Paine, rather.

And in this case, the word refers to neither “suffering and anguish” (despite backpackers regularly going for the easy joke at the end of each exhausting day) nor some 19th century Euro-explorer (the popular assumption).  Rather, it stems from the Tehuelche indian word meaning “blue,” and is applied for obvious reasons.  After a long weekend at the Freestyle Hostel in Ushuaia, I had successfully picked the brains of all travelers stopping in after extended treks throughout Patagonia, and “The W” at Torres del Paine — a 5-day trek “best of” tour of the national park — had filtered its way to the top of the list.

The ‘W’

A color-coded map of my travels, broken up into days. The famous 'W' is seen above in pink, blue, yellow, purple and orange. It's the thing that is, oddly enough, shaped like a 'W'

The ‘W,’ then, is the sloppily colored path painted in above.  After arriving by shuttle on the first day, passengers are dropped off either far to the right of the W-shaped circuit by the east end of Lago Sarmiento, or they can stay on the bus and be dropped off at Lago Pehoe in time for the 1:30 ferry ride, starting the circuit  along Lago Grey.  The first refugio, “Pehoe,” awaits travelers upon exiting the ferry, and it’s possible to stow gear there and hike unburdened to Glacier Grey and back, or carry everything along and stay the night in Refugio Grey.

This waterfall is about fifteen minutes from the ferry pick-up point. There's generally an hour to kill after the shuttle drops people off, so this is the perfect diversion.

Day two involves backtracking down the Lago Grey trail and making it as far as the Italian camp at the base of the French Valley.  Hiking into the valley and back takes up a good half of the next day, leaving enough time to make it to Refugio Los Cuernos by late in the day.  The fourth day is the longest and most arduous, with about ninety minutes of strenuous ascent, as trekkers make their way to Campamente (”Campsite” — no refuge there, but a properly maintained campground complete with bathroom) Torres.  Ambitious/stupid campers like myself will then somehow wake at five the next morning, making one of the steepest climbs of the circuit in the dark to watch the sun rise from Mirador (”lookout point”) Torres, after which point they proceed to shuffle back down, collect their gear and make the final walk down to Guarderia (”ranger station”) Laguna Amarga.

Daily shuttles bring trekkers into the popular park twice a day (simultaneously making pickups of weary, filthy, stinking hikers ready to get the hell out — that is one pungent busride back to Puerto Natales…), stopping briefly at the park’s entrance for us to pay our gringo entry fees.  Chileans pay a single lifetime fee of 5000 Chilean pesos, while extraneros (foreigners) pay 15,000 with every visit.  Chile is the first country I’ve visited where the exchange rate involves this degree of irritating math with any transaction:

• 1 US dollar = 562 pesos
• 1000 pesos = 1.78 dollars
• 15,000 pesos = $26.75

Not exactly cheap for a national park.

The Lago Pehoe ferry

On the plus side, the park is immaculately maintained, and refugios are well staffed and spread evenly around the trails so that help/lodging/supplies are always readily available.  There’s zero carbon footprint as well, as modern wind turbines are erected in several key, wind-heavy locations to provide energy to the refugios.  It should be noted that the refugios also provide full meals and indoor lodging with beds for those only interested in roughing it by day.  Though at 20,000 pesos for a bed, it’s not exactly budget-oriented (9000 for dinner).

I will admit to feeling jealousy at times upon having smiling hikers briskly pass me by while wearing nothing more than a small day pack.  On the positive side, water — typically a heavy necessity — isn’t a problem here.  Hikers are nearly always within an hour of walking alongside a cold mountain spring, and all the flowing water here is safely drinkable.  Fresh, clear and freezing, every sip ranks among the best water I’ve ever drank.

By the first day, I’ve already got a group of camping partners, which makes the evenings far more enjoyable.  We spend the days hiking at varying paces, smiling and sharing a few words when passing, but by night we share soup, wine, cheese, rum and stories.  Nearly all of us are overdressed; we were promised cold air and relentless rain and received neither.  At one point, late in the trip, we stop for lunch at the base of a serene mountain lake and the French girl, Emilie, decides to go for a swim.

From aboard the ferry. I don't think I've ever seen water this color blue before.

“Eet can’t bee colder zhan thee wahter where i am from in Britanee.”

Her voice is high and lilting, and her accent is almost so perfectly what I’d expect a French accent to be that it sounds like a cute caricature.  She strips down to her underwear and walks slowly into the water, giving away nothing of its coldness on her face as she makes her way out to deeper waters, eventually submerging entirely.  The Italian girl in our group follows suit and then, eventually, so do I.  It’s as frigid as one would expect a lake in the shadow of ice-covered mountains to be, but imminently refreshing and after days without bathing it was probably the most polite things I could’ve done for my traveling companions.

Eating soup (it’s the lightest food to carry along, though began to get old by day 3) on a rock in my boxer shorts directly after my swim, it occurred to me that the waterproof, insulated pants I’d been wearing and relentlessly sweating into were completely unnecessary in the warm, sunny weather we’d been having.  My boxer shorts on the other hand were incredibly breezy and comfortable.  And so I hiked the remainder of my trip quite casually in my underwear.

I like hiking alone.  Lugging a backpack full of gear and food is exhausting enough, and engaging in any conversation would only exacerbate things.  Instead, I’ve begun using a thirty-hour “Learn Spanish” class on my iPod that apparently should have cost me four hundred dollars.  It did not.  But it is well structured and the only drawback that I discovered was that at times I would get so into following along out loud that I wouldn’t notice people walking by and staring at me quizzically as I complimented Senora Rodriguez on her hair, or asked for the doctor’s telephone number.  At one point, another hiker actually stopped when I requested a glass of milk.

He didn’t have any.

Patagonia in Pictures

Glacier Grey, with ice-covered mountains just beyond in the background. The mirador I took this from was a ten-minute walk from where I camped the first night.

My first night's campsite. Fairly windy, but the view was unbeatable.

Taken from the middle of the French Valley (the center line in the W). A few years back a careless Czech tourist let his fire get out of control, burning down more than half the trees in the valley. The Czech government is working with Chile on a reforestation project.

Powdered soup and boxed wine -- My nightly dinner

Despite being unseasonably warm for this late in the year (anything past February here doesn't come recommended), hikers are nearly always in sight of massive, ice-covered mountains like these.

It was just windy and steep enough up there that this wasn't entirely the safest place to pose.

Avalanches are common and loud, going off regularly in the background like thunder. When I was lucky enough to witness them, they nearly always seemed small and insignificant in size, despite the tremendous noise they made.

The bridge to the Italian camp. Inherently precarious, the bridge warns that no more than two people may cross over the raging river below at one time.

This picture pretty much sums up Patagonia.

Dirty and scruffy on the final morning with the Torres in the background. We woke at 5 and scrambled up rocks in the dark during the only rainstorm of our trip. Even without our gear, this was easily the hardest hour of our trek, and the gorgeous sunrise we'd ostensibly climbed to the mirador to witness was blocked by the overcast sky.

Our group. We were told to "pose silly"