Torres del Paine: Campamento Las Carretas

After such a difficult day yesterday that left us with aching feet and borderline blisters, we only needed to trek for six hours (as opposed to twelve!). We earned ourselves a lie in and eventually set out at about one in the afternoon, after saying our farewells to our American friend, Rob, who incidentally fed us with some pasta with tomato sauce the previous night. Thanks Rob (if you are reading this). It was great to have some hot food! After less than a hundred metres, we crossed the bridge out of the campsite and looked up at the Glacier des Frances, this time in the sunlight. It was spectacular and it’s sheer magnetism kept us there for about twenty minutes. Was this better than the Torres themselves?
We walked through forest before the trees gave way to small shrubs and heathers on the high ground that overlooked Lago Pehoé, where a catamaran sails to transport some of the trekkers who, quite understandably, need a break. The water was a deep blue and the moderate breeze was generating white horses on the lake’s surface and causing the bushes surrounding us to rustle. The became narrower and narrower until it pretty much disappeared, but luckily we saw two Argentinian trekkers ahead and followed their path. For some unknown reason, they stopped and headed back, but all was revealed as we arrived at a sudden, sharp dip in the valley with no paths. We weren’t backtracking! No way! We waded through the shrubbery being careful not to trip over the horizontal branches. We met up with the trail that we were meant to be on eventually and were on our way!
Narrow paths wound up around steep hillsides, and as the massif began to recede into the distance, we were able to apprehend the entire ensemble in one glance: surely there is no mightier, more splendid and impressive view on the planet? On our right lay the Monte Almirante Nieto, and moving to the left we could clearly make out the Valle Bader with its sheer sides and snow-covered floor, the thick Cuerno Este next to the barley-sugared twist of the Cuerno Principal with the shadow of a horseman on the orange-hued rock face beneath, with the entire Paine Grande collection of ice, snow and peaks to the right. As we progressed towards camp, we walked alongside the ice-cold Rio Grey, past burrows which might have been homes to foxes or pumas, and onto a flat grassland that could perhaps have been equally at home on the Serengeti. Suddenly we encountered eerie meadows of gnarled and grey dead tress, and as night began to draw in we were in the camp, clinging to the windswept riverbank with a few tents carefully anchored in the turf. Would we blow away or would we manage to get through the night peacefully? It hardly mattered as the fourth day in this amazing national park drew to a close: it had offered up its secrets, its delights, its mystique to us gradually, and suddenly with a torrent of magnificent vistas and unexpectedly heart-stopping moments.