyn energetically and entertainingly walks you through any possible question you might have. From different treks, lengths and distances, where to sleep, how to sleep, what to pack and how to pack it, he makes sure that you leave the meeting with all the information to relieve you of any pre-trek fears or stresses. Genius.

Now that I was set, or as set as I was going to get, I walked the town's grounds with a little more confidence and a lot more optimism. The brash winds that about blew me over at the water's edge were now a bit warmer and the rain dropping from mysteriously blue skies became a tad-bit drier. Or so it seemed...

I guess the "point" about all these ports is not the cities themselves, or the features they offer, but rather the process that they take you through. That process is what you are left with after all the pictures have been filed away. That process can be priceless in so many ways.

For more Port pics, click on the links below:
http://s427.photobucket.com/albums/pp359/triptimephotos/TripTime/Puerto%20Montt/
http://s427.photobucket.com/albums/pp359/triptimephotos/TripTime/Puerto%20Natales/
http://s427.photobucket.com/albums/pp359/triptimephotos/TripTime/Punta%20Arenas/
http://s427.photobucket.com/albums/pp359/triptimephotos/TripTime/Punta%20Arenas/Isla%20Magdalena/