After disembarking from our small expedition ship in Puerto Natales, Chile, we rode a carriage through a broad, flat, dun-colored valley to the national park. The drive revealed little about the splendor that awaited us just a bit farther along the road.
Yes, the Andes were there—dark rises off to both sides, capped with snow and sometimes enveloped in cloud. But at this point, they looked more like the suggestion of mountains than a high-altitude wonderland. That would soon change.
From off the plains, a few ostriches and a big herd of guanacos wandered out to the two-lane highway. This encounter was as close as we would get to a South American safari. We snapped photos and heeded the guides’ warnings not to pet the guanacos, which looked like wild llamas.
“Llamas are domesticated, like dogs,” a guide explained. “These are more like wolves.”
We rumbled off. Even bigger and better things lay just ahead.
A Special Refuge
I was in Chilean Patagonia, headed to Torres del Paine National Park. Recognized as a UNESCO biosphere reserve and the eighth wonder of the world, the park is a bucket list destination for hikers, mountain bikers, and all sorts of outdoorsy types. It’s the kind of place you hear about over and over in discussions of the world’s most spectacular natural paradises.
Others come here to kayak and canoe, fly fish, rock climb, and ice hike on the glaciers. No such thing was on the schedule for us—this was just a day trip. So we would have to pack as many spectacular sites as possible into a short amount of time.
Torres del Paine was established as a national park in 1959, and it covers some 700 square miles of remote territory in the southern reaches of Chile. It’s a place of crashing waterfalls, flashing glaciers, rushing rivers, and, above it all, snowcapped mountains. Three granite Torres (towers) form the centerpiece of this place and also serve as the inspiration behind its name—Torres del Paine. Paine is a local indigenous word for “blue.”
Nowhere Else on Earth
We got our first glimpse of the Torres, albeit a brief one, soon after crossing into the park. The coach stopped so we could disembark and look out over the cold expanse of the Amarga Lagoon, so brightly aquamarine that it seemed to glow. The peaks beyond were covered in snow and cloud, which blew off for just a moment to reveal jagged and craggy summits rising at almost-straight angles, searching for the sky. They were breathtaking, and unlike any mountains I have ever encountered.There was more wildlife, too, especially in the form of flamingos. The often-tropical birds seemed strange at this latitude and environment, but they were down there—just a handful of bright pink birds doing their thing. They migrate to the park during the warmer months to feast on the crustaceans that thrive in the high-saline lagoon.
Our guide suggested that we might also see an elusive big cat.
“We could see a puma,” she noted, sending a ripple of excitement through the group. “We don’t see them all the time, but we spotted one three days ago.”
At midday, lunch was a little more perfect than expected. Veterans of day trips are accustomed to less-than-adequate bagged meals, such as egg and mayo sandwiches and a little bag of almost-stale chips.
This definitely wasn’t that. As we parked near a small lake and strode into a handsome wooden building with a wall of bright, floor-to-ceiling windows, a delicious aroma greeted us. Chileans in general—and Patagonians in particular—pride themselves on their grilling. Chicken, beef, and salmon sizzled over a wood fire on a barbecue built into a stone frame. The hosts paired these meats with a bold red wine. It was excellent fortification for a busy afternoon.
We began with a short hike to a big waterfall. Patagonia is legendary for wild, unpredictable weather. While the day had been sunny and relatively warm, the wind here whistled.
Gusts were so strong that it was hard to stay steady and rooted on the solid path leading to the Salto Grande—or “big jump.” But it was worth the effort, especially with that big lunch steak powering me through the wind tunnel. We soon arrived at a chute fed by white rapids. The main cascade dropped and frothed for more than 30 feet.
While the trio of Torres had backdropped much of the afternoon, the best vista came at the end of the day. As we exited the park and prepared for the drive back, we pulled off along a high ridge. A valley swept out at our feet, rising again on the horizon to the namesake peaks. Nature was the artist. The Paine Massif was formed by volcanism and shaped into its dramatic angles and shapes by glaciers.
As we savored this last look in the late-afternoon light, some big birds swooped overhead. First, buzzard eagles. Then the mascot of the Andes: three pairs of majestic, soaring condors.
