Los Torres at Sunrise

As I went to sleep the night before, listening to the snow brush gently against my tent, my hope of seeing los Torres bathed in the warmth of sunrise faded with each flake that accumulated on my rain fly. It had been cloudy all day, and now it was finally snowing -- a slow, steady snow that just might last all night. Los Torres del Paine are especially beautiful at sunrise, as the light imbues the stone with red and orange hues, making even a wintry day warm. I had even extended my trip a day on the slim chance that the weather forecast was right a week in advance, and the next morning would be sunny. But now it seemed unlikely. However, when I woke up in the middle of the night, I noticed that the snow had stopped, and when I peaked outside my tent, the sky was covered in stars. The storm had broken just in time, continuing my run of good fortune on this trip. I awoke before dawn, ate a quick breakfast, and began the 40-minute climb to the lookout. As I climbed, I caught glimpses of the towers bathed in an orange glow, and hurried to make the top before the colors faded. As I crested a pile of rocks, the panorama came into view, and I was treated to a glorious view of los Torres -- a fitting end to an almost perfect week in Torres del Paine National Park. It was one of those moments when your realize that your dreams have been fulfilled, and you are overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude.

The dawn light gradually revealed a landscape freshly coated in a layer of snow.

After a scramble over large boulders, I reached the lookout to the Torres del Paine, and was greeted with this picture.

Swaths of cloud played with the peaks as the sun burned morning mists away.

A frozen lake lay at the bottom of the towers.

Later in the day, on my way out of the park, these guanaco (cousins of the llama) watched my departure with the towers in the background (below).

It was the first time I'd seen los Torres from a distance, as they are almost completely obscured until you stand right before them when you approach from the west, as I did.

Day 5: Refugio Los Cuernos to Campamento Torres

The fifth day of the trek dawned crisply, with a thin layer of snow and cloud that muted the landscape and lent a degree of integrity to my surroundings. Grays, blues, and greens all blended together, and the air seemed to curve around itself in an effort to unify hills with lake with sky. The temperature never rose above freezing, so it remained remarkably consistent the whole morning. In the afternoon, I began the steep climb up to the Torres, the namesake of the park. My campsite was a mere 40-minute walk to the overlook, but clouds hung low, obsucring the Torres. As I fell asleep, a steady snow began to fall, and I worried that my much anticipated sunrise at los Torres would not materialize, at least not with full visibility and the warm hues of the sun cast on the iconic spires.

The trail continued to hug the shores of Lago Nordenskjold for a third day, but each day brought with it distinct conditions. Today's weather made the most of the low-arching sun; because we were so far south, mild colors accented the clouds for most of the day, as the sun was basically rising or setting for five of the seven hours that it was up.

I followed these puma tracks for several kilometers, and only got slightly spooked when I stopped seeing them.

Click to enlarge.

This is one of my favorite shots from the trip -- a frozen lake blending seamlessly with the hills and sky. A dark spot invades the white lake while a bright spot lights up the gray sky, much like the yin yang in the previous post (below). And indeed, it felt as if opposites were uniting to form a complimentary whole.

Day 4: Campamento Italiano to Refugio Los Cuernos

The fourth day of the hike involved a morning climb up Valle Frances amid shifting clouds to a stunning cirque at the head of the valley, and then back down and along Lago Nordenskjold. For the first time, it didn't rise above freezing during the day, which made my drinking water nice and icy. The Valle itself was spectacular, and brought me face to face with the snow field that had been avalanching all of the night before, casting off chunks of ice in thunderous explosions that shook the entire valley. I was never in any danger, but you wouldn't have guessed how tame the snow falls were from the sound. I could still hear it two days later.

When I awoke, I was surrounded by cloud, which led me to believe that the day might lack some of the visual punch of the previous three. However, I soon encountered one of my favorite experiences: hiking above the cloud to discover the world around me. Here you can see the cloud settled over Lago Nordenskjold, beside which I camped the night before.

As I climbed up the valley, it got cooler, yielding some icy sections of trail, above and below.

This is the snow field on Paine Grande that sent huge chunks hurtling downward every 20 minutes or so, resulting in a booming echo that sounded a lot like thunder. It lasted until I was out of earshot two days later, though I was never in any danger. I was able to see the crumbling a couple times, and it was surprisingly harmless, usually settling in dust in the bowl at the bottom. I stayed across the stream the whole time.

This amphitheater was at the head of the valley, and marked my turnaround point.

As I descended, it seemed to get colder still, as hoarfrost clung to mossy rocks.

These fungi grew in clusters on the occasional tree.

As the day progressed, the cloud that covered the lake in the morning began to rise up the hillside.

When I finally got back to the foot of the valley, the cloud had risen enough that you could see the whole expanse of the lake, which somehow managed to glow turquoise even under gray skies.

Click to enlarge this panorama, which accompanied my walk to the north, as the lake lay to the south.

As I walked briefly along one of several beaches on the hike, I noticed this creation.

Day 3: An Ode to Los Cuernos

Sunrise on this day revealed a thinning layer of cloud, accentuated by a most dramatic wisp that insisted on lingering just over the lake, like a scarf around the mountains. In the morning I retraced my steps, reveling in this new twist on familiar scenery, and then turned eastward to see the Cuernos del Paine towering above me, closer now and clearer than it ever seemed they would be. An undulating trail yielded angles before I finally ended camping right at their base. These are some of the most iconic mountains in the world, and I could hardly believe that I was there. I felt like I had stepped into one of the books or postcards that I had so often seen. This was the day when it really hit me that Patagonia had moved from a distant dream to an immediate experience.

Click to enlarge any of these photos.

I was taken by this because of what appears to be the shadow of a mountain in the cloud on the upper left.

This series, above and below, shows a retreating cloud as I approached los Cuernos. Mountains can't move, but this cloud certainly made it seem like they could.

Sunset over los Cuernos

Day 2: Lake Pehoe to Glacier Grey

After a restful night on soft grass, I was ready for a hike into the mountains, and the real start of the circuit around los Torres. After a gentle ascent that took me to a low ridge, I had lost sight of Lake Pehoe but gained a line to Lago Grey on the other side, along with pleasant little ponds resting in pockets of the rocky ridge. Heavy clouds threatened overhead, and I was just hoping it was cold enough to snow instead of rain. Cold is one thing, and snow can be brushed off. But cold and wet...not my idea of pleasant. Luckily I had a few minutes of snow on the ridge, and then not much else. This was the start of good fortune that would accompany the weather all week. Toward the end of the flurries, I caught sight of a large blue mass in the distance, which would be my destination for the day. As I approached, I was stunned by the immensity and power of the glacier parked in Lago Grey. I had seen bits of "glacier" before, but that was mostly snow that melted in the summer. This was a honkin' hunk of ice, rendered blue by light reflecting off the air pockets stuck inside. I stationed myself at the head of the glacier for quite some time, basking in its literal glow, and was lucky enough to encounter some afternoon sun, after which I worked my way back to the campsite, a wooded area next to a gushing stream. Life was good.

One of the ridgetop ponds that marked my crossing from Lago Pehoe to Lago Grey

And the first signs of snow, sprinkled over a frozen pond

You can see the heavy clouds in the distance, and chunks of the glacier that had broken off and were floating through Lago Grey.

And then my first view of the glacier itself, sending its two arms around the rock in the middle. The rocky outcrop on the right was my vantage point for the next picture.

A bit of sun graced my afternoon

Click to enlarge

This bit of edelweiss (below) was hiding in the cracks of the rock above.

As the clouds began to lift, the true expanse of the glacier showed itself.

As did the jagged peaks that were looming directly over me, which had been hidden until now. You can see the fresh snow on top.