C O N T E N T S

 A Stooped Start [Feb 18th 1999]

A month on the road, it has been exactly 31 days since leaving Sydney and we find ourselves in Puerto Natales, southern Chile at 5:30am, preparing to leave for a two week hiking expedition in a national park. We're getting damn good at this packing lark - up early, get the tea and coffee brewed, couple of bowls of cornflakes, pack all the bags then dismantle the tent - and all in the pouring rain. At 7:00am a dusty, rickety old coach arrives full of other hikers - the transport doesn't look as if it will make it to the end of the street let alone a two and a half hour ride to the park, but the obligatory picture of Jesus Christ is hanging by the driver's seat so I guess we'll be fine. (This bus has been endorsed as 'safe' by the Catholic church - God bless all those who ride in it.) It seems the closer we get to the park the more the road deteriorates and the more bumpy and jerky the ride becomes. Trying to look at the scenery is difficult as the windows are filthy but I could slowly begin to make out a series of snow-capped peaks in the distance obscured by bursts of driving rain in a strong gusty wind.

We soon arrived at the starting point of the circular, anti-clockwise route we had decided upon over a few drinks in a café. After registering our names and details with a park ranger at Laguna Amarga we started the massive twenty kilometre trek to our first campsite "Seron". Twenty kilometres wouldn't normally be put in the "massive" category but bearing in mind the amount of equipment, food, fuel and water we're carrying it was pretty tough. Throughout the day the only thing the weather could make up its mind about was the wind, which was constantly gusting in all directions. Now and again the sun would show its face for a maximum of ten minutes at a time, only to be replaced by rain that ranged from a bleak drizzle to a furious torrent. The route for most of the day saw us hugging the bank of a rapidly flowing river which we also crossed a few times with the aid of precariously placed logs. Only once did the cloud clear enough for us to see the magnificent towering peaks of "Macizo Paine" a series of looming pinnacles with steep almost vertical sides. That was our one and only photo opportunity of the day. About an hour from the campsite we walked through some muddy fields separated by wooden fences through which we had to pass. At one stage, I turned round to close a gate and looked up to see an Israeli hiker wearing a Man. Utd woolly hat. Manchester United supporters seem to be inconceivably apt at populating all corners of the globe - they get everywhere, even deepest Patagonia!

As we spent most of the day stooped over from the excessive weight of our packs, the majority of wildlife we saw was at our feet. Bees in this part of the world look the same as they do in the UK except they have no stripes and are bright orange. Wasps, on the other hand, maintain their stripes but in a black and white form. Other than that we saw lots of small orange and yellow butterflies, a few cows and a bull. We did see some guanacos (a breed of Llama that reminded me of the time we chanced upon a llama farm on a mountain bike trip outside my home town in England) but that was through the dirty window of the bus on the way to the park, so I guess they didn't really count.

Although Jayne used the word "fuck" a lot throughout the hike and told me a number of times this wasn't her "idea of fun" we did reach our destination in just over six hours - when we first laid eyes on the campsite it was more than a welcome sight. We wandered over to a refuge house (after we'd eaten) for some warmth and music (as promised by the man who collected our camping fee,) but when we entered the small stone building there was hardly enough room to fart let alone stand up. Jayne washed out pots and pans whilst wrestling with two lines of damp clothes that were strung up across the tiny room all the while trying not to tread on the people who were crouched round her feet. She then queued up a bit for a shower but decided to forget about it so we went back to the tent, where there was decidedly more room, and got some well earned kip.
 

 Accidental Detour [Feb 19th 1999]

Today's trek took us from our current location, (a picturesque woodland glade with gently running stream where we had pitched our tent under a tree) to the more remote Camp Coiron - although just to confuse us, when we arrived the sign said "Camp Lago Paine". It was a far shorter distance than yesterday but much rougher terrain and it didn't help that we wandered off the poorly marked track, leading to at least an extra half hours walking before rejoining the path further along. In fact, our little detour ended up being the hardest part of the whole day. Instead of following the route over a hill, we ended up traversing around the side of it only to turn a corner and be hit by an incredibly strong wind accompanied with rain that stung like needles in the face. Within the space of a couple of minutes we were completely soaked through, after which the wind and rain died down to a grey drizzle. Throughout the day, the rain turned on and off like a tap - one of the brief snippets of Spanish Jayne managed to interpret when the park ranger addressed our coach yesterday was "the weather is changeable" - hindsight showed this piece of information to be remarkably accurate.

We took only one photo today of a wide river with a snow capped mountain backdrop. This was early on when the sky cleared and the sun shone albeit briefly. People are going to get the wrong idea when we show them the photos of this hiking expedition - I can just imagine the comments: "ooh, you had lovely weather then..."

There are no facilities whatsoever at tonight's campsite, in fact its more the sort of thing I was expecting for this park. There is simply a tin shack full of garbage and a sign outside saying "Please take your litter with you". This sort of thing really annoys me - you would think the kind of people who spend time trekking round these parks are the types who would respect such a sign but its obviously not as straight forward as that. Instead, we are left with an appalling, unsightly mess hazardous to wildlife and no doubt polluting the earth - a subtle increase in pressure on the stranglehold man has on the planet. I should imagine the people who have left litter here have done so because they can't see the harm "one more bag of rubbish" or "a couple more crisp packets" will do but if that's the way they think then they've already polluted their conscience.
 

 Zorro [Feb 20th 1999]

There was a lot of howling wind last night, strong enough to rattle the tent for most of it and thus provide us with a rather fitful sleep. Before bedding down for the night we heard something scurrying about outside the tent, obviously sniffing around for a snack - I think we both immediately thought of the highly poisonous rat we were warned about at the park entrance, so we quickly unzipped the tent and dragged all the pots and pans inside. The noisy sleeping conditions no doubt contributed to a bizarre dream I had, which included a walk on part in the BBC's The Fast Show and ended up with some fat bloke cutting off my ear causing me to wake myself up shouting "Dad!".

Our route today was on reasonably flat terrain so we made good progress. Thankfully, we also had little rain, which helped considerably. The highlight of the day happened just as we were making a steep descent over lots of shale to our destination - Refugio Dickson. As we got to the bottom a group of about eight horses and riders came down the sharp descent, followed by what we first thought was the group's dog. I took a second look and suddenly realised it was a beautiful looking fox. The woman on the last horse was calling out "Zorro, Zorro!" to the rest of the group, which we later confirmed in our dictionary was Spanish for fox. It had menacing looking, razor sharp teeth and came very close to us, not seeming to be bothered by our presence.

The refugio is in an idyllic location on a flat piece of land which juts out into Lago Dickson, in the distance and all around us is more of the ever present dramatic mountain scenery. The lake was tranquil and calm, its surface ruffled by occasional gusts of wind, which squeezed through the valleys. I skimmed a few stones across it then returned to our tent, which we had pitched in view of Macizo Paine.

Once again, for an evening meal, we dined on pasta, it takes up very little space in the packs and is good for carbo-loading - admittedly, it is beginning to feel a little repetitive but after a days hike it is always tasty. We listened to the news on the world service then settled down to sleep. As I lie in the tent I can hear the background sound of muffled wind and waterfalls like the distant roar of city traffic. Every now and then it gets closer as you hear the gusts travelling through the trees to finally hit the tent then disappear across the lake.
 

 Cascada y Glacier [Feb 21st 1999]

The start of our trek today was a very slow, steep, uphill climb that took us through dense forest. This park has every kind of scenery and terrain to offer: open, empty plains, marshes, mountains, forest, glaciers, rocky boulders, shale, stunted wind battered trees. (I realise the wind is becoming a bit of a repetitive theme, but I can't stress it enough - it was bloody windy). A well-deserved rest was taken after about an hour and twenty minutes as we'd climbed pretty high. From our resting point we traipsed through more forest where it seemed that every 50 yards a tree had fallen on the path serving no other purpose than to slow us down. Some were small but others were so large you had to hoist yourself up and straddle it with both legs before swinging over it - a bit like getting out of the Zodiac boats we'd used in Antarctica. We then came to a thundering cascada (waterfall), which we used as another excuse for a rest. The waterfall was exceptionally noisy and fast as the water plummeted into the gorge on its way to Lago Dickson. We sat and watched for a short time, whilst snacking on peanuts and the last of our cheese (cheese with added grit on my part, seeing as I dropped it on the floor).

We carried on through the forest before coming to a real 'Indiana Jones' type suspension bridge made from strengthened steel cable and a number of logs that had one side cut flat for walking on. The bridge wasn't particularly high but it wobbled a lot and the speed of the water below was a big deterrent for not putting a foot wrong. Jayne took a few photos with the glacier in the background and then we made another steep climb, this time over large boulders interspersed with the occasional few yards of mud, up to a lake. When we got to the lake it was blowing an absolute hoolie! We stood with great difficulty and admired Glacier los Perros edging its way down the mountain and depositing mini icebergs into the muddy lake.

Tonight's camp - in a small wooded area with a basic store - is the busiest we've found so far. I guess this is something to do with the fact that the tracks either side are long and hard - once you reach this point, you need a rest. After another coffee, cup-a-soup and pasta evening (followed by sugary sweets) we zipped up and readied for bed at ten past nine. I really feel like an old man tonight, moving slowly and making all sorts of groaning noises just to get into bed. Today was difficult but, looking at the map, tomorrow looks like the most difficult stretch of all - the first three quarters of the route takes us across six contour lines and thus up 600 metres. Time for a good nights kip.
 

 Stuck! [Feb 22nd 1999]

It's 3 o'clock in the afternoon and I am only just beginning to warm up - our plan for the day has taken a bit of a turn to say the least. We both slept poorly as the rain started coming down in bucket loads in the early hours of the morning. As the campsite is under a canopy of trees the splashes of rain fell in heavy clumps, which was pretty noisy on the canvas; especially with the roaring rapids in the background. At 8:30am we began making tea and coffee in the shelter of the tent as the rain was relentless in its downpour. What yesterday was a dusty campsite has turned into a mud bath - the sides of the tent were completely splashed by dirt from the puddles which had formed around us. We got as much as we could packed up whilst inside in the hope the incessant downpour would desist by the time we wanted to leave but by 10am it hadn't. We bit the bullet and headed outside to dismantle the tent; a major exercise in itself. Within a few minutes we were both muddy from removing the caked tent pegs, then got even more drenched and filthy when we removed the saturated top sheet. This we rolled up into a heavy, soaking mass then proceeded to dismantle the tent inner, which was covered in mud on all sides and now soaking. We began to pack it up, but it was impossible to get all the mud off in the miserable conditions so the resulting folded canvas was soaking wet, full of mud, about twice its normal pack size and weighing twice as much too. I shoved it into the bottom of my backpack, strapped the rest of the tent to the side, covered the whole bag with a waterproof pack cover (also soaking) then suddenly noticed I'd left a selection of buckled tent pegs on the ground. These were shoved haphazardly in the same bag as the poles - there was no way I was unpacking my bag after all that. By now our fingers were freezing yet we still attempted to smoke a couple of cigarettes in the pouring rain before setting off for Camp Paso.

At this point however, we were approached in our haggard, pathetic, shaking state by a couple who had left the site earlier, only to return. They informed us that most of the track they had covered was knee high in mud; they had also encountered ice and snow and a group of about seven other walkers had also turned back. Worst of all, a bridge on the route had collapsed leaving only a rope to hold on to while wading in rapidly flowing, waist high icy water. The male member of the couple, who had a French accent, suggested that if we had the time we should pitch our tent again and wait for a night in the hope that the weather would clear, as it would be dangerous to continue.

"Gore-Tex means nothing" he said, as if to drive his words home - great! Where were these people an hour ago, when our tent was still up? They then proceeded to pitch their tent in the small dry area we had left, (by now, this was the only dry patch in the camp) leaving us to find another pitch.

When our tent was raised it was filthy. What's more, the inside now consisted of a series of puddles, no doubt proving ideal as a swimming pools for the countless insects that are swarming around here but, let's face it, crap for a couple of campers who want to lie down and get warm. We retrieved some dirty clothes from our packs using them as temporary mops to soak up the inside then lay down three or four bin liners and a plastic survival bag as groundsheets. This done we climbed in and admired our new, primitive style, mud caked ceiling.

There was so much rain that the river was running fast enough to hear rocks and boulders making a hollow clunking noise as they were pushed further downstream. The rain has now stopped but it's bloody freezing, the tent is steaming up as our damp clothes begin to dry while a pot of lentils soaks in the corner, ready for our evening meal. In the meantime we have books, a Gameboy and writing to occupy us. The shortwave radio is having problems picking up anything I can understand - no doubt because of the weather and surrounding mountains. I guess we just have to sit back and hope the weather sorts itself out and that those nice park ranger chaps build us a new bridge.

-----------------------

Throughout the day we have sat in the tent trying to keep warm, with the occasional trip outside for water and toilet breaks. Although the rain has eased off a lot, its still here - but we're praying for good weather. We managed to find the BBC World Service in the end so, reading, writing, cooking and radio have kept us occupied - and I'm also pleased to say the floor of the tent is considerably less damp than this morning. The river has also stopped roaring as much as it was so I'm still (optimistically) hoping for good news tomorrow.
 

 The Toughest Day [Feb 23rd 1999]

Last night it was cold; very cold - so cold in fact, that as well as being tucked up inside my sleeping bag I slept in all my clothes, inside my silk sheet and with a hat on. In fact, the top of the silk sheet ended up covering my head in an attempt to stop my nose from freezing. The weather this morning, however, had improved considerably - we even got the occasional shard of sunlight chinking through the trees and enticing us out of our tent. At 10:25am, having eaten the last of the cornflakes, we set out on what proved to be the hardest stretch of all the hikes we'll be doing, taking us through mires of soggy, muddy ground which at times I sank into right up to my knees. We pushed through making sucking, squelchy noises each time we removed our feet from the mud - and all the time we were making a gradual ascent. Occasionally we would come across drier patches to navigate through, usually in small stretches of woodland in which tiny streams ran like veins across the forest floor. The vegetation became more and more sparse as we began to head into an even steeper climb over rocky terrain - eventually leading us to a river crossing. This was the river "Mr Gore-Tex means nothing" mentioned yesterday, and he was right; no bridge, just a rope to get across. However, the water level had now gone down so getting across proved a lot easier than we had imagined. I went first, relying on my Gore-Tex boots and socks to keep me dry, then Jayne followed, choosing instead to remove her boots and brave the icy water with her footwear hung around her neck. The rope wasn't particularly tight, but then again, the water wasn't all that high - I'm glad we didn't attempt it yesterday.

Now the hard part began - a slow, slow, laborious climb with lots of rests, up steep rocky, pebbly, gritty terrain. Again, small streams criss-crossed the landscape and as we got higher we even hit the snow level where it took us a few moments to get used to the sensation of boots slipping or burying themselves in snow. When we finally reached the high point, somewhere above 1,100m, it was as if all our hard work had been rewarded with one of the most magnificent sights we've ever had the privilege to see. There, in front of us, was the biggest glacier I have ever seen in my life. It was beautiful - beautiful and huge; so huge that although the day's visibility meant you could see for miles, you couldn't actually see where the glacier started - instead it disappeared off in the distance into a haze. The glacier looked in places a bit like a map on the inside page of some fantasy novel like The Hobbit - to the right I could see what looked like rows and rows of mountains, Ice Mountains. In other parts, massive cracks, a series of repeating ice blue canyons and elsewhere smooth and flat or bumpy. It was an amazing sight - all the hoping for good weather had paid off; for the time being the sun was shining - this was definitely the best day to see such a spectacular sight from this vantage point.

Then it was all down hill but far from and by no means easy. The descent to Camp Peso was extremely treacherous and steep; when we came low enough to reach vegetation again the descent was so steep that you had to hold on to the trees to steady yourself as you went. In some cases you had to literally hang on to a tree whilst lowering yourself down. You could tell how windy this side of the mountain was by the fact the trees grew horizontally for a couple of metres before finally stretching upwards. Behind me I kept hearing:
"Ooh! Shit! Arrrghh! Fuck! Jeez!" as Jayne precariously made her way down. On one occasion I had to catch her to prevent a fall and on another I turned to see her sliding down on her backside. It took ages to get to the campsite, we didn't arrive until after 6:00pm and the walk down through the woods, coupled with constantly trying to maintain balance, meant we'd used all the muscles in our legs to the max. We kept wondering where on earth a campsite could be in all this steep terrain and sure enough, when we found it (after a couple of false alarms where we thought, or rather hoped, we could see tents) it was tiny. All the best pitches had been taken so we dropped down another 30 yards to find a small, flat piece of land on the edge of a slope. The ground was so soft we relied on rocks placed on the pegs to keep them in place. Because of the slope the guy ropes were inserted horizontally on one side and vertically on the other, in line with the angle of descent. We then had a brief chat with our neighbours, who despite being loaded up with canned food had forgotten to pack a penknife. The fact they'd arrived later than us meant they had an even worse tent pitch to deal with.
 

 Oh to be Warm and Dry! [Feb 24th 1999]

Throughout the night the wind was frantically combing its fingers through the trees, ruffling the canopy from the top of the mountains to the bottom in erratic bursts. The rain did not stop all night either - it was downright miserable. In the tent we smoked the last cigarette between us - Jayne had some "emergency" rolling tobacco which she'd placed carefully inside a waterproof bag. Then, very briefly, the rain stopped so we took advantage of the lull and packed up the tent. Once we were organised and ready to set off, the rain immediately reappeared and that is how it stayed for the whole day - never once letting up. The huge sky was a blanket of grey that never presented even a hint of blue; no tiny cracks of sun to offer some relief. The seven and a half hour hike that unfolded, following the edge of the glacier, was once again tough. We ached considerably from the previous day and every time I looked at Jayne I could see she was having difficulty - all the strength in her legs had gone causing them to shake and shiver uncontrollably thus making progress slow. She was obviously feeling awful and at one point adamantly stated she would rather fall off a cliff than continue. Whether I was in front or behind I watched her like a hawk all day. We had similar terrain to cope with as we had for the latter part of the previous day but it was made all the more difficult by the fact that everything was wet, soaking, muddy and slippery. This coupled with our exhaustion ended up turning a hike that was marked as four hours on the map into a seven and a half hour epic.

Our first major river crossing offered nothing more than a single log to cross it. The water level (no thanks to the weather) was dangerously high and I ended up giving up my attempt to balance on the log - wobbly legs and an excessively weighty pack being my excuse. Instead I opted for an up to the knees drenching resulting in my left boot being completely full of water. Jayne impressively negotiated the log in three deft steps, making me look completely inadequate. This river crossing was nothing compared to what lie ahead. After more slipping and sliding along the track (no matter how careful we were) we took a wrong turning, taking us up the side of a muddy bank, then spotted a couple of what looked like more experienced hikers taking a different route. We descended back to the unclear (almost camouflaged) track through a mass of branches from fallen trees, then stumbled upon our second major river crossing. It looked horrendous - orange paint markings guided us down to a single thin log lain across a roaring rapid that at times completely covered the less than adequate looking bit of tree (which was looking more and more like a branch than a log).

I eyed up the situation then went in up to my knees again but decided it was too dangerous and climbed back out. We walked further up the riverbank of rocks and gravel as it constantly collapsed beneath our feet but even at the shortest crossing point the water was too fierce. I threw in a few heavy rocks (bordering on boulders) in an attempt to make our own crossing point but they were just dragged away by the current. What were we going to do? How would we cross? We decided the log was worth a second look but when we got there the situation looked hopeless. Another hiking couple had turned up and they looked just as dumbstruck as we were. I stood up to my knees in the river again and one of the couple handed me his walking stick to check the level of the water but it was over waist deep. The woman then looked at me and made a gesture that indicated I should straddle the log rather than attempt to walk on it. I took the plunge, literally, decided to give it a go and started shuffling across backwards. The water felt as if it was coming at me from all sides, sometimes as high as my chest; I had real difficulty moving my legs as they felt as if they were trapped in the current. I then felt a rock smack against my leg but by now I was too close to the other side to give up.

Slowly I edged my way across, at the expense of a soaking set of clothes and a backpack half filled with water. Jayne was next with me waiting nervously by the bank, still up to my knees in water. I grabbed her by the jacket collar as soon as she was close enough but she protested, insisting she was fine. Holding on to her jacket so tightly only served to make her feel more nervous. She climbed up the bank, walked a few paces then we kissed each other - my definition of relief had always been understated until now. We walked a few yards down the track whilst Jayne fumbled in her pocket for the pouch of tobacco. I turned round just as she was holding it up with a look of disgust on her face; it was half full of water.

Having negotiated the major obstacle of the day we continued on, Jayne breaking out in tears a couple of times; the sheer exhaustion and awful weather really getting to her. There was a third river to cross which we arrived at just as the other couple were leaving but they turned around and offered us their walking sticks so we could help ourselves across - it was a much easier crossing compared to the last. One more brief stint of walking that seemed to take an age and we reached the campsite. Had the ground not been so wet I think I would have kissed it.

Our tent looks like a sauna; everything is soaked through but I'm grateful for the bin-liner Jayne gave me which I'd kept my sleeping bag in; at least that will be dry. As it's still raining we have erected a washing line in the confined space of the tent. There is another bin-liner over the ends of the sleeping bags to stop them getting wet from the dripping clothes. Piled up in the corner are four saturated boots, two pairs of soaked through socks, damp Gore-Tex socks and two drenched Gore-Tex jackets - all in a big soggy mess.

Jayne is busy toasting the damp tobacco on the stove in an attempt to salvage it.
 

 Clean Pants - "Luxury!" [Feb 25th 1999]

The bin liner over the sleeping bag turned out to be a bad idea as the condensation that collected inside it caused the ends of the bags to become damp. The items we hung up hadn't dried at all so we faced the prospect of putting on cold, damp clothes - urrrghh! By way of compensation for all this I decided to treat myself, a day ahead of planned, to some clean, fresh underwear - as far as I'm concerned, this is a huge treat given the circumstances. The tent was packed up in a semi-damp state and just as we were about to leave, a German hiker who we kept overtaking on the trek to Camp el Paso two days previously, wandered into the camp asking for a light. Jayne offered him one and took the opportunity to bum a cigarette from him. Now we're talking, I've got clean pants and Jayne's got a Marlboro - sorted!

We then took an easy trek to Refugio y Camping Grey which took no longer than 1¾ hours including a break. It started raining as we arrived, just as we were pitching the tent, but this is the sort of crap timing we've come to appreciate on this hike. Luckily the sun then tried desperately to show its face so we hung up all the damp clothes and prayed for the clouds to clear.

The trek to this campsite took us through woodland terrain but a lot flatter and with nothing really steep to deal with. There is a company at this stop that runs a refugio so we treated ourselves to a ridiculously expensive meal of soup followed by tuna with rice then an apple - a well deserved break and the best meal I haven't cooked myself for a week. While we sat eating with the other hikers, the main topic of conversation concerned just how bad the conditions in the park had been recently and more specifically a story regarding two girls who narrowly escaped a landslide. This had happened only a couple of days previously at the same point where we'd made our hazardous river crossing. We'd heard variations on this story as it seemed to be a topical point with many of the people we'd met on the circuit - it was interesting to see how the story changed with each recital. In this particular version, the landslide had supposedly ripped the backpack off one of the girls carrying it down the mountain; she barely escaped and was left without any supplies for the remainder of her time in the park. Whatever the story was, it was quite apparent the two girls had experienced a very tough hike encountering more risk and danger than us. One thing I definitely don't want to come face to face with while I'm here is a landslide.

I'm really hanging out for a shower now, I've been waking in the mornings feeling really clammy and grotty but I guess you get that if you haven't washed for over ten days. The showers are only for people who have paid to stay in the refugio so no chance of a wash and brush up unless I fancy the prospect of submerging myself in cold glacial water. We've also discovered there is a new campsite further along the track that isn't marked on our map so we changed our plan slightly for the final couple of legs. In the background at this site is Lago Grey into which falls the occasional iceberg as a result of calving at the glacier. It makes a contrast to see icebergs with forest in the background as opposed to snow-covered mountains as in Antarctica.

Thankfully, everything is nearly dry now but we've resigned ourselves to the fact that we're to expect at least one more rainy day before returning to Puerto Natales - in fact, as I write this diary entry I can hear the light patter of rain on the tent.
 

 The Iceberg Graveyard [Feb 26th 1999]

We awoke to a chilly, shivery morning but - surprise - no rain! Having used up all the cornflakes and two-minute noodles, this mornings breakfast consisted of pasta with a chicken stock cube in it. It's surprising how tasty any food can be when you're hungry, tired and exhausted.

Our trek today took us to Refugio y Camping Pehoe and the cold soon disappeared from our aching limbs once we were on our way. The terrain mainly consisted of rocky, gravel paths lined with tufts of grass - again, it was harder than we'd anticipated but not by much. To start with we had to cross two contours on the map, ascending 200 metres before we could continue. We had a total of three breaks for the day, - the day that Jayne found her stride. It was breathless work climbing the rocky path but there were no swearing fits of temper. Towards the end of the hike she even began to sing which brought a huge smile to my face. The path took us away from the glacier and followed the edge of Lago Grey. At one of the high points of the path you could see the end of the lake littered with smaller icebergs and blocks of ice that had drifted with the current to become jammed at the edge of the water. It was like an iceberg graveyard - a final resting-place before the infrequently present sun melts them into the water.

We passed a smaller lake before getting to the refugio where we again bumped into our lone German hiker friend who Jayne now refers to as 'Hans'. Further along, when we sat down for a rest, he overtook us again while Jayne was wrestling with her damp tobacco. "Cigarette?" he said in his best German accent. He offered her a Marlboro, smiled and was on his way. "He's your mate he is" I said as he disappeared along the path.

The store at this refugio is surprisingly well stocked so after we pitched the tent, Jayne disappeared and returned with a handful of goodies - coconut biscuits, two bars of chocolate, some instant soup (we'd used the last of ours today) and her prize score - a packet of Milo. Today's other bonus was the weather. The only time it really started raining was just when we'd completed pitching the tent - perfect timing; it usually throws it down just as we start to pitch it.
 

 Buggered, S.H.F. and Tarka Dahl [Feb 27th 1999]

We have reached our unmarked map location "Refugio los Cuernos" on the shore of Lago Nordenskjöld and I am tired, aching and knackered. My back is sore from carrying around a heavy pack for ten days, my legs feel as if they have no idea where they're going and my shoulders ache. Every time I move I make the noise of someone 30 years my senior, I can't sit in the same position for what seems like more than ten minutes without becoming stiff. My whole body feels like its caked in a layer of festering, sweaty grime from top to bottom. Most of my clothes are filthy, there is a scab on my leg from being hit by a tumbling rock during the perilous river crossing and I'm marked with insect bites - but the end is now in sight! We have one more trek to do tomorrow followed by an hour and a half walk along a gravel track and that's it. It is at times like this when the mind wanders to the simple pleasures in life - right now I am looking forward to sitting down in a café with something as basic as a burger and a cool beer, a night's sleep in a proper bed and a wash in hot water - bliss.

We awoke today to one of the best morning's weather we've experienced. The sun was out and we even cooked breakfast outside (which has been a rarity for this expedition). It didn't last, by the end of the day it was raining but at least I was able to do some of the hike in a T-shirt instead of countless layers of clothing. The first part of the trek took us through scrubby terrain past Lago Skottsberg where Jayne was surprised to see red plants which looked like the native Australian bottlebrush. The annoying thing was a lot of the route was now and then covered with wooden walkways that seemed to serve no purpose other than to prevent muddy boots sinking into some of the more swampy sections. It was ridiculous - these wooden gangplanks would have served a much better purpose as bridges across some of the dangerous, rock turning river crossings. It was almost as if they'd been lain here because whoever constructed them couldn't be bothered venturing a couple more days along the circuit. We then followed what appeared to be a recently cut section of the track with many chain-sawn trees and sawn off branches running along-side Rio de Frances.

Another river crossing was made, this time on a recently constructed sturdy bridge - so sturdy in fact that we had no problems walking on it together as opposed to the usual single crossings. Directly on the other side of the bridge was camp Italiano, which was a surprise because our map indicated that we would completely pass it by. The recently cut path had changed all this meaning we now had to double back on ourselves on the other side of the river - and thus add more time to our hike. We considered, ever so slightly, staying at the camp, but then decided against it - reasoning that the further we got today the less we would have to do tomorrow.

As our map did not have the next refugio marked we estimated it would take an hour to reach it but soon came across a sign that said "two hours". Considering how much I ached, this annoyed me a bit but at the same time seemed to speed up our pace in an attempt to get there quickly. The path first took us through scrubby bushes then rocks and boulders after which we had a brief rest, set off again, then promptly became lost. We retraced our steps for twenty minutes then took an unmarked path along the shore of the lake. We could have done without the detour and I could see Jayne was suffering a mild "Sense of Humour Failure" because of it. We pushed on then passed some walkers who were going the other way and informed us we had only twenty minutes to go - music to our ears. We climbed over more boulders then entered a small dense forest with a narrow path - twigs and branches brushing against us - emerged from the trees and found the refugio in front of us. We wasted no time setting up the tent on the best available pitch (well, the best of a bad bunch) climbed inside and lay flat out on our backs, exhausted but pleased to have made it.

We'd just run out of sugar so Jayne went inside the refugio to see if she could get some more then returned five minutes later shouting with excitement and jumping up and down. I couldn't work out where she'd got this sudden burst of energy from but then I listened to what she was saying:
"Unbelievable! The bloke in there, some hippy looking guy, just gave me a load of sugar for free, they sell cigarettes so I've bought some and, and - get this - they have HOT showers!"

This was all said at the top of her voice whilst waving her arms around, much to the amusement of the other hikers. It's amazing how such a welcome bit of news can suddenly fill your limbs with energy you didn't know you had. Coffee and tea (with sugar) and a few smokes later we headed for the showers with big grins on our faces. The water drifted between lukewarm and hot but for someone who hasn't washed for two weeks it was absolute bliss. The grime rolled off me and down the drain along with the rank smell as a completely new skin seemed to appear on my body.

Among the things I carry with me when back packing is a small plastic bag I refer to as the 'goodie-bag'. It is used to keep items such as sachets of ketchup, mustard, salt etc. scored from various cafes and cheap eating establishments. It also contains curry powder, stock cubes and, on this particular occasion, crushed dried chillies, cinnamon sticks and some garlic cloves - basically, essential ingredients that can spice up otherwise bland backpacker food - so:

Matthew's Backpacker Tarka Dahl
Ingredients

Soak the lentils in water for at least two hours then boil for half an hour (a bit tricky on our stove as it needs to be constantly stirred). Whilst boiling, add extra water if required.

Remove from heat and put to one side. In a second bowl, melt a large lump of butter and fry 1-2 teaspoons of chillies, 1-2 teaspoons of curry powder, pepper, about ¼ of a crushed cinnamon stick and some finely sliced garlic.

After a couple of minutes add about half the lentils and keep stirring and boiling whilst gradually adding the rest of the lentils.

This done, add the chicken stock cube and keep stirring and boiling (adding extra water when required) for another 20 minutes or until the lentils are soft. You can add a bit more curry powder and chillies (if needed) and salt to taste.

For good measure, throw in another lump of butter - the one thing we packed too much of for this hike was butter!

Dish it up with some rice and wolf it down - best served after a day's hike and a hot shower.

Outside the lake is calm and still, lined with a backdrop of hills and mountains. The moonlight makes the surface look silver - a vast ice rink at dusk.
 

 Irony [Feb 28th 1999]

Extremely ironic but - on our last proper full day's hiking we had by far the most gorgeous day we've experienced since being in the park. In fact, we haven't even had a day that comes to half as good as what we've had today. I hiked the whole time in a T-shirt, even having to don a cap at one stage from risk of being sunburnt, now and then we even looked up to see a heat haze shimmering in the distance like gently rippling water. A far cry from the weather we've had the displeasure of experiencing over the last ten days.

The route continued alongside Lago Nordenskjöld for the majority of the day and during our first break we sat and watched the still water being lightly tickled by the gentlest of breezes. We could see the peaks of most of the mountains, visibility stretched far in every direction, the warm rays of the sun beat down on our backs, drying sweaty T-shirts and all around us there was complete almost godly silence. The only noise to be heard was the occasional growl from my stomach and Jayne's breath drawing on a cigarette. I wish every day of the expedition had been like this but then I guess it would have been less of a story to tell.

We began with a 300 metre climb that was tough but, as we knew we were on the way to the last campsite, it seemed to take the edge off the exhaustion. Once we'd reached the high point we gradually descended but on undulating track with occasional short, steep climbs to remind us it wasn't over just yet. After the recent rain, the landscape seemed newly painted with sun soaked colours; our stride was always at a fast pace and Jayne was singing again: "My Favourite Things". The last part of the trek was a doddle, another walk in the park - save for a small, steep climb after crossing yet another well constructed bridge.

Arriving at our destination was a little weird as we had to pass through a hotel complex before reaching the campsite on the other side - I turned to Jayne and said, "ooh, civilisation". We saw a very comfortable looking dining room, a small shop packed with all sorts of goodies and an archery range. The shop had no beer but no matter, I'm saving myself until tomorrow for that particular treat. We pitched the tent under a tree next to the gently flowing stream, dropped our bags on the floor then hugged each other, hands clasped on sweaty backs and grinning with relief. We have a short walk on a gravel track and a bus to catch tomorrow but as far as we're concerned, we've made it!

Once we'd pitched the tent we had the luxury of a huge picnic table to eat and drink on, the magnificent peaks of Torres del Paine in the background (only the second time we've seen them since we started, no thanks to the cloud cover) and of course, the sunshine. In the evening, after we'd decided that our measly rice with bits of dehydrated vegetable wasn't enough to fill our stomachs, we gorged on a veritable feast of expensive luxuries purchased from the hotel shop - cola, biscuits, crisps and some delicious creamy chocolate. We also bought some postcards to write but not too many considering we were paying daft hotel prices. We climbed into bed after pinpointing the Southern Cross and I thought about all the people we'd passed today who were just starting out. I hope they don't get lulled into a false sense of security by today's wonderful weather.
 

 Travis and Jamie have a fight and we all leave the park [Mar 1st 1999]

I felt a bit weak and groggy when I woke this morning. I put it down to a combination of all the rich food we ate last night (too much chocolate) and the air in the tent, which for some reason felt very clammy and almost humid. My sleeping bag felt as if it was sticking to me and on top of that there was some raucous party going on at the campsite; which was still going strong at 4am. The rice we cooked for breakfast started to go down slowly and then not at all, neither of us having the appetite for it, so it went in the bin. All this meant that the easy 7 kilometre trek along the gravel road, used by vehicles travelling in and out of the park via Laguna Amarga, turned into a breathless experience for me. Jayne, on the other hand, seemed to be doing fine.

At one point a friendly, short Chilean man with dark hair pulled up beside us in a Mercedes and asked if we wanted a lift. We both thanked him but declined the offer - had we taken a car from this point we wouldn't have technically completed the circuit. Ten minutes later we walked round a bend in the road to find the Mercedes going nowhere with the bonnet raised and the same man fiddling about with the engine. "Feet are better", Jayne said, taking advantage of her ever increasing Spanish vocabulary. The man chuckled and smiled, as did we, then we continued on our way to Laguna Amarga.

An hour and a half walk in total and we were there, back at the starting point, finding it hard to believe what we'd just accomplished. There were more hugs and smiles, followed by signing out of the park in the ranger's office, after which we just lay on the grass for a well earned rest while waiting for the bus.

I continued reading "The Age of Reason" for about an hour after which we were approached by an American from Montana called Travis. He had long, blonde, curly hair, wore thin-framed glasses and looked a bit like a stereotype surfer. He needed to ask Jayne how to say 'I want' in Spanish. Apparently he'd seen some kid playing around with a Chilean car number plate and decided he wanted to take it back to America. We got chatting to Travis who started to tell us about his friend (or rather his ex-friend as he then corrected himself) called Jamie who was from New Hampshire. It turned out that these guys were responsible for some of the noise at the campsite party last night, during which Jamie had managed to lose Travis's journal. As you can imagine, Travis was extremely pissed off about this and didn't have a nice word to say about his ex-friend. We commiserated for a while as I know losing my diaries would be the worst thing I could lose out of all my belongings. Ten minutes later Jamie turned up, saw Travis and made his way towards us. I stretched out my hand to introduce myself and Jamie offered his, but as soon as we clasped he let out a moan of pain. His hand was swollen up like a boxing glove and looked very tender. It turned out that not only had these guys had a major falling out last night but they'd also had a drunken fistfight and, from the look of it, Jamie came off worst. Apart from the swollen hand (which he'd got from punching Travis in the head) he also had teeth marks with cuts and bruising on his right bicep where Travis had bitten him and taken out a small piece of flesh.

During the whole time these aspiring Tysons sat and talked with us, they never exchanged words with each other, as if during that time Jamie and Travis didn't exist in each other's minds. And this was all over a misplaced journal which also contained other information such as contact names and addresses plus email lists. Their plan, like us, was to go hiking in the park for a couple of weeks but Travis had now decided against this because of the deteriorating relationship with his ex-hiking buddy; but more so because of his feet - which were obviously causing him considerable pain judging by the way he was gimping around. On further questioning we discovered this wasn't another injury from the late night title fight, but a result of a previous "Jamie and Travis" drunken night out. In Puerto Natales a day before arriving at the park, they'd drunk a bottle of Tequila each then danced themselves stupid until six in the morning - wearing hiking boots. I don't think they realised how much damage they'd done to their feet until the following day when the alcohol began to drain from their systems.

The subject of landslides in the park reared its head again. Like us, Jamie and Travis had heard various stories regarding the two girls who nearly got caught in one. It would seem that no one really knows the truth about what happened to these people other than the fact they got caught up in a very dangerous situation involving a landslide. Within the space of just over a week, the two girls have managed to achieve an almost legendary status among fellow hikers in Torres del Paine, everyone seems to know about them but no one has the full facts.

Travis soon said his goodbyes - having bummed a lift from a passing car - which left us talking to a bewildered Jamie. I discovered he had a father living in Andover, New Hampshire whereas my father lives in Andover, Hampshire, this provided us with a couple of minutes of conversation then we moved back to the topic of the fight. His side of the story was that he couldn't really work out why the fight had started as his journal was also missing, along with his camera. Whatever the story was these two travellers were unlikely to be redefining the epitome of organised backpacking between them. During all this time the short Chilean Mercedes driver had very kindly provided Jayne and myself with some bread and tea then proceeded to have a conversation with Jayne. They were both helping each other out with their English and Spanish. Near the end of the chat, Jayne bravely edged the conversation towards the topic of Pinochet after he had mentioned the large number of people who had moved to Australia during his regime. He was more than sympathetic with Jayne's opinions of the man and hoped that a precedent would be set in him being tried for crimes against humanity.

Our bus arrived so we said our goodbyes then boarded for the 2 ½ hour journey to Puerto Natales. We travelled all the time on a gravel road running between endless fields of pale yellow grasses but unlike our journey into the park, today it was sunny. The vehicle took us right to the door of the guesthouse where we'd left all our spare clothing and gear. We promptly decided we would treat ourselves to a bed for a couple of nights rather than camping in the garden again. After depositing all our belongings in our room we headed straight for the town, our mouths already salivating in anticipation of the big meal we'd spent the last 12 days dreaming about.

I gorged on two entrees, a large steak with mushrooms, a side salad, chips and (of course) the long awaited cold glass of Schop (draught beer). The phrase "tastes like an angel dancing on my tongue" suddenly made more sense than ever. I was still feeling extremely fatigued and exhausted and, by the look of it, a lot more than Jayne who appeared to be doing just fine. I was longing for bed so we started back to the guesthouse, stopping at a phone office on the way, where Jayne tried, unsuccessfully, to contact her sister in Australia. She had a short chat with Svetlana who was in the office, briefly telling her what we had just accomplished. Afterwards we rounded off our meal with fruit from one of the local grocer's.

Getting into bed wasn't straightforward due to a small mishap with the shower in the bathroom opposite our room. I was unpacking my gear when I heard a timid "help" being uttered from across the hall. Entering the bathroom I found Jayne, holding on to a tap which had come off in her hand and water being sprayed all over the room. She'd only wanted to test if there was hot water and ended up with a mini flood on her hands. I temporarily attached the tap with some garden wire while Jayne got the guesthouse keeper and ten minutes later we'd moved all our gear to another room next door, this time with a functioning shower. The last thing we did before sleep was to put all our dirty clothes into a bin liner, creating a huge potpourri bag of stinking, sweaty laundry.

…and do you know what Jayne found buried deep inside her backpack when we dismantled the tent this morning and re-packed our bags? - A packet of cigarettes!

If anyone asks us why we put ourselves through twelve days of extreme, backbreaking hiking, dire weather and mental exhaustion, I think the answer is: "So we can say: 'We've done it.'"
 

 Footnote - A Chance Meeting [Mar 24th 1999]

On the 24th March, we'd settled into sparse but cheap backpacker accommodation in the coastal town of Viña del Mar, Chile. Our room had a small balcony and was noisy with traffic from a busy road that bypassed the town centre - a far cry from Torres del Paine which seemed a long way in the past. Whilst staying at this place, we befriended a couple of girls who had been travelling in Chile for some time. There was Megan who travelled with a guitar, writing songs praising the 'Super Ocho' chocolate bar and her companion, Leslie, who looked like she'd picked up all her clothes from a charity sports shop. She had on a slightly worn softball jersey with the word "Speedsters" across the front and the name "Tim" on the back above a large number 9. They were both from the US and had only a few days left of travel so we made the most of our time with them playing cards, eating out and even making a trip to the cinema. We discovered, much to our surprise and disbelief, that these were the two travellers involved in the landslide incident in the park. They'd only been a couple of days ahead of us when it happened and had experienced the same awful weather - at last we would determine the truth behind the fable.

It turned out that whilst trekking from Lago Grey they, like us, had come across a treacherous river crossing and spent some time looking for safe passage across the rapidly flowing high water. Leslie had decided to put her pack down on the ground while they tramped up and down the steep riverbank looking for some shallows. It was at this point that a deafening roar began, they were unsure what it was but instinct told them it was sure to be dangerous. Then they saw the rocks and boulders come crashing down and they basically ran - Megan still had her pack on but Leslie had to leave hers where she'd taken it off and make a charge for safe ground. They told us how the roaring sound filled their eardrums making it difficult to know where it was coming from and so they just kept running. Apparently, at one point, another hiker overtook them knocking Leslie down in the process without any hint of apology - it sounded like a classic 'every man for himself' situation. Once the landslide was over and they'd returned to the river, it was quite obvious Leslie would never see her backpack again. It was well and truly gone, buried under the vast amounts of rubble that had detached itself from the mountain - parts of the river bank had been literally ripped away leaving a trail of chaotic, natural obliteration.

Leslie went on to tell us that the whole incident was explanation for her current wardrobe - having lost everything, she had indeed visited some second-hand shops to replace what she had. The whole ordeal made our twelve day hike seem compar