And, Buenos Aires, here I am where blogging is a much safer option than wandering the streets. Don´t worry, I´ll wander beyond the walls of my hostel eventually but I needed to recover after 29 hours of travel from my camping site in Patagonia to my hostel in Buenos Aires. And after seven days of solo trekking, the idea of being in a mega-city, 15MM people strong, is a little overwhelming. I´ll post pictures soon but here´s a snippet to whet your appetite.
After three days of rain out of a total six days, I endured my tent until noon and then made a break for it, heading up towards La Mirador Britannica in the French Valley of Torres del Paine Parque Nacional. There was a steady drizzle, nay rain, coming down and I passed some folks a little too soon to be La Mirador so I continued the steep uphill slog, slipping, sliding, and crawling my way to some unknown, unmarked top. I set my sights on a saddle at the base of the backside of Torres Grande at the top of the French Valley. I sort of followed some trail that maybe existed, as much as a trail exists in an avalanche field of boulders. When the wind sent me wobbling sideways, I gave up the morraine scramble (oh, how I loathe morraine) and sat to
enjoy the view. It´s fair to say God blessed me with one of the most spectacular views of my lifetime. There was a break in the rain and even some rays of sun -- THIS was the Patagonia of my dreams. Oh, yeah, and on the descent, I noticed ¨MIRADOR¨spray painted across the rock where I had passed those folks hours earlier. I´m glad I didn´t stop there!
After three days of rain out of a total six days, I endured my tent until noon and then made a break for it, heading up towards La Mirador Britannica in the French Valley of Torres del Paine Parque Nacional. There was a steady drizzle, nay rain, coming down and I passed some folks a little too soon to be La Mirador so I continued the steep uphill slog, slipping, sliding, and crawling my way to some unknown, unmarked top. I set my sights on a saddle at the base of the backside of Torres Grande at the top of the French Valley. I sort of followed some trail that maybe existed, as much as a trail exists in an avalanche field of boulders. When the wind sent me wobbling sideways, I gave up the morraine scramble (oh, how I loathe morraine) and sat to
enjoy the view. It´s fair to say God blessed me with one of the most spectacular views of my lifetime. There was a break in the rain and even some rays of sun -- THIS was the Patagonia of my dreams. Oh, yeah, and on the descent, I noticed ¨MIRADOR¨spray painted across the rock where I had passed those folks hours earlier. I´m glad I didn´t stop there!
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